The Sniffing Habit

Bergen has a sniffing problem.

Seriously.

He sniffs you if he likes you.

(I have no reason to make this up.)

I get sniffed pretty often. Usually routine, run of the mill type sniffing. My hands. My arms. When we are cuddling - my neck. Sometimes my hair. Just sniffing of the normal variety.

Kevin - now that guys gets sniffed. And how! Bergen just hovers around and over (maybe even under on occasion) and sniffs Kevin. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. For as long as Kevin will allow. (For which he has gained an amazingly high tolerance, as a matter of fact.) Lately he has been experimenting with a new sniffing location - under Kevin's armpit. And when he emerges from the pit, he generally comments, "You smell good." So that's a plus.

And there's another little guy that Bergen has a fondness for smelling as well. Yeah, you guessed it. Wilder. Bergen sniffs his little brother so much that we always say he is trying to absorb him. As in, "Bergen Hawkeye. Stop absorbing your little brother."

So I guess if you want to know if this four year old likes you - hang out with him for a while. If he sniffs you, you're in!

In the Heart of the Country

We may not live on a farm any longer, but we sure can play as if we do.

Kevin recently crafted a clever and warm winter abode for our three dogs. He made it out of hay and it serves its purpose of dog shelter while being amazingly eco-friendly. (What a guy!)

And the kids think it's real cool too.

The play of every day since the dog home's construction has been hay-related.

Stick hay in the empty trash can.

Rain hay upon one another's heads.

Roll hay into eleventy billion piles.

Load hay into the red wagon and pull it all over the yard.

Fill the trash can with both hay and a person and then roll that person around until they almost cry.

And that's what I call - Farm Fun. (Even if three dogs and tens of thousands of potential bees does not a farm make.)

Love Is A Verb

I heard it first said at Look Up Lodge actually. (Maybe twelve years ago.)

Love is an action.

Love is a verb.

There is always a lot of talk about love. And how we humans can best express it, one to another. Particularly at this time of year.

But even the coolest, most amazing gift, (even a Mac) cannot express our love as beautifully and as profoundly as our actions can.

Even our most simple actions.

Yesterday I was suddenly and inexplicably very sick. Really sick. Chills, aches. Miserable. Even my eyes hurt. It was lousy.

But despite the fact that I have six children, five of whom do not leave the premises in a daily trek to traditional school, I was able to stay in bed. Sleeping. Resting. Until after four p.m.

I'm not kidding.

And all because my husband loves me.

After I nursed Otto first thing in the morning, Kevin did the one action in our house that equals ultimate rest. He removed the pull up bar from our bedroom door so that the door could be shut completely and entirely. That has become like a sign between us. Normally, we just leave the door slightly cracked and the bar in position. But when you need real privacy (for sleeping only of course) then the bar comes down. (Now, if the bar is down and the door is locked, that's another story entirely.)

I was able to spend the day recovering and resting because Kevin showed how much he loved me through his actions. He took care of things. (And at this house, an awful lot falls under the category of things.)

He tended to our children's needs all day. He cleaned the kitchen from our wild Thursday Night parties. He made breakfast. And lunch. (I was even served my lunch on a tray. My grilled cheese sandwich was cut in half and my plate featured a tiny heart-shaped sugar cookie as well.)

Kevin's actions did not cost a dime. But they revealed more love than him purchasing dozens of items for me from our local Mast General Store.

His actions said everything.

Because
love is a verb.


The ordinary arts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest. -Thomas Moore

today

This had been a busy little day.

For a random Tuesday. (Actually, I believe it is officially Wednesday morning when I am writing this - but what difference does that make?)

I took the chaps to a local library to watch a Christmas "play" about Holly and Bah Hum Bug. By Porkchop Productions.

I've probably said enough already.

Actually, it was all good. The trip to the library enabled me to pick out a few new books on CD (The Kite Rider (not to be confused with The Kite Runner) and Little Men) for car listening on the many December road trips (Ohio, Florida and all the states between here and there) we have ahead of us.

Back to the library's presentation.

One of the actors in the show used a rather scary Halloween-ish mask for the Bah Hum Bug character. London, Sworn Protector of Younger Siblings, decided that the mask would be too frightening for Piper. London informed Piper that she would be placing her hand over Piper's eyes and would leave them there until Bah Hum Bug left the stage.

Piper agreed to this with an "uh-huh". She grabbed Eagle, tucked her thumb into her mouth and politely sat still for the next twelve minutes, content to merely listen to the action and trust her Protector's decision.

I laughed. (Internally only, of course.)

And I tried to take a picture. With my too-cool-for-school-new-free-from-Verizon cell phone that arrived just yesterday.

After the library I gave the kids a car picnic lunch while I drove to the bank and headed across town for more errands. The car picnic lunch was a great idea from Gretchen and was a way better success than the last at-home-in-a-hurry lunch experience.

And then I took five young children into the pits of Hell known as Toys-R-Us. Unbuckle everyone. Enter store. Corral all children in the direction I need to go. Buy a birthday present for a friend. Check out the double stroller. Feel disappointed that it is not the one I want. Give Fox his bottle while allowing the kids to push the buttons on every talking Dora doll in aisle six. All thirty of them. Corral all children out the door, past the gumball machines and the Tigger ride. Buckle everyone up again.

And then I took five young children into Target. Unbuckle everyone. Enter store from parking at the farthest possible location. No carts nearby. Carry car seat, hold Piper's hand, threaten other children so they will stay close as we walk three quarters of a mile. Watch Bergen nearly implode attempting to control his own overpowering urges to run every two steps. Enter store. Get sucked in to the $1 section by the door. Forget why I entered store. (Oh, yes - double stroller, trash bags, baby wipes.) Find the trash bags. Realize that this Target does not have the double stroller I want. (I just want five point harnesses - is that so difficult?) Find $3 jackets for the girls. Buy two. Find $3 shirts for Bergen. Buy two. Leave store without a double stroller or baby wipes.

And then I took five young children into Babies-R-Us. Unbuckle everyone. Promise ice cream cones at the nearby Chick-Fil-A to all obedient, angelic children. Hooray - a sale on baby wipes. And look - the stroller I want. But too expensive. Agonize over decision. Piper poops and announces it loudly. Finally, and sadly, choose the stroller I can afford. Salesman asks if I have found everything. Laugh and say, "Well, I want that stroller, but I want it for a price lower than the one I am buying." He responds, "Wait, that's a discontinued model. You can buy the floor sample for ten dollars less than the one you have chosen." Push him over in joy. (Okay, that's a lie.) Rejoice as I leave the store.

Of course we all have some ice cream in celebration.

Arrive at home. Remember that I forgot to clean the kitchen. Notice the trash that we forgot to take out. Begin to think our home resembles that new "Hoarders" show on A&E. Realize that Fox needs to eat but he has pooped and spit up all over his car seat. And Piper needs another diaper change. And Riley wants to go sleep over at a friend's house. And Magnus wants to eat all of the dog food in the closet. And Bergen wants his shoes tied in a double knot. And London wants to know if she can watch the Beatles Yellow Submarine movie. And Mosely cannot work the zipper on her new jacket.

In the middle of all of this my new phone beeps, although I barely recognize it because it's a new sound.

And it's my husband.

And he says we have a date tonight.

And it's not to see a play at the library. Or a trip to a store to shop for strollers. And no one should spit up. And there should be no pooping involved.

So I am really glad to go anywhere with him - particularly to see The Fantastic Mr. Fox.

And that is why I am writing this post at 1 o'clock in the morning.

11:00 a.m.

The alarm on my watch beeps every day at 11:00 a.m.

When Kevin was in Israel we both sat our alarms to the same hour so we could remember to pray for one another and our family at the same exact time, despite the physical distance between us.

Once Kevin returned, I just left the alarm setting as it was. (Not just because I don't know how to change it either.) It has been a good daily reminder to pray for my husband.

In the past when I have prayed for my husband, or any loved one in my life really, my prayers were pretty selfish.

Yes, I would pray for his physical health, his safety or specific situational problems.

But the reason I was praying those words was the selfish part.

I wanted those things to be protected, those requests to be granted, because his physical health, safety and everything else directly affected me and our children.

It's pretty hard (maybe impossible) to separate our prayers, even in our most sincere moments, from our selfish desires.

But my prayers for Kevin while he was in Israel became so much larger than just prayers for his physical safety.

I started to pray something else for my husband, the tall, handsome, bearded man I committed to stay married to for the remainder of my life.

I didn't ask God so much for stuff for Kevin any longer. (Or anyone I pray for really.)

I didn't ask for a cancer-free life. Or happiness. Or financial security.

I asked God for this . . .

Let my husband love you God. Make him chase hard after you. Chase hard. God, keep him pursuing you, pursuing you, pursuing you.

And that's all.

It's really my prayer for me too.

Maybe it's still selfish.

Because I know (and am learning) that when Kevin chases hard after God, my life is better too.

Of course it flows in both directions. When I chase hard after God, Kevin's life is better as well.

And who doesn't like better?

Back in the day (as in high school) I distinctly remember hearing youth leaders in my life, like Mark Griffith and Sonja Richards, say what I thought to be the most absurd things about marriage. Stuff like, "Fall in love with a person who loves God more than he loves you." And "the most attractive thing about your future spouse should be his love of God".

Yeah.

At sixteen I thought the most attractive thing about my future husband would be how attractive he actually was.

And I was hardly convinced that I wanted my spouse to love God more than he loved me. I think I was pretty anxious to edge God out of that first place position.

Now, and only after fourteen years of marriage, I think I may just be starting to understand the concept. A little. (Ask me why I make things harder than they need to be. And I answer - I don't know.)

It's so simple.

And so complicated.

When I love God (When I love Him well. When I love Him right.) everything in my life can find its proper place. Peace. Shalom.

When I love God better, I love Kevin better. I love my children better. I love people better. I just love better.

So if I really love my husband, why would I ask God for anything else?

Little Bites

Piper Finnian is notorious for a lot of reasons around these parts.

Standing anywhere she can gather a crowd and announcing, "Everybody! Dance!"

Agreeing with all who may perchance comment about her cuteness. "I cooot!"

Wrapping grown men around her finger by announcing how much she loves them. Men such as Kevin Keigley, Nathan Heffington, Walter Howard, Jody Deming, Jamal Quattlebaum and Greg Boone.

Singing "How He Loves" at the top of her lungs.

Finding the half-eaten bag of M&Ms reserved for potty training and eating the remainder of the entire bag before being caught.

Recognizing songs by Michael Jackson and Ben Harper without any prompting.

Waiting until naptime every day to drop a toxic poop in her diaper.

And eating tiny bites of fruit and returning the fruit to its original container without my knowledge.

Such as apples in a wooden bowl on the kitchen table. (Tiny Piper bites through the whole bowl full.)

And this row of semi-eaten carrots, neatly lined up across the counter.

Just Because

It's not Father's Day.

And it isn't Kevin's birthday.

But I feel like writing about him anyway.

In our house, the man is a Super Star.

He really is.

With all the trappings of celebrity . . . .

Not much private time (his biggest fans are continually interrupting him in the restroom - even if the door IS shut - try dealing with THAT Harrison Ford)

Everyone vying for his attention (Daddy, can you read this? Will you cut an apple for me? Can I cuddle with you? What are you going to watch Dad? Can I walk outside with you? Where are you going? When will you be back? Can I come? Can I have a bite? What is that? Have you seen my shoes? Can you help me wipe?)

His fashion cues being followed (seriously - Bergen dressed just like him this weekend)

The entourage that generally surrounds him (granted, the bulk of said entourage are his own offspring, but still)

Photos constantly being snapped (wait, this one is a lie)

The celebratory dance and mad dash to his side that happens when he enters the house after a day at work or ten minutes outside (you probably think this is a lie too, but it isn't)

But the guy does work pretty hard for the money. (So we better treat him right.) (Remember that song?)

Seriously.

He's a Super Star because he's a Dad.

And a good one.

Reader of bedtime stories. Incorporating various British accents or Southern drawls accordingly.

Constructing ramps over our bedroom steps for he and Berg to race Brutus the monster truck.

Capturing teachable moments to talk to Mosely about how her obedience pleases God when she comments about how proud she is to be learning how to make Magnus be obedient to her.

Offering warmth and security when London has a bad dream about her knee turning into a scary face.

Making our entire crowded dinner table roll out of our chairs laughing as he helps Fox to dance on the table in his diaper after our meal, all the while speaking as if he is the voice of the nearly five month old mini-man. (It is truly hysterical. You should see it in person.)

Thinking of ingenious solutions to basic problems - like the ice cold water bottle stashed near Otto in his stroller on hot summer days to keep his little space cool and comfortable.

Talking to Riley's Bible class about his experiences in Israel.

Gently bathing Piper and treating her to a special tiny spa day.

And this list isn't even exhaustive.

Today, I just feel like celebrating Kevin.

And I wanted you to see some of what I see.

Because it's a nice view.

(I love this picture of the four of us. It makes us look as if we are just extras in Jody's life. And that's funny to me.)

I guess I owe a big fat thank you to my older brother Danny.

Thanks, man.

Back in the day (the "day" being the years he spent driving Douglas and I back and forth to school in the silver hatchback Tercel covered in skateboarding stickers), Danny introduced me to what is arguably one of the greatest rock bands ever formed. A little Irish group named U2.

This was early on. As in, I still own several U2 cassette tapes. (Remember those?)

Fast forward to the present.

This week Kevin and I, along with our good pals Mandy and Jody, made a bit of a pilgrimage to Atlanta to see that now-internationally known band do their thing.

It was a real Look Up Lodge gathering - Nate, Lanier and Walter attended as well. Jane saw them the week before. And so did Walter. Yes, that means he went twice. Within the same week.

It was no small undertaking to make this happen, actually. Well, there really is no longer any small undertaking if it involves our family.

Aunt E and Oma graciously functioned as the grown ups in our absence. (More on that tomorrow!) And Nate and Jenn Rector kindly took care of the little Otto while we were at the actual show. (It requires a great deal of manpower to harness these Keigley kids.)

Actually, the whole adventure would have had a very different ending if Jody had not jokingly asked before we buckled our seat belts in the driveway, "Did you remember the tickets?" I think he probably expected a chuckle or a "good one Jody". Nope. He got a crazed Lacey leaping out of the car and bolting back to the house to procure the precious paper slips from their resting place on the top shelf of the bookcase.

Anyway.

The concert was . . . incredible. Crazy loud, reminding me of my advanced years. But Bono is amazing and The Edge is . . . . you know, The Edge. He's ridiculously good.

These guys have had such a long and successful career - it's astounding. They have been a band for almost more years than I have been breathing. I mean, these guys are someone's dad! (I wonder what my life would have been like if Carl Eibert had chosen rock and roll over dairy cows. Was that ever an option Dad?)

Everything about the experience was fun. The car ride. The beef jerky. The Mexican restaurant in Lilburn (or wherever we were) where I tried my first chimichanga. (A word spellcheck does not recognize.) The fact that it was just cold enough to justify wearing my new boots. Sitting in the backseat of the XTerra with my husband. Seeing Nate and Jenn Rector in their cute house with their quirky dog taking care of our youngest boy. Driving by the entrance of Mandy and Jody's first home. Bono singing "Amazing Grace". Me singing along too loudly to "Sunday Bloody Sunday". The whole thing.

(Oh, I guess that's not entirely true. I was not keen on paying $30 to park on a gravel pile in Atalanta.)

This post has no real point.

We had a great time.

And I wanted to talk about it.

I guess that's the point.

Almost There

We miss this guy.

(I miss this man.)

He's about to get on a jet plane and head our way.

Soon.

Official Keigley CuddleFest 2K9, here we come!

Make My Dreams Come True

I want one.

No, not a new husband.

Certainly not another baby.

The mini silver miracle known as a Mac laptop.

I want one.

Who wants to help me?

While You Were Sleeping

I was feeding Wilder in his bedroom.

I finished.

I walked to the kitchen and was greeted by a wild scene.

Two small children, one two, the other four, stood before me. Looking sheepish. And guilty. And white. Looking very white.

"What?" I started to say.

I quickly realized that the white that had settled on their entire beings, from toes to roots of hair to cheeks to the two stuffed animals carried in their arms, was from powder. I could see it everywhere. I could smell it.

Wait a minute.

While I was feeding Wilder weren't these two playing in our bedroom? With their father?

Or so I thought.

"Kevin!" I shout.

A noise that I assume is his response comes from the bedroom.

The bedroom that is covered in a cloud of white. A choking cloud of white powder. I see a floor covered in white. Thickly covered in white powder.

Oh, there's Kevin.

Lying on the bed.

Asleep.

Covered in white powder.