Enough

I'm a mom. 5 years and some odd months ago when I obtained said appellation, I was also awarded this big heavy medallion that comes with the territory. Intricately etched deep within this glorious pin that was stabbed into my heart there's a huge word. It starts with a W, ends with a Y, and in between there's a vowel, two consonants and a long line of anxiety.

Worry!

And like probably all females of my maternal status, my biggest worry is always that I'm not enough for these sweet rambunctious things who are in my charge.

I'm not present enough, I don't always know how to be gentle enough, I'm not listening enough, I'm not organized enough, I'm not disciplined enough, I don't model enough kindness and compassion, I never have enough time to be everything that they need me to be... Also I don't know enough about airplanes or slaying evil with butter knives to know how to answer all of their detailed questions about those hot topics.  

But then I look out the window and I see them trying to rescue a worm who has presumably lost his way and is suffering in the cold Spring rain. To (now this is totally a wild guess here) the rest of us, it is just a worm. Just. Like you don't get any more decumbent than a worm. Who really even notices worms, much less cares if that spindly little pathetic slimy one drowning in the drive way makes it back to his home in the cold dark world beneath the grass before the frost sets in again?

As I watch them trying to tenderly guide this small uncomprehending, bane-of-the-earth creature back to safety I realize that they understand what it means to care for and respect even the "least of these". Somehow, somewhere along the line, we are getting something right. In spite of my failings, I see them changing their world with compassion, one worm at a time.

I am enough. 

That reality alone is empowering, and perhaps I could learn how to be as gentle with myself as they are to the little lost worm that nobody cares about.

The Simple Life

Most of my days begin in the wee hours of the morning. A tap on my shoulder and the 3 year-old politely imploring, "Mom, can you snuggle me, pleeeeeeease?" I stir, not really willing to share my comfortable space with a thrashing, whispering small human, but at the same time how long will this thrashing, whispering small human only want to be snuggled? He wiggles his way right under the covers and straight into my heart as he somehow takes ownership of the width and breadth of my pillow and the entire expanse of the queen sized bed.

Somewhere around this time, the nocturnal deaf cat starts howling as he prowls around the house. I hug the edge of the mattress and contemplate what a world without cats would be like. Quiet, peaceful, simple. I like simple, I think to myself as the first rays of sun pierce the sky. I can tell the 3 year-old is no longer sleeping when he starts whispering every single thought that flutters across his active mind. 

We live a simple life in our simple rented duplex in a simple country neighborhood. Our furniture is scuffed and worn, our possessions are few, and we're not very fashionable. We like quiet evenings, hand's on projects and fresh dirt. The dog knows all of our friends by name and the cat howls when he's bored. I know the simple life doesn't appeal to all, but it works out for us, and this is what a day in our simple life may or may not look like. 

 When I get out of the shower, there's reams of paper now turned into art by pajama clad little artists. Colton draws S's and fish, while Jimmy writes his name and creates "score cards", as he calls them (something to do with football, I'm not sure I really understand it though, but that's typical of football with me).

 They dress themselves in their favorite Packer shirts and "play library" which is a huge mess but typically involves all of Dad's history "war books" and Dr. Seuss.

We never elude to to the midday sleepy time as a nap, for naps are unacceptable. Being quiet and listening to music as we accidentally drift off to sleep however is far more favorable, and having your big brother tell you animated super man stories before the quiet time commences is a thrashing, whispering small human's favorite way to do things. Also, extra points if the mattress is on the floor.

And then somehow I have this uncanny ability to never know what to fix the family for dinner. Even as the meat is cooking and water is boiling and the man of the house will be home any moment, I'm still all "Dear Pinterest, I don't know what to cook--- Oooo look! A craft!"

It's a simple life, not without it's bad days or frustrating moments. But it's where we are right now. And today is about choosing to be content--embracing the childhood of my sons and enjoying the simple things. You don't need a lot of money for that.

Bubbles, Bubbles, My Bubbles!

It was the first blissfully warm day of the year. For being February, it was literal perfection. I believe it even touched 60 on the thermometer before quickly retreating back into Winter for a reprieve of the balminess of Spring. It was still February after all.

Naturally, a pair of strawberry blonde brothers spent the afternoon exploring this new muddy habitat that was emerging from beneath all of the stale white cold sloppy stuff. One of them even took a snow shovel to the yard in hopes of discarding what was left of this Old Man Winter just a little bit sooner.

Before long, little brother emerged from the garage with a highly coveted token of last Summer's leftover fun. Bubbles. I watched the longing glance of envy from the older one. He disappeared into the garage in search of another bottle for himself but to no avail. They were all empty.

Now, I have been known to resist the cultural standard of "sharing" and "taking turns" that we are to impose upon our children. It is my hope to instill a sense of ownership along with proper respect for one another. So without intervening, I just sat back and waited to see what would happen. 

Of course Colton was less than eager to give up his beloved treasure, and Jimmy knew it was a lost cause before he even thought to beg and plead. Instead he disappeared into the house for a few moments. When he returned he had his own bubble bottle, filled with a solution he created himself using dish soap and (not quite enough, but that's between you and me) water. He had found a tiny whisk in the kitchen and began to blow the biggest coolest bubbles you ever saw. Admiration seeped from the little brother (and the mother, to be sure!), and together those mud splattered brothers blew bubbles to their hearts' content.  

Creative. Problem solver. Team player. That's my boy. 

Choices

"Life is about choices. 
Some we regret, some we're proud of. Some will haunt us forever.
We are what we choose to be." --GRAHAM BROWN

This is just a cropped excerpt of the flowers delivered to my teller station one Friday in January. The note said, "Happy last day of work!" I was quietly choking down a lump in my throat that day. I had chosen to leave behind a fun job, so I could better dedicate myself to photography, and actually have time for my family. Yet change always terrifies me, so the choice to let go of this financial security and all the friendships it had cultivated in hopes of succeeding as a photographer was bold and daring and scary. 

It's been two weeks, and this copper tone bouquet is still sitting on my table. While the petals fall listlessly, one by one, to the platter below and the greenery slowly wilts, I still hang on to them just one more day... by day... by day... Because I feel passion and motivation every time I look at it. It's such a pretty reminder of choices and blossoming within them. And friendship too, of course.

Choices close chapters and open new ones. You don't always know in the moment if your choice is ultimately good or bad. Sometimes the choice seems so perfect--cut-and-dried, only to wake up and realize it was nothing short of devastating, leaving you with painful scars. Other times you might think you're biting off a piece of hell, but it ends up being the closest thing to paradise this side of heaven. 

Choices. We make them every day. They're as simple as deciding which socks we put on in the morning or as complex as the person we choose to spend the rest of our lives with. Choices chart the course of our lives, they are who we are. It can be scary, choosing to let go of your secure comfort zone to free fall into an abyss of dreams and the great unknown. But today I dare you to choose to not be ordinary. 

Dare to be brave, to trust God and to believe in yourself. 

Perspective.

It was the last rose of Summer, plucked gently off of my sad but brave worm eaten ruse bush. I was pretty certain I had destroyed that poor plant earlier in the Spring, because I am notorious for my inability to keep green things green even with the best of intentions. My poor little bush was indeed dead. Until one day, in between the spindly worm eaten veins of former leaves, was a little bud of pink. And then another, and another. That brave plant came back and with roses. And this was the last one.

It was so pretty and delicate I took a picture of it. And then I changed my angle and took another picture. Same spot, same settings, different perspective, completely different images.

I just can't help but think about how much like life this is. A simple matter of focus can change your circumstances. Not to be cliché or anything, but perspective is everything. You can look at the dark things in your life and dwell in the depression of your circumstances, or you can find the bright things in your life and experience the light of the blessings you do have. There will always be plenty of things to complain about, but there is always, always something to be grateful for. A lot of things, when you stop and think about it. So change your life and dwell in the joy of those things and be grateful.

Colton: Inspire Me

This time of year is crazy in my line of work. When I'm not behind the camera, I'm spending every spare moment editing, tweaking, adjusting, and finalizing literally thousands of images for other people. And then suddenly I hit a wall. And my eye for it is just done. I can't see the details, clarity, coloring and vision for my beloved work any longer. It's just a blur. A blob of pixels. I'm so uninspired.  And then I flip to my personal files, from months gone by with out more than a thumbnail glance. And suddenly I'm deep in brushes and cloning and light adjustment and perfecting. And just like that my inspiration returns. 

These images were captured back in September when I was experimenting with settings, lighting and technique. Colton is always a good sport for me. 

Our Friend Percy

"Preserving a gentle spirit in a heartless world 

takes extraordinary courage, determination and resilience. 

Do not underestimate the power of gentleness

 because gentleness is strength wrapped in peace. 

And therein lies the power to change the world." 

L.R. Knost

 This is our little friend Percy. We found him as a teeny, tiny 1/8" monarch caterpillar, and he lived in a glass home in our dining room. We watched him grow and grow every day, until finally he spun himself a cocoon, which is probably one of the most fascinating things in nature that I have ever witnessed with my own eyes. He emerged from his chrysalis on a rather windy and chilly Summer morning. As we set him free, Jimmy got to reacquaint himself with the new Percy. With all the love and compassion in the world, he sat on the patio with Percy until Percy was strong enough to hold his own. And because sometimes when you love something, there comes a time to set it free. And that's what Jimmy did. And every time we see a monarch, we wonder if it's Percy.

Gentleness is always greatness.

We Do Loud Really Well

A few weeks ago (already!) my sister from Nebraska and her family made the trek to the Wisconsin neck of the woods where the rest of our family resides. Between my parents, the siblings, the spouses and significant others, the kids there's 21 of us. And that doesn't include the gazillion pets between all of us. In my family, this spells out a recipe for a lot of laughter, a lot of loud, and total randomosity on tap.

Of course the 4 year-old girl cousins would be capable of convincing the 2 year-old to pull them around in the wagon. 

 I don't have daughters, but I do have nieces. It's so fun when they let me do their hair.

 The 4 year-olds.

"Baby Toads" are a favorite.

 And so was horseback riding.

 Quesadilla burgers on the grill.

Sisters! We tried to take a normal picture. There are probably hundreds. This is the only one that turned out relatively normal. 

Brotherly Love in Action

It was a moment of sheer devastation for Jimmy. Not only had he recently sustained an injury of childhood clumsiness, but he had just received the news that the sun was going down therefore bath time, story time, and bed time was upon what was previously a completely delightful Summer evening.

Colton was admittedly a little stunned at the turn of events himself, in the midst of all that fun play in that dirt he discovered in the driveway, however baths are on his extremely long list of very favorite things so he was slightly less disappointed.

 But with the deepest empathy for his brother's affliction, he consoled him with the affection of loyal brotherhood.

And then Colton remembered the most potent of medicines, the panacea for all boyhood traumas: the kiss gun.

Load.

Ready.

Aim...

...Fire!

And like magic, crisis averted. Healing has come.