Happy Birthday, Nolan Brady!

Oh Nolan,

Before you arrived I anticipated my heart would stretch a bit to accommodate loving two from my womb.  I never imagined how it would bubble up to the top and flood over the sides.  Nolan Brady, I can not even express the joy you bring to our family and how thrilled I am that you arrived three years ago today.

Since about the time your muscles learned to smile, you've been grinning ear to ear.

Auntie Sarah named you Mr. Congeniality of the family.  Is it any wonder why?!

You redefined terrible twos as terrific twos.  It's not that you never have your tired and whiny days, but  more often than not, you are bursting with love and gratitude for life.  You have taught me the power of "thank you."  I wish I could claim credit, but in this case, you have been the teacher, with your ever enthusiastic and unprompted thank yous.

Nana describes you as a lover.  It fits perfectly.  Like a few nights ago when you came down the stairs at bedtime to tell Daddy you needed to give him one more giant hug then back you went to bed.  Or how you constantly tell both of us you love us "berry, berry buch " (because rhyming is currently your favorite joke).  You respond with utmost enthusiasm to seeing people you love, like the last time I told you would see Maddy:  "Yes!  We get to see MADDY!  I LOVE Maddy!  She is my FAVORITE friend!"

I don't know how two introverted parents produced a social butterfly, but you are it.  You have decided the college student you have met twice at Daddy's games is your friend.  She became your "friend" after you stood there grinning slyly waiting for someone in the stands to notice you and smile back.  You love smiling at the people at the grocery store, and you will tell the bank teller about your entire weekend if given the chance.

You like to get the crowd to laugh, something I have no ability to relate to.  This is hilarious to watch in someone too young to know how to crack a joke.  You do a spin move and look for a reaction from a friend of mine you've just met.   You string rhyming words together or make up a nonsense song.  You dance for the crowd in the baseball stands.

Welcome to three, Nolan Brady.  So glad I get to be a witness to everything that makes you you.

We love you, all the way to the moon and back (a zillion times).

Signs of Spring

Mid April and we've been peering for signs of spring for much longer than I imagined we would be.  They are arriving slowly.  We rush to the window for the orange belly in our yard, as Nolan reminds us Robin is also who he dressed as two Halloween's ago.  In a few brave places flowers have risked peeking out in search of the sun, who as of late, has still been in hiding.

"Does anyone see any signs of spring," I call out as we drive down the road.   "There's no snow," C says.  Seeing as it is April, that is a start.  A slow start, but a start nonetheless.

I check my heart too, and I find more often than I care to admit a chill I hoped would have softened by now, this late into spring.  Signs of change yet, Lord?  Birth new things in me, I whisper.

My gratitude tree, which begun with high hopes, has been ignored entirely, still displaying March's Easter eggs and gratitude spoken another day, a moment other than today.  I chalk it up as part of my "INFP-ness," particularly the "P" which, translated, means I am much better at thinking of new ideas than implementing them.  But truth be told, "P" or not, I need this.  I need the daily habit of gratitude.

I sometimes expect flowers to bloom, fruit to appear, with ease.  I easily forget flowers bear testimony to planting done in an earlier season.

"Gratitude for the seemingly insignificant - a seed - this plants the giant miracle."  Ann Voskamp writes as she practices the planting.

Out of nowhere we had a delightful rush of warmth and my boys are dipping toes in Grandma's yet clean pool, yanking off wet pants and opting to go not only barefoot but pants-less.

No matter how late in the season, the warm days always sweep in with grace and wash away bitterness of a long winter with their wonder.

I speak my seeds of gratitude out loud now as I type, letting a few of the words fall through my stubbornly clenched jaw.  Gripe is always my default, but I know if I don't hold out my seeds I will miss the wonder of them blossoming when grace sweeps through.

I don't want to miss the wonder.  Oh Lord, let me not be too stubborn to miss the wonder.