Three.

I was rootless until this little boy made me a mama.
Hubby and I roamed all over, lived in tons of houses and apartments, and embarking on the parenting journey has given us solid roots in our adult life. It's not just something we do, a title we hold, but a lifestyle and an identity---a sacred trust from God--to care for our son and daughter. It's sometimes daunting, challenging, sometimes a sliver of insanity peppered with joy.

Tomorrow this guy has his 3rd birthday party. UNREAL. Our little toddler is now a tall preschooler, towering over the little shorties in his age group, lovin' Thomas and baseball, painting and bath time, running down hills and bubbles (always bubbles).

Where did you go, sweet cherub-faced boy?

He's so polite, kind, and thoughtful. The world will steal his innocence soon, but we hope to give him something better--integrity, grit, patience, perseverance, steadfastness, loyalty, and ultimately, holiness. The world cannot take that away; it will only sharpen him.

He had his first overnight with Nana and Poppy last night. Hubby and I missed him more than we thought possible--I even checked his room late into the night, like I usually do, and my heart skipped a beat when he wasn't in his bed. (Mini heart attack, until I realized he was safe and sound with his grandparents!) When he came home this morning, Thomas hat sitting helter-skelter on his crazy hair and sleeping bag tucked under his arm, he gave me a wide, sleepy grin and said, "Mommy! Don't cry, I'm here! I'm back!"

But later I did cry, maybe for a minute or two, when he was finally napping next to Buzz Lightyear and a few matchbox cars.

He won't be 3 for long. I wish I could hold him, tightly, forever.

The beauty itch.

That familiar tingly feeling in my hands is back, that insatiable desire to create beauty.

Our melody.

It's in the classical music hushed in our babies' room,
the gentle laughter from a tucked in toddler, wrestling sheets and fighting sleep,
our knowing smiles, dizzy from sleeplessness and heavy with responsibilities,
the crackle of dinner on the stove,
hum of the washing machine,
bubbling groans of the coffee pot.
It's our song, all of it, without words to diminish it.

I hum our melody all night long.

When our song began. 8-29-2009.

Steps.

The heat billows from the earth below,
mingling, toxic, with fumes of cow manure and swamp.
We pinch our noses and push through,
the click and squish of shoes through mud muddled by whirling insects
assaulting our ears.
One foot, then the other--
one, then the other--
one, then the other.

The field looms ahead, seemingly endless and I want to throw my hands up,
swear to never travel this way again.

Is it worth it? Why am I doing this?
Then He says,

2 Corinthians 4:8-12

New International Version (NIV)

⁸ We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; ⁹ persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. ¹⁰ We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. ¹¹ For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. ¹² So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

Home.

It's quiet in the van, thankfully, the toddlers having given up the ghost. Dad is driving and concentrating on the hazy road, squinting and murmuring to himself. I snuggle closer to the window and lean my head back, grateful for the hush. Somewhere in the last hour, the lush tree line gave way to rolling fields, and the sky grew larger as I let my eyes pass over the curves of the land.

I hear Mom rustle from sleep from somewhere behind me. I crane my neck to catch her eye and smile that 'can-you-believe-they're-finally-asleep' smile, the one that looks a little sleepy but content. "Oh!" she says, brightening.  "We're in Illinois!" I nod and try to shake sleep from my lids.

The silence is calming until I say, "I love vacations and it's nice to get away but can I say this? I really feel like this is home", with a sweep of a hand I motion toward the sun, blue sky, playfully rolling fields full of seeds and dirt and earth. She nods. "I can go anywhere in the world, but this is where I feel normal".

And it's there, palpable, hanging between us. This unspoken love for the Plains.

Her mother and father's people have lived here generations. Her father's family has been here since the 1800s, and maybe earlier. Artists and immigrants from Germany, England and the Czech Republic, nestling in the tiny towns that dot the landscape. The love of this land is in our blood. Somehow it's just home.