Lately (again)

Things I am loving lately:

Movie night afternoon with my girls

 Beautiful evenings

 
 Taking a little time for myself:



Goofy self-portraits



  Sister love

 


Little helpers

Future Fashionistas

Birthday parties

My husband

because he loves me, just the way I am

Things I love a little less:

Self-tanner gone wrong


Not sure why this seemed like a good idea the same week as our family portraits...

  No-Nap Nancy 

Poor sweetie...



 Take a little bad with all the good, and I'd still say I am richly blessed (even with, and especially with, my cranky toddler, who is also so very sweet).





Mama's Dirl(s)

This poem was originally published in the book Heart Throbs: The Old Scrapbook, which was published in 1905. I am fortunate enough to have the copy my great-grandmother read and marked with care. This poem was one of my favorites long before I had daughters of my own, and now, its place in my heart is even more dear.

MAMMA'S DIRL

 

Ev'ry night when shadows fly,

And the housework is put by,

And, shut-eyed, I sit and dream

Of the light on some far stream,

Of the blooms I used to know

In some field of long ago,

Then I wonder wearily

If the present holds for me

Half the joys of other days,

Half the gladness of old ways,

And sometimes my eyes are wet

With a half-forgot regret;

Then comes romping in to me

And up-clambers on my knee

Such a blue-eyed, laughing sprite,

And puts weariness to flight;

Such as makes the present seem,

More than yesterday, a dream

Of sweet things; and so I smile

O'er regrets of otherwhile,

And she says, and twists a curl:

"I am mamma's baby dirl!"

And the while I bless my lot,

Whispers: "Mamma had fordot!"

I had not forgot, ah, no!

Memory will sometime go

Down the ways we used to tread;

Ways with wondrous blossoms spread.

It is not that we regret

These old ways we don't forget,

It is just that laughter rang,

Just that lilting wild birds sang

O'er those ways of yesteryear

That still makes their mem'ry dear.

But I'm happier today

Than I was down any way

That my young feet used to tread;

Skies are bluer overhead,

And today's birds sing more clear

Than did birds of yesteryear;

I have got you by my side,

Bonny-haired and wonder-eyed,

You who clamber to my knee,

You whose laugh is full of glee,
And I'm happy? Happy, yes!

Glad for ev'ry sweet caress,

For each dimpling smile and curl!

Thankful for my "baby dirl."

-- J. M. Lewis

Projection and Protection

Tonight we took the girls to the elementary school instead of the park. Elaina loves the wooden train in the middle of the playground—to her, it isn’t a school, but is the Train Park. The equipment isn’t exactly suited for a child Ellie’s age, but she makes due with the slide that is just her size, the train, and the abundance of mulch she happily plunks in my hand while counting, oooone, two, free, four. I like it because usually no one else is there and we have free reign to play and relax without worrying about the hordes of adolescents who usually populate the other parks in town (and by populate, I mean, sit on the equipment made for small children, shout obscenities, and play with their phones. Yes, I am a curmudgeonly old mother.)


When we pulled up, instead of emptiness, we saw kids playing on the equipment, parents lounging nearby, and a couple of tball games going on in the far fields. My heart sank and I immediately wanted to leave. Josh thought better of it and reminded me that we had promised the girls we were coming to the train park tonight. He was right, too, and there’s no explanation that would have sufficed to Elaina, who, when she found out we were going, she threw herself on me and gave quick little kiss-kiss-kisses of excitement.

And yet it was for her I wanted to leave.

She is so outgoing, so friendly. She introduces herself to every cashier at every grocery store, every smiling patron at a restaurant, basically anyone who meets her eye with a smile. She enthusiastically runs toward any group of children and throws herself into the middle of whatever they are doing, ready to imagine and play and be a part of the fun. I love that about her. But it terrifies me, too. We have picked her up in tears from the nursery at church because another little girl told her she didn’t like her. I have watched her face fall when another girl told her to effectively “go away and leave us alone” when she was trying to join in the fun at a park. I have seen the uncertainty come up in her eyes, tentativeness that usually isn’t there, and a little fear, and a lot of sadness. And I hate it.

It isn’t just for her I do it, I guess. I do it for me, too. For the me who didn’t know how to make friends when my best and only friend moved away in 4th grade. For the me who, two long and painful years later, stumbled upon a conversation among girls I thought were my new friends. They were discussing how annoying and, for lack of a better word, clingy, someone else was. And then I heard one of them say to the one complaining, “You can tell her right now. She’s right behind you.” I remember the smell of the gym. I remember that it was a rainy day. I remember turning around like I hadn’t heard and pretending to go off to play somewhere else. And I remember the entire world around me slowing down because really, your heart never breaks quickly.

I know it isn’t fair to her, and I know there will come many times that I can do nothing but hug her and kiss her and tell her how much I wish things in this life are different. But she’s only 3 ½, you know? I don’t want to have to do it now. So I step in when I probably shouldn’t. I steer her to enter into the company of her peers with caution. I direct her to play near me and her Daddy instead of venturing on to what might be a lot of fun for her.

I promised myself that when I became a mother, I would do my best not to project my own negative experiences onto my children, but to only give them the best parts of me. What I realize now is that I simply can’t. My parents struggled with infertility and at one point were told they would never have a child of their own. Though they didn’t talk of it much, we all understood to a small degree what an incredibly difficult and painful experience that had been for them. And I always worried my fate would be the same, even when I had no reason to believe it would. When Josh and I started trying to start a family, I cried every month when it became clear we hadn’t succeeded. Truthfully, it didn’t take us too long to be blessed with Elaina, but until the day when two pink lines appeared on the test, I was sure we were crossing off another month into a seven year journey of our own.

I don’t want to do that to her. I don’t want her to pay the price of my 6th grade experience, because Heaven knows I have paid for it time and time again on my own, and, if I am being completely honest, sometimes I still do. I don’t want her to be fearful or uncertain. I want her to be gregarious and joyful and run into new experiences not unaware of the possible consequences, but at least unafraid of them.

But tonight, I just don’t know how.

Tuesday Evening: Phone pic edition

Tonight, we were going to stay home and play in the yard, maybe go for a bike ride, and in general enjoy the beautiful weather that has been far too sparse this spring. But when dinner was over before 5:00 (why, yes we do have our AARP cards ready! Why do you ask?), I suggested we take the girls to Picket Fence, the local nursery. This was met with resounding applause (re: both girls shouting "Yay! The fishies! The fishies!") and a silent prayer uttered by both Josh and myself that it would be open. We had tried to go on Saturday evening but left a little too late, and the store was closed when we got there. Tears, lamentations, and pitiful wailing was our reward for poor timing.

Not tonight :)

We got to Picket Fence with ample time to puruse their various plants, gardening goods, and flowers, and the girls got doted upon by the owner, Stephanie, who quite possibly might be the nicest person on the face of the earth. I got several annuals as well as a basil and cilantro plant for indoors, and the girls got to spend several minutes at the pond admiring all the fishes. Elaina pointed out her favorite fish, and Ellie kept shouting, "Hi FISHY! HI FISHY!" when she wasnt trying to put her hand in the water.

I am happy with our purchases, though I have to admit I don't know what a couple of them are. I sort of turn into a child in a nursery: "But look how pretty! Look how pretty!" and throw stuff into my basket gleefully. Last year I did that with petunias. I loved them. The drought did not. Here's to better success this year!

Box of hope!

When we got home, Josh decided to burn some brush he had cut down earlier this spring. While he got ready, I ran over to the apple trees to see if any buds had magically appeared on the Jonathan. The Fuji is flowering beautifully, but until this evening, we weren't sure there'd be any on the other tree--the tree that had flowered so beautifully last spring and then did absolutely nothing because the Fuji didn't flower. Cross-pollination is serious stuff, folks.

Anyway, when I went over, this is what I saw:

jonathan

The Fuji, meanwhile, looks like this:

I am optimistic we'll get some apples this year. I'll be happy if we get a jonathan I can give to Gramma Copes.

Fuji

I ran over to tell Josh about our hope, and he lit the fire, which went really well except Elaina, our little safety marshall, kept shouting at Daddy, Ellie, Mommy, and anyone within hearing distance to stay away so they wouldn't get burned.

Thankfully, she was soon distracted by the swing:

Wheeeeee!

Ellie and I enjoyed the beautiful sunshine and signs of spring:

And then it was her turn:

I mean, SERIOUSLY

 When Ellie was done swinging, we went to see what Josh and Elaina were up to--watering some of our new transplants. I also mourned the loss of yet another one of tulips the rabbits got to (coyote population, come back!)

sad tulip : (

We came inside, and Elaina serenaded us to an upside down song.

 And that was that.

Not bad for a Tuesday night. :)

Lately

A quiet night in the Serrano household. The girls are tucked in, Josh is watching the UFC prelims, and I am surrounded by my fight night survival gear: a cup of hot tea, a bowl of popcorn with M&Ms mixed in (that beautiful combination of salty and sweet), and the laptop. Because clearly, I've kept up with blogging just like I expected to.

Or not.

I've learned that when my heart is hurting the most, that is when I am the least likely to write, which is so counterintuitive to anything I've read about writers, but it is true for me. It happened when my friend Andrew died in a car accident, and when my Grampa Copes died five months later. When I was going through a hard, hard time in Nashville, I saw a counselor, and she suggested I write about what I was going through. I couldn't. I'd sit on my little black futon with pen poised, and would stare at the paper and never write a word. Two nights ago, I picked up my journal and saw the last time I had written was January 31st...about a month before Grampa Beck died. It isn't that there aren't words; it's just the distance from head and heart to hand is so long.

But the distance is getting shorter.

Lately, life has been good.

Ellie wore her first ponytail a few weeks ago. She is getting so big--sometimes almost  2 going on 16 :) I laughed and told Josh that I have a feeling she will be visiting the timeout bench at a younger age than her sister did, but she is so sweet, too. So many times during the day, I hear, "Mommy, hug me. Mommy, you hold me." And she is always interested that everyone is involved in whatever plans are being made. "I go ousside." "Yes, baby, you're going outside." "And Eweena too." "Yes, and Elaina too." "And Dad-dee too." "Yes, Daddy too." "And Mommy too." "Yes, baby, I'm coming too." "And Ewwee too."

Elaina is on a desperate, driven mission to learn how to read. We got her a dry-erase alphabet book and she works so hard to trace her letters just right. When we are driving and she sees a sign, she shouts, "Mommy! What's that say?" I think it will only be a matter of time until she will be able to read them herself. She is such a friendly little girl, introducing herself to anyone and everyone. Sometimes she is met with smiles, and sometimes she is met with silence. Those silent moments are so hard for me. I pray as she gets older, her heart is sensitive to others who seek a friendly smile as much as she does now.

 


We are all healthy right now, which is such a blessing. The week after Easter, three of the four of us were hit with a nasty upper-respiratory bug which resulted in the Great Ibuprofen Diet of 2013. It was lots of fun. During the course of the illness, Ellie sleep-regressed and I spent many nights in the lazy boy in her room attempting to sleep in a position that would simultaneously comfort her and not render me completely immobile in the morning. Josh had to give a presentation for work at 9:00 at night with a migraine and a firey throat. And I completely lost my voice, which made work and mothering an interesting experience. Poor Elaina couldn’t understand why I couldn’t talk. She kept saying, “Mama, use your loud voice!” Even now, if I whisper, she pleads with me again until I have thoroughly convinced her my voice is fine. And since we are all now healthy, we have been having many dance parties to Max and Ruby:

We repainted the kitchen for the 6000^th  3^rd time, this time to cover the red once and for all. The night we did the cutting in, while Josh enthusiastically proclaimed his excitement, I mourned. I remember very well the day I chose the color for our kitchen—it was a rainy Saturday and I was in the Sherwin Williams store in Macomb with Mom, and there it was. A most beautiful, deep shade of red. We painted it before the kitchen was done, and I loved it. And then the cabinets were installed and the countertops were in, and we movd in, and Josh hated it pretty much right away. He said it made the room too dark. So a year or so later, he painted a couple of the walls yellow to lighten up the room. It seemed a reasonable compromise—I could keep my red, and he could have a lighter room. Instead, I hated the yellow with as much passion as Josh hated the red. So it became clear both would have to go. Sigh. On the bright side, after the mourning period was over, I decided I really, really like the light grey we chose. The backsplash was finished today (pictures forthcoming), and I couldn't be happier. Josh remarked that for the first time since we moved in, he loves the kitchen. It was worth losing the red just for that.

 We've gotten a lot of rain, and with warmer temperatures, our yard is finally coming to life. It has been nice to spend more time outside, to enjoy the fruits of last years' labors.
  
  

Cherry blossoms

Unfortunately, all the rain (7 inches in one night) caused record flooding for the Illinois river. When it crested on Tuesday, it was 29.4 feet; flood stage is 18. Here are some pictures we took last Sunday as the waters were still rising.  

Along 29, the road we take to work

The water overtook the far left lane on Monday morning

A view of the sea wall

By the time the waters crested, this field was completely under water

At River Park. The sea wall, and the parking lot below it, are under water.



So that's what we've been up to. What have you been up to?


 

Project Life: A Return

Well, I'm back.

This is my first Project Life since Grampa died.

It's hard for me to believe that the last time I wrote one of these posts, he was only two days away from his last hospital stay. And now he's gone, and my heart will always grieve his loss. I will always wish we had more time, more stories, more moments. But I think it would be a disservice to a man who lived 90 beautiful years and loved us so well not to appreciate what blessings every day can hold. And honestly, my favorite memories of him aren't at holidays or celebrations (except perhaps Jeremy's wedding, when he wore his purple tie for me)--they were every day, normal moments. Because even when he wasn't feeling well, which was often, Grampa never overlooked the blessing of every day.

And that's what Project Life helps me do. Somedays I am quite certain there is nothing of interest to capture on film--life can sometimes be what Gramma Copes calls the "same old seven and six." But then Elaina imagines these wild adventures with her toys or Ellie walks over to Josh with an emphatic, "WEED it, Daddy," and holds out a book he has read no fewer than 10 times that night, and I realize how fleeting these moments are. One of my favorite verses this year has become Psalm 90:12: "Teach us to number our days, that we might gain a heart of wisdom". I want to number my days, because every day is worth numbering.

And with that, welcome to Week 12

Sunday, March 10
Today was a good day, albeit one with last-minute plan changes due to uncooperative weather. We went to church (where, thankfully, both girls have finally taken to being in the nursery. And by both I mean Ellie.), and Josh and I had a good dialouge concerning the message all through lunch. After we finished eating, Ellie and I retreated to her room for our her nap, which lasted longer than I had anticipated it would. We had originally planned on heading to Peoria to do some Easter dress shopping, but when the skies were pouring rain we scrapped those plans and instead made a quick run to Kroger for chicken pot pie ingredients.

As we were getting ready to leave, Ellie brought me her rainboots and insisted I put them on. Then she found her Dora the Explorer snow hat and brought it over with the same look of insistence on her face. I put it on as well, and off she trotted, happy as could be.

Perhaps the seasons are confusing her as well, but she was one happy little fashionista :)

Monday, March 11
Today was Steven's birthday party, which was held at the Rainbow Play Center. Elaina had been excited for days about his party, and it did not disappoint. Steven was, as always, a charmer (which means I didn't take his picture...), his cake was an amazing Lego (which means I didn't take a picture of it, either), and the girls had a blast on the equipment...which I actually took pictures of, shockingly..but these are currently getting eaten by Blogger, and they were mostly blurry anyway. What can I say? Chasing the girls and going down slides and pushing them on swings and eating birthday cake took precedence :)




Tuesday, March 12
We spent this evening coloring. Well, Elaina spent the evening coloring (and a fine job she did!) Ellie spent most of the time trying to put the crayons back in the box. At least she was helping clean!

The pink on the nose is all Ellie colored

Wednesday, March 13
Ellie has been going on something of a napping strike lately, so when we drive home we often have to employ a number of sneaky tactics to ensure she doesn't fall asleep, since a nap that late in the day would be quite disastrous for bedtime. One of Josh's favorite tactics is rolling down the backseat windows, in which Elaina is usually more than happy to participate. And it keeps Ellie awake, which helps her sleep better at night. It's a win for everyone (except maybe me, who freezes most of the drive...)

Thursday, March 14
So the napping strike ended today around 3:25, about 20 minutes before Josh and I get to his folks' house to pick up the girls. We decided to let her continue sleeping, which she did until I woke her up around 4:45 (she was not pleased with this decision, let me assure you). As a result of our later-than-expected leaving, Josh's plans for stirfry were postponed in favor of what he referred to as McEasy. Not something we make a habit of, but there is a time for everything....

Friday, March 15
After a busy week, we enjoyed a quiet evening at home. Elaina imagined a lovely tale of princes and princesses in what I referred to as "the party van", and Ellie and Josh read The Face Book (about 10 times).

Saturday, March 16
Today was busy, busy, busy. When Ellie woke up from her nap, we headed to Peoria to find an Easter dress for Elaina (after I discovered that her Easter dress from 2 years ago would fit Ellie this year--wooho!), get groceries, and run other errands. Our first stop was Burlington Coat Factory, where Josh found an adorable dress. Elaina wasn't sure she liked it at first, since, though it was an Easter dress, it didn't have any Easter eggs on it. Once we explained to her that she could gather the eggs while wearing the dress, she was quite satisfied. We got her and Ellie a few more warmer weather outfits (the delay in spring is actually helping me feel not so behind with the season changes), then headed to TJ Maxx and Kmart looking for a replacement for Elaina's "Mama Bug", which lights up at night and helps her sleep. Both of those trips were futile, and we thought to go any further would be risking the good will of our children, so we headed over to Hy-Vee, got some groceries, and came home.

After dinner, we were playing in Elaina's room, so I decided to try on the clothes we had gotten her. She liked them all, but when we put on the last dress, she insisted on accessorizing with a daisy hat Rachel got for her last spring. Sweet little flower :)

For Grampa Beck

The last two weeks have been hard.

My Grandpa Beck went into the hospital two weeks ago on Thursday. A week ago today, around 3 a.m., he passed into the arms of his Savior, surrounded by those he loved the most. He was 90 years old.

Though we knew the end was near, the letting go has been so hard.

He was such a good, precious man.

People have said to me in the days following his death that he lived a good, long life, as though somehow that should make our pain less.

In some ways, they are right.

He lived a good, long life.

He was born in 1922 and grew up helping his dad farm between school.

When he was 20 years old, he was drafted. He served our country in WWII, fought in the Battle of the Bulge and was wounded there, and earned a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star.

He came home from war and married my gramma. Their anniversary is next month. They made it just shy of 67 years. 67 years.

They had three sons--the middle son is my daddy.

Three sons. Seven grandchildren. 15 great-grandchildren.

A faithful member of his church for 52 years.

He lived a good, long life. But there is so much more to him than that. So much more I will miss.

I will miss him being there. Because he always was, he and Gramma, as long as they were able. Between my cousin Brandon and myself, there were 8th grade promotions and high school graduations every year for 10 years. They never missed one ceremony. They came to our wedding. To Elaina's dedication and her first birthday party. To Ellie's dedication.

Sometimes I would ask, "How are you feeling, Grampa?" And he responded honestly, "Not too great. But I'm here!"

He always, always was.

I will miss how he took the time to make us feel special. I remember telling him on my wedding day how much I loved the lavendar shirt and tie he was wearing. When Jeremy got married the next summer, Grampa wore his tie again. I was so excited and told him it was my favorite. He said, "I know. That's why I wore it." He wore it again to Elaina's dedication. And to Rachel's wedding. It was a simple striped lavendar tie. But it was a tie he wore just for me.

I will miss his laugh, which often teetered this side of mischevious. When I was in college and would come home and visit, we'd often pass an afternoon playing dominoes. I don't think anything brought him more joy than deliberatly messing up one of our trains, particularly Gramma's. She'd let out with an exasperated "Dean Franklin!" and he would just chuckled to himself, and soon his chuckle would catch on to the rest of us and we'd all be laughing. He chuckled the same chuckle when he teased me about "cutting my cat's tail off behind his ears." I thought for awhile he was afraid I'd be a crazy cat lady. And then I met Josh, and he still said it, and still laughed to himself at my exaggerated reactions.

I will miss his tenacity. Grampa Beck was, without question, the toughest person I have ever known. He accepted life as it came to him, whether it be war or illness or old age, and faced it head on. He never, ever complained. And he never stopped fighting. The last three days of his life were so hard, and so many times when we thought we had said our last goodbyes, he'd pull through again. I think he wanted to give each of us a chance to really say goodbye. I think he wanted us to know how much he loved us. I think he wanted us to tell him how much we loved him. He gave us an opportunity to love on him each in our own ways, and I will always be thankful to have had an opportunity to be there, to share in those moments, to whisper in his ear and kiss his cheek and hold his hand. They were the some of the hardest, holiest moments of my life.

And right now, more than anything, I will miss his hugs.They were good hugs, strong and sweet. They said what words could not. And they always smelled of Old Spice. They stayed with me all day, and by simply moving my arm in a certain way I could tell I had been loved by my Grampa. Oh, how I miss his hugs.

Loving him was a privilege. Being loved by him was a blessing beyond words.

People say he lived a good, long life so that maybe we won't hurt as much. They remind us he is with his Savior now, and I know it is true. I am thankful, so very thankful, for that.

But a precious, beautiful, good man is gone. And that is why our hearts are broken.