Psst. It's Not Too Late!

If perhaps, your beloved has that endearing habit of wandering, dazed, through the mall at the eleventh hour, this is a post for you to leave open where he might wander by to see it.

Dear Husband,

It's not too late to get a Kindle.

There are big points to be won here. You can order it today and have it in plenty of time. You can show your thoughtfulness by loading it with:

One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp's thought-provoking book which is only available on Kindle right now. She will curl up with Ann's poetry-prose and ponder the great gift you are in her life. It's a thoughtful gift that she will read only in small bites; it will leave her all glowy and warm and very much in love with life (and you).

and

Small Steps for Catholic Moms, the book I wrote with Danielle Bean. It's arranged to launch the new year with goodness and grace. She'll have a page a day all year long, to ponder her vocation, pray for her family, and give generously of herself to the people she loves. Every single day, she'll fire up her Kindle and remember just how thoughtful and encouraging you are.

So there, you see? It's not too late. And you won't even have to go to the mall.

Happy Birthday, Nicholas Karol!

It was a magical night, ten years ago. At the stroke of ten o'clock, I was hustling your big brothers and sister off to bed after having watched a Christmas special. Daddy was at the grocery store (back when there were no grocery stores in this town). Pop! I heard it and felt it--the unmistakable sound of labor beginning. Two hours until midnight. It was your due date. I never had babies on my due date. They were always late, sometimes even two weeks late. I like to be pregnant, tend to hang on. Besides, I wasn't really much into having a Winter Solstice baby. I was shooting for Christmas. You had other plans. Daddy hurried home and we left in a bustle. We'd done this enough for him to know I meant business.

 

This time was different, though. This time, Christian came along. Aunt Michele met us there to hang out with Christian. She brought her camera. Pictures of the moments after your birth are rare treasures that I couldn't upload very well this morning--sigh. We arrived at the Birthing Inn and we were assured that Margie (my favorite midwife) was on her way. Aunt Michele took Christian to get something to drink while we "got settled." We never got settled.

 

You barreled into the world a few ticks before midnight. Margie was there. Christian and Aunt Michele were not. A nurse went to find them and the cord cutting task was delayed until Christian could do it. Then, you and Christian and Daddy huddled together to brighten midnight of the longest night of the year.

And so it seems especially appropriate that the first hours of your tenth birthday--double digits!!--were marked in the quiet of the early morning with Christian and Daddy, gazing in wonder at the historic eclipse. Your life is like that--dotted with wondrous opportunities. And you notice them. You seize them. You are awake for them. Aware of them.

And I? I am ever aware of wonder of you.

Happy Birthday!

Waiting.

Breaking {this moment} rules

{this moment} - A Friday ritual.  Photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.  A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. I'm really not sure these photos qualify. This is Sarah Annie, captivated, mesmerized, and utterly delighted with "Skype Paddy." But I don't know if I'll savor these moments. She's always miserable if we can't make the connection. She's inevitably frustrated that she can't bring him through that screen and into her real life. And she's utterly disconsolate when we disconnect. I suppose I should have edited out the runny noses, chapped faces, and chocolate smudges on the back of my computer:-) Still, I guess, if we stay in the moment, it's sweet.

If you're inspired to capture a moment, visit Soulemama to leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

 

On Your Last Day of School

So, here you are, Peter Pan. You've gone and grown into a great, big man. The oft-spoken refrain "I don't want to grow up" was one you made your own. Dear boy, you lived your childhood to its limits. You sucked every single drop of sweetness from its days. I am still amazed, struck dumb, with wonder of it all, with the utter joy of the privilege of having a front row seat for these precious years of your life.

All joy!

It surprises me a little that you're graduating early; you've never been especially eager to cast aside your childhood days. But it seems perfect to me that you are graduating in December. You really know how to rock this month. Christmas is a special gift for people like you--people with childlike hearts.

Remember Christmas in Hawaii? No, you probably don't. You were barely a year old and you went around telling everyone "Mele Kalikimaka." You still like the way those words tickle your tongue.

Remember the Christmas of Michael Jordan and Peter Pan? Two little figures. All you wanted. Good thing, too, because it's all we could afford. But you brought them to life in your own inimitable way and they were worth more than all of FAO Schwartz. And the Christmas of the "gum-tar"? You brought it to Mass and Fr. Bob asked you to play. Remember the Christmas of the John Harkes jersey? You wanted to be him; now, you are grateful to call him friend and you amaze him and the rest of us with your tenacity and dedication to the game.

Remember every single Christmas of crafting and painting and making and baking? You inspired unbounded creativity in my heart and in our home.

Remember  the Christmas of your First Communion? In the Bellarmine Chapel at George Mason. How much growing you've done in that chapel! How much learning and loving!

And so Christmas comes again and it finds you with a sparkling new diploma, on the threshhold of your grown up life.  You've learned so much, lived so much. You've done good things. And, you've sown some seeds of regret. You've grown. Your Christmas list this year is decidedly practical: a job, a car, dental insurance.

Where's the magic?

Now, there is Real Life.

It's not so bad, Peter Pan. Real Life is a good place for people with childlike hearts. There is a wonder in every day, even in the most mundane workaday places and people. Real Life is a rich place for people who love to learn. You are going to learn way, way more in the next ten years than you have in the last twenty. Real Life is a place of genuine creativity. You will write your message on the hearts of countless people and you will create home for the people you love. Real Life is a place of joy for those who love without limits. So, go do that. Take that childlike faith, that trust in goodness, that heartfelt courage, and love without limits.

The whole world waits.

And watches with immeasurable pride.