The Kids in Review: 2012

I didn't blog much in 2012. In retrospect, I'm sorry I didn't because I fear there are moments that I failed to capture that now might slip away from my memory forever. That happens, you know. I'm certain because I've visited my archives from 2007 and read stories I know must have happened to someone else. Except it was me, and I've only forgotten.

There is much in 2012 that I don't want to forget.

2012 was the year of our last baby. Jack was the baby that was meant to join our family last. He is the feel good baby--the kid that makes everyone smile simply for being around him. My mother calls him the balm of Gilead baby because who ever holds him feels better, cured of whatever is ailing their hearts. There is something special about him--his constant smile and sparkling eyes a reminder that we have so much to be happy about.

Even Ivy has decided to keep Jack around. I'll be honest. The first six months of Jack's life? I didn't like Ivy much. Is that a harsh thing to say about a two year old? Even so. TOTALLY TRUE. I never stopped loving her. But since her life was basically one giant tantrum, I'm not going to lie and say I liked being around her. And then one day, she came up to Jack who had just finished nursing, put her sticky little hand on his forehead and said, "Mommy! The baby is so cute!" I'm pretty sure this is the first time she'd actually acknowledged his existence. Suddenly, evil Ivy was gone. We've welcomed her back into full fellowship with the family and she's assimilating nicely. Tantrums are few, and love for her baby brother is near bursting at the seams.

2012 was the year Henry started kindergarten. I worried over Henry. He's a sweet, sensitive, boy--timid to a fault and did I mention how much he loves his Mama? I worried sending him off to school would be traumatic, to say the least. But then, I watched him clamor out the door, following the footsteps of his older siblings, his backpack slung over his shoulders and his lunchbox gripped tightly in his hand, and I realized he was going to be just fine. And not because of me. He was fine because even though I couldn't go to school with him every day, Sam and Lucy could. Lucy walked him to class for the first couple of weeks, and Sam, who had Henry's teacher when he was in kindergarten, was quick to ask about circle time, or center time or any other variety of activities that he remembered experiencing when he was Henry's age.

There are many  moments when having a large family feels like a tremendous sacrifice. It is expensive and chaotic and overwhelming and exhausting. But then I see my kids rallying together, supporting each other, loving each other, and I am so glad that we are many.

2012 was the year that Lucy got her ears pierced. It was the year that Sam read the entire Eragon series in record time. It was the year we got a kitten and I cured myself of a cat allergy. It was the year that Ivy climbed into her Daddy's lap and told him over and over again,"I lub you Daddy.. you mah best fwend." It was the year Jordan started recording his free throw percentage in a notebook, (65% and improving) working to get better by shooting 100 free throws almost every single day after school. It was the year Jimmer Freddette turned our entire family into Sacramento Kings fans. "DAD!! They put Jimmer in!!!" (NBA Basketball. I know. Never been on my list before.)

2012 was a year full of brush strokes--tiny moments that will (hopefully) contribute to what I want for my family long term. I want us to love each other. I want my children to be friends. I want my children to know God--to know that He loves them and knows them individually. I want them to know that it's okay to be different, and that in this world, where self indulgence and an excessive focus on pointless entertainment is the norm, they better be different.

I'll keep making those brush strokes as we move into 2013. At least, I'll try. It will be a different year, I think. Jack will start to walk. Ivy will throw out her diapers. Jordan will turn 12. I feel our family shifting, growing... changing as we learn and love and gain experience. I hope, more than anything, we'll all remember what Jack's eyes tell us every time he smiles. Really, truly, we have so many  reasons to feel joy. For that, I am humbled, grateful, and hopeful that in 2013 we will use our able bodies to remember God, to be His willing servants in all that we do.