I'll never know

Everyday, I walk around the house and ask why.
Why is the kitchen rug neatly rolled up and laid on the living room couch?
I will never get an explanation that makes sense.

And this is the way life is.

God also doesn't and doesn't need to explain.

Like he did with Job, God gives and takes away without needing to provide any kind of eplanation.

He takes houses, jobs, loved ones, dreams, and we are usually left wondering why. And that why is left dangling, usually for a lifetime.

We can guess, try to figure it out, and speculate on God's working, but we won't know why until we meet Him in His presence and then it will likely by the furthest thing from our minds.

I don't know why God has allowed pain through His fingers, but I also don't know why He allows joy through His fingers. And it is good and right to accept them both.

Moment to remember

It was a moment.

A moment when time stood still and we basked in the uniqueness of that exact point in life. There have been few moments like this in my life.

At the altar of Christ Church saying "I do."

In the crystal waters of Vieques floating and snorkeling while Walter dove after a sea turtle.

Swinging furiously in my hammock tied to the top deck of an Amazonian lineboat under a sky filled with an infinite number of stars.

On the upper bunk of an Ukrainian train feeling the first blasts of air conditioning and hearing ABBA sing "Dancing Queen."

And now I add, standing on the track watching my son round the bend to complete his quarter mile run ALONE.

Not the only little boy to run alone, or the fastest, but my son. The one who needed constant encouragement from daddy running beside him all summer. The one who previously wanted to run like a slug.

He ran. Alone. Far away.

After I recovered from the disbelief that he would actually run by himself, I found myself lost in the symbolism of the moment.

He was so far away and I was supposed to just stand and watch. If he stumbled and fell, it would take at least a minute for Walter or I to reach him. If it started pouring down raining, he was over there, on the other side, all by himself. It seemed he had never been more independent and I had never been so amazed at what he could do when he put his mind to it. Just a small green shirt putting one foot after another. Amazing.

There was no bribing, no begging, no ordering to "march faster soldier." He took off without a backward glance and ran the lap not stopping even when he passed by the construction cones.

I stood mouth gaping open, lost in the moment.

Sisters Forever

After school, Becky (my sister) and I would rush downstairs take our positions on the couch and turn on Full House. We loved watching the Tanner family tackle family issues. But DJ and Stephanie were especially near and dear to us since Becky and I were about their ages and could each understand the challenges of being the older or younger sister.

The girls usually had some kind of disagreement, but always ended the show as the best of friends. Of course, Becky and I have had our similar ups and downs. Having a sister, especially one as patient as mine has often given me the falsely-perceived liberty to say whatever I think and let the grump monsters out to attack her. But as a sister who knows me well, she forgives and we move on.

I can't think of anyone more selfless than my sister (although my husband might be in the running) who focuses so much energy on serving others.

One afternoon, when the Tanner sisters had an especially difficult fight and in a moment that could possibly be the cheesiest moment of television history, they ended their disagreement with declaring to each other that they are "sisters forever"!

Becky and I pulled that sappy moment into our own relationship and often close our notes and letters reminding each other that we are "SF".

Today my dear sister has a significant birthday and I want her to know how special she is, how thankful I am for her and that I love her!

Happy Birthday Becky!!
SF

Shame

Shame on me. I failed.

The deadline to complete the requirements for the summer reading program came and went on Sunday and I did not read the 18 hours I needed to in order to get my prize.

I'm actually quite upset about my failure. In my childhood summers, I finished the reading programs within the first week or two. With days and days on end available to lay in the hammock swinging and reading for hours a day there was no challenge.

Ramona Quimby, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield (I should give a prize for anyone who can place the books those two are in?), those wise babysitters in The Babysitters Club, along with random others were my best friends for many summers.

This year I joined the club attempting to relive those childhood reading summers and committed to not counting the Franklin, Curious George, and dinosaur books I read to Asher or the time consuming blog posts I read everyday, or the drafts of my dad's book towards my Reading Program goal.

I found that I could sit down for 10 minutes at a time before something erupted. A pacifier fell out, a bottom needed wiped, dinner was about to burn, or most frustrating of all my eyes became so heavy I needed toothpicks to prop them open.

And so, it became apparent last week that reading in 10 minute intervals would not be enough for me to complete my goal.

I bumped up reading on my priority list, drank more caffeine, and buckled down.

But alas, it just was not meant to be.

There's always next year...

Bad Guy Walter

Before I begin this post, I will proclaim how much I love my husband and wish him the happiest of birthdays today!!

But....yesterday on the front page of the newspaper, I read some very disturbing news. My husband is destined to be a "bad-boy!" As I reflected on the results of this study reporting that my husband has a name in the Top 10 "bad-boy" names, pieces began to come together.

No wonder Asher often labels himself as the "baddest king." My husband must secretly be encouraging him along these lines behind my back.

No wonder Walter dedicates himself to long hours away from home "studying." He's planning his next bad trick.

And no wonder he attacked our son with bubbles (of all things) at our recent family gathering! He even cajoled his sister to join in on the attack to shift the blame from himself.

After 31 years and the results of this study, my "bad-boy" named husband has been found out!!

Happy Birthday Walter, I hope we can enjoy another year together "on the outside!"

Dr. Asher and Mr. Dinosaur

"Would the mother of the screaming child who refuses to get into the swimming pool please come retrieve her son immediately? And will the rest of you parents please laugh and point while this duo leaves the pool area never to be allowed back again?"

This is how Walter and I imagined the first day of swimming lessons would go today. Asher does not do well conforming to group settings and regularly refuses to speak to adults other than Walter and me (well sometimes he refuses to speak to us too!). This combined with his aversion to putting his face in the water caused us great concern as we expected swimming lessons to be a total flop.

But my little Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde surprised me once again. He did great!!! Even before his allotted time began, he won all the waiting teachers over with his smile and sweet answers to their questions. When they asked him to get in the water, he complied. When they wanted the swimmers to hold onto the wall and kick, Asher's splashes outdid them all!

As I watched from my lounge chair, hardly able to keep my head from shaking in amazement, I beamed with pride. He can participate in a group setting. He can obey a teacher. And he may just even learn how to swim!

But we do know his little secret. He may be a good performer and put on a good act in front of other people.
My little Dr. Asher
But at home, his inner-dinosaur becomes unleashed!
My irresistible Mr. Dinosaur.

Don't miss the view

We use Priceline religiously. After checking in at a front desk, our conversation on the way to our room is whether we will have the bad Priceline reserved room next to the elevator or the Priceline reserved room at the farthest corner of the hotel. These unwanted but cheap rooms never have a view - unless you consider a dirty roof with swirling airconditioners and puddles of rainwater a view.

So I don't race to look out the window of a new hotel room. If we're there longer than one night, I might peek out of the curtain, but never have expectations of looking out over the city or onto a sunny beach.

But this Fourth of July we had an amazing view. Despite a rain soaked day, we took the crew to check out the local fireworks. After all the planned activities had already been canceled for the day, we were ready to get out of the house making us about the fifth car to arrive at the fireworks field. After backing the cars onto the grassy, now muddy field, and popping the SUV back doors open, we had a prime (and even dry) view of fireworks.

I think they were more incredible this year than ever maybe because we were in the front row. But our dear Asher who so bravely declared his intent to "sword the fireworks" many times throughout the day spent the entire fireworks display on daddy's lap not daring to look at the view.

Caught up in the loud booms of the fireworks, Asher refused to open his eyes and see that the earth shaking noise made the fireworks even more spectacular.

And then I found myself in a post-holiday/vacation recovery yesterday. Cleaning puddles of poop, rescuing strangers at the pool from being dumped on with a tiny watering can.

And I almost missed the views of a sweet smiley watermelon baby

and a mischievous boy in sunglasses who couldn't be happier.Whatever tomorrow brings, I hope to be consumed with the view rather than distracted by the boom.