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everything.
Yesterday we spent the entire afternoon at a friend’s house. The kids played peacefully the entire time. Inside. Outside. In the hammock. On the grass. On the floor. Reading books. Laughing. Exploring. Waffles. Strawberries. Sunshine. Popcorn. Frozen yogurt. Sun tea. It was just so darn pleasant. The little girls were princesses, played princesses, dressed princesses. Piper Finn wore the sweetest crown made just for her. Books were read. My friend Jo taught London and Mosely (and me) how to finger knit. And the girls are wild about their new skill. (They stayed in bed last night and created long long long strings of finger knitted doll scarves and garlands and…
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and I hope it’s always true . . .
I wore this headband this weekend. My six-year-old son made it for me a few weeks ago when I was sick. It’s crafted from a waistband of a pair of bear-print pajama pants that he outgrew. And I didn’t stay home all day. I actually left the house. Ran errands. And it was both an easy decision and a hard one. But this is what I decided. The message to my son that he matters, that the works of his hands are precious to me, that message matters more to me than what strangers may think of my fashion sense. I mess up. All the time. But my hope is…
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yes. bananas. oatmeal cream cakes. my hawkeye.
The afternoon was caving in. I had desserts to make for a group gathering that evening and my culinary ambitions were far exceeding both my abilities and my time frame. Otto was napping and the girls were playing together and finishing up their school work. I tied on my apron, clicked om my Avett Brothers Pandora station and tossed out my ingredients on to the trusty butcher block. Little feet scuttled into the kitchen. “Can I help you cook this afternoon Mommy?” a little voice asked. I surveyed my helper and considered the offer. I knew what this type of help usually entailed. I tried to hold in my sigh.…
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just what I needed to hear.
And sometimes they just say what you need to hear when you need to hear it . . . My sensitive son Bergen Hawkeye came over to me and said, “I like the way God made you.”
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I’m Sure I’ll Make Time.
“Mom, when can I go running with you?” Hawkeye asked me this week. For the thirteenth time. “I don’t know. Maybe this weekend.” I replied. “So. Why do you want to run with me so much son?” “Because I want to hold your hand while we run.”
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bad word
The kids have recently been introduced to Kevin’s old collection of Garfield comic books. They love them. Odie has become a common name in our house and we often hear tales of what Garfield thinks about lasagna, Pooky and Jon. Last night, sitting at the kitchen counter, Bergen made a mysterious request. “Mommy, can I say a bad word just for fun?” I looked up from the stack of dirty dishes I was conquering. Hesitatingly, I answered, “Sure, son.” He grinned. “I hate Mondays!”
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beautiful boy.
Dear Bergen, I love how you cuddle with me. You push into my side with such fierce determination that I think you would allow yourself to be absorbed into my very skin if that was somehow possible. I love how you do nearly every thing with abandonment. Even eating chocolate ice cream. You are beautiful to me. And you are mine. (not forever.) For now. And I am sorry that there are days that I squander this gift. Days that my tone is sharp. Days that my hands push you to the side and I ask you to find another place to stand. Days that I disregard your legitimate concerns…
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I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends
How long have they been friends? Probably since Cole could walk. (And he’s five now. So you can do the math.) The boys had so much fun at our Camp Fourth this summer. Bergen helps encourage Cole to do brave things – like holding a chicken in his own actual arms! And Colton makes it possible for Bergen to play boy games and spend extra hours outside. The fellas were mostly inseparable. Throughout the week, always unannounced, Colton would walk up to Bergen, hold his shoulders, look him in the eyes and announce, “Bergen. I love you.” To this sweet sentiment, Bergen would gently respond, “You already told me that.”
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Don’t Leave The Path.
Can I just tell you a little story about poop? (I mean, it’s not as if I have never done that before – right?) Last Friday our home school Suburban headed to Pisgah Forest in North Carolina for a Stream Investigations Class. The class was great. The water was cold. I dressed the kids in matching tie-dyed Look Up Lodge shirts so that I could easily spot their wayward selves among the thirty other children. I am not normally a children-match-one-another kind of mom. But it worked out pretty perfectly, actually. Otto Fox stayed strapped to my back in his carrier most of the day. Sometimes he was happy about…
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words to the wise.
My boy Bergen, the one who just turned six, says some beautiful words. But earlier this week, while on a family nature hike, Bergen Hawkeye uttered a genuine nugget of wisdom. Words I would encourage all of our other children to follow closely. While attempting to climb high along a stack of rocks upon which he should not have been attempting to climb high, Berg turned around and seriously announced, “Never do what I do.”
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Tuck In Time
Last night I tucked in a five-year-old. This morning I woke up a six-year-old. Happy Birthday Bergen Hawkeye Norton. You know, I love tucking this kid in. I love it about as much as I love the fact that he calls his back teeth his “boulders” and I just cannot bring myself to correct him yet. Last night he asked me to cuddle with him. (Like he requests every night of his young life thus far.) And I know and I know and I know that he won’t keep asking me for long. So I climb the ladder to his loft bed and I place my head beside his on…
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The Hawke Has Landed
I sat down tonight (or last night, if you read this during the day, like regular folk. or tonight if you are alece and you read somehow in cyber space over my shoulder as I type in the nearly wee hours.) to type a little post about something else. I can’t even remember what right now. Because I was interrupted by a boy named Bergen who was telling me stories about his recent ManTrip 2011. It was really too late for him to be awake, but since he arrived home and crashed after the trip from about 5 p.m. until about 7 p.m. – wrecking both tonight’s rest and possibly…
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almost out the door
Perhaps my favorite phrase yelled at me by any human being that has ever existed. Berg. Dashing through the house. Decked out in full pirate attire. On his way to adventure and life. The great outdoors calling him. His hand is on the door knob. The entrance to What He Has Been Waiting All Morning For. He stops. Hesitates. Searches for me. Finds my eyes. And shouts, “I love you mom. I love you more than everything in the world except God!” And then he’s gone. Back to the wild which holds his heart.
