Baby Luke

"Baby Luke," that's what your sister calls you.

Most days she's excited to meet you.

She looks at your room, your toys and your diapers with puzzled curiousity.

She wonders if you will ever get here, or if you are just pretend.

Your mom knows you are not pretend. 

You keep her up at night and cause her to walk funny in the day.

You cause her tummy to shake when you have the hiccups.  

You create a love inside of her I could never imagine.

I don't know you like your mom does.

But I know you are almost here.

I know that you will transform our family forever.

I know you are my son, my only son, and that you are loved.

Even Bosque knows something is happening.

He's seen our office (his hiding place) disappear.

He's seen the new decorations and furniture.

He's seen us open box after box of things for you.

We can't wait for you to be seen.  We'll all be here.

Loving Two

I love that you are two today.

I love that you can't quite hold up two fingers yet.

I love hearing you scream "Daddy!" in the evenings, ask for a cereal bar in the mornings, and to watch a "show" at various times throughout the day.

I love that you love life.  How you look at books with wonder, sing with joy, and ask to "hold you" when you are tired.

I love that you are high achieving, and hearing you say "Emily do it!" at almost every turn.

I love watching you try to dress yourself, fix your hair, and mimic your mom.

I love your imagination and the way you express it in taking care of your baby, cooking in your kitchen, and in allowing anyone or anything to become a horsey to ride.

I love tickling your back and protecting you after you've heard a loud noise.  

I love hearing you ask for "one kiss" 20 times before going to sleep, and for one more trip to the potty.

I love that you love others, and refer to everyone as "my _______."

But most of all, I love that you love me.  And I love that I love you more.  

I can't fathom what I will love when you are three!

Discovering Dandelions

I recently took Emily to the park one day after I picked her up from the baby-sitter.  To her surprise, there were patches of white, fuzzy flowers everywhere.  At first, she did not know what to do.  She reached down, and softly grazed the top of one, jumping unexpectedly when some of the soft seeds detached from their head at her touch.  With a furrowed eye-brow, she cocked her head sideways, dusted off her hands, and pointed at it saying: "This?"  What a strange encounter to her.

"It's ok," I told her, "that's what they are supposed to do."  But she wasn't convinced.  Perhaps assuming that the first one she touched was defective, she moved on to another, only to find that the exact same thing happened.  Again, she looked up at me with the same perplexed expression, but said nothing.  I finally walked over to her, picked one up, and blew on it softly.

As the ball of fluff scattered in the current of my breath into hundreds of tiny pieces, her eyes widened with 

wonder. "Uh-oh!" she exclaimed, assuming that we did something wrong.  She is her mother's child, ever concerned with delicacy and order.  I knew this would change when I picked another and placed it in her eager hand.  Now, she could see for herself that blowing the seeds of a dandelion was, in the words of my dad, "something every kid likes to do."

"Blow," I prodded, waiting for her to follow suite.  "No," she retorted, with her voice slightly arching at the end in a way that seems to always demonstrate her casual, but settled disposition.  It must be wonderfully affirming to be that secure in yourself!

Knowing that there was no other option, I bent down and softly exhaled again, watching as the created air whisked about half of this one away.  Something clicked this time.  Her eyes widened, and then she let out a short, quick, and cautious spurt of air.  Her face lit up with excitement at the result, and she spent the rest of the day trying to recreate that moment.

Isn't that what we do on a grander scale?  Whether it's through a hobby, sharing time with a spouse, or playing with our children, we long to experience life.  But the only standard we have to measure our experience, is through what we have previously encountered.  We are little more than children running wild in a field of dandelions.  And perhaps, with the right wisdom and guidance, we can be led to not only recreate experiences, but to share them as well.

Emily Grace

It's strange walking into your room. Seeing all the new furniture, decorations, and bright colors is surreal. It's obvious something is different in there. Even the dog explores it curiously during the day. At night, he sleeps on your floor, basking in the brand new scent of items fresh from their packaging. We never go in there, unless we are working, because it is not our room. It is yours.

Isn't that strange? You have a room, clothes, and furniture, and you are not even here to claim it! Your name hangs to the left of the entrance on a pink and brown decoration your mother painted. It matches the colors on your curtains, crib, and the blanket that is draped over the chair we will rock you in when you wake us in the middle of the night.

This room and all of its contents just sit there, idly waiting for someone to bring life into their midst. We could break the silence ourselves, and perhaps start eating our dinner in there every night, as we discuss the day's activities. But that would be ridiculous. It is not our place to do that, it is your room. We talk about it as if you already live here. "Where is the furniture polish," I ask your mom. "It's in Emily's room," she responds. It's in there because she has been meticulously making things just right for your arrival.

But we are not the only ones that are acting out of sorts. Your aunts, uncles, grandparents, and our friends (some that I hardly know) have begun buying you all kinds of things that will find their way into your room. You'll learn that things like this do not often happen in our world. Time, energy, and money are not typically lavished on someone that people have never met. Rooms are not left lifeless with brand-new merchandise for children that people do not know. Yet, all of this sits, quietly waiting for you.

We have no idea what you will look like, who you will take after, or what you will be good at. Those are just some of the reasons people are given gifts and awards in society. But none of them describe the care and attention that has been directed towards you. You have done nothing to earn it, nor have you influenced anyone to get it for you. The only thing that has merited such a production on your behalf is this: you are ours. You belong to us. And for that reason alone, you are already loved far beyond what you could possibly comprehend.