Look it. I am painfully aware that I am an over-emotional, sappy, heart-on-my-sleeve, hopelessly romantic and idealistic woman. I like to think it’s part of my charm, but it is probably more like a character flaw. But that’s me. So if you don’t like that part of me, better stop reading now, because I’m all about it on this post.
Watching the afternoon sun shine on the dark, healthy green leaves of the trees in the park just outside my boss’s window and noticing how the light filters through the tree canopy onto the brick sidewalk below, shifting slightly one way…and then the other…as the breeze gently moves each branch, each leaf from side to side; well, it brought on one of my favorite emotions, one that I feel enormously blessed to feel as often as I do.
It’s that heavy chest, heart crushing, warm feeling that fills me so full that I think my heart is swelling and about to burst out of its confines, like when the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes that day and broke the little wire x-ray thingy that evidenced the moment. It’s gratitude, I think. Appreciation for those small moments when God makes me stop and just breathe and absorb what is happening in that instant. There is such joy in those small moments…I think that’s what bliss is.
Rich gives me that feeling so often, sometimes at the most unexpected moments. For instance, last night when his light snoring woke me up and, just as I was about elbow him and tell him to roll the hell over, I stopped and just watched him for a minute, thinking how blessed I am to have this loving handsome husband snoring next to me when so many have nothing but a quiet empty space lying next to them. Or this morning as we kissed goodbye at the garage door; him looking dashing in his light blue shirt and new haircut (and me looking tired and ragged with crazy bed head and a saggy old robe).
Sam taught me just how intense this feeling could become, especially when he gives me unprompted kisses and hugs, or insists that he’s five, or pushes his bottom lip out when Rich or I leave, or when he prays for Papa and Rori and his diapey at night, or when he gives Lena a toy when she’s crying, or when he gets upset if I don’t let him kiss Lena before her morning nap…he crushes me with his sweet, compassionate heart. (Not so much when he’s screaming or hitting Lena with a Nerf baseball bat, but we as mothers don’t dwell on those moments, now do we.)
Lena shocked me by showing me how infinite this emotion is, stretching my heart even further with her gummy smiles (accented by her two bottom teeth sticking up), or splish-splashy bathtub belly laughs, or little hands clapping, or little arms reaching for me, or slobbery kisses on my cheek, or when she dives into my chest for a bear hug, or falls asleep in my arms. (I also choose not to dwell on her sometimes excruciatingly messy diapers or body stiffening temper.)
Another unexpected source of this emotion is my friend, Nichole. It has been difficult for me to create strong friendships as an adult. I’m not sure why. But my friend Nichole is one among few with whom I share this rarity. Her presence in my life has made me a better wife, a better mother – a better person. And her childhood stories can send shivers up my spine, make me laugh until I cry, or haunt me for days after. She’s open and honest, and I sincerely admire her. And the fact that she loves me makes my chest heavy with gratitude.
These things that surround us: our loved ones; music; art; nature; faith; a hard day’s work; making right decisions; helping someone; laughter; compassion…feeling gratitude and appreciation for all these things God offers us is what life is all about or, at the very least, one of the greatest parts of the journey. For those in hard circumstances, I’m certain it’s difficult to see. But even in the midst of our pain, if we notice and give thanks for something as simple as a mourning dove’s song or the sun warming our backs, then all is not lost. Because gratitude brings with it hope and joy and ushers in love and decency and integrity. Think about it – have you ever met a truly grateful person who wasn’t also good and happy?
Lena fell asleep in the highchair after dinner a couple nights ago while I was cleaning up the kitchen. She ate herself into a little baby stupor.
Watching the afternoon sun shine on the dark, healthy green leaves of the trees in the park just outside my boss’s window and noticing how the light filters through the tree canopy onto the brick sidewalk below, shifting slightly one way…and then the other…as the breeze gently moves each branch, each leaf from side to side; well, it brought on one of my favorite emotions, one that I feel enormously blessed to feel as often as I do. 
Rich gives me that feeling so often, sometimes at the most unexpected moments. For instance, last night when his light snoring woke me up and, just as I was about elbow him and tell him to roll the hell over, I stopped and just watched him for a minute, thinking how blessed I am to have this loving handsome husband snoring next to me when so many have nothing but a quiet empty space lying next to them. Or this morning as we kissed goodbye at the garage door; him looking dashing in his light blue shirt and new haircut (and me looking tired and ragged with crazy bed head and a saggy old robe). 
Sam taught me just how intense this feeling could become, especially when he gives me unprompted kisses and hugs, or insists that he’s five, or pushes his bottom lip out when Rich or I leave, or when he prays for Papa and Rori and his diapey at night, or when he gives Lena a toy when she’s crying, or when he gets upset if I don’t let him kiss Lena before her morning nap…he crushes me with his sweet, compassionate heart. (Not so much when he’s screaming or hitting Lena with a Nerf baseball bat, but we as mothers don’t dwell on those moments, now do we.) 
Hanging with Papa, probably watching something terrible on TV, like Glenn Beck or something:)
The greatest show on earth was in town this week: the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. We saw everything from our great seats. It was terrific!
Lena might have liked it more than Sam, judging at least by her overt reaction(check back for video). She was smiling and flapping her arms and clapping her hands along with everybody (for the first time all by herself, I must mention). She never got impatient or upset or scared, even when they shot two women out of a cannon, which was LOUD! And even when the crazy clowns stood right beside her on the step before one of their acts. 
Sam seemed to be in shock by all the action and lights and sound. Overly stimulated, me thinks. The photos you see posted are pretty close representations of his reaction to the whole thing. He watched wide-eyed and didn't miss a beat, I assure you. But he sat on Rich's or my lap the whole time and never clapped his hands or even smiled (until we were on our way home). He was very serious about the circus. It reminded me of when I saw NKOTB in concert when I was a kid (I didn't dance or sing along; just stood there with my binoculars sharply focused on Donnie Wahlberg's butt). Sam's such a quiet shy boy, in public at least, so it might have just been too much for him. He said he liked it, though...right before he passed out on the way home, a nap which lasted almost 3 hours. We'll see how traumatized he is tomorrow. 
My mother is a compassionate soul. She is always helping people, sometimes to the point of exhaustion, selflessly. She gives of herself freely and joyfully without complaint. And those whose lives she touches are blessed because of her. 
My mother is my role model. As a mother now myself, I constantly evaluate situations and wonder how my mother would handle them. Then I try - try - to do that. I just want my children to have the kind of childhood I had, full of encouragement and inspiration and love and laughs and rules and consequences and freedom and beauty and lessons and faith and acceptance and appreciation. That's what my parents gave me, the kind of haven my mother created for us all. That's the kind of mother I want to be.
Sam is napping. Lena and I are doing laundry. Just as I sit down to fold a mountain of clothes, the soft breeze carries the delicate fragrance of our lilies of the valley in through the screen door. They're my favorite smelly flower. They're so pretty and tiny. I wish they lasted longer. 
So Lena and I went out to smell the flowers. And snap some shots of her in her new hat (which has a matching swimsuit...how sweet!). 
We always pray individually with the kids before bed, but tonight, after the kids were all cleaned up and ready for bed, we sat them together in Sam's rocking chair and prayed together. Sam folded his little hands, I kneeled in front of the chair with my hands folded and Rich stood behind us with his hands folded. Then we said the Lord's Prayer. Lena touched Sam's arm and stared at him while we prayed. It was so cute. 
