Bergen Hawkeye
Anyone can slay a dragon . . . but try waking up every morning and loving the world all over again. That's what it takes to be a real hero.
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Eleven. (Say it ain’t so.)
He is such an easy boy to love. Known for his entire first year of life as The Model Citizen, Bergen Hawkeye has been charming my heart for eleven solid years now. I’ve written about him tons and tons of times. The funny things he says and his kind manners and his all boy not-enough-fear adventures. I love being his momma. “For your birthday son, what would you like to do?” And he says, “Play Legos with my friends.” Done. And done. (Talk about your low key birthday parties.) Bergen is handsome. He’s smart. (A mom can say these things about her boy.) He knows more about space and robots…
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sunshine and a trail
Today was full of sunshine. Aren’t days like that just a gift? My buddy Carl Sandburg’s gloriously beautiful home site partnered with breezy sunshine and companionable hiking friends. Today was about slow conversations and walking through the woods. Eating lunch on a giant rock with a stellar view that made cold leftover ham taste delicious. Listening to the kids chat about novels they enjoy and favorite films and book titles they should read next and “have you ever read Agatha Christie?” I loved watching Bergen lead and chat with two younger little buddies as they held his hand and walked a mile or…
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pockets of beauty & grace
“I hope you are finding pockets of beauty and grace.” That’s what the text message from a friend said this week. There are days and moments that weigh heavy on my heart. News that breaks and bends. Realities that burden and ache. And. There of moments of shared laughter and genuine joy. Hope that soars and restores. Pockets of beauty and grace. Yesterday my oldest son and I had a date. (We are still working our way through their Christmas gifts – a one on one date with Mom to some fun event.) He was DJ in the car so it was all Okee Dokee Brothers and The Hunts for…
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writing without a plan. (rambling, in other words)
I had a web hosting snafu this week and the blog was down and out for a while. But I’m all back now and I think I have a plan. (It was actually very comforting to receive the texts and messages alerting me that my blog was unavailable. Made me feel loved by you guys, knowing that you read the words and click over to this space. Thank you, friends.) I’m a little here and there with a handful of loose ends these days so I don’t have a stopping or a starting point tonight as I write this. Last Sunday we had baptisms at church. Man. I start to…
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Above the Waterfall: A Book Review
Back in the old days of Virginia living, I attended a conference where I listened to my favorite Appalachian writers. Lee Smith. Sharyn McCrumb. Then I found myself in a room listening to a new-to-me writer. Ron Rash. And I liked him right away. He was a South Carolina man then but his words were pure home to me. Heavy on the Wendell Berry side with the land as a character in its own right. I think that was at least twelve, maybe more, years ago. I’ve read all of his novels – One Foot in Eden, Saints in the River, The World Made Straight, The Cove, Serena. (And I typed…
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when the hard work is in vain
He enters the room like a whirling dervish and he’s grinning my favorite grin. He has something in his hands and he absolutely cannot wait for me to see what it is. My boy is holding a creation of his own design. A perfectly rounded Lego bridge born of imagination and trail and error. With genuine and joyful pride, Bergen’s hand is outstretched toward me and he sighs/breathes/says, “Look”. And I look. I open my mouth to offer my sincere awe and praise, I barely get the words to the very tip of my tongue, when his whirling is irrepressible. He spins. The treasure is accidentally launched from his grasp.…
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this stuff really happens at our house.
Ryder is still under house arrest after his surgery. House arrest for this giant puppy involves leash walking exclusively for every bathroom break. We’ve got a decent little system of sharing the load between the kids and I and the friendly fur face is progressing nicely and honestly such a happy dog despite his kennel and his steel plate. However. Because this is real life and not a comic strip (But that would be funny – right? Think Calvin & Hobbes meets Family Circus meets one of those serious ones that no one ever actually reads.) sometimes the trips outside can get a little rowdy. Ryder is still a puppy…
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trash day.
Tuesday is Trash Day. I dislike Trash Day. (Just as I dislike putting air in my tires and gas in the tank of my car.) I set an alarm on my phone to remind me that the trash needs to be down by the mailbox before 7 a.m. Wednesday morning. Which means I should haul it down the driveway Tuesday night. And some days the kids and I remember to do just that. (And some days angels and leprachauns and unicorns apparently drag it down without my knowledge. I rejoice loudly on those days.) But then there are these other days. Days like this: “You guys! It’s after 8 p.m.! It’s…
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that time at the park when the wheels came undone
We’ve never really lived in a house with a concrete driveway that leant itself to safe bike riding for children. Therefore, the kids have always been late comers to the biking world. Piper Finnian still needs training wheels. And that’s alright with me. Recently, Bergen outgrew his bike and we realized it was a good fit for Piper. I bought some training wheels. Universal, the bag side. Fits any bike, the instructions read. With the training wheels attached and the bikes painstakingly crammed in the back of the Suburban, we drove to a large parking lot to practice before trying to hit the trail together. Otto is grinning and riding…
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post 9,429
A large collection of beautiful seashells were being explored by the fellas as we helped Hilary pack up a few things from her home. For some reason the beautiful shells created quite a hubbub with the boys and a lot of silly banter. And the jokes were a-plenty. (And, actually, pretty funny. Which means either I have a humorous son or my standards on comedy have lowered with the increase of children in my home.) Bergen Hawkeye came up to me and said, “Mom – this is my shell phone.” And then ….. “And guess what server I have Mom?” my blue-eyed charmer grinned. “It’s A, T & Sea.”
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here I am, son.
They sit on me. Lean against me. Wiggling. Twitching. Tapping. Head lolled against my shoulder. My boys. Some days I am struck by their vastly increased hands-on neediness. My sons are much touchier than my girls. They need me differently. Some days (all days) I am convinced that my ten year old would literally crawl into my skin and take up permanent residence if he was given the option. A steady question on his lips – “Where are you? What are you doing? Will you be here when I come back?” Listen to me, son. I’ll be here. Lean your head back on my shoulder. I’m not going anywhere.
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too much knowledge.
Maybe this kid knows too much. At bedtime – of course at bedtime, it’s always at bedtime – Bergen Hawkeye comes shooting down the stairs. (You can never say that boy walks down the stairs. He just doesn’t.) He sails into the living room and exhales. “Mom!” he has that look in his eyes. “There’s a cockroach in the girls’ room!” Ugh – gross. A cockroach! What in the world. “Son,” I give him a certain look in my own eyes. “Go kill it. Just kill it please.” “Mom,” he grins. “That might be hard. It takes six pounds of pressure exerted on a cockroach to kill him.”
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Hawkeye Thoughts
His feet are filthy. As in, gross dirty. Those weird little lines of crud that only a pair of Keens can outline so distinctly. Those ragged little beasts are currently snuggled up against mine as I lie in bed tip tap typing away. I should move my feet before my size eights are contaminated by his size fives, but I don’t actually care all that much. His eyelashes are longer than mine on even a good blinc mascara morning. This boy is sensitive and funny and quick witted and changing even as I write this post. Bergen still loves affection. He’s a cuddler. A hand holder. A back scratcher. He…
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