My side of the family was together in Florida last month for my sister’s wedding. Here is our family picture taken by my sister’s wedding photographer:
All of us together! Doesn’t happen very often, so it’s certainly worth noting!
The photographer, Erin Nicole, did a great job! Check out more of her pictures at her website here.
I’m not sure what spawned all the talk about death and heaven, but naturally for these discussions, Mara picked the day when Daniel almost called out of work because I have been so sick. Maybe she was worried after overhearing our conversation that I might not make it.
It always goes this way for me: moderate cold turns into terrible cough, sleepless nights, no voice. . . If I do talk, my cough is much worse. Laying down makes it worse, and basically unless there is warm liquid on my throat, I am coughing incessantly. So I drink soup and hot tea, recline on the hugest pile of pillows I can assemble, and pray for either sleep–or morning–to come quickly. Sometimes I cough for weeks before it goes away. Sometimes it turns into bronchitis or a sinus infection.
Of course, use of medications, even over-the-counter, is limited while breastfeeding, but I finally broke down and took Sudafed Saturday night when my ear and all the way down my jaw hurt so badly I thought we were going to have to drive to the nearest Minute Clinic as soon as they opened on Sunday.
Anyway, Daniel and I had a lengthy conversation Monday morning over whether he should stay home to help with the kids or not.
I was conflicted: Part of me thought that it’s pretty crazy to make my husband call out of work, because I’m sick, so he has to watch the kids. I mean, you just gut it out. There are hard days.
But then, I have had little to no sleep since Friday. I’m coughing all night long and most of the day. I do want to recover. But it’s impossible to “not talk” with three kids, three and under. You are constantly instructing or correcting or answering questions or mediating. . . And then to that, add Mara’s vociferousness.
First, she told me that Tosta and Donna Eiselind are dead. . . Wow, she killed off her imaginary sisters! That’s an interesting twist. Hmmm. I’ll be curious to see if they are still dead tomorrow. A lot of her story-lines carry on for days, but this one seems so. . . irreversible.
Then I wondered, Does she even know what “dead” means?
Who’s to say?
In any case, she started asking questions about heaven:
“How will we get up to heaven, Mom? Because the sky is really high!”
“What are we going to do in heaven?” [We will get to see Jesus and God. We will worship God.]
“How long will we stay there?” [Forever.]
“Oh.” She looked disappointed, as if maybe that interfered with her other plans. “Because I really wanted to be with my family.”
“Will our whole family there? Will Daddy be there? Will Micah? and Carissa?”
“Will you? Because I want to be with my Mommy!”
“Will Grandma Bunton be there? Because I want to see her too.”
She doesn’t really understand yet. . .
Tonight as I shared her questions with Daniel we were reminded again to earnestly pray for our little ones that the eyes of their hearts will be opened; that God will reveal Himself to them and draw them to Himself; and that they will accept the forgiveness Christ offers as they trust in His work on the cross to pay for their sin.
Because we really want to see them in heaven too!
Last night I was getting ready for bed when I noticed the curtains around the air conditioner were sopping wet, and water was dripping down the sill into a tote in which I was packing away some winter sweaters and skirts.
I was quite irked that the curtains and some of the clothes (dry clean only) were wet, but I was thankful that I found it right away.
Of course, after I threw the clothes in the laundry and laid the curtains out to dry, I had to figure out what had gone wrong, so I pulled a towel that we keep under the air conditioner (to reduce the potential that bugs could crawl in). When I pulled that towel away from the air conditioner, feathers flew out at me! Not what I was expecting. Then some dried grass and a cellophane wrapper.
By now, you’re probably thinking what I was thinking: how in the world did a bird build her nest under there? But sure enough, it was there.
I was a little creeped out by the thought of these nasty city birds sleeping that close to me every night, without my noticing. And then I remembered several weeks back, telling Daniel, as we drifted off, that it sounded like the birds were right outside the window. He said, Well, they are–the tree is right there. And I said, No, I mean, it sounds like they are in our house!
Now I had to find out. I grabbed a hanger and scooted the nest out from under the air conditioner. I had to get Daniel to open the window–I was afraid the air conditioner would fall out the second-story window if I tried it.
Sad to say, it was a birds nest, and the baby birds didn’t make it. 🙁 Those who know me won’t be surprised I was pitying the baby birds. Although now that I look down on the floor next to my bed, I see another feather the vacuum missed . . . Every additional feather I find reduces my pity quotient.
Hold on, while I throw this feather in the trash . . .
So if you come over today, this explains why you’ll see curtains and my winter clothes spread around the living room to dry.
[In addition to the regular laundry that I’ve been attempting to fold.]
I have a love/hate relationship with the book Love You Forever.
I wasn’t familiar with this book before having children, but it was listed fourth on the 2001 Publishers Weekly All-Time Best selling Children’s Books list for paperbacks at 6.97 million copies (this doesn’t include the 1 million hardcover copies).
Amazon.com describes the book this way:
The mother sings to her sleeping baby: “I’ll love you forever / I’ll like you for always / As long as I’m living / My baby you’ll be.” She still sings the same song when her baby has turned into a fractious 2-year-old, a slovenly 9-year-old, and then a raucous teen. So far so ordinary–but this is one persistent lady. When her son grows up and leaves home, she takes to driving across town with a ladder on the car roof, climbing through her grown son’s window, and rocking the sleeping man in the same way. Then, inevitably, the day comes when she’s too old and sick to hold him, and the roles are at last reversed.
So: The part I “hate” about this book is the psycho mom “driving across town with a ladder on the car roof, climbing through the window, and rocking the sleeping man.”
I’m imagining here: My mother-in-law lives across town from her grown son, and if she ever did that even once (and, of course, I want to be perfectly clear: she wouldn’t!–I’m just sayin’), my husband would be getting a restraining order!
To me, this segment of the book crosses the line of endearing and borders on the insane. I mean, there are places for people like that. While you read the book, you have to wonder if the son doesn’t turn out “fractious”, “slovenly,” and “raucous” because of the mom who coddles him all his life!
Then there’s the part I love, which I suppose all mothers can relate to on some level. The truth is I can’t even read this book without getting teary at the end, when the son comes back to hold his aging mother and sing her the same song she sang to him all those years.
My son Micah turned two years old today.
He’s been sick and grumpy all week (I would be grumpy too if my eyes were alternately oozing–or glued shut). We’ve all been sick. I’ve been sick and incredibly tired. We haven’t gone out much with everyone sick, so it seems like Micah’s been getting into everything. He’s also been more demanding–even defiant this week, which is wearisome.
This morning, for example, we already had three little episodes before 9 AM. It was quiet for a minute, which of course left me wondering, “What is he doing?”
Just then I saw him pull Love You Forever off the shelf and walk toward me, holding the book up over his face where I could see the title.
“Couch?” he called. “Couch?” (His way of saying: “Come sit on the couch and read it to me!”)
I couldn’t resist. He needs more one-on-one time time, I thought. I had verbally edited this book when I read it to Mara, and as I sat down to read it to Micah for the first time, I was wondering which parts I should leave out for him.
As usual, on the very first page, I was drawn personally into the story, reminiscing about the time, just two short years ago, when Micah was my new (very little) baby.
I snuggled him on the couch while I read: “A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang: ‘I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.'”
I turned the page. The picture there showed a little boy with a big smile, sitting in a bathroom, unrolling the toilet paper, pulling off sections and throwing them in the toilet.
Largely oblivious to the picture, I continued reading, struck by the parallel to my son’s current stage of life, as I read: “The baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was two years old, and he ran all around the house. . .”
At this point, my two-year-old had a huge–majorly huge–mischievous grin on his face. So much so, that I was nearly convinced he believed this book was written either about–or for–him! Before I could answer my own question of which parts of the story I shouldn’t read to this child (he certainly doesn’t need any more ideas!), Micah hurled himself off the couch, and announced, “Theeeee End!”
As he scampered off, I looked back down at the book: “. . . Sometimes his mother would say, ‘This kid is driving me CRAZY!’ But at night time when that two-year-old was quiet, she opened the door to his room . . . [and] sang . . . ‘I’ll love you forever. . .'”
Again, with the tears. I just can’t read stuff like this!
I’ll love you forever, Mic, I thought.
I know. I’m pathetic.
And I don’t know why I was surprised less than an hour later when I found him–yes, my two-year-old–standing at the toilet, the paper unrolled on the floor, throwing pieces in, and flushing over and over and over and over. Did I mention he kept flushing?. . . In retrospect, I’m sure that must have looked really fun in the book! (Add “Tacitly encourages aberrant behavior” to my “hate” column.)
What was I thinking reading that book to him?
But tonight. . .
. . . when my two-year-old birthday boy was quiet, I opened the door to his room. . .
‘I’ll love you forever,’ Micah!
Happy 2nd Birthday!
