I didn’t need a photo-dump or a delicately selected #misplacedmagnet to tell me that March was about questions. My head is full of them still, and I’m hoping April showers will bring more than usual this year.
(Although May flowers would still be nice, because whatever nibbled my tulips to death last spring is back and I’m stinking angry about it. If I catch whatever it is, we’re having stew. Plant-based diet be … put on hold.)
Sometimes his expression evokes the questions he doesn’t yet have words for. Sometimes he wears a guitar cable like a bandelier and bangs on a stock pot with his little, wooden Thor hammer, and his expression seems to ask what you could possibly be asking. Silly me.
For him, in this season, questions lead to discovery. Large domesticated rabbits on thrones in the mall, puddles, mud, foods, books … His greatest, most pressing questions can be explored, answers found, consequences minimal.
Unless it’s after lunch and he hasn’t had a nap, then the consequences are sometimes tragic. Sometimes Jesus gets decapitated. Read more…
Can you believe it? It’s been a year since you’ve been gone. If someone corrected me, showed me how I was reading the calendar wrong, and pointed out that’s really only been a month, I would believe him. It feels more like a month.
Except that the baby isn’t a baby anymore.
I know you see, but sometimes I wish you were here to hold him. He’s so funny and he’s so smart. And already so much like you.
His hands remind me of you – wide fingernails and palms. He definitely doesn’t get that from his father. He’s going to have your hands, and I hope every time he notices their strength he remembers stories that we’ll tell him about you.
And he’s got the dog whisperer gene. He loves dogs and they love him. Just last week we were out walking, and two big golden retrievers came charging their fence as we passed. Playfully – I know these dogs – but still barking and jumping and moving really fast. He squealed his excitement and ran toward the fence. He has no fear. Read more…
We went for a walk before dinner yesterday.
This kid loves to be outside. It doesn’t seem to matter what the weather. Cold? Raining? Fell in a mud puddle? Who cares. It’s never time to go inside.
I love the way he explores. He’s very thorough. He’ll traverse the same line of frozen snow a dozen times – back and forth, back and forth – and then suddenly move on. He’ll climb the same step and scurry down the same slope again and again, and then turn on a dime to head in another direction.
And when he needs help, he just reaches up and waits for someone to take his hand.
He doesn’t even look up most of the time. He watches what he’s doing, watches his feet usually, and just waits – hand stretched wide above his head.
When we left the back door he reached up for help going down the two big steps. At the end of the short sidewalk he reached up again for help going down the big step to the driveway. Curbs, snow piles, uneven terrain of mud and wet leaves mashed together – his tiny red mitten would appear above his head.
And then, as we walked down a quiet side street, the mitten popped up again. Read more…