I recently received an email forward (from Robert) and its purpose is to give the value and perspective of time:
To realize the value of ten years:
Ask a newly divorced couple.
To realize the value of four years:
Ask a graduate.
To realize the value of nine months:
Ask a mother who gave birth to a stillborn.
To realize the value of one month:
Ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.
To realize the value of one week:
Ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.
To realize the value of one minute:
Ask a person who has missed the train, bus or plane.
To realize the value of one second:
Ask a person who has survived an accident.
Time waits for no one.
Treasure every moment you have.
You will treasure it even more when
You can share it with someone special.
I read it and began your birthday letter….
Ashton,
“To realize the value of one year ask a Mom on her baby’s first birthday.” I try to treasure life’s moments. I certainly have treasured this last year. You are my baby and every new milestone has been bittersweet. Of course I want you excelling, but I want you to stay little. Is that so bad? I want you to coo and crawl and continue to wanting me to make ‘it’ better. I know this is not life’s reality, but between you and me- right now we make our own reality. I have to admit that there are days I turn my cheek avoiding life’s realities.
Son, the reality is you are developing so fast. There are days I have a hard time leaving the room in fear of missing the next ‘big’ thing. You are so close to walking. You stand on your own two feet, which doesn’t scare only you- it terrifies me. I know once those little feet start to carry you our world will be a different place. It will become a place of newness, frustration, inquisitiveness and so much more.
Ashton, I knew you were a boy within weeks of learning I was pregnant. I could sense it. The truth is as a young girl and young lady I thought I would ‘die’ if I didn’t have a daughter. I was all-girl. I wanted an all-girl. I wanted purple everything, tutus and tiaras with pigtails and ruffled socks. Through our nine months I never once wished you a girl! Not one time- okay that is a lie.
Every time I saw a tu-tu I secretly hoped for a girl. Other than that never did I make such a wish. I don’t have a daughter; and I couldn’t be more pleased because my wish came true- I have you- a boy. You were born and I was relieved. A boy! I instantly thought to myself I have this one covered. I am a ‘pro’. How different is one boy from another? Uh, I was quickly introduced to little unique you and my Mom of two theory was out the door.
I knew boys. You and Kade are so close in age it seemed simpler. The transition of having two would come with more ease. I mean come on! I am a Mom of one boy, so it would be easy to have two, right? It would not have mattered if you were a boy or a girl… it has been a transition since day one. You keep me guessing.
The mix of my exhaustion, your personality and your brother’s influence has had me gasp for air more times than I have shared. I promise you have been in good care. A family of four has new and different challenges…
At 6 weeks you survived Kaden swinging your swing so hard you flew out landing under the swing across the balance bar.
You forgave me forgetting you in a car at Babies R US. I told your Dad (who was holding Kaden) to lock it up as I started walking towards the store. He reminded me you were in the car. I never thought I would recover.
You suffered through me crying and my tears falling all around you for your first six months of life.
You survived falling down stairs time and time again as you were determined to catch your brother.
You learned quickly to sink or swim as you have fallen into the bathtub as it is filling with water. I have also caught you as you refuse to sit down and fall out of the tub.
You lived through Kaden practically biting your leg off.
You didn’t become malnutrition from the constant gag reflex, nor from the incidents that I remembered the formula, but no bottles or the bottles and no formula.
Toys have been claimed as yours under white knuckle force. So true you have endured being drug across the floor as Kaden fights for his rights, too.
You managed through every single wiggle, screaming, rolling over and kicking diaper change.
You lasted through my frustration as you pulled yourself up by my leg, but pulled down my pj bottoms around my ankles.
You survive with little sleep (as do I it seems!).
You live through the trample of the dogs and closing your hand in drawers.
Your pinky nail returned from the drill being dropped on your hand.
You have healed from the amputation reattachment of your ring finger.
Bravo, son. You survived your first year. I am exhausted just from its recount!
I didn’t have any of these situations the first round of motherhood. It was easy-peasy. I didn’t have an explorer or a bossy boy. When you are ampted up and crawling with a purpose I say, “The moose is loose.” Whatever you are after you are headstrong and determined that it will be yours. I have been on a constant learning curve with you, Sprite. I am learning you are definitely your own person.
You know what you want. At the age of seven months you figured out what you want is what you will get. You cannot be redirected or deflected. You don’t like to be held, but love kisses all over your face. You love having wind on your face. You will have me blow on your face until I feel I will lose consciousness. You are temperamental and antsy. You like to be moving, but hate to be in your car seat. You are serious and aware. You love bouncing to music and can sit watching Baby Einstein for far too long. You are short and petite, but a ball of energy and chaos. You are filled with curiosity and exploration. I think all the survival of the past year is your way of warning me what is to come. You are ready to take on the world and give it a what for. You definitely have your Dad’s and my stubbornness.
I look at my toothless one year old and elude myself that no your gummy smile means my baby is still here. I know you are growing and becoming more independent. It has been remarkable to watch you grow. My heart is so full for you. This is what love is! When I had Kaden I knew my heart had room for him. Having more children it is natural to wonder will there be ‘room’? Oh baby, is there ever! I feel more love in my heart BEACAUSE of you. You give my heart such an impression. I think of you and I burst into smile. To realize the value of one year one must celebrate their baby’s first birthday. How true. In one year’s time we go from strangers to inseparables to genuine pals.
My wish for you is the wind will always come to meet your face. You will continue to fight for what you believe. You will survive the craziness this life offers. My wish for you is you will find friendship with your brother. You will continue to build upon your like for water, music or whatever it may be- find your passion. My wish for you is your teeth come before you are two. I wish you continued discovery. Ashton, I wish you a life of goodness and love. May kindness always find your lips and hands reach to help. May you remain balanced keeping one foot out of the ‘box’. May you have a great life full of beauty and plentiful moments, experiences and time spent with those you love and who love you always celebrating life’s treasures.
Most of all, remember at any age toddler, child, preteen, graduate or man you are my baby and always for forever and a day will be.
Happy birthday, Sprite Guy. Happy birthday.
I like you. I love you.
Mama
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Scream of 2/7/2011
Every mom knows her child’s cry. We know if our child is scared, hungry, sad, startled or in this case hurt. I knew the moment I heard the shrill of Ashton. In slow motion my brain did an instant replay as my legs started moving at a fast forward speed as I reheard the sound of the door closing. I felt light on my feet, but heavy in my stomach. I turned the corner and saw him on his knees head back screaming a sound I had never heard in my life. No parent needs to hear this cry- ever. His hand was elevated and hidden. I knew that his finger/hand was closed in the door jamb.
I saw that he was caught, but I didn’t know the extremity of the situation. Kade was on the other side of the door. He was closing the door to go potty and Ashton’s hand was in the jamb right above the hinge. The door was completely closed. I felt sick. I had to open the door to release his hand. It was then that fear was felt, but the Mama instict took over. Blood started dripping all over the floor. I swooped him up and ran with him into the kitchen. I grabbed the first towel I saw. I wrapped his had the best I could with my left hand and a freaking out one year old. All I knew is the injury was bad.
I had to locate my phone. I try Adam. He is instinct- call Adam. Once I let it ring once I realized it was 911 I needed, not the Daddy. I hung up and my phone turns off. It kept repeating this. I could not get my phone turn on. I am starting to panic. I calm myself down. I breathe. My left arm must have grown in length as it held a wiggling screaming baby and reached across his front to keep his arm out of his reach and above his head! As I am giving my all to keeping him from grabbing the towel I am using my right hand to remove and replace my cells battery. Finally, I get through to an operator. Kudos to me, for I was quite surprised how cool I was. She was sending the troops in.
I call my Mom. Again my phone turns off. I repeat the process. I call and it goes to voicemail. I try again. I get her. I have fright in my voice, “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom are you there? Can you hear me?” I explain I need her at the house ASAP to take care of Kade. I call Adam. He has to call me back. I say, “There is an emergency. I have called 911. Please call me back.” I couldn’t believe how my elementary school emergency training flooded back! Precise and to the point is always the key.
As we wait I try to think of something to calm Ashton. I didn’t know the severity of his injury, but kept thinking if he moves one more time I will find a finger on my floor. I was nervous. I spot a sippy cup on the kitchen table. “Kaden, will you be Mama’s super helper boy?” He replies, “Uh-huh! Sure.” I request, “Okay! Please go get your cup off the table and let’s give it to Ashton. I think it will make him feel better.” Kade was on board.
Blood is surrounding us on the floor and down my arm. Kade is going to get us the cup. He backs up to the kitchen counters and shimmies on tiptoe sliding across the cupboards into the dining room to avoid the blood. He was well over two feet from a drop! Silly kid. He returns the same way. The cup was a small diversion and big brother was proud. I was glad to see he quit fighting me as I was growing physically tired, but more determined.
The paramedic team arrived. They ask how I am, if I need to hand Ashton over for treatment or if I could hold him. I was able to hold him. They prepare me for the reality that he may not be able to keep the tip of his finger. At this moment here comes my Mom. It was a scene from a daytime drama. All 90lbs of her crouches into herself, hands cupping her mouth and tears rolling, “Oh my god! Oh no. Oh baby…” I have to quickly be the person who is consoling the person I called to help me! What? I quickly tell her she is of no help like that, point to Kade and then in the direction of the living room saying, “Mom! Out! I cannot handle this.” I still laugh about her entrance. It gives me a little humor.
I declined taking the siren (Kaden’s word for ambulance). Mom was there, so she was going to keep Ashton’s finger covered and safe as we drove to the hospital. I did make sure that he would receive the same care if I took him in treatment and more importantly speed. I was assured it didn’t matter. I of course was having one of those terrible stay-at-home-mom days. I had showered hours ago, but was still naked under my robe. One of the men held him while I dressed. They checked our fire detectors and left.
Adam got home just as we were headed out the door. He thought he beat the paramedics, so was a little heated. We all packed up and headed to Milwaukie Providence.
No bull, they didn’t even take Ashton’s info. They say his finger and immediately admitted him into a triage room. I am NOT equal opportunity. There are Mommy jobs and there are Daddy jobs. Thank goodness for Daddies! Adam held our poor scared crying squirming boy through it all. He did so all while layered for a cold days work. I didn’t even see him sweat he was so cool. He held him as they numbed the nerve of both sides of his right ring finger. To stitch the ¼ piece of finger back on they intended to use a board that looks similar to a cradle board used by Native Americans. Adam declined and asked to hold him. Through all of this I waited outside.
I was grateful the doctor asked me to step out as they did the pre-work and stitching. He explained that it would be less stressful for Ashton to have me gone. He wouldn’t wonder why I wasn’t ‘saving’ him. It would allow me to be his comfort when all was finished. I am thankful for Adam who did the really hard job for both of us.
We were told all would be normal in about two weeks. Amazing.
So, we leave with a bandaged and an upset baby. His hand resembles a club. He is going to be fine. In the big scheme of life losing the tip of a finger isn’t the worst thing that can happen. Don’t get me wrong, it is certainly terrible enough. At the end of the day I saw what a great team Adam and I can be. We know what the others strength and weaknesses are. We did well.
And two weeks later the ER doctor was right. Today, Dad took him in to have the stitches removed. Sprites finger recovered like magic. I am still in disbelief how quickly children are able to adapt to injury. He didn’t miss a beat. He fought us and his wrap. He crawled on it the same day and the next day immediately used his left hand for all handling. It was as if he never knew any different.
Every time I hear kids playing and a door close I get an icky feeling inside. I lose my stomach and have to go look. As days pass I am trying to stop the urge from getting up to check. I think I have developed a morbid fear of all doors.
I saw that he was caught, but I didn’t know the extremity of the situation. Kade was on the other side of the door. He was closing the door to go potty and Ashton’s hand was in the jamb right above the hinge. The door was completely closed. I felt sick. I had to open the door to release his hand. It was then that fear was felt, but the Mama instict took over. Blood started dripping all over the floor. I swooped him up and ran with him into the kitchen. I grabbed the first towel I saw. I wrapped his had the best I could with my left hand and a freaking out one year old. All I knew is the injury was bad.
I had to locate my phone. I try Adam. He is instinct- call Adam. Once I let it ring once I realized it was 911 I needed, not the Daddy. I hung up and my phone turns off. It kept repeating this. I could not get my phone turn on. I am starting to panic. I calm myself down. I breathe. My left arm must have grown in length as it held a wiggling screaming baby and reached across his front to keep his arm out of his reach and above his head! As I am giving my all to keeping him from grabbing the towel I am using my right hand to remove and replace my cells battery. Finally, I get through to an operator. Kudos to me, for I was quite surprised how cool I was. She was sending the troops in.
I call my Mom. Again my phone turns off. I repeat the process. I call and it goes to voicemail. I try again. I get her. I have fright in my voice, “Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom are you there? Can you hear me?” I explain I need her at the house ASAP to take care of Kade. I call Adam. He has to call me back. I say, “There is an emergency. I have called 911. Please call me back.” I couldn’t believe how my elementary school emergency training flooded back! Precise and to the point is always the key.
As we wait I try to think of something to calm Ashton. I didn’t know the severity of his injury, but kept thinking if he moves one more time I will find a finger on my floor. I was nervous. I spot a sippy cup on the kitchen table. “Kaden, will you be Mama’s super helper boy?” He replies, “Uh-huh! Sure.” I request, “Okay! Please go get your cup off the table and let’s give it to Ashton. I think it will make him feel better.” Kade was on board.
Blood is surrounding us on the floor and down my arm. Kade is going to get us the cup. He backs up to the kitchen counters and shimmies on tiptoe sliding across the cupboards into the dining room to avoid the blood. He was well over two feet from a drop! Silly kid. He returns the same way. The cup was a small diversion and big brother was proud. I was glad to see he quit fighting me as I was growing physically tired, but more determined.
The paramedic team arrived. They ask how I am, if I need to hand Ashton over for treatment or if I could hold him. I was able to hold him. They prepare me for the reality that he may not be able to keep the tip of his finger. At this moment here comes my Mom. It was a scene from a daytime drama. All 90lbs of her crouches into herself, hands cupping her mouth and tears rolling, “Oh my god! Oh no. Oh baby…” I have to quickly be the person who is consoling the person I called to help me! What? I quickly tell her she is of no help like that, point to Kade and then in the direction of the living room saying, “Mom! Out! I cannot handle this.” I still laugh about her entrance. It gives me a little humor.
I declined taking the siren (Kaden’s word for ambulance). Mom was there, so she was going to keep Ashton’s finger covered and safe as we drove to the hospital. I did make sure that he would receive the same care if I took him in treatment and more importantly speed. I was assured it didn’t matter. I of course was having one of those terrible stay-at-home-mom days. I had showered hours ago, but was still naked under my robe. One of the men held him while I dressed. They checked our fire detectors and left.
Adam got home just as we were headed out the door. He thought he beat the paramedics, so was a little heated. We all packed up and headed to Milwaukie Providence.
No bull, they didn’t even take Ashton’s info. They say his finger and immediately admitted him into a triage room. I am NOT equal opportunity. There are Mommy jobs and there are Daddy jobs. Thank goodness for Daddies! Adam held our poor scared crying squirming boy through it all. He did so all while layered for a cold days work. I didn’t even see him sweat he was so cool. He held him as they numbed the nerve of both sides of his right ring finger. To stitch the ¼ piece of finger back on they intended to use a board that looks similar to a cradle board used by Native Americans. Adam declined and asked to hold him. Through all of this I waited outside.
I was grateful the doctor asked me to step out as they did the pre-work and stitching. He explained that it would be less stressful for Ashton to have me gone. He wouldn’t wonder why I wasn’t ‘saving’ him. It would allow me to be his comfort when all was finished. I am thankful for Adam who did the really hard job for both of us.
We were told all would be normal in about two weeks. Amazing.
So, we leave with a bandaged and an upset baby. His hand resembles a club. He is going to be fine. In the big scheme of life losing the tip of a finger isn’t the worst thing that can happen. Don’t get me wrong, it is certainly terrible enough. At the end of the day I saw what a great team Adam and I can be. We know what the others strength and weaknesses are. We did well.
And two weeks later the ER doctor was right. Today, Dad took him in to have the stitches removed. Sprites finger recovered like magic. I am still in disbelief how quickly children are able to adapt to injury. He didn’t miss a beat. He fought us and his wrap. He crawled on it the same day and the next day immediately used his left hand for all handling. It was as if he never knew any different.
Every time I hear kids playing and a door close I get an icky feeling inside. I lose my stomach and have to go look. As days pass I am trying to stop the urge from getting up to check. I think I have developed a morbid fear of all doors.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Closed
I am closed for business. I don’t know when I will reopen, but as of today I am closed. This bank has nothing left to cash for anyone. The plate I hold is full and ‘shtuff’ is starting to overflow all around. I have to learn to say when- well I am saying it today: WHEN.
I have my own marriage to nurture.
I have my own finances to balance.
I have my own children to tend.
I have my own self to improve.
I have my own past.
I have my own future.
I have my own schedule to keep.
I have my own worries.
I have my own plans.
I have my own relationships to keep.
I have my own fears to walk.
I have my own to figure out.
I am so tired of the saying, “So sick and tired of being sick and tired.” Yet there is no other way to explain what I am feeling. I am mentally and emotionally exhausted. If one more person says they understand or shares a story ‘similar’ to mine (for one of the slew of stories) I have had lately I will scream. No- nothing is similar. Nothing! No one knows what fills someone until knowing all of the information and details. I am overwhelmed by many components that through the course of time are adding up; and now it’s taxing. And lately, it has been one expensive tax.
Boys, I am a sealed person. I don’t let many in and those that sit closest to my heart are sheltered from past experience as well as current events. It is how I operate. I am sure it is something I inherited from my own Mom. People will tell me to ask for help. And when the time comes I don’t even know where to begin to ask for help because I foolishly let ‘shtuff’ pile for far too long. It is up to me to clean my own house. I hoarded far too long.
The truth is I have been cleaning a long time! I have been surface dusting, but no real scrubbing. I am taking time out to do some deep cleaning. I have my list and am marking things off as I complete each task. I hope during this time I am able to immerse myself long enough to come out sparkling and new. I want and need to learn enough to be able to have something to cash for the two of you when you start asking the hard questions. I cannot answer these questions if I don’t start answering them for myself, now. It would be dishonest and lazy.
So, I am taking a time out. I am closed for business that isn’t an emergency or matters not within my four walls. It is time to reinvest, replenish the treasury, so to speak to contribute into my world. I will be back. I will be that much stronger and wiser. Look out for the grand reopening. It is coming soon…
I have my own marriage to nurture.
I have my own finances to balance.
I have my own children to tend.
I have my own self to improve.
I have my own past.
I have my own future.
I have my own schedule to keep.
I have my own worries.
I have my own plans.
I have my own relationships to keep.
I have my own fears to walk.
I have my own to figure out.
I am so tired of the saying, “So sick and tired of being sick and tired.” Yet there is no other way to explain what I am feeling. I am mentally and emotionally exhausted. If one more person says they understand or shares a story ‘similar’ to mine (for one of the slew of stories) I have had lately I will scream. No- nothing is similar. Nothing! No one knows what fills someone until knowing all of the information and details. I am overwhelmed by many components that through the course of time are adding up; and now it’s taxing. And lately, it has been one expensive tax.
Boys, I am a sealed person. I don’t let many in and those that sit closest to my heart are sheltered from past experience as well as current events. It is how I operate. I am sure it is something I inherited from my own Mom. People will tell me to ask for help. And when the time comes I don’t even know where to begin to ask for help because I foolishly let ‘shtuff’ pile for far too long. It is up to me to clean my own house. I hoarded far too long.
The truth is I have been cleaning a long time! I have been surface dusting, but no real scrubbing. I am taking time out to do some deep cleaning. I have my list and am marking things off as I complete each task. I hope during this time I am able to immerse myself long enough to come out sparkling and new. I want and need to learn enough to be able to have something to cash for the two of you when you start asking the hard questions. I cannot answer these questions if I don’t start answering them for myself, now. It would be dishonest and lazy.
So, I am taking a time out. I am closed for business that isn’t an emergency or matters not within my four walls. It is time to reinvest, replenish the treasury, so to speak to contribute into my world. I will be back. I will be that much stronger and wiser. Look out for the grand reopening. It is coming soon…
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Reasons You Know You're A Mom
Top Reasons You Know You’re A Mom (D. Letterman’s is my inspiration)
6. You call your husband by your child’s name
5. You fill your coffee pot filter with powdered formula
4. While cleaning you sing the Hokey Pokey actually doing the moves
3. Your lunch consists of Cheerios, KRAFT processed cheese and a juice box
2. A night out is grocery shopping until 9pm
And the number one reason…
To pay for your bar tab you remove from your purse: Yo Gabba Gabba underware, a teething ring and bottle cap to find your debit card.
6. You call your husband by your child’s name
5. You fill your coffee pot filter with powdered formula
4. While cleaning you sing the Hokey Pokey actually doing the moves
3. Your lunch consists of Cheerios, KRAFT processed cheese and a juice box
2. A night out is grocery shopping until 9pm
And the number one reason…
To pay for your bar tab you remove from your purse: Yo Gabba Gabba underware, a teething ring and bottle cap to find your debit card.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Riches
My brain is a funny place. I don’t know how the brain of other people works, but mine pops in and out of past, present and future seamlessly. It doesn’t take much and a memory is triggered. I can be taken back to my childhood in an instant. Sure, I have some memories I would rather forget, but often I am revisiting happiness’s of my youth. And as I have grown my family there is one memory I recall that I am most fond of…
My family lived on Donald Street in Oregon City, which was fortunately a great place to grow up- city, street and all. Unfortunately, it our house was pained Pepto-Bismol pink (by choice!). I would not joke about this, boys. There are some things even this Mama cannot imagine… we lived in a pink house. Anyway, for a period of time my Dad’s brother John lived with us. He had his bachelor pad outback. Uncle John was someone who was always fun. His laugh was contagious. He was playful, but no meant no. I knew that. His eyes sparkled much like my own father’s eyes do. I don’t know if I ever saw him in anything other than a plaid cowboy shirt. The kind of cowboy shirts with snaps in place of buttons that have pockets with triangular closures also snapping closed. He talked slower than those I knew and lived simply. He smelt of Old Spice, cigarette smoke and coffee. Gosh, I smell him now even as I type.
I have not seen him since I was a preteen. Funny, as I think about him often. You just never know the people who will leave an impression on your life. And you never know if you are a person who has left an impression. Well, he definitely left an imprint on me. I sure loved my Uncle John.
I remember being in our family room. I was sitting on the couch with me on one side of him and my brother Jake on the other. We were playing and goofing around. He hugged us both real tight. He scooped us up and sat us each on a knee. He said, “Did you know your Dad is a rich man?” Jake and I perk up. “He is?!” I exclaimed. “Yep, he is the richest man I know!” Uncle John said smiling back at us. Jake asks, “Does he have a million dollars?” Uncle John nuzzled on him and said, “Nope. Well, not that I know of!” He looked at me and then back to Jake and said, “He is the richest man I know because he has your Mama, you, your sister and your brother.” I think he could tell he stumped us. “A wealthy man has money, but a rich man has love. And your Dad is the richest man I know. He has all of you!”
Over the years this memory has resurfaced. I don’t know what triggers it, but it comes back again-and-again. I always knew it was a lovely thought, but until I had my own family didn’t understand its depth and true worth. I am glad I am in the family as it looks like the family tree of riches is in bloom, yet again. I am one of the richest women I know… I won't even be modest: boys, we are rolling in it!
My wish for you two boys is the tree blooms for you as men. The harvest will feed your spirit your entire lives. The fruit of love is wonderful.
My family lived on Donald Street in Oregon City, which was fortunately a great place to grow up- city, street and all. Unfortunately, it our house was pained Pepto-Bismol pink (by choice!). I would not joke about this, boys. There are some things even this Mama cannot imagine… we lived in a pink house. Anyway, for a period of time my Dad’s brother John lived with us. He had his bachelor pad outback. Uncle John was someone who was always fun. His laugh was contagious. He was playful, but no meant no. I knew that. His eyes sparkled much like my own father’s eyes do. I don’t know if I ever saw him in anything other than a plaid cowboy shirt. The kind of cowboy shirts with snaps in place of buttons that have pockets with triangular closures also snapping closed. He talked slower than those I knew and lived simply. He smelt of Old Spice, cigarette smoke and coffee. Gosh, I smell him now even as I type.
I have not seen him since I was a preteen. Funny, as I think about him often. You just never know the people who will leave an impression on your life. And you never know if you are a person who has left an impression. Well, he definitely left an imprint on me. I sure loved my Uncle John.
I remember being in our family room. I was sitting on the couch with me on one side of him and my brother Jake on the other. We were playing and goofing around. He hugged us both real tight. He scooped us up and sat us each on a knee. He said, “Did you know your Dad is a rich man?” Jake and I perk up. “He is?!” I exclaimed. “Yep, he is the richest man I know!” Uncle John said smiling back at us. Jake asks, “Does he have a million dollars?” Uncle John nuzzled on him and said, “Nope. Well, not that I know of!” He looked at me and then back to Jake and said, “He is the richest man I know because he has your Mama, you, your sister and your brother.” I think he could tell he stumped us. “A wealthy man has money, but a rich man has love. And your Dad is the richest man I know. He has all of you!”
Over the years this memory has resurfaced. I don’t know what triggers it, but it comes back again-and-again. I always knew it was a lovely thought, but until I had my own family didn’t understand its depth and true worth. I am glad I am in the family as it looks like the family tree of riches is in bloom, yet again. I am one of the richest women I know… I won't even be modest: boys, we are rolling in it!
My wish for you two boys is the tree blooms for you as men. The harvest will feed your spirit your entire lives. The fruit of love is wonderful.
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