Author Archives: So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

About So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

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I'm a bookworm, nature lover, kick-boxer, candy fiend, sci fi geek, home body, progressive Christian and part-time student. I love my crazy life and the messy, fun, stubborn, silly, brilliant people who populate it.
February 19, 2013

When Life Goes into Overload

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

They call me the “One Trip Wonder.” A shopping bag hanging off of each finger and one wedged beneath my chin. Wrangling uncooperative bags with my hands while body checking the trunk closed. Beckham’s got nothing on me, as I dribble the extra-large package of (extra-large) pull-ups up the driveway with my feet. I bellow through the front door from someone to open up and give me a hand. Not to brag, but opera singers wish they had my lung capacity.

An overflowing cart of groceries carried into the house in ONE LOAD. That’s a crucial 47 seconds in valuable time saved! The crowd goes wild with applause! They’re amazed. They’re impressed. They wish they could be like me.

groceriesThey’re the imaginary audience in my head.

The actual, real people in my life just shrug and ask if I remembered to get crunchy peanut butter this time. They sigh weary sighs when asked to carry the food into the kitchen. They gripe about the broken egg and the misshapen bread.

Nobody appreciates my genius.

I’m Queen of the Grocery Overload!

Unfortunately, I’m not quite as competent when it comes to handling an overloaded schedule. Every once in a while we find ourselves facing a week of extras. Extra challenges. Extra events. Extra work.

Common sense dictates that this is the time to buckle down and plow through.

Deer-in-the-headlights, Overwhelmed, Procastinating Perfectionist suggests curling up into a fetal ball and crying like a baby.

Guess which one I usually choose?

February has had a few days of overload (much like January, and December of course, oh and the whole year before that). We truck along quite happily until a few extras get thrown into the mix. And then it seems like too much. Of course, the worst part isn’t the actual workload. Or the unsettled children. Or the break in routine.

The worst part is the anticipation of busyness beforehand.

When push comes to shove, I take busy and make it my b…. aby. But the pre-show isn’t pretty. Instead of getting MORE done, because life is about to ramp up, I seem to accomplish less than ever. I moan and complain and sit around feeling overwhelmed.

But this year I have a secret weapon.

This year, I’m not responsible for tomorrow or all week long or the rest of the year or however many days I have left on God’s green earth. This year, I’m responsible for TODAY. And the rest I’m leaving in God’s hands.

The days I remember this, it makes all the difference.

So here’s me, and I’ve had a few Overwhelmed Fetal Ball episodes, but remembering my One Word has helped. And this week I am facing a midterm, a school project, a sick child, a visit from in-laws, a family outing, a trip to the States, several meetings, Glen working evenings, baking 6 dozen cupcakes and pulling off a large Gotcha party for our boy and 50+ of our closest friends… but I’m feeling pretty cool, because I can handle TODAY and TODAY alone.

MonthlyOneWord150

8 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in home-making, OneWord 2013: Today

February 15, 2013

Five Minute Friday: Beloved

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

They were on sale the day after Christmas. Nothing fancy. Nothing exciting. Just two plain gold bands. A thicker one for him and a delicate one for me. That’s what you get when you marry at 19.

With the wedding just around the corner (at least that’s how it felt with stacks of wedding magazines and enthusiastic, wedding-crazed mothers in the mix), we knew we had to check one more item off the to do list. It didn’t seem that romantic to find the cheapest alternative at the Boxing Day sale. But, that’s what you get when you marry at 19.

We agonized about what to engrave inside our rings. We may have had a few less frills, but we didn’t want to skimp on the meaningful stuff. We wanted something that would still make sense in 10 – 20 – 50 years. Something timeless. We wanted something that would be ours. Something “us”.

And it has been. When you marry at 19, you grow up together. You live on a laughably small budget. You sacrifice. You change. You meet someone new. Someone lying next to you in bed each night and you fall in love with them all over again, every 10 -20 – 50 years. That’s what you get when you marry at 19.

Those plain gold wedding bands may not fancy, but they are timeless; they are “us.” Inside they say:

This is my beloved. This is my friend.

February 029

So here’s us, 18 years later… still skimping on the extra frills, but heavy on the meaningful.

Once again, linking up with lisajobaker.com for 5 Minute Friday writing flash mob:

On Fridays around these parts we like to write. Not for comments or traffic or anyone else’s agenda. But for pure love of the written word. For joy at the sound of syllables, sentences and paragraphs all strung together by the voice of the speaker.

We love to just write without worrying if it’s just right or not. For five minutes flat.

Here’s how we do it:

1. Write for 5 minutes flat with no editing, tweaking or self critiquing.

2. Link back here and invite others to join in {you can grab the button code in my blog’s footer}.

3. Go and tell the person who linked up before you what their words meant to you. Every writer longs to feel heard.

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , | posted in Five Minute Friday, marriage

February 13, 2013

Why Lent is a Good Idea for Everyone

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

lentIt was the pancakes. That’s what caught my attention. Shrove Tuesday – a sacred day of pancake eating. How awesome is that?

There wasn’t much talk of liturgical calanders in my Evangelical upbringing. Just cautionary tales and the whispered suggestion that they might, POSSIBLY be Real Christians, but just barely. Poor, meaningless automotans with their empty rituals. And then there’s the Catholics. A superstitious bunch, I was taught, barely discernable from the heathens; who prayed to statues, and for some reason, like to eat fish on Friday.

We weren’t very comfortable with anyone who wasn’t Us. Like the Pentecostals. And the United Church. And the Mormons. And the Agnostics. And the very scariest creatures of all: the Atheists (word is, they have an “Agenda” and we should watch out for that).

My world didn’t stay that small. Most Evangelical circles have opened up somewhat in the past decade (or two… or okay fine… three) since I was a child. The popular Mitford book series opened up the strange world of Episcopalians to many. These days, it’s not unusual to hear a discussion on Lectio Divina in a Baptist bible study. Or a more casual Stations of the Cross set up in the local community church.

As I got to know (and love and be related to) actual people who followed liturgical tradition, I began to see the unique beauty of it (and not just the pancakes). It may not be the style of worship I’m used to, but it is deeply meaningful and steeped in history. Ancient traditions so much more powerful that the latest born-again fad at the local Blessings bookstore. Maybe WE are the ones who have been missing out.

Which brings me back to the pancakes. Yesterday was Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent. When you get your house in order both figuratively with confession and literally (by using up rich foods like sugar, dairy and eggs) before a period of fasting or plain eating. Enter: hallowed consumption of pancakes.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. These 40 days (not counting Sundays) are a time for the faithful to prepare themselves for the celebration of Easter Sunday. It is a period of fasting or self denial, prayer, contemplation, examining oneself, and starting over.

For most of us from an Evangelical tradition, or no tradition at all, it is known as: Another-Wednesday-Just-Like-Any-Other. But who’s to say we can’t make it more? Lent is a good idea for EVERYONE and here’s why:

Be part of history.

Hundreds of years ago there was a tired, middle-aged (though still hip and young-at-heart) Mom just like me, who set apart these six weeks to live simply and refocus spiritually. That I might walk alongside her and the women who came before her and women who came after and the women who will come after me is something amazing. The Church (big C) is more than the congregation of my home church or other people in my country who may check the “Christian” box of a questionnaire; it is a family of faith that encircles the globe and stretches back throughout history. When we worship through Lent, we worship together.

We have so much.

More than any people who have ever lived. More than any who celebrated Lent before us. We are a culture and a generation of so much. So much to do. So much to see. So much to know. So much to eat. So much to distract and burden and overwhelm. We need Lent more than ever.

It’s a prelude to the feast.

Lent is not about asceticism (a harsh mentality where deprivation is the ultimate spiritual virtue). It’s preperation for the ultimate celebration. For those of us who worship Jesus, Easter is more than another stat holiday. It’s more than chocolate eggs and pretty dresses and church choirs. But if we don’t put the time and effort into preparing ourselves, even an inspiring sermon and touching music will not soak soul deep.

Lent is a good idea for everyone. The Evangelicals, and the Catholics, and the Pentecostals… and the Agnostics, and even the Athiests. We could ALL use a Spiritual Detox.

Make Lent your own this year.

So here’s me, fasting every night from 7 pm until 7 am (which doesn’t seem like it should be a big deal, but for me it really is).

lentbookLent Resources:

This year I’ll be reading through Show Me the Way by Henri Nouwen

Lent and Dying to Yourself (video with Diana Butler Bass)

Why Evangelicals Need Lent by Tim Suttle

Get Lent by Andrew Santella

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Faith, holiday, spiritual

February 12, 2013

V-Day Project: Looking for 9 Good Humans

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

waterI was 16 when I ordered my first drink in a restaurant. Not a boozie drink. Just a pop (that’s a soda for you ‘mericans).

We didn’t go out to eat very often when I was growing up. My mom put food on the table almost every night, not only for us, but also for a rotating cast of “extras” in our open-door, hospitality-to-all home. Paying someone else to make our food did not fit into the frugalness-is-next-to-godliness family doctrine. Except, of course, for the occasional outing to DQ, since ice cream supercedes dogma.

When we did find ourselves seated around the table of a moderately priced family restaurant, usually pizza or breakfast food on the menu, we followed Standard Operating Procedure. Consult the coupon/weekly special/children’s menu for the BEST DEAL (yes, the BEST DEAL must always be capitalized; it is Important). Order water all around. And extra plates, because who would order a whole plate when you can share? Whatever you don’t eat, Dad will eat, including garnish. Wasting food was a terrible sin in our family; wasting Food We Paid Good Money For was UNTHINKABLE! On the way out, dessert for everyone: a chalky mint from the communal bowl by the door.

It was still a treat! As much as I like to tease my Dad about his miserly ways, he taught us that we can do without, and barely even notice. And so can you.

This Valentine’s Day, SheLoves Magazine is raising money to build a well in Burundi for the Batwa tribe. These people live at a level of poverty which we can barely contemplate. Most eat only once every three days.

Suddenly my frugal dining history is looking pretty decadant.

Which got me thinking… the next time I go to a restaurant, I will order water. I drink water, so that somewhere on the other side of the world another tired, frazzled Mom can do the same. And the few dollars I save, I give. A few dollars that don’t really mean that much to me, but to the town of Bubanza they mean clean water and a bright future.

This Valentine’s Day I’m donating $10 to build a well. I’m asking 9 of you to join me.

That’s it. Just $10.

sheloveswell-widget2Check it out:

O, That We May Love Well

Altogether, we are asking 100 SheLoves friends—yes, you, Beautiful one—to form a giving circle with your friends. When 100 of us say yes to gathering, we become multiplied by 10, each person giving $10, we reach our goal of $10,000.

100 SheLoves friends

x 10

x $10

= $10,000.

There’s a lot that needs doing in the world. And it’s overwhelming. And exhausting.

But this is very doable.

Please read up on the project and donate here.

And let me know.

1. Christie

2. Alison

3. Viva

4. Marjolaine

5. Walker

6. Marc

7. Thérèse

8. Eric

9. Shelby

So here’s me, $10 poorer, but richer in the long run.

February 15th Update:

“We did it! The SheLoves Well is currently at $11,025. YES, there will officially be a SheLoves Well in Bubanza and our friends will drink from this Well of Love and friendship and global community.

Thank you so much to *everyone* who gathered in Circles of Grace and gave from your hearts this past week. Happy WELLentine’s Day, from the bottom of our collective hearts.”

sarahbessey.com

6 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Faith, holiday

February 5, 2013

For Keeps: the Big Day Arrives

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

My son is 25% boy and 75% snot. Although we were finally getting the hang of sleep at night, all night long, today we are bleary-eyed and grumpy. And slimy (see above re: snot).

It’s not what I pictured when I imagined this day. In my daydreams we are smiley and dressed in our best (and naturally I’m 20 lbs skinnier). We stand before a stern but fatherly judge and solemnly vow to love, honour and cherish our son forever and ever amen. The audience of happy, tearful friends and family cheers wildly. The sky is filled with fireworks and/or flower petals floating in the wind (I can’t decide), as our family walks arm in arm out the front door of a quaint old courthouse.

Choruses of angels sing. A flock of doves bursts into flight. Adoption Finalized!

Roll the credits.

Reality is a lot less like the wrap-up of a sitcom. Today, at 11:41 a.m. on a Tuesday, we get an email from the Social Worker. “Congratulations! It’s official. His new birth certificate is in the mail.”

No fireworks. No cheering audience. No solemn vows. Just a lot of paperwork and waiting and an anti-climatic finish.adoption-Paperwork

“What to Expect When You’re Adopting” has a lot more blank pages than traditional family growth. There’s no standard 9+month timetable. No firmly established rituals as we transition into a new version of us. We make it up as we go along. And I wonder if the rest of the world realizes that it’s every bit as Miraculous, Thrilling, and Magical.

We were “expecting” for almost 3 years. The labour and delivery wasn’t quite as bloody as most, but terribly hard work. We don’t track it in hours or even days, but months. 7 1/2 months since we brought him home. 7 1/2 months of making him our own. 7 1/2 months of making us his own. Until today, at 11:41 a.m. on a Tuesday. Adoption Finalized.

We’ve been a family for a long time. I wondered if this would make any difference at all. Would it calm the last vestiges of irrational “what-ifs” in my mind? Would it matter?

Despite the lack of fanfare, the answer is: absolutely.

Another heart clenching, surreal, overload of emotion as we close this chapter. And I held him extra tight, snot and all, in the middle of our everyday, hustle-bustle life. You might not know it to look at us, but something amazing happened today!

So here’s us, officially, legally, forever a family.

20 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in adoption

February 5, 2013

Getting Stuck on The Road Less Travelled

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

roadI started this post over a week ago, shortly after The Embarrassing Incident (or EI, as it shall be known henceforth). I turned this tale inside and out, carefully rearranging the details to spin the story and cast myself as the hero. Or at the very least, the protagonist.

Who doesn’t want to be the power player in their own story? Except some days it doesn’t work like that. Some days you find yourself stranded in the snowy armpit of Where-The-Hell-Am-I, with no one to blame but yourself.

Or so I’ve heard.

This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve become somewhat of an expert at the whole lock-your-keys-in-the-car/run-out-of-gas/get-hopelessly-lost/breakdown/vehicle-catches-on-fire (twice!)/stuck-in-the-snow/mud/ditch phenomenon. I probably shouldn’t be allowed out unsupervised.

On the day of The EI, I had undertaken a solo road trip to meet up with one of my oldest, dearest friends. We had decided to meet up in the mountains halfway between our two cities. What better way to catch up than a brisk winter hike?

Long story short: iMaps, unmaintained logging road, panic, snow, ice, nowhere to turn around, more panic, “All Season” tires, flaky city driver (me), deeper snow… even my friend’s 4-wheel-drive SUV was having trouble – my little red car didn’t stand a chance. Shannon seemed unphased and shrugged knowingly. She’s been around long enough to be completely unsurprised by my misadventures. Not exactly the years-in-the-making, once-in-a-blue-moon reunion I had pictured.

But here’s me, solidly stuck in the middle of nowhere. Nothing we did helped. Not the ice scrapers, digging, car mats, wheel turning, feats of car-pushing strength… Stuck.

I haven’t prayed so urgently in a long time. Before each new attempt… “Please Lord, rescue me. Don’t let this day be ruined. Save me from the tow bill and the humiliation and having to call Glen with yet another guess-what-I-did-now story…”

After an hour, we gave up. We began making our way back down the mountain (WITHOUT the little red car). There goes the day.

Until salvation came bombing up the road wearing coveralls astride two large, noisy ATVs. In less than 10 minutes, these hearty locals had me out of the rut and on my way back down the mountain. Like it was nothing.

Once again, I was rescued. I always am. Somehow God provides. And people step up – kinder and more helpful than I expect. It shouldn’t surprise me so much each time.

I much prefer being the rescu-er, than the rescu-ed. “Here I come to save the day!” tastes so much better than “Help!” And that’s a problem.

It’s good to give, no doubt, but it’s important to receive also. Either side without the other is unhealthy. Without a balance we aren’t truly participating… in family. In community. In church. In humanity.

A facade of independence and competence and keeping-it-all-together-all-the-time keeps people at arm’s length. My friendship with Shannon has survived (and flourished) over two decades, not because of proximity or circumstance or chemistry, but for all the times we’ve waded into the deep to rescue each other.

All my intimate relationships have grown in the messy, needy, bumpy parts of life. As we reach out to rescue or be rescued, we may not get a quick fix or any kind of solution at all. Sometimes our rescue comes in the form of a safe person to talk to. Or tell us when we’re wrong. Or take the kids during a crisis. Or cry with and for each other. Or spend a precious kid-free day driving for hours and pushing a stupid red car out of the stupid snow.

So here’s me, grateful to the Cameron family for rescuing me, to Shannon for grown up conversation, to Glen for going to the DoodleBops concert so I could have the day… and especially to all of you who keep rescuing this damsel in distress. I hope I can return the favour from time to time.

20130205-091153.jpg

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Uncategorized

February 1, 2013

Friday Favourites

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

So this is the part where I explain why what was once a weekly part of this blog is now an infrequent visitor. I will allude to my busy schedule and my need for blogging to remain a fun hobby and not an obligation. Because DAGNABIT, I control this blog, it doesn’t control me! But every once in a while I will post a list of things I liked that week. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to read it, but I hope you will.

Only this part is supposed to be, ya know, witty and eloquent, maybe inspiring.

But then Glen spent the evening at a work event. And I spent 45 minutes hunched over the crib holding the boy’s hand until he fell asleep. And I sang 3 1/2 lullaby songs to B. And I was sidetracked by C’s new-found love of baking and the alarming questions she would yell at me from the kitchen. And L’s dance carpool fell through.

So, here it is anyway, but without the eloquent.

Quote

A man who lives, not by what he loves but what he hates, is a sick man.

~ Archibald MacLeish

Song

This song is on constant repeat these days. The first time I heard it I thought of Glen and all he does for me and how wonderful he is and how he takes care of us all. And I felt sorry for everyone who isn’t in love with him.

This letting go is so beautiful, cause you make it so easy, to fall so hard…

Movie

Naturally, we will take the tragic Tsunami in Thailand and make it all about the rich, white tourists… Nevertheless “The Impossible” is a great movie. I cried from the beginning to the end. And yes, I like that kind of thing.

Blog

Joy in this Journey is NOT another cheesy Christian blog, as the title might suggest. I first stumbled on Joy Bennett’s blog to read a post about the death of her daughter Ellie. Not many people are able to tackle the topics of grief, faith struggles and depression with unflinching honesty AND hope. I’m in love with her tagline: “Somewhere beneath the kids’ stinky laundry and my own doubt lies a joy worth fighting for. I’m here to dig it out.” And she does.

Exercise Routine

I don’t care what he says, I invented this exercise. Except, I do it in the privacy of my own home, where only my husband can (and does) mock me.

So here’s me, dancing like no one’s watching. Because they aren’t. And that’s the best kind of dancing.

1 Comment   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in favourites

January 29, 2013

Winning the Parenting Game

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

It’s like hundreds of playground meetings I’ve had before. Sideways glances. Indulgent smiles at a stranger’s child.

“He’s adorable. How old? Is he your first?”

As we politely exchange information, the tone shifts. There’s an edge of competition. No matter what we talk about, she seems determined to ‘outdo’ me.

“How insecure she must be,” think I. “Who DOES this? It’s so silly.”

But I play anyway.

We’re toe-to-toe, with our kindest voices, and our saddest stories. Let the games begin.

I’ll see your three kids in three years and raise you four kids and a disability. Ha!

I win.

Or do I?

scoreboardI’ve been keeping score ever since my friend Emily Wigle got two more stickers in Sunday School than I did. We were three. And it stung.

It’s not just parenting, either. We play our triumphs and our tragedies like cards in a poker game. It’s how we (especially women) have lived for so long, it becomes second nature. How do I measure up? Where do I fit in the pecking order?

I find myself counting kids whenever we meet someone new.

Just the three. I win! My life is harder.

Expecting number seven? How do they DO that? What’s wrong with me that I’m so overwhelmed and I only have four?

At one point, I decided to factor the special needs into the count. I have four, but the two littles count for double. We’ll call it an even six.

Never fear; you too can earn extra points:

  • Dad or Mom travels a lot +1
  • Living in a small space (trailer, cabin, apartment, RV) +1
  • Maintaining your figure +2
  • Work full-time + or -3 (depending on my mood: if that seems like it would be an extra hassle or a welcome break)
  • Fishbowl existence (pastor, missionary, politician) +2
  • Children born within a year of each other +1/per or +3 for multiples
  • Mother-in-law lives with you +1
  • Hippie Bonus Points (grow your own food, make soap, sew, no TV) +2
  • Single Mom/Dad +1000

Because everyone knows that parenthood is all about keeping score. How many hours of labour? Are you sleeping through the night yet? How many words does she have? How goes the potty training? (At this point my eye starts twitching uncontrollably) Is he in any sports? play an instrument? performing in dance competitions? composing sonnets to her loving mother to post on her weekly blog about honouring parents and not getting married until she is 30 to the man whom her father chooses?

There’s no point in even playing with a single parent. If they manage to get dressed and out of the house, automatic champion.

The constant comparison is exhausting. And pointless. Nobody wins. That moment of feeling superior/busier/more-hard-done-by is so fleeting. Right around the corner there is someone who has more on their plate, or more accomplished children, or better hair and skinnier jeans.

How about we just agree: You have your life and I have mine.

I can celebrate your success and support you in your struggles, without making it about me. I can hear your advice, without feeling judged or defensive. I can make small talk at the park with a strangely insecure woman and let her one-upmanship roll right off my back.

Parenting is not a competition. When we make it one, we all lose. Plus, it makes the playground really uncomfortable.

So here’s me, trying not to be such a loser.

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in parenting

January 25, 2013

Here We Go Again

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

Habits are at first cobwebs, then cables. 

~Spanish Proverb

failrdIt’s wearisome.

Dealing with the same old problems over and over and over. This thorn-in-the-flesh disease… treatable, but not curable. The real dig: it is just so annoying to find myself back here.

Part of me longs for new problems, if struggles there must be. Perhaps I’ll give my brother in law’s nicotine addiction a test drive? I have a friend who shoplifts, that sounds like a more exotic pathology. In my head, I know that this is ridiculous. But like they say, “the marijuana’s always greener on the other side.”

Yes there are times when I manage to claw and scramble and heft myself out of the rut. I find firm footing. I make more good choices than bad. And I start to feel pretty good about myself.

But then that day comes when the girls are squabbling, and the dishwasher is leaking, and the littles have some alarming gastrointestinal issue making diaper changes both frequent and deadly, and Glen and I have become ships who pass in the night (literally, since I take the 12-3am shift with crying babies and he takes 3-6am). And I find myself slipping back. Sigh.

Here we go.

Again.

STOP

So here’s me, a recovering complainer/pen-chewer/overeater/nail-biter/gossip/perfectionist/isomniac.

I don’t really want to smoke anything or steal anything (I promise Mom), just tired of fighting the same battles again and again. But in a way, these familiar ruts are as much a part of me as my strengths and talents.

This was for Lisa-Jo Baker’s  Five Minute Friday writing challenge.

5minutefridayHere’s the rules:

1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking

2. Link back here and invite others to join in.

3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. That is like the one rule we all really care about. For reals.

10 Comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Five Minute Friday

January 23, 2013

Our Very Own Field of Dreams

By So Here's Us.... life on the raggedy edge.

The boy leads the way. His little legs motoring down the grassy hill, a controlled tumble to the bottom. With a shriek he flaps his arms and lifts his face to the rapidly setting sun. Daddy scoops him up and spins him around. He seems to be tasting the moment with a wide-mouthed, toothy grin. Enthusiasm personified.

His sister runs after him, arms akimbo. Not the most graceful gait, a half prance/half sprint, but joyful… elated to be free. The crunch of the frosty grass beneath her feet competes with her breathless giggles.

A game of tag ensues, although she is much more interested in the “getting” than the “being gotten.” Perpetually “It.” We are her willing quarry.

We’ve abandoned our stroller at the sleek, state-of-the-art play-park long ago. Wilder pursuits beckon. Wide open spaces begging us to stretch our legs.

The little people notice their oversized shadows. Tall gangly silhouettes do silly dances on the sun-kissed grass. The world is a buttery yellow.

baseballWe wander onto the baseball diamond, stirring up clouds of red dust. Daddy demonstrates the Right Way to fake a pitch. The girl “catches.” The boy cheers with gusto. We run the bases. Then again for good measure.

I try to capture a few images on my phone. But they are pale reflections of our unexpected adventure. It’s too precious to hold in my hands.

This.

Here.

Now.

It’s what we were meant for. Somehow a simple walk to the park, as much like worship as any sacred tradition. In the thrill of everyday beauty, I feel God’s pleasure.

So here’s us, where play belongs to all ages.

Leave a comment   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in OneWord 2013: Today, parenting