mr. clean doesn't even know my address anymore

My sixth grade son, Cris, needed a baby picture of himself to submit to the yearbook staff at school. So the other night, we hopped into the time machine that is my shelf full of photo boxes, and pulled out two that contain pictures from the mid-1990's. Looking through those snapshots, it was shocking for me to see how neat and tidy our little house in Thornton looked. The carpet was vacuumed, the floor swept, the counters clear. Knick-knacks appeared to be dust-free, and there were even decorations on the walls. Three little boys played happily with their toys and each other as I snapped away with my 35mm.

This is so remarkable to me because if you were to walk into our current home on any given day, you may find several pairs of shoes strewn haphazardly by the front door, the pan used to roast last night's dinner soaking in the sink, empty cereal boxes on the counters, newspapers and cups on the table, and a desk full of school papers and mail that needs to be sorted. I'm not posting all of this to air out our dirty laundry, so to speak, but because I was really taken with the home I saw portrayed on Kodak paper. "That looks so nice," I thought, as if looking through Better Homes and Gardens. "I would like to live there."

In early 1996, our boys were ages 4, 2, and an infant. I remember feeling very overwhelmed at times, like I couldn't keep up. I longed for a future filled with more than diapers, Barney, and toddler-sized tantrums. But now, looking back from my more experienced point of view, I'm left wondering what, exactly, was so stressful to me then? I couldn't have known that 1996 was before....


...before the kids gave up their naps, before the 4th child was born, before PTA, before basketball, before dance classes, before football, before cheerleading, before grueling high school schedules, before teaching Sunday School, before Dan's crazy travel schedule and working from home, before going back into the workforce, before Girl Scouts, before teenage angst, before a son's first relationship, before his driver's license, before curfews, before braces, before college nights and SATs, before satellite TV, before the internet, before cell phones. Before we had so much pulling on us, from so many different directions.


But we don't live in the before, and we don't yet live in the after. We live somewhere in the middle, and I have to remember that this is, like that was, just a season in our lives. And somewhere down the line, perhaps in the next decade, I'll be pulling photos off the shelf once again, and will have a reason to look at the images captured in 2007. Maybe by then I will have been able to dedicate time to filling my scrapbooks with our memories. I'll flip through the pages, look at the images of a busy-but-smiling family in a cluttered-but-loving-home, and I'll think, "That looks so nice. I would like to live there."

almost a teen

Twelve years ago today, at this moment (Mountain Standard Time), I was celebrating the birth of my third son, Cris. My labor had been induced, because the doctor was fearful that he was already over 9 lbs, with one week to go in my pregnancy. Also, my original due date fell on Halloween, and I wasn't too fond of the idea of delivering my precious angel on this controversial "holiday". It just seemed a little creepy to me. So, when my ob-gyn dangled the induction-carrot before me, I sprang for it. 12 hours and an excrutiating amount of pain later, Cristian Daniel was born.

He was a beautiful little baby, almost too pretty to be a boy. He had big blue eyes, full, rosebud lips, and was an 8 lb. 4 oz. peanut. I fell instantly in love with the newest little man to join our testosterone-laden family. He had such a mild disposition, was early to smile and laugh, and was a great source of entertainment for his 2 and 4-year-old big brothers, who immediately began to include this tiny person in their daily play.

That teensy little boy has stretched and grown into a lean and lanky preteen, who is coming dangerously close to being able to look me straight in the eye without looking up. He is witty, athletic, cuddly (aw, Mom, why'd you have to say that?), loving, strong, protective, emotional, smart, talkative, focused, eager, and a child of God. He likes to play football, loves to play basketball, and won't admit it, but is an avid reader as well. He has dreams and aspirations, many of which involve his becoming an NBA star.

It has been a joy to watch him become a young man, and I look forward to experiencing the coming years with him by my side, having to look up to meet his eyes, as I know I soon will. Happy Birthday, Son.

sweet 16

Yesterday, my oldest son reached a milestone: his 16th birthday. It has become a tradition in our family for me to recall, in sometimes unwanted detail, the circumstances of my children's actual day of birth. So for the past several days, many of my sentences have started with the words, "Sixteen years ago, I was..." while I would glance at the clock, remembering.

Remembering the fear that struck my heart as Dan and I walked around his parents' neighborhood late in the evening of October 1, 1991, timing my contractions. After waiting for over 9 months to meet our first child, the realization that his arrival was imminent was terrifying to me.

Remembering the oxygen mask covering my nose and mouth, prohibiting me from shouting and screaming out of frustration as I worked so diligently to deliver him.

Remembering the intense relief I felt once he was born, once I could see that he was as perfect as he could be.

Remembering our first night together, after our loving friends and family left, and we could truly begin to get to know one another. I studied him, committing every bit of him to memory.

For 16 years, I have watched him grow and change from that tiny baby boy, swaddled and cozy in my arms, into the young man who now stands taller than I. Looking into his face, I see the strong nose and cheekbones of the man he'll soon be, but can still catch a glimpse of the chubby-cheeked, squeaky-voiced toddler he once was. In the scrapbook of my mind's eye, I can see him holding his Puffy in front of his mouth, sucking his thumb, humming the tune from Barney. "I love you, you love me, we're a happy family...."

It is my fervent prayer that as the years have passed, even through the times when we haven't been such a happy family, that he has always known how much I love him, how much of myself I've poured into him, and how proud I am to say he's my son. Before I had children, I had no idea what a wild ride motherhood would be; the highs can be outstandingly high, the lows can be crushing, but I thank God for the child He chose to bless me with to initiate me into this exclusive club of women.

Happy birthday, Son. And thank you for 16 wonderful years.