Four and Seven

When our little man held his younger sister for the first time four years ago it was love at first sight.  Each picture that we took of the two of them captured his strong affection for her: her tiny features, full cheeks and baby blue eyes that resembled his.  He has always known what a treasure she is, and she is learning what a treasure he is as an older brother, protector and encourager.  She makes him laugh, and makes him sigh.  He brings out her playful side, and exasperates her like no other.  They are the perfect compliment to one another, our little ones separated by three years and one week. 

This year we gathered as a family to celebrate this dynamic duo with a taco party, chocolate Oreo cake, and gifts celebrating their current interests and loves.

  For our littlest lady, it was the year of shoes.  She marveled over each pair that she received, smitten and delighted.  From blue sparkly high heels to pink cowboy boots, each pair represented a different side of our gal who had been counting down the days until she turned four.  Over the past year, her imagination has taken off and she can be found throughout the day chatting with "friends," creating pretend YouTube videos, and being "hard at work." She particularly enjoys the opportunity to wander off into her sibling's bedroom while they are at school, and can easily occupy herself quietly playing with their treasures.  She is quick to speak, and often slow to listen, having many thoughts and opinions on life. She is affectionate, often planting surprise kisses on her daddy's cheek or asking to kiss my arm.  She is amusing, endearing, and so very clever.   I've come to appreciate our afternoons filled with creative play, chatter, meal prep, music and podcasts.  She has quickly become the entertainer of the family, and our days are more lively because of her. The day after her party, she announced that she couldn't wait to turn five and... twenty-one. 

For our little man, who is quickly outgrowing this term of endearment, it was the year of markers and sketch pads, science experiments, nature books and binoculars, safety boxes, and LEGOs.  He continues to be observant of the world around him, pausing to admire or question.  He spends his free time constructing LEGOs, creating, tinkering, and has found great pleasure in drawing, often leaving one room quickly to put on paper what he's seen on television or a scene he's created in his imagination.  He is tender and thoughtful, and learning how to express himself.  He is content to sit back and watch his sisters fill the dinner hour with chatter, but more often than not has something interesting going on in his head.  He's expressive and animated, serious and shy.  He is loyal and appreciates friendships, often greeting buds with a bear hug that lifts them off their feet.  He makes his top bunk in the dark before coming downstairs, but needs several reminders to put on socks for the day.  He appreciates people taking the time to explain things to him, and I'm learning how to be patient for him. 

Kindergarten & Second

"Our goal with our children is to first be making people who live in a state of art appreciation - worshipping the God who painted them into a masterpiece."

~ Rachel Jankovic

My mother often retells the story of my first day of kindergarten, a memory that is more vivid for her than me.  I walked confidently into the classroom and never looked back to say good-bye.  Now that I've experienced the first day of kindergarten for two of our children, I understand why this is such a significant memory for her.  The weight and release of sending our little ones into a classroom for the first time unlocks a treasure trove of memories affirming just how quickly time has passed and just how much has already been accomplished. 

I had many assumptions about the kind of school year we would have as I resumed my role as co-teacher, implementing lessons plans within our home two days a week.  Just like with so many things in motherhood, I soon realized it is near impossible to predict the final outcome of things when it comes to children.  And, I'm slowly learning that it is in this middle ground that the sweetest of tensions exists - one of knowing your child intimately, but admitting that there is still much to learn, be surprised by and inspired by.  I learned also, that part of my role as mother and co-teacher is to make space for this growth to occur, to sit back, admire, observe, and wait for their individual gifts and interests to emerge. 

Second grade (with the little lady) was a mixture of growing independence, interests and passions defined, and the realization that while her plans often take her outside of our home, the comforts of home are what bring her the most joy, security and love.  Math challenged, science intrigued, and she found the greatest satisfaction in preparing for and presenting her ideas aloud.   She tenderly worked through her first peer conflicts and together, she and I learned the value of creating space to listen, talk, and be vulnerable.  It was during this year that I realized how seven quickly becomes eight, and then nine... and sixteen.  As she learns to confide, I am learning how to respond with grace, humility, and love.  Just as I hope to inspire, motivate and encourage her young heart, she continues to help refine and shape me as a mother. 

Favorites:

~ Reading the Happy Hollisters and note taking

~ Studying space and visiting UW Space Place

~ Portraying Mary in the Christmas program

~ Recorders in music, sculpting in art, and playing Glinda, the good witch in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

~ Carpool with friends

~ Staying late to help clean up after the Art Gallery and Bard Cafe

~ Backyard discoveries with Joey

Kindergarten (with the little man) was a sweet blend of discovering new strengths, exploring new curiosities, growing in patience and acceptance, recognizing his own voice and learning that his ideas have value and are worth being shared.  In all honesty, I anticipated more rough patches knowing both his strengths and weaknesses and the many ways that he and big sister differ.  He surprised me with his desire to be accurate and precise, his willingness to try again after a little encouragement, and his ability to transition between school and satellite classroom well.  Watching him read for the first time and make corrections on a final science project independently were a highlight for me as both mother and co-teacher.  Observing him as he helped occupy his younger siblings during lessons and the joy he felt as he interacted and played with his older sister were a gentle reminder of how big his heart is, and how tender. 

Favorites:

~ The study of plants and mammals

~ Proper English tea party

~ Making new friends and playing on the playground

~ Music class and making instruments

~ Losing his first tooth right after the Christmas program during refreshments

~ Proudly displaying his lost tooth to friends and teachers

~ Reading Aesop's Fables

Eight

When I was your age, I spent most of my free time pretending to be one of three things: a teacher, an entertainer, and a mommy.  The garage was my classroom and I taught everything under the sun, with the exception of math as it was my least favorite subject.  The laundry room was my stage, with concrete floors echoing the staccato of my mother's high heels and old water pipes serving as dance partners.  During the warm days of summer, I was a farmer's wife, a dozen oversized water balloons my bouncing babes. 

 

I watch you escape to your room after a particularly inspiring day of school.  At your door I overhear the beginnings of an animated art lesson as you instruct your pupils, art books covering your floor.  You queue up music around the house and dance, movements strong, rhythmic and intentional.  You position yourself in front of the large blank television screen, one of the few places in our home where you can see your reflection while you bend and sway to the music. While your options are limited, you arrive downstairs wearing a favorite pair of black high heels from my closet.  As you gracefully walk around our hard wood floors two inches higher I know something special is brewing; you are officially in character.  You are seldom found with a doll on your hip, but you can often be found toting Everett around like a rag doll, tending to the needs of June, or mothering Joseph. 

 

In the days leading up to your eighth birthday as we collaborated and gathered supplies to pull off your "Under the Sea" themed birthday party I was struck not by the idea of you turning eight, for in all honesty many (including myself) think of you as much older, but with the idea that I've been a mother now for eight years.  Your arrival eight years ago was the realization of a dream that began in my own heart as a young girl.     

 

 

 

When I look at you I see how similar we are.  I didn't see it at first, but over the past eight years as I've observed and taken careful note, I've realized we share many of the same strengths and weaknesses.  In many ways you have become a reflective surface upon which I am able to see the many beautiful and flawed aspects of my personality as I move about my days.  I underestimated how much I feel things, am moved by experiences, and value the sentimental.  When you freely open up your heart to another, respond in generosity, or stash another handwritten note from a friend in one of your many secret places, I see it.  When you quickly enter into another's joy or sadness, empathize or attempt to problem solve, I see it.  When you make your brother's bed because he is in tears, take the time to listen to another one of June's requests, or linger by Everett's highchair just to make him giggle one more time, I see it. When you struggle to understand and the inner turmoil of not getting "it" right the very first time brings you to silence and tears, I see it.  When you hide away in your room, face buried in your pillow, finally releasing all of the emotions, I see it. When you speak in haste and immediately regret it, I see it.   

 

When I look at you I also see the many ways we are different.  You rise each day, ready to embrace every possible social interaction with enthusiasm and delight.  Your spirit of hospitality has taught me to balance my need for quiet with that of genuine interest in others, and be open to the possibility of last minute dinner guests.  Your mind is sharp, you prefer math to every other subject, and you write freely, quickly putting your thoughts into words.  I avoid numbers to this day and overthink my words more often than not.  It is a privilege to watch you use your gifts in these areas as both co-teacher and mother.  You by nature are loud, your laughter, chatter, and singing easily heard throughout our home.  I am soft-spoken, and find that repetition is the key to communicating within our active home.  Dancing is clearly your thing; playing sports was mine.   

Over eight years ago, we created this little space on the Internet to announce your arrival and document our family's journey.  Each year of your life has marked significant growth in my very own.  What a privilege it has been to watch you grow, to learn along side you, and observe our many similarities and differences.  It is my prayer that we will continue to refine and inspire one another.  I know that one day soon, I will see your many childhood dreams becoming realities. 

 

 

It is with joy that we celebrate you, Charlotte Marie. You continue to be one of the most colorful people I know.  My life is more beautiful because of you.

 



A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words - Together

On Lent and Cravings

 

Pressing in and pressing on is pushing against the tide of sin and disbelief, and pushing towards what you've made a habit of clinging to in calmer waters: that Jesus is enough.

Ruth Chou Simons

 

 

***

We are in the final days of Lent.  Four more days of meatless meals.  As I type my mouth is watering for a morsel of steak.  Within the last two weeks commercials featuring beefy sandwiches have prompted us to switch channels.  Recently, whilst ordering an Americano I was visually assaulted by an advertisement for BBQ Beef Brisket on Sourdough, which apparently Starbucks is now offering.  I have ceased scouring the Internet for "fun-family-friendly-vegetarian-recipes-that-satisfy." I have hit my black-bean-as-an-alternative limit.  In fact, we ordered take out twice over the weekend to avoid the final "Delicious Black Bean Burrito" recipe that promises they are "soooo good you'll want to have them every night."  I'm sure they are.  But. We. Just. Can't.  Days ago, I told Jeff that I actually feel the absence of iron in my blood.  Perhaps I should have considered iron supplements.

 

The more I have considered my sudden obsession with meat consumption, the more significant the act of giving something up has meant to me.  Previously I have given up, among other things, bread (a sixth love language), potatoes (a comfort), television (a favorite pastime), and secular music (a source of entertainment).  While I have missed each of those things throughout the forty days, I do not recall feeling the absence of them so distinctly.  These cravings have illuminated what it means for me to long for something.  While being confronted with my ever increasing desire to consume a triple cheeseburger, which in all honestly seems embarrassingly trivial, an even greater realization has taken shape in my heart and mind.  So often, what it is I'm longing for is temporal. 

The season of Lent is about anticipation, remembrance, slowing one's pace, engaging, embracing the ache, awaiting the promise of all things renewed.  We give up in order that we might be filled - filled with His Spirit that stirs our souls, filled with His love that satisfies the deepest longings of our hearts, filled with the knowledge that He is making all things new, filled with hope for that which is unseen and yet to come. 

This past Sunday, as the lyrics for "Hosanna" were projected and I sang the following I was overcome with an ache to live out my days with greater clarity and purpose.

Heal my heart and make it clean
Open up my eyes to the things unseen
Show me how to love like you have loved me

Break my heart for what breaks yours
Everything I am for Your kingdom's cause
As I walk from earth into eternity

May my eyes look beyond the many temporal cravings and temptations before me, may my heart break for that which breaks His, may I catch a vision for that which is greater than what my eyes alone can see, and may I savor the flavor of the perfectly grilled burger that awaits me Sunday.




 

Lent 2016

Psalm 51:16-19

The Passion Translation

 

For the source of your pleasure is not in my performance or the sacrifices I might offer you.

The fountain of your pleasure is found in the sacrifice of my shattered heart before you.  You will not despise my tenderness as I humbly bow down at your feet!

Because your favor Zion, do what is good for her.  Be the protecting wall around Jerusalem.

And, when we are fully restored, you will rejoice and take delight in every offering of our lives as we bring our every sacrifice of righteousness before you in love!

 

 

 

This is the first year we are participating in the Lenten season as a family.  After several family discussions, we decided to give up meat for Lent.  We are now half way through the forty days and the family discussions continue.  Why are we choosing to eat vegetarian?  Is it okay to eat meat if it is served for us at someone's home?  Daddy, did you know this is chicken?  What is grace? We have tried countless new recipes, rated them, broken down their ingredients, highlighted favorites and decided that is okay not to love every new dish that is presented at the table. There have been honest emotions, tears shed (over the fact that Chick-fil-A would not be an option for forty days), and vulnerable hearts.  The act of giving up a favorite food (we are raising little carnivores) has resulted in many opportunities to reflect on what has {already} been done on our behalf.  "...but God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8

 

A few NEW family favorites to savor:

 

http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2015/02/spaghetti-pangrattato-with-fried-eggs/

 

 

http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2014/09/corn-cheddar-and-scallion-strata/

 

 

http://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2014/03/broccoli-cheddar-and-wild-rice-casserole/

 

 

http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2013/10/crispy-kale-brussels-sprouts-potato-hash.html

 

 

http://cupofjo.com/2016/02/mediterranean-soup-with-white-beans-kale-and-pasta/



A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words - Valentine's Day Book Picks 2K16

The Final First Birthday

It occurred to me on an ordinary day in January when responding to a question I was frequently asked. 

 

Polite stranger smiling - "How old is he?"

Me, politely smiling - "Eleven months."

 

And, then the realization that in a mere month, our final babe would turn one.  Later that day a quick Google search for the perfect first birthday invitation to inspire the theme and color scheme of our final first birthday party.  The countdown had begun.

 

 

 

Friends and family gathered for our littlest man's special day.  He awoke to a house full of loved ones ready to celebrate this special milestone, marvel over his wobbly steps, observe with great anticipation as he gently poked his miniature white cake with cream cheese frosting seeking guidance and approval before fully appreciating his first bites, and clap as each piece of tissue paper was scrunched and tossed aside revealing special treasures perfect for a boy of one.

 

He has always appreciated the attention of others, his bashful smile and subtle tilt of the head his trademark sign of deep and satisfying pleasure.  With each clap and raise of his arms, I looked on marveling over our boy, our last little Larson.

 

Before cake we gathered, Jeff offering words of gratitude to those who have influenced and supported us throughout the years, but this past one in particular as we welcomed Everett David into the world.  He concluded with one final sentiment, "Thank you for coming to share in our last first birthday party." And, then the tears of a young mother who knew this day would one day come and the realization that it had, in fact, arrived. 

 

I struck a match and we gathered round, voices young and old singing a familiar tune of joyful celebration.  His siblings sang out, eyes bright, awaiting their little brother's first candle to be blown out.  I puffed, and met the gaze of my littlest man.  One. 

 

What is it about a tiny person devouring his first bites of cake? We kept our gaze firmly on the birthday boy as he patted and poked, toying with the idea of licking his fingers.  Watching his older siblings delight in his slow and steady approach to eating was a highlight of the day.  

 

There have been many milestones in his first year of life, some documented, far more that have not. This is the product of life that is full, and his place as number four.  And, while I cannot remember his first food (I think it may have been sweet potatoes) or the date he began consistently sleeping through the night (it happened in month ten), I can recall many precious and tender moments that were shared in year one. The late night feedings that brought he and I to the living room sofa, the way he has always felt perfectly small in my arms, his ability to find my eyes in a room...always, his bashful yet engaging spirit, being held by older siblings on the couch at night when the lights were low and the house seemed perfectly quiet and peaceful, first visitors, placing him next to his older brother in bed before final prayers were said and the look of pure love and delight that would wash over his brother's eyes, first outings with all four littles, the looks and comments of people as we made our way around town, our crew always together, a force to be reckoned with.  So many beautiful moments wrapped up into one year.  

 

I could sing a thousand songs about you still that would not do
There’s a million tiny things that make the things that you do, you
I wouldn’t trade our time together, wouldn’t trade for anything
Cause nothing else here in the world can bring the happiness you bring

 

And I am, over-whelmed, by you
Am, over come with joy
You’ve, taken me higher, and shown me what love can do
Where would I go, or be, without you

 

Overwhelmed by Tim McMorris



Everett's Dedication

 On October 4, 2015, we dedicated our fourth little one unto the Lord.  We gathered in much the same way as we did when our other three children were dedicated.  My childhood pastor and his wife traveled from Salem, WI to lead us in a time of reflection, reminding us of the special passages of scripture that was read at dedications one, two and three.

 

 

I was grateful for the opportunity to welcome Pastor Mark back into our home as he has been present for many significant moments in my life: baptizing me as a young girl, presiding over my marriage ceremony as a young bride, and dedicating my children as a young mother. 

 

 

As parents, we have identified the importance of inviting others into our lives to share in the joys, challenges, milestones and many significant moments of parenting.  The Lord has been gracious to us, gifting us friendships that have spanned years, friends who have become family as we've shared our stories over bottles of milk and wine.

 

That day as Pastor Mark held our son, we were joined by our dear friends, the Staceys and Lockes, who lovingly accepted our request to be Everett's godparents.  We are grateful for the many moments we have shared as families and anticipate all that we will experience in the future as we raise our kids together. 

 



 

We were also able to celebrate and share the experience of dedicating Everett with our church family on November 29th.  Our friend and pastor, Casey, held each little one and offered up a prayer of dedication.  With tears in my eyes, I listened on as Everett cooed into the microphone, offering up his own praise offerings.

 

 

"To taste the sweetness of ordinary joys, we learn to enter each day with a conviction about the givenness of all things...We've been given a place to be, some things to do, a need for sustenance, and a people to share this with.  God originates these gifts.  God is present with his gifts...At some point, we all have to come to terms with the spiritual truth that true joy is found in God and God is found right where His gifts are."

 - Zack Eswine

 



Three

 

Hello {three}.



 

The littlest lady didn't ask for much when it came to her third birthday.  When prompted she would quickly shout out, "PURPLE CAKE."  So, with purple crepe paper hung, purple paper plates and napkins placed, and her purple layered cake prominently displayed we celebrated {three} with a small gathering of family.  She was bestowed all of her favorite things: tiny pouches of miniature lip glosses, clothing, fashion accessories, and musical instruments.  All the many things that make our little girl's bright personality shine even brighter. 

 

With year two and its many moments of good, bad, painful and beautiful behind us, we are settling into a more predictable, but ever so exciting groove that is three.  To know June is to know the multitude of fantastic faces she is able to make within seconds of each other, to be the recipient of booming shrieks, roars, and cries of delight and sorrow, to be patted (gently or roughly) on the back acknowledging your presence and close proximity, to be mesmerized by her dazzling personality and ability to captivate a room, to watch her long, blond curls bounce as she moves and tiptoes about, to behold her delicate and rhythmic dance moves, to witness her fearlessness as she scolds and bosses older children unaware of her own age and place, to hold her fair and delicate hand as she comes close to cuddle, to lock eyes with her bright blues as she animatedly tells a story or recounts her day, to listen to her prayers always ending with the hope that Jesus "will have a lovely day," to observe her independence as she dresses, undresses, selects and re-selects various outfits throughout the day, to be impressed by her determination to prep meals, groom herself, medicate and pry open the bottle of kid's multivitamins independently, always independently. 

 

 She is the epitome of sugar and...cayenne, our little firecracker, bold and bright. 

 

With the arrival of {three} we finally said farewell to her beloved pacifier, a friend to us all.  With the surplus of available helium balloons in our household due to two November birthdays, Jeff, always the clever one, suggested sending her remaining pacifiers up to heaven to Uncle Brad for safe keeping. (There were three in the house.)  She agreed, and bravely sent the first one up on the morning of November 16th.  Fifteen minutes later she was ready to send papi number two up.  Bon voyage and cue the waterworks.  Within seconds, I found our little lady sprinting up the stairway attempting to scale the shelves of her closet to reach pacifier number three resting (or so she thought) on the top shelf.  Unbeknownst to her, number three had already been pitched.  She sobbed.  I wanted to, but refrained.  In all honesty, she grieved the rest of the day offering up heart-stabbing comments such as "I can't do this anymore."

 

It was a tender day as I watched our girl overcome sadness and persevere.  I hope that I will never forget her fighting spirit that day.  I think it was a big day for her and I, a reminder to acknowledge my children's sadness, empathize with them, offer grace, extend love and be quick to rejoice with them when the tears are gone and they find joy once again.



He's six

I now know that {five} is one of my favorite years of life as a parent.  There is so much that occurs within that very important year of life, much to be savored, appreciated and to applaud. 

 

{Five} was a big year for our little man. 

 

{Six} was the magic number he awaited.

 

 

We celebrated {six} with a small gathering at a favorite local Hibachi restaurant.  A special pal was invited, and over flaming onion volcano towers, steak and fried rice we welcomed year six.  His only other request, a triple chocolate cake.  A close second, to lose a tooth.

 

Less than a month after his sixth birthday, our little man lost his first tooth during the refreshment portion of his first elementary school Christmas program.  The good doctor gave it a wiggle and seconds later plucked it from our very surprised son's mouth.  He beamed, held it up, and proudly walked his first lost tooth around the fellowship hall being sure to show it to his music teacher. 

 

My Joe,

 

There are times that I have to think hard, focusing my attention on the specific details of your young life in an attempt to distinguish your special moments from that of your older sister's.  I became pregnant with you six weeks prior to her first birthday, bringing you home twenty months after she first arrived.  Then there was your father's graduation from residency which moved us to Cleveland, OH months before your second birthday.  After which, there were the months of trying to become pregnant again with a younger sibling for you.  And, then finally the arrival of your little sister, just seven days before your third birthday.  Our middle child now, sandwiched between two lovely ladies.

 



 

Then there are the times I so clearly can recall the precious details and moments of your life as though they happened yesterday.  The day we found out we were carrying a son, and the simultaneous relief and joy your father felt as his head fell into the palms of his hands, overcome. The labor and delivery nurse announcing you were nine pounds, which explained so much. The way you never cried in the hospital, but sneezed and how your tiny sneezes were replaced by a funny little cough that lasted for months.  Five to be exact, and only after that were you able to sleep soundly through the night.  And, how deeply you slept, sharing a room with your Daddy and I until you were almost two, sleeping through his early morning routine, the accidental lights being turned on and off. Your big blue eyes, alert with wonder and suspicion.  Your ability to produce one crocodile tear that would slowly roll as if you could control its speed for effect.  Incidentally, this is a skill you continue to possess and execute even today.  Your sturdy body, always tall for your age.  Your amazing head of hair that required frequent trips to the barber, and the way you'd sit so still on my lap silently enjoying the attention while sucking on a lollipop.  Your stubbornness and willful disobedience that caused me to carry you out of the Beechwood Trader Joe's while your Aunt and Uncle looked on.  Trips to countless farmer's markets during our time in Ohio, watching you as you enjoyed various pastries.  Discovering our love for freshly baked croissants, chocolate for your sister, raspberry for you.  Transitioning back to Milwaukee, our time in the rental property, your sudden fears and displeasure of preschool, having to make difficult decisions as your parents.  Watching your overcome fears, wipe away tears, gain confidence and learn to trust other significant adults in your life.  Observing you navigate your role as younger brother, discovering you had a voice and opinions of your very own. Watching you grow in your role as older brother, your strong affection and fierce loyalty. Your ability to find a beat and sustain it, your sweet singing voice, and love of music.  Your sudden love of "tomato" bugs one summer, your affection for all things locomotive, your enjoyment of water (but never too deep).  Your contentment in the backyard, your appreciation for creatures great and small.  The blankets you'd tote around and wrap around you to be cozy and warm.  The dozens of stuffed animals you'd line along the wall of your bed, so their little eyes were looking right at you. Your strength, always present but slow to be discovered.  Your love affair with flavored milks and long showers, enjoyed separately, of course. The year of your life that you spent without a shirt, shedding it the minute you arrived home. The way you learned to let your Daddy help you, and respond to your needs. You were never one for daring adventures, but preferred to stay close to home, to me. 

 

You have always saved your most special moments for me, my darling Joe.  You may not know it, but I have known it for as long as I can remember. 

 

I predict {six} will be a year of growth.  Perhaps we will all experience a bit of growing pains as we learn to accept that you are becoming a young man.  I knew it would happen but as I sit here today, it suddenly feels as though it happened all too quickly.  I am ready; however, if you are.  Just keep reaching out for my hand every now and then.

 

Forever yours,

 

Mom