three years.

Dear Caleb,

Three years ago today, you made me a mom for the first time. And as scared and overwhelmed as I was at the time, I knew one thing for certain: I didn't know how I ever lived without you.

For three years I’ve been enamored, captivated and amazed by you. And I’ve tried to describe how incredible you are, but some things can’t be said, only felt. You are in every layer of my heart and your presence in this world, even for only three years, has already made it better.

Three years old. I now officially want time to stop. Not a day goes by that you don’t say something that surprises us or makes us laugh. You have a multifaceted personality that is quirky, charming, willful, meticulous, compassionate and funny all at the same time. And you’re so much more than that.

In a lot of ways you have been the exact same person throughout your whole life. Particular, affectionate, shy, happy, cute. Your eyes have always sparkled and your smile has always shone bright. You’ve always had that quality about you –that shining, beaming quality I don’t know exactly how to describe but to say that you have JOY in your heart that is so real. And it’s contagious. Since day one with you, I have never been happier.

And there are many new qualities that are emerging. The most obvious one is how AWESOME you are at being a big brother. Honestly, there are so many times in a day when I’m floored by what you say and do for Kenzie. You call her your baby, you hug her constantly, you get her a binky if she’s crying, you hold her hand. You are patient when she destroys with one swipe a train track that took you so long to build. You say, “It’s okay baby, mommy is right here.” You say, “Kenzie, you are so beautiful.” You say, “You’re fine, you’re fine” to soothe her. You make up endless songs about her (“Oh Frosty the Kenzie was a baby, baby, baby …”). If she does something funny or new you are always her biggest supporter. We hear you laugh at her and say “look at the baby!” all day long. You play peek-a-boo and tickle her to make her laugh. And you’ll do that for as long as she lets you because you looove her laugh. I could go on and on. You aren’t perfect, and you do get frustrated with her at times, but I am so proud of you for the way you are with her and wonder all the time how one little man could be such a patient and tender and fun big brother.

You have a great memory. You love playing trains on your train table and are really into superheroes. Your favorite foods are cheeseburgers and french fries and indian food. You eat your meals on your little blue table. You love the beach, ferry rides, seeing real trains, going to Target and Toys r us, watching movies, playing with my phone, running around and going down slides. You like doing things by yourself like putting on your coat or boots. You ask a lot of questions. You are snuggler in the mornings and nights. You take naps at 11:30 every day. You love wearing your backpack. You are so good at show and tell. You know the storybook Bible by heart. You know so many songs and sing every day. You like routine and are the first to tell us if we’re off (“no mom, we need to pray before we read”). You still bite your bottom lip and scratch our nails. You love saying “mommy I’m drinking YOUR water,” and having me say, “you better not otherwise you’re in big trouble mister!” You say the darndest like, “seriously?!” and “not today, maybe to later,” and “oh yeah baby, that’s what I’m talking about!” You like to pretend that you are superman, spiderman and Russell Wilson.

You are so much more than this. So indescribable. So extraordinary. You have something so special in you. I really can’t believe the blessing it is to be your mom. There are many times it feels too good to be true.

I thank God that it is true. I thank Him for protecting you these three years. For giving you a big heart. For gifting you with the ability to make people feel so important. For giving you that something special in you.

Every day I tell you this: “I love you higher than the sky, bigger than the mountains, and deeper than the oceans. And a million, trillion, kazillion times more than that.”

It’s so true. My love for you is immeasurable. Every day you give me a little peek into heaven. Every day I am drenched in the rich blessing of being your mommy.

Happy birthday, little man.

Love you,
Mom

outtakes.

I love a good photo of the kids. I especially love it when they are looking at the camera, smiling and in cute outfits. I REALLY love it when I can instagram out red eyes or bad lighting, and strategically crop out my unfolded laundry. And I BEYOND love it when I can pay someone to pose them in a field of tall grass, edit out all the tears and whining, and make them look like they are always jovial, fun-loving and color coordinated.

My blogs have lacked pictures recently. And I am ALWAYS taking pictures. But the ones on my camera roll right now aren't the perfect ones. They are the outtakes.

Picture it. The kids are snuggled together in an insanely cute, candid moment. I grab my camera and ask them to look up and say cheese. Caleb resists at first, but after some coaxing, gives an animated fake smile and a long, dramatic “cheeeeeeese.” Kenzie is not even remotely interested and is looking everywhere but the camera. Probably with a fake butcher knife in her mouth. (From her fake kitchen. It's okay.) So I start dancing around and yelling “lalalalalaalala,” but that only makes her want to not look more. Then she attempts to crawl away at which point her brother grabs her and pulls her back. She screams, he laughs, the adorable moment that once was is nowhere to found.

But I take a picture of it anyways. Actually I take about 52 pictures of it. Just in case.

Yes, I have a lot of outtakes. And though I sometimes don't think they are worth sharing with others, I pretty much never delete them. Every day, I keep clicking away. There is a need in me to capture all of it.

But a camera can’t capture everything. Nor can words for that matter, so I know that my pictures and blog won’t ever adequately preserve all the memories I never want to lose. I wish they could. I wish with one click I could vividly store in my brain the beautiful little things I get to see and hear and feel as I watch my kids grow.

Like the night I was driving home in the dark after a long day and checked the rearview mirror to see Caleb and Kenzie silently holding hands in the back.

Click.

Or the evening when I was rushing around trying to get Caleb’s dinner heated up and on his plate and he turned around in his little blue chair and out of nowhere just said, “mommy. I love you.”

Click.

Or the lazy afternoon when Luke was sick, laying on the couch, and Kenzie – the girl who never sits still - just crawled into his arms and laid on his chest and he just stroked her hair, breathing in the deliciousness of having a daughter.

Click.

Or the hectic morning when Luke was running late and trying to rush everyone out the door, but Caleb stopped us and said, "group hug." And instantly the stress level dropped, our moods lightened, and time froze for a moment as all of our arms wrapped around each other.

Click.

Sometimes it feels like we live the same moments every day. Moments and routines that are impossible to forget. Bedtimes, naptimes, playtimes, mealtimes. But someday it will be different than this. Still good, but never again this.

So I not only keep my outtakes, I love them. I hold on to them. I hold onto them as if they were treasures and tell myself to take more for that day far away when I long to remember every detail of now. It is in the outtakes that they are captured just as they are. Not edited or fancied up. Just. As. They. Are. Their faces, their expressions, their littleness, their interactions, their imperfections.

The raw images that will one day remind me how it felt to watch a little family grow in love, and two little kids grow into something pretty spectacular.