Brilliance

There are times when I look over the pictures I've taken with my boys over the course of a day and I feel completely vacant. What could I possibly write that could capture the brightness of this day? How could I ever put into words the warmness that drizzles over your soul when your son picks a dandelion and holds it in front of your face, in front of his proud, stretched out arm, begging you to act like it is the most brilliant thing you have ever seen? How could I possibly write anything to make that feeling seem more real than actually being there, actually being right here---

That is where we were yesterday. Right there. We were in that sweet, slow spot of life where everything was warmth, everything was brightness. Everything was the most brilliant dandelion I have ever seen.

To put it lightly, we fed the ducks---

We dizzied our eyes with a pinwheel---

We rode a wagon---

And, still, no matter how many times I have seen this face, with this joy, with that gaping larger than life mouth bellowing with excitement, still it amazes me just how purely Bub loves life.

 And what I love just as much as loving Bub love life, is loving Bub love his brother.

What could I possibly write to capture the brightness of this day?

The boys, all bundled in their wagon, the ducks bulging with our stale bread, me with my scarf and aching arms and blistering feet---we went.

And the wagon got heavier and the hills got steeper---

But even as I was panting with sharp, burning, crisps of air scraping the inside of my lungs I couldn't stop thinking; this is one of the coolest things we have ever done.

And when we finally got to a place to catch our breath and unhook our limbs from the wagon and race around against the winter air, there it was again---brothers loving.

It's just two soft palms resting gently on two distraught shoulders. It's just a calm knowing face, but a bigger and taller face, and a face that knows just a little bit more about a few of life's nuances. It's just a warm, breathing weight standing firmly behind a body of sadness saying when you're ok again, I'm still here.

Brothers loving.

These boys, they amaze me.

 

They thrill me.

They warm me.

 They are, without a doubt, the most brilliant thing I have ever seen.

 Finally, with cherry tipped noses dripping like icicles, we said goodbye to this view---

We piled into the wagon---

 

And went home.

At the end of a day like that, when I curl up in bed with Bub after the stories and the good night songs, all I can do is stare at him. I am completely vacant. What could I possibly say to him to make him understand the amazement he brought to my day? What words could ever make these babies understand the brightness of life that they are? There are no words, there are no pictures, there is only the warmness in my soul.

But I know that they know it is there.

Babies, you are the most brilliant thing I have ever seen.


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Happy Thanksgiving

We began our week with a little holiday preparation. Bub and I dabbled around in the kitchen and turned out some pretty delicious cranberry sauce.

The best part was balancing him on my hip and carefully peering into our big, bubbling pot of cranberries, orange juice, and sugar on the stove and waiting in anticipation for one of the cranberries to take the plunge and start bursting open. Slowly the simmer got warmer and more volatile, and as Bub and I stood with such stillness the first cranberry burst. POP. And Bub and I giggled as the other cranberries followed suit. POP---POP---POP. Like bubble wrap, but all out of rhythm, until the popping turned to sizzles and a little draining, and a bit of mashing later----voila, we had cranberry sauce.

Then, mid-week with the cranberry sauce tucked neatly in the fridge and the check lists and countdowns getting slimmer with Thanksgiving Day getting closer---I couldn't stop thinking about what are we thankful for?

But I think a better question is; what aren't we thankful for?

All I have to do is look around our living room, on any evening, for any number of the tender, slow moments in between chaos, dinner, tantrums, clean-up, damage control, bathy time, chaos. Even just one moment, and then I know---what don't we have to be thankful for?

There is this home, with these two boys, and toys dripping and dangling in every nook. There are full bellies and full smiles. There are full blown tantrums with even fuller hugs afterwards. There are beds at night full of warm bodies who have to sleep because their hearts are so full from loving, exploring, looking, breathing, wondering, and being, that it is exhausting.

There is this home, with more love, laughter, understanding, and forgiveness  inside of it than we could ever possibly use up. And we are so, so very full.

This home, with boys of so many sizes, all of them growing, but some of them still squishy enough to lay still for just a little ounce of time to let us love them like the teeny tiny things they once were.

Even though they know just how remarkably they have grown.

Still, we are a lot to handle. Still, we sometimes struggle with speaking softly, or being on time, or being on that same page of life at that same time that makes things go smoothly.

But. We. Are. Full.

We are blessed and we are loved. And what could we possibly not be thankful for.

Especially when even the biggest of babies turn squishy enough to lay still for just a little ounce of time to let us love them like the teeny tiny thing they once were.

Those little ounces of time, that is what we are thankful for. Because they are always there. In every day. Some of them are ridiculously painful, some are trying and agonizing, but some---some are beautiful.

Every ounce, every second, fills us. And we are absoloutely brimming with fullness. We couldn't be more thankful.

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The Whole Day is Going On.

This morning, at exactly 7:34, Bub woke up. At 7:34 Bub saw the brightness of morning sun wrapping its shine through the dark crevices of his room and he knew that behind that curtain, into that light, things were happening. Bub only had one thing to say to about this brightness of morning sun, and he said it as loudly and clearly and often as his little lungs would let him---

"The whole day is going on! The whole day is going on!" 

And in case we doubted him and were going to keep sleeping in disbelief, he toddled into our bedroom to peel back the blinds and show us himself.

"See? The whole day is going on. The whole day!"

Bub was shocked with wonder, like he couldn't possibly believe there was another entire day to enjoy. Another whole day, it was amazing. And from the look on Bub's face there was a whole lot of day going on, and it was a lot to take in.

After we were all up, fed, and dressed, Bub, my little gazer, stood at the front window with his forehead pressed to window screen and window screen pressed to window pane and nothing but one little bit of glass separating his wonder from the world.

And that is a whole lot of wonder.

And a whole lot of world.

We wondered for as long as we could this afternoon, but there is only so much dreaming you can do when the whole day is going on---

---before the wondering gets to be too much to contain and you have to crack open the spaces inside of you that need filling up, and step outside and fill them.

The whole day is going on.  

The whole day.

Luckily, just when we were very nearly drained and bored with the watching of the whole entire day going on and us not doing anything about it, my dad showed up with Lightning Mcqueen, and Bub went out to join the world.

Teebs and I, we stayed behind. We loved each other. Teebs stole my lens cap, with one quick slobbery swipe, and to validate his hearty chuckle and starry eyed stare, I pretended like he had done something really, really ornery. And he ate. it. up. And for Teebs, if that was his whole entire day, he would he happy.

But what I really love about Teebs, is that no happiness is complete until he is really, really close to his mama. But even ornery babies know they could never, ever get as close to their mamas as they need to. So they stick skin to skin, and pinch with their tiny baby pinches, and they claw and climb until they couldn't possibly get any closer. Even ornery babies need their mamas. As close as they can get.

With Bub getting as close as he can to the world, and Teebs getting as close as he can to his mama, that is really almost all I need to make my whole day complete. 

Almost. Throw in some time spent with friends, new and old, and a warm, meandering drive with Tom, and then my whole day is really, really complete.

And I know it's not even Thanksgiving yet, but you don't have to drive very far to see this---

And from the inside of the truck with hats on our heads and the heater making the in-bewteens of our fingers sweat, it's actually really, really gorgeous.

Even when we are just speeding by, with places to be and dinners to eat and Christmas being one of the very last things on our mind, it's still just really nice to know it's out there. Christmas, winter, celebration, tradition, future snow and future ice, the whole day---it's all out there.

And the best part about today, the very best part, is that there is still another whole day going on tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. The whole day is always going to be going on. And for this day, we are thankful we have a little, enthusiastic Bub to peel back the blinds and show it to us.

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Breathing in.

 Saturday was mostly like this---

Subtly saturated with color. A windy stillness. A bursting brightness. Calmness seeping out of everywhere. And what else is there to do on a day like that but go, break out of the house, run, walk, trot, or anything in between, and breath the air outside into the inside of your lungs. We spent the afternoon breathing and bringing the outside into the inside of us. What else is there to do on a day like that---

I may have said we were closing the chapter on the park this year until the seasons churned around to warmer warms and brighter brights. I may have said it was too cold to go to anymore parks, and we may have already said our park goodbyes. Until next year, park, until next year.

But on Saturday? We went to the park.

 Sometimes it's just hard to let go.

We raced to the park like Bub races to the swings when he sees another little boy saddling up with dreams of pumping his legs and soaring to amazing heights. As soon as the only other kid at the park began making a mild meander over to the swing set, Bub snapped with sharp intensity, practically falling over himself to get to the swings first. I think it was more from the panic of missing out on the chance to interact with a new friend than the panic of forfeiting one of the open swings. But we stumbled over ourselves to race to the park with that same fierceness. Drop everything, catapult yourself forward, and go---

But to add some variety, we spiced up our normal park routine with a stroll around the bases. 

And a squat behind home plate to trap some baseball dirt under our fingernails---

And one quick moment for a cheesy, beautiful smile up at mama--

We were bringing the outside into the inside of us, breathing in and capturing.

We were scraping the dirt---

And leaving our mark on the world. Very, very literally.

We were Bub and Teebs and Mama breathing in the park. Marking the world, savoring, dropping everything and catapulting ourselves forward.

We were Bub and Teebs and Mama breathing in everything we could with huge gasps, sucking in and holding all of the goodness. We were just Bub and Teebs and Mama, and just one more afternoon in the park.

And even with brown leaf clumps and windblown locks of tangles, and red cheeks you could practically chip away, we just weren't quite ready to let go of that yet.

Sometimes it's just hard to let go.

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