the broken mug; an excerpt from Roscoe's journal

Background:  tonight, Roscoe broke my favorite mug that I made in ceramics class.  I used that thing more than any other mug.  I loved it.

I wrote in his journal tonight.

There are so many things I've thought about you that I wish I could remember to tell the adult-you.  That's why I have this journal, and I'm not using it like I planned.  I was hoping to get something written in here at least once a month during the time you're with us.  So I've missed 6 consecutive.  That's 50% of your life so far.  I hope that's not indicative of my filling up the rest of these pages.

I've often questioned my motives in doing this.  Why am I doing this?  What's the purpose?  Is it for me or for you?  Will I give it to you only to have you shrug your shoulders at it because you could care less?  If that's the case, do I even care?

 I don't think I do.

Because if you're that flippant about this kind of communication, it's by your choice--not our fault.  Your dad and I so want you to learn to appreciate the little things--well, what on the outside appears to be little (notes, for example)--because those add up and are really the bigger, more treasured things in life.

So on that note- I'm going to tell you about a thing.  An item.  A creation.  It is/was tangible, and it had no eternal value whatsoever.  But I loved this thing.  I made it.  I used it multiple times a week.  It was by far my favorite...coffee mug.

You broke it tonight.

And I could say things like "if I hadn't gotten you out of bed to play because you couldn't sleep, my mug would still be in one piece," but as soon as I think that I mentally slap myself.  Because that piece of burned clay can't make me smile, laugh, swell up with the deepest feelings of contentment and love like you can--like I experienced tonight when you were up WAY past bedtime.

It really is just a thing.  It held liquid.  I own approximately 2-3 dozen other perfectly functional liquid-holding vessels.

But I was so upset when you flung it off the end table and I watched it shatter on the floor.  Upset, sad, angry, frustrated.

Over a thing.

Remember those little things I just talked about?  For me, the little thing manifested itself in a sneaky way tonight--from 8:30-10 pm when you were so happy to be in the living room working out your energy instead of crying in your crib.

And that is something I'll treasure more deeply than any thing I could ever own.

excerpt from Roscoe's journal

I may not be a big scrapbooker, and I may not be the craftiest person around, but I do love to journal in various forms.  Throughout my life I've kept personal journals, a shared journal (with Mark when we were dating/engaged), prayer journals, this online journal...

So when it comes to something important and special for my children, instead of trying to force myself into some mold that I don't fit into (scrapbooking, for example), I've decided that I can give them the gift of a journal.  Ask me occasionally if I'm keeping up with the journaling.  If I'm not, give me a good kick in the pants for it.  If all goes like planned, I'll have Roscoe's journal filled with stories and encouragement and records of his life by the time he's an adult, at which time (whatever that occasion may be), I'll give the journal to him.

Here's an excerpt from the most recent:

"You are 3 months (and 2 days) old!  Time flies!  You still turn people's heads when we're in public because you're so tiny, but I feel like so much has changed.  During your first month of life, you slept in our bed with us.  That was such a precious period of time, when at a moment's notice you could be cuddled to sleep.  Now it's not so easy.  So much distracts you when you're trying to go to sleep.  I'm so glad I savored every bit of your tiny-ness.....

.....To say "I love being a mom" isn't really saying much yet.  I mean, you're only 3 months old, and you're my only child.  I have yet to see what true communication is with you.  Sure, you let me know when you're hungry and I let you know that I love you and am here to take care of you; but I have yet to see what motherhood entails beyond feeding you, changing you, and getting you to sleep.  This journey excites me.  Who are you, Roscoe? I'm eager to get to know you, to see your personality unfold, to laugh at you, to cry because of you.  Just please.....don't grow up too fast!

I love you, son."