Portrait

When Kate, who is now 14, was about two, I sent a picture of her to my cousin, an artist. I hadn't asked him to draw a picture of her from that photograph, but that's what he did, such nice cousin that he is.

I love that portrait of little Kate, but in terms of framing and hanging, I waited long enough that there was then the issue of Holt and Livvy. It didn't feel right to have Kate up on the wall and not her siblings. So for now, the drawing remains in a box, and I take it out about once a year to admire it and think about whether there's something I could ever do for my cousin in return for drawings of the other two.

In the meantime, I went into a Land of Nod pop-up store after the holidays. It was full of good toys at greatly reduced prices, and I bought a mosaic art kit, thinking it was something Livvy might like. It included paper boards, sheets of stickers, and instructions on how to make - of all things - people portraits.

Livvy started by making a portrait of a boy, who just happened to look an awful lot like her brother. So of course we decided there should be a Kate and Livvy - finally a complete set! - and I'm hoping I'll be more on top of the framing and hanging this time around. I'll always love the first Kate portrait and won't give up the dream of someday having two more, but these will tide us over nicely for now.

Mandela

When I picked up Holt, my 11-year-old, from a sports practice last night, he asked if I had heard that Nelson Mandela died. He said he had listened in on a conversation some older boys, who were working out nearby, were having about the South African leader. Later, when I walked into the family room, I found him sitting quietly, watching a tribute to Mandela on television. So, in honor of a man who changed the world and a boy who seems to recognize that, a quote for Friday:

"People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite." - Nelson Mandela

I hope you have a very happy weekend.

Friend

Katie Cole and I were best friends from Kindergarten until the day she moved away in 4th grade. Here is what I remember about her:

1. She wore her blonde hair in two braids every single day.
2. Her mother's name was Priscilla, and she had a little sister named Sarah and a one-eyed Dachshund named Oliver.
3. One day I was sitting next to her on the school bus, and I lied to her about a grade on my report card because I wanted her to think I had done better than I had.
4. Both her parents grew up on farms in Iowa.
5. There was a big bump in the road in front of her house, and I always made sure to ride my bike over it when I went to play.
6. One day on the playground, she said something mean about me to a group of girls, and I went home and cried at the kitchen table with my mother. I forgave her the next day.
7. I sat in the bathroom and cried again the day she came to our house with her parents to tell us they were moving cross-country. Almost immediately after, or so it seemed to me, they were gone.

Two of my children each have a close friend who is moving far away in a month or so. Unlike my experience in the bathroom, both have known about the moves for a little while, and I hope this will make it easier. But they will miss their friends and will remember them when they're grown. I feel sure of that. But which memories will they take with them? I hope to find out when we get there.

Don't forget

I walked home from school dropoff with a friend yesterday, the day after a tornado ripped through central Oklahoma. My friend said she didn't feel as though she could explain one more tragedy to her 8-year-old daughter and had asked her husband to keep her away from the television. She also said she worries that the media too quickly forgets about earlier events.

I hope we won't soon forget about tornado victims in Oklahoma. NBC News has put together a list of organizations that are accepting donations, if you can help. And in Oklahoma, the media is doing a good job at finding and focusing on the heroes of the story, just as it did in Sandy Hook, Boston, and so many others. Boston, meanwhile, is doing its own good job remembering those affected by the events of April 15. On Saturday, under the name #onerun, anyone who wasn't able to finish the marathon will get a chance to meet at the "one mile left" mark and run together the final leg of the race. Of course, there will be spectators along the way cheering them on. Boston wouldn't have it any other way.

(Photo by Jennifer Green.)

Time flies

I'm having a time-is-flying-by moment. These spring weekends (and weeks) are so full, there's hardly time to think. It reminds me of having babies, when well-meaning people said, "Enjoy this time; it goes by so fast," and I thought, "I'm really trying, but mostly I'm feeling overwhelmed." We'll race to the end of spring, measured by the last day of school (the end of June in our case), and then it will all come to a halt, at least for a while. Yesterday, I went with one of my daughters on a field trip to the ocean, where we spent the day searching for crabs, shrimp, and starfish. We climbed over rocks, waded in icy-cold water, and ate picnic lunches on beach towels. I tried not to give in to the feeling that my field-trip days are numbered. As parents of 8-year-olds, we can still elicit screams of excitement from the school bus when it pulls into the parking lot and the children spot us waiting by our cars. That won't last, I know, but an 11-year-old and a 13-year-old remind me that what comes after also is good, just different.

I hope you have a very happy - and relaxing - weekend.

Home

It feels as though I've been away from this blog for a very long time. Last week was school vacation, and we flew out of Logan Airport the morning after the Boston Marathon, wondering if we were doing the right thing. As a friend said of her family, their feet were in the sand, but their hearts were at home. That was true of us, too.

Part of my silence over the past week was being away, but part was a struggle to find words. So much has been written about that day, so eloquently. As for me, I didn't run, I wasn't at the finish line, and everyone I knew who ran or watched from the end of the race eventually got home safely. I'm so grateful for that. Still, I'll share one impression from what I think of as "before," and one small anecdote from "after."

The official halfway point of the marathon is down the street from our house, and every year we love to watch the runners and wheelchair racers react to the 13-mile marker. Some raise their fists in a silent cheer, some grimace, most check their watches, and every single one keeps going. We'll keep going, too, as long as we live here. It's our tradition, and that won't change.

One week later, we were coming home from our trip, making our way through security. We were flying to Washington and from there on to Boston. I handed my driver's license to the security officer, who looked at it and then at me. In an accent I couldn't place, he asked me where in Massachusetts I live. I told him we live outside Boston. "I'm praying for you, you know," he said. Immediately, my eyes began to sting. "Thank you," I said.

"This is why we're a great country," he went on. "We're strong. And we support each other." I nodded, not trusting my voice, and we continued through security headed toward home.

(Photos from Boston.com)