The Oak Tree and the Cypress

Seven years ago today I married this man:

in a  lovely little ceremony in a conference room of a Radisson in Bloomfield Hills. We were blessed to be surrounded by most of our favorite people in the world. My aunt performed the ceremony, which included readings from the Song of Solomon and Khalil Gibran's "The Prophet." None of the drama leading up to the wedding (isn't there always drama leading up to a wedding?) mattered. How the universe managed to bring me this man, born on the other side of the planet and then adopted into a family that lived all over the U.S. before landing here in Michigan, I'll never know. "God works in mysterious ways" is so cliche, but also so true.

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness, and let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love. Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each others cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each of you be alone, even as the strings of a lute are alone though the quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each others keeping, for only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
 And stand together, yet not too near together, for the pillars of the temple stand apart, and the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each others shadow.
~Gibran

 Then, in no time at all, despite medical evidence that it would not happen so easily, we became parents to an amazing little girl...

and a few years later, her equally amazing little brother.

They grew...

And we grew...

And we continue to grow. And I will tell you, it is not always easy. Facebook and the internet in general have this way of helping everyone put their best foot forward - it allows you to literally edit out the messy stuff and present all the best parts of your life to the world at large without the balance of that day you went to the grocery store with your shirt on inside out and then proceeded to run into everyone you know, or those times when you're both so tired that you end up bickering over things so stupid it wasn't even worth the breath to argue about it. Behind all those pretty internet fronts, there's a real family, with real problems and real issues and real day to day drudgery that few people ever know about.

But there's real love, too.

Jake and Jake and the Neverland Pirates

So, on Monday we were at Target. Target had a massive display of toys from the Disney Junior show Jake and the Neverland Pirates, which both my kids love, but Jacob REALLY loves. He was beside himself with excitement over Jake spyglasses, Jake action figures, and most of all, a big Jake pirate ship. Never mind that he already HAS a large toy pirate ship. THIS pirate ship is a JAKE pirate ship. And Tic Toc Crock pops out of it! Oh my.

Anyway, Monday was a bit of a circus, since I needed to go to seemingly every single store in Ann Arbor to prepare for Elizabeth's birthday this weekend. Jacob was really a very good sport about it, so I let him use some of his piggy bank money to buy himself a Jake spyglass. It hasn't left his side since. But he's also been talking about this pirate ship nonstop. This morning in the car, the following conversation happened...

J: Mama, I really want that Jake pirate ship. Can I use my piggy bank to get it?
S: You don't have enough money in your piggy bank for it, buddy. And you already have a pirate ship!
J: Can you put the money in my piggy bank for the pirate ship?
S: Sorry buddy, no. If you want that pirate ship, you should probably talk to Santa or wait for your birthday.
J: ...I'll talk to Santa if he'll give me the money to put in my piggy bank so I can buy that pirate ship!
S: ...

A Prayer for Jacob

Lord, day in and day out, you see me with this child. You watch me fumble, you hear me shout too much. You see us curled up on the couch with Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and the laptop too often. You see me cut up the same grapes and hot dogs for lunch. You see the tantrums - and they aren't just his.

Help me know that I have made an acceptable choice for this little boy, and reassure me when I see so much of myself in him. Lord, you know I didn't put my career on hold because I thought I could do this better than the fine folks he enjoyed so much time with before. Calm my fear that his days would be better spent with people besides me.  Remind me that he is not his sister - and that's okay. When things that worked with her at this age fall flat with him, it's just because he's a different child in a different situation, not because I am somehow inadequate.

Let me cherish every time he crawls into my lap, let me joyfully kiss every boo-boo - because I know how fleeting these days are, and I can feel them slipping through my fingers already.When he chooses plastic novelty coconuts from the dollar store as his most cherished toy of the moment, let me revel in that uniqueness - and let me remember it so I can tell everyone about it for a long time, too. Let me always remember how sensitive he is, and may I never fall into the "raising boys" trap of "toughening" him up. He is just as perfect when he is covering his ears because the mixer is too loud as he is when he is pounding on bookshelves with his toy hammer. Help me stop before I yell, because I know the hurt in his eyes when I do, and I don't want to inflict it anymore, even if he DID scratch up the wall with a Matchbox car YET AGAIN.

Grant me the patience to build train tracks that run the entire length of the house. Help me not throw the remote control at the television on the 500th viewing of Mickey's Space Adventure. Let me see past that obnoxious squawking noise he makes when he's frustrated to the problem underneath, and help me to work through it with him with patience - even if he's squawking about about some lost Playmobil piece for the 17th time in an hour. And Lord, please let the purple play dough come out of the area rug. Please.

That would have been an infinitely more interesting gift.

E: Mama made pancakes on her Christmas gorilla!
D: WHAT?
E: You know - the thing she got for Christmas. She made pancakes on it.
D: Griddle. You mean griddle.
E: That's what I said. Gorilla.

A Prayer for Elizabeth

Thank you for this amazing little girl. She fills me up and breaks my heart, every single day. I just want to scoop her up and hold her close and make everything sunshine for her, even though I know that's not what she ultimately needs. Lord, please help me keep my temper when she is being frustrating, and help me to remember that it doesn't matter if, at five, she doesn't always do addition correctly or read fluently. Help me to teach her kindness and compassion, hopefully by demonstrating it myself. When she repeats herself incessantly, let me remember that she isn't trying to be obnoxious - she just wants to be heard. Let me help her navigate the minefield of school successfully, knowing that success is largely emerging with a positive sense of self still intact. Please remind me to savor every moment with this precious girl, even as she slips through my fingers. Let her grow up as slowly as possible, and let me make it magical for her.

I do not deserve this child. But I am forever thankful for the gift of being her mama.

They really do say the darndest things...

Dan is standing on a chair in the kids' room, prepping the walls to paint them. Jacob climbs up next to him.

Jacob: Look Daddy! We're getting high together!

***

Elizabeth and I are at Toys R Us, shopping for a birthday present. Unfortunately, the Spiderman toys and the Toy Story toys are in the same aisle, and the Toy Story toys are completely distracting her from our mission to pick out something Spiderman. The object of her affection? A talking, strawberry scented Lotso Huggin' Bear.

Elizabeth: Mama, I really, REALLY want this Lotso! I've wanted it for YEARS!
(She's not even exaggerating, she HAS wanted this toy since Toy Story 3 came out.)
Sarah: I know Liz, but that toy is $54. We aren't buying it today.
E: Okaaaayyyyyy.
S: You know, you have enough money in your piggy bank for it, though. It would be about half your money, but if you wanted to buy it, you could.
E: *thinking* I don't think I want to waste my money like that. I think I will ask for it for Christmas.
S:  Your birthday is much sooner than Christmas!
E: I know, but if I ask for it for my birthday, then somebody else has to waste their money on it! If I ask for it for Christmas, Santa can just give it to me.
S: ...

Bunkin'

Possibly against my better judgment, bunk beds are coming to live at our house. The kids share a room, and it's not a big room, so this is really for floor space - practical reasons more than anything else. They are over the moon excited about it.

I *loved* bunk beds when I was a kid. I never had a set of my own, but I was always excited about the prospect of using them, whether it was at camp or a sleepover at my cousins' house. Even as an eighteen year old moving into a dormitory for the first time, my enthusiasm did not wane, and I happily occupied the top bunk for my first semester and the bottom bunk for the second. I even decked out the bottom of the top bunk with glow in the dark stars, and I can't wait to do the same for Jacob (who will be sleeping on the bottom bunk for the foreseeable future.)

Unfortunately for me, parenthood has definitely stolen some of the fun of bunk beds, because now I have to WORRY about stuff. Stuff like kids taking flying leaps off the top bunk. Stuff like whether the bed is really solidly built or not. Stuff like whether it's worth it to wrangle two children in Art Van on a Saturday to even get said bunk beds in the first place. (I didn't have to actually do that because my mother-in-law watched the kids for us while we went shopping.)

Hopefully this will be the last you hear about the bunk beds. If anyone breaks anything, I'll be sure to let you know, though!