The getting there thing

I mentioned in this post that we're planning a trip to Mexico next Spring.

That won't, however, be Will's first time on an airplane.

That's happening tomorrow, when we head to California for Thanksgiving. No passport needed, although that was the joke during our wedding festivities. I supposedly told my pastor: "My fiancé is from California, but don't worry, he's a good guy." I don't remember saying it, but I'm not surprised I did. California to me was another planet. Now I know you don't need a passport, just an appetite for some amazing food and your camera for some beautiful sights. I love California, and especially the Thomsens and Johnsons there!

Will's going to love it, too.

There's just one little thing between us and sunny CA that worries me.

The getting there thing.

How a one-year-old boy survives a six-hour flight across the country is a wonder to me.

All I can think is:

May he find the iPad interesting beyond a noise maker to bang against the tray table.
May he hearken back to eight weeks old and take a nap in my lap.
May we sit next to a mom who raised triplets.
May I have enough M&Ms to last until touchdown.
May little ears not pop, may little eyes be occupied, may little legs hang still.
If there are tears, let them be few.
If there are bumps, let them not startle.
If there are delays, let them prolong good naps.

May His mercy surround us as we trust in Him (Psalm 32:10).

I'll be away from the blog until December, flying to California, enjoying family, and celebrating the virtue that puts life in perspective.

Ready to go, Mom!

P.S. We signed a contract with a builder yesterday to begin building on the new property. Grateful doesn't even begin to describe it. 

Carolina long spoons

These two pictures are completely unrelated, except that they're both memories that belong on the blog.

Maybe all babies are this way, but Will is obsessed with
 kitchen utensils. I can fill a drawer with toys upon toys, and
still he reaches for the spoons and spatulas. Here he is multitasking.
I'll never look at my drawer of utensils the same way again.

And here's Ryan and Will at Will's first UNC basketball game.
The band, buzzer, people, and lights were enough to keep him
entertained for the first half. I was surprised. A box of popcorn
did the trick the second half. We will not mention the terrible loss
to a no-name team that was Will's first UNC game. I maintain
 that Will is the best thing to happen to the Heels this year (like I said
at Halloween).

Don't you want to go to Mexico?

Ryan has worked so hard that he earned us a vacation to Mexico next April. We decided we don't want to leave Will at the border, so we're in the process of getting him a passport.

First things first, the photo. I read all of the photo requirements on the passport website and decided I better have it taken professionally. So last Monday, Will and I went to the post office for his mug shot. Suffice it to say, our first attempt was a fail. After forty-five minutes of standing in line, getting turned down by several employees when I asked for help, and finally working unsuccessfully with the lady from the mail counter to get a picture of Will, straight on, both ears showing, and a completely white background (which for babies is a white sheet), I decided to just come back another day.

When we got there a few days later on Thursday, the woman who told me on Monday that she was not the passport lady and could not help me get Will's picture was standing behind the passport desk, smiling. By the grace of God, I held it in. This woman held the power to get me out of there, and one step closer to Mexico.


Here's a replay of Thursday:

Me: Do you think we could try leaving him in his stroller and just draping the white sheet over the back of that?
Passport lady: No, why don't you hold him in front of that white backdrop hanging from the wall over there. You get behind it and hold him in front of it.
Me: (getting into requested position) Uh, okay.
Will: (craning his neck to see where mommy went) Yaya, Uh oh, Uh oh.
*Snap*
Lady: Oh, we can see your hands in this picture. We probably need to try another way.
Me: (silently) Um yeah. You told me to hold him. Of course you can see my hands.
Me: Want to try the stroller?
Lady: No, let's have you drape this white sheet over your head and hold him that way.
Me: (getting into requested position) Uh, okay.
Will: (craning his neck to see where mommy went) Yayaya, yayaya, Uh Oh.
Lady: Will, look over here, look over here.
*Snap*
Lady: Yeah, that's not good either.
Me: How about the stroller?
Lady: Okay, let's try the stroller. It probably won't work, but let's try it.
Will: (with increasing loudness) Yayayaya, yayaya, Uh oh. Uh oh!
Me: (reaching in my bag for the big guns: the M&Ms) Here you go, Will. Here's an M&M.
Will: (louder still) Yayayaya, Uh oh, Uh oh Uh oh!
Me: (leaning over the lady, jiggling my bag of M&Ms above the camera) Will, look at the lady. Look at the lady. Don't you want to go to Mexico?
*Snap*
Lady: Yes, this one will do.
Me: (silently) I told you so.
Me: Oh good. Thank you so much for your help.

And the end result:

Only his mama knows that's his "I'm-eating-an-M&M face"
 

Just for fun, here's failed attempt #1. (Passport lady didn't let me keep failed attempt #2).

Step one to Mexico: Get Will's passport photo.

Check!

Where there's a Will, there's a way

 

 

 

 

If only the car seat was as fun in the car as it is in the house!



Tender mercies

I've come to the conclusion that I'm not very good at being an adult. Be it the COBRA medical insurance that I forgot to pay and so it dropped, or far worse, my increased consciousness of the ills and tragedies around me -- I am just plain not good at bearing the yoke of adulthood.

I was up last night burdened for a family at my home church that has been pummeled for two years straight with bad news after bad news regarding the young mother's cancer. Yesterday they got even more bad news. Hasn't it been enough, Lord?

This post is going to sound a lot like this post. Maybe that's evidence that my struggle to deal with what the Lord has dealt isn't just a current season of life. Maybe it's called adulthood.

I'm not writing this post with any great revelations, but more to voice what I'm sure I'm not the only one to feel.

My heart bleeds with compassion, and if I'm honest, fear. How do I deal with the suffering, tragedy, and pain that I'm increasingly aware of every passing day?

Yesterday the Lord led me to Psalm 145, where at least five times, in slightly different ways, David says the Lord is loving towards all He has made. Verse 9 in particular has always been one of my favorites: "The Lord is good to all, and His tender mercies are over all His works."

Lord, even in the midst of turmoil, show us Your tender mercies.

I prayed a lot for tender mercies when I was anticipating childbirth. I knew because of the fall of man, labor was going to be painful. But He says His tender mercies are over all His works. So, in the midst of the pain, I prayed to see His mercies. I also used to pray for tender mercies when mom was alive. We saw them in many forms: a ramp at the house, wonderful caretakers for mom (foremost, my unspeakably great dad), months of no tumor growth during the same time as my pregnancy, meals upon meals (for years) from the church, a big shebang for mom on the birthday that ended up being her last. And in the last days: morphine, unexpected laughter, home, Hospice, family, and selfless friends. And my Will.

I'm praying for evidence of similar tender mercies in the unthinkable situation our family friends are now going through.

And I'm praying for miraculous healing.

And I'm praying for Jesus to come on back and take us home, because the older I get, the more and more unlike home this life on earth feels.

Some days, I want to be this kid again

P.S. IBM reinstated my dropped insurance. Tender mercies.

A stone of remembrance



"For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows." 2 Corinthians 1:5



 

 

The temporary marker by mom's gravesite has finally been replaced with a permanent headstone. The large stone makes her no less gone than she was before, but it does add a note of finality to the whole thing. I took Will to BayLeaf last week so I could see it and so Will could enjoy the nearby playground.

 

When I first saw the plots of land that Dad had bought for whenever that time came, I knew they were in a prominent spot in BayLeaf's cemetery. Seeing the headstone now confirms it. No one entering the church from the back parking lot can miss it. A permanent reminder of mom is perched at the base of the hill for all to see. She always loved attention.

 

I'm not one to regularly visit the gravesites of loved ones. To each his own, but for me, she's no more there in the ground than she is sitting on the couch next to me right now. She's in Heaven, and I'm so overwhelmingly grateful for that. However, I did call Dad on Wednesday morning last week and told him we absolutely had to get a pretty vase of red flowers out there that afternoon before the Wednesday night crowd starting arriving at church. It was only fitting, and it's exactly as she would have wanted it.

 

Pretty, red, and perched for all to see. Mom's stone of remembrance.

A little (walking) Carolina boy

Will Thomsen, #83

 

Will was supposed to be a Carolina football player for Halloween, but the black paint under his eyes lasted about 90 seconds, so we wiped it off, put on his baseball cap (which lasted about 91 seconds), and called him a Carolina fan (which actually is flawed because on Halloween you're supposed to dress up like someone or something you're not. Be assured, there's no pretending here, folks.) Whatever the case, he's turning out to be the best thing to happen to Carolina sports this year.

 

We celebrated the season by taking our neighbors with us to the Fall Festival at church, and then we had the family over to give the new fire pit a workout.

 

And in other news: Our little Carolina fan now walks. He has been taking steps for over a month now, but just last week he decided that walking would be his normal mode of transportation. So there you have it: Will walks. (And he thought life was grand on all fours. Just wait, Will!)

 

Trip #1 down the slide: Safely on daddy's lap.
Trip #2 down the slide: Daddy let him go BY HIMSELF. Mommy does not
have a picture of this because she was too busy rescuing shocked baby at the bottom
of the slide.

 

 

 

 

 

And last but not least: Walking introduces us to a whole new class of injuries.
Here's busted lip #1. I am so mean for taking this picture.