Busy.

I haven't been blogging much this summer.  Often times, the things that I blog about roll around in my head for a while before they ever find their way into typed words.  Lately, there has been a lot rolling around in my head that just hasn't been able to find suitable words with the right semantics to find its way into a cogent blog post.

So, I'm defaulting to this almost cliche phrase as I ease myself back into blogging:  It's been a busy summer.

Or, perhaps, more accurately, Buster has been busy this summer.  In the past two months he's sprouted his first two teeth, mastered shouting at the cat (actually, its a very friendly shout and it is directed any any creature that has four legs), and, most recently, he's started walking.  He walks everywhere.  Constantly.  No crawling, no sitting, no standing still.  Walking.  Out of my own curiosity, I'm considering putting a pedometer on the little man.

Based on observation, I would rank Buster's top ten hobbies in this order:

1. Walking.
2. Swinging.
3. Eating applesauce.
4. Shouting at the cat.
5. Unrolling toilet paper.
6. Picking up woodchips at the playground.
7. Touching Jack the Puppet's hair at our Library's storytime.
8. Standing up in the bathtub (totally against the rules, but he finds it VERY hard to resist).
9. Blowing rasberries immediately after taking drinks of water.
10. Playing with magnets on the lower part of the refrigerator.

I'll have to remember to show him this list when he's older.  And, secretly, I hope that "when he's older" lingers in the future just a little bit longer.  

Peace

Buster is almost nine months old, and I still sneak into his room several times throughout the night to check on him and to get glimpses of him like this.  Seeing him soundly asleep with a firm grip on Roy the Beloved makes me feel like time stands still for just the smallest of moments.  Blissful slumber. Peace.

Airport Angels

As we were trying to prepare for traveling to Estonia with Buster, I came across a comment in some book about traveling with babies.  Basically, the person suggested that if we had thought that international flights were a drag sans baby, we were in a for a rude surprise.  Previously, on international flights I would just get bored and tired of sitting in one place for so long.  This was not the case with traveling with Buster.  Having an active, eighteen pound, seven month old doing gymnastics sitting on my lap for a total of thirteen hours did not lend itself to boredom or immobility on my part.

All things considered, Buster did really well with the traveling part of our travels.  I did learn, however, that the minor irritations of airport delays can quickly become magnified when a tired baby is involved.  In the midst of two of these rapidly magnifying irritations, a delayed flight and an exceptionally long and slow customs process, we encountered two airport angels.  I know (at least I think I know) that they were not angels in the true theological sense, but, nonetheless, their sudden appearances in our lives felt small gifts from Heaven.

The first encounter was with a fellow passenger waiting on a delayed flight.  He was from Nigeria.  He noticed Buster, reached out his arms, and with a smile said "give him to me".  So we did.  Buster was suddenly face to face with this man.  And the two of them were smiling and laughing. He played with Buster for awhile commenting that Buster must be wondering "who is this black man holding me".  Then he handed him back and Buster looked over at him, smiled and made his friendliest spitting noise.

The second airport angel walked directly up to us while we were waiting in an eternal customs line.  She was seven years old.  She was from Toronto but was just returning from visiting her grandpa in Hong Kong.  She was traveling with her mom.  She loved babies.  Her name was Grace.  (This was all disclosed to us within about a minute's time).  All the while that she was telling us these things, Grace was also playing peek-a-boo with Buster.  She made silly faces at him and engaged him with enthusiasm and energy. Buster was thrilled.

We asked her if she liked flying on airplanes.  She said "no" because its boring after the first hour.  And, she explained, she didn't really like it when her ears hurt although she had learned how to blow air to relieve pressure.  It was at this point that this airport angel allowed her seven year old human nature to be revealed.  As she was trying to describe the process of ear pressure relief, her face looked a little perplexed and then she came up with this analogy:

"It's like your ears fart."

Oh, Grace.  Thank you.  That's just what we needed.  Really.  I think we survived the customs line riding on waves of laughter because of you.

Black Bread

Buster has discovered that he likes dark Estonian rye bread.  I don't know that I have ever seen an equivalent to this type of bread in the States.  When I say "dark", I mean practically black.  Not a typical item found on the "first foods" diet in the States, but for our little guy it has found its way into the lineup of peas, carrots, bananas, pears, apples, squash, and sweet potatoes.

Buster has also discovered that he does not enjoy sitting in his stroller all day long, but he does enjoy sleeping in his stroller all night long.  It would, in fact, be better to say that if he is awake, Buster much prefers to be carried in my arms where he can really see all the action.  But, if he is asleep, or trying to be asleep, at this point in our travels, he will not sleep anywhere but sitting up in his stroller like a little old man who has fallen asleep in his favorite chair.

It is possible that he has learned that yelling in the backseat of the car while mom and dad are in the thick of driving through trams, buses, and traffic while desperately trying to read the names of road signs that seem no bigger than a loaf of bread will result in any assortment of things (sippy cups, pacifiers, beloved "Roy", dark Estonian rye bread) being shoved at offered to him.

I'm hoping that he is learning that, even in the midst of new smells, sounds, sights, routines, betimes, mom and dad are trustworthy.  We will always do our best to meet his needs, protect him, and let him know that he is absolutely loved.

Eventually, I long for my son to have many memories of not just the adventure of traveling to new places, but the deep sense connection to people that transcends culture.  I long for him to experience the broad sense of the idea of "home" that I began to understand during the course of my 20's.

"Home" is where you know that you are wanted and waited for.

It has been such a joy and comfort to my soul to be in this place for which I have often felt homesick.  We have a couple days left in Estonia.  Just enough time to brainstorm how to bring lots of dark rye bread back on the airplane.

Milestones.

Babyhood is, of course, marked by many milestones:  smiling, laughing, rolling over, sitting up, cooing, and babbling to just name a few.   In the past week, I've encountered two less publicized but equally significant markers:  leaving Buster in the church nursery and leaving my brains who-knows-where.

The nursery thing has been weeks in the coming.  We've practiced with five minute and ten minute stints in nursery care.  This week, however, we went for the full deal.  It went something like this:  I take Buster to the nursery fully prepared to sit and play on the floor with him for the duration of church should he show any signs of distress.  He shows no true distress as our friend takes him from my arms and tells me to go and enjoy church.  I hesitate and find several reasons to stick around for a few more minutes.  I dig through the diaper bag and lay out his favorite toys.  I spread out his fleece blankie on the floor.  I adjust his clip-on pacifier.  I procrastinate until I start to feel silly.

Then I kiss Buster and leave.

And I watch him from around the corner like some sort of secret service agent or spy.   He seems fine.  Our friend looks at me, gives me the "thumbs up" and mouths "go".  I go.  And I return seven minutes later.  He's still fine.  He's playing on the floor surrounded by toddlers who are thrilled to have a baby to pay attention to and offer every single toy in the nursery to.  Buster looks like a king accepting gifts from his toddler peasants. I leave again and return to spy.  And leave and spy.  You get the picture.  Basically, Buster did great and greeted me with a gummy grin at the end of church.  Big milestone for Buster.  Even bigger for his mom.

The other milestone, the brains thing, is one that I've heard other mom friends mention.  They talk about feeling like they lose their brains as they have babies.  There has probably already been plenty of evidence of this in our household, but the most obvious happened this past week.  I had made some roast beef for dinner.  We had some leftovers so I made note that I would try to use it later in the week.   Later in the week came around and I started to feel like old lady from the Wendy's commercial, asking "where's the beef?"  It was nowhere to be found.  Until it was found.  By my husband.  In a tupperware container.  Stacked neatly in the drawer with all the other (empty) tupperware containers.  He looked at me like I was kind of crazy.

But in my mind I knew that I had just checked off another milestone of motherhood:  I've left my brains elsewhere.

I'm sure I'll find them again.  I think I'll start by checking the tupperware drawer.

Slumber.

I don't think I ever realized how differently my newborn son and I would view one single issue:  sleep.  As a brand new mom in those early weeks and even months, I longed for sleep.  Not just naps, but genuine long stretches of deep slumber.  During that time, if I ever were a passenger in a car, it was all that I could do to keep my eyes open and not immediately drop into a head nodding doze.  I was bone tired, because, seemingly, my newborn was not.


I don't know that Buster ever really went through that newborn phase where "all they do is sleep".  Although I'm sure that he did sleep at some point, I'm also pretty sure that for quite some time he didn't sleep for stretches that any adult would term "long" or "deep".  It's hard to say, because my sleep deprived memory from that stage is foggy at best.


I am thankful to say that, now, a half a year later, we are sleeping.  In fact, right now, Buster is taking a wonderful snowy-day-post-church-mid-afternoon nap.  And, I've already had a little snooze myself.  Even more wonderful is that fact that our nighttime sleeping can be counted in hours, not minutes.


Perhaps if I had had the assistance of Andrea Bocelli, Buster's newborn phase might have included a bit more time in dreamland.  Click here to see what I mean:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lv38j4lPzd0


Editorial note:  This posting was developed with the sole intention of sharing the above video.  My husband and I both find it very funny.  I have to laugh every time I hear Elmo attempt to bargain with Andrea by singing "Elmo will be okay up..."

Beautiful and Terrible

I came across a quote recently while reading a friend of a friend of a friend's blog.  I guess the truth of the matter is that I was chasing internet rabbit trails.  You know, the long twisty ones that beckon you further and further until you have no idea why you sat down at the computer in the first place?  Those are the ones that I'm talking about.  This particular trail, however, ended with this treasure: 


"Here is the world.  Beautiful and terrible things will happen.  Do not be afraid." Frederick Buechner


This strikes a chord with me.  A pretty deep one.  So I had to research the quote and the context a bit further.  Essentially, it seems that Buechner, a theologian, states this in the context of God's promise of His presence.  His nearness is our good.  Our circumstances are not our good.  The promise of the presence of the One we call Emmanuel is our good.  And the world, our circumstances, will display the fantastically beautiful and the horribly terrible.  But He is near.  We need not be afraid.

I think the reason this strikes such a deep chord with me is because I love the risking taking beauty of it.  I believe in the message encapsulated in the quote.  I love the idea of living life fully, without fear, and with the assurance of the presence of God Himself.  I long to be able to communicate this kind of courage and assurance to Buster.  And at the very same time and in the very same breath, I want to protect Buster from every possible terrible thing that could ever come our way.  What mom doesn't?


Today I am celebrating with one friend as she welcomes her fifth child into the world.  And I'm grieving with another as she is saying goodbye and waiting for a loved one to be ushered into death.   


Beautiful and terrible.  And honestly, both stories have threads of beauty and pain.  What story, fully lived, does not?


And, according to my conviction which is sometimes even reflected in my experience, He is present in both.


So, shortly, I will gather up a sleepy Buster from his afternoon nap.  We'll pack ourselves up in the stroller and head out into the world to see what we see and find what we find.  And, hopefully, the steady message that I will learn to communicate is: "This is the world, Buster, we will not be afraid.  He who is the both the Good Shepherd and the Sovereign One, is present."