Just Kickin' It

The opportunity to 'go back in time' is one I appreciate. Tremendous value can be found in immersing oneself into a place that has been left literally unchanged for decades.

Last night I had the opportunity to "just kick it" for a bit down at the Reaney Park Swim Pool in Pullman, Washington.

Now, mind you, I love swimming. I've found some of my most treasured memories are somehow attached to the the laughter, closeness, trust, activity and family nature of swimming -- particularly outdoor swimming.

Friday is movie night at our place, and Justin was home in-time to hang with the kids while I snuck away for a quick swim . . . or, more my case at this point (we have 5 weeks to go before the arrival of a new member of the family), a slow manatee like swim with most yards dedicated to the joy of simply kicking.

When I swim, my mind clears, the rhythms of life seem to beat within, and I can see and feel what is important.

So, as I let myself melt into the waters of this simple Palouse pool, life's fast ticking clock stood still for a bit. And, as I kicked away to the accompaniment of the slowly setting sun, muted laughter, and music floating from the speakers on the pool deck, I looked to the playground just beyond the gated fence of the pool and thought, "Yes, Oh Lord, you have so blessed me."

• I am lucky to know the fatigue of chasing with eyes and hands children at playgrounds.
• I am blessed to be the hand that is there to catch, just in case -- all while saying, "That's right, stay focused, you can do it, Mr. Independent" (even though I may really want to say, "Oh no, don't climb there, you need to be bigger" . . . the kids usually do very well. . .but still my hand is there just in case).
• I am lucky to know that in loss God is still present.
• I am lucky to have witnessed placidness as we waited for more children to roll into our lives like rumbling rapids.
• I am grateful for memories of swimming with my own family -- being carted to the pool in a wheelbarrow pushed by my father. A wheelbarrow teeming with the precious cargo of boisterous little bodies of me, my sisters and brother and voices saying, "Go, Dad. Faster!"
• I am so lucky to have been taught by example that the simple moments are what matter.

I had one of those simple moments while kicking it. And I had one of those simple moments occur at another 'swim night' a couple weeks ago. This particular moment was with my son, William.

We too spent a little time just kicking it. Both of us with boards extended. I will remember his little sun-kissed face looking up at mine as we kicked side-by-side and chatted while the laps passed us by and he'd ask me things such as, "Hey, Mom. So how was your day?"

God blesses us.

I don't think we need the most modern of facilities, programmed activities, and the like.

Perhaps there is something about, "Just kickin' it".

Perhaps those are the moments that will become framed in our minds and present themselves as we travel into glory. . .

Bidet in the Park

Caught you by the title?
Just a quick note to capture the cleansing joy that is found in sweet moments of parenting.
Today, the boys and I headed to Klemgard Park, a lovely touch-of-nature that thanks to grant monies and responsible as well as dedicated employees and volunteers, is perhaps one of the most peaceful and family-friendly parks in the Palouse.
We began our journey with apples in our mouths as we headed up the 'Klemgard Trail'. For some reason, I can't quite fathom why (wink, wink), the motivation to hike the full-trail magically explodes into full-swing for each of the boys when they remind each other that juice and Oreo cookies await them at the top. Ah, the power of sugars rarely secured by their taste buds.
So we hike, look for tracks, cross exciting bridges of felled logs, discuss why spiders seem to throw their little webs on you when you hike, what to do if you ever encounter a mountain lion, etc. Good naturalist excitement and wonder.
Upon concluding our hike, we returned to the picnic structures below to finish off the morsels of Oreo remaining in the snack bag. Careful attention, of course, was paid to equality for all . . . apparently, some things are able to bring out the most astute mathematician in each of my young boys. . . sugar equality being tops.
Anyhow, we followed up this part of the journey with much laughter, tag, words of "Way to persevere or Hey, Mom, look, I'm persevering" as the kids taught themselves how to master a new area of the kid's playground. Perseverance is a key word we're working on this summer and seems to be a natural joy when it results in a new found adventure that teeters on mortal danger -- yes, you can find such options at a local park play-ground.
But. . . the best. . . was how we finished the journey.
Pure fun in running through the sprinklers that were being tested on the freshly mowed grass of Klemgard.
Running and the drama of reenacting the death that comes from being shot by a sprinkler. . . the boys run, then when they get hit by the sprinkler, cry out in the joyful agonizing mourns of a soldier wounded in a battle he couldn't wait to fight as he falls in the grace of a young football player that always remembers to roll, roll, roll in order to quell the impact of the fall a bit.
In this performance, death looms for 10 seconds, and then it's time to get back up, covered in grass, and run through the battlefield all over again.
Alas, all battles must end and to my children's chagrin, many end in, "OK, boys, it's time to go". And this day of discovery and battle was such a day.
However, one thing Mom wasn't too excited about was having wet and grass covered kids get in the car so I asked them to go back to the sprinklers to 'grass off'.
As I carried some of our wet attire back to the car while they followed the Sargent's commands, I glimpsed back in response to unadulterated laughter reverberating in my ears.
And what to my wondering eyes did appear?
Well, kids bending over backwards, laughing, as the sprinklers shot directly their rear!
It really was quite hilarious as I imagined, "This, this right here, this must be a boy thing! I had no idea an 'Enema in the park' could be so entirely fun-filled."
I guess the French must have experienced a day like this many years ago as well.
Play must be the precursor to invention, no?
Good day. . .

Marine Biologists, Perhaps?

Discovering all that God has made my children, I have decided, is and shall remain a life-long journey filled with adventure and wrinkle growing managerial duties.
Currently, I feel as if I live in a laboratory. . . one whose research is focused on all that is H2O.
For example, here's a sample of my last 5 minutes:
1) Opening up the freezer to put something away, I find various sized containers filled with water mixed with differing substances. "What's this?", I ask. "Oh, that's my experiment, Mom. I have vegetable powder in the square, smashed berries in the popsicle container and Cheerios in your flower-pot." . . . Oh, ok.
. . . Going on to put some bath towels away . . . and check on son #2 who is 'washing his hands after "tupe"'. . .
2) Opening up the door to the powder-room, I see prolific bubbles cascading from the faucet to the fuzzy (make that 'currently drenched') mat. "What's this?", I ask. "Oh, I'm seeing how many bubbles I can make, Mom. I think I can make a line of bubbles. Look! This new soap you just bought is the best, Mom. Do you like my experiment?" . . . Oh, ok. . . (Now I don't think I'm answering in a tone that most scientists would say "Foster's Creative and Investigative Thought.")
. . . Let me go wring this soaking towel out in the kitchen sink while you (Boy #2) clean up . . .
3) Walking back into the kitchen I see boy #3 (very proud to become more independent, boy #3) going to the refrigerator to get himself a glass of water. I think, "Oh, such a big boy." . . . and then, I watch him take a sip and proceed to do one of 4 things: a) open up one of the cupboards and pour the water inside, b) pour the water into a puddle he started to create on the wooden floor, c) pour the water from one cup to another, or, if that didn't do the trick, d) pour the water onto the counter -- in attempts to empty his glass so he can start again -- almost make it into the sink, and watch this lovely fluid flow freely down the cabinets onto the floor.
So . . . are they future biologists of some sort?
Right now, I'm wondering and note to all of them, "LAB TIME OVER. Yes, I heard the bell. Time for 'quiet time'. Now!"
Ack!
Love to all Moms -- Supervising Scientists/Leaders of Discovery.
"Now, can anyone tell me when the clean-up crew will arrive?"
Love,
The M.O.B.

Maid for a Day

Not much to say right now other than, "You know something's odd when you choose 'Maid for a Day' over taking the boys to swim lessons."
Justin was out-of-town this week and, now that he is home, I found myself hustling about the house this morning, helping make sure the boys were ready for swim lessons, strapped into their car seats, swim bag packed, and the hand-off made to Daddy.
My response when asked, "Are you coming to swim lessons too, Lisa?" . . .
"Oh, I thought I'd stay here and clean the house."
Now, you must know, "I don't like cleaning house." Yes, I appreciate a clean and organized home, but the actual tasks involved with cleaning, well let's just say, "I don't rank them on my all time favorite past-times."
So what does that say about me wanting to be a maid this morning?
Yes, I actually want to put on my sweats, fill my bucket, clean some cobwebs, and listen to the quiet sounds of the dishwasher.
I'll show Justin the clean shower and toilet bowls and then ask him how long it took the older boys to stop arguing about who got to sit in the grey car-seat and whether or not William actually decided to swim this morning.
Or perhaps I just won't say a thing but appreciate my job-change for the morning.
Swim lessons for two boys while entertaining a 20-month old or Maid for a Day -- what would you choose?

The Referee

Well, I promised my sister I'd sit down and begin this 'blog o' the MQ life'. I have no amazing goal for today other than grab a few moments of solitude that exist when I wake before the rest of the household and put a few words down.
Reflection for this morning. . .
We attend the Cougar Basketball Games as a family. We're lucky enough to have great seats, very kind seat neighbors, and the ability to bring a bag full of popcorn and toys/stickers with us.
Another thing I appreciate about our seats is the opportunity they provide in letting me absorb the game -- all while Justin and I pass the little one back and forth, juggle 'I have to go potties', make sure everyone has an equal amount of popcorn, catch a flying hotwheel before it hits one of our unsuspecting neighbors in the back of the head, etc.
At the last game, I realized I need to get something. Because, there is someone just like me out on the court.
What is it? Who is it?
A referee shirt. The ref. (I don't have the luxury of having a team of refs, so in our game, one will do.) . . .me.
Yep, me, the M.O.B. (Mother of Boys) could use a good ol' black and white striped ref shirt. I believe in uniforms. I'm no fashion guru. I'd love to have something that fits my life every day. And, while we're at it, let's throw in a whistle too (I like the idea of using a whistle rather than my voice).
I love my kids and truly believe they are a gift from God. What I'm realizing is that living gifts filled with curiosity, inventiveness, competitiveness, and energy can play life's game much better when the ref. on the floor watches intently and can call out an infraction -- and to follow through with the foul even if the players complain.
Yep, I think I'm a ref.
I make lots of bad calls too, mind you, and in my head (my automatic replay that sometimes is difficult to shut-off) I kick myself for my mistakes. . . don't all parents?
So, should my kiddos be karate chopping, turning their bathroom into a rain forest (with the shower-head configured to spray the entire ceiling so droplets can cascade upon the entire forest floor), rigging pulleys in the dog's kennel, taking all sorts of pantry items and placing them into various sized buckets of water to see if the items freeze differently outdoors, yell at each other (or me) for what seems to be no reason (that's a technical in my book), or be immersed in any other adventurous (often with a mother's blood curdling level of danger involved) play they may create for the day, I'll be ready.
The good ol' M.O.B. -- referee shirt, whistle, and open arms ready to hug. . . dare I say, "Let the game begin?"
I hear little feet running upstairs, over and out for the day,
Lisa -- M.O.B.