Weary of the Moon

What did you say?

So, 35 years old, some amount of gray hair (mainly in my beard), glasses with a prescription getting progressively stronger, tired muscles,a little excess baggage . . . and now loss of hearing!  Well, today I fight back against this thing called aging.  No more taking it laying down I say!  Okay, maybe I'm not putting up that much of a fight, but I did swallow my pride a bit, succumbing to hearing aid.  Yeah, that's right -- 35 and can't hear.  The doctors tell me it's conductive loss and correctable (statistically) at least with surgery.  I've decided to wait on that.  I mean, come on, it's almost summer and I've got to swim with the kids!  So today, I shoved these into  my ears so I would no longer act like this. 

What a day.

I've got to go take my geritol now and go to bed.

The end of an era

So I don't know whether anyone really drops by here anymore except people conducting random Google searches, but perhaps I am going to write this as much for me as anyone else.

Tomorrow morning we will officially close on the sale of our home at 2809 Hollywood Drive.  We moved out about a month ago and it's been under contract for several weeks, but tomorrow is the day it goes from being our house (albeit now, "the old house") to belonging to someone else.  It was our first house and selling it is bittersweet, the end of an era.

Terri and I moved to Arlington in August 2000 shortly after I took the bar exam.  Our first home was just north of Division in a rented duplex on Matt Lane.  It was small and not the best neighborhood and I wanted desperately to find a house we could (1) afford and (2) feel at home.

After a year in the duplex I found 2809 Hollywood.  I saw it on line and drove by on my way home from work.  It was a quiet street in the middle of a neighborhood.  There were lots of trees and it just looked right.  We ultimately made the plunge into home ownership and moved into our new home in July 2001.

2809 Hollywood will forever hold memories for me, as I know it will for Terri, Jacob and even Stella.  The backyard we created from next to nothing.  When we moved in there was a chain link fence across the middle and a falling down wooden fence in back.  There were large flower beds, small trees, and a place that had been an old metal shed.  It wasn't kid friendly or dog-friendly for that matter.  Over time (and through much blood, sweat, tears, and blisters) we transformed it into a great yard with green grass, a trampoline, a swing, a dog run separated by a picket fence and even built a small deck.  The crowning achievement may have come when we felt comfortable throwing our 10th anniversary party as a backyard party.  It was hard work making that backyard what it is.  I hope the new owners enjoy it.

There are other stories like that.  Late nights stripping wallpaper in the kitchen, the toilet that had to be replaced when Jacob tried to flush a ninja turtle.  Jacob's room that started out as yellow and magnolias and changed to red and little boy.  Stella's room that was just an empty room when our friends Matt and Angie helped us paint and convert it into a nursery, first for Jacob and then for Stella.  New carpets, new floors, new appliances when old ones broke down.  There are stories that go with all those things.

And then there are the family stories.  Terri and me before there were kids -- learning what it meant to be married but not newlyweds.  Quailty times and fights and laughter and tears.  I can see it bright as day in my mind.  The day we brought Jacob home from Russia, arriving to our home only to see that friends had hung up a swing in the front tree and child-proofed the house.  Teaching Jacob to walk in the living room.  Potty-training (sometimes in the living room there too!), talking, feeding Jacob in his high chair, his first birthday, and especially his sixth birthday a couple of months ago which was regaled by one attendee as the best birthday party she'd ever been to.  All memories tied to place.  And the same with Stella.  As I've written before, she would barely acknowledge me much less want anything to do with me while we were in Russia but as soon as she came through the doors of 2809 Hollywood, it was like she knew she was home, and she was okay and we started to bond right then.

We had good neighbors.  Jacob and Stella had friends across the street and down the street.  Elijah would just wait by the door hoping Jacob could come out and play and Cody was over all the time. 

Our satellite dish didn't always work because of a giant tree but I have great memories of Chris putting it up before he got sick with cancer.  Even in something so small as the dish I have strong emotion and memories.

We learned to entertain at 2809 Hollywood.  I remember when we first started attending Pantego Bible Church and learned about this thing called "Home Group."  Next thing we knew we were hosting and leading and that turned into dinners and parties -- Halloween and birthdays and our group expanded with babies everywhere but the house remained inviting to everyone.

And we developed our family traditions there.  Traditions like Jacob Day and Stella Day celebrating the days we met them.  And traditions like Christmas candles and our Russian Orthodox feast and gifts on Christmas morning. 

So when I say it's bittersweet it's because while those memories will live on, the place to which they all attach will no longer be ours.  I still question whether we should have moved.  I think the timing was right.  We plan to adopt again and wanted another bedroom.  The kitchen was smaller than we wanted.  Terri needed a dedicated office.  All those things are true, but it is still hard to close that chapter.

We'll bring the next child home to Shadycreek.  We'll develop memories there and traditions.  So far the memories have been contractors and fences and pool equipment and air conditioners.  Not the kind of memories I would want but I realize even now I'll look back fondly on those some day.  We'll finish hanging things on the walls, have family celebrations, make it home instead of just the "new house."  And our kids will grow up there.

But all that won't mean we'll forget our time at 2809 Hollywood.  Before we moved out we sat at the table and drank a toast to the house (with milk and cookies).  Jacob had suggested it.  He started by raising his glass and saying "It's been a good house."  Yes, Jacob, it surely has.

Four

So our friend Syd emailed me asking where this post was since I wrote the post Six about Jacob turning six last week.  Here it is.

Stella turned four yesterday.  We had her party on Saturday at the Howard Moore Play Pool in Arlington (Arlington has lots of great pools like this) and I think all the kids had big fun.  I know I did.  I also took a tremendous number of pictures.  Then I took pictures of Jacob's baptism on Sunday (another post) and then we took pictures of the kids (and me) playing on the new Slip N Slide in the backyard (which won't be a post because me playing on the Slip N Slide does not merit attention).  Now my camera is full and I'm not sure I have room on the computer for all the pics which is one of the reason this post has no pictures -- the other being I've been kind of busy today and yesterday for loading those up.

Now then, where was I?  Oh right, Stella turning four.  On her birthday we gave Stella her gifts (with her favorite being a karaoke machine which she loves), went to eat at Souper Salad (her choice -- I think maybe her brother put her up to it) and then to play at Chuck E Cheese (where I dominated the Dallas Cowboys pinball game while Jacob dominated the Podracer game and Stella dominated the Deal or No Deal Game -- we're a family of great game players). 

Final word.  It's amazing that she's four now.  That's older than Jacob was when we went to Russia for Stella's adoption.  Wow!  But also, it is somewhat anticlimactic (maybe not the best word but that's what I'll use) because when she was three last week she thought she was 24.  Now that she's four she still thinks she's 24.  I tried to explain that 24 year old girls (at least the ones I've known) don't smear food on their faces when they eat or where day of the week panties but I'm not sure she's buying it.

Friends

So Jacob has developed a number of friendships in our neighborhood.  There are at least 5 or 6 little boys around his age who come over to play.  They come to our house because we're the parents not yet ready for our 6 year old to roam the neighborhood streets (much less his little sister).  We love having them over and getting to know them.  That said, they come over to play pretty frequently -- ringing the doorbell, knocking on the door, and then repeating when we don't answer because we are tired, asleep, having rest time, eating diner, etc.  But that's okay, because, seriously, they're just 6 or 7 years old.

And that brings me to this morning.  You can see the post immediately below this one and read a little about our night last night.  It included dinner, a movie, and late night ice cream for the kids in celebration of Jacob's birthday.  In fact we've been on the go since last weekend when we threw his birthday party and it doesn't stop yet because Stella's birthday party is tomorrow (yes, both kids have birthdays sandwiched around the 4th of July) and Jacob is getting baptized Sunday (which incidentally means we have family coming into town too).  Nevertheless this morning the phone rings around 8:45 (I think  -- immediately prior thereto our household was asleep).  No, it wasn't Jacob's 6 year old friends, it was our friends yelling into the answering machine (which is in our bedroom) to get up and come to the City of Arlington 4th of July Parade where they all are because they love their children instead o neglecting them the way we do ours by not taking them out.  See they had also told our kids all about the parade and that they should go trying to get our kids to talk us into going.  Guess what?  Our kids were still asleep (of course after a late night) when the phone rang -- but not long after that.

So I guess that's part of being friends -- knocking, ringing the doorbell, and calling at inconvenient times.  I'm glad I've figured that out now and to all our friends, I promise that now that I understand that, I will endeavor to be a better friend to you and your kids too.

Six

On July 3, 2002, a woman we know only as Lydia walked into a hospital in the city of Ryazan in Russia and gave birth to a little boy.  Today we celebrated our son Jacob's birthday with him for the sixth time.  Happy Birthday Jacob!  And thank you Lydia.

Jacob is an incredible kid.  We've got pictures from his Star Wars Jedi Training Birthday Party held last weekend (billed by at least one little girl attendee as the best birthday party she'd ever been to).  I'd show you now, but frankly, I am too tired to get up and go to the other computer to get to the pictures.  It's been a long day from opening presents before I left for work to dinner at Jacob's choice of restaurant (the Long John Silver/A&W Combo on Park Row) to Wall-E at the movies to ice cream.  Big fun for all.  Pictures soon.  And more posts.  I've decided that I now have a lot to say again.

Jacob gets it

We left the house this morning for our normal five minute ride to school, only a couple of weeks left for Jacob in kindergarten and Stella in the 3yo class.  Here was the conversation I had with Jacob (Stella listening intently):

Me:  Guess what guys, did you know Holly is having Baby Kolby this morning?

Jacob:  So that's his name, Kolby?

Me:  Yep.  They'll have Kyley and Kolby.

Jacob (very serious):  I wonder how they're gonna deal with all that?

Me (laughing):  That's a good question Jacob.  I'll bet they'll manage.

Jacob:  So where's the baby now anyway?  Where's it grow really?

Me:  Well, a baby grows in a woman's uterus.  It's near her stomach which is why a pregnant lady's stomach looks big.  The baby isn't in the woman's stomach, it's in her uterus.

Jacob:  Momma's never gonna have a baby in her uterus.

Me (again laughing):  You're right about that Jacob.  Momma gets her babies in Russia or maybe another country next time.

Stella:  We're Russians!

Jacob (matter of factly):  I bet our little brother is about 7 months old by now.  I hope he's doing good.

Me:  You're probably pretty close Jacob, and I hope he's doing good too.

And then off he ran to his next to last week of kindergarten.

10 Years

Ten years ago today Terri and I were married.  What a crazy thing to sit here and look back on those ten cycles of life.  Those two kids in the pictures look like memories in many ways now as we raise our kids, work at our jobs, and walk down life's path together get drug down life's path by our children. 

Last night being the sentimental slob I am, we sat and watched our wedding video and looked through boxes of cards and letters and notes we had exchanged over the past ten years, both of us intermittently laughing at something the other had said (more often than not because of how different the words sounded than who we know the person to be now) and apologizing for not being so loving/affirming/present with our emotions and praise as when we were first married.  But I think that is probably not so unique.  The courtship, the honeymoon, the newlywed years are all memories, but it has been fun to look back on them and realize the love we feel for one another now took root in those nascent forms sprouting into a deepened commitment, respect, and shared admiration. 

These pictures are evidence that yes, we were once cheesehead newlyweds.

Click on the picture and you'll see a blurry copy of a note Terri wrote me on our wedding day May 16, 1998.

This one is a page out of my Daytimer (i.e. long before the Blackjack) showing the month of May including "Our Wedding Day!).  Time truly flies.  Can't wait for 10 to turn to 20.

A few pictures from Easter morning

On Easter morning we woke the kids up early and drove to the park.  We'd been reading different parts of the Passion Week story to the kids each day during the week and had talked to them the day before about Holy Saturday and the hope of Easter morning. 

It was cold and a little windy but we sat and read about the empty tomb on the first Easter Sunday, lit our Easter candles (our family tradition -- each candle tells us something of Jesus we learn from the cross and resurrection), and then sat under a blanket to watch the sun rise.

After our family sunrise service, after church, and after eating too much lunch, we went down to the zoo to take a few pictures of the kids in their Easter clothes.  Our kids, like most, like to overpose and oversmile, so I thought it might be best to let them smile more genuinely and try to catch them in the act.  Here are a few of the better ones.

   

  

 

 

I think there is something about enjoying God's creation (which they both certainly do) that is right, especially on Easter morning.

(By the way, take that SydCham -- we have pictures too).

Lost and Found

It's easy for me to get lost.  I can't really claim to ever have had much of a sense of direction.  I'm easily turned around in my own hometown sometimes, much less when I'm traveling.  In 1997 Terri and I were working at a camp in Livingston, Texas.  It was July.  We had just met in May.  She was "in a serious relationship."  I was seriously taken with her.  That weekend in July she told me she had ended the "serious relationship."  I couldn't stop thinking about things on my way to pick up some folks at the Houston airport.  Would she go on a date with me?  Where should I take her?  When should I propose.  You know, normal stuff!  The next thing I knew I was just outside of Galveston.  On our honeymoon Terri was asleep in the rental car as I drove us back from Asheville, North Carolina to Charlotte, North Carolina to catch our return flight.  Thinking about our new life, I knew something was amiss when I saw the Welcome to South Carolina sign as we passed it.  So there's a pattern there I suppose, and really, I shouldn't blame it on her.  I just tend to get lost, especially when distracted.  Not much has changed in that regard.

A few friends have asked what's going on lately.  We haven't conversed as much, I haven't written much here.  I've been distant, isolated.  It's an easy place for me to be.  Totally wrapped up in the here and now of life to be lost to the stuff of life.  But then I see the sign.  The one that says Galveston, Texas or Welcome to South Carolina.  The one that reminds me I'm not at all where I thought I was.  This post from Tom Davis' blog was that sign for me today.  100 people newly infected with HIV/AIDS in Russia every day.  That's 900 between the time Tom wrote his post and the time I read it.  900 lives changed forever.  And that's just Russia.  As I left work tonight there was a sharp chill in the air from a cold front that had moved in while I worked inside.  Driving home I wondered about the couple of guys who sleep in a makeshift tent just inside the tree line off of the downtown spur.  And I remembered where I live.  A world where things are not right.  A place where not everyone has a home, where disease and hunger and dirty water rob so many of basic necessities.  And I wondered at where my mind had been.  At where I had devoted so much of my mental focus and attention.  And I repented.  I repented of house lust, of spending too much time daydreaming of our next vacation, and giving every waking thought (seemingly) to work.  And it felt good.  And right.  And maybe the direction will stay clear for a little while.   

Why We Don't Celebrate Valentine's Day

With everyone's favorite Hallmark Day upon us, it is time to bring back up this post Terri wrote a couple of years ago.  A classic in my opinion (and just so you know, she is going to dinner tonight with her publisher and co-authors . . . so honestly, we don't celebrate it)!  Enjoy.

Posted by Terri:

At my insistence, Darren and I do not celebrate Valentine’s Day. I don’t want flowers, candy, jewelry, a card: seriously I don’t want anything. His friends sometimes laugh at him with comments like, “You’re going to be in big trouble. They always say that and then get mad if you don’t get anything.” (“They,” I assume represents all women; and the only other thing I can assume from a statement like that is that all women are manipulative liars who only want you to buy them stuff?) The reasons for my aversion to everything Valentine are many and follow in a random “stream of consciousness” style.

First of all, I am practical to a fault. Flowers die. And I appreciate them much more when they are the result of an independent thought, not the result of media bombardment and social pressure. Chocolates disappear after a day or two while the consequences of eating them remain with me (to be specific, they remain on my hips) for weeks. I don’t like or wear a lot of jewelry and I refuse to wear anything with hearts (unless my son gives it to me). Not to mention the fact that we share a bank account. Maybe I would rather put that money towards a mortgage payment or give it away to someone who doesn’t have a house? And I don’t want a card that someone else wrote and Darren just signs his name to (which he never does). What I do appreciate are those random notes that I get on a day like April 6 or September 18, that he crafted himself and that say the really important things that I need to hear (which he always does). Other things I appreciate: a clean kitchen every night, help with the laundry, the trash taken out, Jacob bathed and in bed every night, good conversation with my husband where my opinion is valued and sought after, consistent support and encouragement to fulfill my dreams…just to name a few things that Darren does consistently that are way better and communicate much more clearly than a stupid box of chocolates.

Valentine’s Day just feels like one more tool of Society to put me in a box that I don’t fit in. Society tells me I’m a female so of course I love all the things that his friend Mass Media is telling my husband to buy me. And if said husband doesn’t buy me said gifts on said day then I should certainly doubt his love for me…... NUTS! It can also be a hugely hypocritical day where men (or women, let’s be fair) who are generally unloving, jerkish types suddenly think that some cute gift and a romantic dinner can make up for the other 364 days of unacceptable behavior. Not to mention the amount of money our country spends on Valentine’s Day, as if there is one American that needs more stuff or chocolate. We could probably put a big dent in world hunger if we all decided to redirect the money we spend on Valentine’s Day. The bottom line is that I just don’t like the boxed up message of the day that love and romance can be bought and sold and that it looks exactly the same for every couple. Forced, pressured romance isn’t true romance.

Now if there are any men out there reading this, please don’t take this as an encouragement to refrain from giving gifts or planning romantic escapades on Valentine’s Day. First, not every woman hears love the way that I hear it. For some people, the giving of gifts does communicate love. The point is that you should know your wife/girlfriend enough to communicate love to her in a way that she hears it and you should do so on a consistent basis. And unless she is a vocal anti-Valentine’s Day advocate like myself (and honestly, I think I’m alone in this), then you can assume that she’s expecting something, but for heaven’s sake, be creative and make sure this isn’t the only day all year long that you are intentional about showing love to your wife/girlfriend. What if you gave her another dozen roses next week too?

And by the way, I’m also a bit of a hypocrite since I will now go to the store to buy my son balloons and drop them off at his school where earlier I dropped him off with a plate full of heart cookies that we decorated together. But I know that one way to show a 3 year old boy how much you love him is to put him in charge of the icing and sprinkles with no regard for the mess he makes!

Happy day between the 13^th and 15^th of February.

How much water is in that glass?

This year is in the top two of my busiest at work.  The other year, though, was before we had kids.  That makes this year the toughest I can remember.  I am often behind, home late, up early, backing out of various commitments, and generally trying to keep up.  I recognize the patterns.  I know the near impossibility (though notice how I still can't concede the slight possibility) of being superman both at work and home.  Yet it continues.  In part because I lack complete control over my schedule and in part because I allow it. 

And so lately I've been pondering the glass and what is in it.  Some days (all too many lately) I see a glass half empty.  I look at my day like this:  Wake up much too early, shower and dress, work for an hour at home, make lunches, wake up the kids, get them dressed, fix breakfast, find odd tasks needing done around the house until school time, drive the kids to school, arrive at work (having already answered a couple of emails and had a call or so on the way in), beat my head against the wall that is my job lately, come home, eat dinner and talk to Terri and the kids, wash dishes, clean up the dog yard (use your imagination), take out the trash, pick up toys, bathe the kids, read them books and put them to bed, grab a quick workout, take a shower, and retire to the couch with Terri for DVR'd programming and some type of stiff drink.  Go to bed and wake up to do it all again.

The same day, when the glass is half full (in a shortened version) goes something like this:  wake up, enjoy a quiet house and time to get some work in, spend quality time with my kids getting to take a substantive role in parenting as I fix them breakfast and get them to school, go to work where I get to work with very intelligent and hardworking people on intellectually challenging and competitively stimulating legal work for good clients, come home at a decent hour to a home-cooked meal (cooked by Terri who has had a full work day herself), enjoy time with her and the kids, read books with my children who just love spending time with me, get in some exercise and watch whatever I want on tv.

Those are two very different outlooks, but it is the same day.  The difference of course is attitude, and attitude, I've discerned, depends on so many factors both within and outside of my control.  But recently I've been thinking a lot about time.  I have the common habit of filling up every waking minute with something, leaving no room for nothing.  No room to just waste time by myself or with others.  No time to just sit.  And for me, that's critical.  I've heard some people talk about margins, leaving extra room in your life.  And so I'm trying  . . . and finding habits are hard to break.

This weekend was a weekend of creating margins.  We went to Livingston to visit friends at Camp Cho-Yeh.  Jacob and Stella played with a new friend, Ian, we stayed up talking to our old friends, Matt and Angie, Thomas, Patricia and others late into the night (or rather early into the morning), and I didn't get tired or irritable.  I watched football.  We watched the sky change colors at sunset.  And we rested.  And it was good.  There's something to that.

Now it is Sunday night.  I got half a dozen emails this weekend on projects needing attention on what was already set to be a busy Monday.  But this weekend reminded me about life.  And life needs to be lived and enjoyed . . . even the busy parts.  We'll see how that works.

Edit:  Just in case I get to thinking I'm the only one dealing with long days and fatigue, all I have to do is look into the kitchen right now where Terri is sitting (at 11:21 pm on Sunday night) collating ancient greek manuscripts as part of her phd work.  That'll put an end to a pity party pretty quickly.

Are You My Mother?

When we brought Jacob home from Ryazan to live with us in Texas he was 10 months old.  Sometime within the first 12-18 months of him living with us, we acquired (I don't say bought because frankly I don't know how we got it) the book Are You My Mother? by P.D. Eastman.  Oddly enough Jacob never really liked it.  In fact, he often cried if we tried to read it to him.  Terri and I always found it strange in an ironic sort of way that he was so sensitive about a baby bird searching high and low asking all he would meet, "Are you my mother?"  But he was sensitive about it so the book was shelved in favor of books about dogs and trains and dinosaurs and pirates. 

I bring all this up now, more than 4 years later because tonight Jacob insisted we find the book Are You My Mother.  Apparently his kindergarten class read it last week at school.   Being the dutiful father I am I found it (in Stella's room to no surprise).  And here is the crazy part . . . Jacob read it to me.  For the first time, he read a book.  It wasn't memorized and he couldn't make out every word without help, but he slowly and steadily made it through 62 pages of the story of baby bird searching for his mother and finding his way home.  I can't believe our little boy is learning to read and has learned so much already.

And most of all I am stunned that the first book he ever finished was this book.  That he read with me.  After I searched high and low for him and he looked for me.  And we found each other.  At home.  Together.

This Dad stuff can be pretty cool.

A must read

I am well aware of my lack of content here, and all I have to say is you'll have to live with it for now. 

BUT . . .

in the meantime, you need to read  this post from my friend Thad, soon to be a new dad again.

Jacob's getting married

**Posted by Terri**

Good news from kindergarten today: Jacob didn't lose any tallies (translation: he behaved like a proper boy.) Oh, and also he's planning to marry soon. Here's how the conversation went:
Me: "So what was the greatest thing that happened at school today?"
Jacob: "We went to computer class."  (Long pause....) "Mom, I've got to tell you this. I think I would like to marry someone in my class."

After my initial shock, I asked him about the lucky girl and he told me her name (which I won't reveal since he hasn't actually talked to HER about this) and he told me exactly where she sits (at the yellow table with him but across and over). I gave him some rudimentary advice on how to pursue the relationship (be nice to her, help her out, don't lose any more tallies so as to impress her with your stellar behavior), and told him he might want to ask his dad for more details later.

And now I am left thinking: "Is this really already happening?" I guess soon enough, he'll be thinking girls are gross again, so I won't worry too much.  Right?

By the way, I think my new daughter-in-law-to-be is the daughter of a policeman, so maybe he could help me out with all my speeding tickets.

Nemiroff Vodka

I finished off the Pale Ale last night so tonight I opened the cabinet and decided to enjoy a small bit of a vodka I brought back from our last trip to Russia (noting to myself that we'll have to go back soon as I am running out).  Here is a picture of what I am having called Nemiroff.

In looking at the company's website, I found it is a Ukrainian vodka.  This particular bottle is Rye Honey, a flavored vodka, which is really very nice.  If you get an opportunity, you should give it a try.  It is distinctively different from a standard vodka yet the vodka's taste comes through without question.   

Sierra Nevada

Like most people who start a blog, I find my time gets otherwise consumed from time to time leaving people to comment that the blog isn't being updated.  So, as an update, I will share my current beer choices.  Tonight I am being fairly pedestrian with a beer available at your local Tom Thumb, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale .  Nevertheless, it is a nice flavor with a full body and reminds me of time spent on the West Coast.

By the way, I am enjoying it while watching Eureka, a great Sci-Fi show.

True Texans

I just submitted this photo of our two little Russians who are clearly now Texan through and through to the Adoptive Families magazine photo contest.  This was the kids while waiting to head to the rodeo last week.  Seriously, how cool are they?

(Click on the picture for a larger version.)

What I did on my summer break . . .

. . . I watched my kids grow up.  And it was great.  And hard.  And fun.  And tiring.  And I wouldn't trade it for the world.  But I want it to stop.  But not really.

This has been a full summer for us.  Jacob and Stella have both been busy with fun, and if you haven't had young kids in a while, let me tell you, that can be taxing on the parents.  Jacob turned 5 on July 3 and Stella turned 3 four days later.  But is isn't just their ages changing, it's them growing up.  Especially Jacob.

This summer Jacob has been to camp, played t-ball, had tennis lessons, and swimming lessons.  That of course doesn't include "Cousin's Camp," trips to visit family and having family visit.  It seemed each activity brought changes to him.  Over the last five days we've had "Family Vacation".  We stayed in and around home in Arlington and Dallas/Fort Worth but took in a month full of fun in those few days.  Being with Jacob for such a constant time and in those various settings shocked me.  He's a little boy now.  When did that happen!!!

On Thursday Jacob rode his first roller-coaster (a kiddie one) and then his first real roller-coaster (Judge Roy Scream).  He was terrified but held my hand tightly and trusted me.  The next night we went to the rodeo and there he was, down in the arena, chasing the sheep with all the other kids.  No thought about nervousness or fear.  He just jumped in.  Truth be told he was mad he didn't get to ride the bull.  Yesterday at Burger's Lake he decided he wanted to slide down the slide.  About 30-40 feet high (see the picture).  While I nervously watched him climb to the top and wait his turn, he didn't look back.  He got to the top and let go with some small trace of fear on his face.  In an instant he was at the bottom with his goggles knocked off.  He came up half crying and half shouting "Again!"  The second time he sat at the top for an instant, looked way down to me waiting at the bottom and shook his head.  I looked back to him and put my thumb in the air.  He took a breath and came down again.

Now for an older kid, that may be no big deal, but that's just it, he's not supposed to be an older kid.  He's my little boy.  The one I just brought home from Russia.  The one I rocked to bed night after night.  But not anymore.  Now he's a big brother opening doors for his sister.  He's a son telling me I hurt his feelings by getting onto him.  He's a little boy learning to read and write with a tooth falling out and a smile on his face. 

Last night we talked about how much fun we had on Family Vacation and how today I would be back at work.  I had to go back to his room because he was crying inconsolably.  He said he just didn't want me to go back to work.  He wanted me to stay with him.  Still my little boy.  I made him promise he would still feel that way when he was in junior high or a senior and high school.  But I know it will be different.  I know these days will pass just as quickly as the days when I raced home to help him learn to walk.  Today he plays t-ball.  I'll turn around and that #7 standing on the base will be much older, taller, more muscular.  But I hope with the same smile and the same spirit and the same desire to spend time with me.  I can't keep him from growing up.  But I can help him do it.  And that's the most important job I have.

The making of a family

Families come together in different ways and at different times.  We have a number of friends who have new babies at home or new ones on the way.  Other friends just met their daughter yesterday in China.  I'm always amazed at the diversity of life and because of that, the diversity of family.  Even more amazing is God's providential hand over it all.

Yesterday was Mother's Day -- a unique day in the life of a family because each person who has taken on the mantle of motherhood is unique.  Our pastor preached on the story of Moses' birth in Exodus.  He focused on the role of Moses' birth mother.  Her bravery in defying the edict of the Pharaoh and hiding her baby son rather than giving him up to be slaughtered.  But that story has a unique feature that wasn't mentioned.  The role of Pharaoh's daughter, defying her father's command and adopting as her own a despised Hebrew boy.  She intervened on behalf of a child who needed her help.  Perhaps she is the reason that later in life Moses, seeing a Hebrew slave being beaten by an Egyptian, stepped in to intervene.  The roles that mother's play in the lives of their children can't be overstated.

In our day, Terri and I each called our moms to wish them a Happy Mother's Day and visit for a short time.  The kids and I wished Terri a Happy Mother's Day as well.  Yet hers was a shared day in our family because yesterday was also Jacob's Adoption Day, marking four years since a judge in Ryazan, Russia declared us a family.  You can read about that day here.  So we honored Terri on the anniversary of the day she became a mom in the eyes of the world.  We all spent the day together and last night looked through Jacob's adoption book, watched videos and looked at pictures of the first day we met in March 2003, and showed him two birth certificates -- the first with blanks where the name of the father and mother should have been and the second with our names in those places.   But we know there are names for those blanks on the first birth certificate.  And they are not forgotten.  And so we took time to honor those women too, writing them a note, as we do every year, knowing that in all likelihood they'll never be read, but also knowing they carried our children into the world and should be honored. 

No one is without  some role in a family.  And all those roles are significant.

The craft of construction

A few days ago our son, Jacob, made the observation that he wanted me to teach him how to build things and use tools.  Keep in mind that Jacob is not quite 5 and therefore sees me as being a wonder at many things up to and including basketball.  In other words, he doesn't know what he's talking about.  My dear wife, upon hearing Jacob's observation, said, "Jacob, Daddy's not really good at building things or using tools.  You might have to get someone else to help."  How would you take that?

Being forced to agree in principle with her, I did point out to Jacob that if he wanted to build a solid case or construct a persuasive argument I was the man to show him how.  A couple of days later Jacob asked for the millionth time in a five minute period whether he could take some toys in the car on the way to church.  "No, Jacob,"  I said.  "I've already told you no toys at church."  "I'll just take it in the car," Jacob replied.  I said, "Jacob, that's not a good argument.  You are just asking the same thing again.  You need to explain to me why it would be beneficial to let you take a toy in the car . . . something like if you have a toy, you'll not fight with your sister."

Fast forward to tonight.  As we are leaving to go eat, Jacob says, "Dad, can I take a toy in the car and to the restaurant.  If I take one, it will give me something to do and keep me occupied."  Really.  Now that's a persuasive argument.  And Terri said I couldn't teach him to build anything!