Toothless

P.S. Ethan lost his first tooth (because of life's natural progression and not because he tried to fly off the couch this time) yesterday. Tooth fairy pillow made your truly (I'll post later) and a golden dollar were found clenched in his tiny fist this morning when he woke up. Precious.

Milestones (to the 2nd degree)

Another one of my favorite posts from Adventures with the Anderson. This was written in the summer of 2009 just before my oldest entered Kindergarten. Its oh so bittersweet. I did add the picture at the end from his first day of school when it did arrive.

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Yes, I know. I've been a slacker the last few weeks with my postings. Offering you no more than quick photos and videos that upload in a few seconds and pass it off as a blog. What? You're not entirely offended? You didn't plan on not reading my ramblings anymore because of it? Oh my! How I love you- my 3 readers! You make my heart smile.

But- alas. I feel a real post coming on. Grab some coffee- or tissue- this may be long!

So...whats new with you? Blogging is sometimes like catching up with an old friend. Except that the old friend is me. The me that's somewhat stifled, buried deep under layers of mommyland that I can slowly peel away as I click and clack at the keyboard. Or talk to a friend who doesn't mind leaping into the big black mass of uncertainly or uncharted territory with. Thank you. You know who you are.

So here you are blog/blog friends/ complete strangers who read this- I'm feeling...slightly unclear. I'm uncertain of things. I'm scared. I'm finding myself being reminded daily of the things I know are constant and clear to counter my unease. Those things which are strong as stone and define me. They are unchanging- a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, an overachiver, a slight perfectionsit, a control freak, a girl who loves God and finds it so hard to have such faith required to really follow Him hour by hour. I'm know with upmost certainity I love the color green, a warm breeze on a summer day, a riciulously oversized coffee cup filled with shamefull amounts of flaoered creamer. I'd never hesitate to declair that I love to read, love to craft, love to play legos with my boys, love that I'm overcoming my fear of spiders with my kids help. I love snuggling with Jacob, writing letters with Ethan, and watching them love on each other, all with the same vigor that I know I can't stand the smell of vinegar. Its unquestionable.

So what has me stumbling across an unclear path and makes me feel more complicated than I entirely should feel? Dunno. But there is something lurking within me that continues to bring up feelings of incompleteness and wonderment. Its not entirely bad, but the overwhelming feeling of mystery is prevalent. I'm holding fast to the knowledge that God is in control and is with me as I scramble to hold tight onto faith as if it were a tangible rope.

And deep down I know it- the black mass that threatens to swallow me- its a more two black numbers on a white calendar circled in red ink.

August 26th.

Its the first day of school. The first day of Kindergarten. Its the beginning of the end. It is- the day I longed for, the day I dreaded, the day I see my little baby turn into a boy, the day I see the end of an era of childhood, the start of a precious boy beginning to make his own way in this big huge world.

Its so far beyond his unconscious reach yet, but this day is monumental. It will be marked right under occations such as my wedding, or birth of my kids, its like....(yes- I'm being tragically dramatic here) the biggest day of MY life as well!

He'll be in full day Kindergarten. His teacher will spend more hours of the day with him awake and vibrant than I will. 13 Other children will share his laugh and smile and possibly his complaining on a daily basis. They'll get to revel in his curiosity, his generosity and his love. They'll also have to deal with his unwillingness to go pee by himself too- which I am not jealous of in the least! But all joking aside, its the day my baby grows up a little. And while you might think- geeze lady- you've had 5 years to prepare for this day, and while I know that's entirely fair and true. I did not realize the full beauty of what I had when I had it all the time.

I became a mother much sooner than I ever expected. It was not a decision, it was not planned, and at the young and naive age of 21 I was thrust into motherhood and the lonely world of stay-at-home mommy much too soon. Listen....hear the violins playing for me?? No- of course I always have cheered to the fact I was able to stay home. To raise my son(s) without the burden of a job or other caregiver taking my place. Its a luxury that's rare to find in this day and age, and I thank my husband for it, less than I should, but we both realize how special it has been to have had the opportunity of domesticated goodness for our children.

Yet at the same time- I was very lonely the first few years, I was struggling, and I spent many many days wondering- when will real life start? This is not what I signed up for- this is not how I pictured my life. I was selfish. I was naive. I was sleepless and I was lost.

Fast forward 2 years into my adventures in motherhood and the pending birth of our second and much more planned for child, and things changed. Darkness turned to light, and I found my way in on the path of motherhood. I no longer panicked at the thought of being left at home for 8-9 hours straight. I felt accomplished that I could do it! I made dinosaur shaped sandwiches and celery logs with raisin ants on top of peanut butter for lunches. We leaned how to ride bikes on the cul-de-sac and played red light green light nearly every afternoon. We explored nature and museums, we finger painted, and read books like Go Dog Go and The Hungry Caterpillar. Morning filled with the musical likeness of The Wiggles and cheesy little noises made my the Telebtubbies. First words were spoken, first steps taken, first tastes discovered. First friends made.

He's been called a pirate, a dinosaur, a Jedi Knight, a piggy (in reference to his uncanny obsession with Charlotte's Web), a wonderful brother, a world traveler, and more times than not- a strong willed child. Arent all first born's?

In his first 5 years of childhood he's experienced more than I could have ever hoped for, and a few things I wished he'd never had to. He's been to more than 25 countries,13 cruises, crossed 5 different bodies of water, by sea, by air. He's ridden in planes, boats, cruise ships, trains, trolleys, buses, cars, trucks, and mini vans. He's got a lick of Spanish in his vocabulary. He's lost a tooth, had 8 stitches, a terrible case of asthma, and a pestering toenail that never seems to fully heal.

More importantly, Ethan has one of the biggest hearts I ever seen. Most might not see it like Jeff and I do. Its easy to mistake it beneath the occasional yelling, the talking back, and childish tantrums. But below his tough exterior there is a heart who knows how to share, has an imagination to challenge the most creative artists. He knows how to love unconditionally, to unselfishly go without so others may have. He has a natural ability to teach. He has a way of playing with my hair and touching my face when he talks to me about love. It melts my heart. He prays. He loves God. He tells me daily. He sincerely has the faith I strive for. He chooses to make good choices. He is...priceless and beautiful.

I'm saddened to see this season come to an end, and yet, it truly is a new beginning- for both of us. He'll grow in knowledge and friendship, and I'll grow to understanding how to manage my time on a more strict schedule. I'll learn to balance to life of having a son in grade school and one nearing preschool. He'll learn to make friends and hang upside down on the monkey bars. I'll learn to shuffle nap times around pick up schedules and how to pack lunches in Spiderman lunchboxes. He'll learn about adding and subtracting and how it applies to more than just blocks or fingers. I'll take on the role of Room mom and plan party for his class. I'll learn the rules of the pick up line and proper teacher/parent relationships. He'll learn to eat lunch in a timely manner so he has time to actaully play at recess. I'm bound to learn new things in math, reading, writing, Bible, and art along side him. I'll hug him and praise him at his success on spelling tests, and cry with him when he gets into his first fight on the playground.

Ethan and I have a partnership and unlike anything I imagined parenting to be like, yet it is a pleasure to grow with him, along side him. His maturity and milestones marked my own. I'm so proud to be his mother. I love you so much my little Eth.

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Two Blue Beacons

I'm posting a few of my favorite posts from Adventures with the Anderson's here before I remove the account. Here is one of my favorite. It was titled Two Blue Beacons. I wrote it on Sept. 11, 2009.

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It was the middle of the night, and I'd been sleepless in an under padded sleeping bag on thinly carpeted church floor. And it wasn't even a new church, it was an older, very old in fact Gothic style church in NYC. The cool drafts blew in and out and the belfry each midnight like the earth was letting out the breath she had been holding onto for months. Tomorrow I would face the demons, but for a few more hours I'd pretend to cling to my immaturity and ignorance as I stuffed my pockets with massive amounts to tissue and cried for what I was about to experience first hand.

In the middle of May 2002, I sat in the tower and thought about life and death and meaning and purpose and contemplated a God who let this happen. I watched with blurred vision each night as two huge blue beams shot into the heavens as ghostly reminders of that which once was.

The morning of September 11th 2001, my life didn't change. I was beyond horrified, scared and stunned like the rest of the world, but I didn't lose anyone, I didn't call searching for loved one, I didn't even know anyone in NYC and only one friend was in DC, fairly far from the Pentagon. I basically watched the news round the clock and waited...numb and speechless and waited more...for...something. I guess we were all waiting for...answers, for potential more attacks, for good news, for the unexpected tension that filled each exaggerated lung in America to ease and relax and know that we'd all be okay.

Things never did ease. At least I don't think they did. Its hard to remember. Less than 5 weeks later my Step- father passed away completely unexpectedly. My life narrowed, and my eyes and mind only thought of my family, of brain tumors and of how life might now go on.

After months of recovery and some small healing, I emerged from a delicate cocoon and slowly waded in the shallow ends of life post 9/11. As the opportunity arose I hesitantly stepped to the plate to join a team of 12 other APU students to spend a summer in NYC and DC learning, helping, and healing cities who suffered greatly 9 months earlier. Completely unaware of what I was really getting myself into, I tried so hard to shed the layers of cement I had crafted around myself. I wanted to feel again and I wanted to understand again. I wanted to empathize and I wanted so badly to feel like I could be significant to the disaster.

A full day of paperwork, background checks, and training at the Red Cross NYC, I donned a red lanyard which granted me full access to Ground Zero. Having not even seen the site other than on TV I would be face to face with gaping hole of hell in the morning. But sleep eluded me, as it does most nights before a monumental even in my life. That day would be monumental.





I suppose I wasn't shocked when we were given aprons and hair nets, but I wasn't completely expecting it either. As we entered the massive white tents on the north side of the Ground Zero passing through 2 sets of security and hundreds of volunteers with clipboards, walkie talkies and hard hats, we entered the mess hall. A serving buffet lined the back walls and dozens of round tables with folding chairs filled the remainder of the tent. There were only two ways in and out, one being the way we came in- from a heavily guarded and banned off street, and the other another heavily guarded ally looking street which was barracked and lead to the lifts which lowered you into "the pile".

Our job was to make, serve, and feed the hungry souls of the men and women who were cleaning out the pit. Most were firefighters and police officers. Some were construction workers, a few doctors and government officials. All were from all over the country, all over the world in fact. It was a true human melting pot of bitterness, sorrow, blood, sweat and a tiny glimmer of hope in their eyes.

Some passed in the lines and actaully thanked us for helping, for serving them. A knot forms in my throat just thinking about the humility they bestowed upon us. It should have been the other way around. And at times it was. We thanked and smiled at each passing face. Each one marked with exhaustion, dust encased their wrinkles and beards, and it was not uncommon for them to use their napkins to wipe the tears away as they tried not to look at you directly in the face when asking for more mash potatoes.

3 days. We spent 3 days at Ground Zero. It felt like 3 months. At times when the food lines were slow or empty we were encouraged to go talk to the men and women sitting at the tables. Ask if they needed to talk. Ask if they needed prayer. Ask if we could lead them to the sleeping quarters or get them a cup of coffee. Most of the time, they just wanted to balance on their heels squatting in the ally way, still closed off to the public and smoke a cigarette and stare at the blue sky that wasn't littered with particles of dust and bone.

Twice I had the honor to pray with two different firefighters. It was a odd thing. Me and my massive volunteering co-ed pride got a brutal humbling wake up call when I asked God who was I that in my infancy as a believer in His infinite power to pray for these grown men who were warriors in every sense of the word, fighting a war of darkness and hot mangled metal and fighting for the hope of finding bodies just to ease the minds of the thousands of friends, husbands, wives, sons and daughters? Who was I to even come close to understanding what I could possibly even pray for in a moment like that? Who was I to have any comprehension of why this was and why these people died and why these men had the unimaginable task of cleaning it all up? What words could I offer to comfort them? What lame attempt would I make to understand God and His working? I felt like nothing. Because, I was nothing. In the grand scheme of things, I was so small and so helpless and fruitless to enrich anyone’s life with my prayers, and that was humbling. For the first time ever- I really truly trusted God for provision. I was humbled and broken and astonished in my realization that alone I was incomplete and nothing. With God I was whole and empowered. And as if I thought walking in that white tent I would be giving something- those moments right there- I gave nothing and received everything.

As we said goodbye the after the last dinner we served on the 3rd day, a few of us walked around the entire blockade of what was Ground Zero. We walked to the edge of the platform which hovered into the gaping hole and slowly took in the sensory overload. before even making it to the end where we would stare hate in the face, the plywood boards encasing the plank were etched in memories, prayers of every kind of faith, missing person posters, phone numbers, and remembrance. Random mourners had sharpied the heck out of the wood. With barely enough room to sign a name, we took a few moments to sign and write on the boards. It was unbearable to read most of what was up there. It felt intrusive and too private to be read by someone who didn't lose that day, but the grief overtook me and undid me simultaneously as I looked out over the pit of Ground Zero, what was the World Trade Center Twin Towers, the white and yellow lights which temporarily hung over the hole for the 24 hour clean up crews blurred into brilliant shinning stars whose points stretched to infinity and melted together to form brightness over something so dark. I didn't want to tears to stop for fear of seeing the true ugliness that lay before me.

Not an inch of sidewalk, gutter, building, fence, plywood, car or truck that was bordering Ground Zero remained unmarked. Cards, posters, flowers and flowers and endless amounts of dried, molding, and fresh flowers marked the outline as if to purify it from the outside in. The church on Church Street marked a temporary monument as well as relief center that we collapsed into. Nothing I've ever seen in person, or on TV can ever compare to the overflow of expression I witnessed that night. Nine months after. Nine months. The smoke was still rising, the metal was still piercing the sky. The dust still surrounded the tip of Manhattan like a massive evil storm cloud.

That night we stumbled upon the Cross At Ground Zero. We learned the story and we prayed. We found a sailor who was visiting the cross while attending fleet week who also prayed with us. We took this picture and although we are all wearing smiles, it was a bittersweet moment after days of pure exhilaration, exhaustion and the slow mend of healing our hearts and finding a nation of Americans doing the same.