saying yes

Because it was hot. Because it was the end of a long day. Because it entertained them. Because they asked. I said yes.

Yes to going in their clothes ten minutes before dinner. Joy.

front yard baseball

A little sibling competition to start the summer. Our front yard keeps getting smaller and smaller with each passing year.

another soccer season

preschool graduate

Coincidentally, alphabetical order meant that Matthew landed front and center for tonight's program. A perfect place for him as you can see.

ten years

My dear Morgan,

Happy birthday. You're ten today! I realize this is a big day and a big number. As much as you despise being the center of the spotlight, you do enjoy the attention that your day brings.

It's beautiful outside today - an unusual high predicted near 70 degrees - and this is so very much like the day we brought you home from the hospital. Balmy, mild, warm sun. Dad and I sat on the front porch that afternoon and stared down at our sleeping baby resting at our feet in the car seat. We were only able to think about you in terms of hours and days, hardly in years. Or decades.

Since those first waking moments, we've watched you grow and thrive and fine-tune yourself. After ten years of letters, it's easy to see that you are just a more refined version of the original. You've shed away some things that no longer matter, and held onto the ones that make up the real Morgan.

Things like sports, music, and reading still remain at the core of who you are. And I'd venture a guess that these things will stick with you for a long time.

On a fall afternoon, sitting beside Dad on the couch is a sure thing, wearing your Lions jersey watching every pass (and interception). When the Summer Olympics aired last August, you were hooked on every sport, cheering on the USA. And now, you're glued to the NCAA tourney and studying your brackets. What a dedicated sports fan you are. But in case there was any doubt, merely spectating isn't enough. You're an athlete and only starting to scratch the surface of your capabilities.

This year I had the privilege of coaching your Trinity basketball team and your Upward basketball team. And Morgan? You are a great baller! You have court awareness, the ability to anticipate, and the drive and dedication to be successful. It was so fun to watch you play and see the difference a year has made in your skills.

Listening to music is still a priority. We kept the new Britt Nicole album from the library for weeks, and you played it constantly while following along with the lyric pages in the privacy of your room. And just like sports, you aren't merely an observer. You're also excelling at playing the piano. Sight reading is your specialty, and now that you can read music so well, I think it motivates you to spontaneously sit at the keys and easily work through whatever new pieces you've been assigned. Sometimes I steal a peek at you practicing. I love to watch your eyes lock on the music, your hands already knowing just where to go. New this year is the recorder. I have to admit, it's no piano. But Dad and I are looking forward to hearing your class blow out Hot Cross Buns at the concert later this year. 

 

And books. Well, you've always enjoyed books. You read at a much higher age level, which is impressive, but it comes with drawbacks. Much of the content in the books you (would) enjoy is geared toward older kids and their older kid struggles. In other words, it hasn't really been advantageous to read about 6th grade problems because you haven't arrived in 6th grade yet. And I'm not interested in getting you there any sooner than you already are. In the meantime, you're more than happy with all the great Natalie Grant and Sophie books you received for Christmas.

 

Expanding is your love for the outdoors. I remember how much you disliked walking barefoot in the grass or even in the sand. And now you love the beach, camping and running around in our yard with the boys.

This year you've made some definite choices about what you choose to wear. And because you're so tight-lipped about school, I don't know if your sense of fashion comes from friends or your own personal preference. It may be a bit of both. I did notice a lot of Chuck Taylors this year which you asked for at Christmas. But even when your classmates wear dresses, you'd rather pass and stick to the safety of the school uniform. Comfort wins. Fortunately I'm still able to mandate some fanciness on special occasions and holidays, even if it comes with a muffled complaint from you.

This school year you were concerned about your 4th grade teacher. Let's just say her reputation doesn't ooze sweetness, and I think you were a bit uncertain how things would go based on stories you'd heard and things you'd witnessed in the hall. Do you remember asking me if you could attend 4th grade at another school? I've told you before how Mr. Pfannkuch was that same teacher for me. From what I could hear walking past his door, he seemed intense in the classroom, and I had well-founded assumptions about being his student. Coincidentally, he also had a science specialty. As you know, however, Mr. Pfannkuch ended up being my favorite teacher of all time. You haven't come out with specifics, but I think you secretly like your 4th grade teacher, too.

Ten may seem big, but you still have an innocence about you that is endearing. I love that you still pretend. When you're with your American Girl dolls or Lego Friends, you still imagine and make believe and play like no one's watching. You'll also tolerate shows that your Andrew and Matthew enjoy. And the best? When we give you permission to use our phones to shoot videos with the boys. The news reporting and weather and the we-just-had-twins-at-the-hospital video shot by the proud father (Andrew) and starring the proud mother (you) holding two dolls. Don't forget the big brother role played by Matthew. These are the moments that remind me you're still our little girl.

Sibling rivalry is at it's peak in our house right now, so I'm always taking note of peaceful play. Ironically, you seem to be at your best with your brothers when you're either in charge or engaged in some sort of competition: basketball, soccer, or some other game the three of you have made up in the back room. It's not until someone cheats or gets hurt that the show is over, but it's so very sweet while it lasts.

So while we hold dear to the innocence, Dad and I do work on helping you thrive in all the right ways. Putting away all your clean clothes is torture, and cutting your own meat is just as bad, I know, but you've heard me tell the story of Aunt Sarah and drying my own hair. We've done so much for you for so long that sometimes we forget how capable you really are. MORE than capable, in fact. And now asking you to step up to the plate is challenging.

That being said, however, there are some things that you ask of us that I will hold on to as you slip into these tween years. At the end of your shower, you still call me in to make sure your hair is rinsed well. You ask me to style your hair before school almost every morning. And we still listen to your prayers and lovingly tuck you in each night.

Braving a sleepover at a friend's house hasn't happened yet, but we've had two here. Staying up late and spending time with a bestie is thrilling for you, and hearing the giggles come from the basement confirms that for us.

Having brothers and male cousins has only helped your sense of adventure. You're much more inclined to take a walk through the woods because missing out on the fun would be more awful than the fear of the unknown. You're the perfect companion for them - a sporty leader full of ideas, yet responsible enough to talk them off the ledge. And considering the birth order of your cousin crew, it allows you to also play the big sister/momma role with our brood of boys. I know they adore you as much as you do them.




Much to your dismay, you are not yet the owner of a phone or tablet or iPod Touch. And honestly? You're doing just fine without. It saves us from an unnecessary battle over time spent or content or any other number of questionable things that a fourth grader just isn't ready for. This is just one of the many areas where I find myself struggling between keeping you in the bubble and letting you out into the gigantically wide open world. I realize you will be out there... someday. But not today. So we're easing in. Tackling the questions one at a time. Explaining things as they arise. Not trying to shield you from everything, but instead showing you the ropes. And maybe, just maybe, we'll work on some common ground for a mobile device in the near future.

You are so much dad on the exterior, what with your blue eyes and fair skin and moles that seem to appear monthly. And yet you are so much me on the inside. No, you don't have to buy your own can of Aqua Net and maybe you're not raising your hand to sing the solo in the Christmas program at school, but the subtle sass, the critical comments, the easy A's, the sharpest memory, the ability to anticipate. Gosh, Morgan, there's just so much emotional resemblance. You are a mirror for me, reflecting so much of who I am. I can't help believe that being a first-born mom parenting a first-born daughter contributes to that imitating.

Someday I hope you get to know first-hand the beauty of motherhood. Oh sure, right now you swear up and down that there will be no babies in your womb ever because, of course, all the pain. But hear me out. No matter how you arrive at motherhood, remember that only then will you be able to close that circle completely and have the most full understanding of the joy and worry and pride and doubt and satisfaction that comes with being someone's mom.

While celebrating ten years of you, I can't help but think of the last ten years of me. Being a momma transforms every single part of a woman. It has transformed me. A little more compassion, a little more understanding, a lot more love. A whole decade of being called Mom is pretty remarkable. It's humbling and educational and even sometimes scary. But Morgan, it's so worth it.

For your birthday this year, I gifted you a journal for us to share. It's a special place where we get to talk to each other on paper, to share and confide. I had written an inscription on the first page with instructions, and your face lit up when you read my words, giddy and eager to get started. Another avenue for us to communicate and keep our connection.

I hope that the next decade of you is just as breathtaking and remarkable as these first ten years, Morgan. And I pray that you keep Christ at the center of it all as you face new challenges and achieve new accomplishments. I love you, Morgan Grace.

XOXO,
Mom

Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don’t try to figure out everything on your own. Listen for God’s voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; He’s the one who will keep you on track.
Proverbs 3:5-6 MSG

on friendship

 Over the past couple of years, I have  been praying about friendships. Friendships especially for oMorgan. Oh sure, I have prayed that the boys would find good buddies, but authentic relationships for girls seem hard to come by.   I have asked for Morgan's path to cross with girls who affirm her, love her, share her beliefs. And He has provided.

 But it was not until this evening, crammed into our dear friends' basement, that I realized He has provided for Scott and I, too. Providing for a need I never knew we had. We've been doing life with a particular crew of people the last few years, and I used to think we were just fortunate. Blessed to have fallen into community with some great folks. But it struck me tonight that these people do for us what I've prayed about for Morgan. They affirm us, love us, share our beliefs. And it isn't  just coincidence.

I paused for a moment in the middle of the chaos, imagining what our New Years Eve party might look like ten years from now, or heck, even five. Who will our kids be? Will we still be gathered, navigating parenthood together?

I hope so.

Community matters. And I'm so grateful we have it.

four years

Dear Matthew,

Happy 4th birthday! I think everyone we've encountered today knows it's your special day.

I realize that by turning four, you won't immediately change into some well-behaved, proper young boy, but I'm glad we've arrived. If I'm being honest, parts of this last year have been challenging to parent you as you plow through life.

You are full throttle, full steam ahead, all cylinders are running. You wake up in the morning refueled, ready to wrestle, talk, DO. It's no wonder you fall asleep at 7:00 every night without any hesitation. Your energy is relentless.

One of your best attributes (and perhaps downfalls) is your social fearlessness. When it comes to conversations, there's never a hesitation, not for a second. One Sunday at the communion rail as an elder passed the wine cups, you blurted out "Hey, can I have one of those?" Every other week at Meijer it's "Why are you buying those carrots?" to the lady in produce, or "Hey, is that your mom???" or "Hi guys!" to the little boys in the shopping cart next to us, as if you're already best friends. You don't yet understand the dangers of talking to strangers, and when I ask you to stop, your response is one of confusion and frustration: "But Mom, I like talking to people," you plead. It's true. You will talk to almost anyone and it's both refreshing and scary.

You see no color, no age, no barriers in being social and I find it fascinating to watch. Conversations with GG are some of your favorites. You are oblivious to her memory lapses and repeated questions, happily answering and sharing and visiting, pleased to bend someone else'e ear.

You also know so many people from our Trinity family and easily share what's on your mind with those in our circle. I love this about you, and hope you know that as you grow, these people we do life with are the ones you can go to in confidence.

Because we are at church and school six or seven days a week, you are incredibly comfortable there. So comfortable, in fact, that you often take off, going where you please without me. You'll walk into the teacher lounge, the school office, chat it up with the custodian in his supply closet, it makes no difference as long as the destination involves more people. And I'm that mom who's always telling her kid to "get over here!" or "come back right now!" to no avail.

There were so many moments this last year where my warnings against your independence were not in time. One morning you found me in the crowded school hallway, your hands covered in a strange green substance. Before I ever realized you left my side, you had put your fingers into a 5th grader's solar system made of frosted cupcakes, an ungraded project that had just arrived at school moments before. (For the record, I forced you to explain and apologize to both the student and the teacher with the evidence all over your hands, and was secretly pleased to see your mortified face, a sign that the consequences of your actions were sinking in.)

Thankfully in January I was able to abort your mission before it ever took off. I specifically remember my mouth opening and emitting a sound I had never heard before - a half-scream, half-yell "no"!!! Your hand was ON the fire alarm, one second away from pulling the red handle down and evacuating the church, school and early childhood center. It took me a good hour to recover from that moment, although I'm certain this will not be the last time I experience panic because of your exploration.

Because you are so independent, you seem to have trouble tuning in to your parents. You love helping yourself to the contents of the refrigerator, permanent markers or crafts, LIFE. Dad and I have tried time outs, losing privileges, earning rewards, all of it. Unfortunately, lessons for you seem to be learned only by doing. I can tell you ten times not to walk in front of the swings, but once you get bonked in the head, it suddenly sinks in. Physical consequences are the best teaching tools for you.

Boundaries are just difficult for you to respect and I think the reasons are two-fold. For starters, you are a four year old male. I once heard a speaker with a background in child development say that if you ask a boy why he did something, he will most likely say "I don't know" and truly not know. This is you. Why did you spit in spit in someone's hair? You honestly don't know.

I also think your decisions are made impulsively with no comprehension about what the result of your actions will be. Thinking beyond the action just isn't there. And also? You don't really care. Playing outside in your unders? Who cares. Leaving your train on the rear bumper of the van? Never thought it would get run over.

When you do hear us, most often you do not agree with our requests. The result is a wild card response from you - whining, pouting, dirty looks, or full-on non-compliance. You are persistent, but after four years as our child, you've figured out when we mean business and eventually surrender.

However, it's not all mayhem and meltdowns with you, Matthew. You have a very creative mind. When you become fearful of being alone, you often mention that you will think about tornadoes or lizards or some other perceived threat while we are apart and how scary that will be. Some mornings you wake up and describe your dreams with great detail - dreams that I'm not certain you really remember, but rather concoct out of thin air based on the things that are in front of you in that moment. From your seat in the car you see all sorts of objects and animals in the puffy clouds above. You've gotten really good at making up stories, too, to the point where I'm not sure if I believe you. So often you end with, "I'm just kidding." It's probably time you learn about the boy who cried wolf.

Green is still your favorite color and for the last year, every preschool project, every painting, coloring, craft of any kind has been in this color. "Gween is my fav-wit," you tell me.

Trains. Enough said.
























There's been a remarkable and almost sudden change in your letter/number recognition, your ability to hold pencils and markers correctly, your counting skills, and interest in books. You love being read to and it's the only thing that captivates you for long stretches of being still.



















I don't think preschool can be credited for all your new academic skills, although you did have ball there with another little boy of the same name. You and Matthew J. are preschool pals. You both share a fondness for Thomas the Train that is pretty epic and play together as if no one else exists in the classroom. On the Sunday School scene, Adrienne is your go-to friend. Another baby of the family, she plays like you, and has a free spirit that is attractive to your wild side. So far you are batting 1000 in the friendship circle - we like your friends and their parents.

Coordination seems pretty advanced for a kid your age. You're free of training wheels, strong, you've been jumping great heights,  Could it be that your power packed body is also just as athletic? It's funny, though - or not so funny - that when it comes to tasks like getting dressed or using the bathroom. Your profess that your abilities have taken a leave of absence and suddenly you are unable (read: unwilling) to handle such needs.

A recent line of yours is "but I like being with parents." Since when?? This refers to your sudden fear of being alone. And it's not just a specific place in the house. Perhaps your awareness of your surroundings has broadened? I'm not exactly sure, but hoping it's a phase. This may also be what affects your sleep every night. It seems like your worst dreaming happens at 4 or 5 in the morning. Often you wake up and rush into our bedroom, still half asleep talking about things we can't understand. To encourage you and preserve our sleep, we covered the digital minutes on the clock and told you to stay in the bed until you see a 6. To our delight, it worked.

You have a thing for babies, a love of ice cream, and a special silky tag on the corner of your blanket that mindlessly soothes like nothing else. You also have a desire to be the star of your own show. Every stoop, step or elevated structure is your stage, another opportunity to speak your mind to the masses.

Most of our family pictures now require three or four takes because we constantly have to ask you to stop performing. If it's not a show, it's a goofy face, stuck-out tongue or crotch grab. It would be nice to just have your beautiful smile. Please.

Morgan is the one you model your attitude after. You are picking up her tones, words and actions when it comes to communication with your family. You also defer to Morgan when it comes to making decisions for yourself. If she chooses Superman ice cream, that's what you'll have. If you're asked first about what game to play, you ask Morgan what she would choose. I suppose if you're going to be influenced, Morgan's a good one to follow.

As for Andrew, you two are comrades for sure. Always in the yard fighting off imaginary enemies, or riding bikes together, or goofing off in the house. It takes a bit of effort to get between the brotherhood.

While Morgan and Andrew can be fun playmates and I may be the one you spend the most time with, Dad is your ultimate buddy. You prefer him hands down for everything. Reading books, getting changed, brushing teeth, playing games. It's his lap, his arms, his time, and his affection you value most.

It certainly has been an interesting year, Matthew. I could use all of the common cliches to describe you - pistol, firecracker, free spirit - I've heard them all. But you are so much more than that. This year with you has given me such hope about your future. You aren't quiet, meek, reserved or tight-lipped. You are unashamed, truthful, a game-changer. I believe with all my heart that you will do great things in your lifetime. And my prayer is that you keep Christ for that journey. As GG always says, "Take the Lord with you." Indeed, Matthew. Take the Lord.

I love you,
Mom

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. Ephesians 2:10