Trekster is 2!

Yes, my littlest turned two this month.  My sweet, headstrong, cuddly momma's boy is getting big, and it's kinda sorta doing a number on me.  This has been the longest period of time in our marriage that I have not been pregnant, and we aren't planning on having any more.  Although I'm totally ok with that, it still feels weird knowing I'm entering into a whole new stage in life.  It wasn't my 30th birthday that opened my eyes to this new stage of life...it was this 2nd birthday that made it hit home.

Now, we love to celebrate, but we definitely do not "go big" in the Slay house.  Our parties usually consist of a few friends and our families.  On Trek's actual birth day, we had our neighbor's over for pancakes and bacon.  I mean, that's pretty much the epitome of party food in our house.  Throw some whipped cream in there, and we're in heaven. Their sweet little one is only a few days younger than Trek, so they both blew out candles.

Aren't they the absostinkinlutely cutest things ever?  Trek gets all confused over this whole "blowing" thing.  When he's told to blow into a tissue, he blows through his lips.  When he's told to blow his food or candles, it often comes out the nose.  We're confident he'll get the hang of things one day.  Until then, we'll just eat around the boogers.  Just kidding!

A few days later, we had all our family over to celebrate.  I went all out with $5 in decorations from Wal-mart.  Watch out Pinterest!  Ha.

As usual, there were tons of gifts, and Trek was in total shock.  He went all "Ricky Bobby" and had no clue what to do with his hands.  

Luckily, he had his sister to assist him with the opening of his presents.  

The boy loves his underwear.  He'll change them several times a day even if they're not wet, just so he can run around with a different car or train adorning his hiney.  

Ummmm...or his head.

And, of course, there was cake.  

This was our first time to host anything this large at our new home.  It was so nice to have such great indoor and outdoor space for everyone to hang out and celebrate this sweet boy.  I'm always reminded at our family celebrations just how blessed we are to be surrounded by so many people who love us and our crazy kids.  As we gathered for prayer before supper, I took a mental picture of a truly special image.  Divorce, different last names, differences of opinions...the things that divide so many families were all scattered amongst one another in my kitchen, standing hand in hand, thanking Jesus for this sweet boy who has so sweetly imprinted himself on each one of our hearts.

He has risen...now ain't that sweet?

Today, just before lunch, I decided I would suck it up and brave making an Easter garden with my kids.  I'd been planning to do it all week.  I had lofty ideas of getting a really large, shallow planter and planting herbs in it so we could have it all spring and summer.  I was going to buy moss, find the perfect round stone to use in front of the tomb, and it was going to be a planned, meaningful project.  The garden would grace my front porch for months, and it would be a reminder to me and others of the pain and beauty of Easter.  I was going to photograph my children making it, and the end result was going to be beautiful like the ones I've seen on Pinterest.

I think you can see how this is going to go down...

So, at a quarter till noon on Good Friday, I decided to make this Easter garden.  I dumped the shoes out of the bucket on the back steps, tossed out the dead pitcher plant which was in the only small pot we had, and gathered shovels and twine.  Each kid started out at the dirt pile with a shovel in hand.  One immediately ditched his to play in the rocks, and another stepped in an ant bed and ran off in tears.  Sigh.  So, Eve and I filled the container with dirt, put the small pot for the tomb in, and started scouting the yard for moss, grass, and flowers to add to it.  By this time, Cade's ant emergency was over, and he re-joined us and offered to make the crosses.

I bit my tongue constantly to keep from blurting out "No!  That's not where the rocks go!  Those sticks are too big/small/skinny/curvy for the crosses!  Don't stuff root-less flowers down into the dirt!"  I've learned to stop expecting perfection when creating with my kids, but that doesn't seem to stop the thoughts from rolling through my head.

Finally, it was done.

Oh, no.  The handle is in a wonky position.  The brick beside the tomb is way too bulky, and you can totally see the inside of the bright yellow flower pot.  All of the flowers are weeds dug up/snatched up from the yard, and all of this is probably doing to die before Sunday.  This was not at all what I'd envisioned.  

Shhhhhh.....I told my brain.  I ran to grab my camera, and when I came back, that's when this little thrown together garden flipped my day upside down.  

My kids were picking leaves off bushes, adding sticks, picking more flowers and adding them to the garden.

I asked Eve what she was doing, and she said she was making it pretty for Jesus.  I closed my mouth and watched...and listened.  

She and Cade rolled the stone back and forth.  They continued to forage for things to add, and they cut out paper people to put at the feet of the cross and in the tomb.  They talked.  They recounted the entire week leading up to the crucifixion.  Eve talked about the nails going into his hands, and even found the significance of the railroad spike we found in the dirt we used for our garden (I mean, how awesome is that?).  I stopped shooting for a moment, and sat on the porch swing, still listening to their conversation.  Then, just as Eve "perfected" the garden, she clasped her hands, and proclaimed to the "ladies" at the foot of the cross "Jesus is dying now, but don't worry because HE HAS RISEN...now ain't that sweet?"  

Ya'll, I just about jumped off the swing and shouted "Amen!"

It was then that I was reminded that something doesn't have to be pretty to preach.  

Broken lives. Open ears.  Time.  Willing hands.  Sharing loads.  Tears.  The unadulterated Word. 

They preach.

The cross was raw.  Pretty much as raw as it gets.  The gut-wrenching pain, blood, cries...it wasn't pretty.  It wasn't comfortable, and it sure as heck wasn't Pinterest-worthy.

Then I heard Cade say something that brought on the tears.  "Eve, if you keep trying to make it pretty, you're just going to cover up the cross and the tomb where we can't see it."  

                                                       

Gulp.  This one made my stomach clench.

I can't even count the number of times I've tried to dress up the cross.  Make Jesus more attractive.  I've often gotten wrapped up in the lie that I need to portray an exciting and obliging Jesus.  To reach them, Jesus needs to be cool and relevant.  

Y'all, Jesus...the raw Jesus from the bible... is irresistible.  

Love.  Sacrifice.  Servanthood.  Honesty.  Simplicity.  Humility.  Passion.  I don't know a single person who doesn't desire and isn't drawn in by these traits.

So, this Easter, I want to encourage you to focus on raw Jesus.  Not the dressed up Jesus that has turned so many away from Christianity.  Look past the faces that have nudged you further away from Him throughout the years, and look to the face that's battered and bloody.  It's not pretty or fancy.  It isn't cluttered.  Those rivulets of blood trailing down that dirty, battered skin speak a clear, pure message that is irresistible.  

The top 5 things I should never be without...

I have dozens of photos to share and a couple of other posts in my brain, but I thought this one was urgent.  In the last 24 hours, I've come to realize there are a few essential items I (and likely you) should never be without.

1. Parchment Paper.  I'd rather just go without the brownies or roasted broccoli if I don't have it.  It's a beautiful, over-priced, but oh-so-worth it roll of magical paper.  Shell out the three and a half bucks, bake some brownies, and cry with sheer joy when you can lift them out as an in-tact square to slice while they're still warm and gooey.  Then, stare in awe at your spotless brownie pan.  You're welcome.
2. A full change of clothes for each of my children in my van at all times.  Whether it's impromptu stays at the grandparents, an unplanned stop at a splash pad, or an epic car sickness episode, I should be prepared AT ALL TIMES.  I'm typing this as I'm trying desperately to rid my nostrils of the smell of vomit.  Trust me.  Pack the dang clothes.  If you don't, your child will puke as you are paying for food in the drive-thru.  Then, he will have a heart wrenching melt-down about the fact that he's in a t-shirt and underwear with no clean shorts and he will have to forego the planned picnic with dad on his dinner break at work.  Consequently, you will  make your puke-covered child hide in the floorboard and swear not to move an inch as you grab the other two kids and hustle into absurdly over-priced children's boutique at the mall where daddy works.  Then, you will spend a nauseating sum on BOXERS for the near naked child who is huddled in the van floorboard because there are no shorts in the store cheaper than the meal you just purchased to feed your family of five.  It will all be kinda ok in the end, though, because the vomit victim will enjoy a lovely supper outdoors with his dad.  
3. An arsenal of baby wipes, paper towels, cleaner, garbage bags and Febreze....in my van at all times.  I think the above scenario explains why this is necessary, but I will add that these items are even more necessary when the child, who is now sporting the designer boutique boxers, pukes up his entire lovely dinner just five minutes from the house.  Two...count them...two car sickness episodes between 6:06 p.m. and 8:03 p.m.  Blech.
4. A device that reads my 2-year-old's mind.  Now, I realize this thing probably isn't even in existence, but I'm gonna pretend it is.  If I could just have a little insight as to why my child would rather squat and urinate in a ceramic egg in the middle of the living room floor rather than a toilet, I would be golden.  It also would've been nice to know where he'd placed my embroidery presser foot before I had to find it 24 hours later (tonight) after I contorted myself to rescue the box of garbage bags he'd wedged behind my sewing cabinet.  When I text my husband and let him know I'd found the presser foot while gathering supplies to clean up the frat house party off the back seat of my van, he called it a blessing in disguise.  I don't find anything bless'ed about puke.  Next time, I'd rather my blessing be disguised in a brownie.
5. Coffee.  Especially since I now live in a land dry of good drive through coffee.  No Seattle Drip.  No Cups.  Heck, some days I'd even brave the equivalent of the Maywood Mart parking lot and walk into (gasp) a Starbucks if only there was one here in Canton.  Nope.  If I run out of coffee, I must go to the Dollar General Market, which carries Dunkin' Donuts coffee, or Wal-Mart which has DD and Starbuck's, purchase a bag of coffee, then return home and brew it myself.  Tragic, I know.  But, for a girl who regularly filled a Seattle Drip punch card, this has been an adjustment.  Now, I buy coffee every time I'm at the store...whether I have a full bag at home or not.  I.  Will.  Be.  Prepared.  

I'm quite aware of the "first worldness" of this post.  I smell like puke, and I'm a really tired, semi-delirious momma who needed to laugh at herself tonight.  I know some other momma out there gets it and got a good laugh, too.  

Solidarity, gals.  Solidarity.