Hello June

You've arrived!  You, dear June, the harbinger of summer, knock lightly, then burst in the door.

Every box on the calendar is already loaded.  Some days will be so hectic that I can expect my ugly side, sleep deprived and rushed, to surface.  On these days, I know I'll need to be extra careful to take it easy as much as possible so as to offset the crazy.  There will be swim lessons, Father's Day, graduation parties, VBS prep and VBS itself, birthdays, grad school finals, doctor appointments, BBQs, movies with friends, a visit to the Yakima Valley, and date nights; and all this among the normal life stuff like church, grocery shopping, cleaning the litter box, and visits to the library.

I'm in the throws of VBS prep.  I love VBS season.  I love working elbow to elbow with other moms, bonding and becoming friends.  Last year our decorating committee transformed our church into a beach with kites and a real lifeguard chair for the Surf-themed week of vacation Bible school.  My special tasks last year included creating the ice cream shop at the Welcome Desk, which was a lot of fun, and turning the pillars in the sanctuary into palm trees, which was a bus-load of work.  And I had a lot of help, too, making friends with amazing women and inspirational moms like Linda and Kathy.  The experience was dear to me, and those friendships have proven to remain precious gems in my life.

This photo doesn't do justice to the thrill felt on the first day of VBS last year as the kids watched a skit performed by our amazingly talented high school and college children's ministry interns.   You can get an idea of our impressive palm trees that was so much work, each frond was painstakingly hand cut and attached to wire coat hangers that were secured in planks of board that we had nailed to the wooden sanctuary pillars.
It was quite the feat!

I know it looks like it was thrown together  in this pic, but the signs took me forever to hand paint and have inspired a series of acrylic on canvas that I'm hoping to find the time to do.  I had a great deal of help from Kathy and Linda on this!

This year our theme is National Parks, so an evergreen forest is in order, and I placed an all-call for artificial Christmas trees in the bulletin and now have about 20 people who have graciously loaned us the use of their trees.  I've also found myself cornered by my own snobbish artist expectations on the backdrop this year, and have demanded (to a greater or lesser degree) that we have a reusable, paintable display piece as a prop for the main stage.  So, after lots of brainstorming and Pinterest surfing, we settled on covering the huge wooden frame (about 9' by 20') in the costume room with drop cloths then priming it before painting out the background scene.  And now I've volunteered to create a paper mache mounted deer head, a cute yet morbid contribution to the lodge area we're setting up.  We have only three weeks left to prepare our decorations, and with all that needs done, I'm going in 2 to 3 evenings each week to chip away at the mountain of tasks that need to accomplished before the end of the month.  But I love it.  I loved seeing the faces of the children (nearly 300 attended last year) as they walk in on that Monday morning.  And above all, I'm grateful that my kids get to be part of something like this, having fun with friends, singing and learning about God.

But we're a family of four with one car, and that's nuts, let me just say that right off.  We scurry from one place to another, the boys in the back seat making their loud and glorious boyish noises, and us in the front desperately trying to hold a linear conversation.   Aaron's wrapping up classes and drilling for his guitar jury and a final exam, amidst the insanity at his day job as they close the year and run reports for the company.  It's mayhem for him there, and at school, and then he comes home to more mayhem, and me wreathing spastically in disjointed conversations and fragmented tasks, and going generally crazy in my own personal mayhem.  Poor man.  He's such a trooper!

I always feel relief when spring fades away and summer arrives.  But I know that we're all bracing ourselves for the great summer run, facing head-on the epic three-month sprint from Fun Event to Fun Event until at the end all we're all longing for the changing of leaves to golden brown, the Back To School sales at Target, hot apple cider, and the normalcy of predictable routine.

Raph's 2nd Birthday Celebration

This was his first year that he sort of "got it" when it came to gifts.  The fun really starts now!

After each gift was opened Raphael found the giver and gave them a hug.  I wish I had better shots of those dear embraces.

Andres was a good helper, and if Raphael got a little too distracted by a gift, Andres would grab him by the arm and drag him to the giver, demanding he say thank you and give hugs.

It always amazes me how well our tiny home accommodates friends and family for events like this.  

"Okay boys look at me a smile!...Thanks, Grandpa, you were the only boy that followed the directions."

My goodness he's so handsome.  I can't believe that he's two already.  He's such a precious little guy.

I love his lips pursed and cheeks puffed out, working so hard to take out that candle.

Aaron teased by saying Raph looked like the joker with that frosting all over.

Granparents Villanueva with Papa and Raph

Chilling with Papa Mano in the yard.

Aaron says his dad had really curly hair too.  I know for a fact that musician gene comes down from Papa Mano, too.  So the beat goes on.

Portrait time. 

Nailed it.

I love seeing Aaron with his boys.  We never ever thought we'd have a boy, let alone two of them.  It's a beautiful thing witnessing my wonderful husband as a superb father.

My grandpa has untreatable cancer, and it was a joy for him to make the trip down with my dad and Karen for the wee celebration in Raphael's honor.  Grandpa just loves being a great grandfather.  When I was little this stoic old cowboy wouldn't say five words to me in a year, and here he is tenderly helping Raph get his new sandals on.

Another portrait!

Nailed it!

Happy Birthday, Son!

Dear Raphael,

I can't believe you're two years old.  I shake myself mentally, wondering where the time has gone.  Can that be right?  Is my math wrong?  But when I see you running around with your curly hair so lively and expressive, and those old-soul eyes that you get from your Papa, and that adorable gap-tooth grin framed by shallow dimples, I'm humbled by the passage of time, and how fleeting it seems.

You're the perfect capstone to our family quartet.  You have added balance and brought about great healing, joining our family after a harrowing family crisis, and soothing our heartache.  Your name means "God has healed," and you're a living symbol of hope and recovery.

I watch you, my little man.  Mothers watch.  They have keen eyes for their children.  They see things others miss.

I see you. 

I watch you.

And I am ever humbled and amazed by you.

You love your big brother very much.  You always have.  And he loves you.

His name was your first word.  

He's your best friend, and I pray every day that as brothers that friendship sharpens and deepens, and remains even after you're both grown up, married, and have children of your own.  You've added so much joy to AJ's life.   He just grips you by the hand and pulls you everywhere, even when you where tiny and he'd lift you up under the arms and tote you all around like a puppy.

I love catching AJ reading stories to you.

Little heroes.

You LOVE the swings, and your brother feels so proud to push you like a big boy.

Now on your own two legs, you follow him loyally.  You trust him to fault, I must say, as he often takes for granted your trust in him, your limited vocabulary and youth.  Only in the past several months have you learned that if he offends you by whipping your cheek with that rubber snake for instance, you only need to say his name "Ahn-dee, ahn-dee!" and point at him for me to understand exactly what happened while I had my back turned to cook dinner.  But this love you two have makes my heart swell with pride.   My boys, so handsome, so spirited and bright.  I see him take your hand.  But it's your small fingers that curl tight around his as he leads you.  Trust and love.  They go hand in hand.

Everyday I discover more about you, and do my best to lean into your natural bent.  I sense that you have a lot in common with your Papa, who is the wisest man I know, reverent, holy, and good.  It amazes me that the same subtle nuances that I admired in your Papa since when I was 18 now dwell in you.  The way you lower your eyelashes, the curves of your lips as you ponder on something, the cut of your chin, the way you cock your head and lift your eyes when you hear a captivating sound, are all from him.  But more than that, your soul seems to be cut from the same fabric as his.  You're gentle, but strong.  People are enchanted by you, lured by the bounce of your chocolate curls and captured by your deep sparkly eyes.   It's true, but more than that, there is an air of warmth, acceptance, and humor that endears people to you.  That you get from your Papa, too.

Oh, you and your Papa absolutely have the same sense of humor.  You, my Son, are rich with personality.  Your laughter alone is laugh-inducing, a guffaw, a rolling barrel of a laugh that is both soft and deep.  When you laugh, it's like or sunshine or candy.  We all join in, just to share in the deliciousness of it.

Did you hear the one about the determined Cheerio?

It never let go.

You have a stubborn streak (you get that from Papa, too, by the way, although he'd stubbornly deny it) that is surprisingly unyielding.  I pray that you use this to safeguard your faith as you grow in the world.  Be stubborn about God.  Be uncompromising in your faith.  It's a gift.  But remember you still have to eat your vegetables.  In that area, I out-stubborn you, dearest.

You're musical, sweetheart.  So beautifully musical.  I love the way you have always danced to sounds you love, and always cried big crocodile tears to sounds you didn't like.  This hurt my feelings when you were tiny and I tried to sing you to sleep.  But you have a tin ear, an amazing sensitivity to sound that I've witnessed as a real phenomenon over the past 15 years with your Papa and his musical family.  You have learned the first bar of the Imperial March in key.  And when you see images of Darth Vadar, that chant has become an onomatopoeic symbol for his name.  You like rock, heavy in the drum and bass, and once I discovered that golden nugget you and I danced together in the living room, or the kitchen or office, you on my hip, to our favorite song "Pumped Up Kicks" from Foster the People.  No, it's not a cutesy, baby song, but those make you cry, so we jumped right into the stuff the teenager next door jams to.  You are my rock star.

You're also quite the climber.  You were the one who caused compassion to grow in me for all the other mommies of climbers, and I've repented for all the countless times I've said "they need to keep that kid from climbing things he shouldn't be climbing!"  You climb the table, the couch, the bookcase, the fence, the chair, the countertops, the dresser...Last fall after we moved here I forgot I left the ladder leaning against the wall, and you climbed up until the weight of it came crashing down on you, smashing an aluminum step deep into your face just below the eye.  It will leave a scar, which shames me even now all these months later, but had it crashed a just centimeter higher, you would have lost that eye.  You're a risky one, and that, I confess, is something all yours.   Your Papa has visions of you at 30, towering over him at 6'4" with a mountain man's beard and dreadlocks to your belt, making a living as a rock-climbing instructor during the week and playing bass in the band on the weekend.  But who knows.  You're a cool cat, sweetheart.  You have a spark that could lead you to a happy life in any direction you want.  

Aside from music and climbing, your first toys remain to be your favorites.  The whimsical paper balls that I hung from your bedroom ceiling when I was grotesquely obese in my final month of pregnancy with you inspired your second word, "ball."  Even as a tiny infant, you would watch the paper balls sway and turn from their invisible string, captivated by their magic from your crib or changing table, and when I prompted you by saying "look at the balls" your head dropped back to stare with a grin at the silent orbs of color floating over you.   Balls now occupy the house like a roaming herd of beasts, various sizes and colors, and all of them possessively shepherded under your careful eye.  I wonder if you'll be more like your Grandpa Butch or Uncle Wade in athletic prowess.  Will I be a soccer mom after all?  You'll let me know, I'm sure.  

But something from me, and something that at two you still have, is a love of cars.  It happened when you were very young, perhaps six or nine months, just beginning to sit on your own, and I had a little Hot Wheels van that I rolled up your leg to your belly, making a soft "rrrrrrrrrr" sound of a motor.  It was a surprise then when later I discovered you rolling a car on the floor making that same noise.  It amazed me because you were so young.  And even now the word "car" hasn't come to your lips yet, but that same sound has become your own onomatopoeia synonymous with car or any motorized vehicle.  You still run around with a car in each hand.

You're a real outdoorsman.  More than your brother and I, but again like your father, you love to be outside.  Your sport is seeking out impressive sticks to whack against things, trying out different sounds; stick on table, stick on brick, stick on Big Brother, stick on fence, etc.  The stick is an instrument to you, and better for being found in nature.

You have your stick and are banging through the spring shoots.  

 You love picking flowers, and grass, and examining the fine shreds of moss or veins in a leaf.  You discovered our patio has a parade of large glossy black carpenter ants that after failed attempts to make friends with you resorted to smushing them with your finger tip them sipping them off.  Yes.  Sipping.  Most mothers would faint at the thought, but I'm a mother of boys, and somewhat aware that there are worse things you could put in your mouth.

You're something of a botanist, studying flora with a keen eye and heightened interest.

Admiring the delicate purple clover flowers you discovered at the park.

Catching snowflakes.

You loved your first sledding experience this winter.  You had no idea you were cold!

I've always loved this image of you in the grass with bubbles falling on your lap.  You were just introduced to bubbles, and you chased after them, mesmerized, calling out "ball" as they descended like magic all around you.

I regret I didn't get a better picture of you in the fall leaves.  They were the whole body experience for you.  Not only could you toss them around, but they made a wonderful papery sound, and felt so amazing in your little fingers.

I love watching you play outside in your wellies. The world is an adventure to you, full of wonder and discoveries.

And as a naturalist, you harbor deep fascination and love for all God's creatures.   You love our cats, although the feeling isn't yet reciprocated.  You love the soft yellow chicks that push under the neighbor's fence, and cry loudly when we won't let you kick them like a ball around the yard.  You adore dogs and will scream "puppee!" when you see one at the park or on a walk, rushing as fast as your legs will carry you to pet it, hopefully I beat you to it and ask permission of the owner first.  You love worms, and hunt for them under the bricks, rocks and pots of flowers in the back yard.  So far those have not been added to your list of exotic foods, but I think it's a matter of time.

At first I tried to stop you, but our Aunties insisted seaweed was high in nutrients and uber healthy.

Although I felt it should have at least been rinsed first, you found it delectable.

You made sure that every beach we visited was sampled immediately.

The grassy, thin tendrils of sea vegetable was your favorite.  By the fists full you relished it.

Your fervor for trying new foods has that single, and perchance dangerous, drawback.  Not everything should be tasted.  But the positive side is that you try it all.  You slurped the seaweed right out of the ocean last summer, and how many mothers of toddlers can say that sushi is a bona fide favorite, complete with chopsticks?

Exotic food is a speciality in our house.  When we eat sushi, ramen, miso soup, gyoza, or African entrees like Malagasey Beans with rice, a recipe from our dear friend Rachel who lived in Madagascar for a year long mission, you try everything without discrimination.  We get our boys started early on chopsticks so their little fingers grow accustomed them.  I wish I cooked more Japanese food at home, but the ingredients are often hard to come by or expensive.

You do love it outside, though.  And have helped your brother enjoy it more out there too.  Rain and mud (of which there are lots of both in our part of the world) are hardly deterrents, and add  to your overall enjoyment and bonding with nature.

Playing outside, in the rain, in the mud, in your wellies and pajamas.

There's something on my face?

Awesome!

This is Raphael to base.  We are a Wellie down.  Repeat, Wellie down.  Over.

Mud is best when sitting in it and keeping company with Optimus Prime and Darth Vadar.

But rain and mud are both variants of the other thing that you love:  water.  "Wah-wah" is one of your most used words, and you point it out in the bath, at the river or the beach, and any liquid in a cup is wah-wah.  You've always loved water.  You'd go running to the bathroom as soon as the tub water was turned on.  Now, you hustle up stairs like a big boy without even holding on to the handrail for support when the bath is started after dinner.  When we visit the pool sometimes on Saturdays, your Papa and I have to alternate taking you in the river and deep end.  Your bob and float, and push us away, wanting to be at one with the water.  It reminds me that we need to start you in lessons early.  You could sprout gills and become a fish, or fins and become a dolphin.  You belong in water.

You have always been like a baby turtle, dearest.
You smell the salt water and break out in a full run towards it.

If you could, if we'd let you, you'd run directly into the waves.

You slipped on a mossy rock at this lovely mountain lake near Courgar, and were dunked under in chilly water.  But it didn't hurt your love for it.  You pushed me away and, with slightly more caution, stepped out into the shallows again.

Even the pool at home offers you comfort and peace. 

I'm so honored to be your mother, and challenged to build you up and encourage you to be the man God calls you to be.  He has special plans for you, and I pray that you respond in faith.  I love all you are, and am blessed to not only be your mother, but graced to have a little person like you, so rare and wonderful, in my life, and the lives of so many others.

Happy 2nd birthday, precious son.  God bless you, guide you and protect you everyday and always.