We generally use the library through Fall and Winter.  In the Summer we are occupied by the pool and are travelling.  And are generally too out-of-synch to remember to return books on time.  But in the darker, longer nights it is cozy to read together.

Tonight we read Christmas in the Trenches.  The real-life account of German and Allied soliders calling a temporary truce during Christas Eve, WWI.  For a moment,  no nationality existed as the men- husbands and fathers- shared small gifts with one another.  The same men who had killed yesterday and would fight tomorrow, joined in celebration.  A very moving story.  A wonderful CD of folk-music to accompany. 

 Each Christmas come since World War I, I’ve learned its lessons well.

That the ones who call the shots won’t be among the dead and lame,

And on the end of the rifle we’re the same.

Josh greatly enjoyed The Trojan Horse: How the Greeks Won the War.  He responds to anything involving warfare and strategy.  Battle-stories truly fascinate men, I am learning.  Monday afternoon, Pat and I took the kids to Kennesaw Mountain to hike.  And while generally on the course of running errands I am amused to see husbands parked on benches outside of retailers, no such thing exists at battlefields.  Men are engaged and eager to learn.  They mill around, touching and reading and paying great attention.  My son is no different.  He loves tales of heroism and wars well-fought and battles won.

My rule-of-the-library has always been a 50/50 fiction vs. non-fiction split.  The kids can check out 15 story-books.  And 15 books must be solid read-alouds, based on real-life events or people or nature, etc.  This allows us to continually learn together and to expand knowlege beyond what is learned at school.

This book was brand-new and 25 cents on the library sale table.  Strangely, I put it back on the shelf at the bookstore two weeks ago, because it was not on sale.  I asked the librarian why a brand-new book was on the sale table, and she said that duplicates find themselves there.  Lucky me!

While I know that reading about the Holocaust at 8 years of age may seem premature, as long as content is edited to be “safe” for young eyes, I am keen.  My parents trundled us all around Washington D.C. to the Holocaust exhibition when we were tiny, and though I distinctly recall a sense of darkness about the whole place, it moved me greatly.

Reading books about real times and real places moves kids.  It really fleshes out theoretical concepts and causes them to dig deeper and think harder.  I desire that for mine: good, solid thinking minds.

Reading books for pretend that have beautiful pictures and stimulating words and vocabulary, is also fun with the littler ones.

This series about Adele and Simon is not only fun and educational, but the art-work is excellent.  A great way to study pencil-drawing.  Anna is slowly learning some French through myself and Mimi, and this book struck her fancy.  She learned a few new words and saw the language used in a fun, child-like way.

The library is a great place to further development in thought.  A way to travel the world in pictures.  A means of escaping into classic literature, without waiting for college to do so.  A place to learn in and around formal education.

Those pesky fines are worth every penny:).

He called me at home to verify whether we should.  Should not?  My heart jumped at the chance, my mind willing itself to not replay any and all photo-disasters in our family lore.

I am so glad we sprung for it, because within 24 hours our photographer had booked and capped her numbers at 2000 sessions.  2000!

October 16th will find us downtown at Piedmont Park.  We chose the month for its cooler temperatures.  And the time of day to work around the demands of a still-napping baby.  Oh, demanding Baby Will.  Your mother loves you, but resigned herself to reality today: you have been willingly and systematically ruined.  You are the spoiled-est thing that ever sprouted chubby legs.  And devil-horns.

My mind has been contemplating “what to wear” and “what not to wear”.  I put the colors of our session all together in my mind, and cannot wait to see how the end-result compares.  Favorably, I hope. 

The outfits came together in my brain, but I still had to coordinate all the pieces.  Buy them?  Find them in the closets?  Something.

I wandered into a local boutique and found the basic look.  But really, $70 is steep.  I don’t spend that on myself ever, ever.  And for the hippie-commune Emma who lives here, she who desires full nudity at all times- it seemed even more ridiculous.

 Etsy can always rescue.  With a little looking and a little more uncovering, it is an endless source of beauty and originality.  I could waste away and not eat food for days in the face of this site, so engaging it is.   I have ordered 2 of these to be made for the girls.

 An October photo demands some red and orange.  And besides, Anna still finds it exciting and honoring to match and coordinate with her sister.  And somehow, Emma stands excited and passionate about dress-clothing under Anna’s influence.  It is a delightful dynamic.

And for the boys:  Various shades of blue and green.  Varying widths of plaid and gingham. Something along these lines.

I Googled child-photographers and this one ate up a few moments after the kids went to sleep.  I love her header: Finding the Art in Life.  I love the way she heedlessly combines colors and pattern.  I love the way she captures childhood, because it is so much about primary shades and blurred lines and laughter.

 Were I to shoot pictures of kids, this would be my methodology.  Look for the color.  Balance the color.  SHOOT!

 I am hoping this is the best $50 we ever spend.

Only Will is sort of like saying: Only an elephant.

Will is formerly: patient.   Kind.  Easy-going.  But presently: totally rotten.  I claim full ownership of this problem, as it has come to my attention on more than one occasion that I may be the source of his recent personality-distortions.  Where once laid infant-innocence there now exists evil so deep, so thick I am faint in its face.

This evil causes my son to wriggle out of each and every seat-belt he encounters.  So far, the 5-point harness he has not bested, but really- it’s a matter of time.  He’s a temperamental, balding little Houdini master-mind.

This evil encourages him to shriek and roar as we roam the aisles of Kroger, looking for food to feed the starving children at home. 

This evil makes him want to jump head-long from the shopping-cart.  From the stroller.  From the top of the bed. 

This evil makes him yell when angry: “Mama-ma-ma-ma” over and over and over.  It makes him tug on my pants and hold his sticky hands up to be held.  Always held, with my boys.  Never happy til up near my face and tucked under my chin.

Emma drew me the letter E again today.  It looks like a ladder with endless extensions.  I clapped and cheered for her and the leggy-E. 

 She wanted to watch a movie and I did not want her to watch anything.  This one would couch-potato her days away if I allowed it.  I try and not allow it.

“Let’s play restaurant, Emma”, I said.  She cooked for me.

She gave me a huge handful of change for the cash register, then took it all away and left me penniless.

She filled my grocery bags with beautiful plastic fruit, and lost herself in a fun and imaginary game.

Will crashed and banged on his dishes.  Eating whatever he could find.

And his instruments.  He loves his instruments, beating to death the xylophone.

Our play-room becomes whatever we need it to be that day. 

It is a : market, a school-room, a restaurant, a cafe, a book-store.  The use switches according to the imagination.

And I am just along for the ride.

It can write for me.  It can wake me up with song, if I just hit the download key.  It can voice-automated make calls for me.  I simply speak a name, and dialing away it goes.

It is this tiny little thing.  How can something so minute, contain so much data and perform so many tasks simultaneously?  How did an entire universe of information become available literally- in the palm of my hand?

Up until now I have had the Model-T of phones, while everyone around has had the Hummer.  Mine flipped open, flipped closed.  It had a broken #3, so I could only call out to friends whose phone information was 3-less.  It had no texting.  No email.  No nothing really.  It dialed and I answered and that was that.  Primitive phoning, and really-it worked.

In my pocket there now lies this world of opportunity.  I saw the headline which popped up yesterday on my tiny screen.  “Kim Kardashian gains weight, and her sister Khloe is skinnier”, or something equally trivial.  I saw my Inbox with new messages.  And 1248 still to delete (one blog=endless spammer-heaven).  I saw the weather option.  But I was outside at the park, and it seemed silly to check the weather stats.  Couldn’t my skin and senses report the conditions well enough?

I felt my pocket.  This little rectangle of distraction.  I placed my phone in my purse.  Just a phone.  And all that I need- simply a means to call in, call out.  To keep within grasp a measure of being contacted while kids are in school, to catch up here and there with friends, to make doctor and dentist appointments.  To converse with an end in sight, not for just any means to fill up my time.

Isn’t that all I need?  I think so.  I am not that important and my email count will be the same at 8pm when the kids are in bed for the night.  I am not paid by somebody else to be “on the clock”, and available day-and-year-round.  A simple tool is all I require, right?  I asked Pat to disable for me: texting, internet and email.  I do not desire to carry around with me all the stats of the globe, and miss out on MY globe.  Truthfully: in my world right now there are 4 small children and one amazing husband, all eager to be loved.  A good handful of great friends.  And a school to input into as I can.  There is a God to worship and 5 lives to daily pray for. 

There is food to cook and books to read. 

Parks to play at and questions to listen to.  To respond to.  Children with colds and viruses to patiently love.

This is a much bigger life than I anticipated when I was pregnant for the first time.  It races on with each new day, but each day that can never be returned to and lived again in a better way.  Lots of days lie ahead with potential for good and bad, but today- and this moment- will never be gotten back. 

 All over the park yesterday afternoon and every day, are parents with small kids who call out in little voices: ”Watch me slide, Mommy”.  “Watch me climb the monkey-bars”.  They are so tiny and they are so proud.  Brimming with confidence, but asking: How do I fit inside of this great big, complex universe?  What matters about me?  The answers to their questions and the resolution to their confidence lie in places that are not hand-held.

Here is what I know: The sliding and the asking and the crying and the learning.  They only happen once.  They are tiny blips in time.  And if I am face-down in a computer now while they ask me to “Watch!”, they will slowly learn that their moments are not important.  “Uh huh.  Give me one second” are not satisfying answers to inquisitive minds learning to think.  If I scroll through a screen when they want affirmation in hopping and jumping, they are learning a slow and subtle lesson: I am distracted.  Come to me later. 

Does later ever arrive?  What if tomorrow another hand-held arrives which can do more?  Promise more?  Remove me more?

The way I see it: If I am around now.  Seriously around.  In body AND in spirit.  If I watch and pay attention and affirm in the present, they will know later on that they mattered.  Maybe sliding is all there is to it when she’s 3.  But the fact that she mattered at 3, should help when she asks about dating Person X a little later.   And answering now and being attentive when he’s 6, should solidify his self-worth as he heads into Middle School.  And opening my eyes and ears to watch and celebrate her 8 year-old cartwheels, will visibly illustrate that my role is to celebrate with and for her in other exercises down the road: mental and physical.

So, in my pocket lies this potential.  Or this war against my better priorities.  It depends on the day, if you ask.  It calls me into a world of quick and easy information.  Distraction, really.  Noise.  It calls me away from the sometimes- endless days of giving.  And it promises me an instant fix.   Something to call me out from this place called Anywhere-But-Here. 

 But today is a big deal.  How do I know?  Because 3 days ago my husband and I worked out a kink in our marriage and by really listening and loving we are moving on in God’s grace.  That happens day-by-day.  Because last night I was worn from sick kiddos and house-bound days and my oldest kissed me and said: “You seem really tired, Mom.”  We were sitting on the couch and the kindness poured out of her, and I was humbled.  Because the reason she knew I was tired is because I was cranky.  But she encouraged me.  That happens day-by-day. 

There are millions of these tiny moments.  As humans, we sometimes want to escape them because it seems easier to absorb into our tiny computers.  To travel somewhere, in which there is no commitment and no need. 

I know this because I live there too.  Only: I see the today’s piling up and some of them I really wish I could do again, fresh with no mistakes.  But I can’t.  So I am left with today and the tomorrow’s.  And I really don’t want to distract myself away from them all, even if it seems easier.

Because the future is bigger than that. 

So big in fact, that it cannot be confined to the palm of my hand.  Nor the inside of my pocket.

Bought at Blue Sky, in the North Shore area of Chattanooga.  The North Shore has the most wonderful restaurants and boutiques.  Most times we are breezing through, taking the kids down to the fountains to play- so there is no time to browse.  Probably a good thing, with all the selection and options for spending money.

More on birthday later.  For now, sick children call my name.  And Tylenol reaches out to me.

Josh was at AWANA last night.  I had selected, enlarged, touched up this image.  Printed it and made it a t-shirt.  I loved it for a boy.  It was fun to lay it out on his bed, waiting for him to come in the door.

“Cool!”, was the response.  Mom’s hand-made’s will not be cool for long, so I will take it while I can.

Last night ended a long day for me. 

 I had two little ones with fevers.  I was fighting all sorts of weird sensations inside myself.  It was a home day- which I fight less and welcome more with time- praise God for that.  My homework to me lately has been this: Just trust God, Maryanne.  Just trust Him, regardless of what and how and where.  I began to pray daily a while back to know God outside of my circumstances.  Outside of the opinions- good or bad- of others.  God does this through changing our cirumstances in strange and unanticipated ways.

He always answers prayer.  Either in a way we like, or not.  What we want is not indicative of His open ears.   Yesterday I faced a choice early in the day.  It was 10:10 am.  I had been needed the evening before by a burning-up toddler, with a high fever.  Then the Baby started sinking, with big circles under his eyes and big cries.

And then I was a little shaky and dizzy, but not enough to call home my back-up.  He WOULD have come home and that is why I was hesitant.  Because I know he is swamped at work and saving me would mean a late, late night for him. I simply knew I HAD to make the day work.  For all of our sakes.

Back to prayer.  I did not FEEL like I was getting anywhere yesterday morning.  A day of spinning wheels and medicine and popcorn and back-rubs and concern. Running up the stairs endlessly- exercise I did get.

But regardless, what I FELT mattered not.  God was there, and at 10:10 am when I was tired and feeling like I was running a fever and thought I might crash and burn- I simply said out loud: God you ARE here in this day.  I do not feel anything like it right now, but believe I will.  Pray I will.  And rejoice I will, because “this is the day the Lord has made”.  Just because it’s a hard day, does not mean it’s without intention.

And what a difference this choice- this actively choosing faith- made.  God gives faith when we are without. Knowing His promises, hiding Scripture away in my heart makes this vastly easier.  Faith has to have a source, and so it is necessary to know what God says, what His patterns are…in order to have a right-directed faith.  Otherwise, we are simply having Faith in Something.  Or Someone.  Or Self.  But God is way more personal than that.

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.-Isaiah 40:11-

The beginning of a new school-year is basically the beginning of new routine, new goals, new hopes for the coming 10 months.  It is more motivating to me than the New Year.  And also more overwhelming.

This year my older ones are crossing over from little kid-ness into big kid-ness.  I would like each of the older 2 kids to have one athletic and one creative outlet.  Josh has settled on karate, and we hope to begin guitar lessons next Fall.  Anna is studying piano and hopefully working on vocals down the road.  But is a little reluctant to sport: she is simply not interested in group-athletics.  Hates them, actually.

I shared her sentiments on group -sports growing up, and avoided them in any way that I could.  Running eventually became my sport- although even there I ran with myself, by myself and for myself.  Team-running was never appealing.  And to this day, running or exercising in a group is something I avoid.

So, I have decided that instead of pushing Anna into a sport-situation she does not enjoy, we will run together.  And that will be her sport.  She asks me many Saturdays if she can accompany me while jogging, and even though her pace slows me considerably, her endurance has increased the past year.  So jogging it will be- at her pace, at her discretion.

I feel like an octopus this year- with tentacles reaching into any and every direction.  Focused on 1st grade.  Focused on 3rd grade.  Focused on pre-school.  Focused on baby-hood.  Wanting to be a supportive wife.  Wanting to continue to allow our home to be open and used well.  In other words, desiring a lived-in home, and not just a house: there is a difference.  Wanting to give to my friends.  Wanting to sleep:).

And pushing, pushing the kids to work hard.  Praying, praying for God to teach them diligence and perseverance.  And then being willing to make that happen.  My Mom reminds me that children need to be pushed into success.  Encouraged, prodded into doing things well.  Talents are natural, but they develop through parental perseverance.  For now, I find the spoon to be a good solution to attitude-issues. 

 ”I cannot do it”, she will say.  “You can and you will”, I say.  “Mom, I can’t!”  I play the song once, twice, three times and that is all.  “You have heard it, now you are on your own”.  Set jaw and firm lips.  But, lo and behold moments later the song plays back to me perfectly.  She is doing well with it, but it requires a push and firm expectations.

I know that music is not the be-all-and-end-all.  But I have YET to meet a human-being who says: “Man, I wish I DIDN’T know how to play an instrument.  It is so awful that I know how to play guitar”.  But I have met MANY people who wish they had instrumental talent into adult-hood.  I am thankful I have a musical background and desire that for my children.  I desire that they can sing, play, jam and make music together down the road.  What a gift for them!

My prayer many mornings has been this: God, help me to enjoy exhausting myself for you.  A simple prayer.  Help me to really find the joy in service, the wealth in being poured out, the beauty in giving.  Help me if I burn out at times, to feel like I have burned out for a good cause.   And to be happy about it.   After all, I could run dry for a lot of trivial causes, serving myself incessantly, but what would be the fulfillment in that?

Serving is not just, and I realize that I do not want to live a life of justice.  Justice means you only do what is fair.  And who knows what the measuring-stick on that is.  Most people use their own measurements to determine fair: scary.  Grace is giving what is beyond fair, and enters the realm of service when there may be no reward and no appreciation.  Grace is measuring self against the riches of Christ and realizing that God’s Son trumps any of our efforts, so Who am I to complain?  Who am I to stomp my foot about this life I have been given, full of the people God has placed in it?  Grace gives and does so with the goal of not complaining (what a challenge!).  Grace pours out and does not need to report the good deed.  It does not criticize the response we receive and how much better I would have done it.   Grace is peaceful.  It is living with so much that is unseen, that clinging to the visible is simply less important.

Living busy life takes a heaping portion of grace, not justice.  Justice rants and raves.  Grace quietly perseveres.  And it is actually quite difficult to live graciously when we feel too tired or too busy.  But God does not give us clauses for behavior.  His standards are for all time and in all circumstances.

Which brings me back to my prayer of this year: to exhaust myself in joy.  Knowing with head and heart that God’s grace is sufficient.  ‘Cause when I think ahead to all that needs to happen this school-year, I’m going to need it!

I jogged by the house several times, but felt hesistant to knock and introduce while hot and sweaty.  What if they want space the first few days?  What if they are shy and reserved and do not like to meet new people?  What if, what if?

Imagine if we always lived life according to what if?  I would waste countless opportunities if I lived under this shadow. 

Monday rolled around, our biggest “push-day” homework-wise.  Surprisingly, this can be my best day to do extra things.  I am relegated to the kitchen, and much life flows in and out of the kitchen.  I mixed up some cookies while the older kids plugged away at Reading and Math.

Our builder left a comprehensive list of phone numbers for area retailers, schools, utility companies, etc.  I photocopied the list, as I refer to it often.  And then added the local Urgent Care Facility number as well.  After all, I heard there were boys in the house:).

Packed up treats and kids.  Emma thoroughly stained with chocolate.  No hair-bow.  No shoes.  Will in a onesie stuck with graham crackers.  All children released from bed-rooms where they had been placed for 10 minutes.  Now or never, I thought. 

I am not here to impress, but to welcome.  Mental note.  Think more about: What if it were me?  Let this inform my decisions and embolden my steps.

Imagine my gratitude and thanks when we walked up.  Family with 4 children.  8, 6, 3.5.  And Infant.  Uncanny.  The kids mingled while adults exchanged information.  Such a warm welcome and such a warm family. 

Welcome to Georgia!  We are so glad you are here!

Now that I am looking at my younger sisters, watching them as wives and mothers, I am so thankful to see how well Mom’s elevation of home and family have “taken”. 

I snapped a photo of Grace’s entry before Cora’s big bash Saturday…if simply to prove that the house was picture-perfect BEFORE the party.

Grace knocked herself out for Cora this weekend.

With the kind of excitement and enthusiasm reserved for first-born babies, celebrating a year of firsts.

I love that I have begun to figure out Pat’s camera and flash and settings.  It is exciting and rewarding to chronicle the every-day.  Most of the significant moments are fairly normal, found in days that are fairly normal.  And having a camera on-hand to document reveals much beauty in the every-day that is easily lost or unnoticed.  It grows my gratitude to photograph our days- too look back and review the fun and the joy.

Grace ordered wonderful cupcakes from a local bakery.  And she labored intensely over these toppers to place on them.

She hoped to keep many, in order to re-use.  And we discussed a variety of options for art on Cora’s wall, using the whimsical pieces.

She filled glass canisters with a variety of candy.  And placed beside them tiny paper bags with ribbon.  Each child was allowed to fill a bag with candy, as a fun goody-bag to-go.

Cora was the woman of the hour.  And she LOVES the limelight, so her party gave ample opportunity to bask in her own confidence.  That little critter is endlessly amusing.  She points at everything and tries to pronounce what she is seeing.  “What dat?”  “What dat?”  is her routine inquiry.

She is 1 now.  She and parents survived the first year of parent-hood, with it many confusions and bumps and interruptions.  So, we were celebrating Cora’s first. 

But we were also celebrating Grace and Justin’s first year too.  They made it.  And they have loved it!

By next weekend, we will have celebrated 4 birthdays in the last 2 weeks.  We go through a lot of gift-bags and paper.  But parties allow me to wrap gifts, and that fills me with a joy that cannot be measured:).

I buy butcher-paper whenever I see it on sale.  Or UPS packing-paper.  (A note of humor: when driving to the UPS store this week, Anna told me “Mom, I’ve always thought it was the Up’s Store”. Like, rhymes with pups ).

Long rolls of paper are basic for boys or girls.  Often the kids color on it or write a message to the recipient.  It’s not super-classy, but kinda fun. 

Like I said, I had no ribbon, but Pat had twine hanging on the peg-board in the garage.

Perfect.  I made dozens of labels last Fall, and still have plenty to use for last-minute needs.  We got our gift delivered: just took a little imagination is all.

Another friend collected coloring-books which her son will deliver to a local hospital.  This in lieu of birthday-presents.  I like that kid, though. 

And after clearing it with Mom, he gets a gift anyway.  (Packed in a gift-bag that Anna doodled on before- grr).  She seems less concerned with the GIFT than the EXPECTATION of many gifts- something every North-American parent likely understands.

This weekend we celebrate Miss Cora- who is turning 1!  Grace shares a love for polka-dots with me, and appreciates dots in Cora’s little life too. 

So, Cora be fore-warned: Aunty Maryanne has a weakness and it revolved around shapes that are round and colors that are bright. 

How fun is this bag?  A serendipitous find…and a perfect size for the church-nursery- of which Cora is Queen (her nursery only has 2 small babies, and she has seniority).

Off to Chattanooga to help set up for the birthday-girl!