Pure Joy

Is there anything that can fill you up with such pure, unadulterated joy as when you get to do that which you have been trying unsuccessfully to do for so long?

Nicholas experienced that right here:

Misty and Nicholas

Nicholas loves cats.  He lights up and makes a very specific, high-pitched noise when he sees our cats - or any cat.  For the first time Misty let Nicholas pet her.  All by himself.  He was overjoyed!

The most amazing thing about this is Misty has never been a cat to let many people touch her or even see her, least of all a baby.  I remember the wide-eyed, fear-filled moment when she jumped up on my lap only to discover two alarmingly scary, yet tiny, creatures there.  And that first meeting with James and Morgan didn't leave her anytime soon after that.  I don't think I saw more than a black streak run past me and out the door every morning for about a week.  She was terrified of them.  She's come a long way in five years.

And Nicholas got to reap the joy-filled benefit of that progress. I think she might let him touch her again sometime too.  He only pulled a little bit and his high-pitched squeal subsided after a couple of minutes.  She didn't even seem to mind the missing handful of hair.  And all this took place without Luke or I having to hold her still so he could touch her.

The smile on his face said it best: Pure Joy.

Poetry

This was what I found on our bed last night.  Those pieces of paper are very large sheets folded into four left there for us by James and Morgan. 

My boys love to make crafts, paint, draw, create.  In my usual thrifty fashion, I save the sheets of paper the newspaper flyers are wrapped in for the boys to use.  Usually I divide the large sheets into four so they are easier to work with, but often the boys get them out themselves and use them full size.  Sometimes they use the paper to paint colourful pictures; sometimes beautifully drawn pictures.  But these two full-sized sheets are not covered in colour or pictures.  And still they are among my very favorite yet.

These are our first love letters from our boys.

Morgan started it; James joined in just as enthusiastically.  With the big sheets of paper spread in front of them, I listened to them discuss what they were doing and how they should do it.  They looked each others' over and folded them back to their original size.  Off they ran to their bedroom to tuck them away.  Or so I thought... 

Although I had enjoyed watching their exchange, it didn't seem out of the ordinary.  So I was surprised to find the papers placed carefully, one sheet on each side of our bed.  They had followed me into our room and quickly said,   "These are poems for you and Daddy.  Do you like our poems?"

Do I like them?  I love them!  I don't really know what they say: they are rows made up of a jumble of letters, numbers and some squiggles.  But they were written for us by our two big boys and it really doesn't matter what they are supposed to say.  What matters is that they wrote us poems.  What matters is that they recognize the importance of putting their thoughts on paper and sharing them using this new medium.  What matters is that they used everything they know, as they know it, to tell us that they love us. 

The Camp-Out

The downstairs living room was cozy with the woodstove burning as we sat together watching a movie.  Too many week-ends have passed full of busyness and not enough of the kind of time where a movie could be started and watched to the end.  It felt good.  There were frequent pauses though: bathroom breaks, drink refills and a tray of snacks made and enjoyed.

During one of the longer pauses, I returned to find a large bed constructed from a NASCAR throw blanket spread across the floor in front of the couch.  Three small afghans were arranged individually with a pillow and some favorite stuffed animals from bed at each.  Three happy faces looked at me expectantly, waiting to see my reaction to their efforts.  It was explained clearly how this was their bed they were going to camp-out in it tonight.  The best, most convincing argument came from James.  He assured me they would be fine sleeping downstairs all night by themselves because he would take care of his brothers.

When Daddy came came back and the whole plan was explained again, he looked at me questioning whether it would really happen or not.  I smiled and said "we'll see how it goes".

I don't remember such willingness to go to bed before.  Jammies were put on, teeth were brushed and I was told just how tired they were.  Down the stairs they trooped.  Two minutes later the parade began.  Morgan was up to get books.  James came up to get his pumpkin lantern from last Halloween.  Morgan was up to get his pumpkin lantern.  Evan came up trailing James to find a flashlight.

After a few more trips up and down I followed to tuck them all in.  Three kisses goodnight, three prayers listened to, three "sweet dreams" were wished.  After about 15 minutes of listening to giggling, shouting and a general good time, Daddy went down to check on how the room was surviving.  Three little boys filed up the stairs with pillows and teddies tucked under their arms.  Daddy followed, "they're hot".  I guess so!  It was at least 30 degrees down there. 

And now, all are tucked snugly in their beds in their much cooler rooms.  The remnants of the camp-out left to be cleaned up tomorrow.  And even though the camp-out didn't last an hour, this night will be recorded in their memories.  It will be taken out and remembered, talked over and examined.  This was the night they camped-out downstairs all by themselves. 

Remnants of the Camp-Out