Thoughts on family life
A friend of mine sent me this picture by photographer Anne Geddes and I couldn’t resist sharing it, in light of yesterday’s post.
I promise I will not put the newborn twins in watermelon rinds.
They aren’t in season yet.
Watermelons, I mean.
I also promise not to use the word watermelon in my next post.
The countdown is on.
11 days to go.
My baby is going to bring not one, but two babies into the world.
The “Pregnancy: What to Expect” app is telling me that a baby is as big as a watermelon at 38 weeks.
What my app doesn’t know is that there are two watermelons inside my daughter.
I carried two watermelons around the grocery store today, just to see.
I didn’t like it.
I hope these two watermelons come soon.
I’m dreaming of “Goodnight Moon” and “God Gave Us You”.
I’m dreaming of a size 12 month coat hanging on the tree with a diaper bag full of stray Cheerios.
I’m dreaming of a basket full of trains and hammers and animals.
I’m dreaming of a big box of teeny tiny books scattered all over a living room.
I’m dreaming of the curly-swirly softness of one year old hair.
I’m dreaming of holding a dimpled hand in the back seat of a Subaru.
I’m dreaming of playing the tickle-my-wiggly-toes game.
I’m dreaming of watching the snow fall out a front door.
I’m dreaming of a Packer-boy sitting on a carpet reading books.
Sometimes dreams come true.
I’ve been spending time with Hudson this week. My grandson will be one year old in a few days. He is the joy of my heart and I am soaking up baby love. My plan was to post lots and lots of pictures of Hud Bud and report on all his antics. I came equipped with a computer and a new iphone. Even so, it didn’t happen and there are three reasons why.
First, I couldn’t take my eyes off the child long enough to grab the camera and shoot. Every magical moment was worth capturing, but I was so captured by him that it seemed almost irreverent to break the spell with a camera.
Second, we were without an internet connection for a few days. It was horrible and wonderful. I missed checking the blog, Facebook, email, news — but there was plenty of time to read “Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?” over and over to a giggling boy. There’s no comparison.
Third, I did try to take some pics, but every one of them is a blur. To be sure, that’s a reflection on my poor photography skills. Hudson, however, did not stay put for a second, ever. We’ll both work on it.
There. Those are all my excuses. And now, here is where my heart is.
As I was scrolling through all those blurry photos on my phone, I thought, “How appropriate.” Life is a blur, isn’t it? Wasn’t I just the one passing dreary winter afternoons with little ones who didn’t take long enough naps? Was it that long ago that I was cutting toast up into tiny bite-sized pieces for the child in the high chair? Has it been years since the smell of fresh-washed babies slathered with Baby Magic filled the air?
Thinking back, I remember feeling utterly overwhelmed one Saturday night. PB and I had gotten four children in and out of the tub — scrubbed, rubbed dry and in their jammies. “And now,” I thought, “I have to trim eighty fingernails and toenails.” Eighty! I didn’t know how I could possibly carry the responsibility of eighty fingers and toes to trim and love and kiss and teach. Somehow we made it. We all survived.
Today I prayed for a moment of clarity in the midst of the motion.
I tip-toed into Hudson’s room and watched his little body breath in and out.
Stillness. Rest. That’s how to stop the blur.
Some years, I find the perfect Christmas gift. Some years, I don’t. I nailed it this year. PB opened the present from me and thought it was some stinky men’s cologne. Without even looking at the bottle, he thanked me and set it down. I smiled and said, “Oh, honey, that’s not men’s cologne. You’d better smell it.” With a curious look he lifted off the top and took a whiff. Immediately, his eyes got a far-away, glazed-over look and somebody said, “What’s wrong with dad?”
Here’s the rest of the story: In 1974, my brother was asked to lead the youth part of a weekend retreat at a church several hours away, so I went along for the ride. The first person I met when we arrived was the pastor’s cute sixteen year old son. In the following 48 hours, we got to know each other and flirted a little bit. Ok, a lot. Even at fourteen, I knew what I wanted in a guy — he had to have a strong faith in God, he had to sing, and he had to be good-looking. Check…..check……check. After the potluck dinner on Sunday afternoon, we exchanged addresses in the fellowship hall and promised to write. (I’m referring here to letters. No email, texts or Facebook chats. Gosh, I feel old suddenly.)
A flurry of mail went back and forth over the next few months. He used his best handwriting. I sprayed my envelopes with Emeraude. Hence, the far-away, glazed-over look this Christmas Eve.
Scent has a powerful connection to memory in our brains. The sense of smell is sometimes called “nasal nostalgia” because we have strong associations of past memories with certain scents. When God gave Moses instructions on building the tabernacle, He included a recipe for incense (Exodus 30:34-38) that was to be used exclusively at the place of worship. Just one whiff of that spicy fragrance, and the Israelites were aware that they were entering the presence of the Lord.
Just one whiff of Emeraude, and PB was back in 1974, falling in love with me.
There are two things I love about this picture.
1. Hudson is reading a book. He is only 8 months old and is already discovering one of life’s greatest pleasures. This is promising — my grandson and I are going to read lots of books together. Plus, I like his little shirt and blue jeans…..and the way his little hands are holding the pages…..and the way he’s unaware of the camera because he’s so interested in the pictures….and the way his little eyelashes catch the sunlight….
2. The other thing I love about this photo is in the background. Hud Bud is sitting on a quilt I made for my daughter when she was in high school. As I stitched away on those pieces of fabric years ago, I had no idea where my girl and her quilt would go. Back then I didn’t know that someday a little boy would be sitting on that quilt reading a book.
Sometimes the past and the present collide right in front of you.
One night last week, PB and I drove out to Devil’s Lake State Park. After a busy day, we like to go to the lake to soak up the natural beauty and unwind. Sometimes we walk around the lake or climb the bluffs, but occasionally we do my personal favorite: sit on a picnic table and look at the water.
That evening, a young family happened to stroll by and PB struck up a friendly conversation. We talked about their dog, a retired racing greyhound. While we chatted, their little girl ran up and down the path and their young son dug in the dirt with a stick. Before they moved on, the mom asked her boy if he was writing his name in the dirt. He replied that he was marking the spot with an X because there was treasure buried there. She smiled at her little guy and then explained to us that he had been leaving X’s all over the park.
The family began to walk toward the parking lot when PB leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Watch this.” Then my hubby took two quarters out of his pocket, placed them on the X and kicked a little dirt over them. “Excuse me!” he called out. “There’s something here!” The boy stopped in his tracks, raced over to the spot and bent down to see if it was true. A look of wonder came over his face as he picked up the coins. He began to jump up and down, shouting, “Treasure! I got treasure!”
I looked over at PB and thought, “I got some treasure, too.”
“He who refreshes others will himself be refreshed.” Proverbs 11:25
A few days ago I took a family history road trip with my sister and my cousin. We went to see the home farm where my grandparents raised three children: my two uncles and my mother. How I wish I could have put on a pair of magic glasses that would have allowed me to see that household in 1931: my mom as a 9 year old playing in the front yard, my uncles as teenagers working in the barn, my grandmother baking bread in the kitchen, my grandfather hitching up the horses….
If these walls could talk…..
would they say…
Your grandpa opened this barn door every morning….
Your mother brought sugar cubes to the horses in this stall….
These hinges would squeak when your uncle opened the stable door….
Bonnie and Bessie nickered at your grandpa when he walked in the barn….
Your mother skipped up these steps to play in the hay mow….
Your Grandpa’s strong hands pulled the door closed and latched the hook….
Your grandmother walked to the milk house with kittens on her heels….
The three kids ran in and out of the house, slamming the “Christian” doors —
the panels created a cross and the bottom represented an open Bible….
Your mother came down this staircase on her wedding day….
That’s what I heard the walls say….
“But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” Luke 2:19
Oh, Mary, I completely understand. These past few weeks, I have been doing a lot of treasuring and pondering. No writing, but lots of treasuring and pondering. I’m finding it hard to put words to it all. Perhaps that’s best — Mary held her remembrances “dear, deep within her heart” both at her son’s birth (Luke 2:19) and twelve years later when she and Joseph found Jesus in the temple (Luke 2:51). I suspect she did a lot of treasuring in between, too. Years later, when Luke was gathering information for his gospel, Mary must have provided him with details of that wondrous night in Bethlehem when she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes. Who else would have been able to describe that event so vividly? As Luke took notes, Mary was able to go deep in her heart to retrieve those precious memories.
Unlike mothers in Biblical times, I have photographs and home videos to pull out when I want to take a walk down memory lane. I have Skype and Instagram and Facebook and a smart phone. But there’s something about those “snapshots” that are embedded in the heart — such riches.
Here are a few recent images I’ve filed away, dear and deep:
My son pledging his life to his beautiful bride and braiding three cords together while wiping sweat from his brow and tears from his eyes.
My older daughter’s rich mellow voice drifting over the ocean breeze, singing a love song with the sweetness of a mother’s lullaby.
My younger daughter reading about the significance of the three strands, her slightly rounded belly holding promise of a soon-to-be family of three.
My younger son standing to toast the groom, stumbling over his words a bit, but sure and strong in his admiration of his big brother.
And of course, Hudson –watching him figure out how to crawl, then chasing him everywhere. Also, his delight in the sound of potato chips crunching in my mouth. I would have eaten a whole bag full of chips just to hear his belly laugh after each munch. Wait, I did eat a whole bag of chips. And it was so worth it.
And my last snapshot: at the end of the festivities and receptions and houseful of family, PB and I reveling in the quiet, looking at each other and saying. “We did it.” So glad it comes back around to just him and me once more.
Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:19-21
a small drop of ink 
