this kid reads too much too fast.

he can almost beat me at chess (not really hard to do, but, still).

he can tell a story that will last for hours.

his lake green eyes, they kill me.

this kid is really in to sneaking up and giving hugs.

he is an amazing creator using the most mundane of things.

he also has more energy than a busload of people combined.

i love his freckles now, tiny, before they grow along with his skin.

this kid no longer wears diapers.

she uses words like “handsome” and most days she asks me to teach her to read.

her lips are really that red, but her bangs are short because she likes to cut stuff.

she’s usually the first person i see when i wake up, and she’s so happy when she wakes me up that i feel happy, too.

spending a lot of time working in the house, reading roald dahl, making new stuff for the indie craft parade (using my sewing machine! crepe paper! fringing scissors!), eating tomatoes and scads of blueberries, watching the kids grow strong and beautiful.

did you know that summer will be over in a wink?

i’m not a big party goer. we have kids, we party with them, or we tuck their little heads in bed and have little parties of two. if you don’t have kids you’ll understand this if you ever do have kids. it could be that we aren’t all that interesting when at parties, that we are now tired  and dull and probably a little nerdy. but i also think that the kidless people don’t always know what to do with kids, that their houses are usually not prepared for the energy and obliviousness of kids, so after you have kids (in addition to becoming tired and dull and nerdy) you may gradually stop getting invited to parties until all of your friends become tired, dull nerds and also have energetic and oblivious kids of their own. it’s understandable and i’ve not shed any tears over it, so an influx of party invitations are not necessary, just so you know.

we recently went to a party for an old friend. we took the kids. there were cowboy costumes and bb guns, why not? we had a big time and ate chocolate cake. the kids came home and convinced ernie to give them bb guns for their birthdays. every day since the party they ask if the bb guns will come in mail. we haven’t ordered them yet and they still ask. soon. i am a little anxious (possibly a side effect of my dull nerdiness) about having them as there was a little incident involving cory getting shot in the chest (!) by an oblivious kid of mine that i didn’t hear about until the next day. but ernie says it will be fine, it will be great, that i will see, that going to a party with the kids even though we rarely go to parties isn’t going to lead to any shooting out of eyes or the shooting of neighborly cats and squirrels.

this is a boy who is six and several days more. a boy that is all that six should be. he makes me laugh every day and amazes us with his wit and perception. who will he become? a question that both fills me with happiness and terrifies me. who will you become, jude?

when he was born he was early and tiny and we were full of fear (though we feebly fought for peace and faith) for what might become of him. but he was perfect, blond hair that curled around his beautiful face. his hair doesn’t curl anymore, a grievous loss as the curls were a glowing sight to be sure, his face full of freckles and mischief, six indeed.

thank you God, for the gift that is jude, for holding him in your hands, for giving him to me to love.

this is a child who is eight. my child who is eight just today. my favorite eight year old, and a handsome eight, at that.

when i first became a mother, he was right there with me, a strong and beautiful baby with black blue eyes that just ate me up. now he’s ever more strong and beautiful. and those eyes, green now, deep ponds of a green and gold forever. a brilliant child, imagination and energy abounding, sweet and real and all that eight should be.

thank you God for henry, for what he is and is becoming, for giving him to me to love.

jude likes to bring me gifts from the world, pieces of flowers, a stick, the shell of an acorn. he tenderly gives them to me and it means love, love for me and for the small and the beautiful. this week the gift was labeled so that no one would think the leaves were not for me. this is the kind of thing i file away in my heart and surround with a barbed fence so that no one will think they can just walk in and pilfer anything away.

the maple tree in the back is full and new and green. it’s arms reach over the yard and there are shady places already, all throughout the day, shade in patches that move over the grass in the sunlight.

there is dog news: max is tired and sad tonight, spending the day at the vet having his surgery. i fret over him like a mother.

big dad’s dog has found a new home, hopefully a better home than this one. she was too big for the yard, for big daddy, unwieldy and wild, too rough with the kids, too much for everyone. goodbye to kahlil. your soft ears will be remembered, your howling in the middle of the night is forgiven even now as the quiet surrounds the house like a silk fog.

today there should be a duet, and last wednesday, and the wednesday before that. life things just kind of got in the way. i think we’ll have one this week, though, but i am not a good one for blogging promises.

i found this dark scene in lola’s little kitchen area: babies for dinner, served by big bird. these babies came from the dime store and i believe are intended for cake decorations. she was smitten with them and i think that six babies were 69 cents, so i just couldn’t say no. that’s really cheap for a baby, and we should know. did you know that lola was $18,000 when she was born?

bees, max chasing them over the grass, a few in the studio i shoo through the door and out into the blue.

lola, a golden lola, she still tries to run on tiptoe to catch birds for pets, birds for a cage in the sunny living room, for singing alongside while looking closely at the feathers. she never stops talking. she asks if the day is beautiful. she is tall now, long in the leg and barely anything of a baby.

jude, the freckled little boy, full of love for me. a boy almost six has a lot of mother-love that comes out at the most important of times. he is funny, quietly funny, the kind of funny that is nearly dangerous. he remembers everything. he asks the impossible. he is impossible.

henry, strong and so old now. it won’t be too long until he is taller than me. his conversation is more sophisticated than before. every night, when i turn off his lamp and he’s sprawled out in a pile of blankets and legos and books, i am sick at how much i don’t remember.

these are days that i wing and gather. i wish i were more observant. i wish that when i noticed what should be done that i didn’t blow it the next day, the next instant. i wish that i could slow down and not think about how long it takes to do the most mundane tasks anymore. i don’t know how to do this, my mind whisking over all of the stupid work i think has to be done, all of the things that these little children are standing in front of, sprinkling with crumbs, dragging through the mud and back into the house again. i would work at this if i knew where to begin. it’s hard to stop, to know how to let some things go and how to hold those other things tight in a fist in your pocket.

we had our first experience with kids and doctor-necessary injuries yesterday afternoon. i wish i hadn’t seen it, but i did. henry doing amazing four wheeling tricks with speed down the hill, jude running alongside, the pup and lola at my side. then a slow-motion crash over the handlebars and onto his chin on the pavement. thankfully granddad is here, always here when we need stitching (last time it was my hand, cat food can), his skills at stitching the face coming in most handy yesterday, on the kitchen counter, dinner on the stove (a pic of this can be seen on ernie’s blog). granddad was here, ernie’s EMT cousin was around the corner with his emergency bag of supplies. henry only busted open his chin and only needed eight stitches (which should provide him with a handsome scar) when there could have been a broken nose, broken permanent teeth, a broken bloody jag across the middle of his face.

it’s really easy for me to sing the doxology and not listen to any of the words or think anything about it at all. but today i know that God is always good to us, we have handfuls of blessings for which we are thankful, and that every so often we really see that he loves us, little sparrows that we are.

saturdays, easy and free. i hate the grocery store on saturdays, but somehow, today, it wasn’t too bad. later there was pizza and lots if olive oil, a pretty loaf of bread and the sounds of laughter from the kids in the gathering room.

saturday nights, sleepy and slow. henry in his bed reading books, drifts away into stars and dreaming. jude in his bed, sprawled out, mouth agape, his early morning a mere blink away. lola in her pajamas, curling hair on the pillow, covers kicked away, the world hers for the taking.