when the whole world is the winner

I got a text this afternoon from a friend who was driving home from work and saw a guy with a scraggly beard pushing a stroller with an American flag attached.  She knew it was Noah, and she knew exactly why he was running -- to raise awareness for children with Batten Disease.  From one side of the country to the other, he's making a world of difference.

Although we spoke to Noah several times during his first transcontinental run, we hadn't met.  It was good to give him a hug this evening.
Eight days into his first run across America, he called Celia in March 2011.  It was her fourth birthday, and the first day he dedicated his efforts to one child in particular.  I remember holding the phone to her ear so she could hear his voice.  He remembers crouching behind a dune in the middle of the desert, trying to escape the wind so that he could hear ours.  Tonight he got to meet her brothers, and in a few weeks he'll run for her again.  But really, everything he does is for her, and for all us, for the children who are sick, for their siblings, for their parents and extended family.  For a cure.

It's hard for Tucker, who is very interested in racing (and winning), to understand that Noah is running alone.  Or that when his feet get wet in the Atlantic ocean, he will win, but so will we.  

Read more about Noah's efforts
Follow Noah on Facebook
Visit Noah's website

Tic Tac Tollie

from the phone

to school on a Tuesday

hollering up to heaven's house

meat from the egg

empty turtle eggs

to Celia, love Dad

feels like fall

lull in the "pillow game"

shadow dancing

giant tailgate jenga

lunch with ducks

laughing at myself in the mail

new lights

late night with the neighbor ladies via jnferris

brisket for book club via kristinpotsy

Tuck's friend Toady

hard not to touch the crawdad

full cups on the way to a clambake

little friends, big reasons

eighty six degree October days

Captain Tolliver, "uppie"pilot

red-headed babies might be his favorite

punk at the patch
so big via rht3627
discovering they'd been BOOed

Races

Today is not a race, replied Tucker, still in his undies.  The boys share a vent in the wall that connects their rooms, and from his side I had just thanked Tolliver for cooperating -Tollie, you're nearly dressed!- loud enough for Tuck to hear, hoping it might motivate him to move.

Ready to go, Tollie pulled up the gray hood of his waffle knit top and headed over to Tuck's room.  Da-tuck, me shirt, pink shirt!

Tollie is very interested in colors.  He clutches a red ball, my ball, pink ball.  He climbs into Andy’s black car, daddy car, pink car.  So, I guess, Tollie is very interested in a color.  Just this week though, eating M&Ms at his grandparents' house, he identified blue.  The bag seemed to be mostly full of pink, but Grandpa Rod reported at least one accurate blue.  We talk a bit about colors, but pink is pretty and we're not in any hurry for him to see less of it.

Tuck is very interested in winning.   I win the upstairs race.  I win the toothbrush race.  I win the pee race.  I win the jammie race.  I win the in bed race.  Except when someone else appears to be winning, and then Tuck suddenly seems to care very little, suddenly it's not a race at all.  We talk a bit about winning, and about the way that being kind is even better, planting ideas we hope will become his own inner voice.

I spent most of the day trying to hear his voice though, the one that, when I felt like we needed to hurry, reminded me that we really didn't.  We rarely do.
Today is rarely a race.  

I'll admit, this still kind of feels like a finish line.

***********************
Another reminder, about another not-really-a-race-except-for-the science-it-supports:

• In addition to OSU football tickets, other raffle items include a jersey autographed by Urban Meyer, product baskets from Tastefully Simple and Learning Express, a full session at Wendy's Gymnastics, handmade bags, refurbished antiques, gourmet coffee, dog treats and a money tree.  
• Split the pot tickets are available now, or the day of, one for $1 or six for $5, presence not required to win.
• If you're able to participate this year, and would like a shirt, please register ASAP.  The registration process, and the price, is the same for runners and walkers.  There will be a casual "turn-around" spot at the half mile mark for walkers to complete one mile. 

For more information, follow the Battling Batten Facebook page, or contact Sara Zeller at 513-607-9090 or sara.zeller@osumc.edu

our house

I stir cream into my coffee using the small silver spoon with her name on it, because it does the job and because I cannot find the courage to pack it away.  It’s at least 100 years old, having been her great great grandmother Celia’s first.  We used it to feed her oatmeal and applesauce for almost five years.

Tucker comes downstairs counting to see who's awake.  I set the hot mug on the side table as he crawls onto my lap.  There's only four of us who live in this house, but there used to be six.  We're missing five and six now.  

There's an exposed beam that runs the length of our kitchen ceiling, rumored to be from a barn built in the 1800s in Delaware county.  Tollie points up at it and says "houf."

We walk to the grocery, the boys sharing popcorn and grapes while I push.  Near the front of the store are bundles of firewood.  Know what that's for, Tollie? Tuck leans back in the stroller to ask.   
Houf, he replies, tilting the word up at the end, wondering.  
Yes, Tollie, you're right! Those are for kids like us to build our own houses.  Mom, can we get some?!

I wrote last week who she is.  And I realize maybe it should have been who she was.  I mean, some might say there’s a period on the sentence that was her life.  But I didn’t edit my words then, and those are the ones that fell from my fingertips.  She is.  She still is.

Tucker is slowly building her in the imagination of his brother, her brother.  She will reside for eternity in them, their eyes, their smiles, their hearts.  The man who forged the spoon and the one who hewn the beam are not really gone.  Life obeys the laws of conservation, nothing is ever completely lost.  She will exist forever as a story scribbled somewhere on the soul of the world.  She will.

everyday

From his bedroom at five in the morning, Tolliver, who'd been stirring for a few minutes, called out clear as the morning would dawn: I just need my milk. Except it sounded more like IJUSTNEEDMYMILK.
Waking to welcome a new day is cause enough to feel grateful, but I forgot.  I forget.

We received a phone call that required a quick change of plans.  Running already an hour behind, I lost Tucker, and the undergarments I had just pulled out of my drawer.  Andy found him at the top of the stairs, slingshotting them to the bottom.  I forget.

Having talked to Tuck about what we intended to do for the day, we described Plan B and tried to keep the promise of playground time on the agenda.  We took care of business, all four of us repeatedly in and out of the car, dropping off and picking up.  Tuck pointed out wet leaves on the pavement and exclaimed Look at all the beautiful colors, bright green and yellow and brown... and red, my favorite!  It was as if the trees leaned in to listen to him.  Hearing music, Tollie two stepped through one lobby, where, to his shy delight, an uninhibited older gentleman joined in.  All day long really, despite our rush, the earth came alive around them.  Shoes danced and signs waved, trees listened and cars smiled.

By early evening we made it to the playground.  Both boys shed energy climbing and sliding and chasing and jumping.  Afterward they shoveled chips and salsa and rice and beans into their mouths at record speed, appetites for food as insatiable as for fun.

Tuck has this habit of saying "every day" like it's one word, fast and with a little boy lilt, usually following a compliment.  I'll say Tuck, that's a great idea and he'll respond, Yeah, I have those everyday.

At bedtime Tucker whispered, soft as night fell, It's a miracle.  I asked him to repeat his words, and he went on, Know what Mom, know why today was a miracle?  Because we got to go to the playground and have dinner at the Cowboy.  And suddenly, brimming with gratitude for his simple know whys, I could think of a million more.

When life does not settle around me agreeably, when the potted flowers look defeated and dirt gets tracked in the back door, when the fuel arrow points to empty and all I want to do is sleep, the boys remind me.  I'll forget to feel it everyday, but tonight I'm going to bed grateful.  And tomorrow, when the world opens its front door and invites me in again, I will smile and say thanks.

"Gourd"geous Guys