BIG (little) news

I've been meaning to post here, but have not been able to wrangle words into their proper places.

I've been beyond happy, beyond grateful, someplace without language, wondering
 what could possibly be said that would say the rest too?

Andy's phone rang recently, and a smile spread across his face.  He whispered healthy, and it sounded like such a small word.

Even before that, there hadn't been a whole lot to say.
Please.  It was all I allowed myself this summer, that one small plea an endless prayer.

The problem with trying hard not to think about something is that you think about it more.
It took awhile for us to decide we might be ready for another round of resilience.
There are always lots of reasons not to do something.

Standing at the intersection of two vastly different futures, we struggled to see into the distance of either.  Knowing the universe is not in the habit of dropping into our laps exactly what we’ve dreamed of, we worried that maybe we wanted too much, one miracle after another.
But we were sure we wanted our choices to reflect our hopes more than our fears.

Becoming a parent is bold and dangerous.  Being a parent is too.
There are never any guarantees.  Any number of horrible scenarios could play out - between now and March, in the first few years, when this child is twenty-three.  What we do know, finally, is that this child will not die of Batten Disease.  What we do know is that growing a family is terrifying and precarious and unknown and very humbling and extraordinarily awesome.  And we are thrilled, and relieved, that ours is still growing.

We feel lucky, if lucky is a big enough word for it, and look forward to welcoming another little Betz boy in about six months.

our doctor sent home an essential oil -Joy- for us to diffuse during the long wait

 best news ever

 big brother, baking

 we did dream

 more Legos, more Lincoln Logs, more dirt and noise!

all three Betz boys on the field in the Shoe

preseason

from our ginger-haired gentleman

I think when I grow up I’d like to go to the Police Academy.  But do you think you guys could walk me to school there so I don’t feel scared? 

Can you tell me about this big shiny piece of jewelry what’s on the counter here, Mom?
Oh honey, that’s an eyelash curler.

Both of them with tongues sticking out, faces coming together: Guys! What are you doing?!
Giving a tongue high five.

Favorite lego creation, a dune buggy, that he calls a duney bug.

Talking about Tuck’s loose tooth: You know, RoRo actually growed gold teeth. 

Do you see that enormous spider on its website?!

Hey Mom, that egg (pointing at my oval necklace) looks similar to the one Celia hatched out of, right? Oh no, wait, actually I don’t think that is right. She was the first baby to grow in your tummy, huh. 

Mom, I mean watch with your real eyes, okay. Now watch. 

On Monday, I asked if I could trim his nails.  Maybe tomorrow.
On Tuesday I said “It’s time to cut your fingernails.”  You know it’s not tomorrow yet?

Hey Mom, you know, you’re no fun to talk with.

I think I’m gonna dream about having a farm. I hope my dream comes true. But I need a wishing star. Being a farmer is hard work.

Somebody needs to buy me some sort of grown up watch. Because I keep borrowing Tucker’s.
Okay, we can put that on a wish list.
You mean a watch list? Because they both start with the same sound.

On our way to RoRo's birthday: So she is like old and a half now, huh? 

all that matters

After school we huddle in the hammock, lie back and look at the clouds, talk about a hundred things. Like which girls chased him at recess and whether he liked the new pretzels we packed in his lunch.  Like what meteors are, and how old they are, and how weird that is, and also what kinds of noises people can make with their armpits.

I take my eyes off the sky and re-notice the way he holds so many question in his eyes.  He asks another out loud, and I do my best not to discount his inquisitiveness.
I also do my best to listen to his Minecraft adventures, even though I harbor a misgiving or two around the edges.  They are all stories I don’t really understand, or stories I feel like I've heard a million times, so maybe I don’t even really hear them anymore.

"Mom," he says, "I need to tell you something.  Sometimes I feel like you're not really listening to me."
Guilty.
I guess I'm wondering if someday, if he's still telling me stories when he's thirteen or thirty two, whether I'll hear echoes of one story inside another, echoes of these old questions inside the newest one.

"Tell me again what you were saying buddy?  You're right, I can listen better.  I'm sorry."

“Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.”
Well.  That usually means it matters a lot.  And even if it doesn’t matter a lot, if it matters, then it matters.

Later, I find him in his bedroom.  He’s brought a snack -dry cereal- upstairs, something we don’t do here, but I don’t really mind.  I had spontaneously decided to try to read everything he reads this summer, one way I thought I could be better at communicating, but I can’t keep up.  He brought two books home from the school library on Tuesday and finished both before five o’clock.  We do have several shared books going currently, my favorite being What is the Statue of Liberty? mostly because it’s been a fun way to learn myself.  Now he's reading Ordinary Boy, and I remind him that he's not, and that he matters.  And I listen really well to what's just happened in this chapter, before he begins to ask what's for dinner and where we're going tomorrow and whether you can make cheese with giraffe milk.

I want to remember

the way Tolliver asks Andy to "Tell me about your patients today" every single time his dad walks in the door from work.

boys just wanna have sun

It rained for weeks this summer, but that seems easy to overlook now.  Despite the initial wet weather, and the way my children grimaced at repeated sunscreen applications when the sun was out, despite soggy corn chips and heinous mosquitos, it was such a good season.
I mean, all the backyard barbecues and outdoor concerts.  All the scooter rides and splash parks and zoo trips.  All the outside play.  The pleasant perfume of basil and bug spray.  The strawberry chins and watermelon chests, the skinned knees and dirty fingernails, the shaggy hair and sweaty brows.  All the lightning bugs and front porch books, the peach cobbler and apple pie, the green grass and grub habitats.  The bare feet and the naked bottoms, hammock swings and sidewalk chalk, campfire smoke and patio cocktails, time with cousins and ice ream cones.
I'm afraid it feels so normal, all the good stuff so taken for granted, and I just want to note every blessing.

from the phone

bike rodeo at bible school #maplegrove

SxSW CD release party #titosandtacos

a little light bedtime reading

#bethegood

 snakes on the farm

all five in the creek

"I've never been on the ceiling of a building before!"

best bench ever, Ankeny

#adoptionrunsinourfamily (Chelsey's Dream)

clouds like Xanax

four wheelin' via @iowa2323

three wheelin'

 ice cream sammies a la Aunt Kate

Ohio State Fair butterfly garden

Olentangy Caverns

best damn boys in the land

 #burgersandeyes DK Diner via @julietmingione

on the boat with Grandpa

winning at the backyard

basement campout

siblings, with their father's WW1 service medals via @keg256

sign up soon

after the library

hooray for little Molly via @mkstahlohio

following their lead

first day, first grade

tempting

#notstolen