Bring on the Weekend, Bring on the Life

 Little victories this week? They are countless, but among them, Teebs started wearing shoes.

He is a stubborn little man, with toes that like to wriggle freely in air of any temperature. And for the entire 15 months of his life he has kicked and scraped every shoe and sock off of his foot, but for some reason now he has decided they are ok. Only sometimes. Only for little bits of time. But for those tiny slivers of time, they are ok. And that is a little victory.

Last weekend we tried to chase a steamy train for Bub. At the last minute he decided he wasn't afraid of its loud whistle and he needed to see it so we piled into the truck and raced down the highway only to see it as it pulled away, down the track, to another destination.

Bub was still happy. So nothing could stop us from having a quick photo opportunity with Teebs.

Because if there is anything I love, it is oldness and history and small town charm.

And crackled paint and red bricks.

And things that have seen more, and felt more, and been there more, than me.

And what is better than that?

The only thing better than that is all that we have to look forward to this weekend.

We have family and birthday parties and photo shoots and sleepovers.

 We have life to look forward to this weekend. Just like every weekend. And every day.

So happy weekend. Bring on the weekend, and bring on the life. Little victories and big victories, we are ready for more.

We are ready. Bring on the life.

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The Windiest Day on the Farm

This week, in a word, was trying. Trying because it was exhausting, and trying because it felt like life was trying to stomp my spirit into a big flat footprint of squashed dreams. But it didn't succeed, and that is the only part that matters, and there were much more amazing things that happened this week that are more worthy of writing about.

Like on Sunday we spent the windiest day ever out on the farm.

Bub and Teebs, of course, sported their John Deere green shirts and camouflage hats that in the wind made a better kite than a hat.

The wind was so fierce that when I begged Bub to hug Teebs for a cute brotherly photo, he instinctively clung to him as if to keep his cherished little brother from blowing away.

That  brotherly love, it is innate, and it is strong. It is mesmerizing.  Like Teebs examining a robust, prickly pine cone, wondering what could this be.

And not being able to drop the pine cone but finding something else just as mesmerizing and demanding to know "dat! dat!" what is "dat" with his forceful index finger point.

"DAT!" Teebs squawks and points at anything he needs to explore.

DAT!

Teebs loves the farm because in open spaces he can scuttle away much farther to explore before my sharp mommy voice beckons him back.

He loves scuttling. And he loves exploring. And he loves seeing just how much he can get away with.

And I love, how at the end of his scuttle, when he's reached his destination, his deep furrowed brows engulf his face and I don't know if he is criticizing, or wondering, or loving.

I love the mystery of those deep furrowed brows.

Bub was in love with the magic of the wind that day. He lept into the air, again and again, flinging his hat high until the tips of his fingers had to let go and let the wind take over.

He would watch it looping around through the breeze and guffaw his deep, brazen chuckles, leaping through tall grass to catch it and start all over again.

My boys love the farm.

Even on the windiest day.

My favorite picture of the day was standing Bub up against the huge steel shed and trying to coax him to give me a smile, a grin, an artsy little smirk, anything for a picture. And finally I said, "Ok, Bub, put your hands in your pockets."

And there he is. Just my little farm guy with holes in the knees of his jeans and wind blown, tangled hair. Just a boy in his boots hanging out with the dirt and debri on the farm.

Pictures like that make the grueling parts of this week dumb and forgettable. In fact, we're already over it, and I'm pretty convinced that after the worst week ever, this certainly has to be the best weekend ever. And that I think I can handle.

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Happy Early Spring

We know that March is unpredictable, especially in the Midwest. But with the week we just experienced, we can't help but crack open the front door a little and accept the sneezes that come with a beautiful night's sleep with the windows open.

And maybe we did a little more than crack the door open.

Maybe we threw it open. And maybe we ran out into the yard with the wild freedom that comes from our Spring dreams. Because maybe the sun was too bright---

  and our eyes were begging to be blinded by it---

Our week started out rough. But we weren't going to let a few pesky germs defeat us.

So we fought, and came out more energized and optimistic than over. We came out of this week with the sun blinding our eyes. Literally and figuratively. We were blinded with goodness.

And so far, this weekend has been overflowing with that same goodness, as the boys and I spent our day just a few towns away with Tom's sisters. Eating and laughing and sighing at our kids' antics, and of course, I squeezed a few pictures in as well.

Also, in the spirit of sunshine and optimism, the Spring breeze pressing its way through our window screens has ignited my creativity bug---

And while I've never been much of a decorator before, my dreams are taking over. I'm starting out slowly, just a scrappy piece of lace thrown over the kitchen table and some monogrammed pitchers and glasses---

 But that little difference has added so much to our little dining room.

Extra obstacles during dinner, extra cleaning when cereal milk glues the lace to the table, extra answers when Bub demands to know "what is that" and "why."

But totally worth it. And I know it's not that creative, but for me, its a huge step.

A little difference---

And a huge step---

As for March, we are crossing our fingers for "in like a lamb, out like a lamb." Because we are blindly optimistic, lovers of Spring and warmth, and ready, ready, ready to embrace it.

Happy Early Spring.

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Shrugging and Slowing Down: Happy Anniversary

Today is our wedding anniversary. It's not exactly the celebratory day of romance I'd imagined, but nothing is ever really how I imagined. Somehow though, that always works out for the best.

The celebration started around midnight last night when Bub woke us up throwing up in his bed. From there, I was a restless and worried mama. Pacing back and forth, fidgeting around the house, slumping into the couch, back into bed, back on the couch, waiting for the next time Bub woke up, until around 3 a.m. when I discovered that I was sick myself. Nothing at all like how I'd imagine our anniversary. So at around 7 this morning, when Bub's sweaty arm was wrapped around me in bed and Tom leaned down to give the base of my neck a quick scratch and whisper "happy anniversary" before going to work, I wasn't at all surprised. 

In fact, my wedding didn't even turn out the way I imagined it:

That's us, immediately after "I now pronounce you man and wife," at the Emergency Room, with a teeny tiny Bub and an elbow that had just been miraculously twisted back into socket. It wasn't what I imagined, but it was still full of beautiful moments. I remember sitting in a cramped hospital room with Bub wailing on my lap that was spilling over with frills and lace, the nurse asked my name and I stuttered for a second as I realized my name had just changed. Twenty minutes ago, it just happened. We had the signed paper to prove it. I had a new name. And a new life. And it was beautiful. I tentatively gave her my new name, like maybe she wouldn't believe me, and while I never imagined the first time I would introduce myself as a Mrs. would be in the Emergency Room, that is what happened, and it was beautiful.

I've learned a lot from life by its sharp turns and detours. I've learned the art of a good, powerful shoulder shrug. A shrug that so confidently says "so this isn't what I expected, but I'll take it." When we left the hospital and finally arrived at our dinner where all of our family was waiting, there was nothing else to do but smile and deliver one huge shrug. There is a beautiful art to a shrug like that:

It says, this isn't at all what I expected, but I will gladly, gladly take it. In two years of marriage I've learned a lot from that shrug, and I've learned that life will never ever stop taking sharp turns and detours. But I've also learned the important lesson of: take them slowly.

I walked down the aisle to Rilo Kiley's "I Never." I panicked a lot about my choice of this song, how nontraditional it was, how I would be the only one who "got it." Right up to the last minute I was ready to back out and throw in a CD of the Wedding March. But I knew this was the only song that could touch my soul in the ways it needed to be touched as I walked down the aisle in my last moments of being a bride.

I was so nervous about the timing and coordinating this walk down the aisle to stop perfectly at the ending of this song. But in my nervousness I took long, quick steps for a few feet until my dad tugged gently on my arm and said two words: "slow down."

And I did. And we stopped at the end of the aisle as the last beautiful measures of my song wafted away. It was perfect. And I have never forgot it. Slow down.

Life will never stop taking sharp corners. I will never stop finding myself on detours that I never knew possible. That I never planned for. I never envisioned myself laying in bed today with a rumbling stomach and a Bub that actually begged for it to be nappy time. But I have to shrug, embrace it, and slow down, because some day I will weep that these days are behind me. Vomit, detours, emergency rooms, and all. I will weep that these days are over.

Happy Anniversary, babe. Here's to the art of shrugging and slowing down. I love you.

"I Never"

Rilo Kiley

I'm only a woman of flesh and bone
And I wept much, we all do.
I thought I might die alone
But I had
Never, never, never,
Never, never, never,
Never, never, never,
Never, never met you.
So baby be good to me.
I got nothing to give you, you see
Except
Everything, everything,
Everything, everything,
All the good and the bad,
'Cause I've been bad.
I've lied, cheated, stolen and been ungrateful for what I have
And I'm afraid habits rule my waking life.
I'm scared and I'm runnin' in my sleep
For you but all the oceans, and rivers and showers
Will wash it all away and make me clean
For you
'Cause I have
Never, never, never,
Never, never, never,
Never, never, never,
Never, never, met you.

So lets take a loan out, put it down on a house
In a place we've never lived.
In a place that exists in the pages of scripts
And the songs that they sing
And all of the beautiful things
That make you weep, but don't have to make you weak

'Cause I've
Never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, never,
Never, never, never, never
Loved somebody the way
That I loved you 

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With my Boys

Saturday was windy.

 And sunny.

Far too sunny to waste a huge chunk out of the middle of our afternoon by taking a nap. We skipped nappy time because the sun was calling and couldn't be ignored. We went to the park. I didn't bring my camera because I wanted to focus on my boys with my own eyes for a little bit, instead of through a lens, but I couldn't resist a few phone photos.

On Fridays I always get asked "what are you going to do with all of your boys this weekend?" The answer is simple: not much. But there is so, so, much in that not much.

Anywhere that my boys are, there is so much.

We went to a brand new park, but Bub still manages to fall in love with the same murtle the turtle at every park we find. He climbs on, content to rock back and forth, weaving in and out of the wind, and doesn't need much more of anything else. It. is. darling.

And Teebs is getting feistier. He is ballooning with curiosity and the confidence to ignore my sharp "no no!"

 

And usually, my curiosity to see where his curiosity is going to take him runs my "no no" completely dry, so I sit back and let him love his world.

And he is so good at loving his world.

We loved everything about our world on Saturday. If ever there was a day to skip nappy time, a sunny, breezy Saturday was it. My favorite part of these special days is always letting Bub choose. I calmly pry "Hey Bub, should we go to the park today or go take our nappy?" He explodes with enthusiasm "PARK!" And we race off with no looking back.

This morning my boys woke up to a much different day than yesterday. Rainy and gray, there was nothing outside to beckon us today. But the first thing on Bub's mind was taking a photo. Straight out of bed and in my pajamas, I gave him my phone, pointed his finger to the right button, and at his command squealed "cheeeeeeeese!"

He snapped the picture, handed my phone back and said so smoothly "I'm done with this now." And that was our day, we were off.

Our weekend was simple, full of the most pure nothingness I can imagine. But I was with my boys. And any nothing is everything when I'm with my boys.

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The Day We Went to the Barn

I've tried to write this post 4 different times over the course of this week. And countless times in my head. For some reason I just couldn't quite feel what I needed to say. It wasn't coming out right. I kept doing something with the words and the story that made it feel differently than it should. So on the fifth try, I'm just going to say what happened.

On Sunday Tom took me to an old barn.

It's a small thing, driving up to the crackled boards of a deserted building, but I have been squirming to get my hands behind the lens of a camera on an old farm forever.

For.ev.er.

Sometimes I build these things up in my head into grand endeavors, and they fizzle out into disasters. But not this time.

I was running on pure adrenaline, just breathing in the time warp of oldness that this farm was, and breathing out the brilliance of now, and this is my life right now, and I get to live it.

 

And I say this a lot, but seriously, what more could I ask for.

We were there for less than twenty minutes because regardless of how placid that smooth look on Teebs' face appears, it was cold. And the wind was gusting with a realness that wasn't driving me off, but reminding me that I was in a place that was sacred with history and it wasn't really mine.

And I knew that while these things were old now, there were boys just like mine here, among new barns and sheds standing crisp and tall with pride.

These old things were new. And there were people here living and loving that life. The power of that was almost eery.

But Bub wasn't necessarily gurgling with the same enthusiasm I was, my adrenaline was firing my insides with passion, keeping me warm. Bub was just content to watch his mommy running wild with passion from the warmth of the truck.

Teebs played along for a few minutes.

Partially stunned by the cold, and partially just curious what mommy was up to this time.

I know it seems silly. But it was a moment. A strong strike of a pen making a bold mark across a line on my bucket list:

Take Photos at an Old Barn

 

Check.

 

Check.

 And check. I did it.

These are Tom's work boots. Inside the shell of a shed splitting apart at every seam. The frame was laying, with a tiny fate beacon exploding down on it, in the corner. That mix of old and new, past and present, history and right now----it just tears me apart with wonder.

Wonder and inspiration and appreciation. And wonder. Lots and lots of wonder.

I wanted to go inside the barn, but the eeriness was overwhelming for this city girl. Critters and creatures and things with more legs than I do make my skin crawl. And I was positively convinced that a huge, rabid barn owl was going to screech down to rip my face with his ferocious talons. But I had to know what it felt like in there. After a few walks around the outside, and a step in, and a leap out, and a slow peer inside with my feet firmly outside but my waist bent and my head poking inside---I went in.

It was instant silence, and instant beauty. Instant old and instant past. There were no words, no sound, no wind, but still gentle movements of ropes swaying and old hay squiggling in small twitches on the ground. For just an instant, a silent moment of clarity.

Just a second of braveness and calmness inside an old barn. And I let that confidence seep into my skin down through to my soul before turning around to leave.

And that's the story. That is the day we went to the barn. When for 20 minutes I breathed in the time warp of oldness, and breathed out the brilliance of now, and this is my life right now, and I get to live it.

What more could I possibly ask for.

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