Juneberry

One berry  

 two berry

pick me a Juneberry...

Tuck will not eat strawberries.  Tuck will not eat grapes.  He will not eat cherries.  He will not eat blueberries.  But he will stand outside all.day.long under our Juneberry tree, his pointer finger extended upward, saying "up" or "berry" or "please."  And he will eat berry after berry after berry.  In fact, at this point there are no more berries within our reach.

JEB

Background

At the park, where she rested in the stroller with her feet propped on the lap bar, I could see from far across the lawn her bright pink socks peeking out.  As I wrangled her brother a bit closer to her shady spot, I spied a fiery tendril creeping between the fabric in the back and, with the help of the wind, giving a flamboyant wave.
She can't play with us at the park, but she's there with us. 
She'll always be where we are, even when she's not.
JEB

And Tomorrow, Too

In the beginning I read one of our favorite books to her, and I used to think that's so true.

      I love you through and through.

      I love your top side. I love your bottom side.
      I love your inside and outside...

  

And then I read the pages to her and cried.  It was too true.

      I love you running and walking,
      silent and talking...

This evening I read to her and her little brother.

      I love you through and through.
      Yesterday, today and tomorrow, too.

And again I thought, so true.
JEB

Freeze Frame

What parent doesn't want to fix time, at one point or another, to keep their child just the way he is?  There are so many things I want to remember about both of my children, still images and moving pictures with their accompanying soundtracks, that I want to freeze forever.

The way he stops what he's doing and climbs on top of her to give her a kiss, and the "mwah" sound he makes as he does it.  The way her face lights up when she feels his lips on her forehead.

The way she spreads beauty like stars distribute light, a spectral semblance of heaven on earth.  The way that, while she grows small instead of big, she gives herself away like flowers diffuse scent.  The way, when I look into her inkwell eyes, it’s like the whole world is looking back at me. The way her hand, so little, touches so deep.

The way her smile erupts at the sound of his voice, and the way he searches for her when she's not here.

The way he says "pubs" (please) for crackers and music and outside, pointed yet polite.  The way he tugs my hair loose from a ponytail in order to twirl strands between his fingers or wring pieces through his teeth.  The way he pats my shoulder when I kneel, and how it feels as he he holds on there for balance when he slides his feet into shoes.  The way daredevilry shines through his dancing eyes.

These things may not be around long enough to beat a well worn path through my mind, and I worry they'll soon blow away like dandelion seeds, out of my grasp and into oblivion.  So I hang them here, a place I can come back to, sort of, and remember. 

JEB

Like a Tuck

takes to water. 

I know, I know.  The last four posts about Tucker have shown him splashing in fountains and puddles and buckets.  But he loves it.  LOVES it with capital letters.  So we love it. 

And isn't there something about summer, about water and sunshine and play, that feels like it must've been invented so we wouldn't go mad thinking about certain things?
JEB

How Now

How are you?  How is she?  The oft practiced rhetoric of asking, whether habit or sincere interest, usually requires a response.  The short answers live in our repertoire:  Today she is fine.  We're all doing alright this afternoon.  Last night was okay.  Most of the time it's the truth, most days we are some shade brighter than hangin' in there.  And she is, too.
And although we appreciate being asked, really we do, the long answers aren't as easy.  When your child has a dire medical condition it’s tough to know how you’re faring.  The video, though, seems to have shed more light on how she is and how we are than our responses to the common query can. 

We usually preface our replies anyway.  Today she is good.  Right now we are okay.  Life can change like the direction of the wind.  But unlike the weather forecast, there is no radar system that can predict what the next day will bring.  So instead of looking at the horizon and wondering what tomorrow will hold, we hold her and focus on the flow of her breath, reveling in the stillness behind each exhale and just feeling thankful for this time.
JEB

Lost in the Foam-ent

JEB