Growing Up

I find myself wondering, when did this happen? And how did it happen? And I want to yell to the person driving the train STOP. STOP. RIGHT. NOW. But even that isn’t true because I want to see your life unfold and continue to marvel at the great gift that is you. And when I look at you, though time speeds forward, you are all the ages you’ve ever been to me. You are years and seasons and growth and pain and humility and joy. You are my tiny, tiny babes and my teenage sons in the same breath. You are every moment we’ve ever shared and this is a beautiful thing. 

These Boys & Me

Some of the happiest (for me, anyway) photos in my phone 

from the past couple of weeks come from New Year's Eve.

We'd eaten burgers

(hello pepper jelly, BBQ sauce, ketchup, mayo, mustard, pickles, avocado, broiled meat with salt and pepper, cheese -- just give me alllllllll the condiments),

 and Isaiah and I were sitting at the kitchen table putting together a 3-D puzzle of a German castle.

Benji was hanging out with us too, 

snapping photos, 

and making smack comments that made us laugh.

I love Isaiah's amused expression above (I don't know what I'm saying to him) and these two photos where he's laughing really hard.

We were working independently and together, and sometimes I called upon his brain to figure something out because I was lost.

#smartypants

As I've looked at these photos since, I've laughed out loud and smiled.

I love moments like these where things get goofy with my boys.

And that's all.

11

They turned 11, and the day was much like the Monday afternoon of the day they were born.

I remember laying there, pushing those boys out of my body, and noticing the bright blue sky outside and the sunshine.

It was a beautiful day.

Funny what you remember. 

We had friends show up at 7:45 this morning with donuts, a sweet and lovely surprise for the boys.

I was already cooking sausage and planning to make scrambled eggs, but it turned out they ate donuts and sausage instead.
(Healthy.)

When we dropped them off at school, Claire and I ran errands and then came home to do party prep:

making chocolate cake (scratch chocolate cake with scratch peanut butter frosting and crumbled peanut butter cups)

and filling favor bags.

Then it was time to make the relay lists for the party. I split the boys into two teams and explained what they had to do: an act of service, 50 jumping jacks, a round of pictionary, a round of tricks on the trampoline, an egg/spoon relay down the backyard, 2 times around the block, and a scavenger hunt for 4 things. The winning team got full-size candy bars.

They nailed it, it was entertaining, and it kept things from getting too crazy. (You've got to harness the energy of all those tween boys!)

After the party was over, a lazy couple of glorious hours ensued. My sister and I talked on the deck. After she left, I sent friends home and made tacos and we took some pictures and then sat down to eat.

And then we gathered round for a new tradition: drawing words for the birthday peeps from the "oracle" box one of my sisters gave to me on my birthday this year, and writing wishes for the birthday peeps for the coming year. 

I choked up with one of Claire's simple messages:

Dear Isaiah, On your birthday I want to tell you that I love you always. Love, Claire

Mia wished that Benji would get a lego set that would end up being one of his all-time favorites and that Isaiah would make a meaningful friend.

Isaiah capitalized on a family joke when he wished Benji a bowl of salad.

And me? I offered a wish about Benj not letting fear hold him back, and I choked up when I read it out loud. (Isn't that one of those life lessons that most of us have to learn again and again?) And for Isaiah? That he'd make a delectable cake and get some new cologne, among other things.

And tonight, after the sound effects of a "fart in a can" gift Benji got had died down (You should have seen the laughter and fart imitations going down among all those boys while we were eating cake and ice cream and opening presents on the back lawn. I couldn't help it. I could. not. restrain. my laughter.), they read in their beds and then made me laugh with a rendition of "Do Your Ears Hang Low" that references the male anatomy as taught to them by a friend. 
(Insert: "Do your balls hang low?")

Oh. my. word.

And due to party prep, I didn't get to work today. The result? I worked late and looked up from my screen periodically at the three of them that fell asleep in my room. 

And you know what?

Tonight I’m feeling very aware of something as I look at each of them; their lengthening bodies, their peaceful faces, the noise of the day now quiet and still. 

It's that gentle, beautiful ache that reminds me they’ll be gone before I know it.

They have been--and are--the greatest privilege of my life.

Dove Hunting

Benj got his birthday present early this year: a BB gun with extra ammo.

He wanted it in time to take it dove hunting on Labor Day.

When he found it sitting out for him, he ripped it open and immediately started sizing it up.

On Labor Day night, laying in bed, I was watching a video of them cleaning the birds after the hunt.

I couldn't help but laugh.

They're sitting in the truck bed twisting and pulling off bird heads and wings.

My nephew Grayson thinks it's disgusting, but he stands there watching.

Benji is totally interested and engaged, actively cleaning and gutting the birds. I think he was stoked to be using his pocket knife on something legit, and when I asked him how it was to clean and gut a bird, he gave me one passionate "awesome". (And it wasn't the little-boy-gleeful-shout version of awesome; it was the older, collected-but-punctuated-and-emphatic awesome. 

Turns out...these boys are growing up.)

Isaiah is completely grossed out and it shows on his face. He is repulsed, but drawn to watching anyway. My favorite line from him that makes me bust a gut every time?

"I could do the feather pulling, but I can't do the decapitating body parts."

Bella, my almost-seven-year-old niece, is clapping with joy at the prospect of taking off bird wings. 

("Okay, okay, I'll do this! I'll do this!")

Oh my gosh, I love her.

Honestly?

Super funny video. 

I laugh every time I watch it.

 And even if Isaiah didn't love that part, he did enjoy shooting at "tweety birds" late that afternoon, 

and Benj loved shooting cans and hearing them PING.

Oh, and the dove hearts. He wanted to keep them.

When they got back, Isaiah promptly told me that he wanted a BB gun and ammo for his birthday present, too.

 So, friends, that's how we're going to end up with two BB guns in the house, and target practice going down in the backyard.

Good times.

Special Number

Last week, Isaiah said something that left me totally amused.

Like, I was sitting in one of the chairs on the deck 

laughing out loud to myself in the aftermath.

It was the middle of the day, we were all outside talking, and Isaiah was telling me about a funny exchange I had forgotten about---something that happened at our last music night. Dave and Ryan were going to do a song together, 

and we'd come back round to them in the circle.

Dave stood up and headed through the kitchen, and I said, 

"Wait, aren't you guys gonna do your special number?" 

(I was thinking it was their turn and they were up.)

To which Dave responded, to everyone, 

"I'm gonna go do my own special number," 

as he headed toward the bathroom.

When Isaiah told the story and said Dave's line, 

he added, kind of as a quiet side note to us:

"And Benji's over there guffawing by the fire."

(About Dave's joke, of course.)

Guffawing!

I die.

(I love!, so much, that that's the word that came to his mind to describe Benji's laughter.)

And, one other thing about 10-year-old boys?

Try saying the word "balls," in practically any sort of context, 

without them considering it a reference and dissolving into laughter.

Just try it.

Welcome to my life.

Sharing a Joke

See this son of mine?

He and I shared a moment recently that I just love.

Rewind to a week and a half ago when I went to my friend's farm to shovel chicken manure into buckets. 

The flies were plentiful. 

The smell was pungent.

The horses and goats gathered round.

Alisa was kind enough to load those 4 buckets of manure into the farm truck and bring them back to my house.

So, there I was, and Isaiah came home right about this point.

He walked out to the garden with me where I grabbed a garden rake and shed my shoes.

Then I proceeded to dump the buckets across the garden. Most of it was either dry or like a dry mud consistency, but there was one wet bucket. Isaiah stood there watching me, and when I dumped that one, a big wet clump came out at the end. Splat.

It stunk.

So there we were, and I'm raking, trying to spread a few places out. I'm also noticing the flies that showed up immediately once the poop was on the dirt. 

And as I'm standing there with Isaiah watching me (and he was kind of grossed out at the smell), for some reason my dad came to mind. He was a farm boy and spent much of his childhood gathering eggs from the chickens (trying to avoid the bull snakes -- my dad hates! snakes), milking cows, tending gardens, hauling hay. All that stuff.

 (My boys planting tomatoes with my dad in his garden 8 years ago.)

Standing there, I could just imagine my dad walking in the back gate at that moment and coming over to see what was going on. I could see him standing there at the edge of the garden, taking in my bare feet, the manure, Isaiah's somewhat grossed out expression. And then I could see amusement on his face and I heard these words in my mind, in a voice that he used to use when he was being goofy:

"There's nothing quite like fresh chicken shit, Liz!"

I thought it so much that I looked over at Isaiah, referenced my dad, and then said it, exactly in that voice, commenting on how amused my dad would be.

And WE LAUGHED out loud.

I can still see Isaiah's face as it dropped in laughter.

He agreed that it was something Poppi would totally say.

(Isaiah and Poppi planting geraniums.)

Dad may as well have been standing there sharing the joke.
He is still with us, and that moment warmed my heart.

(P.S. I've gone by Elizabeth for years, and it's what I prefer. But my dad called me Liz, and this is EXACTLY how my dad would have said this and it's endearing. And makes me laugh.)

Sing If You Want To

The last couple of days I've been listening to Eric Church while running.

And even though I've been loving "Record Year" and "Like a Wrecking Ball" and "Broke Record" and "Like Jesus Does" (and others!), when I was almost home today, I listened to "Three Year Old."

And if you've never heard the song, it talks about stuff you learn from a three-year-old---like "use every crayon color that you've got" and "walking barefoot through the mud will knock the rust right off your soul" and "when you're wrong, you should just say so."

And even though I no longer have a three-year-old in my house, it made me start thinking about things I've learned from my people, about the things my children have taught me in the last couple of weeks, even.

Accept it with grace.

Just a week ago, I was getting ready to give Mia a shot of insulin.  And I can't remember what we were talking about, standing there in the kitchen. But as I was going to put the needle in her arm, I remember saying something like this:

"You know, I'm sure there are days where you wish you didn't have diabetes; where, if you could trade it, you'd choose to not have it."

And without even skipping a beat, she just kind of shrugged and said,

"Ehh...you get what you get."

And that was that.

There was not even the slightest hint of self pity or complaint. Just totally okay and strong with what she's been handed. 

Her example inspires me to accept hard things with grace.  

Step up.

(This is Isaiah purposefully getting his geek on. And it makes me laugh.)

My kids were in a bad car accident with their dad a week and a half ago. And I witnessed something that touched me in the aftermath. When I arrived at the scene of the accident, I stepped inside the ambulance to find my children sitting there together. All of them were emotional and scared. A couple of them had blood on their shirts. My little gal's lip was cut, and the other one's neck had abrasion from the seat belt. Benj was particularly upset, and I looked down to see his brother sitting there, holding his hand. And when we got home? He went into man-of-the-house mode, all on his own.
Even though he was also scared and hurting, he was worried about getting the bags in out of the car. He helped his brother get dressed after I'd washed him to get the blood off of his neck and head. He was trying to comfort his sister who was crying. And when Benj was trying to eat some food and began to cry yet another time, Isaiah's eyes filled with tears and he walked around the table to his brother and began trying to physically comfort him again by rubbing his arm. And I thought about that today, the way I was touched by his leadership, assessment of a situation, and compassion.
Watching him teaches me:
Lead out. Look around. Help out. Step up. Be compassionate.

Live with emotion.

This guy, man. Whatever he is feeling, you know it. And he'll tell you. 

If he's angry, his face (and voice!) says it. 

If he's sad, tears come easily and fill his eyes, and he wants to talk to you about it. 

If he's happy, no amount of dampering can suppress his joy. 

And when he's wondering or asking big questions or has a doubt?

He's not afraid to expose that vulnerability.  

And as I think about it, you know what he teaches me? 

To live with emotion, to honor your heart, to choose to love big and love hard, to be honest about what you're feeling, to show it, to live it. And yes, it may mean that you're going to get hurt, but that pain is evidence that you're living, right?

Sing if you want to.

Just today, after my run, I was in the kitchen talking to Mia. And both of us started to laugh because we could hear Claire, 

solo, down in the girls' room, singing.  

She went from singing "Alleluia" from "All Creatures of Our God and King" to "You may always ROCK IT" (think "We will, we will, ROCK YOU") in less than a minute.

Whether she's singing about Jesus or requesting Justin Timberlake, this girl finds the joy. I can learn about honoring who I am by watching her, cuz we can only be who we are. And I love that this little woman is comfortable in her own skin; she's confident and real and deliberate. And she sings if she wants to.

So...that's my list for today.

Accept it with grace.

Step up.

Live with emotion.

And?

Sing if you want to.

I live with amazing people; 

don't you agree?

Apple Pie 4th of July

This morning I woke up the kids at 5:15. 

(the boys in 2007 at the Provo balloon fest)

We headed to the hot air balloon fest in Provo because I completely spaced the balloon fest for our city days this year. 

(Which, as a side note, was a total bummer because it's so small-town charming: smaller and less people (always what I prefer cuz I'll take the quiet most any day), free donuts and juice, candy thrown from the balloons.  Anyway...it's awesome.)

So, 5:15 it was.

We met up with Scott when we were there, and once it was over, the older three headed to the parade with him.  

But not this guy.

He didn't want the crowds or the heat, so he headed to the store with me to get apples for apple pie.

And it was so perfect.

Maybe it's cuz they're twins, but I hardly ever get one-on-one time with the boys. 

But it's the best.

Made my whole day, those two hours.

We came home and sat at the kitchen table talking and eating breakfast together, and then laughed at ourselves as we snapped some silly photos.

Then, it was aprons on and we got to work.

(We both love to be in the kitchen.)

Got the apples peeled, and then we sliced them; some to be steamed, 

some left raw.

Put the raw ones in the bowl and added spices and sugar and tapioca.

Steamed the others, and he was stirring regularly so nothing got burned as I made pie crust and rolled out the bottom layer.

Once the steamed apples were done, we combined the two, and Isaiah kept commenting on the smell.

(It smelled like fall as the sunshine streamed in.)

Put the bottom crust in the pie plate and then ladled the filling in.

Isaiah cut up a cube of butter in sections and placed them across the top.

 I rolled out the top crust and put it on, cut the sides, folded them under, crimped the edges.

Put slices down the top.

And then, to be festive, we added a star of dough, and stuck it in the oven to bake while we listened to The Weepies and talked and cleaned up.

(Cuz how American is it to make apple pie for the 4th of July?)

She's out now, and when she's cooled off, I'll sprinkle her pretty with sugar and maybe a little cinnamon.

This afternoon we're headed down to my sister's with all(most) of my family for rafting and playing in the pond, building castles in the sand, fried chicken, fried cauliflower (if you've never tried it, it's amazing! and I'm headed to the store in a sec to get it so the frying can commence), pinochle, watermelon, chips, salad, pies and homemade ice cream and fireworks in the street once it's dark.

Happy 4th of July, folks.

Hope you have a lovely one.