Oh

"Joey, it's pretty clear you peed your pants," I say.

Just in from sledding, snow pants and boots a pile at the door, Joe blinks. "I didn't mean to," he says.

"What happened?," I say. He stops and looks down, pulls a damp circle away from his skin, looks at me, looks back at the wet mark.

"Oh," he says.

"Oh," I say.

"I was outside," he grimaces, "and I said, Myra let's go inside. And she said, Let's make a snowball first. And so we did, and then I peed."

"Oh," I say.

"I maybe better take a shower," he says.

"Yeah."

"Ok." He trots off all forty pounds of his unflappable self.

"Walk, Betsy, walk," he says later. Slung in his arms, he holds her around the waist and tries to work each foot with the other hand. "Walk, Betsy," says.

She tumbles. He grabs her blankie, covers his face. "Betsy, where is I?" he says. She coos, paws the blanket and his face. "Mom, Betsy laughs at me, 'cause I hide from her," he says. "Betsy, where is I? BETSY, where is I? ROAR!"

They laugh, good-natured and fully there. Self-possessed, they laugh, engage each other. No other without barriers, they laugh. No screens, no texts, e-mails, or twinkling tone alerts, just them, they laugh.

Face to face, it moves the soul in a way no screen ever can.

Gratitude:

5723. The children begin knitting and selling dishcloths.

5724. New yarn for the new projects. I get a new skein too.

5723. Family dinner, this one ends with homemade peppermint patties and laughter.

5724. We contine to make progress teaching the kids to clean up after themselves and be prompt. We watch them discover extra time and energy under this cloak.

5724. Friends join us for dinner. We feast over creamy tomato basil soup and handmade cupcakes.

5725. The kids forfeit game night dawdling over dinner dishes. Weeping and gnashing of teeth, then then they create another game night by careful planning on Saturday.

5726. Craig and I work on organizing the main accounting/everything desk at our house. Progress by increments, but it's stunning.

5727. We plan another week of hard work and satisfying results. Diligence in the ordinary -- we train our minds to measure our character and treasure by this.

Proverbs

"Why I was reading Proverbs," Lucy says, "was because I was getting angry and I was like what book could I read that is about the stuff that Proverbs is about?" Lucy nods as she talks. She smooths a hand over the crinkly pages of my Bible, the hand-me-down Bible.

She points at verses underlined in seven-year-old squiggle and bracketed. My son, do not forget my teaching, but keep my commands in your heart, I read. This will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones. I smile at her.

She strokes the tissue thin paper. Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains understanding, for she is more profitable than silver and yields better returns than gold. I read another section bracketed in her scrawl. She is more precious than rubies; nothing you desire can compare with her. Long life is in her right hand; in her left hand are riches and honor.

I read on. Do not say to your neighbor, "Come back later; I'll give it tomorrow" -- when you now have it with you.

I scan to another section, The Lord's curse is on the house of the wicked, but he blesses the home of the righteous. He mocks proud mockers but gives grace to the humble. The wise inherit honor, but fools he holds up to shame.

"That is really good," I say.

"Dad asked in his class what you can do if you need to get more energy," she says. "And one kid was like, Eat carrots. And another kid said, Drink energy drinks. And another said, Eat energy bars." She nods, snickers. "And another kid said, Sleep. And Dad was like, There's still ONE more," she says. "And it was READING your Bible."

"Huh," I say. "That's good."

"I didn't have time to read my Bible before I ran so I just decided to do it now," she says, "because then it will be lunch and then school and dinner and bed, and I didn't want it to get pushed to the end of the day."

"That's a good idea," I say. "I'm glad. Reading the Bible is how you KNOW God, and that's the only thing that REALLY matters."

"What were those verses again," I say. "I want to write them down."

"Here," she says. She flops the book open. "What I do, 'cause I don't have a bookmark in, is I find Psalms, and it's right after it. See." She points. "Here."

I gather the fluttery pages, trace the words with my eyes. Wisdom, the antithesis of anger -- how did I miss this?





Gratitude:

5712. "Listen to this," Jane says. She presses play on a small voice recorder. Joey's voice starts. "Today I'm going to tell you about the pilgrims," he says. Jane laughs. It's the beginning of her speech.

5713. New boots! A gift, so sweet on such a snowy year.

5714. I pick up again a log cabin quilt I started last winter. Tiny pieces cut to size, one small miscalculation, and a trip to the fabric store --the quilt expands.

5715. The children chatter with their cousins over coins and stamps and all things collectable.

5716. Lucy sells me a dishcloth she knit, one project of many to earn money for the coin collection.

5717. We continue to learn hymns on the piano and even find ourselves humming them as we work.

5718. We continue to plug away at organizing the house. The upward climb to organization defies gravity with a group of eight.

5719. "Now, choking hazards won't be here," Joe says as he finishes vacuuming the kitchen.

5720. We try to measure our world in small victories. We note again how hard work gives restful sleep.

5721. Craig continues to bless me with good humor and compelling perspective.

5722. Each day we like our path, the small world of our family, and the tasks at hand more and more.

How

"Momma," Myra says, "I love it so much that I began to smile at it," a sweater, algae green, for Myra.

"I actually started two of them for you," I say.

"I want the green one,"she says.

"They're BOTH green," I say.

"OH," she says. "Knit, momma, KNIT," she catches her breath and gathers her shoulders, a grin lolling across her face. "Were you gonna knit when you were done with your breakfast anyway?" she says.

"Yep," I say.

"Oh GOOD," she says. She clasps her hands below her chin, earnestness embodied. "Oh good."

"Mom," she says later, "did you know I actually CAN play Settlers of Catan?"

"What? How?" I say.

"Because I have been WATCHING,"she says.

"Oh," I say.

"A couple days ago, Jane and I were playing, and she had TWO points, and I had THREE," she squeaks. She squeezes me around the middle and buries a smile in my belly.

"Wow, good job," I say.

Watching. She's been watching. Passive observation takes flight. The summation of so many unnotable moments, the simple monotone of daily life, and suddenly skills unfurl.

The girl knows how. Quiet watching and the mind gestates. Suddenly there it is, newborn and unblinking: ideas, earnest as the morning, gaze back at us.

The womb gives birth, the mind the greatest womb of all.

Gratitude:

5699. Pizza family dinner.

5700. Sledding and a bonfire in the snow.

5701. Frost everywhere, down the tips of every pine needle, the sky blue and crisp as ice.

5702. We ring in the new year counting down and shouting at zero: Happy New Year!

5703. Pinochle.

5704. The children collect coins memorizing each with a new magnifying glass.

5705. Joey totes around his own personal coin box in perfect mimic of the older kids.

5706. Jane and I start a project with tiny jars.

5707. I enjoy a new wooden bowl for my knitting projects.

5708. I try two new knitting stitches on each of the green sweaters.

5709. Craig and I secretly order new gloves for the kids. Now that they've suffered many weeks with mismatched leftovers, new gloves have real value.

5710. Lucy starts leafing through the books of sock people we have. She masters a knitting pattern by heart and then innovates with it. She learns to make things and then make more things.

5711. We prepare for another session of school. Work an old familiar companion waits to link arms with us. We grab on with both hands and prepare to make special bonds with each other.

Jesus

"Joe-Joe, have you ever seen Jesus?" Myra says. The car quiet between Christmas songs, Myra and Joe talk.

"Yeah," Joe says. Craig pauses the music.

"What did he LOOK like?" Myra whispers.

"Hairy," he says.

"Oh," she says. She pauses, "I think I could run as fast as this car or maybe even faster." She swings her arms.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go to heaven with out dying," Joe says.

"I bet I could go even faster. Look, I could go this fast," Myra says.

"Oh," he says, "yeah."

Craig rounds the corner to the nursing home. The suburban slides sideways. He rallies the engine. Tires spin, and we slurry up the road.

Christmas Day night and we visit Great-Grammie. She cries when she sees us. Joy. We linger, warm cafeteria lights soft around our large family. Residents gather for dinner. The children take turns hugging Great-Grammie again and again. Love, unselfconscious and full as the wings of a great bird, alights on their faces. For a short time our ages disappear, just a gathering of children, innocent, pure, nothing to offer but love.


"Have you ever seen Jesus?" I ask Joe later.

"No," he says, "I mean, yeah."

"You did?"

"Uh, yeah," he says, "when I was DEAD." He nods, tilts his head conspiratorially. I raise my eyebrows; he shrugs. "Then I comed back up to you," he offers.

"Oh," I say.

"You SAW Jesus? When?"

"Um, maybe on Christmas," he says.

"Was it a dream?" I say.

"One time," he says.

"What happened?" I say.

"Jesus had me take a nap with God," he says. He gesture shrugs, a nod of adult mannerisms.

"Oh," I say. He grins, trundles off.

Take a nap with God, simple, light as a down feather. Peace settles, soundless as feathers falling from the sky, quiet as snow. And I see now what Joe does. He trusts. God. Is. Good. Invisible as air, there it is.

Gratitude:

5696. We celebrate Christmas again and again with family. We act out love as the story of Jesus, memorize all the notes and turns.

5697. We exchange gifts. We give. I watch the children explode in rapture when family opens the gifts they give.

5698. We receive far more than we deserve. Gratitude, bliss,  and humility enfold us.

A Circle

Urban Rose Photo

"You should draw a circle around it," Craig says.

"I don't want to," I say, phone cradled to my ear. I look at a sore on my hand, shake my head. "I want to look pretty tonight and not have a big black circle on my hand," I say.

"Well, if you want to know for sure if it's getting worse..." he says.

"I know," I say, "I just don't want to." Coffee in the microwave, I flick the door closed and press 30 seconds.

"Ok, well..." he says.

We visit over loose ends, Christmas party planning. The timer beeps. I grab my coffee, hang up the phone.

"You'll always be pretty," Jack says. He taps my elbow, silent eavesdropper.

"Aw, thanks Jack," I say.

"No, seriously," he says. "You'll ALWAYS be pretty."

Urban Rose Photo

I stop, slow to look right into his eyes. "Thanks, honey."

"And even if you weren't," he shakes his head, "you'd still be pretty on the inside, and that's what really counts."

"That's true," I say. "That's what God cares about."

"That's what God sees," he says.

I carry his words inside, like a banner. I bend my identity around them, the truth. And I feel a tiny wave of shame at implying true beauty is so fragile.





Gratitude:

5695. The birth of our savior, Christ the Lord -- we celebrate with my family. God's gift encircles us.

Urban Rose Photo

Joe

"That's a nice shirt, Joey," I say. He clatters cowboy boots over the hardwood floors.

"Yeah," he says, "'cause it doesn't have pee on it."

"Pee, oh," I say

"Yeah," he says.

****

"Betsy shouldn't have that," Joe says. I pull toast from the toaster. He pulls a discarded jammie shirt from Betsy, her delicate fingers laced around the tag.

"It's ok," I say. " She can't choke on that."

"Mom," he says, "it's ok if she EATS it," he says. "I don't care, 'cause we have a GREAT washer. And a GREAT dryer."

"Oh," I say.

"So, yeah," he says.

****

"Ugh, I'm tired of picking this stuff up," I say. Joe had dressed himself. I grab a wadded blob and fashion it into a shirt -- shake, fold, toss it in the drawer.

"I'm tired of you making me obey," Joe says. He tilts his head, nods, shoulder cocked up to his ear.

"What?" I say.

"I'm tired of you making me OBEY," he says.

"Oh," I say. "Well that's my job."

"Yeah." he says.

"Yeah," I say.

A truce ensues, the kind that requires lots of testing. He obeys. I dictate, that constant grasp for approval always there just above his eyebrow. As we play the counterpoint, boundaries result, and happiness, a sense that all is right with the world.

And so it is. Fortitude and mirth result. We laugh and carry on, me firmly at the helm, him learning the high seas. Simple acts of submission grow him strong for adversity.

Gratitude:

5686. I Christmas shop with each of the kids. We find simple gifts, wrap them with great love.

5687. New measuring spoons, specially tagged as mine (a notation for the many cooks in our kitchen).

5688. Egg nog.

5689. Betsy takes a liking to plain raw oatmeal soaked in just plain ol' water.

5690. "Mom, you're my favorite woman," Jack says.

5691. I start using my homemade apple cider vinegar.

5692. We have a fried chicken dinner on the farm with Craig's family.

5693. We visit his 100 year old Grammie. I watch him with her, his face resplendent with love.

5694. A good book, a fire in the fireplace, small delights fill our storehouse.

Hors d'oeuvres

"I've gotta do my job now." Joe says. Atop a stool, one knee on the countertop, he stacks coffee cups. Jack hands him a dinner plate, and he sets it in another clean stack. Work, its a bedrock.

Myra clears the dishes to help Jane. And I spoon pepper jelly over a cube of cream cheese. Sunday afternoon turns quietly like a babe in the womb. Children finish chores, and we gather in the kitchen.

"I'm so glad you set the timer for me," Jane says, "'cause I could have taken four minutes or TWENTY minutes to finish my job, so yeah." She nods. Around a countertop now peppered with hors d'oeuvres, she smears sweet potatoes on a thumbnail cracker.

"You are describing freedom the way the Bible does," I say.

"Oh, you have something on your shoulder," she says. She pats a white smudge across my shoulder blade. It disappears. "It looks like flour," she says.

"Huh, it does, thanks," I say. "Yeah, the things the Bible tells us to do actually LEAD us to freedom," I say, "like with your job. Get the work done and you are FREE."

"Yeah," she says.

We nibble hors d'oeuvres. Dilly beans and sweet potatoes, cream cheese and pepper jelly, olives, cheeses, bbq sauce, mustard.

You can have some of whatever you want, I'd said. Just don't go hog wild. And remember if something is expensive, don't eat too much of it. Tranquility ensued. Generosity envelopes us. Our appetites obey our wills. Work tempers our passions and improves our pleasures.

Gratitude:

5676. Strips of fabric. I get the gift of new fabric for a quilt in rich blues and warm yellows.

5677. We get a new bread maker. And we make friends with the couple who sells it to us.

5678. Some friends in the Russian community invite us to a birthday party. I taste the best handmade cake of my life. Seven layers of cake, six layers of frosting, paper thin perfection, I can never go back.

5679. A Christmas sweater, the official verdict is in, one sweater has been named my official Christmas sweater.

5680. "I sent Myra into brush her teeth again since she was eating gummy bears in bed," Craig says as we sit down to rest.

5682. Some of the children catch a cold, then I do. We trace the familiar pattern of sickness turning into health, comfort.

5683. And we trace the old familiar pattern of messiness turning into order. We make the Herculean effort day after day, force ourselves to strengthen that muscle.

5684. We find humor an old friend. We laugh and let tight bonds become stronger.

5685. We rejoice again, Christmas is coming.