The M&M Story

I love laughing. Growing up, I frequently laughed at my father and brother with their running commentaries on most any subject presented. And now with our Big Mac around, we laugh....a lot.   Max has a natural penchant for humor. He's Brian and then some. It's sort of slapstick, Monty Python humor. Briggs, on the other hand, is a bit more serious.  I'm not sure he sees the whole point of the humorous stupidity. We watched Home Alone and Jim Carrey's Grinch this season, and Todd took the boys to see Yogi Bear.  Yes, we've had our fill of funny movies.  My favorite line from Max was, of course, a little more poetic:  "Mommy, the Grinch has fingers like sugar snap peas."   For a child who hates writing but makes ingenious connections, I think he may be a budding poet. Daddy Brian would be so proud :).

A few nights ago, we were eating dinner and all of a sudden Briggs pipes up:  "Think.  Don't drink and drive."  Okay.  Good conversation starter, considering it is the holidays and spirits typically flow.  But this is my six year old.  So we asked why and where he had learned that.....he read it on a billboard.  Makes sense.  But then he said, "Children and dogs should not drink and drive. It isn't safe." Children and dogs????  And are we talking orange juice or beer? Biting the inside of my cheeks, we pursued this line of reasoning with questions, mostly about the dogs and whether or not he understood to which drink the phrase referred. Apparently, he just figured it would be dangerous if children and dogs drink and drive because they might get hurt. We explained the difference between drinks like soda, coffee and orange juice (I had a panic for a minute because my kids have seen me drink coffee daily...as I am driving) and adult beverages.  Both seemed

Recently, I taught some poetry writing workshop lessons to Max's third grade class. It's been awhile since teaching elementary school kids, especially those under the age of 10.  I forgot what it was like to have a gaggle of little people follow you around the room itching to read their creative work or to motivate little boys who would rather play with dust bunnies than write. Such enthusiasm--with high schoolers, they would much rather talk to each other than to me--these little guys were buzzing with creativity and excitement over writing poetry.   One of Max's assignments was to write a poem about something at home and to write to the something--be it an object or an event or even a person. Dabble in personification. So he decided to write about Briggs.... Briggs [all about my brother] by Maxwell Maynor Fall 2010 Briggs you are loving you are kind you are smart in the mind. You are funny You are kind You are kinda Weird sometimes. I love you very much So I won’

Five years ago today (it was actually a Monday), Brian entered the gates of heaven.   Max's prayer this morning over breakfast:  "Dear Jesus, thank you for this day.  And thank you that five years ago Daddy had his homecoming." Briggs' prayer that followed:  "Dear Jesus, thank you for this day.  And thank you that Daddy is in heaven with you." As I reflect on this year, once again I marvel at God's faithfulness and his sweet hand of redemption. I think back to that first anniversary of his homecoming when I trudged through each moment as though I was in quicksand. Deep breath. Foot forward. I still wasn't sure it was real.  But God remained faithful and I never quite sunk so deep that I couldn't move. Today we went to see Brian's stone and Max leaned down to kiss it. He leaned up and said, "Mommy, I remember when Daddy couldn't breathe very well and had that machine.  And I asked him to play legos with me--the Duplo legos--an

B:  Why did Mario and Luigi cross the road?  To get Princess Peach and Toad. M:  Why did the Scarecrow cross the road?  To "scare" crows.

I don't like my thighs.  Never have, and probably never will.  There is just *a lot* of them--more than I want. And I know the filter from my brain to my mouth is rather thin. Rice paper thin. "Did I really just say that out loud?"  And then there is the issue of my independence.  Funny how I still think I am totally in control, yet clearly I am wrong. Create the earth? No. Make the sun shine? No. Decide how the story ends?  Not really. But the thing is...despite all my shortcomings, flaws, and insecurities, I'm beautiful. Way beautiful.   Stunning, as Lucy Van Pelt would say.   And my life is beautiful. Way beautiful. Stunning, in fact.  Grace. Again.  Beautiful, Beautiful by Francesca Battistelli Don’t know how it is You looked at me And saw the person that I could be Awakening my heart Breaking through the dark Suddenly Your grace Like sunlight burning at midnight Making my life something so Beautiful, beautiful Mercy reaching to save me All

I'm way behind on posting--there are so many beautiful tidbits that come from the "mouths of babes." I'm at the tail end of being a part of a musical (behind the scenes, of course), still adjusting to married life and systems we have yet to create, and continuing to learn the delicate balance of work/family/play. But...onto the beautiful tidbit.  Now this one occurred at 5:45 this morning and I was half asleep, so I'm sure I will miss most of the details. But M came into our bed and snuggled up close announcing--"Mommy, I had another bad dream."  This, by the way, occasionally happens.  We all have them, yes? My sweet son proceeded to tell me about people chasing him, they turned into zombies and then he said, "and that translated into me running as fast as I could to safety.  Then I woke up." I often have the same dream (though not sure I've been chased by zombies--more like the sleestaks from Land of the Lost)--and it struck me that