And yes, I can figure out how to make anything into a tribute to him. Neener.

Today’s Photohunt Theme is “Four”

A Braden burrito, one hand sticking out
Just four days old… fuzzy head, little pout
Sleeping so soundly, a thief in the night
Stealing our hearts while we put up no fight

After four weeks of learning, he pursed his lips well
And our stolen hearts continued to swell
Just beginning the journey of parenthood
Much already learned, much still not understood

In four short months time it became very clear
Nothing else had ever been so very dear
Or so frustrating right in the very same minute
Your patience is tested and pushed to the limit!

We have not yet gotten to the next four in line
only half-way there, but there’s plenty of time
No need to rush things or hope time would move fast
I’d rather cling and make each moment last

But by now we’ve learned that it never ends
The journey of parents just stretches and bends
Every challenge is met, then a new one appears
Little victories fade, and there will be new tears

But for every moment that passes a new wonder is born
Your spirit is lifted even as it is torn
The child will bring joy, laughter and mirth
To each piece of your life, every day after birth.

For all the fours had so far
And those still to come
I am blessed and happy
That he is my son.

Space: In terms of family, it’s just a myth.

Today’s Photohunt Theme is “Space”

No matter how much space you have between you and the family members you grew up with, they can reach out and slap you as easily as if they were just whispering in your ear a moment ago.

It’s not just the fact that we are so connected nowadays, though that is what enables it.  But the slap is sharp and quick because they hold a part of you.

No matter how far away from you they are, no matter how long it has been since you have spoken or seen one another, they have the ammunition to bring you to your knees.

They know things that no one else knows.  They are always the quickest to offense and the most equipped to pull you down… and why is it that they always seem to opt to exercise that power when you’re finally lifting your head above your own sordid bullshit?

Many of us have stories that fall into this zone, this space of feeling and emotion.

Sometimes, I just want to stop hearing the ones that play over and over in my head. And I’d like to stop adding new ones to the list.

And if you could successfully edit the reel of memories that plays back inside of you from the past… would you even want to?

Can we appreciate the good times if we don’t have the bad times?

This double edged sword of emotions is piercing my heart today.

Just for a moment.

Sometimes you have to give in.  Sometimes you have to reach out.  Sometimes?  You have to do something just because your soul said, “Please, can we do this?”

Yesterday, we drove south for over an hour, on a whim, with a 15 month old in the back seat, just to look at something.  Just to touch it for a few minutes.  It was a Colonial home that was built circa 1900, on 10 acres.  We drove south for over an hour, with baby snacks and juice and diapers and songs like “ABC” and “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” because it’s for sale, and my heart ached to see it in person.  Ached to stand on that old front porch. 

John humors me like that because he loves me.

I was so at home standing next to the bubbling creek on the property… looking out over the rolling hills into the blue sky… with nothing commercial for miles and miles and miles.  Just trees, bare of leaves.  For now.  But my mind’s eye could see their summer coats of shiny, green leaves, waving in the breeze. 

Grass under my feet… I could imagine the stark contrast of the white stars against the black night sky that would happen on that spot in hours time.  If I closed my eyes, I could see the garden I would plant on the acreage.  I could hear my son playing and splashing in the pond, with a big dog that we’d have. 

I wonder if John could hear the creak of the tire swing hanging from the tree in the front yard?  Or see me sitting under the shade of the magnolia tree around back, reading a book, as the tree burst with fragrant white blossoms over my head.  Maybe he could hear the birds singing, like I could.  Maybe he was lost in that moment, too?

I guess sometimes you have to let your heart dream so hard that you let it drag you for miles and miles just to touch something with your own hands, just for a moment, even if it means your dream will fall and break at your feet.

We decided that it’s just too far away from the town we need to be close to.   

So we drove all the way home again. 

Between the Colonial and our (rented) home we talked about desire and life and money and old age.  We touched on needs and hopes and the dreaded Practicality and Responsibility. 

We breathed in life, we breathed out patience.

Braden screamed and fussed… he laughed, sang, and talked.  He bucked, thrashed and complained, and at one point, he peed all over me. 

Then we drove the rest of the way home, and I had cold piss all over the side of my shirt. 

But I was happy.

When we got home, Braden ran all over the living room wearing nothing but a shirt and socks, laughing and screaming. 

With stars in our eyes, we watched him run to the curtains and twirl himself up in them over and over again, giggling madly as he fell to the floor, then jumping up to do it all over again.

We breathed in life, we breathed out love.  And it felt just right.

It was a great day.