On the good things in life

My life is made good by the little moments

the closeness of my children and the nonsense we whisper in the early minutes before we're late for anything

the weight and warmth of the Bug in my lap, the softness of the yarn, the smoothness of the needles

laying in the floor with my Leaves, making anything we imagine with tiny interlocking bricks

the sound of singing from the shower

the sound of a light saber always

fingers in the flour and sugar, sampling each ingredient as it is made into something altogether different

soft curly hair sliding through my fingers into long braids

a nose being wiggled against mine

tiny popsicle toes tucked between my feet to warm them

love.

On the Best of the Bug

These are some of the reasons I think Cora is great:

She likes to curl up in my lap and knit.

She named her stuffed elephant "Fallulah Jones."

She is a strong little girl, handling more than most children with more grace than most adults.

She is inclusive.

She named her stuffed red panda "Sadie M'lady."

She is almost always smiling and singing.

She will do anything for a laugh.

She named her stuffed chihuahua "Ferocious."

She gladly plays Pokemon, and Star Wars, and whatever else Levi asks her to.

She loves animals and is always gentle with them.

She believes that God heals her every scrape and that He is healing her every day.

She dances.

She knows what she wants and has no problem asking for it.

She is beautiful.

She loves.

On the most influential woman in my life

When my daughter was 8 months old, she was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis. On the ride from the specialist's office in Atlanta to my parents' house, I called my mother to let her know. I don't remember the words I used, just that she had to decipher them through my sobbing. When we arrived at her house, she was in the driveway, watering her rosebushes. This image will stick with me for the rest of my life. I was certain before that second that my world had turned upside down and that everything I believed before that time had become untrue. But my mom was watering the rosebushes. Because they would bloom again. They would grow taller and fuller, there would be buds, and later beautiful, fragrant blossoms.

I never saw her cry about the diagnosis. I know that there were many tears shed, I also know that I didn't see them. Her strength empowered me to stand. I was raised by a strong, godly, powerful woman, and some of that must be in my bones, too. I see in her both soft femininity and resolute strength. And that's who I will be.

On the elegance of the Bug

My daughter loves bananas. I like that they come in their own wrappers. They require no preparation on my part before being consumed. How convenient.

But Cora does not like to eat them this way. Instead, she unwraps them, slices them, places the slices in a bowl, and eats them with a fork. How elegant.

On a messy house

I am a good mom. I know this because my house is a disaster.

Every pile of clean, folded laundry that never made it to the drawer is evidence of snuggles on the couch.

Every dirty dish left in the sink is proof that I chose to be a mom instead of a maid.

Every toy, book, or whatever out of place and on the floor (being stepped over a million times) represents time spent playing or reading instead of tidying.

Every mess is proof that I have given my "best" to my kids and saved my "what's left" for housework.

On staying young

Tonight we were watching the new version of "The Karate Kid." While being dropped off for his first day of school, the kid's mother says "I love you," and the kid acts embarrassed.

Levi: (incredulously) Why is that embarrassing? It's his mom. We tell each other "I love you" in public all the time.

I am not at all anxious for my boy to grow up. He still thinks I'm amazing, and pretty, and "the best mommy ever," and he doesn't hesitate to tell me so. I hope that even after my many faults are made evident to him, I'll still be his "tiny little mommy," and that I'll manage to somehow make it through his adolescence without too much embarrassing, emotional damage.

On winning literature

Each week, the first graders in Mrs. Guy's class write a few sentences about an animal. Last week, Levi's story was chosen by his teacher as the best in the class. Here it is:

The frightened pig was about to be cooked at the farm. The pig was very scared. He ran away. Why did he run away? He was about to be cooked into bacon!

This story is a) amazing and b) makes me wonder if the choice to remove meat from my son's diet influenced his narrative. It does seem as though he is in favor of sparing the pig and forgoing the bacon. (Although our vegetarianism has never been about animal rights) No matter the inspiration, I am super proud of my gifted and talented boy and his incredible creativity.