Six Years

To my Zachary on the occasion of his 6th birthday.

Six years ago, he was born - our second child, a son, Zachary John, which means “remembered by a gracious God”. We were in awe of this precious boy - crying softly, hand tightly clenching Jerry’s finger. He cooed and sighed in his sleep foreshadowing the loud, joyous, boyish sounds we now hear every day.

He preferred one of us snuggling him to sleep instead of a lovey, thumb, or pacifier. A whole year of nights he only wanted Jerry. He smiled at everyone, everywhere, always looking for a smile back. Every picture in his baby book is a grin. To my astonishment, he laughed at 10 days old, on Valentine’s Day. A precious love gift for this exhausted mama. I’m still in love with him today.

His first steps were terrifying to him, but that dimpled smirk and sigh of relief boosted his confidence. Now, he never stops running.

When I’m angry and tired, he gently comes to me and says, “I love you, mama.” My heart melts. He likes to listen to us read to him, but yesterday he read his first sentence.

This mama aches for that little baby boy, but loves this delightful, six year old boy in front of me. Time marches forward, ignoring my pain, but gifting me with the joy and discovery of my Zachary.

Holding Time

I’ve written before about the fleeting moments of childhood rushing by me.  I was reminded of it again today as I watched my preschooler almost turned big kid.

 

He’s all boy, my Zachary.  Always smiling his dimpled grin – big blue eyes sparkling.  Today he was so hungry at the restaurant that he ate his spaghetti and his two sister’s also – using two forks to shovel everything in – grinning ear to ear, mouth stuffed.

He took his first shower today and laughed in delight at the water running down on him – inching further and further under it.  Shaking, wiggling, shimmying around.  

I forget that even at five there is so much for him to discover.  Yesterday a neighbor let him ride his battery powered car with real gear shifter, accelerator and brake.  He hit the accelerator for the first time, bubbling cackle infectious.  

Preschool is almost over and big kid school looms on the horizon.  I can’t imagine him not home with me…can’t imagine him all spiffed up in his school uniform, backpack, and lunchbox in tow and yet this reality is a few months away.  How can I hold onto this time?  I feel helpless under its ever flowing current.  

God puts us here to care for these small ones for such a short time and yet the day-to-day can swallow us up if we allow it – I have often and too easily allowed it.  Today I aim for consistency in capturing the wonder, recording the moments, priceless memories and gratitude for this gift of motherhood – even if fleeting.

Streams of Starbucksness

I am at Starbucks with my sweet three year old Abby.  She’s been really cranky today, but she is quiet right now.  She is eating a pink cake pop and people watching.  We are making the mermaids on our cups talk. I’m the mommy and she’s the baby.  She looks out the window and says, “The cars are going fast!”  Jazz pulsates and slides out of the speakers.

Abby is hunched over her chair backwards watching the manager interviewing someone.  I’m admiring my gold purse and pondering the purple stainless and ceramic mug that is on my wish list.  I sip the sweet, rich foam off the top of my latte – nectar of the coffee warming my insides.  I look into her adorable face – hair a mess, smiling, dimple shown, big blue eyes laughing. 

 

Abby plays a game, “Can you sit in this position, mommy?” Leaning forward, on the edge, on her knees, legs spread apart, sideways with legs crossed.  She says, “It’s a little table!  That one is a little table!  It’s a baby!”

She climbs on my lap.  She says, “You have to write, mama.  Why?”  I say, “I must!” She says, “You so cute.”  I kiss her still pudgy, toddler cheek. How I wish all of my moments with her were like this – coming off lunch time with her tantrums and my yelling.  Night and day.

The music slows and saddens, tranquil trumpet.  This moment fleeting, the clock signaling the end.  She bonks my head with hers grabbing my pen and clicking it so I cannot write – snapping me back to reality. 

To My Zachary

Yesterday you turned 5 – five, five, five.  I can’t believe that half a decade has passed since I first held you in my arms.  Your older sister taught me to be a mother.  But you - you taught me how to love as a mother.  Pushing you out was one of the most excruciatingly difficult things I have ever done and I will never forget the feeling of you entering this world.  All pain and discomfort and intense, overwhelming eleven hours of labor began to fall away.  

My heart began to race and didn’t stop for another six hours.  I sat up instead of sleeping – watching you –  baby burrito cooing and humming in your big sleep.  You were such a loud sleeper and my heart ached with love for you – love at first sight.  

Now you run and jump and search for toys that begin with the preschool letter of the day.  Every toy can be made a gun or a sword and you leap off the top of couches in a single bound.  You have a heart of gold – crumbling under the weight of my yelling and apologizing as fast as you can.  You hug, kiss and protect your sisters.  You tell me you love me when I’m having the worst day.  

Your clear blue eyes dimpled cheeks and chin envelope me in the reminder that there is so much good in this world.  And you – in your five your old glory are one of the best of those goods.  

I love you – my one and only boy.  I’m so grateful for you, Zachary John.  Your name means “remembered by a gracious God” – he remembered me and in his grace and mercy gave me the gift of you. 

My Christmas Gift

With Christmas still around us in our eyes, ears, and mouths and the hope of Epiphany looming ahead, I present a guest post along those themes from my sister, Rachel Miller. 

Like years past I spent the last several weeks planning and plotting and watching for sales and shipping deals in order to find the perfect gifts for my kids: three deliciously beautiful blonde boys ages 5 months, 2 years, and 5 years old.  All of the fretting and sweating and logistical maneuvering was all worth it to see their eyes light up when they tore back the wrapping paper and saw their new favorite toy/game/shirt/whatever.  Also as in years past, my husband and I agreed to not buy each other Christmas gifts to wrap and place under the tree.  I truly am OK with that decision, but this year I am especially thankful for it.  I think if I had a gift under the tree to unwrap, I might have missed the completely perfect gift that God gave me this Christmas.  God allowed me to clearly see his own son, Jesus Christ, in each of my children for the first time.

First Sebastian, my sweet chubby 5 month old.  As we rested and nursed quietly this afternoon I thought about the fact that this is how Mary and Jesus spent the first Christmas.  Mary, exhausted from travel and childbirth, probably spent most if not all of Christmas Day resting, cuddling, and nursing God's own son as best she could in a barn. I'm sure we both kissed chubby fingers, traced the curve of an ear, gently rubbed a tiny back.  What a beautiful reminder of Jesus' humble beginnings and Sebastian's potential to be an extraordinary force in this world.  Thank you, God.

Then Nathan, my crazy intense 2 year old.  Our pastor spoke of the Magi at the Christmas Eve service.  He stated that, while most nativity scenes show the three kings offering their lavish gifts to a newborn Jesus in the manger, it's more likely that it took them several months, if not over a year, to follow the star and find Jesus.  He asked us to imagine the chaos it would have caused in the streets of Bethlehem when this caravan of wealthy VIPs entered the city in search of Jesus, all to find a toddler not so different from the ones squirming in the pews that night.  I could see it in my mind's eye.  I could see the look of surprise, yet quiet understanding in Nathan's enormous eyes as the wise men presented their gifts.  I could see his heart-melting dimpled smile, and even hear him trying out some of the new words describing his gifts: gold ... muh ... frank-a-tents, all the while giggling.  A reminder of how God will use my seemingly ordinary Nathan to do remarkable things for his kingdom.  Thank you, God.

Finally Kameron, my firstborn.  Five years ago at this time I really identified with Mary as I was only days away from becoming a mother for the first time as well!  As I listened to Kameron have an in depth conversation with his aunt about Thomas the Tank Engine and all of his railway friends, I thought of Jesus as a young boy in the temple.  I specifically had a vision of a boy not much older than Kameron surrounded by the elders in the temple, speaking to them with authority about theological and spiritual matters.  Ok, clearly Thomas the Tank Engine is not as deep of a subject, but I had never seen him speak with such passion and authority about the name, number, size, color, and unique characteristics of an impressive number of engines.  I could picture Kameron in the midst of a spirited debate with the elders, educating them on the attributes of God the Father in his sweet yet matter-of-fact voice.  A reminder of how God uses the mouths of even children like my Kameron to speak his truth to the world. Thank you, God.

Gifts under the Christmas tree are nice, and I still enjoy the thrill of hunting the perfect present, but nothing compares to the gift of clearly seeing Christ in your kids for the first time.  I pray that all Christians experience similar revelations in their journey of faith.

When Rachel is not working her day job wielding her red tape machete or pushing beer-leavened baked goods on the side, she is home with her three boys ages 5 years, 2 years, and 5 months eating homemade pizza and ice cream made by her culinary gifted husband, Kal.

This Spot

I’m sitting on our small couch, feet up on the ottoman, lights out, Christmas tree on.  From this spot, I can see the TV, the fireplace, outside through one of the small windows, the whole living room – all of those things now quiet and dark.  From this spot I have rested, nursed three babies, cried, slept, laughed, worked, and watched.  Gazed out at children running around the room, the seasons changing outside, and my life passing by faster than I can imagine.

From this spot I have sat very still with three sleeping babies in my arms (each at different times), looking down at their cherub faces, curled up fists, and listening to their sweet sighs.  As I sat here in this spot, I looked outside and observed every season change.  Marveling at bare trees showing fuzzy patches of green, bursting forth in swaying leaves, turning gold, yellow, red and blowing away.  Squinting hard to find the first snowflakes of winter silently floating down.  Gazing down at my youngest child – messy toddler hair sticking to her sweet cheeks, thumb in her mouth, hard sleep weighing on my arm. 

In this spot, the moments of my life are performed before me as I struggle to grasp them.  Snapshots in my mind play out – if I am still enough to capture them.  Yet I am not usually still.  I spend less and less time here in this spot and somehow, I am sure that I am missing it all.  Someone please tell me it is not too late…not too late to sit here quietly, smiling, holding on to these three.  For in this spot – this quiet, comfortable, ordinary spot, I have experienced more life than I have ever before and wonder if I will ever again.