It's all in the noticing

Gratitude. A deep-down sense that God is good and that life is a gift. It's there for the taking. Sometimes, though it's all in the noticing. I can't notice when life is whizzing by. I can't notice when I'm so tired my eyes don't focus. Noticing happens best in the slow time.

I have to stop. Be still. And notice. 

It helps to wake up in my own room in the "kids' wing," the one with the beautiful blue walls and the ceiling fan. In the house where I'm not the most grown up grown-up of all.

There is a winding country drive, early Sunday morning, to monastery quiet nestled in the hills.

The sky is so blue and the hills so green.

The church bells ring out when Mass begins and again when Our Lord is present. Bells ring, echoing off the hills, filling an early Sunday morning with the sound of pure joy.

I am sitting outside this church with a squirmy Sarah Annie. We notice a bird with a hollyberry in his beak, a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, weeds in the garden (she wants to pull - "to help the sisters). We are stilled, heads bowed at the sound of the bells.
 

Breakfast after church. The Mudhouse Cafe. Fair trade, local, organic, friendly, cozy, small town perfect.

A soy mocha latte that tastes more like coffee than chocolate--mocha perfection.

 

Art for breakfast.

And then on to the orchard.

Yep. She'll ask Grandpa for peach ice cream at 10 in the morning. And yep, she'll get it.

 

It's a beautiful day. She's styling her shades. Let's get out and pick.

Precious cargo.

{Dear, sweet man.}

Nothing says Virginia morning like the smell of fresh peaches and the sight of crepe myrtles in the sun.

To Mint Springs Lake, where there little girls can lie on their bellies in the sun and run their fingers through the sand.

Just sit on the shore, toes in the water, and inhale. 

This friendly competition did NOT end in screaming and shouting the revisiting of game rules. Mountain miracle, no doubt.

Just a day. One day. Not a fancy vacation in a far-off land. Not a two week reservation and a ticket to ride. Just a day. Surrounded by people I love and people who love me.

In a place that never fails to remind me how loved we are by the Master Artist who created it.

Joining Ann to count blessings, except I've again lost count..

Grateful and then some.

Tuesdays are my gratitude days. Lately, I've tried to post my grateful list on Tuesdays, after posting a Daybook on Mondays. My life has spun in such a dizzy whirl since Friday that all I can muster this morning is, "um, what day is it?"

It's Tuesday, so I must be grateful.

Let me take you back, mostly without pictures because I've forgotten my camera pretty much all weekend. As my extended family sends me pictures, perhaps I'll add them here. In the meantime, my graduation pictures of my own son are  blurry beyond recognition. I've got a good one of my friend, Ruthie. She glows joy. But it would be sort of odd to put her up here and leave Michael out. Besides, she's on the trip of a lifetime in Europe right now, so I can't even ask if she'd like to be my token graduation picture, beautiful as that would be...

Friday, we celebrated Michael's graduation. Michael has six grandparents--Mike's mom and dad, my mom and stepfather, and my dad and stepmother. They were all there to watch him graduate. How amazing is that? I will admit to goosebumps when Pomp and Circumstance was played, but I didn't cry (everyone around me did). I attribute that to the fact that he really graduated in December and we've already processed it. At the end of graduation, I got a text. As much as I hate people who are tied to their phones, I had left several sick children at home and encouraged Mary Beth to text and let me know how things were. I plead guilty to texting with Michael during graduation, also. It kept things interesting while 1700 names were called. 

The text made me cry. It was Paddy.

Patrick is coming home. The Big Adventure has come to a close. And that long year is over. Really, I'm still processing. And I don't know how much I'll share here. He's healthy (except for a broken foot); he's whole; he's grown in so many ways. And in 4 hours and 13 minutes, he will be home. This was a burst of emotion for which I was not prepared on a weekend that I knew was going to be filled with emotion.

Michael talked to Paddy on our way from graduation to the party and so did I. Mike had insisted several weeks ago that we do the graduation party somehwere that wasn't home. This is definitely a departure from the  usual around here and I was a bit bothered by it, but when we hit upon the idea of having it at the local sushi restaurant, I knew we had a winner. Those good people were nearly excited about Michael's graduation as we were and they were genuinely honored to celebrate it with us. Lunch was awesome; the company wonderful and all was well.

Saturday afternoon, we celebrated my youngest nephew's first communion. It was the most beautiful First Communion I have ever been blessed to witness. Just perfect. After, we returned to my sister-in-law's house for a cookout. It's always a genuine party when the cousins are together. Mike and I scooted out early in order to go home, change clothes and drive across the river to Maryland to celebrate my oldest nephew's Bar Mitvah.

His was a huge party at Congressional Country Club. My sets of parents were there, and my aunts, and a couple hundred other people. My sister is, by far, the most amazing party planner in the world. Sh'ed been working on this one for eighteen months and every moment of that labor showed. She did a beautiful job and Mike and I really enjoyed a rare date night. We went home, slept fast, and then awoke to the regular Sunday activities, plus a seventieth birthday party for my mother.

I do wish I had pictures of that one. My sister's house looked so lovely. Huge and many bouquets of spring's finest flowers stood in the centers of poolside tables clothed in hot pink. Brunch was delicious; the cake--a lovely square confection of chocolate draped with white fondant and wrapped in a huge pink fondant bow--was too pretty to eat. But I hear it tasted as good as it looked. I consoled my wheat-free self with several cup of coffees with whipped cream floating on top, stirred with cinnamon sticks. The kids swam. Mike and I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with favorite friends who were neighbors when I was in high school. And, I dearly love my aunts, so it was nice to have a chance to talk away from the loud band of the previous night. Just before we left, my niece, who is graduating this spring, gifted Mary Beth with an entire high school career's worth of formal dresses--beautiful gowns that have just begun to dance. My mother was very happy and the weekend ended on a good note.

I spent yesterday cleaning--going to my sister's impeccably kept and beautifully decorated house does that to me;-). We thought Patrick would be home at the end of the week. I have this thing about children coming home to clean and orderly homes that look like they are ready for most important guests. i figured we'd take the week to get ready. Around dinnertime, though, he called and casually asked if I'd be available to meet him at the airport this morning. Would I?! I'll bring the gang with me. Pretty sure I'll remember the camera, too.

And then, the rest of the week will be devoted to settling everyone in for the summer. For the first time ever--ever--all nine of them are living at home for the foreseeable future. I think I just heard the upstairs bathroom groan. And I'm sure I heard the dining room table sigh a happy, happy sigh.

A place for everyone, and everyone in his place.

No better friend than a brother...

Gifts. We count them, one by one, the birds and the flowers and the sunsets. And they sing to us of the greatest of God, of His gracious blessing of abundant beauty. 

Even more precious are the days when we can stop and truly appreciate the gift of relationship. Nicholas was stoic, but sad, when Patrick left home last fall. Caught between being completely thrilled as any nine-year-old soccer player would be at the mere mention of the National Team and being acutely aware that his hero and buddy was  plucked from his daily life, he has struggled through the year. He is Patrick's biggest fan, but really, he just wants him to come home and play with him. In these last few weeks before the grand adventure comes to a close, Mike made a superhuman effort and got Nicky down to Florida to visit Patrick. So, this week, we count the gifts of brothers, together in the sunshine.

 ~a sporty red rental car to toodle around on the gulf coast~

~a hug (or two or three)~

~a chance to see where Patrick has been living and training, up close~

~up-close view of  Saturday morning training session~

~a tour of the dorms. What's this? Patrick's "count down to home" calendar. Since the date to come home keeps changing though, we suspect the calendar is more about the picture than the numbers.~

 
    ~A much-needed haircut. Nicky only lets Patrick cut his hair.. Haircuts have been few and far between this year.~ 
 

~a tour of the school~

~A romp in the Gulf of Mexico. Sort of funny to look at these pictures since neither of them are big fans of swimming in the sea.~

~Perfect Sunday seaside~

It has been said that the greatest gift you give your children is a sibling. 

All true.

Thank God for Little Girls

Counting feminine blessings, today.

~Sweet, giggly sleepyheads ever so excited about strawberries, cream, scones and tea and a chance to watch a real live princess walk down the aisle to her prince.

 

~Sighing and smiling and countless requests to watch it again on Youtube.

~A full day of playing wedding, each of them taking turns being the princess bride.

~An evening spent with Mama's and Daddy's wedding album: Mommy looks like a princess, too. And see how Daddy is smiling at her? That's because they love each other.

~Her insistence that they show the album to Daddy when he gets home and that they make him sing all the songs from his wedding.

~Fifteen hand-painted notes for him, stacked on the office desk, awaiting his return.

~The way they refer to themselves as "the girlies." 

~And the way the littlest one refers to the others as "my girlies."

~About a million hair bows.

~The way her hair makes tight ringlets in the rain.

~The way the others love her curls (and wish they had them, too).

~Laundry separated into lights, darks, and pinks.

~Monday ballet afternoons and the outrageous noise level of fifteen giggling, dancing girls.

~And the three little ones all want to grow up to be just like the big sister.

~All five of us knitting together--and teaching Gracie and Mel to knit, too. That way, as Gracie so aptly put it, "We'll all have something to do when we're old."

~Utter delight in the first meal of the season taken out of doors.

~Them begging to go back to  the bluebells.

~Littlest one reaching over all the other pretend cupcakes so that she can have the chocolate pretend cupcake.

~An afternoon of dressing up, posing for the camera, and somehow blurring the line between props and real life, so that they are sure they just had a fancy tea party in the woods.

~The tender care they take of their rather large family of baby dolls.

~The way they don't play "House" (as I did), but they play "Babies" and the favorite game of all, "Babies and Friend Moms."

~Sweet smelling bathtimes, pink fingernails and toenails, rub-rub after the tub.

~Long, curly eyelashes on barely pink cheeks in the glow of the hall light when I kiss them goodnight one more time.

~My heart filled to the brim with my sweet girlies.

{all photos courtesy of the amazing Lori Fowlkes}

Celebrating Papa

~Because this letter, written four years ago, is on my heart as we look towards Sunday's beatification. Of course, there was a baby after this one, too. God's generosity exceeds our most fervent prayers.~

 

April 1, 2007

Dear Papa,

I had planned to write a long column this weekend, in time for tomorrow. But the baby was sick and my hands were full, so all the writing I did was in my head.  I planned to write about that sobbing prayer two years ago, when I begged you to intercede for me. And then I'd write about all the little miracles strewn like roses in the days and weeks and months that followed.

Instead, I stayed up all night, dancing with my daughter.  She was feeling poorly and whimpering to be held. I gathered her up out of my bed and swayed with her in the darkness. For hours.  I sang my full repertoire of musicals.  I moved on to old Raffi tunes. I added a little Glory and Praise. And then, I switched to "You Light up my Life."  Her tears ceased and mine fell freely. I settled into the big chair, her head heavy against my chest and I remembered.

I remembered a time two years ago that was dark and sad. I was struggling with depression and so was Mike. Together, we were fumbling in confusion. Recovery from childbirth had been difficult. Recovery from a miscarriage more difficult. A year of infertility following that miscarriage was a year of pain like none I'd ever known. No light. Only darkness.  And on that Friday night, I held an eerie vigil in front of the muted television.

Please God, I don't know what I'll do without my Papa. And yet I know, I know that he is yours; he always was. Morning dawned and the day moved forward and then you were gone. And as naturally as the sobs escaped my throat, my soul begged your intercession. Tell Him, Papa! Please tell Him how sad I am, how much I want a baby, how much Mike needs him. Tell Him, Papa--I know you can.

And you did. Within an hour of that prayer, the answers began to become so clear.  You led us to a different parish. You put people in my path who would insist that I get to know the Little Flower you loved so well, the dear Saint you called a Doctor and by whom you trusted that the fullness of faith could be taught. She and you taught me about Love--Love incarnate, a good and gentle God who understood my pain and stooped to bind my wounds. I re-read all your letters to me. I read her words. Light dawned, love flickered.

Looking back, I should not be surprised that in the months following your death, I pushed by forces greater than me to travel. You were never afraid to travel. I had not been on an airplane in fifteen years. But I flew three times that year. The first time, I went Chicago and visited the shrine of St. Therese and left my petitions there. The last time, I went to Florida at my husband's insistence. We were there for an art gallery opening but we took a day trip to St. Augustine and the Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche.  I had a long talk with Our Lady that day. She already knew.I'm sure you told her.

One night, nine months after you died, my husband lit a candle in a church where you once celebrated Mass, in the presence of your relics. And then, our wait for a baby was over and yet it had begun. For nine more months, I was still, love growing inside of me.  I learned to love your favorite prayer and I prayed the rosary with St. Therese, sometimes twenty decades a day, including the five new decades that were your gift to me. All the time, I was almost afraid to believe, almost afraid to think that the light had returned and darkness was dispelled.

Then she was here.  A glorious, beautiful, darling little girl. We call her Karoline Rose. She is a shower of roses, a basket of blessings. She is sweetness and she is light.  As she grows, I will tell her.  I will tell her about her Papa. She will know you and she will be grateful to share your name.

But now, she calls again. Enough remembering. I am living in the present, embracing every moment. I know you're here. I know you see her dear, dimpled chin. I know you watch me kiss her fat little cheeks and I know you smile.

Thank you!