Celebrating when life happens and blogging doesn’t

Dear Cam and Scott

A bunch of regular life stuff has been keeping me out of the blogosphere. But I don’t want anything lost from your archives, so this is to fill you in on what I’ve learnt from the regular life stuff – the laughter and tragedy and honesty and disappointment and Lola-going-to-the-vet and miracles and fear and reaching-our-internet-cap and sadness and hope and endings and beginnings.

Human nature in the bath and the power of honestly being you

Last week you were both in the bath and I came in and there was a swamp on the floor and Scott, you were holding a cup and looking chuffed.

Me (hands on hips): Who did this?

Scott (pointing to yourself, pleading guilty): ’Cott.

I approach for the spanking because pouring water on the floor is a no-warning-first-offence smackable misdemeanour but –

Scott (lighting quick accusatory finger points to – ): Cam!

It’s also hard for grownups to be honest, sometimes. Like, in our cell group we’re sharing our life stories and it can be awkward and sore to go back to some distant bits. But there’s such power in turning around and seeing that the struggles have become flares of grace and that the journey is lit.

I even struggle to be honest with myself in regular life stuff like redecorating the lounge and worrying what others will think because maybe I don’t have any style. But just maybe I should back myself a bit and do what I think is beautiful because our home is a place of peace where Christ is King and I can trust that God will use it as a refuge from the crazy world for us and for those he brings to the door.

Sometimes-people-just-don’t-want-to-play-with-you-anymore and other shattered dreams

There’s a boy in your class, Cam, who is mean to you. He pulls your shirt and runs away and won’t play with you and for some reason you desperately want to be his friend. You’re sad and you ask me, ‘Why won’t he become un-mean?’ We’ve tried to draw the hurt from your heart and to equip you with super-grownup social coping mechanisms and mostly we pray and pray for God to surround you with some mighty little schoolmates in years coming. But vasbyt for now, my brave man. You are growing in all sorts of miraculous ways.

When you were born, Cam, something weird happened to my heart. I could suddenly rush into other people’s pain too quickly, too easily. Sometimes I battle to disentangle and get on with living. That’s also been part of the regular life stuff that has kind of overwhelmed my creative impulse. Like, in just a few weeks I’ve seen too many casualties with bleeding wounds from dream shrapnel. Some push you away when you try to stitch them up. Some can’t stop parts of themselves dying forever. Some are trying to grieve dead dreams and all I can offer are dead words that don’t help.

The art of untwisting a sleeping bag and other reasons to go camping with kids

We camped with the Lenhards and Le Roux at Sondela over the half-term. For me, camping was always the thrill of fires under the stars and roughing it with ground sheets and gas. But camping with kids brings a whole range of… fresh experiences. Like splinters and a lot of dirt and tantrums at the pool and not being able to find anything despite regimental packing procedures. The gearing-up-to-go and hosing-down-at-home wedges of the weekend’s pie chart were ridiculously too big. But from a gung-ho parenting perspective, it was justifiably worth it. Because discovering tent pegs and termites is part of living a rich life. Plus, we all had a good time. You played bike-bike and iPad-iPad with Abi and Jo-Jo. Scott, you fell asleep asking for ‘Animals!’, and ‘Animals!’ was the first word out when you woke. Cam, you spent dizzying hours of bliss in the pool, confidence and colour freckling your cheeks. As for us grownups: when you’re doing life together, conversations over rooibos in the rain sometimes beat cappuccinos in the city.

Salads and selflessness

Our priceless friend Pam – intrepid Zimbo with bits of her heart on various continents – came to stay this week. She reminded us that it’s a privilege to live in the country of your birth and that there is real trauma in being part of a displaced generation and that every salad needs fresh lemon juice and basil and that life is hard and choices are harder but we serve a God of hope. I was proud of you both because you (mostly) behaved like gentlemen and you loved Pam and included her in your Lego and your home-space, both of which you protect quite fiercely. (You also broke her Kindle cover. Not so great.) Pam took over my kitchen – oh happy day! – and there was bottomless tea for us and whoever rang the doorbell. She was also infinitely patient in the face of unremitting questioning (Cam) and a raucous dawn routine (Scott).

That’s about it. I’m celebrating how regular life stuff is happening today. Cam and Dad are riding bikes in the cul-de-sac and Scott is watching Noddy. Earlier, you guys destroyed the playroom (in a good way). Cam, your current imaginary passion is scuba diving. Scott, you’re into puzzles, and running, and hugging, and Lola. I guess, as regular life stuff happens, there’s God’s glory in planting our gardens and working for the peace and prosperity of the city (Jeremiah 29:4-14).

Thanks for so many cheek kisses these past weeks.

All my love

Mom

xx

 All eight cuzzies... How rich you both are!

 I was getting your supper ready and came back to find Cam hiding under the tablecloth :)

 Maestros jamming...

 Cam did a seriously good job of this wall!

Jo-Jo and her stokies

 Marc, Bernd, Murray

 Reba and her girls

 Our experiment with white roses and food colouring...

Pam and her biggest fans

 Last day of Matrics 2012

My crazy wonderful colleagues

Of trail running, naked painting, decision making and other climate conditions

Dear Cam and Scott

Here’s a synopsis of this week’s weather on the outside and the inside of our lives.

Outside:

It’s October and glorious. Most afternoons you’re wallowing lukewarm in the lid of the sandpit or riding bikes or we’re playing spaceship on beds upstairs or your cousins are here and you’re best friends / fighting / best friends. You’ve had an amazing run of health, though now you have colds. Scott, you’re only waking up once or twice every night so I feel brand new in the mornings and I suspect that sections of my brain may even regain life. You are totally loving the idea of undies though the actual concept of potty training still largely eludes you. You have also been experimenting with artistic expression and nakedness.

 

Baby Mia is very sick. She struggles to breathe because her trachea doesn’t look like most other tracheas. Uncle Lampies and Aunty Joey are very tired. They haven’t slept in, like, five months. Mia is in hospital and it looks like she’s going to be ok but things won’t be easy for quite some time. I’ve learned not to say to people, ‘I know what you’re going through.’ But Cam, it comes back to me in splinters of fear – that feeling when they wheeled you into theatre and we didn’t know the answers to the if-what-when-how questions that rose hot and desperate or echoed cold and empty. So I can relate a little to their pain, which I guess has been an outside and an inside thing. We are praying and praying and praying.

On Sunday morning Dad and I did a trail run. (I did more of a trail walk with intermittent bursts of running. Sort of.) It was a splendid respite – bush veld, boulders, blistering mountain slopes and always the river. Then home for quiet croissants, coffee and the stiffness seeping in. You guys went to The Hill church with Aunty Coral and Meags. Cam, you told us about how ‘the guy’ prayed for a girl who’d had a shark attack and that we should keep praying for her, too.

Inside:

Some high pressure systems developing over the interior.

We’re learning about decision making – about watching and waiting and leaning hard into God to guide and sustain us. About not making decisions until we’ve turned on the industrial heart-cleaning hoses – scrubbing out guilt with confession, anger with forgiveness, greed with generosity, jealousy with celebration. You’ve also been learning about this stuff. Cam, every day I ask you about your heart: Anyone make you mad at school? Anything frustrating you? Did something happen to make you sad? We talk about having cockroaches in your heart (bad stuff) or marshmallows (good stuff) – an idea we’ve borrowed from Toby. The other day you said, ‘I don’t feel cockroaches or marshmallows. I don’t feel anything in my heart. Just love.’

We’re learning about how having the courage to be vulnerable – to take the first step, to break the silence, to share our story – cracks open the stories of others and there’s trust and the freedom to be defenceless.

Lastly I feel I should say to you that friendships are going to be a big chunk of your life’s purpose. From the day we knew we were expecting each of you, one of the five things we’ve prayed for you every day has been for your marriage partners and your friends.

I’m praying for you that you would know when to let go of friendships, and say, ‘It’s chilled,’ and when to clutch friendships and breathe life into them. Trust God to make divine appointments for you. Let him be in charge of path-crossings and gut-feelings and I-just-know-I-need-to-pray-for-you conversations. Ask him to protect your old friendships and grow your new ones.

I have to fight the urge to box people and label the lid. Try not to be like me. It’s frustrating and impossible, anyway, to categorise humans. We’re too messy.

I pray that God would give you peace when you’re excluded. And patience when you’re included against your will. I pray that you would live with it’s-not-about-me perspective and that you’d just try to be Jesus to your friends. They are gifts from him.

I’m guessing you guys are going to be hyper sensitive, like both me and Dad. I see it in you already. This is an incredible strength but it can be a debilitating weakness. Pray that God would help you to channel your sensitivity into discernment to speak hope into people’s worlds. Pray against taking everything personally. It will sap your strength and resolve – annihilate your confidence. Always remember you can’t possibly know what’s happened in someone’s day-week-lifetime that has brought them to a point of abrupt discourtesy or some other offensive response. Be grace. Decide to be a happy, uncomplicated friend.

So, it’s partly cloudy and warm, mostly. Scattered showers here and there, which is lovely, actually. Eternal forecast: blue skies.

All my love

Mom

xx

 The Action Bible with Dad

Your gardening things were a birthday present from your cuzzies

 Waiting for Dad to get home

Putting out fires...

Seven haikus about a birthday

Today is the day

I first breathed two years ago:

God has plans for me.

My teacher hugs me –

There’s a big loving fuss and

We eat cupcakes – yum.

Mom’s big College boys

Sing to me but it’s too loud –

I hide my face – cry.

So many love me:

I have prezzies and cuzzies –

Smiles and warm fuzzies.

Despite drizzle they

Party! Sing! I cry (again) –

Too much attention.

We go for a spin –

Wind in my face I’m laughing –

Life has just begun.

Sunday morning sun

And my party aftermath –

I play quietly.

The turning tide of turning two

My baby,

This week you will be two.

I’m treasuring all the baby things about you even as they slip out with the tide of your infancy. Every nappy I change. Every wide-awake night because actually I love your patter down the passage with your green blankie and your back-to-back sleepy snuggling in our bed and your ‘Where’s Dad?’ when you realise he’s not in the bed anymore because your kicking has kept him awake and he has opted for the bunk bed and Eeyore (who doesn’t kick).

I treasure how you bury your face drowsy-quiet-shy in my neck because I am your safe place. I treasure how you exasperate me with your uncontrollable running-laughing-naughtiness because you are my wild freedom. I treasure how you wake up early like me and how you look at me with Dad’s eyes and how you laugh when Noddy gets knocked over by the skittles. I treasure how you hug Cammy after your sleep and how your brother-bond grows tighter every time you mimic his (questionable) table manners.

Standing on this wet metaphorical sand with less and less of your baby-ness washing over my feet I can hardly remember me before you. You’ve made me feel completely me because of how completely you are you.

You might be interested one day to know what this turning tide was washing up on the world’s shores, the week you turned two. America is two months away from a presidential election. The Pope is urging Arab leaders to work for peace in the Middle East. There’s violence on the mines around Rustenburg. Yesterday the Springboks lost to the All Blacks. Quite possibly the waves will be washing up the same stuff twenty years from now.

As for us:

This evening God made the most incredible sunset. It rained through late orange smudgy light. Then the rain stopped and the sun was dusky translucence through bright wet fresh air. We ate supper early and the candlelight matched the sky. You were grumpy because you wanted to bath but there was still pretty much perfect peace.

I’ve just started my last term at St Alban’s College and I’m up-and-down with happy-sad dreams and tears as I watch for the bright buds of a new season full of goodbyes.

Your strong brave Dad works too hard, loves you unimaginably, makes me laugh every day, feels things more deeply than most, and today finished waterproofing the roof.

Cam is the best big brother in the universe. Here are some things he asked me this week:

‘How do my words come out of my mouth in my voice?’

‘How does God make pepper?’

‘As a special treat, can I get Scott a set of jumper cables for his birthday?’

‘Can I make Scott a hot-bubblegum-and-peach pudding?’

He takes ages to finish his food because he doesn’t stop talking. The other night I said, ‘Not a word until you’ve had three more bites!’ A few silent bites later he yelled ecstatically, ‘A word!’ Then he added, ‘Actually I had four bites so now I can say lots of words!’

The tide will turn and keep turning and I don’t know what will wash up on your beaches and what will wash away. There’s so much I want to say – but there will be other birthdays. Tonight, my prayer for you, Scott Gideon Reyburn, my mighty hero, is that you will love Jesus with all your life. That you will be an arrow shot straight to claim Kingdom territory. That God will unwrap his plans for you and use you to touch countless lives. I pray that you would live the words of the song we sing in the car sometimes:

Dare to be a Daniel

Dare to stand alone

Dare to have a purpose firm

Dare to make it known.

All my love,

Mom

xx

 Stories and muffins with Lola and Heather (Aunty 'Nook)

Doctor Cam in his theatre garb. And his red galoshes.

God’s glory in grease, love days and other stories

Sticking to the theme… sort of

Like nerds we’ve been doing a weekly theme with the boys. (Because I need help. When I’ve exhausted all possible playing and climbing and riding options I panic.) It’s pretty random: we’ve had pirates, swimming, tepees, gymnastics, birds, fruit (seeded and of-the-Spirit), and this week, Greece. We mainly picked Greece as an excuse for Murray and me to bask in memories of Skiathos and Naxos, and so that I could make us souvlaki and tzatziki in pita, which the boys weren’t interested in eating. Cam said he’d rather have a fried egg. He told his OT the next day that it counted as food from Greece because the egg was, in fact, quite greasy.

Just the two of us

The boys have been at home with me for most of my August holiday. But one day this week I sent Cam to school and kept Scott home. The next day I sent Scott and kept Cam. I wanted them each to have a special-alone-love day.

Things I’ll treasure:

Scott and I ran errands, played iPad-iPad and went to the park. He picked two Namaqualand daisies. He sniffed them, enraptured. (Well, he blew on them. That’s how he sniffs things.) He clutched them ‘til they were squashed and sweaty and he wouldn’t relinquish them even at sleep time.

Cam and I built things in the playroom, had Milo at the Wimpy and read The Enchanted Wood. We got to the part where they meet Saucepan Man, who doesn’t hear very well. So like, Jo will say, ‘What is that?’ and the Saucepan Man will say, ‘Cat? I don’t see any cat! What cat?’ It goes on like this for chapters. Cam got the serious contagious giggles every time and we laughed so hard we had to stop reading to compose ourselves.

Extra miles and miles and miles

Yesterday we drove miles and miles through busy rainy streets to Prinshof School for the Blind. Two of Cam’s future HCS teachers went miles of extra miles and came with us to look, listen, learn. The people at Prinshof went miles and miles to affirm, suggest, equip. They are so excited that Cam is giving mainstream schooling a try. They want to support us, for miles of altruistic miles. My folks went miles and miles to keep Cam happy on the jungle gyms so that we could talk about the difficult things without him. We visited the preschool class. The teacher and her assistant are going miles and miles to floodlight the black or blurry worlds of the bright lives in their care so that they can go miles and miles, too.

Scott van Gogh

This morning Scott ate his Tennis biscuit into the shape of a pig and then did excellent snort-snort noises. Seriously, I think that’s amazing. It’s like Michelangelo sculpting the Pieta and then doing performance poetry. Just sayin’.

Scared

One rainy afternoon this week we were blanket-burrowing on the couch and Cam suddenly swallowed tears and said:  ‘I’m scared of dying.’ And I thought, I’m scared of messing this up because this is one of those moments he might remember forever and I’m unsuspecting and unprepared and unsophisticated. So I went with my gut which said: Hug… hug. Pray. Talk. Talk some more. Hug. Hope… that perfect love will cast out all fear. (1 John 4:18)

Four more Celebrating Life suggestions

On Friday afternoon the boys were pretending that the jungle gym was hurtling through space. I watered the garden. Cam asked me something about rocket ships and exhaust fumes. Mesmerized by the hose, I took a while to answer. He got frustrated. ‘Mom please answer me! I don’t know everything like you and Jesus!’

Which made me laugh a lot.

I’m so glad I can leave knowing everything to Jesus. Four things I do know for sure:

1.       There are still some free copies of Purposeful Parenting at Bayleaf. Quick!

2.       This is a cool post – about a dad and his daughters.

3.       This might make you cry – from a mom to her sons.

4.       If you’re a Christian woman (or if you’re not – whatever), you should check out the launch issue of Radiant Magazine. Like Esther preparing for the king it’s been a year or so in the making. Now it’s here and worth the wait! I’m honoured (and super chuffed) to be one of the feature writers. This from the editor, Nicole Cameron: ‘Radiant offers everything that traditional glossies do – from thought-provoking features and insight on relevant issues through to fashion, food and décor – with one key difference: it is written from a Christian world view.’

 OT with Aunty Manty

Story time: Scott and his Ma-mee-ra (Maria)

FREE BOOKS if you live near(ish) me

If you like good coffee and you’re an imperfect parent and you live in Pretoria then this Celebrating Life giveaway is for you.

I’d love you to have a copy of the best parenting book I’ve read.

And I’ve read some. The problem with most of them is that they leave me feeling confused or condemned. As in, wooden spoon? No wooden spoon? Or like: What?! You mean you actually used a wooden spoon?

Jaci Mun-Gavin is a friend of a friend. We haven’t met but we’ve chatted briefly on facebook. She’s a qualified robotics engineer and fulltime mom to her six kids. (Yip. Six.)  So, she’s pretty awesome. So is her blog.

Purposeful Parenting is Jaci’s first book. I recently devoured it. It’s like having coffee and a conversation. She (quickly) covers the crucial theory then plunges into practicalities. She is real about the overwhelming challenges of parenting. She is also real about how incredibly God has equipped us. She offers hope and humour, comfort and conviction, encouragement and inspiration. You’ll find yourself affirmed, as in, ‘Cool! I thought I was the only one insisting my kids do that!’ And enthused, as in, ‘What a brilliant idea! Why didn’t we think of that?’

So, go to Bayleaf in Cliffendale Drive. Sit. Relax. Have a cappuccino. Ask for a copy of Purposeful Parenting and it’s yours for free. (Just the book. Not the coffee.) There are 15 copies available. If stocks run dry (or if you’re reading this on another continent), have a cappuccino anyway and get busy ordering it here or here (Kindle).

FYI – there’s nothing in it for me. There’s definitely something in it for you. All I ask is that you pay it forward. Read it then give it to anyone with kids under the age of 10. You’ll be doing the human race a favour.

Enjoy!