blessed beyond measure

Confession time. Like gut-honest, mommy-biased, somewhat self-indulgent style. I think. You might want to skip this one. Or else pep talk your heart into being extra forgiving for the recent basketball deluge. It is consuming much of our lives, as always, and is by far the most interesting thing I have to blog about right now. Unless you think hour after hour of Super Mario or our daily arguments over the impending school spelling bees are interesting. I'm rather competitive. In lieu of striving for social acceptance and general coolness, from my childhood on, I've directed my energy toward trying to be the best at everything. Piano, grades, spelling bees (ugh) , handwriting. Darn that TJ Kasey for having Pinterest-worthy scrawl at the ripe old age of six. I'll never forgive myself for losing that contest three decades ago. Not a huge fan of attention, but learned quickly to love the thrill of achievement. My last year of slow-pitch rec softball, end-of-season t...

So Aden's basketball team has been practicing for a while now. Let's just say things are a little different this year than they were last year. How, you ask? Aden has become very, very aware that he is a superstar. Yep. I pause here to offer the disclaimer that we have had several conversations about humility and things that should remain unspoken. For what it's worth. Anyhow, at practice there have been spin moves into layups and steals and shut-down defense and dekes that would leave Aden and Gage doing the dab at each other, or running down the court shouting, "Got eem!" It's a show every time, y'all. Game one. Boy could barely contain his excitement. He was a little subdued during the first half. Nerves? Warming up? Whatever it was, we all sat there barely breathing, wondering if he'd revert to his "I don't feel like shooting" mantra of last year. Everyone I had told about Aden's antics at practice was thinki...

Much has been written here of our sweet Trey Isaiah, of the anxieties and irrational fears that have proven effective stumbling blocks to him embracing so many opportunities thusfar in his life. Though no one can point to any significant event or traumatic experience, we do know this began around age three. And ever since then, his sheer terror of simply being looked at has dictated much of his life, and has been the source of frustration, arguments, tears, scripture-quoting, prayers, and encouragement. He's a Harris, and true to form has not been willing to budge one bit on his mindset until he was good and ready. Last summer, the flyer for basketball camp came home. I knew he'd refuse. I showed him the flyer, reminded him that his Daddy was running this camp, and that it wouldn't be a whole lot different from those high school open gyms and practice sessions he was so fond of attending. He turned it down cold. Think about it, I said. Out of the blue, several days...

Wintry weather is best measured not by the inch, but by the number of school days missed. This one ranked a three, and we squeezed as much fun as humanly possible into those days. Having grandparents there made it all the more special. Poppop and Trey had a snowball fight and built a snow mountain, complete with tunnel, while Giga and Aden spent most of their time inside. Love this. God showing off beauty even in the melt. Trying out the small hill at Nana and Granddad's. Nom nom. Using their heads as snow plows. I think. Antics with Daddy... ...which turned into an all out rasslin match. It's almost like they're hugging! Awwww! Quit gagging, boys. The cows came to watch. This boy? Sometimes when I look at him I still see this: The main attraction, Granddad's tractor. This year they set up a double-decker so both boys could ride a sled. And it was fantabulous. You never know in Virginia when a snowfall will be your last of the year....

With the Christmas excitement behind them and drowning in the mundane torture of school, their wishes and dreams immediately turned to snow. And buddy, they didn't have to wait long this year. We love snow for its beauty, for the fun it offers, for God-enforced days of home and togetherness, and for the replenishing of the ground. Even more so this year, because the garden was turned over in late fall. Those beautiful flakes will melt into clear, fresh water that will trickle its way down through the mud clods, deep into the earth, awaiting the roots that, in only a few months, will crawl beneath the soil. It's a beautiful thing, y'all. Snow days tend to be that way.