The last single digit..

 Miss Norah,

The day is almost near. It's a day you've been waiting for somewhat patiently for months. Your birthday. Again. Didn't you just have one? And must you keep reminding me that you are turning nine?

Nine. My baby girl, my unexpected sunshine, is on the verge of her last single-digit birthday. You won't stop reminding me. I can't believe I've been a mom this long. 

The last year has been a year of growth in many ways. You seem so much taller, your hair thicker, darker, straighter. You're less baby-faced and more muscular. You're so strong, physically, mentally, and emotionally. You have faced your biggest academic struggles head on and threw down the walls of your heart in order to conquer them. 

You are such a compassionate little sister to both of your brothers. When someone picks on one, you stand by his side. You know how to calm him, reach him, and understand him, when sometimes even I don't. You are one of his safest spaces, even if some days you do more fighting than laughing. You have such forgiveness in your heart for when you are wronged. 

You know how to pester your oldest brother in a way that's filled with love, and the two of you have such a great relationship in that way. You stand up for him, but also to him when necessary, and you keep each other accountable. 

The three of you are a beautiful team. You've begun to grow in your communication skills, relating, and friendship, just as you've been growing in your capacity to irritate each other. Clearly, God made you to be a unit. 

Your almost nine years of experience living through hard situations alongside your brothers and I has helped you to be such a kind cousin and friend. 

Every one of the cousins you spend time with adores you for various reasons. You may be older than all but one of them, but you love each of them well for who they are, and you can tell how much they appreciate who you are. I adore watching you play together. I love that your cousins are some of your best friends. 

Your friends are so blessed as well. You have friends of all different ages, races, backgrounds, and abilities, and you treat each one with value and respect. Your experiences with your brothers have shaped your compassion and empathy and ability to embrace and cherish other kids who are neurodivergent which is something that the world needs more of and I am certain you are lighting the way for others around you. 

I love your heart for the suffering of others. When we see people on street corners holding up signs, you always want to help. Tonight, when we watched "the Hunchback of Notre Dame " you were filled with tears in the first few minutes as your heart broke for the injustice and suffering of one person cast out from the world. You spent most of the movie voicing how unkind people were and how unfair it was, because Quasimodo was beautiful to you with his cute, misshapen face. Your heart hurts for the hurting and you are not too proud to say so. I love watching you come alongside those who may be struggling, overlooked, or feel broken. 

This past year has been surreal in the way that you have become my little friend, not only my daughter. Sometimes, that's hard for you, when I have to parent in ways you don't appreciate, but as I have reminded, I'll always be your mom first, and friend second. But the development of our friendship has been such a blessing to both of us. I love sitting in the car with you to run errands as we laugh hysterically about something silly we said, or thought the other said, or a funny comment on the radio. We share similar interests in crafting and smoothies and have had many a date just the two of us when the boys turn us down. It's been a true delight. 

As you continue to mature, you continue to develop your own brand of sass and stubbornness, which while appreciated in some ways like in knowing you'll be able to stand your ground when you need to in years to come, and you won't just let others push you over and trample you, it has also been a bit of a struggle for me, learning to grow and figure out how to walk through it with you. In so many ways, I've found you are not like your brothers, and the things in little girl world are complex and deep many times. The one perk to going through these developments with you is that I too was a young girl once, so I relate just a little more than I do to some of the boys similar, but differing struggles. I have had to tell them that I was never a young boy, so sometimes I may need more clarity and understanding to know what is going on in their hearts and minds. 

Pip, I pray that this next year is absolutely splendid. I pray that it's filled with so much emotional rainbows and sunshine that you can hardly stand it. I pray that you can look back and see how far you've come in overcoming things in the past, and it gives you fortitude and courage for the future. 

I pray that your friendships continue to strengthen, despite the way young girl friendships ebb and flow, bend and break but then reform again, coming and going much like a tide. In the same way, I pray that those dearest friendships remain constant, also like the tide. 

I pray that you continue to see your inner and outer beauty in a world full of mirrors that are filtered to bring you down. I pray you see through that and only hold onto the mirrors that show the truth, and that builds you up. I pray I've done a good enough job filling your emotional storehouse of self-worth that you will never, ever believe you are anything less than beautiful and worthy. 

I pray the cats accidentally scratch you less and snuggle you more. I pray they really do eventually want to take pictures with you like you want to take pictures with them. 

I pray that as you and your brothers approach big years of growth, you remember who you all are deep down inside, and you can approach each other with mercy and endless grace. 

I pray that you hear the truth Jesus has spoken about you, and you hear his whispers regularly. 

Baby girl, not so much a baby, but yet, always my baby, 

I love you. 

You love me more...

But as I've told you, that's not possible. 

Happy birthday, Norah B. 

Love,

Momma

Our first dozen years.

 Dearest Spencer,

Is it true? It this really your last year before becoming an official teenager?  It doesn’t seem real at all, but the calendar and your height tell me it has to be reality.

You are awesome.  I hope you know that.  Deep in your heart, I hope you believe it, because it’s absolutely true.

I know that you struggle with feeling your value and seeing your worth sometimes.  We all do, really.  But Spencer, there are so many ways that you exhibit what an amazing human you are.  You notice people that others may overlook, and you are so kind to them.  You do little favors for people, or offer kindness in ways of help or gifts, even though you don’t think anyone’s watching.  So many times, I’ve heard about it, and you’ve always just shrugged, because to you, it wasn’t a big deal.  To them- it was huge.  You make a lasting impact in a positive way even when you’re not aiming to do so.  This happens more often than you’d think, and it makes my heart so very happy when I hear these things.  You make me so proud.

This year has been messy, as we have noticed almost every year is in some way, but overall, it’s been a good year.  With your maturity, we have been able to relate on deeper levels, and your sense of humor aligns even more with mine than ever before.  I have loved mornings and afternoons when it’s just us in the car and we can chat and joke around together.  You’re so quick witted, which shouldn’t be surprising to me, but somehow, you still find a way to catch me off guard.  I also find joy in taking selfies with you to commemorate our silly conversations, and secretly, have saved most of them in my phone.  Now you know.  I love when we have time some weeks to have special secret coffee and donut breakfasts before school and how it was a beautiful transition from the loss of lunches together in elementary school.

You’re a brilliant mind, kiddo.  I know that the transition into middle school is a little rough with new and heavier expectations, but I really believe that you will grow to love it more and more, and continue to meet people who you relate to and build lasting friendships with.  I’m so excited to see what your future holds academically.  I know I’ve told you in the past that I was smart and got great grades in school, and I like to think you get a lot of that from me, but I really can’t wait to see your potential unleashed because I can see that my ceiling will be your floor and you will accomplish so many great things in your life.  It’s interesting to me to listen to how your mind processes things, and it astounds me to see the ease at which you pick up on new skills and talents. 

 I love listening to you play the piano, guitar, and viola (although I would prefer it wasn’t at the exact moment I ask you to get into bed at night).  I love singing along to the radio with you, in harmony, and in unison, sometimes making up our own lyrics or discussing ones we have heard and what they mean.   I can’t wait to hear the melodies you produce throughout your life.  Your story will be a song.. I feel it.

One thing that has happened in the last year that totally surprised me, and in a great way, was to see your love for younger kids burst open wide.  It’s a bittersweet thing to not have you at the daycare where I work anymore, because you’re “too old” as you began making so many friends with the toddlers and preschoolers and I could see them light a spark of joy in you that was new and exciting.  I’m so thankful that you have younger cousins in your life that and that joy can continue sparking into brighter flames.

You’re a fierce protector of those you love, even if sometimes, like your siblings, or your mom, they also can irritate you.  When you feel someone is being wronged, you are there to stand for what is right, and I am so proud of you for that.

I could go on and on about how many wonderful things I see in you, but I also know that you’re probably blushing and feeling awkward at this point and wishing that I would stop.  So, I will continue to try and sprinkle these truths around for you in our regular day to day lives and just pray you pick up on them.

Speaking of prayers, I want you to know that I’m still praying fervently for you to feel your value and your worth, and that all the lies you have believed of your self based on former life circumstances, trauma, or words from others fall away.  They are nothing but lies, and you are perfectly made as you are.  I pray that you’ll feel yourself fitting in, not just as a part of our family unit, but as an individual, in places and groups around you.  I pray that your kind heart continues to grow and your light continues to shine, because there’s a beacon inside of you buddy, I can see it.  I pray that you laugh more than ever before, find so much joy in all circumstances, latch onto the perseverance that is inside of you, and carry on with bravery as you always have.  I pray that the struggles you find yourself facing are overcome and you feel stronger on the other side.  

I pray you know I’m always for you, never against you, and never going anywhere.  I’ll always be right here with my arms waiting to hug you, my ears waiting to hear you, and my heart loving you continuously.  Sappy, I know, but as you know, that’s who I am.

So, my dear boy, the one who is continuing to teach me how to be a mother, testing the boundaries and shaping my heart, I am so thankful that God chose us to figure out this life together.  We were made for each other, and as I told you just the other day, I have wanted you since I was a girl your age-  and I prayed that someday God would bring you into my life.  I am so incredibly thankful that he did.

Love you always, no matter what…

Mom (Bruh.)

And a decade has passed us...

My dearest Collin Liam,

Ten years ago today, I was almost two full weeks past my due date in my pregnancy with you.  I had tried quite literally everything I could think of to coax you out into this world, and you were content as could be staying where you were.

Some things haven’t changed much in ten years.

You still want to come along on your own time.  You still maybe are a little bit pokey sometimes.  You still don’t want to be without your momma for very long.  In fact, you’ve told me you want to live with me until you’re older than 50.  You are still almost always moving, bouncing around, making noise.

Lots of things have changed though.  Your birthmark has gotten barely lighter but oh so much bigger.  Your hair is long and a little unkempt most days.  You have gotten so much taller, too.

This year, I’ll keep it short and sweet, because I have noticed lately you stop paying attention if I start getting too long winded.

Ollie Bear, I am proud of you.  You’ve grown tremendously with your emotional and spacial awareness.  You are learning to take pause when you’re becoming overwhelmed.  

You have become so brave.  You are so kind, especially to little children and those much older than you.  You are incredibly smart, which we always knew, but have begun to focus even more in school and allow others to really see it too. You are wildly creative, especially in your play.  I have loved watching you develop a deep friendship with your sister, and listening to the two of you play dinosaurs is so much fun.  You have become quite an innovative problem solver, and increased in your scavenging skills, both outside and in our own cupboards.  

I pray this year is filled with goodness beyond your wildest dreams. I pray you see the gold in yourself as others around you see it within you.  I pray that you continue to be in touch with your beautiful, caring heart, and that patience and wisdom in tough circumstances continues to develop.  I pray that you see your own prayers answered right before your eyes.  I pray that you develop deep, lasting friendships.  I pray that you never have a single day without a hug.

In the morning, shortly after midnight actually, you will be one full decade old.  I can hardly believe it.   Like is still the case, the night you were born, you decided you were ready to meet us and you came quickly and dramatically, as you often do when you’re ready to be somewhere or doing something now.  You snuggled right up to me, like you still do, ten years later.  You’ve loved hugs every day of those ten years, you know.

I’m so thankful you are mine, Mister Man.  

You’re one of the best things that ever happened to me and I’m so glad you’re mine.

Love you, always and forever,

Mom

Aching elementary hearts

 This morning in our home, today began like most mornings over the last nine months have- a flurry of alarm clocks, sock hunts, lunch making, shirt turning inside-out-ing, backpack filling, shoe finding, five minute reminder chaotic filled moments. We made a special trip for "last day of the school year donuts" on the way to yet another traffic jammed elementary school drop-off lane commute. 

"Have a great last day of school! I love you!" I called to each of my three kiddos as they jumped out of the van and scurried off for the school doors. 

Yesterday, my fifth grader gave me permission to cry if I needed as I embraced the sentiment of the day. As I drove away, I did just that.

I have spent the majority of the past six years' mornings in that drop-off lane, calling out to one, then two, then three kiddos as they left my presence each morning. I've watched scrawny little wide-eyed, nervous and excited kids grow into bigger, more confident, wise, hilarious, and sometimes awkward kids. 

I have had six years worth of first day of school teary drop-offs and now six years of last day of school teary pick-ups. 

This afternoon was different. I surprised my kids at the school picking them up again this year, and each one greeted me with tears falling down their cheeks, as usual for the day. But this year, the tears had a little more depth to them as we all realized the end of an era has come. 

The big brother of the trio finished elementary school today. Overcome with emotions, he made his way to me, walking alongside one of the counselors who has helped him grow so these years, and immediately found solace in my arms. I held him while he cried and told me how it was hard to say goodbye, so difficult to be done with the hallways and classrooms of the building, and so sad to say goodbye to almost every other fifth grader, as he would not be attending the same middle school as they would. He told me how much he was going to miss his teacher and so many other teachers and staff in the building. He found himself embraced in hugs from his siblings and from some staff, and waved teary goodbyes to many others. I reminded him that he may still see some of them around the city, and again in early mornings next year as he waited for his bus transport to middle school each day. He reminded me gently that "that's not the same." I acknowledge the truth as well and held his hand as we walked onward. 

His siblings, also saddened by the see you later the end of the year brings, cried over having to part with teachers they loved, and knowing it would be a shorto before they'd see many of their classmates again. But this year, they cried alongside their brother as the reality that he wouldn't be in their school next year sunk in. They cried over surprise encounters and hugs in the hallway they would no longer have. They remarked on the sadness knowing they would be across town. They all hugged each other a while, before walking silently down the sidewalk to our van. 

We celebrated with a treat after school as we usually do, and then came home to unwind. They all fell asleep quickly after mentioning in an upbeat fashion that it's now summer break and that it is exciting. 

As they fell asleep in their room, I laid in my own, tears streaming yet again as I process the events of today. My heart swells with pride in bittersweet moments where they huddle together to embrace memories they have shared and anticipation of change. 

My heart aches as I remember all the years that have gone by, and feeling like somehow time cheated us all. We spend so much of our days going from one thing to the next and planning for things to begin and subsequently end, looking at the clock and the calendar and cramming as much as we can into our lives, day in and day out. The past few years have brought a bit of reprieve from that way of life and have made way for evaluation and reset, but still, so many days pass us by in old fashion. 

Tonight, I realized my oldest is nob longer an elementary student. He is nearly 12. Most of my years with him in my home may have already gone by. Most of my summers spent making memories with all three have likely passed us by. We are holding onto final years, weeks, and days together, and we will never get them back again. I find myself holding my breath as I write those words, knowing that I need to embrace that reality and make our time count. I know the risk of complacency and the ease at which we can take our time for granted. In the uncertain world we find ourselves in, I tell myself that cannot be good enough. I have to do better. 

I pray for the strength, the resilience, the persistence, determination, resolve, grace, wisdom, and mercy to truly value our days together while my children are young. I pray I am not so easily distracted or frustrated and able to be more present. I pray that even amidst preteen and teenage drama and hormones and power struggles and boundary testing, misunderstandings and overwhelming emotions, beautiful relationships continue to flourish. I pray that for every fight there are two loving encounters on the other side. 

Rocky roads may lay ahead in uncertain territory but I believe some of the most wonderful journeys will occur right beside them.

I pray for countless tomorrows in a life we take for granted, with the stark realization from current times that there's no guarantee for any hour past this one. 

One of the things I want most for my life is that my children will look back some day, and despite the countless traumas, trials, struggles and sorrows, they will see me there with them, helping them embrace the beauty and joy in every season. I want their memory banks to be filled in a way that they will never question whether I was there or cared enough. I want them to one day be adults that knew just how fully loved they were in every stage of their childhood. 

Time is already winding down. 

He was my dream come true.

 On August 15, 2006, the sweetest little pup was born alongside a handful of siblings. A few weeks later, I met him, and called him my very own. 

When I was a younger girl, I dreamt of one day having a beagle of my own. I knew that if and when that day would come, I would name him Wendell. 

Wendell Rupert was a belated wedding (he was born ten days after my marriage began) and early birthday gift (he came home shortly before my birthday that year. From the moment I saw him alongside his momma, he had my heart. 

I remember the night I drove him home, as he snuggled up in a blanket, crying softly on occasion, but otherwise sleepy and content. When he came home to our apartment, he was less than thrilled with kennel life, but adjusted nonetheless. 

It wasn't long before Wendell started blessing me with memories. He ate a phone book, and chewed off and ate the corner of my "Complete Works of Shakespeare" one day. 

Another night, when he was still a puppy, I had set a pizza on the counter in the kitchen to cool. Somehow, this little puppy made his way onto the counter and ate half of it.  We learned quickly that Wendell had a vertical jump like none other, and by the time he was full grown, he could reach a treat approximately six feet in the air.  I'm his later years, he once jumped on the kitchen counter while I was at work, opened the cupboard doors, chewed open a bag of sugar, are a bunch of it and spilled the rest. Then, while I was still working, the sugar made him sick, and I came home to regurgitated sugar "pancakes" all over the floor.

Wendell, like many dogs, loved the snow. He would run through snow that was higher than he was and never seemed to grow tired of it. 

He also loved cuddles. His favorite place was in the bend behind my knees if I was laying on my side. He would read his head over my legs and snore away soundly. We spent countless hours like that, and he kept me the most dear company on nights when my former husband was away for work. 

He loved riding in the car, specifically the back window. I always wondered why he preferred that spot. I wonder if it's because he could see so much more from up there.  Occasionally, I would brake, and he would roll down into the seat, come say hello with his tail wagging excitedly, and then hop right back into the window. 

He, as a beagle generally is, was a bit mischievous and also so very smart. He knew the difference between right and left and would high five the correct hand that you would call out. He would sit and shake, jump and even crawl. He would try to fake us out and turn his head really fast when we asked him to roll over, but he couldn't fool us, and eventually would give in and do the trick  He couldn't make up his mind whether he wanted to be inside or outside some days, and I would have to go back and forth and back again trying to help him decide.  One time, I had him hooked up outside in the backyard a while, and then realized he had gotten free. A while later, I received a phone call from someone across town who had found him. "He obeyed the traffic laws and waited to cross the street until it was clear! He even used the cross walk!" The gentleman on the other end of the line, who was keeping him safe in his truck at the hardware store, explained as he called the number on Wendell's tag. 

Wendell was my constant companion, and after a while, we brought home a girl before, Vivian, that we rescued from someone who had not cared for her well. She was super skittish for a long, long time, but Wendell loved her, as did we. Before our children entered our lives, Wendell and Vivian had become parents two separate times. Wendell did good with all of his busy kids, just like he always did with human children in his life when he lived with me.  He really just loved everyone he met. He loved our kitten that lived on the farm with us, too!

Unfortunately, Vivian needed more freedom than we could give her after she had her babies, so she found another family that could provide that for her, and we let her go on and love them. It was one of the hardest decisions I had to make. 

Wendell stayed by my side though. He continued to love me fiercely and well through my first pregnancy. In fact, he loved me so much, he once peed on my leg to mark his territory when we were with a group of family and other dogs. It was so gross, but equally hilarious. 

Wendell was there when we brought home our first son, and loved him instantly. He spent many hours curled up beside the baby, especially if the baby wasn't feeling well. He wouldn't leave his side. As our son grew, they became playmates and partners in mischief. Our son would laugh hysterically as he would hold a piece of his food in his high chair and Wendell would jump up and get it, or he would feed Wendell dog food, piece by piece, and giggle like crazy.  They were best friends. 

My heart broke when we couldn't bring him with us, after having him at my side for six years, as we moved into a larger rental to prepare for the arrival of our second baby. I tried everything I could to find a place that would allow him to come with us. I was eternally grateful that my dad was able to foster Wendell for a while, and I could continue to love having him a part of my family. When my dad also needed to move, a friend of my cousin brought Wendell and his daughter home, and she was able to foster him a while. I was so fortunate to be able to see him still while he lived with them. Because of this friend, my youngest baby, my daughter, was also able to meet Wendell in her lifetime. 

My heart continued to break when life took another turn and the friend could no longer keep Wendell in her home, and without other options, he was surrendered to the humane society. 

My heart began to mend when I learned that a family in the area had found him and brought him home. That would be his final home, where he spent his final seven years. The most wonderful part about his new home, the haven he was blessed with, was that they shared photos and stories of his later years online, so even though I had to let him go, I was still able to see him.  I have been grateful for this family every day since they brought him home. 

One of my life's biggest regrets, although not entirely in my control, was that I was never able to have him come back home to me. It was always my hope and my goal to bring him back home. My own world was falling apart before he was in the humane society, and struggling as a single mom to three kiddos at the time and trying to provide for us just proved to be a little too much and kept me from fulfilling that dream. I have spent countless days and nights crying out in sorrow knowing I failed to see that dream through, still able to feel his presence behind my knees while I laid awake in bed at night. I've spent hours wondering if I broke his heart as much as I broke my own, and wondering if he missed me as much as I missed him. The guilt and remorse was in unbearable for quite some time. 

I have loved Wendell every day since he was born, even when he wasn't at my side. 

The portion of my heart that held him closest shattered this morning when I read that his time on earth had come to and end. He lived a long and beautiful life at nearly sixteen years old. I hadn't been able to hold him in my arms for years, but I have carried him with me always.  I find comfort knowing he lived a long life and provided me with countless memories, but I know I will still shed a few more tears in his honor. 

Rest in Peace, Wendell Rupert. You were my dream come true.