Granddad and Nana's 2010 Club

Carson Isaac and Keira Faith, charter members of "Granddad and Nana's 2010 Club", proudly welcome the newest member, Vince Byron. Vince was inducted into the club last night, March 17, at 11:45 pm. Proud parents, Keith and Nicole, could be described as elated, delighted, relieved, and altogether ecstatic!

Although Vince was 2 weeks early he weighed in at a respectable 7 pounds 11 ounces and was 19 inches long. It is reported he is already squatting 6 ounces and is in early training to break another MTU Husky record. I'll post pictures soon!!

The Ides of March

Shakespeare got it stuck in our brains, "Beware the Ides of March". The 15th of March--it is the anniversary of the assassination of Julius Caesar in 44 B.C., the anniversary of the abdication of Nicolas II of Russia in 1917 A.D. Historically, it is a date foreboding gloom.

Yesterday, however, was one of the most delightful days of the year at our house! The thermometer topped 60, the children were in good spirits, we have two Italian girls visiting us for the week, our school day went smoothly and quickly, we traveled several miles by foot and on bikes in short sleeves under a blue sky and summer sun, and that was just the beginning.

Keith and I took the youngest four to the park where they renewed acquaintance with the playground and we tried out the tennis court. To our mutual surprise we both enjoyed it very much. After 30 minutes of warm up Keith suggested we keep score. My legs were already shaking and I was sweating and panting, but I said yes. We finished one set with him winning 6-2. Even with his just starting to overcome a rather severe attack of gout and playing the doubles lines on his sides I was unable to fare any better. However, we had numerous respectable volleys and I was never once shut out in a game.

Back when we first met in 1983 one of our first outings together was a tennis game at Christian Park in Richfield, MN. Strangely enough, it was early March. We were better matched then, in fact, we were both just better--although my decline is certainly greater. Eleven children and their care has taken a huge bite out of my game (which wasn't exactly stellar to begin with). We've attempted to play for years, with children in walkers on the free court and toddlers chasing balls and butterflies. But, by the time our oldest boys were old enough to really help with the younger ones there were just too many for them and it was easier to give one of them a racket to play against their dad. Yesterday worked! We even have hopes of continuing throughout the summer.

To finish the day we ate a picnic supper at the park, went out for ice cream, and spent the better part of an hour on the phone wishing Chet a Happy Birthday and catching up with all the news in his and Priscilla's life. Newlyweds, as would be expected, spend very little time communicating with their parents and we all enjoyed reconnecting around the occasion of his 21st year.

It's hard to imagine another better day, although the temperatures are supposed to be way above normal again today, the sun is shining in a clear sky, and Keith and I are celebrating our 26th Anniversary!

Chatter

Gabe is an imitator. He especially loves sounds--either funny mouth sounds or words spoken with inflection. Copying gestures and body language is another of his loves. We can be in the middle of a serious conversation and just dissolve into laughter when we notice Gabe, sitting on Keith's lap, mimicking his hand gestures and head movements.

Yesterday at church Gabe was much more talkative than usual. He was continually repeating phrases and words that caught his attention. He was pretty quiet and, thankfully, no one in our congregation minds his periodic jabbering and we all tune out most of what he says. He's tried interjecting a very loud, "Amen", when he thinks the service should be over that has caused a slight ripple of laughter but that doesn't happen very often.

The text yesterday morning was II John 9, discovering what is the 'doctrine of Christ'. Our pastor turned to Matthew 22:29 and read, "Jesus answered and said unto them, Ye do err, not knowing the scriptures, nor the power of God." There was a heavy emphasis on the word 'err' and Gabe chimed in with his favorite basketball chant--"Airball! Airball!"

Defining Gabe, 4 years later

We celebrate birthdays, marking the passage of time; and I accept that and have always embraced the idea and the celebration. But, as I considered the passage of the last four years with Gabe it seems like so much more than just the passage of time. It has been a journey, an unclear, every-turning, eye-opening, wonderment of time that doesn't necessarily rest on remembrance of this fourth year. This birthday seems less like an achievement and more like an ongoing journey, a marker that loomed in the distance, grew closer, was smiled at, and then as quickly passed right on by.

Gabe was delightful on the day, he knew the song and sang along with us all day as we would randomly break out with it just to see his big grin when his name was filled in where he's most recently heard "Lisa" and "Daddy". He began to get confused though, when the song was repeated throughout the day. At one point he looked at me when we finished singing and said, "Want cake!" He knew the routine. So, by the time we actually sat down with the cake and candles I know he was wondering, "Are these people really going to let me get on with it and celebrate?" I love the highly suspicious look in his eyes as we all sing to him, and then the look of complete joy when he knows this is finally the real deal. We forget sometimes that because he looks more like '2' and talks more like '2' that his mind really does think closer to '4'.

Every time I stood up to take a picture Gabe would raise his head for me, thinking he was meeting me up high somewhere. I finally had to resign myself to taking all pictures from a seated position!



Thinking back on Gabe's entrance into our family is different from any other child because, with him, there was a split second that defined his place and person in a way that was like no other. It was somewhat like the moment when you hear "It's a boy" or "It's a girl". Those words send your mind down a path that defines who and what that child will be--a son or daughter, a brother or sister, an aunt or uncle, and maybe some day a mother or father. There are visions of the future that begin to be outlined by just one word.

However, with Gabe, he became Gabe not when I heard "it's a boy", but when I looked into his eyes. It is almost surreal to think now of my first thoughts before and shortly after his birth. I remember feeling very old (43) as I labored. I remember the nurse telling me, at about 11 PM that I 'only' had about four hours of labor left. I remember believing her, even though my experience, ten times over, should have overruled anything she said. I remember telling Keith at midnight that I couldn't go for three more hours, that I was too old and tired to keep going and to please get me something, anything, to get me through this; and I remember about ten minutes later wondering what I was doing listening to the nurse, or anyone, instead of to my body. Gabe was born at 12:16 am.

My first thought with the last push was, "He's so little!" He was put into my arms and my next thought was, "He has such a cute little nose," (I've had a few that had a hit-by-a-mac-truck-nose). Gabe's nose was small, and delicate, and perfect.

Then I looked into his eyes and he became a completely different baby. It was almost as if my experience with him stopped and restarted as my gaze passed from his nose to his eyes. I think back to that moment that I looked at his nose and think about what a magnitude of change occurred after that look. As great as I see and comprehend that change now, it wasn't in my conscience then.

When my eyes met his almond-shaped eyes with the little folds of skin in the corners I voiced my third thought, "Does he look like he has Down syndrome to you?" My doctor said, "I kind of thought so." And I said, or thought, I'm not sure which, "This'll be different."

I wasn't afraid of 'different' and a part of me fully embraced 'different'. But, I was stunned by the sudden and marked change that came with one look into the eyes of that baby, telling me who he was.

Every baby is born as a blank page. We dream about and consider the marks that will be made on their page; and, they may or may not (more likely not) be the marks we expect. The first indelible mark is, almost without exception, an M or an F. It's the first thing we ask that helps us define who this person is, "Is it a boy or a girl, a male or female?"

One look into Gabe's eyes and his page suddenly seemed to be filled with defining marks about who he would be, what he would be, and what limitations were in store for him. It became more overwhelming for me as each day passed and I thought more deeply about all the ink that filled his page in just a split second. At times I wished to go back to that moment that I first felt him in my arms and looked at his nose. It was a different place and he was a different baby and while I didn't want him to be anything but the baby he was I resented the writing that covered the page of his existence and I longed for the blank page that he could fill on his own.

As I opened up to my oldest son, Joey; my boy become a man, independent, 21, closer in age to his father than to this baby brother, one who had the luxury of filling out his own page; I poured out my frustration at trying to weigh all of the impossibilities and problems that, foreseeably, lay ahead of us. Joey made one defining comment that changed how I looked at Gabe's page. He said,

"Mom, if you’d read a book about all of the possible problems and situations you might some day have to face with me when I was born you’d have been overwhelmed then, too. Just take things one day at a time and deal with one problem at a time and you’ll be fine."

I realized that the ink on Gabe's page wasn't really any more indelible than anyone else's. Certainly, there was a greater possiblility that he would not reach certain achievements that others would reach; but, there was no way of knowing that from the start, at least not of knowing which would be his areas of strength and which would be his areas of weakness.


Keith, his Daddy, had felt this way all along. He didn't have to wrestle like I did.

So, we watched Gabe grow--slowly. He learned to eat and smile and laugh,
to roll over
and crawl and walk,
to anticipate and imitate, to throw a ball and catch it, to shoot a ball and make a basket.
He climbs up and down steps, he follows directions, he runs--and today he ran down a driveway and stopped before he got to the road (I was beside him but he stopped on his own). Gabe explores and climbs and loves. He is writing his own page and we are all so very, very blessed to be loved by him.



Gabe's birthday was, for him, a pure joy, and he delighted in the attention and the gifts and the cake. But, he's living the next day and the next with the same enthusiasm and joy and helping all of us experience the joy and delight that he experiences.
/

I am delighting in the page I see being written and created daily that is Gabe.

What's for supper?

Dad: Is that pot roast?

Lisa: It's cockroach?

Owen: No, he said, "bratwurst".

Table Talk

This was a recent "conversation" at our dinner table:

Gabe: Dad
No response
Gabe: Dad
No response
Gabe: Dad
No response
Gabe: Brycie!
Bryce: What Gabe?
Gabe: I want Dad.

Birthday weekend

Last weekend we enjoyed being descended upon by almost all of our adult children and their spouses (Joey and Jamie being the understandable exception). Gabe was over the worst of his illness and was left with a very runny nose and a cough. I missed joining everyone at the high school basketball game but had extra time to prepare for the masses. The main event of the weekend was the celebration of Keith's 46th birthday. What a testimony to his dedication to, and love and devotion for his family that his children would make such an effort to be with him.

I think they all genuinely enjoy being together, too.


I suppose every family has its unique dynamics. But, I see the same development and growth in the relationships of our family as I see in any relationships and they all go through similar ups and downs and trials. Some siblings clash right from the beginning and seem to be always butting heads no matter how hard you teach, chasten, mold, and correct. Then, they're suddenly best friends spending hours talking and actually sticking up for one another in public.
(Seven of our eight boys)


Keith told me something about twenty years ago that made a difference in my thinking concerning raising children. He said, "Our children WILL love each other." I thought he was crazy. Children seem to naturally have adversarial relationships with their siblings. How could he say so definitively that they would love each other?

I try to ponder new ideas and mull over them before coming to conclusions and, although my initial inclination was "that's impossible" I didn't give up on the idea. I thought about my own sibling relationships and about what made me like or dislike my siblings, and them me. I thought about ANY relationship for that matter. And what I realized is that we like, or love, people who are good to us. We (or children anyway--adults tend to get complicated) love people who love us.

I theorized that if we worked to direct our children towards displaying kind and loving behavior to each other they would naturally have positive feelings toward one another and therefore, in a child-like way, they would love each other.
(Priscilla loving all of us!)


I saw all this as MY responsibility for what I would and would not allow from them. I thought of the way I treated my younger sister. I annoyed her! Terribly. I don't recall any really mean behavior but I was downright annoying and I knew it. When she would complain our mom would just tell her to "leave her alone" or to "stay away from her". Looking back, I think that was a mistake. I should have been dealt with and made to stop the behavior, because I was violating God's command to love one another.

Therefore, in my own family, it's been my goal to get to the source of the behavioral problem when two of the children aren't getting along. Often the problem is on both sides. Perhaps one is the initial cause--i.e. child #1, "I can play the piano better than you can and I'll always be better." But, then it's followed by a reaction, child #2 taunts #1 and plunks on the piano keys while #1 tries to play. In this case, child #2 came to me in distress. Eventually the whole story came out and both were found guilty and the matter was eventually resolved. I don't know that it caused them to love each other, but not dealing with it and changing behavior certainly fuels the likelihood of them NOT loving each other.

I'm sure there are hundreds of stories and examples where I have failed and missed things and handled them wrong and believed the wrong child and favored someone and, and, and, but the principle stands. And I believe, with 5 of our 11 now adults, that they genuinely love each other. And love does amazing things. It sets an example that gives the younger members something to immitate and creates an overall atmosphere that is inviting.


It is incredible to raise a child, love them with all your heart and more, pour into them more of yourself than you thought possible, and see them leave and cleave to another. It is a most satisfactory, wonderful, blessed, yet somehow heart-wrenching experience. Seeing them start to raise their own families is a wonder that I'm only just beginning to feel.


It all gives me a wonderful appreciation for the time I have with the younger ones who are still home. I used to think, with the birth of each child, "I'm going to get this one right, with no mistakes." I know I can't do that, I always knew I couldn't, but I sure wanted to try.

I no longer think quite like that, but I am encouraged to keep going, to work harder, and stay on course. This takes more work and more crying out to God than it ever did, because my flesh is older and weaker. It would be easier to settle into a comfortable routine for me and just "get through" these last years, and sometimes I feel tired and tempted to do that. Then I look into these faces, and remember their older siblings, and remember being young myself, and I pray and ask God for youth and vitality and freshness. Then it's easy to say, "Sure, pull out the trundle bed and have a slumber party!"

I suppose the order of my home (OK, rather the lack of it) proves that I haven't quite settled into my own rut and abondoned the priority of letting kids be kids and making it fun! But, I am tempted.

Most of all, as I watch our family grow up and out, I am more and more thankful for my husband. I see his hand and influence all through our home and family and our relationships. I see his care and passion influencing and guiding and directing. I see God's presence in his spirit that keeps him fueled and rejuvinated every day, giving him the strength to encourage, help, and love me. The candles may create a near atomic glow and the smoke may be choking but they're evidence of maturity and wisdom gleaned with years of immersion in the word of God and working out His principles practically every day.

I am blessed with another year, or even just another day, with him.