VBS Review

Vacation Bible School is a precious and important ministry to me.  I don't know if it's because I didn't have that experience as a kid, and wonder who I may have been in my faith journey if I had, or if it's because as a mother of two pre-schoolers I recognize the need for hope in the world.  But this has been my third year involved in the event and my second year as part of the decorations committee.  I love that kids get to learn about God and make friends are able to engage in fun hands-on activities, songs, games, and stories that help bring scripture to life.  In our family, VBS is big.  And after all the work that goes into tricking out the church to magically transform it into a sun-saturated beach scene like last year, or the desserts of Egypt like the year before, or even a National Park filled with trees and a river as we managed to do this year, it's a huge feat that involves nearly 90 people, including paid staff, college and high school interns, and a multitude of generous volunteers to teach lessons, organize crafts, make snacks (for over 220 kids), lead worship music, decorate the church, and coordinate games (to name a few).  And it's all so worth it, if you ask me.  I see the magic in their little eyes when they show up on Monday morning.  I see them dancing to the worship songs in the isles, and I see them eager to listen to the stories, make the crafts, play the games, their laughter chiming from every room throughout the church.  And today, the last day we attend since AJ is still preschool this year and only goes until Thursday, it's a bit sad to see VBS end.

Raquel, our fearless leader, repainting the sky that I had tinted too dark.  

The end product didn't look too hot at 3 inches away when I was painting it, but the mural ended up pleasing me and my snobby standards at a distance.  I've never painted anything remotely close to this size, and it inspired me to step out and do some large canvas paintings.  It was a lot of work fun!

On Monday morning, AJ rushed to find his group.   We were all bursting with excitement!

He was placed in the Racing Rabbits with his buddy, Audrey.  What a blessing!

"Ball"  Raphael said as he reached for the bees in the hallway tree. 

I'm so glad that Audrey was there to model appropriate engagement during worship.  I think her presence at his side was so helpful and really comforted him throughout the week.

I love this shot because it just captures him so well.  Here AJ just discovered the activities (as others are listening to directions), and can we say excited?  Katie is the very best craft teacher.  We're so blessed to have her working with our children.  

Raising his hand to tell his Ms. Katie he already knows what to do.  As ever.

In the snack room with his little buddy at his side.

Raphael was there too.  He was in the toddler room with Ms. Bonnie and her team of uber-skilled caretakers.  Can you find his fro at the right corner of the table?

Seeing this nearly caused me to burst out in tears.  Although this was his 3rd year attending VBS, it was markedly his first-ever participating in the choreographed danced routines in worship.  Thank you, Ms. Audrey!

Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, eat your heart out.

Raphael was there, too, participating by chewing on the pew.

We were a full house!  Everyone was engaged in the worship songs, it was beautiful to behold.  Our musicians and song leader were amazing, and it humbles me to see how blessed we are by them.  Anna is not only a professional singer, but coordinated, smart, energetic and beautiful inside and out.  

"I don't want to have my hair crazy."
"But it's Crazy Hair Day!  It's fun!  Other kids will have crazy hair too."
"Audrey won't have crazy hair."
{Thank you again Audrey!}

We made mini pizzas on English muffins.  Apparently this is common, though I didn't do this when I was little, Aaron and his family did, so it was a treat for our whole family.

Raphael had crazy hair too.  But everyday is Crazy Hair Day for him.

Familia y Musica

On top of prepping for VBS at church this weekend, our super sweet and uber talented brother-in-law, Nic, had some gigs with his Latin band Milonga in town and in Portland, which drew our family down from Tumwater and Spokane to see his shows.  So Saturday night we had the house full, the wine was poured, the guitars were pulled out, and the little boys played like ferral children with their cousin Esai.  It was a fun and special night.

La Familia:  Aaron and me in the back row.  From left to right, Esai, Mario, Jane, Cris, Rita and Nic.

I love this picture of Aaron with his mom.  At this point there was mariachi BLARING on the sound machine and Jane was giving her grown son a lesson on Mexican dancing, which Aaron, after a few too many glasses of wine, had decided to do a mock-Mexican boxing match with her instead.  At the end of it, we were all cracking up.  

Our home is always filled with music.  I love that our boys can grow up around real musicians, hearing real music on real instruments.  Aaron practices his guitar daily, and Andres still thinks that he plays it for him at bedtime.  

Aaron's inspiration growing up was his father, Mario, who was part of a Christian band when Aaron was little.  He was privy to witness the behind-the-scenes of band practice in the living room, following the gigs around the country, and the sad and eventual unravelling of the band in the end.  But the fire was started within Aaron, and he still burns with making music.  

For the Papa

When I see Aaron I see a man that leads by example.  He's showing our boys how to be in the world by simply being the best man he can be.  He strives to walk closely with God, praying constantly for our family and friends, and reading his Bible even at work in his cubical during lunch.  He's had a crazy year with his grad program, finding the will and discipline to focus on classwork after his long day at work, and manages to still find time for me and the boys.  He raises each of us up, building us with praises, never harsh criticisms.  It's been such a miracle, such a great joy to see him grow into the man that he is, the father that he is, and I can rest well knowing that my sons are blessed beyond words for having him as their father.  And I'm blessed beyond words by the sheer grace of bearing witness to this wonderful man, this beautiful blessing in my midst.

From Andres (age almost-six):  A Father's Day Questionnaire

My Papa's name is Aaron.
My Papa's eyes are brown.
My Papa's hair is black.
My Papa is 16 years old.
My Papa weighs 16 pounds.
My Papa is 16 feet tall.
My Papa likes to drink wine.
My Papa likes to eat eggs.
My Papa likes to wear nice clothes.
My Papa's favorite sport is football.
My Papa is smart because he knows music class.
My Papa always tells me not to do bad stuff.
It makes my Papa happy when I do good stuff.
My Papa works hard at music.
My Papa is the best at music.
I really love it when my Papa plays with me.
If I could give my Papa anything I would give him his favorite sport costume for football.
My favorite memory of my Papa is "Donuts with Dad" in Ms Tricia's class.

On Nostalgia

There it comes again, that low throb, an ache in the heart.  It's like dust that's lifted by a draft.  It pinches the sinuses, and waters the eyes.

Sure she was cute, but Lily was villainous and constantly plotting my demise.

Me, my brothers, and baby sister in 1984.

My love of reading started early.  

Sometimes I feel like I've lived one thousand lifetimes.

Me and my dear Grandma Luster on Easter 1985.  She was always trending, always so fashionable.  
I didn't inherit any of that from her, but I did get her knack for whipping up some good grub.

Me and Dad, 1980

My family driving cattle through the Yakima Indian Reservation in spring in the late 80s.  
That's my dad with the X shaped suspenders on his back.  

Growing up a cowgirl's destiny started early.

Me on Louie.   I wasn't yet two.

I always felt my dad was so handsome, a real football hero.  My mom was always so pretty with her sparkly blue eyes and cornsilk blond hair.  Dear Aunt Jodie never ages.

There's nothing quite like amputating relationships, especially those of your own family.  There's sadness that can't really be expressed or explained to those who only have experienced
natural physical death as an end.

Although the rot was deep, and the cut had to happen, it not only left us bereft, guilty, grief-stricken and bewildered, but it changed us entirely.

It was a horrible metamorphosis.  Hardly as poetic as  the butterfly erupting triumphantly from the chrysalis, but more terrifying, something nightmarish, like the violent formation of mountains
shaped by spewing lava and earthquakes.

I was closest with my second brother Jacob growing up.
It's been over three years since we've spoken.  I miss him.

Washing Wilber the Runt in the kitchen at our farmhouse 1986.

In one of my favorite poems, "Harlem," Langston Hughes wonders what happens to the dream deferred.  I wonder what happens to the lives we didn't live?  The good ones, and the bad ones?

Do we put them away in tiny coffins, and lift up quiet eulogies?

I've tried this.  It's hard to bury them because like zombies they die hard, they go to their graves unwillingly.  Visions of "what might have" been are haunting.

There was a lot of family around all the time, although many were surrogate.  My grandparents were really my mom's foster parents, and my cousins were so only by marriage.  But I like to think that the love we shared was real,
and bone deep.

On most days, the nostalgia is quiet.  On others it's obnoxious and painful.  Birthdays, holidays, especially Christmas, or Mother's Day, rip off that thin scab all over again.

No one tells you that healing leaves ugly, itchy scars.

Me and Wade at Mt St Helens.  He's a handsome man now with his own little boy.  I see Wade once or twice a year.

Me and Lexi on the first day of school.  I was in 8th grade, she was in 2nd.
She's always been a beautiful girl with mom's apple pie complexion.  I pray she's happy whatever she's doing.

I was in 5th grade.  Easter 1987 or 88.  After the divorce mom cut down the peach tree and ripped up the pine to install a pool.
 I always missed the trees.

At our annual Huckleberry Camp.  

Hiking in the Sawtooth Berry Fields in St. Adams.  Domino was our beautiful border collie, and protected us four kids with fierce loyalty.  She was definitely smarter than a 5th grader, a hard working girl driving, herding, and guarding our home.  She also played a mean game of tag with us four.  She deserves her own story.

Me and dear old Louie in the 4th of July parade in Toppenish, 1987.   He has his own story.

Mom and her chicks on Easter.
I miss my mom.  I would have liked her presence in my boys lives.  And in mine.

At sixteen I was selected from 60 international exchange students by the Saitama-ken Rotary Club to deliver a 20 minute speech (in Japanese) to over 1000 delegates at the annual meeting held in Tokyo.   My Belgian buddy, Ben, was also elected as the "boy representative."   My year in Toda-shi motivated me to become an English teacher, using my love of literature and language to live abroad.  It never transpired, of course. 

And yet there is the reality that dwelling inside every schism exists the birth of something new, something different.  According to my faith, I believe that this new creation is much better than what I was dreaming up in my feeble mind.  Something awesome.  Something God-sized.

September 10, 1999.  Kids in love.

The sadness is normal and good.  It means there's letting go, and grief is correct and healthy.  It's right to hold up all those dreams and possible destinies and realize that although it hasn't gone at all like I thought it would, or even what I had planned, the sacrifices were well worth it.

July 6, 2006
Loving precious little Andres.  The necklace was a laced with prayer charms from loved ones.

May 15, 2010.
Reveling the miracle of dear little Raphael.

 It's not easy, and not predictable, and it's far from perfect.
It didn't go as planned.  Many of my dreams are deferred, dieing, or dead.
But in so many countless ways this life is better beyond words than what I could have imagined.
And that gives me hope.


"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord.  
Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
Jeremiah 29:11

Happy {belated} Birthday Tia Kissie!

We were a little late (read a month) in celebrating Tia Kissie's (Aaron's sister Cris) birthday.  So we decided to have her out for dinner, with some of her favorite things.  Small and sweet!

Andres helped me whip up the cupcakes.  He's been cooking with me since he was two, and I'm so impressed with how savvy he is in the kitchen.  He knows all my kitchen mantras (like "pour slow and low so it won't splash/spill" or "make sure you're first safe, then clean before you cook").  On his very own (with me reading the directions off the box) he:

1.  Used the kitchen shears to open the Funfetti cake mix and pour it in the mixer.

2.  Measured and poured in the oil and water.

3.  Cracked the eggs careful of any shells, and added them to the mix.

4.  Freaked out Mom by pretending to slurp the sprinkles out of the container.  "Haha Mom, you should see your face!"  

5.  Locked the bowl in place and first with slowest level 1 until the powder was well moistened, he eventually adjusted the speed faster to mix it all up very well.

I was sort of surprised that he could do most of it without me.  Although I was proud of him, it made me realize that he's growing up and discovering his own way.  He kept saying "I know, Mom," or "I got it."  He's such a little man, so capable and bright.  

When we were all done pouring them into the muffin pan, his dark eyes shot up to mine, and a sly grin spilled over his face.  "Can I go play now?" There's my sweet little boy.

As the cupcakes cooled, we hung some decorations.  A little bling in those tissue paper pom poms, and her favorite color periwinkle crepe paper.

Frosted the cupcakes with Cotton Candy flavored buttercream (also periwinkle).  

Mixed up these fun little Cake Batter martinis for the big kids (the little kids were overjoyed to have Ginger Ale, as soda is a rarity around these parts.)

She was so surprised that we went "all out" for her birthday, but really it was a joy to celebrate her.  She's a wonderful sister and friend, and the boys adore their super fun and uber cool "Tia" (auntie in Spanish).

Growing up, Aaron was always close with his oldest sister, Cris.  When he and I lived in Seattle in the 90s, she became one of my closest friends, too.  We're blessed to have her in our lives again down here.

We had a vegetarian gyoza (thank you Trader Joe's) dinner with jasmine rice.  Simple, but a favorite meal in our house.

Raph's birthday was the weekend before so when he saw the cake with candles on it, he knew just what to do.  

Cris collects la Virgen images, and her home is very tastefully decorated in Mexican folk art and decor.  We gave her a pillow and a little purse from an artist on Etsy.  She loved it!

We partied hung out late into the night after the boys went to sleep, never bothering to turn on lights on, mixing Cake Batter martinis until the cake flavored vodka vanished.  Mexican music and candles, and us three remembering our times together over the past 14 years.   Cris is a precious and beautiful part of our lives.