This past weekend I painted a mural — a map of the world — on the wall in the boys’ bedroom. The whole room isn’t done yet, but I’m really happy with how the map turned out and I didn’t want to wait to share until I have the room all styled and staged. The truth is that probably won’t ever happen (though I have the best of intentions).

We had been going with a map theme in the boys’ room, but it was all rather blah and without much inspiration. But then I saw a mural (of Napoleon Dynamite) on the Design Mom blog, and I suddenly knew what to do.

The process, short and sweet (and cheap!): I bugged my mom to dig out her overhead projector. (I have no idea why my parents have an overhead projector, but the last time it was used was probably when we made the patterns for Simon’s Totoro nursery.) I found a world map online, had Jason figure out how to print it out in the size I needed, and took it to Staples to make a transparency (~ $4 because the map spanned two sheets of paper). I projected the map on the wall and traced the outline of the continents in pencil. (I chose a map that showed rivers and mountains too, and I traced most of the details. I ended up not using the rivers and mountains.)

Surprisingly, the tracing only took about an hour. I am not a perfectionist. I originally liked the idea of letting the image wrap around more than just one wall, but ultimately decided against it for simplicity’s sake.

At Lowe’s I bought 8 half-pint-size paint samples, one color for each continent and one for the ocean (~$25). I  chose red, Simon’s favorite color, for Asia and brown, Ian’s favorite, for North America. I used brushes I already had at home and just filled in the shapes.

All told, the painting probably took 6 or 7 hours. It was absolute bliss to have so many hours to myself doing something both creative and productive.

The boys both expressed several times throughout the process how cool/awesome/pretty they thought it was. With each new continent, Ian would say, “Oh, Mommy, I like Asia” or “What’s that? South Amerita? It’s so tool!”

Having time to myself to listen to music and just think and pray did me good. It was fun to pray for friends who have traveled and/or lived or live now in different parts of the world as they came to mind. I had a great time remembering places I’ve had the privilege to visit and did plenty of dreaming of places I still want to go (and soon!). I also had all kinds of thoughts about how to use the map practically to teach the kids about all manner of things.

The final product is certainly not without its faults. As I said, I am not a perfectionist. I added a whole island in Asia that doesn’t actually exist (a drip about the size of Crete that I was too slow to wipe off, so we’ll just consider it my secret  island. Maybe Jason and I will retire there one day), and I had to fudge the border between Europe and Asia. I also erased lots of islands and peninsulas and felt bad that I was willy nilly changing coastlines with sloppy outlining. But Jason assures me that the liberties I took are unlikely to cause an international incident. I hope he’s right.

My friend Christy had the brilliant, fantastic, and wonderful-beyond-words idea of adding illustrations (like sea monsters and such). I sincerely hope we actually do that, but I’m calling the mural done, or at least at a stopping point, for now. Next up, I have some ideas about super-simple quilts to make for the beds and some ideas about what to do on the remaining walls and such. When I do those things, it’s likely I’ll take  a few photos and write a little something about it.

I haven’t done this in a while, so here is a whole month at a glance.

This happens to be a story about Simon and Clara, but it could easily have been Ian. Both the boys dote on her.

It was late in the day, and I was spent. Ian had just driven his tricycle off the edge of the back deck into the holly bush (he was mostly unharmed), and I was trying to wrap up Clara’s really messy diaper. I pried the “not-toys” out of Clara’s hand, which left her wailing (and, I’m sad to say, I was not feeling too sympathetic about it at that moment).

Simon started jumping up and down, hands stiff at his side like a toy soldier, saying, “Clara! Look! Play with me! I’m a pencil! I’m a pencil, Clara!”

My brief confusion turned to delight when I remembered that the not-toys I had just confiscated from Clara were colored pencils.

Clara Morehead, I thought, You are one lucky little sister. I hope you know it.

Sadly, our first little monarch caterpillar, Husker, didn’t make it (we think he tried to form his chrysalis before he was mature enough). But today we ventured just beyond the edge of town in search of another. In the span of about 15 minutes, we saw six turkeys, a deer, a blue heron, a swallowtail butterfly, and, yes, another monarch caterpillar. Thankfully, no snakes. Surprising and jumbley, so much wild in one little ditch.

On a whim, we threw together a picnic yesterday afternoon and headed for the ampitheater (or, if you’re Simon and Ian “ampitheteor,” rhymes with “ampi-meteor”) at Pioneers Park. After lunch the boys wanted to show us their two forts (the spaces behind the bushes on either side of the stage), and we passed a lovely couple of hours flying in a ship commanded by Simon, co-piloted by Ian, and fueled up by Clara (although Clara forgot to do her job, so Simon covered for her). We landed on Mars, where Ian greeted us all, “Welcome to Mars. We live in peace.” And then we flew to Neptune, where the boys had a snowball fight. We also found a pirate alien spaceship that didn’t seem to go anywhere but did feature a plank — as in “Walk the plank!” — and a secret doorway, accessible only by “walking on your hands and arms.”

So this was fun. A few weeks ago, I met Maddie and her mom, my friend Indra, at Holmes Lake at 6:30 am. It was a gorgeous morning, if a little chilly at first. Maddie is a gem, I’ve always thought so. I love her playfulness, and I just couldn’t get enough of her smile. She was such a good sport to brave the less-appealing aspects of Holmes in the morning — spider webs and the shaky bridge, to name just a couple.

Up before his alarm  — and before anyone else in the house — he puts on the clothes he so carefully chose and laid out last night.

How did he get so big? I wonder. (Lots of birthdays, he would answer. When he says this, I do not know if he is making a joke or being literal.)

***

We sit down to a nice, non-rushed breakfast — oatmeal.

I can do this, I think.

***

As we head outside for pictures, he notices something. He had so much fun surprising a few of his friends with Good Luck messages chalked on their driveways, and he is genuinely surprised — and utterly delighted — that someone has done the same for him.

Thank you for this community of friends that love me by loving my children, I pray.

***

A spontaneous cheer from Ian: “Go, Simon, go! Go, Simon, go! Go, Simon, go!” And Clara adds some fancy dance moves to the mix.

If you rush over there and squeeze the stuffing out of them, the moment will pass and you won’t get it on video, I remind myself.

***

He hardly stands still to snap the obligatory pic standing — backpack at the ready — in front of the house.

Well, I’m glad he’s so excited, I tell Jason.

 ***

Our little neighbor friend, also starting kindergarten today, comes over to say hello. Simon eagerly shows him the chalk drawings and a baseball bat and several other random things from the garage. Then he gets an idea: he challenges the friend to a bicycle race. Simon — who, between you and me, cannot ride a bike yet at all — straps on his helmet and gets all set at the top of the driveway. Almost before you can say, “On your mark, Get set, Go!” our neighbor friend is down the driveway and across the street. “Oh,” Simon says matter-of-factly, “I cannot ride that fast.”

Thank you, I pray again. And walk with him, Jesus, in all the tasks ahead that he will try. I know that sometimes he will be more successful than other times, and I know too that sometimes he will fail. Help him to try anyway.

***

Time to get in the car.

It’s not too late! I want to scream. Lock him in the house and beg him to be a baby forever.

***

We walk, all five of us, about a block from our car to the school. There are parents and grandparents and kids and cameras everywhere. As we get close, he whispers, “Mommy, I’m going to let go of your hand now.”

It begins, I sigh. Let it go.

***

“No, wait. I think I still want to hold it.“

Just act casual, I think. Just. Be. Cool.

***

The bell rings, and we move ahead with the flow of traffic. I barely notice anyone around me. I am concentrating, memorizing this moment, trying to make it last unnaturally long. I am determined not to cry in front of him. Walking down that last hallway approaching his classroom, though, twice I feel the hotness rising behind my eyes, and in an effort to stop it, I give Simon’s hand a squeeze. Twice he gives me a little squeeze right back, without even looking at me.

Who is reassuring whom, here? I marvel.

***

His teacher greets him at the door — enthusiastically and by name — and explains to him how to move his lunch card and where to put his backpack.

Oh, I like her, I think again. Yes, this is good.

***

A hug for Daddy and Clara. And then a hug for Ian. “And a kiss!” Ian says. My heart melts, and I barely get a wave before he’s off to find a book and sit on the carpet per instructions.

That’s okay, I think. I really am glad he’s so eager.

***

And then suddenly we are back in the car. Simon is all dropped off. And I let it go. The tears fall freely.

Dear Jesus, I whisper. Dear Jesus. Dear Jesus. Dear Jesus. Be with Simon today. Help him to be brave and kind. Remind him that you are always near. Thank you for his teachers. Thank you for Simon, and thank you for letting me be his Mommy. Comfort me today when I miss him, and calm my fears. Thank you for the time I get to spend with the littles. Be near. Teach us to glorify you in all we think, say, and do.