AJ's Birthday Celebrations!

Celebrating you started with me and Papa waking you from your tender slumber at 7 in the morning to sing you the Birthday Song, your father with his golden tenor leading, and me trying to carry a tune in cup.

But for your Big 6, I had it on my heart to give you a stellar Star Wars themed party.  I had visions of Death Star Pinatas, and Jedi Training Coarse stations, and costumes, and had even sent out a save-the-date request to our friends and family to come.  But as it goes, we sadly weren't able to make it happen this year.  As deflated as we felt about it, we knew that a simple, small party was all we could do.

And yet miracles and blessings unfolded.  Your day was indeed a great gift and celebration of you.

The morning was kicked off by our friend Rachel showering you with love and birthday treats!  She had gifts and cupcakes, a balloon, and even lunch!  She knew we had sorely wanted to do a Star Wars birthday and had thoughtfully brought Star Wars gummies to top her delicious little cupcakes.  It was a warm and bright day, a perfect day for a small and special party in the park.

They sang the Birthday Song to you in the sunshine and warm grass in their sweet little voices.  

I think you were over the moon with all the love and attention from your dear friends.  Look at that smile!

When we got home from the park, we found a mysterious package from Amazon with your name on it. Hmmmm....

From Uncle Isaac, Aunt Jennie and Cousin Bella in San Francisco you got another birthday gift!  A righteous T-Rex skeleton mold kit!  

Before rest time, you had had had HAD to pour your first T-Rex bones.  They'd be ready to paint afterwards.

During rest time, I rushed to set up these humble decorations, loaners from my dear friend Kathy who was so willing to share the adorable hand-made decorations from her son's Star Wars Party.  

So cute!  

Aunt Melissa, Uncle David and baby Cousin Matthew were visiting from Spokane!  What a joy to have them be part of your special day!  Melissa was my friend in high school and she "hooked me up" on a blind date with her grunge-rocker older brother.  It turns out, he was my soul mate and without her, there'd be no Andres!

The boys loved their little cousin Matthew.  Raphael especially loves babies and kept trying to prop him up to play with him.  Matthew is absolutely adorable!  He has so many characteristics that remind me of Andres as an infant.  It draws on my nostalgia and although I love these days (mostly) I miss my babies this size, all warm and snugly.  Six years later I am wondering where I've been.  My little snugly boy has grown into a tall, skinny handsome young man.

Gramma Jane and Grampa Mario were able to bring Cousin Esai from Spokane to take part in the festivities.  There wasn't a shortage of love after all.

Look at that boy!  So grown up and smart.  My heart breaks with the beauty of you!  I hope all your wishes come true! There were cupcakes from the party in park that morning and so in many ways, Rachel had given me a birthday gift too as I didn't have to worry about preparing a cake!  

No words needed.  

Toys!  Games!  Clothing!  Woo hoo!

Thanking Uncle David for the puzzles.  Uncle David is a pretty cool guy.  A military vet and that fun, cool uncle that everybody wants to have.

Thanking Gramma Jane for the clothing and toys. 

The next day, Saturday, you got the last gift in the mail from Aunt Rachel, Uncle Tom and Cousin Marianna in Cincinnati.

You call it your Comic Book, and in a week you had filled it out generously with a highly detailed story of Captain Underpants, complete with vivid illustrations and impressive vocab.   You're a marvel, sweetheart.

The window decals from Rachel proved to be an amazing extension of your play and new media for you to create with.  I'd say it was a sweet and endearing birthday filled with much love, thanks to the thought and effort of so many people to help make it so.

Happy Birthday, My Oldest Boy!

Dear Andres-Jose,

Six years is a lifetime for you, but it's been the blink of an eye for me.

I can't begin to tell you how much I wanted you.  How much I prayed for you before you ever entered our lives.

We waited seven long years to meet you, to hold you, to know you.  And after nearly as much time with you, you're still revealing new and wonderful insights to who you are every day.

When your Papa stood behind me in the operating room 6 years ago today, my hand in his, our hearts pounding with trepidation and urgency as they rushed to save your life, I never believed I would have a son.  The thundering heartbeat that made us sob when we heard it on the dop-tone for the first time when you were just 13 weeks old was during labor faltering.  

Even when the doctors said your Papa could announce your gender, and he wept as he said "we have a son!" I couldn't believe it.  Until the doctors assessed you and comforted my fears, until I held your warm, tiny body, did I believe again that your heart was fierce and strong.  All my prayers were answered in that moment.  You were healthy.  You were a boy, my boy, that I had prayed for long ago when I was a little girl on the farm.  You are an answered prayer.

Not much in these six years has gone as we had planned.  But you have been strong all along.

We've suffered a six-car-pile-up, as Papa says, and endured great loss in the tragedy.  You were so young, and we were like zombies, walking around in a haze, eyes glossy and unseeing.  Yet you thrived despite the darkness.  Like a small green shoot popping up through ashes, you grew, and are still growing, and maturing into a creature of magnificent beauty and goodness.

We tried to do the "normal" thing.  We tried to give you a wealth of experiences from which you could gain confidence, skill, and maturity, like other parents around us.  There was karate.  There was soccer.   There were preschool Christmas events.  All of these things seemed good, and logical, and correct.  But yet your little feet never felt comfortable in those shoes.  Too tight.  Too restrictive.  You needed to wiggle your toes!  And the normal expectations dwindled when we realized we were unfair to you, and replaced these expectations with challenges to meet the same goals but by taking different paths.  You are dynamic and faceted, and the road must meet you there in that place to {help us} help you own your gifts and become the man God calls you to be.

You have always loved superheroes.

First it was Superman, and you wore that red cape everywhere.  How beautiful, and boyish, what a thing to miss those days.  You must have worn it a whole year, to church, daycare, the grocery store.  It was an extension of you, and now that I look back, I think it was an extension and statement of your mighty spirit.

I love your creative mind.  It's a beautiful, wonderful thing to behold.  You have vast kingdoms and cities and entire solar systems unfolding throughout your imagination, many of them populated by characters, heroes and villains, spawned from your favorite books or movies, but redesigned in your singular style, and always accompanied with their own theme songs, which you of course composed.  Your attention to detail, your capacity to draw, paint, cut, create, compress, expand, recreate, retell and remember everything astounds me.   You correct us constantly, catching me with a lazy brain, or fumbling with a memory.  You were right about Darth Vader, after all my research online, the top button on his chest is green, not blue, to prove me wrong.  You've a sharp mind behind those sharp eyes, absorbing everything you see with quiet, calculating frankness.  We adults don't know you're filing the details away, processing far more than we're aware.  I know God has big plans for you, great good things in store, blessings beyond our quaint dreams.  I pray that you listen carefully, lean into his voice.  It won't be easy, but He won't let your foot slip.

This spring you created your own comic book character, a ninja you named Red Hendra, and even the world of villainous foes whom Red Hendra conquers. 

Your rendering of Red Hendra, dabbing alizarin crimson on his mysterious red mask.

Old fabric remnant, a shark Megaladon, some dinos, and you.  That's hours of play surviving the roughest waters ever known to man!

You drew your own map of the sea and the island on this day, and we made boats from wine corks and old coffee filters.  Hours of fun...hours.

You are an amazing older sibling, and I'm so glad God gave you a brother.  You're his best friend.
I pray it stays that way.

The past six years have been harder than I thought they would be when I held you small and new for the first time, gazing into your deep Aztec eyes for the mystery of who'd you become.  But the time spent with you in the world, learning who you really are, is also more wonderful then I ever could have imagined.  So I gladly and humbly stand corrected again, sweet boy.

I pray that you own your uniqueness, don't let the world crush you with conformity.  Cling to the you as God designed you because He'll bless you for it.  I'm proud of you, dearest.  You see, in the process of learning your special bend and trying to parent you accordingly, you taught me to own mine.  You remain my greatest teacher, sweetheart.  Let's be different together.  Let's be weird and indie and artsy together.  Square pegs in a round-hole world.  Let's encourage each other to fox trot when the world wants us to goose-step.

I wish you a blessed year filled with new and exciting experiences, as you embark into kindergarten via homeschool, and meet new people who will love you because you're an awesome little man, gain new knowledge, and continue to grow like a tree that is planted firmly beside the river, whose roots go deep and whose leaves don't wither.  I pray that all you do prospers.  Always.

Now, sweet boy, my Thunder Heart, my own little Superman, let's dance.

Donning wellies and my old silk scarf red cape you're ready to rescue those oppressed by the forces of evil.

Independence Day

Ten years ago during our first Independence Day after moving here, our dear friend Alicia told us about the free festivities at the Fort.  So Aaron and I traversed there and enjoyed, amidst a sea of fellow viewers, the magnificent fireworks show over the Columbia River.  But for the past seven years, we've shared the holiday with our dear friends, two other families, and our babies grew into children that played together in the kiddie pools while we sipped mojitos and the dads let off fireworks (carefully following all safety regulations pertaining to children and fire, with exception of that one time that Aaron looked into a Roman Candle to see why it didn't go off, but I digress) after a BBQ in the yard.  But this year the July 4 fell on Wednesday, and it made it awkward for such an event to take place.  So Aaron decided to revisit the Fort with the boys, and although surprised that we needed to buy tickets to the show this year, acquiesced and got them anyway.  After dinner we got the boys in the bath and their pjs, then with blankets and lawn chairs trekked to the fireworks show.  We got there early for better parking and claimed our little spot in the grass just as the sun was setting, pulling long thin shadows over the ground, and the bats descended from their perches in the trees over us, chasing their breakfast of mosquitos and gnats.  The boys ran like feral children across the vast lawn of the park, the sunset painting them glowing colors of gold and copper. 

But as the stars popped through the darkening heavens, a thrill of energy resonated in the air as we and our fellows in the grass settled in for the show. Finally a whistling missile shot up into the nighttime sky and exploded with a ground-rattling boom, spraying an orb of shimmering magenta bits of fire over us.  The boys were hushed, mouths agape, faces that just moments before were reflecting the sunset, were now illuminated by the miriade of colors from the fireworks.  Raph sat on my lap in reverent silence while Andres snuggled between Aaron and I shivering at the loudness.  We explained to them earlier as we waited for the show to start that this is the day we celebrate our freedom.  The loud noises reminded me that as I snuggled with my little ones in the grass for a show, there are countless of mothers in other, far away places where there's war or violent unrest, hearing the same explosive sounds around them for very different reasons.  It's hard to grasp when you're almost-6 and 2, or an American all cozy on a lawn on a balmy summer's evening, but the thought jarred me.  I shivered at the screaming missiles and thunderous booms, praying for them, those frightened mothers and children in distant lands.  And I felt a heavy gratefulness for my life.  And some kind of agressive, protective love for the fragile four of us, imperfect and broken, yet so very blessed and rich with love and peace, swept over me as our faces radiated with the passing colors of the glittering heavens above.  

Anything's Possible

Aaron has finished his first year of grad school and the repercussions have been huge.   He was gone a lot more, he had distractions in the form of homework, finals and guitar lessons to practice for.  He was still working full time so there was the additional tasks dumped on him there, as well as maintaining his household in the way of parenting the boys and making time to spend with me.  And at the end of that year he's completely exhausted.  Going to work without the added 3-4 hours in class really feels like a vacation compared to the long hour days he was doing this year in school.
But there's the concern that has lingered in out hearts all year.  Is it worth it?  Is all this work and time apart really benefitting our kids?  Our family?  And will the student loans to get an advanced degree be worth it?
The honest truth is we don't know.  We have no idea what the road ahead will look like.  But we have to fall back on the fact that for some reason God has put it on Aaron's heart to move forward, to step out in faith, and pursue the desires of his heart, that is studying music.  We have to believe that by acting in faith we will be blessed.  We know it won't be easy as he puts on his backpack and returns to the classroom, and it hasn't been so far. But I'm so proud of my husband as he sets out to do what he feels God has called him to do, letting that quiet thread of God's voice call him towards his destiny.  The best part of it, the piece of this journey that I admire most in my husband, is his upstanding attitude.  He has goals and dreams, but he's wide open for a God Detour, a side road alley that may reveal a new direction or opportunity, a path that may change the trajectory of his life, of our lives.
Wherever this journey takes us, we're in it together, our little quartet.  And the possibilities are vast and wide, if we have the courage the take the plunge of faith and let the waves roll us out.

Whatever Works

I've read somewhere that responsibility is caught not taught.
True.  Here's the thing:  Some of us are led by example.  Some have a little mechanism inside them that intrinsically want to help, desire to do what's right.  Others thrive on responsibility and actually enjoy it.  Not so with my AJ.
He hates really dislikes work of any kind.  And when I ask him to help me fold towels, he throws a fit and claims I had children just so I could have slaves do all the work around the house.  (And the envelope please, on behalf of the Academy, Best Male Performance in a Leading Role goes to...)
When I was small and my parents had me helping with dishes or around the farm or in the yard, I spewed the very same words.  I thought if they loved me, they wouldn't make me work.  I had better things to do with my time.  And now I have a child who is much like me, and work is not what I'd prefer to be doing, no matter how much sugar-coating goes onto it, or what cutesy song is sung.  So I barrel through work to do it well, and get it done, so I can do other things I'd rather be doing.  Like my son, I'm an artist.  My imagination is my playground and it's not in me to live to work.  I work to live.
The reality is that I am grateful that my parents instilled in me a work ethic.  I'm not shy of hard physical labor and have dug pools, built fences, pruned orchards, mowed lawns, and slopped pigs to name a few. I've also remodeled bathrooms, laid carpet, planted and weeded a garden, hosted yard sales, worked as a janitor in the dorms in college, and pushed 200 head of cattle across a river on horseback.  I still loath doing dishes, but they get done eventually.  I still put things off that can wait.  Remember the Laundry Chair?  That doesn't mean work ethic has slipped from my value system, but as an adult I can see where all the needs are, and choose to spend my time according to my own values, priorities, and schedule.
But now the hard, miserable chore of teaching my own child how to contribute, and how to pull his own weight.  There's so many experts out there claiming when to start chores and what kinds of chores according to a child's age or attention span.  A few parents have written articles and blog posts telling that they have discovered the secret to getting their kids to help out without any complaining, and in fact claim their four year old jumps right to it (with a spring in their step and a song on their lips) when she is asked to clean their room.  Good for them.  That's great.  But not my kid. Whatever they have going on is working for them.  It doesn't mean it would or could work for us.  One size doesn't fit all.  
So, realizing that my AJ is just like me and needed a system tailored to his own personality and bend, I felt he would do best with a checklist.  But as free spirit, a pure checklist would be too authoritative and that spells rebellion right there.  So, choices should be offered to allow him to have a sense ownership.  And as a visual learner, and a pre-reader, he needed graphic images to guide him.
Baring all that in mind, this morning I whipped up this little chore chart for him.  The black numbers indicates a daily must-do, no choice.  He has to make his bed before he leaves his bedroom each day.  The green numbers indicate morning options, the blue for afternoon, and red for evening *if needed.*  There are positive consequences if he can manage to do that without me nagging asking or reminding.  If he feels needed, and his labor appreciated, perhaps he'll become more altruistic in his efforts around the house.  Perhaps.  {sigh}
It's always an experiment, in every step of parenting I feel that risk factor bubbling to the surface in the question of "will this work?" but I hope it builds his confidence once he sees he can do it, and realizes it feels good to contribute.  This is one small step in seeking out and doing whatever works for my child because I know him best and I won't give up trying to find the best way to raise him.