Being there

Seven at play

I've composed probably a hundred posts in my head in the past few months--posts that, obviously, ever made the leap from thought to written word.


There was the post describing the roller coaster ride of Jo's emotions when her prized rabbit broke its back and had to be put down by a vet we didn't even know on a rainy, pre-Holiday night. The post about how I still, nearly four months later, can't believe that Seven is here. The post cataloging my ups and downs in dealing with Oli's delays and health issues. The post where I reveal how inexcusably behind I am in just about every area of the life I once managed to have outside the four walls of my own home. The post where I acknowledge how head-over-heels my husband is for baby girls, in particular. The post where I ponder how it is that Logan could memorize Scripture at a rate that has shocked even his AWANA leaders ... and yet still be unable to recall any directions that require more than two steps. The post where I list Atticus' interests and ask whose son this strange, techno-geek boy could possibly be. The post where I explain why 2 is not my favorite age. The post where I sing the praises of a well-stocked pantry. The post where I admit that I can't grasp how quickly Seven has outgrown her cradle at my bedside, her clothes, the space she used to fit on her Daddy's knees. The post where I lay out precisely how it felt to hear Bee's voice on the other end of a phone line for the first time.


I never wrote any of those thoughts down. Instead, I found myself simply living out the moment, savoring it ... and moving on.


As I write today, Jo is beside me at the kitchen table, reading a book called, "What's Darwin Got to Do With It?" Oliver is nearly naked-- despite the damp chill in the air--and playing contentedly with Seven's little wooden rolling toy. Mani is on hour two of his afternoon nap. Logan and Atticus are in the playroom logging in time assembling the robotic arm Atticus got for Christmas. Bee is asleep in Kathmandu. And Seven is on my lap, watching me type one-handed.


This morning I have had my new washing machine installed, drank too much tea, kissed my husband good-bye, put Seven down for two naps in her big girl crib (second day in a row of the crib), gotten Oli off to preschool, taught math, history, language arts, overseen lunch preparation, welcomed Oli home, nursed 6 or so times, snuck a caramel from my secret stash.


Soon I will go on with my day, swinging from one busy, loud, messy moment to the next.


It is all, blissfully, good. It is painful good, the kind of good that washes over you in the mundane. The first giggles of my newest daughter, the shrieks of joy as Mani completes a puzzle "by myselps," the casual squeeze on the shoulder Jo gives Atticus as she walks past him at the sink, the clamor that is Oli as he bangs two trucks together over and over, the Cheshire Cat grin Logan has on his face as he brings me yet another Lego creation. Another meal to be served, another load of diapers to wash, another trip to pick Mr. Blandings' shirts from the cleaners. 


The moments are happening. This is life. I am in it. Even if I'm not finding the time to sit and string words into sentences, the moments are real. So thank you for being patient with me, dear Readers. And enjoy the moments that you have been gifted to live inside of, as well.