In times where there seems to be tragedy and anger everywhere we look, it can be difficult to remember that there is a God and that He loves us.  Every day,  but particularly today, I am increasingly thankful that I have a child who believes in God so faithfully.  Here are a few of his pearls of wisdom.

“Mom, God painted me, right?  Well, I don’t like the color he used.  I think I want to be blue.”

After hearing me say, “Robbie, I sure am glad I made you!”, he turned to look at me in shock and said, “You didn’t make me.  God did.  God made me, Mom!  And he made you and Daddy, too.  God made all of us.”

“God gave me to you, right, Mom?  Kind of like a present.  I’m a present to you!”

And, when asking him if he remembered someone he hadn’t seen in months, Robbie replied, “I remember Kirsten, Mom.  I like her.”

Of course, I asked him why, since it seemed like a random comment to add.  His answer?  “Because God made her, Mom.  And if God made her, she is good.”

And so, I will close with the words Robbie prays every night before we eat: “God is great; God is good.  And we thank him (for our food).  Amen.”

This was the first time in eight years that I hadn’t felt the build up of Marathon Monday.  Listening to the meteorologist who was training talk about what day would be better for the long run on the weekend, running with people much faster than me on the Minuteman Trail and on into Boston in the weeks leading to the marathon.  Being intimidated and then inspired by my good friends’ desire to run the Boston Marathon.  But today?  Today, I almost forgot.

The marathon was in the back of my mind as I emailed my friend Allie, asking if it was strange to not be running this year.  And again when Micah, Allie’s husband, sent an email saying that he was excited to be at the finish line and watch the elites cross.  And then again when the message from Fox25 came across my phone: “Explosion at Marathon Finish Line.”  Surely it was something small, right?  An accident.

But it wasn’t.  It was something terrible – people are dead, including an eight-year-old boy.  People have lost limbs.  And, while my heart breaks for anyone who would lose a leg, there is added tragedy for someone who had just completed the marathon.  I think of the grueling hours of training, the time away from your family, when you dedicate yourself to a marathon.  And to have it all destroyed forever when you’ve just finished doing something you love.  I can’t imagine.

I haven’t been running lately.  Too many things have gotten in the way and excuses have become too easy.  But I need to start again.  I know it’s not going to change anything for anyone else, but I have two legs.  I can run.  And I can rejoin the wonderful community that embraced me with open arms when I could hardly do more than walk fast.

I held Robbie a little longer tonight and talked to him before he went to sleep.  I made him promise me that he would make the world a better place and be kind.  And, perhaps most importantly, help.  If I can teach him nothing else, I hope that I can teach my child to help.  And, God, I hope he does.  I hope we can all raise our children to help and be kind.  It sounds so simple, but, after events like today, I can’t help but think about how impossible it seems.

Much to the detriment of our adult communication, Robbie understands everything that is being said.  Furthering the problem is Justin’s inability to speak in code. Therefore, I have resorted to spelling things to Justin when Robbie is around, particularly because we are in the middle of trying to plan a surprise trip for Robbie, who understands every word associated with Disney.  Case in point – we said “monorail” in the car yesterday.  Robbie, who hadn’t said a word in five minutes, pipes up with, “Do you mean the monorail at Magic Kingdom, Dad?  Are you talking about Magic Kingdom.  I wanna go there soon.”  And, so, I spell.

Somehow, young Robert has caught on to this.  I would love to have been in his mind when he realized that if he didn’t understand what we were spelling, we probably wouldn’t understand what he was spelling.  Yesterday at lunch, Robbie was trying to communicate to me that Justin was upset and I was in big trouble (neither of which was true at this particular time!).

Robbie looked back and forth at Justin and myself as we spelled out some words to our conversation before bursting in.  All of a sudden, Robbie said, “Hey, Mom!  Daddy a-g-d-r-y-m-q.  Right, Mom?” And then he collapsed into fits of laughter about what he had just spelled to me.  He continued spelling for the next few minutes, each time laughing hysterically about the code he had just communicated to me.

I still have no idea what Justin actually did, but that may be a good thing.  I just hope Robbie doesn’t learn to really spell anytime soon.

Do you ever have one of those days that you wish you could bottle, put on a shelf, and pull back out to revisit on a day when the world hasn’t been so kind?  That was last Saturday for me.  It may have been the most perfect day of my life.  Nothing major happened.  It was so many little things that all combined for the unique kind of perfection you can only find every so often.

It was Justin’s birthday, so, after we ran a family 5k, Robbie and I headed out on some errands to finish preparing for Justin’s party that afternoon.  Robbie and I picked up some pieces we’d painted a few weeks before and then headed to Target.  Robbie was on a mission to find the perfect presents for his dad, settling on monster trucks, water guns, an Awkward Family Photos book, some running clothes, a rocket to launch, and undershirts.  He’d already ordered the perfect race car cake earlier in the week.  Watching Robbie and Justin open presents, well, it almost brought a tear to my eye.  I don’t know which of them was more excited – Robbie because he had bought Justin perfect toys for them to enjoy together or Justin because so much thought went into the presents.  And there really was a great deal of thought.  Robbie put several things back on the shelf because they were things he wanted, not things Justin would want.

After we opened presents, it was time for Justin to play with all of his toys, so the two boys sat down to play monster trucks.  Somehow, and I’m not quite sure where I went wrong here, it turned into a tickle fest, ending with both of them tickling me.  And it was a moment seared into my memory, one I wish I could have filmed to watch again and again.  There they were, Justin and Robbie, their massive heads blocking anything else from my sight, each of them grinning from ear to ear and laughing so completely and with such abandon that it had to be real.  It was the epitome of happiness, and so I laid there soaking up as much of it as I could, afraid that, all to soon, it would be over.

As the day came to an end, I found myself trying desperately to hold onto it, almost afraid to let it lapse into a memory where time would fade the sincerity of the laughter or the total perfection of individual moments.  I snuggled with Robbie a little longer, relishing that he wanted my arms around him while he drifted off.

Three weeks ago, I went shopping at Lil’ Lambs Closet, a consignment sale at our church.  As a last-minute purchase,  I grabbed a Toy Story tent.  It was $10, and I figured Robbie would have fun with it for at least a day or two.  He has spent every night except for one in the tent for the past three weeks.

And where is this lovely tent?  In our bedroom of course, allowing for all sorts of fun family time.  Robbie goes into his tent to play with his cars, to read books, to watch videos, to sleep.  And to eat corn.  Over the weekend, Justin and I ate a late dinner outside while Robbie was supposed to be going to sleep.  I came in to check on my cherub to find him watching a video and eating an ear of corn.

Tonight, I went in to check on he-who-does-not-want-a-bedtime and was informed that he wanted to sleep in the dining room.  Confused, I gathered everything that Robbie handed me (a great deal fits in this three-square-feet tent).  This shot is early on in the tent phase.  We were a little concerned Hoarders might do an episode on pre-schoolers.  He has a little of everything, including copies of 48 Laws of Power and A Thousand Splendid Suns and the lid to an urn.  There also may or may not be a banana peel or two under all of this.

His Toy Story pillow and blanket, big Mickey, small Mickey, Pluto, and the tent.  Robbie grabbed a stuffed tiger, a stuffed rabbit, and his cup of hot water (not quite sure what that’s all about).  And off we went.  Except Robbie doesn’t actually know what a dining room is.  He stopped in the living room, insisting that was where he wanted to sleep.  Conveniently, it is also where Justin and I were watching this debacle of a basketball game.  I’m not sure how, but, despite all the yelling at the TV, he appears to have fallen asleep.

Is it hard to have so little time without Robbie in a three-foot radius?  Yeah, a little.  But I also know he’s not going to sleep in his tent forever (after all, his feet already stick out the side flap).  And I know we’re probably only a few years from him not even wanting me to go into his bedroom, much less camp out on my floor. So I’ll take this, even though I’m not actually allowed in the tent because I’m a girl – and some standards just can’t be compromised.

This morning, Justin was up and out early to go skiing with my mom, leaving Robbie in my capable hands.  Around 8:00, Robbie got out of bed to use the bathroom.  I should have known it was too quiet, but I was so enjoying the few minutes of peace before it would be time to get ready for church.  And then, all too suddenly, it was over.

I rolled over as Robbie came back in the bedroom and sucked my breath in as I took in the sight before me.  Robbie’s face was covered in black marker.  Circles and circles around his face.  I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry – I tried to contain my desire to do both and wound up shaking so hard that the camera couldn’t get a clear picture.  I pulled him into the bathroom to try to figure out exactly what to do (this particular marker came from Chinese school, and we’ve had an experience like this before; the marker loves skin).  As I evaluated, I asked Robbie what he had been thinking as he decorated his face, assuming there had been no real plan.

“I’m a pirate, Mom.  See, here’s my ‘stache and my beard.  I look kinda like a pirate.”

“Ah, yes.  I see.  And what about the marker on your forehead.”

“Oh.  That’s my face mask.”

“Very thorough, Robbie.  And don’t you think you look a little ridiculous?”

“Oh, no.  I look like a pirate.  I look great!”

And so, all day, we went around with faded, smeared marker on Robbie’s face.  At one point, I said, “You look kind of like Captain Robert.”

As he skipped along the sidewalk beside me, Robbie proclaimed, “No, I’m not kinda like Captain Robert.  I AM Captain Robert.”

Last weekend, Justin and I flew to Boston to visit our good friends Micah and Allie.  It was our first trip back since our move, and I wasn’t sure how Justin and I would feel about being back.  It was bizarre to fly into Boston but not be going home.  Instead, we made our way to the rental car and drove to Arlington.  As we drove, Justin and I reminisced about our first Boston driving experiences and the different events of our time in Boston.

Being there was strange…  I think because I expected to feel more of an emotional connection when we got back.  Justin and I spent seven years in Boston, almost six in Arlington.  It’s where our son was born.  And still, I was able to drive by our condo and feel very little.  Don’t get me wrong; I loved our time there.  I loved my job and my friends and our house.  And I miss the people I was close with every day.

But it was kind of like visiting an ex-boyfriend.  You’re glad to visit and catch up, but, ultimately, you know you made the right choice to move on.  I was worried about Justin, though.  He hadn’t wanted to leave Boston.  At all.  We talked about it some while we were up there, but Justin really hit it we were driving through downtown Lexington on our way home.  His father once told him, “Your soul knows where it needs to be.”  And, as Justin told me that night, our souls need to be here.

I am not a fan of Valentine’s Day.  It is such a forced holiday, a veritable trap for my husband.  I went through the motions, getting Robbie ready for his pre-school party.  We made sugar cookies and Valentines.  After work, I stopped to pick through the leftover Valentine’s Day cards, hoping to find the perfect card for both Justin and Robbie.  It occurred to me in the aisles of Rite Aid that Valentine’s Day was different for me now; it was something special for Robbie, and I needed to take advantage of that.  So, while I was there, I bought a box of chocolates and a stuffed “love bug” for Robbie.

It’s silly, really.  But, somehow, Justin and Robbie have both become my love bug.  I’ll call out, “Hey, love bug!” and both of them will answer.  Every now and then, Robbie will get into an argument with Justin about which one of them actually is my real love bug.  So, this seemed like the perfect gift for me to pick up.

I came home, excited to give Robbie his presents (and Justin, too, but I knew he wouldn’t be as excited as Robbie).  I walked through the door, and Robbie came flying into the kitchen from the living room.  I gave him his presents  and then got the best Valentine surprise I may have ever had in my life.  Robbie spent two OT sessions working on my present – a little love bug from my own love bug.

And, with that, I suddenly had a new outlook on Valentine’s Day, all because of a sweet little boy who loves me more than I probably deserve.

When he was a baby, I wasn’t sure I was going to like Robbie much once he turned into a real person.  I love babies – the way they smell, the way they cuddle, the way they don’t talk back or hit or kick.  The prospect of a three-year-old just didn’t really do much for me.  Then I had one and was pretty certain that I was right; I was exhausted all the time and felt like every day was, for the most part, a losing battle.  Or, at the very best, just a battle.  But, all of a sudden, Rob turned into a real person.  And you know what?  I really like him.  Who wouldn’t like a day like this?

It started this morning with me trying to sneak Robbie into some Spider-Man underpants this morning.  It worked – for about ten minutes.  As he was walking down the hall, Robbie noticed something was amiss.  “Mom, am I wearing Underooses?”

“Yeah,” I replied, trying to be casual and throw him off the scent.  We were already late and still had to fix lunch and breakfast.

“I need to see them, then,” he replied, pulling down his pants.

I didn’t have the energy to watch all of this happen while I loaded wet sheets into the washing machine.  But I did hear the gasp of horror behind me as Robbie discovered that he was, indeed, not wearing Underoos.

“Mom.  These are underpants.  You know I don’t wear underpants.  I only wear Underooses.  Where.  Are.  They?” he demanded.

I had prepared for this; the Underoos were in my bathroom.  Chagrined, I headed back to get them.  Robbie followed me, hands on his hips, marching down the hallway.  “You know, Mom, this is very frustrating.  I’m very frustrated with you, Mom.”  No idea where he might have heard that before…

In the car, he informed Justin and his Aunt Hilary that he was angry with me for lying and that I’d been placed in time-out for the offense.

The afternoon was almost as eventful…  I picked Robbie up from pre-school.  When he saw me coming down the hall, he broke into a sprint headed straight toward me, huge grin plastered across his face.  He threw himself into my arms and gave me a big kiss.  All day, I’d been faced with angry middle schoolers, most of whom love to hate me.  But here was someone truly happy to see me.  Apparently, the Underoo issue was forgiven.

However, I was soon thrown back into the dog house when I insisted we go to the gym instead of heading straight home.  Robbie didn’t seem to realize that, although he is in excellent shape, I actually needed to work out.  Eventually, he acquiesced and went to play in the kids’ room.  I ran for an hour and went to collect him.  When I got there, the girls in the kids’ center told Robbie it was time to go.  Finally, after three minutes, he came to the door.  I figured he was finishing a game or something.  No.  Without prompting, my child was cleaning up the toys he had been playing with.

As we walked out of the gym, I stopped to tell Robbie how proud of him I was.  He said, “Thank you.  Yes, ma’am.  I have manners.  I’m trying.”  And what more could I ask for?

For the past three years, I have been trying to infuse my child with some semblance of manners.  Reminding him to include “please” and “thank you” as necessary.  Correcting his “yeah” with “yes, ma’am”.  But it never clicked, unless to call my “sir” and get a reaction out of me.

Something changed today, though.  We were at the grocery store this morning, and I asked Robbie to carry a bag to car.  He said, “Yes, ma’am.  I’ll carry the bag.  Yes, ma’am.”  Thank goodness Robbie was holding the groceries; I would have dropped the bag otherwise.  And he just looked so pleased with himself, like he knew he’d completely made my day.

Tonight was the same.  Robbie seemed so tickled, replying, “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am” every time I asked him a question tonight.  He even threw in the occasional, “No, thank you, ma’am.”  Between that and the sweet kisses he’s randomly been giving, I think we have a pretty sweet little boy on our hands.  Definitely a keeper.