“Achoo!” Livia sneezes.
“Bless you,” says the mom behind us on the walk to school.
“Oh, that was a fake one,” I counter. “But thank you anyway!”

Liv proceeds to explain, loudly, that her little brother, who is holding her hand, sneezed. In our world—the material one, that is—her left hand holds mine and her right hand dangles in the cold morning air. The mom and son part ways with us, no doubt questioning our sanity.

I wait on the sidewalk until Livia has passed her principal. This is my safety check—passing him surely means she won’t accidentally wander the wrong way and end up at a grocery store instead of her second grade classroom. Even after she’s passed the principal, she slows down while the other kids, more goal-oriented perhaps, are racing to their rooms.

Liv has a rich inner world one might say.

While the majority of children around her are pulling off coats and backpacks, Livia is meandering behind them, deep in imagination. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be in her mind. What is she thinking about? Are her pretend thoughts like the claymation or video bits done on Community? But way more innocent?

The snowman deal originated with me. Because I know my daughter and I know that while she may not be motivated to walk fast in order to get to people school, I do know that she will walk fast if we pretend we are snowmen on our way to snow school. Snow Mama and Snow Girl, to be exact. Apparently there was a Snow Brother in there I didn’t know about.

Pretending to be a Snow Mom for a four minute walk to school is easy stuff. I love that my kid is incredibly creative and hilarious and fun-loving. Sometimes I wonder when she’s going to mature, when she’s going to be more concerned with what her parents and teachers and classmates expect from her. But honestly, I don’t want her to grow up too quickly. Since when does an eight-year-old need to be overly concerned about pleasing others? There are a lot of issues in this world that Livia is not yet prepared for. Today I’m glad she’s eight and full of ideas and images and goodness knows what else exists in her imagination. I pray she can hang on to this gift of hers until adulthood in some sort of way. The world, the “real” one, will be a better place with her creative spirit in it.

It’s a curious sight to see newborn diapers and baby wipes on my office bookshelf, but there it is: we are preparing for our first foray in the world of foster care. People, I am tremendously excited, honored and anxious about what we’re doing and I am certain that I am the most ill-equipped woman for the job. Some of you know how long we’ve been praying for more children and yet, here we are prepping for short-term foster care. We’re going to take in a little one (who is oh-my-goodness-gracious the most charming thing you’ve ever met) and we’re going to hand her off to her forever family after a short time.

Why in the world are we doing this?

Because we think God wants us to do this. We have the space in our house, we have the love to share, we are incredibly blessed. Also, there were people that cuddled and fed and loved Livia in the seven weeks before we adopted her and words can’t express how much their care means to us still. We have the opportunity right now to bridge the gap for another family. So we’re going to do that.

Those who know me understand that I’ve cried over this situation. I’m sure I’ll cry again, and that’s okay, too. Doing what’s right sometimes comes at a cost.

Keep on praying for more kids for my family. I’m grateful.

We usually go to San Francisco sans Liv. ThoughtMatrix throws a holiday party each year, which gives us an excellent excuse to get out of town together minus the kiddo. Holiday party – babysitter = obvious decision to leave Livia behind. Does this make Livia particularly happy? No, and we’ve wanted to show her the city for years, so a quick trip west found her at our sides this year.

She’s been glued to me for five days straight now. All day, every day. Lots of family togetherness. (God bless my home with its individual bedrooms and doors that shut and the television that sits far away in the basement. My extroversion has its limits apparently.)

Enjoy the following images from our trip. The first few are snapped in Jeremy’s office and the rest are taken near the Ferry Building and Fisherman’s Wharf. Are those gorillas doing yoga on the street? Why yes, of course. And why is Livia feeding pigeons in multiple shots? You know Liv, she’s a miniature Dr. Dolittle. I stopped her from actually touching the birds and I managed to put the kibosh on the loud seagull noises she was making, so really, that’s a win in my book. Please note that neither Alcatraz nor rain will distract her from feeding the “poor pigeons.”

Taking care of a child in an incredibly diverse city was an interesting experience. San Francisco became simultaneously more gentle and more graphic. More on that later perhaps.

After seriously examining me this morning while we were cuddling in bed she says,

“You’ve got a hair growing out of your ear.”

Thanks, kid. Thanks a lot.

One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous… He couldn’t know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: “To Harry Potter—the boy who lived!”

I have been waiting so long to read Harry Potter to Livia. It is time! While Jeremy is at a meeting we decided to crack open some play dough and get reading. Or rather, I decided to do this and Livia went along with my plans until…

She was done. And bored again. But Mom wanted to read more. So…

Face paints. Hoo boy, let the good times roll.

This is life with one child in the Tredway household. Harry Potter and play dough and face paints in the span of a two hour meeting on a quiet Sunday morning. You know what also happens with life with one child? Television. I think we set an all-time television-watching-record-of-shame yesterday, so today we’re trying to counter it with something more productive.

**As something of a postscript to my post: Livia would like you to guess what she is in these pictures. The second shot captures her in action.

Lately I’ve been extra anxious about Livia at school. So when you ask me how the new school is going, you might get a blank stare before I cobble together something like, “Oh, it’s good. I’m just trying to figure things out.” I’ve been more shaken by the newness of it all than I’d like to admit. There have been lots of conversations with Jeremy and friends about what Livia needs, how to get it, and why I’m such a mess as I stumble through the process.

I value stability. I value intimately knowing a particular place and understanding how my family fits into it. Once nicely settled, I’m as spontaneous as the next person, but until that point, I’m apparently a bit of a mess. School, and the challenges Livia in particular faces at school, is a battle ground. Sure, the educators and I are on the same side, but it takes awhile to figure it all out.

Enter the Moms in Touch prayer group. Now called, simply, Moms in Prayer.

Yesterday I met with a new set of moms (for this new school we’re now in) and we remembered that our God is FAITHFUL. He is constant, loyal, reliable, steadfast, unwavering, devoted, true and dependable.

Amen. I could end there, with that reminder that my shaky ground isn’t really all that shaky. No, in fact it’s rock solid because Christ is my sure, steady and always-faithful foundation. However, I was struck most by the time of intercessory prayer. Each mom prayed for the woman to her left by reciting the following verses with her child or children’s names in the blank spots. I usually get teary during this part as I have such worry in my own heart that I’m overwhelmed with how much God loves my child. I’m also overwhelmed that someone else would pray so intimately for my child.

We have lots of needs in this house. We have a lot to pray for. But as my husband so gently reminds me, the biggest need our child has is for a loving Savior. And she’s got that, because He has got her. Thank you, God, for caring for my daughter far better than I even know or understand. Thank you for the blessing she is to me.

We all need to be reminded that God is big enough to care for all our needs. Feel free to insert your child’s name—or your own—in the blanks below:

Lord, show _______ that your ways are perfect and your word is flawless. Be _______’s shield as s/he takes refuge in you (2 Samuel 22:31). Let _______’s heart be good soil, that _______ might hear your word, retain it, and persevere to produce a crop of godly character and effectiveness for your kingdom. Don’t let the worries, riches or pleasures of this life choke your word and make it unfruitful in _______’s life. Let his/her roots go down deep, so s/he can stand firm in times of testing (Luke 8:11-15). Do not let _______ merely listen to the word and so be deceived. Let _______ do what it says (James 1:22). Let the word of Christ dwell in _______ richly as _______ and his/her peers teach and admonish one another with gratitude in his/her heart toward God (Colossians 3:16). Make your word a lamp to _______’s feet and a light for _______’s path (Psalm 119:105).

I have homework every afternoon now. Scratch that. Livia has homework, I am the Homework Helper.

The Homework Helper reminds, points, encourages, redirects, corrects and sometimes throws a pencil across the room.

Deep sigh.

I am being sanctified by daily homework. God has given me Livia and he has given her homework, and in doing this he has given me an opportunity to serve him. He is gradually building a Homework Helper who does not throw a pencil across the room but one who tries to take deep breaths, sometimes takes self-imposed time outs (while the actual student takes one, too) and learns to be patient. Make that extra patient. Screw extra patience, this patience he is teaching me is supernatural—I am not capable of it on my own.

As great as I am at second grade homework, I fail at gentle motherhood on a regular basis. My desire to be The Most Awesome Mother Ever isn’t enough here. It doesn’t get me through the frustrations of parenting a child and it certainly doesn’t win me brownie points in heaven. I cannot do this job. But God? He handpicked me for this exact role and he’s working in me to make me a great mom for a great kid.

He gently leads those who have young, he carries them close to his heart.

What a relief.

Sorting through some images this morning, I stopped on this fabulous photo of our little friend Kiah.

I paused for a minute, looked closely at the surrounding images and quickly realized I didn’t shoot it. Livia did. Using my backup camera, she walked through the Pioneers Park Nature Center capturing images that were interesting to her. Sweet and fun four-year-old Kiah qualified. This is a proud photographer-mama moment for me, peeps.

While Liv was clearly showing genius levels** of photography skills, I was doing my own thing. She captured me at work as well.

**If you know me well, you know that I’m bragging on my kid in good fun. We’re faced with lots of behavioral challenges lately and it’s a joy for me to see Livia do something well. This one pic turned out well. The others, not so much. ;)

Jeremy moved from Columbus, Nebraska, to Lincoln for second grade. I moved from Augusta, Georgia, to Fresno, California, halfway through second. And Livia Raine continues the tradition by moving across town at the start of her second grade year.

I’d argue she has the easiest transition of all. And yet, as her mother who knows how hard transitions are for her, I am grateful for a small move rather than a big one.

Last night we took our first steps through Livia’s new school and the differences between two elementary schools in the same city were pretty obvious to me (though I don’t think Livia noticed them much).

Size. This school is big, almost 200 more students than the last one. Parents and children were flooding into the halls and, as another mom pointed out to me, moms and dads were in attendance.

Color. There was a lot of white goin’ on last night. Liv would say peach, or pink if you’re talking about her dad. The rest of us see it as white. White white white. Now, I like white people just fine but this change is the hardest one for me. And yes, I know it’s not even *my* school so whatever. Our last school was such a mix of ethnic backgrounds—it was rich in that sense—and this new place is quite homogenous. I’ll adjust to it eventually, but you can bet I’ll be on the lookout for diversity in the meantime.

Parents. Parental involvement in this new school is huge. Everywhere I turned last night I was confronted with a sign-up sheet for something. Sign-up for an email list (or three, I really think I signed up in three different places). Sign-up to volunteer in this classroom or that. Sign-up for fall conferences. And spring. And here’s a sticky note for a reminder because goodness knows you won’t remember that spring conference date once you leave the room. I’ve heard the PTO is really active (which scares me a little) and I’ve been given notice that fundraising here is alive and well. Friends, you’ve been warned. Come to me—I mean LIVIA, cough cough—for all your wrapping paper needs this fall. We’ll hook you up.

No matter where you go, some things are the same. Academics and school staff. All across this town there are professionals who go to work each day for the sake of you and your kid. I cannot express how much I value the employees of the Lincoln Public School system and how grateful I am for the work they do. Not only did I graduate from LPS (Lincoln Southeast Class of ’96, hello!) but I’ve also had great interactions as a parent with the Early Childhood Intervention folks and the staff of Livia’s first elementary school. I have been surprised time and time again how much these professionals care for my child and how committed they are to her success as a student. One thing is clear to me: we’re all in this together. And I couldn’t be more pleased.

So here we go, diving headfirst into the 2012-2013 school year, training little people to love learning. It doesn’t get better than that.

This child of mine continues to grow and grow and grow and grow. I rub her back at bedtime and marvel that she’s the same person who I laid to bed in a crib eight years ago. Teeny arms and skinny legs have s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d into this child who now wears earrings and is just beginning to primp in front of the mirror. The day has come where my motherly musings on her growth can’t be lightheartedly posted on a public website for all to see. She’s at the beginnings of a new time of life, one that asks for privacy to grow in beauty and strength and individuality.

Lord God, grant us wisdom as we raise this girl to glorify you.