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.
-
yuck
Last week I was cleaning the back porch/laundry room. A large stack of dirty clothes was unearthed. Clothes that belonged to one six-year-old little boy that I know well. I summoned that young man in and required him to tidy up his apparently favorite changing space. He chuckled with gusto. (Because that’s what he does.) He cleaned up his mess. And then he left the scene of the crime. I kept cleaning. In my own personal cleaning frenzy I knocked over a bucket of mason jar lids. They bounced and slipped between the wall and the chest freezer. Reaching into that hidden space my hand touched an article of clothing. I dragged…
-
and I hope it’s always true . . .
I wore this headband this weekend. My six-year-old son made it for me a few weeks ago when I was sick. It’s crafted from a waistband of a pair of bear-print pajama pants that he outgrew. And I didn’t stay home all day. I actually left the house. Ran errands. And it was both an easy decision and a hard one. But this is what I decided. The message to my son that he matters, that the works of his hands are precious to me, that message matters more to me than what strangers may think of my fashion sense. I mess up. All the time. But my hope is…
-
yes. bananas. oatmeal cream cakes. my hawkeye.
The afternoon was caving in. I had desserts to make for a group gathering that evening and my culinary ambitions were far exceeding both my abilities and my time frame. Otto was napping and the girls were playing together and finishing up their school work. I tied on my apron, clicked om my Avett Brothers Pandora station and tossed out my ingredients on to the trusty butcher block. Little feet scuttled into the kitchen. “Can I help you cook this afternoon Mommy?” a little voice asked. I surveyed my helper and considered the offer. I knew what this type of help usually entailed. I tried to hold in my sigh.…
-
sibling love.
Today this little fella had a bout with some stomach issues. (Believe it or not – this isn’t really a post about vomit. Although today I realized that our wood floors have deep grooves between the boards. Deep grooves that collect whatever falls their way. That’s all.) And today our daughters loved and served their tired brother in the sweetest of ways. They set the table for him, since it’s his week on table duty. And they made this little coloring page for him as he lay on the sofa resting. London drew the picture and Mosely helped build the tape crayon holder. Such a wonderful picture of love. The…
-
lessons learned
Yesterday I volunteered at the kids’ homeschool co-op. I was a helper in Bergen’s first grade class. 18 first graders. One very rainy day. No outside play time. This is what I learned. Surprisingly, I really like a large group of first graders. They were funny, unpretentious, happy and kind. Clorox wipes remove magic marker stains from school tables. Super grateful for this when Boy in the Orange Shirt decided to color his two-inch Russian nesting doll with eight markers crammed into his fist at once. A six-year-old can almost run faster than me. We played race games in the gym at recess. I wasn’t letting her win. I was…
-
crayon art
There once was a wedding of two people our family loves. And Bergen wanted to help make their gift. Enter Pinterest. And don’t forget – gifts need to be on the Low to No train too. We found an idea over there and turned it into our own creation. (All mockingbird style – right?) We started with a blank canvas and hot glued rows of similarly colored crayons across the canvas. We chose reds and pinks because they are the color of love – right? (But as we quickly ran out of those colors we tossed in a few purples as well.) I printed the letters before we began the…
-
just what I needed to hear.
And sometimes they just say what you need to hear when you need to hear it . . . My sensitive son Bergen Hawkeye came over to me and said, “I like the way God made you.”
-
Henry Huggins: A Book Review
Aren’t there just a few authors from back in the day that just seem to stick? A few names that everyone was reading in fourth grade? I don’t know who your names were, but a few of mine were Judy Blume, Cynthia Voigt and Beverly Cleary. Beverly Cleary created that pesky little icon Ramona. The kids and I have listened to loads of tales from Ramona while traveling in the car. For school Bergen Hawkeye and I read out loud to one another from various books. We take turns reading each paragraph. (I love hearing his inflection and watching him laugh when he gets a written joke. Plus, I am…
-
I’m Sure I’ll Make Time.
“Mom, when can I go running with you?” Hawkeye asked me this week. For the thirteenth time. “I don’t know. Maybe this weekend.” I replied. “So. Why do you want to run with me so much son?” “Because I want to hold your hand while we run.”
-
bad word
The kids have recently been introduced to Kevin’s old collection of Garfield comic books. They love them. Odie has become a common name in our house and we often hear tales of what Garfield thinks about lasagna, Pooky and Jon. Last night, sitting at the kitchen counter, Bergen made a mysterious request. “Mommy, can I say a bad word just for fun?” I looked up from the stack of dirty dishes I was conquering. Hesitatingly, I answered, “Sure, son.” He grinned. “I hate Mondays!”
Keep Reading . . .
May’s Grove Giveaway
Frankincense – a little educating (but not by me)
The Right Word.
-
beautiful boy.
Dear Bergen, I love how you cuddle with me. You push into my side with such fierce determination that I think you would allow yourself to be absorbed into my very skin if that was somehow possible. I love how you do nearly every thing with abandonment. Even eating chocolate ice cream. You are beautiful to me. And you are mine. (not forever.) For now. And I am sorry that there are days that I squander this gift. Days that my tone is sharp. Days that my hands push you to the side and I ask you to find another place to stand. Days that I disregard your legitimate concerns…
-
I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends
How long have they been friends? Probably since Cole could walk. (And he’s five now. So you can do the math.) The boys had so much fun at our Camp Fourth this summer. Bergen helps encourage Cole to do brave things – like holding a chicken in his own actual arms! And Colton makes it possible for Bergen to play boy games and spend extra hours outside. The fellas were mostly inseparable. Throughout the week, always unannounced, Colton would walk up to Bergen, hold his shoulders, look him in the eyes and announce, “Bergen. I love you.” To this sweet sentiment, Bergen would gently respond, “You already told me that.”
-
good.
If life has taught me anything, it is this . . . Good days are not a guarantee. Therefore I make it a priority to recognize one when I see it. To hold it in my hands and tell myself, “This is a good one. Slow down. And be.” I took a long shower. Kevin fixed breakfast for the kids. Berg asked for the return of his mohawk. In red. Hannah and I picked four gallons of strawberries with all the Little Ones. Shelby instructed the girls in math so that I did not have to. I might have just purchased my last dozen grocery-store eggs. Hannah is building a…
