My little Squiggle Man is two years old today!  He doubled my joy on that Tuesday before Thanksgiving in 2006, a joy that continues to grow every day.  His birth made one of my most memorable Thanksgiving holidays.  When I went to the doctor on the Friday before, he decided that we would induce labor on Tuesday, November 21.  We had already determined that Squiggle would be the namesake of both of my grandfathers.  It wasn’t until I got home from the doctor’s office that the date sunk in.  He would be born on November 21, my Grandaddy’s birthday.  We knew, then, his name was well-chosen.  By 10am, I had him in my arms.  After two nights in the hospital, we brought him home–on Thanksgiving Day.

I remember that day as one of the most peaceful and joyful holidays I’ve experienced.  It was sunny and crisp, but not too cold.  A beautiful Autumn day.  We hardly knew it was a holiday, but we had much to be thankful for.  I was so glad to see and touch him on the outside and to be relieved from the pressure of having his 8 lbs 15 oz taking over my belly.  We got home just after lunch with big brother Little Drummer Boy all dressed up and proud of his new playmate.  I remember just wanting to soak them both up.  My nights at Oktibbeha County Hospital with Hub bunking in had been the only nights we’d spent away from Drummer Boy since he was born.  I was so happy to have them both home in our house–safe, healthy and in hugging distance.

It took us until the early afternoon to get home, get settled in and realize we were hungry.  Starkville is a university town, and the Saturday after Thanksgiving every other year brings in fans for the State/Ole Miss football game.  We’d never been in town for Thanksgiving, but we hoped the extra visitors for the upcoming game meant the standard take-out options would be open despite the holiday.  We called around and found out Ruby Tuesdays was one of the few restaurants available and placed our order.  There, around the table with a high-chair and a basinette, we enjoyed Thanksgiving lunch from black styrofoam take-out boxes–loaded fries, the sustenance of gratitude.

We had our traditional Thanksgiving meal on Saturday with a few sleepless newborn nights under our belt.  We cooked it and ate it at my house.  Although we spread the table with the same dishes cooked from the same recipes, it was another first.  Every year before and since, the menu has been reserved for Grandmother’s house, MeMa’s house or Mama’s house.  Still, it was a precious change filled with the comfort and joy of being in the first place your children belong.

The blessing of getting to know Squiggle is just two years in the making now.  We are basking in joy that pops in and out, sitting just beneath the surface of the frustration inherent in parenting a toddler through those first tough lessons.  As with Little Drummer Boy (and I’m sure Baby Girl to follow), we are sometimes heavy with the realization that so much of who he is becoming is who we are, and who we are training him to be.

Squiggle is intensly resolved.  Some might call it strong-willed, that character trait we so often admire in adults, but chide in toddlers.  Even in the womb he was resolved.  He would straighten both his legs out to push against the constraints–one foot on each side under my ribs.  It took more than a few pokes and pushing back on his heels to get him to move, releasing my lungs to take a deep breath.  He came out of the womb determined to make his own way.  Even as an infant, he would never simply rest his head on my shoulder like his brother did.  He would always push back to take in his surroundings.  Only now does his loving spirit sometimes give in and allow me that fleeting luxury at bedtime.  Squiggle is passionate about everything.  He does everything and feels everything at 110%, fully giving himself to it.  He is the most fun-loving of my children, the most willing to test his wings with abandon.  This trait has prompted more than one person to tell me, “he will be the one to watch.”  He learned to smile very quickly, and practices often, along with his trademark squeal-fueled giggle and the universal animal roar he has made his own.  His eyes often reveal the twinkle of joyful mischief within, and he is the one most likely to fling himself into your arms–for two seconds before moving on to the next passion.

I love this picture from our first photo shoot.  He’s wearing the same white outfit each of my children have worn home from the hospital, and a baby blue sweater–the perks of being born in November.  I see an earnest expression, brow almost furrowed in thought. I still see that today sometimes when he is trying to make sense of his little world–resolving his passion for whatever is before him with the joy of life his heart seems to exude.  He will be a spectacular man.

God, please help us to get him there with his vibrant spirit unfettered.

I’m realizing that the Who in Thanksgiving makes all the difference. I’ve been thinking through lists of things I’m thankful for, which I’m sure I’ll share as the days move toward Turkey Day.  I’ve been eager to cultivate a grateful heart for the little and big things in my life that produce joy, peace and blessing.  But, I have to admit that I’m finding it a little empty.  Yes, recognizing those people and things is rewarding, and the experiences with them are good to savor.  But, people and things come and go.  Thanksgiving really gains its power when it pushes me to recognize and praise the WHO responsible for my blessings large and small.  Like faith, thankfulness is at its most potent when it has an object.  

One of Little Drummer Boy’s favorite bedtime story books is his Rhyme Bible (which I highly recommend.)  It includes a story about how God fulfilled His promise to Abraham and gave him a son.  Our favorite part is the last page, where “Abraham jumped for joy, when he saw his baby boy.”  At this point, LDB always asks, “why did he lose his shoes?” The illustration literally depicts how Abraham must have felt when God’s gift truly knocked his socks (and shoes) off.  When I look back at the actual promise God made to Abraham years before his son was born, I’m reminded of His purpose in blessing Abraham.

“And I will make you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great; and so you shall be a blessing.” (genesis 12:2)

Blessed to be a blessing–that was God’s promise.  If adopting a life of gratitude is to have a true impact on me in the day to day realities, being thankful is just the seed.  To become a blessing is the fruition.  Knowing the Who who made it possible enables the cultivation in between.  With all blessings of peace, joy, grace, mercy and love–those most-sought-after and precious gifts–we can only give out of our own overflow.  And, my ability to bless others begins with a commitment to bless the Lord first.  So, who is this Who drawing my eyes upward in thanksgiving?  We know Him by His actions:

He pardons…  bringing the sweet restoration of forgiveness, the freedom of a clean slate in a world that takes names

He heals… applying the gentle balm of repair, the relief of wholeness in a world with open wounds

He redeems… repurchasing the squandered wealth of life, the hope of second chances in a world built on “all sales final”

He crowns… bestowing the undeserved protection of mercy, the birthright of belonging in a world of refugees

He satisfies… enabling the simple generosity of contentment, the joy of open hands in a world with a white knuckle grip

Bless the LORD, O my soul, And all that is within me, bless His holy name.
Bless the LORD, O my soul, And forget none of His benefits;
Who pardons all your iniquities, Who heals all your diseases;
Who redeems your life from the pit, Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion;
Who satisfies your years with good things, So that your youth is renewed like the eagle.
(psalm 103:1-5)

With all that is within me, indeed.  May I freely bless as He blesses?

Yep, over a handful of Doritoes the other day, I started recording my thoughts pen to napkin with cheese dust and all. They inspired me to seize the moment and go low-tech–although I prefer to think of it as grass-roots thought processing.  I was having some homemade “nachos” and thinking about how good they were.

When it comes to what inspires a grateful heart, sometimes we forget about the little things and the simple pleasures they bring.  For a few moments on Monday, squished in between pumping for breast milk, zooming across town to work and the umpteen details flying through my brain, I was very thankful for nacho cheese Doritoes–their yummy crunch and the orange cheese dust they leave on your fingers.  They brought a momentary jolt of “Mmmm” to the morning and a yummy contentment.  It’s amazing the delight a simple lunch can bring when, just for today, you throw food groups to the wind and settle on something you might have chosen as a pre-teen. With no husband or children’s nutritional health to consider, I indulged myself in Doritoes, cheese and bacon bits for 15 minutes of no dietary accountability.  It got me thinking about some of the other “brands” we buy that provide similar simple pleasures–the names that routinely up our level of contentment.  Most aren’t necessities.  But, I appreciate the “extra” they add to my life.  Here’s my “thanks” list:

1.  Doritoes:  My favorite go-to snack is a pan full of the cheese clad triangles with grated sharp cheddar and bacon bits on top.  I broil them for a few seconds, and my taste buds sing with crunchy gratitude.

2.  Huggies:  I know it’s not “green,” and I realize that my family has it’s own personalized plot at the land fill.  Nevertheles, I’m thankful for these life-saver diapers and pull-ups that make the daily “tee tee” and “doo doo” of life a little more bearable.

3.  Apple:  My parents gave me a Mac iBook in April and it’s amazing how much unexpected convenience and fun it’s provided–like this blog, a way to do my day job when kids are home sick, and an organized address book.  Life’s little plus signs.

4.  Hersheys:  Need I say more?

5.  Lipton:  Their family size decaf tea bags gave me my much needed sweet tea fix during pregnancy and now while I’m breastfeeding Baby Girl.  Key word = Decaf.  Three tea bags, four scoops of sugar and one gallon jug of water.  Ahhh!

6.  Vietri:  This company makes the “everyday” china we got when we married–Cucina Fresca in “saffron and sage” and the creamy Fiori de Bosci “Italian earthenware” patterns.  The combo works well together and I like the variety.  I have almost a full 12 place settings combined.  And, yes, my toddlers use them.  Little Drummer Boy prefers green.

7.  Fisher Price: Thank you for hours of imaginative play and made up story lines with Little People Farm, Little People Noah’s Ark, Little People Airplane, Little People First Thanksgiving, Little People Nativity, Little People Garage, Little People Dump Truck…  Shall I go on?

8.  Hallmark:  In addition to the great musical cards my kids love, the Peanuts valentines and the great holiday ho-ho trims, I am especially excited this year because my entry into the myHoliday Product Red card contest was selected as a top 20 finalist!  I’m thankful for much-needed prize bucks, and the ego boost of seeing my design in print with the Hallmark logo!  Go here to vote for a winner and buy cards.

9.  Sesame Workshop:  I am in awe of the talents of Kevin Clash and his ability to entertain the 39-year-old, 36-year-old, 3 1/2-year-old and 2-year-old in our house with falsetto and a goldfish.  The 2-month-old has even started to get interested.  I’m thankful for all things Elmo (or ‘Mo as Squiggle calls him)!

10.  Crayola:  “Washable” sums it up for us.  Their easy-to-clean crayons, markers and paint have helped produce some of the masterpieces that grace our walls.  They come off counter-tops and t-shirts.  Even Little Drummer Boy’s favorite red.  An added bonus for Squiggle is that they come in a box he can load and unload repeatedly.

11.  Dreft:  Gentle and unscented for baby’s protection, this stuff packs a punch in the washing machine.  It’s great at cleaning spit-up, throw-up, mud and red marker (see #10).  I’m thankful that it gives me the freedom to say, “it’s ok, we can wash it.”  

12.  Adobe:  Photoshop, InDesign, Illustrator, Dreamweaver, Freehand–these are tools of my trade.  I’m thankful for “text-flow,” “paste-inside,” “flip horizontal,” and “check links sitewide.”  And, I’m thankful that “undo” daily removes the fear of experimentation and makes mistakes easy to erase.  If only the rest of life carried such a function!

On this, the third day in my recognition of Thanksgiving joy, I’m taking a cue from my Squiggle Man and starting with THREE.  In my life list of things I’m thankful for, THREE top the list.  Here they are in portraits by their own hands (thank you Fisher Price.)  The brightness of the photos is tangible evidence of the almost painful extent to which they brighten my life–a glow so brilliant I can’t turn my glistening eyes for fear I might lose the blinding joy of the gifts within.

Self-portrait in angel-glow by Little Drummer Boy.

Self-portrait in angel-glow with Poppy by Squiggle.

Baby Girl at breakfast with spot of angel-glow by Little Drummer Boy.

I’m thankful for newborn calves, newborn people, bumpy ant hills, jumping boys, crunchy gravel, cupcakes, Radio Flyer wagons, stuffed Elmos, hot dogs, hoodies, and naps.
And, that dreams really do come true.

We spent the weekend at my family’s farm.  We call it Busy Bee, named after a “black” church that was once located in the area.  I don’t know if anyone outside our family knows it by that name, but sometime before I was born the name stuck.  It’s 180 acres of pasture, a herd of cows, baby calves and two bulls, a giant pecan tree, and a three-bedroom farm house where my mom grew up.  And, this weekend it was the place where we realized our dreams.

I spent most weekends there as a child, and for me, it has that comfortable feeling of home that comes from close sleeping quarters, lots of laughter and powerful memories.  My dad has raised cattle there as a hobby my whole life and goes there almost every day, but noone has lived there since my grandparents moved into town.  They are gone now, and the house had fallen into tearful disrepair until a few years ago when my parents renovated it–with some sweat, sneezing and color selection from the rest of us.  I think they had some reservations about investing in the house because it is just a “second” home only 15 minutes from their house in town, and we knew we would probably never spend every weekend there again.  Still, it was time to either renovate it or tear it down–and I begged, even though I knew the financial bullet would be theirs to bite.  I wanted to be able to share the farm with my children “someday.”

“Realizing your dreams” is an interesting phrase.  It implies a sneak-up-on-you quality that separates dreams from goals.  It describes that moment when you are suddenly made aware of having something you’ve always wanted, even if you didn’t know you wanted it.  Dreams are funny things.  We tend to focus on big ones–the once in a lifetime, pie in the sky, ship comes in type of wishes.  Sometimes those big dreams are easy because our mind halfway assumes already that they are out of reach.  It’s the simpler, actually attainable dreams that can scare us.  Those are the sacred desires that reveal our hearts, and show us what we’re really about.  They require an inner commitment beyond just hard work.  They beg for stubborn spirits and firm grasps, not of things and places, but of people–through thick, thin and thorniness.

My grandmother realized her dreams looking out the kitchen window in that farmhouse.  My grandfather realized his dreams listening to beagles hunt rabbits from a lawn chair under that pecan tree.  We realized our dreams in the cab of an extended cab pick-up truck by the barn.

We were just pulling out of the driveway by the tractor barn, heading to the “back” to tour the pastures and see the cows and bulls–something that had already produced much anticipation, squealing, and a flurry to put on coats.  Dad was driving with my aunt in the front seat.  Hub had the driver’s side back seat with Squiggle, pup-pup and bear-bear in his lap.  I was in the middle getting some “sugar” (as we say in the South) from Little Drummer Boy.  Mama was on the other side with Baby Girl wrapped up like a little snow bunny.  The boys had already examined the remains of the bonfire that produced much jumping, laughing and hot dogs the night before.  The sky was crisp and partly sunny in a blue that only Autumn can bring.  I think it was my mom who said it first:

“This is what we dreamed of.”

Then, as if everyone had been secretly sipping on the same cup of sweetened bubbly joy, we all added our own realizations.

“Umm Hmm.”
“This is why we did it.”
“Our three gifts.”
“My sweet boys and Baby Girl.”
“Yes.” with an extra hug and squeeze
“Our dreams come true.”

I’m thankful for realized dreams, the fruits of our hearts’ labor with God and each other.
“For he will not often consider the years of his life, because God keeps him occupied with the gladness of his heart.” (ecclesiastes 5:20)