For Livia Day—our annual celebration of adopting Livia—we do something as a family. Though our girl really loves getting presents, we’re thoroughly presented out by the time June 26 rolls around and boy am I glad we mark the occasion with activities instead of things. This year, after hearing Liv ask to light a fire multiple times, we opted to roast s’mores on Livia Day. Nothing says crazy new neighbors quite like a fire in almost 100 degree heat. Our daughter, however, loved it. She’s become a professional s’more maker after Camp Sonshine, though in all honesty, it’s best to stand at least five feet back when she’s holding an 18 inch metal skewer with a flaming marshmallow on the end.
Lessons learned while making s’mores with our eight year old:
- We can be too uptight and controlling. Liv didn’t fall into the fire nor did she burn anything. We’re learning to let her do more things on her own. Sometimes parenting isn’t about what you say, it’s about keeping your mouth shut.
- Marshmallow and chocolate wash out of fabric. They stain it, too. Who cares. Life is short!
- Two marshmallows combined with a few small squares of chocolate in between a broken graham cracker is one marshmallow too many. (Pass the Tums.)
- The fire pit should be moved off the patio area and into the open yard. Yeah, that seems obvious. Nothing caught on fire that shouldn’t have, so all’s well that ends well.
Some people call it “Gotcha Day”, but we call June 26 “Livia Day.” We became a family of three on June 26, 2004, when one Livia Raine Melissa Tredway was given to us. It was a crazy and beautiful and absolutely remarkable time and we love to celebrate the memory of it. Today is a day of thanksgiving and praise to the God who made us and brought us together.
Photo: Livia on crazy hair day at Camp Sonshine last week.
My brain is gradually readjusting to the new house and the new season. I have traded the luxury of quiet mornings—journaling, bible reading, book reading, blog reading—with the luxury of summertime parenting. I’m sure I have thoughts to share, but honestly, right now I don’t know what those would be. And if I started considering something of consequence to say (maybe in a journal, maybe here) I’d hear a young voice calling out for me.
I kid you not, just as I was composing that last sentence I heard, “Can I have an ice cream, Mom?”
I am blessed beyond belief. We’ve had lots of transitional moments with Livia lately (that’s code for full-on crying fits, sometimes in public locations). Though Jeremy and I are far from perfect and aren’t always the patient parents we’d like to be, at the end of the day we understand how incredibly blessed we are.
So in the newness, as my brain does some adjusting, I am grateful to witness God’s goodness and faithfulness to us. We are humbled by His gifts.
The house is in planned turmoil around me. Open boxes, closed boxes, boxes that were taped and then cut open because we still needed a plate to use in the microwave, dog toys scattered on the ground among a pair of small pink and green flip flops, clean laundry stacked in the corner, an LED lantern casually hanging out on the antique sewing machine. If only I was Mary Poppins and could cast a spell that would encourage each disparate piece to load itself in a moving box at the right moment!
Details clutter my mind as much as objects clutter my sight lines. Appointments for signing paperwork with lenders and title companies. Final walkthroughs and key exchanges. Doing something with the dog so he doesn’t get lost in the shuffle—and feeling so glad this something involves grooming for my little mop-like stinker. The schedule of the final days rolls through my mind and off my tongue as Jeremy and I confer in front of the calendar. Cross off that time, reschedule for another and trust that everything will actually truly really get accomplished when it should.
And then there’s nostalgia that overwhelms at various moments. It usually sits somewhere underneath the physical and mental pieces but every so often it sweeps up and sends a cloud of gratitude and anxiety over all else. How gratitude and anxiety can both rise up, I don’t know. But really, I am incredibly grateful for the rich blessings God has showered on us in this house. I mean, I’ve lived next door to friends for a decade now. (There was that brief period of unrest, but let’s not rehash all that.) Moving to a new neighborhood means saying goodbye in a very specific way to the Moreheads, who have become something more like family than just friends over the years. We’ve relied on them more times than I can count and they have been faithful to us. I’ve seen Renae’s tummy grow with each delightful child and then I’ve been able to love each of them and marvel over whether they’ve got Renae’s or Jason’s eyes. (I’m please that all have Renae’s pouty lip.) The anxiety steps up when I don’t trust that God knows what we need in new neighbors and wonder if they new folks will like us. Moving insecurity? Oh yes, it’s in there, too.
I’ve loved our neighbors, and our walks through and beyond the park, and our life in close proximity to church (our chief reason for moving here in the first place), and our ability to walk downtown so easily. It’s been a good ten and a half years.
Livia (age 8) and her buds Simon (age 4) and Ian (age 2) have been playing really well together. Gone are the power struggles between firstborns that we used to see a year ago and instead they’ve been doing all the classic neighborhood kid games together. Yes, they are doing this right before we move to a new neighborhood, so it’s bittersweet, but still we’re all glad that our kids are greatly enjoying each other.
On Saturday the kids had free reign over our hose and a deep bucket. They entertained themselves for hours on end and charmed my socks off when they asked for crayons and white paper to make signs for washing other people’s clothes in order to make money. It was a creative move, I’ll give them that. Some soap ended up in the large bucket—they washed Liv’s scooter and some of her clothing instead—and we think it hastened the death of a poor bird later that afternoon. I reached in the bucket to grab what I believed was the last piece of clothing and grabbed feathers instead. But don’t think about that any longer; enjoy some kid pics instead!
World, this is my nephew Tafari. He is unbelievably precious and adorable and wonderful and delightfully drooly and I love him with great love. He has a dimple. I’ll show it to you soon.
Happy birthday to my big kid! Dad and I love you like crazy, Liv. We are so proud of you and are thrilled to get to celebrate you today.
… Age 7
… Age 6
… Age 5
… Age 4
… Age 3
… Age 2
… Age 1
… Obligatory cute baby pics
When the sun starts to dip towards the western horizon its rays filter through the trees in the park across the street. It is the most beautiful and magical moment of the day for me. Long trunk shadows reach across the grass, little dandelion puffs become nature’s own disco balls. All of creation worships the One who made it.
I’ve been blessed by this view for ten and a half years now. A new view awaits me next month, one that involves cottonwoods that rustle gently in the evening breezes.
For those who are interested in such things, my own little creative space on the world wide web will remain the View from the Prairie Box. The title has become as much a part of me as my own name, and really, fields of corn and prairie grasses are never too far away when you live in this city. The Box itself will change in order to accommodate a growing family with growing needs. Oh goodness, changes are afoot. I’m a girl who enjoys routine and the safety of a known life, but God is calling us to something new and different. Here we go.
As much as I’ve adored Canon over the years, I’m turning Nikon. It’s not hard to love Nikon when I’m shooting with a fabulous new-to-me Nikon D2x. The sharpness and clarity of the images pleases me to no end. It makes shooting springy pics like hostas rising from the soil and mulch that much more enjoyable.
See that guy working in the yard? Yeah, he’s mine. Te amo, Jeremy Tredway!
Today was a fabulous Saturday of sunshine and fresh air and good old-fashioned family togetherness. It felt like everything was crying out with thankfulness that God created them—the brilliant and teeny yellow daffodils, the redbud and plum trees that are beginning to bloom, the grass that’s turning bright green, and of course, us, the humans who get to luxuriate in such grandeur.
