Firefighter's Fam

the red & pink dinner: what selfishness steals

2012-02-19T17:38:00.000-06:00

This year on the fourteenth, I was remembering two things in a big way with a very full heart:

1) How much God has brought us through in the past year. So much darkness and pain and fear. He carried. Last year when I wrote about love being more than red tissue paper my world was literally crumbling around me as I watched my husband's struggle to cope with his own grief and his own inability to save the world. Someday. . . I'll be brave enough to spill it all out here. But for now. . . my heart overflows with gratefulness to a God that is real and cares and rescues. I have lived some of the darkest moments I could have imagined and at the end of that tunnel as well as the middle He is faithful and true.

2) Last year on the fourteenth, I went to Walgreens and bought one of those pink little $7.99 boxes that tell you that life is going to change and another little person is on the way. I cannot even begin to describe all of the emotion and anguish that went into those moments. . . I did get pulled over on my way home from the drugstore by a nice officer from the MPD. Good grief, I have so many unfortunate incidents with speed limits and my husband's colleagues. They're so nice to me. (Or maybe nice to Daniel.)

February 2011 was a surreal mixture of hope and despair for me.

And this year I remember and ache with thankfulness that the despair didn't stay, that God is continuing to give hope and purpose to our days.

We tried to get a sitter for the red and pink holiday but our fave was under the weather with the flu and *call it old-married-itis* but we just didn't care that much. Both of us are neurotically paranoid about leaving Eli right now and let's face it, romantic dinner out on the town + carseat, burp cloths, nursing, and baby giggles is just not a great combo.

And it doesn't matter.

Maybe I am finally growing up? I cringe to remember the hoops my poor man jumped through to dazzle his new bride and the unreal expectations I had. Oh the selfishness our society promotes. Oh how the poor guys can never measure up.

At any rate, this was one of my ~~brighter~~ less selfish years and it turned out to be pretty amazing.

I sent the kids & Daniel brown paper bag invitations tied up with pink crepe paper:

Valentine Dinner

our house

6:30pm

must wear red or pink

and did my best to transform our dining room into Restaurant H. I stole Cambria's shell chandelier out of her room and managed to hang it over the table (very very cool effect: now I want one in every room).

And there were red construction paper place mats and real goblets and conversation candy hearts and menus:

Welcome to Restaurant H

Triple Layer Pizzeria Pepperoni

(in a heart shape)

Breadsticks Parmesan & Marinara

Choice of Drinks:

Cherry Soda or Sweetest Tea

Dessert Menu:

Leave-it-to-Beaver Chocolate Chip Cookies & Milk

I didn't have time to run errands so I just made dinner out of what I had in the fridge. It worked. No salad or greens was a little weird, but I think it only bothered me.

Jacob, ever aware of trends: "Dad, did you know that Happy Joes is even delivering heart shaped pizzas tonight?"

Cambria came to the table in a pink turtleneck dress with pink bracelets and a pink necklace and an awful lot of pink eyeshadow from a play make-up kit.

I grabbed my standby black dress and tied a pink ribbon on my boring hairdo - voila waitress/hostess Hayley. {I told the kids I wished I would have remembered my nametag from my receptionist days at the CPC Pregnancy Resources center; would have looked more official. JD: "We can imagine it on you, Mom."}

Oh such a fun dinner. Something is very magical about changing up the ordinary.

And we even had a jukebox, something that intrigues the kids every.single.time we eat at the Texas Roadhouse. *If you ever need a jukebox, Spotify is a fabulous stand-in. The kids got to make requests and we had a pretty sweet playlist.

Oh How He Loves Us

(David Crowder)

O the Deep Deep Love of Jesus

(2nd Chapter)

What Love Really Means

(JJ Heller)

I Will Be Here

(Steven Curtis Chapman)

Still the One

(Shania Twain)

I told Cambria and Jacob that the very first time Daniel twirled me all the way around in a circle, we were seeing each other after months apart and

looks like we made it

look how far we've come my baby

they said we'd never make it

but just look at us holding on

still together

still going strong

still the one i run to

the one that I belong to

still the one i want for life

was blaring over the airport sound system.

(Poor TSA agents.)

I happened to glance at Cambria's face and her eyes were shining. I was caught off guard by her interest. Oh. . . what a feeling to know that your mommy and daddy love each other. I think of all of the yuckiness and the mundane that she hears out of my mouth and I resolve that she will hear more of this, more of the love stuff.

In the joy of preparing beauty for my children and my man I actually forgot about myself

and lo and behold I got surprised too.

They had little packages for me, lovingly wrapped in brown paper sacks.

50 tea light candles (from Jacob)

Triple Berry (think pink) candle (from Cambria)

gorgeous roses from my man

a card that they all signed

Daniel

and Jacob Daniel

and Cambria

and Gabe

and Eli

and seeing all of those precious names and knowing my husband knows my heart so well. . . yep, the tears overflowed.

Tears because they love me so much;

Tears because God is so good;

Tears because of all the years my selfishness ruined and stole moments like these;

Tears because I have been given so so so much;

Tears because he loves me so much.

Best February 14th ever.

*And FYI, you don't have to go out on the town to love your man. You knew that, though.

attempted sunday restfulness

2012-02-12T15:10:00.000-06:00

Ahhh. . . . Sunday afternoons.

I love them. If Daniel is home I usually escape to the library and lose myself in the labyrinth of books and hushed voices. (What are hushed voices? I don't hear those very often.)

Today is a Sunday afternoon sans Daniel so I gotta create my own respite. I poured myself some coffee and even though my screen keeps getting covered up every two minutes by the American Girl Doll catalogue {"Mom, look at this one. This is the one that has a tipi."} I'm hoping to log some moments and quotes from the week that I don't want to forget.

For Cambria, each day begins with the crisis of what to wear. On Tuesday, I heard her muttering to herself as she stuffed something back in her drawer, "Well, can't wear that cuz Clare's gonna be there." I never did find out why that mattered, but a bigger problem was her choice of outfit for gym class on Friday. Polka dot dress + Cambria - leggings or bloomers + tumbling + exasperated, judgemental glances at me from the instructors = bad mom moment for the week.

JD is always thinking deeply. It is disturbing sometimes, especially to someone like me who doesn't tend to take life too seriously. Yesterday: "Dad, I have just been wondering this. Does Satan smoke?" I laughed out loud which didn't help Daniel respond with the gravity the question required, I'm sure.

Other thoughts from Jacob:

"Is there a word made with only vowels? No, I don't mean "I" and "A", I mean with several vowels, Mom."

*standing on stairway after being tucked in for the night* "Mom. Hi. Do anteaters eat ants? That question has just been sitting in my head."

To Cambria: "Be careful when you swim in Hawaii. I've heard there are killer whales there."

He delights in keeping tabs on current events, news and weather, and then name dropping. This is hilarious to me because he usually gets something wrong. Cases in point: Justin Biever, Nitt Romney and Moot Gingrich are a few recent goof-ups.

Today, riding the wave of my praise for good behavior, he tried for some further brownie points: "Mom, I don't really enjoy watching videos anymore. I just like playing with craft popsicle sticks and being creative." {This smacks of the smashingly popular "Homeschool Ryan Gosling" to me.}

Cambria is reaching for one of these little yummies; I made them yesterday for a snow tubing get-together at our local midwest ski ~~lodge mountain resort~~ hill. I think I did something wrong to the caramel, because it was crunchy instead of chewy but other than that they are pretty addictive.

Speaking of Cambria. . . I feel so tested as a mom by her style of learning and her needs right now. She is so sensitive and if not handled correctly and gently, quickly becomes pouty. She needs so much cuddling and time and love and endless reading of books. She wants so bad to be with me. If I start make supper I find myself wincing as I hear the inevitable scccr-scraping of pulling a chair up to the counter.

Why do I brace myself for it? I asked Daniel one day as I found myself clenching my teeth while giving instructions to stir and be careful and not to "lick and stick" fingers. I should be rejoicing to have a little girl who wants to help me and wants to be near me.

There are all sorts of reasons for my exasperation (the main one of course, being sin) but what it all boils down to for me is my selfish heart. My friend Wendi wrote about this humanness on Thursday and helped me feel less alone. I am not the only mamma who feels so inadequate to reach and meet all of these needs.

I am off to try and win over the unending laundry battle; then off to surprise my man by showing up at his Financial Peace University class. [He's been requesting that I come. I said no. I said absolutely no. I said I don't have time for one more Dave Ramsey class. This week I've been -once again- humbled by my own selfishness and the grace of God in my life. A tiny bit of unselfishness is not going to hurt me. So I told the kids I was going to show up at his class today and not to tell Daddy and there might not be childcare for them today so would they be okay playing with the iPad and sitting quietly? Jacob: "Oh, sure, Mom. Actually I have always wanted to sit in on an FPU class."]

*** news flash. just talked to Daniel and he isn't going. Grrreat. That means that I have to come up with another Valentine's Day gift for him. Ha ha ha. Although I am glad I found out. Showing up at his class with three children and no Daniel would be an even greater exercise in unselfishness and grace. ***

Well. . . the laundry hasn't changed plans, it's still patiently waiting for me.

February Thoughts

2012-02-09T15:14:00.000-06:00

So I made a coffee filter wreath. It was really easy; basically just poking coffee filters into a foam wreath with the end of a small paint brush. I used a whole package of 4 cup size filters (accidentally bought by me. . . . who in the world would bother making only 4 cups of coffee?).

It's cute if I have the front door open. . .

but since we can see through our glass door I should have put more filters on the back so that you don't see the green foam. I should do that soon. Someday. Before I take the wreath down. Time, time, where art thou?

Looking at the above pictures make me want to change the paint color in our living room. I've been toying with the grey idea. And the next minute I feel exhausted by the idea of painting and decide that tan is fine. Sometimes I wonder where the girl who loved to flip houses went. (Maybe she is turning thirty?!)

You can also see that window on the wall; it's from my mom and dad's farmhouse. I'm in the middle of wiping off the Christmas song my mom wrote on it, mulling over what I should write on next. Thinking about this quote:

I will confess

I do not see Who I believe

but I have a choice to make

and I choose to believe

until someday I shall see

(taken from Little Mama's blog)

And then, of course, my Eli. . . oh such joy he is. So many rolls! Squishing him is. . . like dessert.

"Hi, Mamma. . . I do believe I've outgrown these 0-3 month onesies."

(could he be any more bald?)

Game invented by JD & Cambria: Eli - Eli - O (to the tune of Old MacDonald)

Oh the endless entertainment of having a sister who does your own personal puppet shows.

"Oh, no. Seems like I got too many friends!" (that caption courtesy of JD)

This little hat (I bought it from this Etsy shop for $12) just never gets old. I think it's the cutest baby thing I've ever bought.

I'm in the middle of this book right now. . . so thankful that God gives me grace; how often I fall short in giving grace to my children. This has been a refreshing read for me. Many parenting books leave me overwhelmed with "things to do" and "ground I've lost." Dr. Kimmel's approach is hopeful and uplifting. I love how he applies this passage on grace to parenting. I've never read Titus 2:11-14 through "mommy lenses" but I'm glad I have now!

For the grace of God that brings salvation has appeared to all men.

It teaches us to say "No" to ungodliness and worldly passions, and teaches

us to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age,

while we wait for the blessed hope - the glorious appearing of our great God

and Savior, Jesus Christ, Who gave Himself for us to redeem us from

all wickedness and to purify for himself a people that are His very own,

eager to do what is good.

Underneath the busy and the crazy, I struggle to find the balance between life and actually living,

between being married and having a marriage,

between housekeeping and making a home,

the balance between caring for my children and loving my man.

(If I ever find the secret, I'll be sure to pass it on.)

oh such a copycat

2012-01-21T20:46:00.000-06:00

Oh, Pinterest. . .

I did this today with the kids.

Not my idea, wagon or house pictured above.

{But it's super super cute and we have one now.}

I've been thinking today about what a shameless copycat I am. . . it's really quite pathetic.

As a new gym member, do I come up with my own exercise routine? No, I trot after Deeann, ~~panting~~ trying to keep up, and just copy hers.

Do I come up with my own homeschool curriculum ideas? Nope, just copy my mother in law. If my kids graduate from college two years early like Daniel's little brothers with degrees in physics engineering and political science. . .I'm good with whatever curriculum got them to that point.

I worry after reading Ann Voskamp that I'm going to blog like her. *hit return key five times* deep, thoughtful sentence. *hit return key five times*

Hmm. I try to copy my sister in law's unbelievably organized household.

I want to copy my mom's easy, relaxed hospitality.

I wish I could copy my little sisters' crazy-amazing hairstyles. (How do you backcomb again?)

I think about copying the mommy-bloggers like my friend Michelle who resolve to not spend any money in January. (I think I just heard my husband laughing his head off ten blocks away at the FD.)

Sigh.

Nothing's original here, folks. It's all duplicated from some other brilliant soul.

when carpe diem seems like a good idea

2012-01-07T09:09:00.000-06:00

Thud.

Little Eli fell.

The details aren't important; he cried and we both soothed him and worried a little.

Then he quit crying and started holding his breath with silent, jerky little sobs.

oh, Eli, don't do this. . . Daniel was telling him and my whole body went cold again.

We are going to get some help here. . . I was shaking, running for my phone. Couldn't find it. Couldn't find any phone. Wasn't thinking.

Yes, yes, call. Daniel is saying, just standing there, dazed, holding him.

We can get there faster ourselves, I say and start putting shoes on my man and starting the van and crying to my son to breathe and be okay.

Drive drive drive I say and then realize he can't drive while he holds him and I can't leave the kids so they have to come with us. I call them out of bed, hating the fear that they are going to feel and load them in. I am moving like the wind. I leave the door open and candles burning. I am not thinking.

Still jerky weird gasps from Eli.

I pray, out loud, and words stream out of my mouth as I drive the route I rode fourteen months ago to say goodbye to Gabe.

God, make him breathe,

You are a Healer, God.

God, I need my son,

God You are a Giver. . . be a Giver, God!

Daniel tells me to park at the ER and I refuse and drive to the double doors. Go, go go, just go get him in there. . .

I see my husband carry my son through those doors through a haze of tears as I park and I hate what he is reliving and I hate what I could find when I too, walk through those doors again.

I should have come back sooner, I think as I go in, realizing that I'm barefoot. I just couldn't bring myself to return. Daniel is here every other day. . . how does he do it? Same corridors, same trauma rooms, same little private family lounges where peoples nightmares start.

I find my husband and two nurses and I lean against the door jamb and take it all in. Eli is sitting up in Daniel's arms and making sad little coos to the nurses and they are all smiling and agreeing with Daniel that his respirations sound good but it's good to check and how far did he fall and they have a relaxed camaraderie from working together and everyone knowing why we're paranoid.

I am limp with relief and my face is wet with tears as I sit on the cot and hold him close to my heart.

He's okay? All that heart-stopping stress? The doctor looks so young and I feel so old and tired and weary. He says our son is fine and that he'll run any x-rays or scans that we would like, but really doesn't think it's necessary. Why was he jerking and not breathing? I ask and the doctor shrugs and laughs and says he was probably really mad. Eli. . .seriously. . .you took another couple years off my life and reinforced the need for my Loreal 5N.

I left the room, I left the emergency department, I walked out into the parking lot. . . retracing awful steps. But I was holding my son. I got into the van and held his face to mine and sobbed.

I know in my head that these are just childhood events that happen to everyone and and yet . . . he fell and immediately my mind spins an awful movie reel that my heart has already lived.

I'm sorry.

There's nothing we can do.

Going home with empty arms.

Newspaper notices with a photo of my baby.

Tiny grave.

I can't believe Eli's okay because I find myself always braced for the worst. It's eleven pm and I hold him and think back on my demanding words to God and wonder why He even answered. I don't deserve any of the good gifts He's already given me.

I am not entitled to my children.

My heart twists and I think of the sweet couple in our Compassionate Friends group who lost both of their little boys in a tragic car accident.

Their days are not promised.

I think of the Don't Carpe Diem post that has been wildly popular among all of my mamma friends and even though I totally agree and have so been there . . . I realize that each day is an incredible gift.

It all blurs together in my mind and I drift into a troubled sleep.

And unbelievably I dream of Gabe. This is a first for me. I have wished that I could dream about him because then I could have another memory, even though it wouldn't be real, only a figment of an exhausted imagination.

Someone brings him to a party as a gift to us.

I know he's there, but just assimilate him back into my little nest, like he never left at all.

There's crying and eating and unwrapping gifts and breaking up children's fights, smiling and taking pictures and then the party is over.

The nameless person who brought Gabe as a gift hands me a photo from the party of all of us together and I realize that he had been there.

Where is he?? Why didn't I go crazy with joy?? Why didn't I realize the gift??

He's not here anymore.

And I am left with only a picture, again.

I wake up and can't sleep again, disturbed by the realness of the dream and the reality of never seeing Gabe this side of Heaven.

Eli is wiggling and talking and I take him downstairs in the early morning dark and start some coffee; I lay him a blanket and sit next to him, my back propped against my favorite big chair, and I take it in. He laughs at my feet and I wave them at him. I pick him up and kiss him. I take in the moment. I feel the joy. I am still tingly with gratefulness and relief.

Daniel comes downstairs, headed to a long twenty four hours at work, fixing other peoples emergencies and seeing their raw grief and pain and he stops, too, and takes Eli in. He picks him up and holds him close. I tell him about my dream and cry against him, thankful for a man to lean on and love me through life.

And Saturday begins. Eli goes back to sleep. Cambria is up, asking in a demanding and whiny way for pancakes. I'm pretty sure I have poison ivy on my face (no idea how it got there). There are piles of laundry to fold and put away and beds to make and I don't feel super organized today.

It's real life, and it's not glamorized and I know that I will feel irritation today and I know the edgy surreal gratefulness for an uneventful ER visit will wear off and I won't always feel this thankful.

I will wish Eli would just stop crying.

I will say Cambria, you are entirely too old to be sucking your thumb! Take it out of your mouth!

I will say You will not say "I want pancakes and put syrup on top" to your mamma.

But that gratefulness is right there, under the surface, springing out in a big hurry when I realize how quickly life can change.

So if you're reading this, wallowing in bad attitudes and sleepless nights and groceries and runny noses and toddlerhood. . . I know.

I am too.

But just maybe carpe minute. In the middle of the crazy unending childhood drama of the diem.

Hug your babies.

Breathe them in.

Tell them you love them.

Kiss their little baby toes, their little preschooler noses, their little I'm-almost-seven-and-too-big-for-kisses cheeks.

Because tomorrow isn't promised and today -though long and weary and sometimes frustrating- today is what God has given.

Live it!

{all things richly}

2012-01-02T22:50:00.001-06:00

Leftover chex mix and Eli snuggles;

kids in bed and my value pack pecan pie candles from Walmart showing up Yankee;

living room a little bit bare from the lack of decorations and our tree;

I had great plans of compiling a massive 2011 faves list, complete with thumbnails of recipes, trips, music, and even purchases. . . but. . . it's not happening any time soon and since I'm in the middle of reading this amazing book. . .

. . .compiling that sort of list also seemed a bit narcissistic. As a side note, I am so challenged and convicted by Tim Willard and Jason Lacy's thoughtful critique of how our culture has damaged the individuality of people. It's an excellent read.

So I'll skip the sweet idea of my year in a nutshell (you didn't wanna read it anyway) and pass on my absolute favorite online reads from the past year. These posts were well worth my time and the words lingered for days and weeks after reading. Enjoy and be challenged!

On Forgiveness.

figuring out how to forgive {your parents}

"I am a daughter failed and I am a parent failing

and I know it in ways now I never knew.

If I rip apart the bridge of forgiveness for my own parents

with my own hands

I destroy the only way my children can come to me."

ANN from A HOLY EXPERIENCE

On Motherhood.

(Don't you just want to read her blog when her shoes are that cute?)

The Mom Thing

(on the wild ocean life vs. motherhood )

I absolutely can't wait to travel the world again, but this time, take a little pair of wide-eyes with me, and show them everything there is to see.

I can't wait to pursue my dreams and ambitions, but this time, teach a little soul along the way how to be a feminine woman in a feminist world.

I can't wait to be best friends with my little girl, and one day, best friends with a woman who will know me like no one has ever known me.

. . .it's possible to live a "wild ocean life". But just what exactly that looks like, may change.

. . .as your life changes, your vision changes too,
and you start to see things more clearly until one day, you realize, you are finding meaning and value in where you are, and what you're doing.

SHELLEY from FRAME OF MIND

On Being Real.

(my beautiful childhood friend Wendi. . . beautiful inside and out)

You may find gorgeous photos of matching pajamas. . . . elsewhere.

It was all going to be beautiful

with lightly falling snow

and sugar plums

and holly decking the halls

and mistletoe kisses

when we all changed

out of our matching pajamas

and into our Sunday - Christmas Sunday - best.

Except we don't have mistletoe.

. . . .

There was no snow.

Everything was brown.

Dave went to church by himself.

I managed the chaos of four little boys, most coughing, a few sick, and all a little hyped up on Christmas excitement.

And no one had matching pajamas. ;)

I took a deep breath, tried to erase preconceived notions of how it was supposed to go, and breathed in my reality.

WENDI from EVERYDAY MIRACLES

And just cause I can't help it,

can I just give a shout out to

and

Spotify

and

Dunkin Donuts Dark Coffee

and

Adele

and

7-Up Biscuits

and

chalkboard paint

and

Loreal 5N

and

the library

and

my Bible study group

and

Goodwill & Salvation Army

(and Forever 21 too)

for bringing beauty to my little world.

Trust. . . in God. . .Who gives us all things richly to enjoy.

I TIMOTHY 6:17b

12/28 fire update

2011-12-28T19:05:00.000-06:00

*finally heard he was ok at 3 am, home at 8:30 am, safe, fed, my heart reassured, back out on the fireground tonight again cuz he can't stay away from it. Whew.

So glad our friend Troy is going to be okay. Scary night for everyone and I'm glad it's over.

(please come home to me)

2011-12-28T01:21:00.001-06:00

It's one am and I am sitting curled on my couch with my laptop saying things to myself like

You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee

and

this is it! it's too scary! do some other job!

and

clicking refresh on the different facebook statuses of my friends whose husbands are also out tonight

fighting fire and

making their wives crazy with worry.

A long, long time ago, I visited Daniel at the FD and they got called out while I was there. The address was on my way home, so I drove by the fire. There was a gray haze and the lights flashing made everything look ominous and eerie and even though at that time I was well accustomed to the fire service, I drove home f.r.e.a.k.ing out. There's something about seeing the stuff your man is walking into and your mind wickedly replaying those awful scenes from Ladder 49 (that I never should have watched). . . and after that night I told myself that I would never do that ever again.

Tonight. . . broke my promise to myself and oh I am getting sorrier by the minute. We returned our Christmas movies and Cambria begged to see Daddy. I called him and he said to stop by; we did and he came out to the van to chat with me and the kids. The alarm went off while we were there and I was like, oh, whatever, it's probably totally nothing and they get to see their cool dad be the engine driver and what kid doesn't dig that.

So we followed, at a subdued distance, Cambria informing me that when she grew up, her daddy {read: husband} would be a fighterfire and she would live right here in this area.

I started getting a bad feeling when they all just kept going. So often alarms get cancelled, everyone turns around and goes home, and it's just cool lights and wasted fuel. I like wasted fuel.

When I saw an orange glow coming out of one of the industrial buildings and the cops blocking the road I regretted my decision to follow. Lights flashing and gray haze and the weird odor of burning destruction and we turned around and came home. Stupid me.

And my guy goes in there. Oh please, be smart, be safe, don't let anyone be in there, just let the building burn, please be okay. . .

I put my babies to bed and hope to hear that everything is okay. I wait for a response to my texts. One of our friends is now in the hospital from burns. I am going c.r.a.z.y. After two hours, I get a garbled text from Daniel saying that he is ok and it's a BigveryBad fire.

Um, I knew that. . . please, please, come home to me.

I think that I'm so thankful I kissed him goodbye and I think that why on earth was he talking about life insurance and I think that I wish he'd get just a little bit hurt so he wouldn't be out there anymore and I'd know that he's okay and then I berate myself for thinking that. I think that I couldn't be a military wife and I think that I couldn't handle my husband being a cop and I think that he'll be so tired and crabby when he comes home and I eat four magic cookie bars and berate myself for that, too.

This will all be funny in the morning, right? He will have his big story to tell and I will be limp and groggy with relief and we will make some strong coffee for me and some cappuccino for him and we will just chill out and continue our Christmas vacation.

Please come home to me.

more sugar? (orange pecan fudge)

2011-12-26T23:39:00.000-06:00

Oh like you need more sugar right now.

I know.

But I like using my blog for a recipe dump. . . that way someone as disorganized as myself can always find that elusive favorite recipe without pulling the refrigerator away from the wall and fishing behind it.

This is (surprise) my mom's fudge recipe and it doesn't quite feel like Christmas without it.

Orange Pecan Fudge

6 cups semi sweet chocolate chips
2 7 oz. containers marshmallow creme
grated peel from one orange
2 teaspoons vanilla
2 cups toasted pecan pieces

3 cups sugar
2 sticks butter
1 1/3 cup evaporated milk

Butter a 9 x 13 pan.

Have first group of ingredients assembled in large bowl ready to pour quickly. *Tip: I always pour the chocolate chips into the bowl and then carefully scoop the marshmallow creme into a well in the chips so that when I'm ready to dump, I don't have to scrape any sticky residue off of the sides of the bowl.

Mix together second group of ingredients and bring to a gentle boil on medium heat. Boil for four to five minutes. Remove from heat, add chocolate chip mixture and stir briskly until chips are melted.

Working quickly, pour fudge mixture into the buttered pan and quickly spread out.

Let cool and cut into pieces.

five dozen whoopie pies

2011-12-16T23:53:00.002-06:00

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me:

one jpeg that won't format

two plumbing problems (think bathroom)

three gingerbread houses

four trips to classes

FIVE DOZEN WHOOPIE PIES

oh. . forget the numbering. . . (it wasn't rhyming anyway)

Cambria somersaulted off the couch. *into the Christmas tree* *ornaments flying*

Jacob told me today that when he grew up he would live in our town because he wanted his children to be near their grandparents. . . *long pause* {brown eyes} "plus then I would be close to you." awwwww. . .

Eli charmed all the helpers at Fareway. . . so much that they forgot to load the milk I paid for.

I had lunch with a girl friend and it's always a good day when you can have girl talk, queso, and lime in your Coke all in the same hour.

We missed out on our sappy Friday night Christmas movie because of bad attitudes and disobedience. I went to put the kids to bed and discovered Cambria's room a whirlwind of wrapping paper, ribbon, scissors, tape, gift tags and crumpled tissue. *add twenty minutes to bedtime routine*

I read two chapters in Rachel Jancovic's Loving the Little Years and was challenged that order and organization come from my attitude, not from what is actually happening. She words it much better than I do. (If you have littles, pop her book in your Amazon cart asap. I am loving it.)

And since its two minutes away from twelve o'clock (my nod to the Twelve Days of Christmas song) I'd better wrap this up and go finish my FIVE DOZEN WHOOPIE PIES.

*** My mom has been making these every year for as long as I can remember. She ties each little cake up with a birthday candle and red yarn . . .birthday cakes for Jesus.***

Here's the recipes I used tonight. (No one answered the phone at the home front so I had to look to Google. sniff sniff)

I used this recipe for the cakes and this one for the creme filling. And wow, are those little babies good. I had one since the Slim Fast I was going to have for a fourth meal wouldn't work since I didn't have any milk to mix it with. You know how it is.

Sweet dreams!

perfect christmas tree photo shoot (not)

2011-12-03T22:57:00.001-06:00

Here is Eli. . . laughing at the crazy family he's joined. . .

And here's an attempt at getting a photo with the fam and our Christmas tree. . .

(not stolen this year)

and also the smallest e.v.e.r. . .

and not from a romantic tree farm, but from Menards

two balsam firs left, propped in the balsam fir corner. . .

(what, people? it's only December third!!!)

we took one. . .

and then we managed to get every head in the picture. . .

then we had to keep trying for a better one. . .

with the camera battery light flashing (story of my life)

and Jacob and Cambria were both trying to stand on the same chair

and Jacob fell off. You can see him in the lower left had corner.

He's crying.

And this last one. . . well. . . this is why we get other people to take pictures for us.

But I can't help but thank God for the joy that He's brought this year. . .

so thankful. . .

my heart is so full. . .

tonight we eat our annual Christmas tree enchiladas. . .

kids go to bed ~~happily~~ relatively peacefully

Daniel's having fun at his gym night. .

I put lights on the tree and cuddle Eli and turn Michael Buble up. . .

sitting here writing and eating peppermint patties (I think they're fat free)

and I just praise God.

So many empty places in my heart that He's filled.

Thankful for my crazy little family. . . each one.

my observations of some people

2011-11-29T22:54:00.001-06:00

Some people just can't do ten minute ab workouts.

Some people do side planks that only lift them 1/2 inch off of the carpet and then they are left to fall, panting to the ground.

Some people ironically find the ten minute ab workout link while searching for appetizer recipes that involve cream cheese and bacon.

Some people buy jeans they don't even like just because the tag reads the pre baby years size. . . and they fit. . . is there a way for these people to wear the size tag on the outside?

Some people get exhausted but never actually raise that heart rate in a fat - burnin way. {Their heart rate gets raised. . . just not in an exercise way. More in a can't-believe-their-daughter-just markered-on-the-knees-of-each-of-her-five-pairs-of-jeans way.}

Some people keep postponing their Christmas pictures because they keep envisioning losing twenty pounds overnight.

Some people have friends that are such amazing cooks and baby-meal bringers that they weigh more than when they left the hospital with their little punkin. {Blame the friends. Blame the friends.}

Just some observations.

(not) bridging the gap: life after loss

2011-11-18T22:39:00.001-06:00

It was a quandary to me as I searched books and articles and blogs and stories of others who lost children why the grief road seemed to stop if they had another child.

Another book would would be written. Mourning into Dancing. {or some other beautiful thought}

The focus would change. My baby is safe in heaven, I'm moving on.

The whole blog would move. Thanks for reading our story; we're so thankful for your support and love. Visit us over *here* as our life goes on.

I wondered: did another child fill that immense gap so completely that the need to spill the grief out just. . . ended?

did they just want to set the pain aside for awhile and focus on the joy?

how did they go on?

did they still go lie on the ground in a frozen cemetery and weep?

were birthdays still oh.so.bittersweet?

did they hesitate on sharing the number of children when asked? did they sometimes say three and sometimes say four?

did they fight the urge to sign every name in a little row at the end of letters? Or did they, like me, just give up and start signing cards "The Smith's", avoiding the glaring omission of one name from the happy roster?

Why did the story always seem to stop when another child was born?

I won't do it, I vowed. If we had another child, I had a strong desire to keep writing, to keep spilling out whatever the emotions were, for the sole purpose of letting someone following me on the grief road know what could be ahead.

If it suddenly turned all roses, well then so be it, jump on the baby wagon, my grieving sister, and have another child!

If it was terror and worse than before, well, honesty is helpful and at least I would be honest.

I will keep writing. I will keep telling the story. I will keep spilling it out. And I won't move to another blog!

So now it is my turn. I have a beautiful son after a horrible tragedy. I think I understand why some others choose to stop telling the story. . .

. . .I want to cherish every single moment in a way I wouldn't have ever understood before burying one of my children. And that means that moments are so precious; sitting at a computer staring at the ceiling composing my life story just doesn't seem like the best use of the time God has given.

. . .of course I'm just busy and sleep deprived (notice how I've worked that into every post lately) and that plays into the lack of public sharing, be it online or in the church or community.

. . .then there is the utter lack of words to describe the juxtaposition of emotion going on in my heart.

But I still have that same burning desire and need, to keep telling the story. It's not as smooth and not well written and not agonized over like some of the other things I've written. Just doing some heart dumping here.

So tonight. . . this is for the mammas reading who ache for the little person they lost.

I lost my little man, too. My arms are full, but they still ache.

I weep holding Eli. I weep for how short my time with him may be. I weep because there are no guarantees.

I smile to the happy world who rejoices that God has brought joy into our aching family, and I smile into my son's blue eyes, and I try to squash the nagging fear that our time with him is not promised.

I have moments of absolutely irrational fear. Eli's first little cold last week turned me into a post-partum basket case. I thought breastfeeding kept newborns from getting sick! I ranted to the kids' nurse. She laughed at me and pointed out that he could be much sicker, and I knew she was right, but that night I could feel panic set in as I go the kids ready for bed.

Another mom whose son died from SIDS said it well: when your child dies while peacefully sleeping, your confidence as a parent is shattered. So true. If you can't protect your child from death while everything is fine, then how on earth are you going to protect him if something is wrong?

At eight-thirty I heard a knock on the door and I went to answer it, somehow not surprised to see Deeann standing there, coming to chill out with me and chase my fear away with girl talk and distraction. Wow, did God know what He was doing when He sent her into my life. She looked at my sniffling Eli, who, in my mind had a combination of RSV, bronchitis, pneumonia and whooping cough, and pointed out that he was breathing pretty well. It's true, he was, but fear makes you irrational and irrational I was.

The kids talk about Gabe now more than ever. It seems to me that Eli brings memories of Gabe back to their minds more clearly. They have even more questions (I thought we'd answered them all. . . but no!) and their own fears and worries.

JD: Mom, I just wanna know why I don't cry much about Gabe. (I explain that emotions manifest themselves in more ways than tears.)

Cambria: Mommy, I was just wondering. . . are we gonna get Gabe presents for his birthday since he isn't here to open them? Could we get them anyway and we open them? I choke away the tears and tell her that we'll totally get Gabe presents for his birthday. . . images of a two year old and chocolate cake and little fire trucks flood my mind and I leave the room so that my sorrow won't make my little girl think something was wrong with her idea.

JD, carefully tucking a bear that he's loved for years into his bed: Hey, Mom, I named this bear Gabe. And I kinda act like it's Gabe. *lovingly pats bear* Once again, I'm caught off guard and turn away to hide the tears. I've learned that the children will shut their feelings away from me if they think that I'll be sad, and I walk a careful line trying to allow them to see my true heart and being a safe place for their own emotion.

Then there is this super ultra protectiveness over Eli. It freaks us all out a little, I think, to see him sleeping. Jacob has asked more than once. . . mom. . . is he dead? It's his reality. I hate that death is so real to him, but I can't change it and so I choose the privilege of showing my children the reality of this fragile gift of life that we hold so briefly in our hands.

They've seen death, bitter and cruel and far too soon.

Now they get to see life, fresh, and new and so full of promise.

That's what it's like, dear mamma of a baby you can't hold anymore.

There's not a careful bridge between the horror and loss and the beauty and joy. They just kinda intertwine and pop in and out of each other at odd random times and sometimes the sorrow for the baby you lost is just gut wrenching and sometimes the fear that you'll lose the ones you have is debilitating. But then you're surprised by the exploding joy you feel rubbing your nose against that fuzzy bit of hair and you're overwhelmed by the assurance that God is still so very good.

And you're super sleep deprived, so you end the post and go to bed. ZzzZZzzzzZZZzzzzzzzz

Rock Star Granola Bars

2011-11-17T18:03:00.001-06:00

I've been meaning to post these granola bars for.ev.er. . . they are so good, but they're always gone before I can take a picture. I like to name stuff, too, so here's your rhyme and reason for why these should be called Rock Star Granola Bars. . . it does rhyme. . . and Granola Bars just sounds boring.

Tonight I took the camera out the minute I finished the recipe.

I changed a recipe from Taste of Home. . . you can see the original recipe here. These are chewy, not too sweet, and sooo adaptable. I've made them without chocolate many times, and I'm sure they are much healthier that way. Wink wink.

1/4 cup butter
1/4 cup oil
1 lb. mini marshmallows
1/3 cup honey
1/4 cup peanut butter
dash vanilla

Melt butter, oil, and marshmallows. Add honey, pb and vanilla. Pour over dry ingredients:

5 cups old fashioned oats
4 cups rice crispies
1/2 cup wheat germ
1 cup dry roasted peanuts
1 cup raisins
1 sleeve graham crackers, crushed
1 cup coconut

Mix together; with buttered fingertips, press into greased jelly roll pan.

When slightly cooled, press mini chocolate chips onto the tops. Lately I've been melting butterscotch and chocolate chips together and drizzling that on top. I assure you that either way, they are delish.

Autumn Eatin'

2011-11-03T23:54:00.000-05:00

Pumpkin Pancakes. . .

Caramel Corn. . .

Pumpkin Cinnamon Rolls {with cream cheese frosting}

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies. . .

Pumpkin Pie. . .

Sigh.

It is hard to think about saying goodbye to baby pounds with all of this yummy stuff going on!

*. . .do not think about the leftover pumpkin cinnamon rolls on the top shelf in the fridge. . .*

If there is one thing I enjoy as much as eating great food, it's planning menus of great food! I haven't posted menus here in about for.ev.er but I make one out pretty much every week.

Menu planning was new to me three years ago. . . but since then the idea has steadily grown on me and I can't imagine life without it. It is so amazing to have good healthy meals planned; it saves me so much stinkin' time and energy.

(and I don't have much time *or* energy to spare right now)

(have I mentioned being sleep deprived?)

My family likes different meals and I like cooking them, so we usually have a pretty varied meal schedule with old standbys thrown in here and there. I usually plan one "breakfast for dinner" night and we religiously eat pizza on Friday, so I only have to come up with five dinner ideas.

I usually make sure I have ingredients for one weeknight dessert (~~in case I forget someone's Cubbie treats~~ for unexpected company) and one dessert on Sunday. Other than that I don't buy stuff for desserts because, miraculously, sugar has a way of showing up in our diet every.single.day. How is that??

Breakfast meals are pretty much the same; I rotate the kids favorite hot cereals, baked oatmeal, fresh fruit and toast for weekdays. Saturday mornings are for pancakes, Sundays are flavored yogurts. (The kids pick out yogurts for each family member every week. It's the highlight of the grocery shopping trip.)

Lunches are super simple and very light. We don't eat breakfast super early so no one is ever very hungry at lunch anyway. I don't usually plan anything for lunches. . . leftovers are fine, pb&j, soup and crackers or even raw veggies and dip.

For meal planning inspiration I have about four websites that I always visit.

Kraft Foods is sure to have great, easy ideas. The recipes are always a hit, but I usually only pick one meal from their site because it tends to be expensive and not super healthy.

You can be sure to find economical food over at the Five Dollar Dinner Mom. I don't often follow her recipes, but I use her ideas a LOT.

It is definitely hard to beat Taste of Home for amazing, economical, yummy recipes.  I learned to cook using their magazines; I think the first meal I made for Daniel and his fam was from Taste of Home. (Ha ha. . . it worked. He married me. )

My new favorite is definitely Pinterest. The inspiration is limitless and it compiles the best of the food bloggers in one easy place.

Here's what we're eating over here during the next few days:

Saturday:   Roasted Vegetable Minestrone & 7-Up Biscuits {just been dying to try these}

Sunday:   The Blue Plate Special, {hot roast beef on white bread topped with mashed potatoes and gravy. . . oh yum. oh comfort food. oh waistline.} Green Beans, Seven Layer Salad, and something pumpkin for dessert.

Monday: Birthday Party for my mother-in-law. I'm making this yummy stuff.

Tuesday: Shredded Beef Sandwiches, Red Cabbage Apple Slaw & Sweet Potato Fries

Wednesday: Baked Potatoes, Orange Roughy & Green Salad

Thursday: Zucchini, Black Bean and Rice Bake (the kids and I loooove rice. We'd eat it all the time, but Daniel isn't a fan. We schedule the rice around his days at MFD. Ha ha.)

Friday: Taco Pizza & Green Salad

Speaking of pumpkin stuff. . . you know. . . all roads lead to the newest little pumpkin around here. . .

Oh, squishiness! Love our little Eli David!

Overheard:

2011-10-30T20:58:00.004-05:00

"When you are like. . . one. . . you can play basketball with me."

glitter glue & gourds

2011-10-28T12:08:00.001-05:00

Glitter glue + gourds & pumpkins from my friend Becky. . . so autumn!!

(and can i just say it feels good to be sleep deprived & typing with one hand again?)

eli {pt. 2}

2011-10-27T22:37:00.000-05:00

The kids went to Deeann's until my mom and dad could get them and we headed up to the hospital (a forty minute drive).

We googled name meanings on the way and narrowed our list down. . . both of us had been planning on two more days of baby preparation. You can do a lot in two days and . . . we felt a little rushed and harried.

I was trying to be relaxed, even though I wasn't, and so I requested a smoothie from the McDonald's drive through before we got to the hospital. As I sat there, breathing through my contractions and sipping my smoothie, Daniel started snickering and suggested that I finish my drink before we got to labor and delivery: "They'll never admit you if you walk in slurping that. No one ever believes you're in labor anyway, and your smoothie won't help!"

I thought he had a good point, so I stood in the hospital lobby and gave myself a brain freeze before facing the daunting task of convincing the triage nurses that I was indeed about to have a baby.

And once again, I didn't exhibit enough classic labor symptoms to be admitted, so we hung out on the floor and walked the halls, burned our baby playlist from itunes, chatted about names, with me growing crosser and crosser as my labor progressed. Anyone who has had a baby knows that you can be okay one minute and when that next contraction starts, you can turn into a grumpy bear. My fear has always been that I'll swear. That didn't happen, but according to my husband, I was really rude.

We were walking around the corner of the nurses station and Daniel didn't know that I was laboring and he pointed to this little fuzzy orange hat placed on the statue of a child. "Look, isn't that cute?" Apparently I growled: "I don't wanna look at that punkin hat." He loves to tell that and point out that all of the nurses heard me, too.

I had such different emotions this time.

I didn't want any pain. I was scared and stressed. I think the past months have just been so painful and so stressful that facing the prospect of known pain was discouraging and scary to me.

After four hours and my doctor's insistence, I was admitted and finally had a beautiful warm room and a hot shower and music and soft lights. . . all of those cool delivery room things that I love about our hospital; I was in transition and didn't really know it and since everyone else thought my labor was going to take awhile, I ~~requested~~ ~~asked for~~ begged for an epidural.

Another thing Daniel loves teasing me about: I didn't realize that the anesthesiologist was on call and had to drive to the hospital. . . I guess I just thought he was taking his sweet time in a doctor's lounge or something and I said at one point "Where is Mr. Epidural?!?!" Daniel insists I said that just as he walked into the room. I don't know. I'd like to think he didn't hear that.

I'd never had an epidural before, but it wasn't a big deal at all; however, just as he finished, and advised me that I would be feeling warm tingling in my toes, I told my nurse. . . "Ummm. . . I have to push."

And I did and squeezed Daniel's hand about in half and the room filled up in a minute and the epidural was pretty pointless and my doctor was looking at me and saying, "you push and I will lay him right up on your stomach!"

Pain, pain, pain, a year and a half of hopeless, wrenching pain, ache ache ache, so much loss. I was so, so scared. Daniel was turned away with his head against the wall, crying out to God.

And more pain, now.

All this pain

I wonder if I'll ever find my way

I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth

Could all that's lost ever be found

Could a garden come up from this ground at all?

And suddenly there were tiny cries. And Eli. And he was in my arms and we were looking at his perfect little body and Daniel was weeping. Oh, Jesus, thank You, thank You, thank You. I couldn't believe he was alive. I sobbed. He was warm. He was perfect. He was ours.

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us.

His cries were different than Gabe's and I was thankful for that and instantly aware that Eli was his own little person. I can't even describe the way my heart exploded with love for the little person God had given us in the midst of so much grief and so much darkness.

All around

Hope is springing up from this old ground

Out of chaos life is being found

In You. . .

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things

You make beautiful things out of us.

. . .You make me new, You are making me new. . .making me new. . .
(Beautiful Things, Michael Gungor Band, playing while Eli was born)

shining moments (eli pt.1)

2011-10-20T22:00:00.000-05:00

***I am not a fan of pt.1, pt.2, pt.3 blog posts, but the way my life is going right now it's that or nothing! So pt. 1 of Eli. . . .

I want to capture all of these shining moments. . .

so much beauty and so many tears. . .

laughter that these walls haven't heard for so, so long;

deeper grief over the little man who completes our family circle. . . yet isn't here to share all of this joy.

more questions from our kids.

ache.

my heart thudding to a stop as I peek at my precious Eli, sleeping, my hand reaching out. . . and tears and limp relief to feel that warmth, that tiny beating pulse. Thank You, God. God, let him live.

Jacob, holding a pacifier up to his chest: "Hey, Mom, if I hold the fass-i-pier right *here* Eli seems to like it a lot better!"

Cambria: "So was he crying when he came out of your belly button?"

When I knew we had to leave for the hospital. . . I wasn't ready. . . wasn't prepared for the emotions. I hadn't been to Gabe's grave to tell my baby that he would still be my baby, that I wouldn't forget him. I'd planned to go on Friday; the irony of October 15 as Eli's induction date and the cemetery cleanup day wasn't lost on me. How strange and twisted life can be.

My heart - breaking to take away the little special things that mark one son's life here;

The same heart - singing to welcome the precious unborn son inside of me.

But it was Thursday.

I hadn't even packed the kids yet.

I was in the middle of painting a verse above Eli's bed.

And in the middle of chicken enchiladas.

And (using my friend Pam's Cricut) putting a huge READ sign in the upstairs hallway. I had the R up.

I hadn't colored my hair yet (pre-labor ritual for me) or packed myself, or burned our baby #4 playlist.

But sometimes babies don't wait for all of the checks to be marked in the boxes.

I called Daniel, and he came home to me distractedly tying up the loose ends of my multitasking.

"Why in the world are you making *chicken enchiladas* when you've called me home so that we can go to the hospital?!"

Well, I don't know, I guess it was all out on the counter and I didn't want it to spoil? Side note: We ate them four days later. Worst enchiladas EVER. I'm not sure how I ruined them in my distraction, but I did.

We left.

We stopped at our little man's grave.

I stood there, looking at his tiny grave, at his beautiful name, Gabriel James, remembering his tiny first cries and the joy he brought to our lives. I would never forget him; yet as soon as I left I knew that my grief road would branch. . . Gabe would be a big brother. He wouldn't be the baby.

I wept for how cruel and wrong the picture seemed. I wept for the little man I would never hold again. . . here.

The kids left tiny pumpkins.

I blew kisses to him.

Took a deep breath. . .

then we drove away.

Eli David

2011-10-14T17:31:00.000-05:00

He's here, our little number 4!Eli David, born early this morning at 1:36 am. . . 8lb, 5 oz, oh so beautiful, so perfect. Thank You, Jesus.

roman shade out of mini blinds (nesting pt. 2)

2011-10-05T15:23:00.000-05:00

My friend Rebecca made a roman shade out of her kitchen blinds over a year ago and I still can't believe I waited this long to try it out myself.

So easy.

You need existing blinds.

About two yards of fabric.

And some sort of glue.

I used a glue gun.

Very simply, you cut out all of the blinds except for the "bones" of your roman shade. I left 6 blinds. . . they were about twelve inches apart.

Then cut your fabric so that it overlaps the stretched out blinds about two inches all the way around.

I ironed my fabric so it would have nice creases where I wanted to fold it.

Then I laid everything out on the dining room table and started gluing. I did the "bones" and edges first, then the bottom, and glued the top at the very last when it was actually hanging on the window. **Note: beware of gluing the cords. You want those to move freely.

The detailed directions on Apartment Therapy's site absolutely forbid hot glue. Call me a rebel, but hot glue works just fine. But maybe that's because I use my grandpa's super duper industrial florist's glue gun which is a step above most cheapie versions.

The hardest part is carefully cutting a hole for the blind cords. I cut a tiny, tiny slit.

This took me about an hour. . . it is seriously one of the easiest projects I have ever done. My total cost was $15 and that was because I bought heavy canvas fabric just because I liked the pattern on it. $2-$3 per yard cotton should work just as well.

Detailed directions at The Little Green Notebook. Or google "roman shades out of mini blinds" and see what you find.

Jacob's room is next, but I'm looking for some atlas / world map fabric first.

Nesting Pt. 1

2011-10-04T21:44:00.002-05:00

So if you talked to my husband he would tell you that I am nesting.

I think that may be too kind of a term.

Nesting at our house sounds a little more like Angry Birds than soft cheeping and layering of layette pieces.

Ever read P.D. Eastman's The Best Nest? I texted my sister in law the other day that I was becoming the mean mamma bird in the book. . . she sends the papa bird all over the place frantically trying to find the perfect spot for her baby and is really quite crabby in the process. I always thought she was mean. And then, this week, I was reflecting on my nesting and this thought popped into my head. . .. I nest like. . . . . oh my goodness, I nest like the mamma in P.D. Eastman's book!

Anyway, my husband promised me two days at home and that he would do all in his power to cross off all items on my honey-do / baby-get-ready / nesting list. My absolute favorite item on this list is not baby related at all, but I am in love with it. Daniel doesn't want anyone to know that he made it because he fails to see the beauty in reclaimed trash and doesn't want his name or carpentry skills attached to something that took him two minutes to make and two minutes to hang.But, drumroll, I have a pallet shelf rack now!

Did I say that I love it?

Now I think I need some words in the space between the pallet shelf and the alphabet board (from Loren. . . the giver of perfect gifts).

I keep mulling over ideas for a short phrase that would just fit.

Grab a Kleenex, blow your nose and keep studying. not kind enough

Study to show thyself approved too King James-y {Jacob was reading something in the unfamiliar-to-him King James Version the other day: "Mom, is this supposed to be Godlier or something?!"}

Readers are leaders ummm. . . no.

Oh well, I'll think of something. Suggestions welcome!

Nesting Part 2 tomorrow. . . check back for instructions for a DIY roman shade out of existing blinds. I love this allllmost as much as the pallet shelf. But not quite.

purple books & pay for mommies

2011-09-28T17:07:00.000-05:00

The real reason for this little post is so that I don't forget how crazy my conversations with my kids can be.

In the space of fifteen minutes we can cover everything from sex to buffalo to why stay-at-home moms don't draw a paycheck. Whew. I can barely keep up with all of the rabbit trails.

Driving.

To doctor appointment.

*pass buffalo ranch*

Cambria: We can't get a buffalo because we don't have enough room for it.

JD: Well, I would like to be a buffalo. Or a snake. Did you know that snakes have like 150 bones in their spines?

Both children agree that they'd like to be snakes.

Brief silence.

Cambria: Are Pastor Jake and Loren married?

(Well, they are expecting their third child, have wedding pictures hanging in their living room and both wear rings on their left hands. . . I wasn't at the wedding, but I'm pretty sure they're married. . .)

So begins a brief explanation of wedding rings.

Do rings on the fourth finger of your left hand ALWAYS mean you're married?

Well, no.

JD: So say, if you saw a like. . . almost fifteen year old with a ring on their left hand they are probably not married, they just are wanting to look nice.

Umm, yes.

Mull over this information.

JD: Well, you always know people are married if they have kids or if they're pragg-nent.

Ooh, choices. I could let this one go. I opt for a teachable moment.

Well, actually, you don't have to be married to have kids or get pregnant. Remember what we learned in the purple books? It takes sex to have babies and not everyone who does that is married. It's God's plan to save sex for being married and everything works better that way, but people do have children without being married. *whew.*

JD: What's sex?

Ohhh, I thought we covered this in the infamous purple books (so dubbed by my family. . . I'm not sure these books are actually purple, but if you heard someone groan, oh, no, Mom got the purple books out again, you definitely knew what was being discussed).

Remember. . . what we read about the other day. . .?

Oh, yes yes yes.

*cross fingers that this won't be discussed at AWANA tonight*

Thirty seconds of silence.

JD: God can see me right now. He can see my thumb. He can even see my math and my pencil. And he knows what I will be when I grow up even though I keep changing my mind!

Me: That's why it's a good idea to ask God for help when you're deciding what you want to do or be, since He already knows.

Cambria: Well, I know what I want to be when I grow up. A girl.

JD: huh?!

Cambria: I mean, a wife.

JD: Well, that isn't a job.

Me: Yes, being a mom and wife is a job, Jacob.

JD: It doesn't pay money!

Good point, my son.

Cambria: I could mow our lawn for the dad! (by dad, she means husband)

Jacob: You don't get paid for mowing your own lawn.

Cambria: the future un-paid stay at home momma

(reading Huckleberry Finn on my e-reader out of sheer determination to have dibs on the device)
Jacob: future. . . um. . . something. I think it will involve making money.

This is me with my kids frantically trying to think up correct answers to their questions!

And car trips. . . home of the wildest conversations!

Oh, they crack me up!

homeschool humble pie

2011-09-19T23:00:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time I said something glib along the lines of : yes, I am going to homeschool my kids, but it isn't going to consume our lives and I will not be one of those homeschoolers who can only talk about homeschool curriculum.

Why do I have to be humbled and proven so wrong for those rash youthful statements?

Teaching is consuming my life.

All I can talk about are books, libraries and curricula.

I wake up, get one cup of coffee flowing through my bloodstream, make breakfast, direct chores, and morph our dining room into a classroom.

We sit at the table, do devotions, and then start the books up.

A Kleenex box is still part of the decor.

We study, minutes (for me) flying by until lunch.

Extra stuff in the afternoons, be it laundry for the ~~millions~~ many overnight guests we've had lately, cooking, errands, extra classes or just finishing up what we didn't accomplish before lunch. Sometimes we don't finish until four. So much for the lofty ideas of accomplishing it all in three hours.

By evening, after supper, dishes, visists to Daniel, phone calls that have been put on hold all day, I am fried. My brain feels about as big as say, a pin. Which reminds me of Pinterest, which is the real reason I haven't blogged, but. . . anyway. I literally fall into bed at night.

I only have two kids to teach.

One is in preschool (talk about pressure) and one is in first grade.

This is only going to get more complicated. But still, I love it; I love the light bulb moments; I love pouring into their lives.

I don't like eye rolls, sighs, tears, grumbling, or this comment on the way to science class: "Hey Mom, I don't want to make you feel bad, but when I go to real classes like my art classes, they explain things way better."

But other moments make it so worth it.

Note to me this morning:
FoR u!

I <3 u

Thank you FoR clening My room so Much <3!

<3

JD

Or Cambria's thrill over learning to tell time and write her middle name and read the words YAY and ZOO today.

It is an exhausting, beautiful privilege to be with them.

It is easy to forget how much children need love and time from their parents.

After being with the kids all day, I am ready for a break from them and they sure act like they want a break from me. (That's what the pool and trampoline and bikes are for.)

Today after school, errands, and choir, Cambria was helping me make granola bars. Jacob came in and asked to help. I told him there wasn't anything for him to do, and that the granola bars were mostly done. I ~~suggested~~ told him to go jump on the trampoline. He was back after two minutes, asking to help again. I agreed to let him stir something and he climbed on a chair with a happy sigh. " Really, Mom, I just wanted to be with somebody."

I look at his little boy face and realize the gift I've been given; he wanted to be with somebody. The somebody is me. It's my joy; it's my job.

Thanks, God.

*The only thing perfect about the last few weeks of school are the pictures I took on the first day. The kids are unbelievably cute. But, true to the humbling nature of my life, those photos aren't on my SD card anymore for some odd reason. Hopefully they are safely uploaded onto Daniel's laptop, but since he is at work: picture-less post.

{eight years}

2011-09-06T11:40:00.000-05:00

Eight years together. . .

It's good.

I think of the wild joy and beauty of first love and first kisses and first homes and the way his face looked when I walked down the aisle to spend the rest of my life with him.

I think of the crazy-high expectations of new brides and the sheer inadequacy of humans to meet each others every need.

I think of the glitter {from our car - thanks groomsmen} we tracked everywhere on our honeymoon.

I think of the desire for our love to be perfect . . . for our marriage to be strong.

I remember red roses and a white veil and how much all of that rice hurt my face and my big strong man carrying me out of the church.

I remember my heart feeling like it would burst wide open with joy.

Fast forward eight years. . .

A lot of life has lost the glitter.

The rose colored glasses are definitely put away.

You know each other.

For some, maybe, that's bad.

For us, its so good.

No glitter, just reality.

It's you and me, just liked I dreamed.

Reality is:

four days away to be together.

still loving kicking hotel room doors shut and hanging out the I'm too comfortable to be disturbed, please come back later sign. (Gotta love how different hotels phrase "Don't bother us.")

the freedom and security that comes from years together. . . I don't feel like I have to stay at Best Buy and agonize over the second laptop decision. I can leave. He's still happy. I can also come back an hour later and he still hasn't moved.

that we both love watching nerdy financial corruption documentaries together.

when he says you're beautiful . . . and I'm one month away from having our fourth child.

staying together when life isn't glitter and roses.

I think of how easy it can be to want to throw in the proverbial towel and give up on the commitments that we made and I'm thankful that we haven't.

The reward of being with someone who knows everything about you and still chooses to love is incredible, unique, fantastic. {thrilling}

So glad I married the love of my life!

I love you, Daniel!

It's a Small (healing) World

2011-08-27T14:39:00.000-05:00

Cambria: "Mom, I think I will call you servant". {What??????}

JD, listening to Kristian Stanfill sing oh my God, You will not delay, my Helper and Strength, always: "Mom, why is he saying 'oh my God'? I thought that was bad."

Cambria: "We could name our baby boy Jericho, if that's okay with you, Mom." Mmmm, not okay.

JD, upon pulling out a loose tooth: "It is so much nicer to eat now. I couldn't even eat pancakes with that tooth."

Cambria, thrilled that her beloved Jess is engaged: "Daddy, Paul gave Jess a ring and she's gonna marry him and then after that they're gonna have a baby!" Ever feel like people rush engaged couples to the next step? Meet Cambria.

At a recent meal conversation, I asked the kids to think of where in the whole wide world they would like going the most.

Cambria (without hesitation): "To a hospital."

??????

adds explanation: "To have our baby."

Jacob: "If I could go anywhere in the world, I would go try out that new dentist's office that's over diagonal from Fareway and across from BP. Cuz I just love getting my teeth cleaned."

Both kids munch on lunch, then realize I didn't say anything. "Where would you like to go, Mom?"

"Mmmmm. . . I would go to an island with tons of sand and blue water with Daddy and send you guys to Grandpa and Grandma's."

Oh.my.word I was not prepared for the instant crushed and downfallen countenances. I couldn't help laughing. I guess they thought I'd say McDonald's or maybe the library.

I think that their world is so large because they experience so much and both travel frequently but I forget that for a child, the world is pretty small.

A small world is Mommy when you wake up

home

cream of wheat for breakfast

Daddy mowing the yard

taming a caterpillar and naming it Celery

losing Celery

finding Celery

losing Celery

coloring

flooding the bathtub and bathroom (~~me yelling~~ me saying no baths, only showers from now on)

being eaten alive by chiggers and then covered with Calamine lotion

camping and cousins

dishwashing

routine

art lessons

cap guns {10,000+ caps shot in the last two weeks on our street}

67 cent floor length dress from the Salvation Army {princess in peach satin}

Adventures in Odyssey

ice cream cones

shots and bandaids for the school year

singing in the dark at bedtime

Their world is small and there's some stability and it's becoming secure again and I am so so so thankful for that.

I think of a snowy cold day in Minneapolis, back when both of us were just existing and our kids physical needs were met, but not much more. I was riding back to our hotel with dear friends Luke and Anne, scrunched in the backseat and appreciating the distraction of friends from the endless sea of grief. They asked how the kids were and I can still feel how much my heart hurt, looking out the window at the skyscrapers and lights. . .

I don't know. I'm so afraid they're going to be so scarred, guys. Scarred and scared.

I haven't forgotten their words and they gave me hope. . .

Jacob and Cambria did not lose their son. That particular grief isn't theirs.

Children are resilient.

Time soothes faster for children.

Their grief (though real) wasn't the same as ours.

I think of that conversation so often, when I wonder if my kids' hearts ache like mine and when I long to shield them from the cruelty of life.

I think of it when Cambria looks at pictures of her new cousin and then asks to look at Gabe's. She cries. I cry. We get Kleenex. Jacob cuddles in and we watch the images slide by, so much love, so much sweetness, such a short little life. The slideshow loops and the kids know it and as we come to the end, Jacob says "Mom, I wish it wasn't the last picture, and I don't know why I don't cry. Why don't I cry?"

Oh, my little man. . . it's okay that you don't cry, it's okay if you do. It's okay that you wonder. It's okay to wish there were a ton more pictures.

I think their grief isn't the same as mine when I hear Cambria point out to little friends "Oh, yes, that's the picture of our baby. He died." Those are the facts. She has accepted the reality. He existed, we loved him; he died, but he's still her brother and worthy of being acknowledged. Sometimes children get it right.

I think they heal faster when I hear them shrieking with laughter as they jump on the trampoline with friends: an awful new game where they play dead. I cringe and then I remind myself that normal children, including mine, play dead, and that's okay. They heal faster.

The funny, crazy things my kids say and the hilarious things they do remind me that God heals and time heals and stability heals and home heals. A small world heals.

My children heal.

And I am so thankful.

When the Dave Ramsey Van Died

2011-08-04T21:13:00.001-05:00

So did you want to hear the story of my Dave Ramsey van's kapow kachunk the end?

You don't?

Oh, well, sorry, I need to vent it.

That lemonade cake, a few posts back proved to be really destructive. I wasn't even sure I had time to make it for Daniel's party and I had his favorite, root beer floats all ready. But what is a birthday party without cake? I berated myself, and off to Fareway I ran with about an hour and a half to spare.

Exiting the store with my one little sack of ingredients, I put the key in the ignition, turned, and. . . . . sputter. . . nothing.

That has never happened to my faithful, steady van. It runs and runs. I have sworn that we would drive it to our children's high school graduations because God wants the humiliating exterior of that van to refine my character.

I put in a call to Daniel, who luckily was home and available (of course, since we were having his birthday party) "Surprise, babe, for your thirtieth, I present you with a broken vehicle!!" I ground my teeth, hating the way this was turning out.

He quickly (and I might say, correctly) diagnosed the problem as the fuel pump, which he emphatically said he was not replacing and since he didn't have time to deal with the van, just gave us a ride home.

Not having time to deal with the van is a gross understatement. I am not sure I know anyone busier or more booked than my man. Or maybe that's just because I know him really well. But at any rate, after a week and an apologetic call to the manager of the grocery store, plus numerous comments from friends (is your van at Fareway?? Still??), Daniel enlisted me to help him tow our affable bumbling van to our our mechanic.

I thought my job would be driving the van.

No, apparently my husband didn't think I was capable.

"You can tow me," he said with absolute confidence.

"I have never done that before."

"Oh, you'll do fine. I really think you can do this."

Unbeknownst to us, we were about to commit a crime with an impressive fine attached to it, which might explain the angry glares, gestures and honking we received, but I get ahead of myself.

With everything properly attached, cell phones set to speakerphone on mode, I climb into Daniel's truck with one last plea: "Can't any of your guy friends do this?"

Apparently not, and on we went.

"I'll just coach you," my husband says through the phone. "Turn wide when you leave Fareway and just go slow."

I go slow. I turn wide. This creates a sling shot effect and isn't recommended by veteran tow-ers.

Frantic screeching from my calm man. "Don't turn wide -- JERK-BONK-- that was a bad idea!! My bad! Don't ever turn wide again!!"

Ohhhh-kaaaaay.

More coaching. "Never brake."

Uh huh. Except if there is a car in front of you, probably brake then, wouldn't you say??

Approaching big hill, which we must descend, with multiple curves. I put my foot down, quite literally, and refuse to tow down the hill. "Can't you coast?"

My man thinks this is an excellent plan, and unhooks our towing paraphernalia. "I still need you to be right in front of me. You lead me through the 4-way at the bottom, okay?"

So I inch ahead of him, trying to see if he can coast through the normally deserted 4-way at the bottom of the hill. Uh oh, approaching SUV at the intersection.

"Can I go? Can I go?" screeching from the speakerphone

I'm trying to judge who will make it to the 4-way first. If I get there first I can hog the intersection, right? "Just a sec, I don't know."

"I need to know!"

Yes, I make it. Yes (so sorry, silver Toyota SUV, I am not normally like this) I hog the intersection. The van coasts safely on through.

Jacob: "Mom, I have prayed several times already."

Uh huh, you and me both, pal.

The end of the story is that I did a great job and glowed under the praise of my man as he bragged on my mad towing skills until dinner with friends one night where we were informed that this story could have had a $600 fine attached to it.

This has since been confirmed to be quite illegal and I share this story here hoping no one will report me to proper authorities but instead just tuck this lesson away for future reference.

So my van died, and the search is on for a replacement. The longer and more cheerfully I wait, the nicer the replacement gets. I'm planning on cheerfully waiting until we drive a 2012 Chevy Suburban off the lot.

Hee hee hee.

so is He there when hearts stop beating?

2011-07-29T20:58:00.000-05:00

Mom, can God see into our house?

(doubting ~~Thomas~~ Jacob Daniel)

Through curtains?

Incredulous.

Through walls?

Deep thought, wrinkled forehead, trying to come up with a place God can't reach. . .

Through really, really gross, green, dark water?

And the privilege of reminding him that God sees in the uttermost parts of the sea is mine.

He sees.

He knows.

What does He see when our hearts break?

Two thousand years ago, Martha, grieving the sudden death of her brother, cries out to Jesus. . .

Why didn't You come?

You could have healed.

You are big enough to stop this.

You are God, we believe that!

We even know he'll rise again!

But why didn't You come?

And Mary, the one who chose the better part, seconds Martha's cries. . .

Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.

John says that Jesus was troubled and deeply moved in His spirit, standing in the middle of the street where the sisters had stopped Him. . .

He asks them where their brother is, and they lead an ever-present, all-seeing, all-knowing God to a cemetery.

And He weeps.

I wonder, like many others before me, why He wept.

Does He weep for mammas down through the ages who rail at the Heavens why weren't You there?

Did He weep because our earth is so needy and so hurting and because He knew the Road to our Redemption was full of pain and loss for Him?

Did He weep for brave Stephen who chose stones over survival and forgiveness over understandable vindication?

Did He weep for His mother, who would watch her Son die?

Did He weep because they didn't understand the complete irony of taking God to see a grave?

Did He weep because they don't understand that He was there?

Does He still weep because I don't want to believe that He was there?

Tonight I tell my son precious words that I stored in my heart as a child:

Where can I go from Your Spirit?

Where can I flee from Your presence?

If I go up to the Heavens, You are there.

life is beautiful, You are there

If I make my bed in hell, You are there.

life has crushed me, and You are still there

If I take the wings of the morning

when my heart is strong

or dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea

when I am sinking

even there Your Hand will guide me, Your right Hand will hold me fast.

But do I believe that He can see into my house?

I've cried too, Jesus, why weren't You there?

And isn't that actually so much easier to cry out than the alternative?

Because what if He did see that little bed, what if He did hear my little man's heart stop beating, what if He was there?

Then I am faced with believing exactly what I say I believe, that He is there.

And crying why weren't You there is really denying that He is God, and pretending that God is surprised and caught off guard by small white caskets ignores the reason He came.

My heart shrinks from thinking about these things.

It's deep, and it's hard, and it hurts.

But the longer my heart knows the pain of death, the more I rejoice that He came to free us from this aching loss.

The more it hurts, the deeper I see the need for redemption.

And then I have to say. . .

I am so grateful, Jesus, that You see me.

Bringing Home Bees

2011-07-27T23:15:00.000-05:00

So I'm reading Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. It's a fascinating read, scathingly critical of American parenting and I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the book considering the fact that my parenting was insulted on every other page.

I read aloud a line to Daniel: If a Chinese child brought home a B, there would be a hair pulling explosion. But then, you just don't bring home a B.

Jacob overhears. I bet I could bring home a *bee* without getting stung.

Hee hee hee. . . I can just hear Amy Chua. . . see, these American children. . . they just don't get it.

In the midst of craziness and stress and life, I choose tonight to just remember some funny stuff from the summer. . .

Me: Plan A didn't work. On to plan B.

JD: There's always plan C, plan D, plan E, plan F, and plan G!

We ran into a dear lady who babysat each of my three little people at one time or another today; her name is Roberta. As we walked away, Cambria mused: I foah-get. Is her name Root-beard?

Me: Jacob, you would love this picture dictionary. It has the word for each picture in five different languages.

This is exactly the sort of thing he thrives on and he relaxes with the book.

I glance back at him, proud of my little man's intelligence. I stop, a little shocked to see him wide eyed, taking in a full page spread of naked bodies. (Of course, with each part explained in five different languages.)

Eh, well, maybe let's not start with that page? Why on earth is this in the picture dictionary? To hurdle poor unsuspecting parents into the birds and bees chat?

I sit, squinting at my laptop, trying to check the correct boxes and order the correct workbooks for the upcoming school year. Jacob, no, I cannot help you right now. Do not interrupt.

Jacob, crestfallen: Mom, this is one of the times when you do not make my life fun.

Cambria: After the jobs, can we dance?

Lemonade Cake

2011-07-15T09:11:00.000-05:00

So this lovely photo has been floating around Pinterest and Google Images. . .

and after finding the recipe involved a lot more time than I had,

I went here

and then adapted it {Hayley-style}

until we came up with this:

Oh, my, delish.

My cakes never turn out, so I gotta admit I was really excited.

Lemonade Cake

1 box white cake mix

3 egg whites

just over 1/3 cup oil

1/2 cup lemonade drink mix (I used Countrytime)

1/2 cup water

1 cup sour cream

2 t. vanilla

grated lemon zest

Mix together, pour into greased and sugared bundt / tub pan. Bake at 350 for 45 minutes. Cool on wire rack and turn out onto cake plate. Cool for about 15-20 minutes and then frost while still slightly warm.

Frosting:

1/2 can cream cheese frosting

grated lemon zest

Stir lemon zest into frosting. Using a spoon, frost only the top. The frosting will drizzle down the sides on it's own.

Top with more lemon zest.

We filled the center with blueberries . . . Super yum!

real me

2011-07-11T08:05:00.000-05:00

the real me is not the one who is kind and beautiful when i have time to prepare myself to be;

the real me is the ugly snarl that escapes my mouth when Daniel does or says something i don't like.

please don't call me 'mom' (of course i didn't hear that he was talking to JD)

i hate the budget (wow, just wow)

thanks for slamming the door in my face (do you really think he did?)

quit looking through my texts without telling me. leave my phone alone. (feel the love)

the real me is not the girl who gives hugs and hands kleenex and comforts during the tragedies that have happened this month;

the real me is what comes out

beating heart

shaking hands

angry thoughts

dark looks

when i am at my weakest point, tried by people and circumstances that continually frustrate me.

the real me is what is inside my heart, not what i carefully choose to let out of my heart.

i wanna think that i can control myself, and in a way, i can, if i control my heart.

but when things happen out of my control,

when people are human and fail,

when people are mean and hurt,

when people are unthinking and jab a deep knife deeper

that little heart squeeze that happens reveals whats really inside, and it's not pretty.

i am humbled that God still loves me, that He still gives so much grace to my weak little ugly broken heart, that He doesn't give up, that He shows me my sin, that He gives

new days

and new weeks

and new months

and new years.

thankful. . .

that He loves the real me enough to die

that He loves the real me enough to use the broken pieces of my life

that He loves the real me enough to reveal my pride and weakness

that He loves the real me enough to give me eternity and hope and a future.

He's kinda amazing like that.

june is. . .

2011-06-22T20:28:00.000-05:00

Starbucks and Eat Pray Love with Mommy

Ballet Lessons {attempted twirl}

June is. . .learning to overcome fake shyness

June is Watermelon Pineapple Tropical Sno.

No, I didn't choose the flavors.

Yes, he loved his choice.

Yes, that is an awful lot of red dye #40.

June is floating in the pool.

June is hundreds of dollars in pool chemicals.

June is said pool filter's bearing going out and pool motor threatening neighborhood peace.

June is $269 new filter on it's way. (shipping $12 just in case you wanted to know)

June is Daniel musing over the cost of ripping out said pool and buying a family pass to aquatic center.

June is Miss Kamie time.

{Not staged, both sound asleep}

Place: Mom and Dad's - Time: midnight

Also real time, unstaged, 12:00am, Cambria feeding lettuce to her pet bunny.

It lives at Mom and Dad's. They threaten to send it home with us each time.

How can we deprive the child of this sweet pet?

Yes, we do feel guilty.

No, Daniel won't relent on his no-pets-until-acreage-policy.

Yes, it is pathetic to watch the pet-deprived child carry a snail around for an hour.

June is waking JD up by reading the Seuss-esque I am Not Going to Get Up Today

and then bringing the kids breakfast in bed.

Oh, the intrigue and grown up aura of eating in bed.

{Before you say what an unselfish mom I am, please note that this very easy

idea resulted in my kids staying happily in their rooms with books and strawberries

until 10 am. Signed, ~~unselfishmom~~ Selfish Mom}

Father's Day idea inspired a month in advance by Clubhouse Jr.

(my kids love that magazine)

DAD pizza bagels.

So where are the photos of me?

Well the little people who take pictures of me snap shots like this:

and worse,

this

Since I must live in the kitchen, I stayed there for my own snap shot of. . . myself.

Happy June!

another little (BOY) at this house!

2011-06-13T21:37:00.000-05:00

Oh so exciting today to find out that our little #4 is a healthy growing baby boy. . .

JD: "He will be my next brother."

I tore my eyes away from that amazing technology to look at my six year old's earnest face. . .

Oh you are so right my son. . .

Cambria:

*long pause*

"Rats."

Both of of cracked up.

She was over her disappointment in about two minutes when she saw her newest brother trying to suck his thumb.

I am not blind to the miracle of this tiny life. . . ten perfect fingers, five of them grabbing at one little foot and five balled into a fist rubbing at his perfectly formed eyes.

just a tiny dusting of hair. . .

perfect little beating heart

{not the way the sonographer and Daniel were describing it: oh, the atrium. yes, and there are the four chambers. look at those ventricles. very nice. Me: It's okay, right??}

And contrary to Jacob and Cambria's suggestions, his name will not be Arthur Alexander, Alexander Arthur, plain Arthur or plain Alexander.

Sorry guys.

You can name your own children however you wish, but this one's ours.

I am humbled at the goodness of God, and the beautiful gifts He has given to us.

So thankful.

So blessed.

Not whole.

Not healed.

But thankful and blessed.

Lookin' Fine : (healing is so complicated)

2011-06-12T17:57:00.001-05:00

Have I reached the point where it would be more honoring to not mention Gabe?

I'm mulling this over as I remember a conversation this week. . .

Super relaxing atmosphere

long awaited spa stuff

a stranger

Is this your first pregnancy?

no, it is our fourth

Sarah Machlachlan sings about the arms of the angels and I close my eyes thinking about mine. . .

chatter about dogs and gardens and the South where she's from and Charleston weddings and big front porches and this awful heat and

What are the ages of your kids?

i wondered if you'd ask

I was so so tempted to lie. "6, 4 and 18 months."

It's not quite a lie.

I'll never see her again, and I'm okay right now and to say "we lost our third child, our son, our Gabe" and then go on doesn't do justice to his life and the loss and the hole and I think that healing is a gift but it's such a complicated one.

Gently I acknowledge my Jacob Daniel and my Cambria and my Gabe and then I say that he isn't here anymore and that I miss him so much. . . and I cringe that my pregnancy and our happy kicking unborn #4 can easily look like a replacement and how do I explain that we are going to love our little #4 for all of it's number fourness and not because this new little person is filling that Gabe-shaped hole?

The expected words.

I'm so sorry.

That would be awful.

But I don't look awful and my eyes aren't red rimmed and I am healthy and tanned and able to carry on a conversation and my sanity doesn't tell the whole story and there isn't time.

And it isn't the place.

And I wonder if that was betrayal and I wonder if my Gabe would have been more honored if I would have kept my mouth shut.

Should I hold up a sign that says I put makeup on but that doesn't mean my life is okay!

I'm pregnant but I'm not replacing my son!

Gabe died and I can say that without screaming but that doesn't mean it's okay!

I think of the odd experience of stumbling across our story being discussed in a forum on The Bump. . .
then a link to our blog. . .

then all the comments:

so awful

couldn't imagine

i'm crying

our baby girl is exactly his age

my husband is a firefighter too, oh my

horrible

and then

i read her current posts, she is pregnant and they look like they are doing fine.

Everything looks fine.

Isn't that what everyone wants for us? For anyone who suffers? For the answer to pain?

Oh please, just look fine.

Would your cancer please go into remission and could you please just wear a super cute wig so I can focus on how well you are coping?

Could you please at least pretend you have a job or some leads or a promising interview and can we all just pretend that you are able to make all of those house payments because it's so scary to think that you are unemployed. . .

Can we talk about how great of a guy you are going to find someday even though your dates to black tie weddings are girlfriends or brothers or guy friends who had mercy on you and your nights are lonely and your career isn't as fulfilling as it looks on the outside?

Your son is in jail? Let me pause while I try and swallow all of my shock! Oh, well, I'm sure you're finding great attorneys and I'm sure your son will never do that again and besides he was always a great kid and I don't want to even think about how ashamed and humiliated and hurt you are so can we please talk about something happier?

Can you please look fine?

For a while you can't and the pain is just too raw and too deep and everyone knows it's not fine and you're not fine.

Your mail carrier is busy and you wear your darkest sunglasses and you see the hushed whispers and your soul needs the hard squeezing hugs.

But at some point. . . you begin to look fine.

So then what?

Sorry, I don't know.

I'm learning.

Begging God for grace.

Reluctant to spill out the story of my son's short little life if the treasure part can't be communicated.

Cringing at the many times in my life when I've been the one with the answers and the God is sovereign spiel and the trite responses and it might have been being the salt of the earth and a light to the world but a clump of salt tastes pretty bad and no one wants a million candlepower flashlight shining in their eyes when all they can see is darkness.

Knowing I'm not the only one thinking this stuff.

A little afraid of lookin' fine over here.

May 19, 2011

{Jacob Daniel looking at photos of his little brother Gabe on our front porch}

because i love weddings. . .

2011-06-05T17:23:00.000-05:00

It's not every day that you attend a wedding where the congregation sings worship songs

Your Grace is Enough

Holy is the Lord God Almighty

Amazing Grace (My Chains are Gone)

and then the bride and groom exit to Reliant K's This is the Best Thing.

Daniel leaned over to me during the ceremony and said this is the most eclectic combination of guests I've ever seen at a wedding.

True that.

So obvious that the bride and groom love people and Jesus and are not locked into associating with any one personality or background or race or denomination. It was kind of a calico meets Gucci meets dreadlocks meets headcoverings meets tattoos kind of ensemble.

Maybe a little bit what Heaven is going to look like. . .?

I took some snapshots of little things I loved about the reception:

Chalkboard painted directional sign!

I wonder how many gallons of lemonade they made? They were carrying it out in five gallon buckets!

I loved the turquoise table and all of the yellow sugar cookies.

How nice to have a quiet area to suck your thumb!

Entry to the backyard reception held at the home of the wedding photographers. . .

I wonder if this works??

The white lights were strung from cables stretched tight in the trees. I know because I sat and ~~rubbernecked~~ studied how they set it up. Can you see all of the chandeliers? Gorgeous.

{Dinner}
Bread
Cinnamon Butter
Fresh Cucumber Salad
Roasted Potatoes
Green Beans
Herbed Lemon Chicken
And yes, this is in black and white so that my lobster skin doesn't show. One day without sunscreen. . .

The typewriter? It worked. Messages to the bride and groom from the guests. So fun.

Father Daughter dance. . . so Cinderella-esque. . . until suddenly. . .

BAM

I like to move it move it - I like to move it move it

(you know, the penguins in Madagascar? )

Most hilarious father daughter dance ever.

Another moment I loved: Adam and Nicole asked for their best man and maid of honor to stand with them while they cut the cake.

because they were so special

That and so they would be really close so that the bride and groom could

turn sharply and smash cake in their unsuspecting faces.

Special Schmecial.

Cambria trying to cozy up to the flower girls. Check out Miss Tulle. Cutest flower girl dresses EVER. They were long versions of the super popular tutus, secured with neck ribbons. You can sort of see a tiny peek of a huge flower in the front center of the dress. Oh. my. word. cuteness.

I loved part of Nicole's vows. . .I want to suffer with you too. . .

It is a joy to see lives united that realize that life is joy and pain all mixed together.

Happy ever-after, Nicole & Adam. . .

books = bowling

2011-06-04T08:37:00.000-05:00

I seriously underestimated the space needed to write 100 book titles. I may need to improvise. . .

I love our small town summers;

the summer reading program at our library just expanded to adults (free gourmet coffee!!)

last night we took the kids to a first Friday event . . .an outdoor movie {Happy Feet} downtown. . .

the fountain down by the river (where I can sit and read while the kids run and splash.)

Today we are headed off to a wedding of a longtime friend marrying her "Captain Awesome" (That's what she calls him. It cracks me up.) They met while she was working at an orphanage in China and he was a pilot for the mission she was with. (I think.) At any rate, this will be a really fun wedding and I just can't wait. Plus, since the bride is actually my younger sisters friend (I think I just got a sympathy invite) that means we get a whole bunch of Aunt E and Miss Kamie time today. Oh, and Bronz too.

Daniel (for a change) knows no one at this wedding.

His text to Bronz: Hey wanna go to a wedding tomorrow where we don't know a single person??

You sense the sarcasm, I'm sure.

My Starbucks is calling loudly. . .

Happy Weekend!

Postscript:

JD-isms for the week:

Examining his owies: Mom, hurt is surrounding me. I feel like hurt *rushes* to me.

Discussing the Model T: Mom, do you *know* Henry Ford?

On his sore back: No, Mom, it's not bruised. I think one of the bones in my spine is out of stock.

Metal Folding Chair Re-Make

2011-06-02T16:09:00.000-05:00

Is it just me or are these really cute?

I love them.

I now need a lime green, an aqua, sunshine yellow, strawberry red. . . summer!!!

And they're indestructible!

I only used one can of Krylon spray paint per chair, except for the orange one. . . but I think I had a defective can of paint on coat #1.

Back to Craigslist to search for more chairs. . . . .

Thanks Dave!

2011-06-01T22:30:00.000-05:00

I always call my van our Dave Ramsey van. . . and every time Daniel hears me say that he says, "No, when I pay cash for my 2500 HD Chevy Crew Cab, that will be my Dave Ramsey vehicle."

Well, his Dave Ramsey truck is sitting in our driveway and there are two pretty happy boys at this house.

{And if Jacob looks a little groggy, it's because he is. . . he woke up to see his daddy's new ride.}

My new friend Jess and I had a spray painting day yesterday. . . my projects were the ugly metal folding chairs. I haven't taken a picture yet of what I did with them but I think they are super cute and I need about seven more. Ugly folding chairs anyone???

On a cold and rainy Saturday my kids and Loren's do a double take as they pass a {real} umm. . . REAL??? Ronald McDonald? I love their body language in this photo. They are so shocked.

However, they warmed up quickly and soon became quite chatty, even informing Ronald that they were homeschooled. . . (love how they can work that into any conversation at the most random times).

Coming tomorrow:

Metal folding chair reveal.

The Case of the Blinking Cursor Disease

2011-05-27T23:51:00.000-05:00

So much going on here.

I could write ten pages about any one topic right now.

I sit and stare at the lap top screen.

blink

blink

blink

I sat and stared at the screen as we made huge changes to our summer,

stepping back,

stepping down,

stepping away.

Huge changes for two very {type a} people.

No words for so much change.

Feeling all of these little kicks and punches and inside somersaults. . . daring to hope and dream and searching and finding some amazing names and {endless} debate over perfect spellings and meanings. . .

But no words.

One year mark of our little man's Jesus-meeting;

It was as beautiful as a day like that could be, filled with

family

friends

support

love

sunshine

barbecue

lots of ice cream

trampoline

pool

little orange japanese lanterns. . .

strange, strange peace.

But no words.

Someday soon, again there will be words.

For now I think a blinking cursor kind of defines who I am.

Blink

blink

blink.

God. . . still not sure what You are doing.

blink

blink

blink

God, I trust Your heart.

blink

blink

blink

. . . .

I'll be back soon.

May

2011-05-11T22:07:00.000-05:00

Nothing quite like watching one child read to another!

End of Awana year!

I stapled her last patch on cuz I couldn't find a needle and thread. Confession time.

Aww. . . my little Sparky.

Hi, my name is Earl. Or maybe Fred.

Calling Aunt E (imaginarily) to see "what she's wearing to the ball. . ."

California - Greek Pitas. . . Delish.

12-14 whole wheat pitas
1 bag of Dole 7-Lettuce Mix
1 pint grape tomatoes, quartered
2 cucumbers, peeled and sliced
1 container of feta cheese
1/3 cup Trader Joe's Cilantro Dressing

Mix salad ingredients and stuff into pitas.

My kids devoured these. . . quite the hit.

Cambria brought this Clubhouse Jr. magazine to me and asked to make this recipe. . . too cute. She couldn't wait for me to buy the ingredients. She decorated everyone's pancakes this morning. Overheard: "Whew! This is hard work!"

So proud.

A ton going on in my heart as the days march on toward a year since our little man was here. . . this song ministered to my heart tonight and I'm sharing it here for the many others who ask "why me, God?"

gravel

2011-04-30T11:17:00.000-05:00

Almost May.

One more day.

As I pick up crayons

finish Kindergarten with my JD

help Cambria learn to use scissors properly {cut fabric scraps, not hair}

answer texts from my crazy-hard-worker husband

wonder if the little flutters in my stomach are for real. . .

I have this little edge on my heart, and at the weirdest times I will think of

gravel.

gravel in our hospital parking lot.

why is there even gravel there?

maybe it isn't gravel, maybe they are landscaping rocks.

i wonder about the insignificance of my wondering.

my heart wants to remember.

tears push at my eyelids at the oddest times as i remember. . .

the floor.

where i sank.

legs unable to hold me

weren't there chairs everywhere i went?

all of these odd memories of looking up at people from the floor.

the doorjamb of the trauma room.

where i grasped at straws and watched

frozen in unbelief

as everyone tried everything.

i think it's grey. and cold. and plastic. and probably imprinted with fingernail prints.

the floor.

again.

sitting there, numb and shocked, my voice not sounding like mine.

i can't call my mom.

i can't call and tell her.

if i call and tell her, it will be real.

Handing my baby to a nurse to take away wasn't real enough?

gravel.

again.

outside.

air.

mom.

you need to sit down

it's really bad.

gabe is with Jesus.

I kept saying that. So weird. I'd never even used that phrase before. I see myself, standing on the sidewalk in my pajamas, saying in this odd high pitched voice to the neighbors. . .

he's with God he's with God he's with God

awful awful refrain.

with God with God with God with God.

not with me with me with me with me.

gravel.

mom.

no i don't know, mom.

there wasn't anything wrong.

i know i know i know

i don't knowwwwwwww what happened.

my babyyyyy.

gravel.

maybe i could throw the rocks.

or kick them.

or just lay down on them and die.

this isn't happening to me.

this is a nightmare.

but it wasn't.

I straighten my stack of current books on the stand next to my favorite huge chair where I'm curling up late at night to read. . .

Strengthsfinder

Choosing Gratitude

When Your Child is Hurting. . .

I remember the stacks of thank you notes I kept there to write with him snuggled in my lap. . . such a loved little man. So many fire truck outfits. So many tiny jeans. Newborn infant boy clothing has come a long way. I grin, thinking of his uber hip jeans and his little grey hoodie and his dark dark hair and his super gorgeous self and then I cry.

tears that bottle up now. . .

it's not quite so raw. . .

i can hold it together if i go out.

actually i can hold it together for a long time.

i am making it.

there really is healing.

i do have hope, hope i didn't know even existed.

but still, always that missing piece to our crazy family puzzle,

that little ache that knows he would be saying daddy and mamma.

that incomplete heart,

the break

the edge

the frayed parts of it. . .

remember the reality of our loss and then i know why. . .

why my heart twists

and why I think of odd things like

floors

and

gravel

while I'm washing pink plastic cups

and folding grass stained jeans

I think of gravel. . .

probably because my heart knows there should be sippy cups with little trucks on them next to the pink plastic cups

and jeans that don't have grass stains next to the ones that do.

Ahh, my littlest man. . .

you are so loved,

every moment,

my heart doesn't forget you,

little man.

I wish your jeans could be in the laundry too.

wish i didn't know about broken hearts

wish you didn't have a grave

wish there weren't weird corners of ER entrances with rocks and gravel

wish you would have been here to have ice cream when your big brother finished Kindergarten. . .

wish you could have snuggled in with all of us this morning and enjoyed our Saturday morning at home

and pancakes

and syrup

and that you would have needed your sticky pudgy hands wiped.

love you, buddy.

Mommy.

(unproductive)

2011-04-22T00:03:00.000-05:00

Could I just go to bed and pull the covers over my head and sleep until next year?

I wish I didn't have to face all of the decisions stacking up around me, everywhere I turn another dilemma facing my weak and weary heart. . .

Yes.

Sleeping until next year is a good option.

Oh.

I guess I can't.

Someone sprayed water all over the bathroom from the balloon pump. (I know because my socks are wet.)

{direct cleanup}

Morning spent with a precious girl. . . sorting out life over Starbucks and tissues.

{JD: why do girls cry?
me: girls cry when they are sorting things out.
JD: wow
me: the sooner you figure that out the better you will be able to deal with women.
JD: huh
me: the best you can do is pat them on the back, say "I'm sorry" and walk away and give them some space.
JD: [ l o n g silence. . . .] one more thing you could do is hand them Kleenex, mom.}

I cut out Cambria's Easter dress today (nothing like waiting until the last possible moment) and as I sat down to sew, discovered that the pressure foot to my machine is missing.

{search sewing area. search sewing cupboard. search whole house. decide to run and buy a new one. remember i don't have the van today. give up. pack Easter dress away.}

Found out this afternoon that Daniel would be home tonight.

{prepare man-friendly meal}

Discover that his floor hockey night starts an hour earlier than I thought.

{forget man-friendly meal. he sees my frustration. he stays to eat with us. he's way late. i pout. i fail. i stink at flexibility.}

Watch my Jacob Daniel (current occupation aspiration: architect) spend the entire afternoon building a house and furniture with cardboard, popsicle sticks and a mini glue gun.

{euphoric child. mess everywhere}

All the while, underneath, lurks constant strain and constant worry. I am so afraid. I am not strong. I am so fearful.

I know what miscarriage is.

We've walked that {more private} road.

Each little twinge. . . I wonder. . . is my little punkin. . . okay? Please, just be okay. Please, let me make it to twenty-five weeks. Please, let there be a heartbeat.

I told my mom today that I would like to be attached to a Doppler. She laughed, because we both know that wouldn't really solve anything.

I hope for a future with our fourth child, my fifth pregnancy.

I hope for hope.

I feel lost.

I feel . . . a lack of motivation.

I feel. . . unproductive.

I feel. . . like sleeping for a year.

Did I already say that?

"I have labored to no purpose; I have spent my strength in vain and for nothing." {Isaiah 49:4}

{unproductive}

God said:

It is too small a thing for you to be my servant

I will also make you a light

I will. . . restore. . .

I will. . . keep you. . .

[I will] say to the captives 'Come out'

and to those in the darkness 'Be free'

Though a [mother may forget her child] I will not forget you!

See, I have engraved you on the palms of My Hands.

[from Isaiah 49]

Only God gives such amazing hope to the unproductive.

Pajama Partaa

2011-04-13T23:43:00.000-05:00

invitations. . . little sleeping bags. . . *with pillows*

Am I the only person who gets overwhelmed by the amazing parties people have for their children?

The bloggers only make it worse.

Seriously, handmade favors for each child?

Beautiful photography covering each moment?

Never mind the amount of $$$$$$$ spent on exquisite little treats and extras.

I love parties, in fact, I live and breathe them.

However, my imitation Pottery Barn style would probably be scoffed at by the PB designers and I don't have time to create tiny nightgowns made out of vintage sheets (snatched up at antique stores on my free Saturdays). . . although those would make great favors for a pj party.

Our favors were bead necklaces ($2 total) and a bucket of lipglosses ($1). Just call it Hayley-free-embarrassingly-cheap style.

The reason I'm writing this is not to complain about finances, but to point out that really . . . who cares if your parties aren't perfect or you don't have a real fondue pot? Seriously? Just have fun.

Little people are the absolute easiest guests EVER.

They are thrilled with the ordinary.

So our pj party.

Ordinary mommas living on regular streets driving regular vehicles wearing J. Crew via Goodwill - - - be inspired.

We colored.

We played beauty shop. ($1 spray misters filled with water = drenched little heads + tons of fun)

We ate "fondue." Actually Cheez Whiz. + snow peas + carrot sticks + pretzels + mini hot dogs.

Daniel built us a little fire and we traipsed out in the back yard to roast pink marshmallows. . . {hilarious side note. . . as he instructs 8 little girls to stick their roasters in the fire, he was unprepared for their prompt obedience. About 8 little marshmallows instantly lit on fire and then 8 little sticks zoomed up and then he's like "oh, oh, oh, don't wave it around!" Definitely new experience. . . fire + firefighter + instruction = normal. Adding 8 little girls at a slumber party = not normal.

Another side note. . . if you take eight little girls outside in the dark, four flashlights are not enough. I wouldn't have made it if Sarah, one of the moms, hadn't had pity on me and stayed to help.

The girls talked constantly. Why does this still surprise me?

They also had a very hard time going to sleep. I put on some quiet bluesy jazz for them to drift off with and I guess I didn't know the CD very well because it only intensified the giggles and wiggles. Daniel: "That CD is not working."

We had a midnight snack run, too. . . I looked at the three little girls sitting on chairs in our kitchen, eating by the glow of the water dispenser light on the refigerator and I thought. . . wow. . . I have so looked forward to this stage of life. . . seeing my kids and their friends happy in our home. . . {if this makes no sense to you it is probably because your toddler children never *bit* their friends}

On a whim I grabbed Rhodes frozen cinnamon rolls at WalMart and my breakfasts for overnight guests will never be the same. They were totally amazing. I have made homemade rolls since I was eleven. . . but if you can buy the exact same thing for $3 and put it together in two minutes then I say, retire the rolling pin.

It was truly a blast.

It is also true that I drank a ton of coffee the next day.

Pajama Party. . . <---------- here. . .

Remember that great quote "If Mamma says there's a pink elephant on the roof, there's a pink elephant on the roof"?
No?
Your mom didn't say that?

Animals waiting on the porch swing to greet our small guests. . . (note the snake, courtesy of JD)

I went to the library right before the party to check out "Bedtime for Frances" which is ALWAYS there, but of course,
the night I wanted it *really bad* it wasn't. So we settled for some other cute ones. . .
like "Llama Llama Misses Mamma" (I thought that might come in handy.)

before we were married and Daniel was living here alone, he saw this humongous mirror sticking out of a dumpster behind a hospital where he was waiting after running a call. He drove back later, off duty, and loaded it into his tiny ranger (I just laugh thinking about it). That mirror was the most honkingly heavy mirror I have ever seen in my life. It graced our newlywed dining room for . . . . an embarrassingly long time. It was like living in a house of mirrors. Eventually we Daniel cut it up and so we have all of these cool mirrors in our basement. I brought one up and leaned it against the wall for the beauty shop.

My mom gives these little fur families to the kids. they adore them. we made them a treehouse home
on a cakeplate next to a plant that I'm desperately trying to keep alive. I thought it added to the decor.

I love to change everything up in my house when we have parties. I brought a lamp down from upstairs
and pushed the table next to the chalkboard wall to make a buffet. . .
that way I had room to drag in one of the overstuffed chairs from the living room and
create a puzzle-putting-together area in the dining room.

Yes, here is the hidden Wal-Mart advertisement. They're paying me for this. *I wish*
Organic cotton pjs $5!!!
The tutu was a birthday gift, but it was only $5 too.
I know because I went and bought one for my niece.
(Sorry Deeann, now I made your gift sound cheap. Sorry Edith, I also made it sound like I got a very un-sacrificial gift for Kamie.)

Oh my. I can't believe {once upon a time} I told God I wanted to be a mom to just boys.

{*practicing the hostess part* "hi, thank you for coming to my party. here is a necklace for you. . .
Mom, what if everyone wants pink?"}

this is an extremely original game. . . musical necklaces. when you don't have enough little chairs, improvise.

{my fondue assembling assistant the lovely ms Kaylin. . .}

{endless beauty-shop-ness}

this just cracks me up

don't all girls love looking at catalogs and magazines??

Breakfast. . . Rhodes Cinnamon Rolls with {pink} frosting

tiny little heartbeat (little #4)

2011-04-07T19:47:00.001-05:00

~~The stick turned blue.~~

~~I'm pregnant!~~

~~God is giving us another little person to love!~~

~~I'm so scared; are we out of our minds?~~

This week I heard a tiny little heart beating inside of me. . . tears are pooling now, just remembering Tuesday morning; this is our fourth little beating heart, created out of our love and the mighty hand of God.

The awe doesn't wear off.

I hope the fear will.

I stood in our bathroom, peering down at a tiny plastic stick, hoping, hoping, hoping. . . and then those two blue lines.

I jumped up and down.

I screamed at myself in the mirror we're gonna have another baby!

I cried out to the heavens in the direction of the ceiling Oh God, let him live for seventy five years! I'm begging You, I'm pleading with You!

I sat on the floor and wept.

We are so thankful.

We are so terrified.

{What monitor to use; or should we even go that route?}

{Googling innovative, uniquely designed cribs}

{How will I ever lay the poor child down? He'll have to sleep sometime}

{Fielding the kids' earnest questions. . .I hope it doesn't die, right Mommy?}

I tell myself each morning, Hayley, statistically this is not going to happen again. And then I hear the haunting echo of statistically it shouldn't have happened to Gabe.

My faith in God as a Giver is being stretched and tried. I know the answers. Trust Him. Trust His heart. I want to.

My reality is still arms that ache to hold a child torn from our family.

God, You won't take again, will You?

The answers are not mine.

What is mine is today.

I thank God for today, for life each night as I rest my hand on the chest of my sleeping son and feel his beating heart, as I smooth tousled hair from my daughter's face and rejoice in her warmth and even breathing.

Today is all we are given, tomorrow is not promised.

Today I thrill for the life inside of me.

Today I cry that our fourth child will never know his chunky-monkey older brother.

Today I thank God for a man who loves me.

Today I ache for the pain that life brings.

Today I google baby names, holding onto hope.

Today I look at photos of other children's headstones, searching for the perfect way to honor our precious little man.

Today I thank God that my kids were more cheerful than they were yesterday.

Today I hold Cambria as she weeps for a worm died in the street because a car ran over it.

Today I sit on the couch and play UNO (and lose) with my Jacob Daniel.

Today I share lunch with a dear friend.

Today I pack a NON pb&j sandwich for my man. Today I make him take a few minutes out of his day and sit. And breathe. Today I love him.

~~Today~~ Tonight the bedtime battle looms. JD it is your turn for the shower { x 4 }

Tomorrow is not promised.

Jesus is promised.

Hope is promised.

Heaven is promised.

Grace for each day.

It isn't tomorrow. I don't know what the future holds.

It is today, and today. . . we rejoice in the life that God is giving.

Do You Want to Know?

2011-04-05T23:35:00.000-05:00

Sometimes we don't want to know about pain.

It hurts too much.

It's too messy to get involved.

Why should you be responsible? asks Josh Wilson in his beautiful plea to open our eyes to see people as God sees them.

Once you see a world that's in need

and a sorrow you just can't ignore

your heart will break

and you'll lay awake

cause you'll know you could do so much more

Do you want to know?

Christ is Risen

2011-04-04T21:09:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about Easter. . .

The empty grave has new significance for me this year.

Daniel and I have always made a visual image of a tomb and Jesus' body for the kids on the days preceding Easter Sunday. We wrap the little stick figure in perfume drenched white cloths. We paint flowers on a tiny clay tomb. We seal a stone over the door.

And then, Easter morning we roll away that little stone and show them the linen cloth on the floor of the tomb.

He's not there!

I am always so thankful at the remembrance of what He did for us.

This year, my heart thrills at the remembrance of what He did.

That He defeated the grave is just so unthinkably staggering.

The more I listen to this song, the more I love it.

Christ is risen from the dead

He trampled over death by death

No scheme of hell

No scoffer's crown

No burden great

Can hold You down

In strength You reign

Christ is risen from the dead

Trampling over death by death

Come awake, come awake

O, church, come stand in the light

The glory of God has defeated the night

SMS Shine

2011-04-03T22:32:00.000-05:00

Jacob and Cambria love this.

{Watch for the frog. It's Cambria's favorite part.}

Shelter

2011-03-24T22:20:00.000-05:00

This is what we want our lives to be

our home to be

our hearts to be

refuge

shelter

safety

so that the hurting around us

will never walk alone.

Forgiveness (7 x 70)

2011-03-23T22:10:00.000-05:00

I was driving through Lake of the Ozarks several weeks ago when I heard this song for the first time. Navigating unfamiliar roads, I frantically grabbed at a pen and post its so I could scribble down the artist and title.

What speaks to your heart through this song is that life is hard. Sometimes we're told that we shouldn't let hard stuff or cutting words or abandonment define us. But that's kind of a joke, because hard stuff does make us who we are. There usually isn't the option of just moving on or getting over it.

Tonight, besides our ever-popular {ever-patiently playing 10 games of UNO with JD and Cambria} Henry, we had another young man sharing our dinner table. He spoke about a life that I can't even begin to imagine.

abandonment

little brothers and sisters torn apart by neglect, lost parental rights, adoption to different families

phone-call relationships with parents

unanswered questions

why didn't they care?

That kind of stuff does define you.

I love how Chris August writes (and sings) that forgiveness makes a way. It doesn't erase; it wraps around.

playlist replacement

2011-03-22T21:35:00.000-05:00

So this week I am removing my playlist and posting our current top ten "songs."

Songs.

I need a better word.

Beautiful therapy?

Musical theology?

I don't know.

I'm posting two today, since I was a little busy yesterday with a pajama party for eight little girls. {More on that later.}

The first, Hero, is the best way I can think of to decribe the Jesus I call God.

If you don't know this Jesus. . . listen. This is the Man who loves you beyond anything your heart can yearn for. He is amazing.

If you do know this Jesus. . . listen and remember why you love Him.

The second speaks so loudly to my heart right now. No one needs to have all the answers for pain and sorrow. . . but everyone needs someone to pray them through. My challenge to you: be the person who says if you fall down. . . let me carry you. . . I'll carry you. . .

the grief scale (not)

2011-03-19T23:03:00.000-05:00

How much pain is a ton?

Is there a measuring device for pain?

Rate your pain today on a scale of one to ten, one being least, ten being greatest.

What tips the scale of grief?

Is there even a scale for grief?

Loss of marriage < loss of child; unloved and forsaken < terminally ill; living the horror of abuse < picking up the pieces after the suicide of one you love.

As a society, don't we make mental notes as we observe the broken lives of humanity? Johnny's pain is way worse than Susie's pain! We need to flood Johnny with sympathy; but Susie needs to suck it up and get on with life.

How do I know that Susie's pain isn't great and crushing and almost more than she can bear? What if it is? What if, because of our unspoken but universally understood grief scale, Susie's pain got rated 0.6 on the grief scale of one to ten?

And then there's another whole encampment of pain: the unlucky souls who somehow find themselves in the They Deserved It part of our grief filing system. Desperately trying to make sense of a world gone wrong, we grasp for reasons. For some people the reasons spring quickly to mind. That's unfair. You can be very sure that if a fault or failing in the life of a grieving person is not obvious to you, it is only because you don't know him well enough.

I've thought about this a lot over the past few weeks as I have been overwhelmed by all the pain in the lives of people around me. Is anyone's life easy? I don't really think so.

We have been on the receiving end of a massive amount of attention and encouragement; a child's death isn't supposed to happen, and for that crushing reason, it seems society has marked our loss 9.5 on the little grief scale.

But there are lots and lots and lots of other things that aren't supposed to happen.

This week I remembered the story of Jairus' daughter. She was twelve. She was dying. Jairus went to Jesus, Who has always been a Healer, always is a Giver, even in the darkest moments of life. He fell at the feet of the Maker of his daughter and pleaded for her life.

While he was pleading, a woman who had been battling a bleeding disorder for twelve years reached out to touch the robe of Jesus. Miraculously, incredibly, against all odds, she was instantly healed.

I think that Jesus' response to her is incredible. He didn't send her away.

He could have said "Lady! Go see a specialist! I am dealing with a dying child! Surely you can understand that I am very much about giving life! Sorry, but later!"

He could have said "Oh, my, a bleeding disorder. . . did you live the way you should? Perhaps this is an STD and you totally deserve this."

He could have said "I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm busy with wayyyyyy more important things. Please, can we reschedule?"

He could have thought "I felt her touch me but I won't even stop and listen. I need to get to this little dying girl."

But He didn't. He stopped. He wanted to see her, to know her. He wanted her story.

Who touched Me?

And she came, trembling and scared. Didn't she know that a dying child was more important? Of course she did, because two thousand years doesn't change human nature. Of course she didn't want to bother or be in the way of important stuff.

Here is the beauty of Jesus. . . He saw her. She was important stuff. He didn't push her away. He didn't rate her pain or mark her grief on a scale. He saw her faith, He saw her needs, He saw twelve years of unanswered questions and He cared.

She wasn't a bother to Him. He healed. He loved. He sent her away in peace.

Jesus didn't leave Jairus needs unmet, either.   He heard the awful news. He calmed the distraught father. He walked the dusty streets. He denied the power of the grave. He brought life where there was death.

That's what He is all about.   He brings clarity to the muddy waters of the whose grief is worse game that we love to play. He doesn't rate pain; instead He brings life when there is only death.

Our minds only view death as death, and a beating heart as life.

But what if death is oppression and pain and bitter tears and no desire to live and regret and mistakes and deep scars and wounded hearts and shattered dreams?

And what if life is hope?

What if

life

is

Him?

oh the things my kids say. . .

2011-03-10T16:41:00.001-06:00

Cambria drew a picture of me last week. . .

It's really frightful. My hair is sticking out all over my head (but my eyes are green- correct color) and I oddly only have a head and stick legs. I asked what the strange loop in one ear was:

"Oh, Mom, that's your earring. You don't have one in the other ear because you losted it."

Well, it's true that no one has ever accused me of being organized; lost earrings are pretty much the way I roll.

JD at the breakfast table this morning: {out of the blue} "How do babies come out?"

I stall. "How do you think they come out?"

*Shrugs* "Cut 'em out."

Oh I wish I would have had C-Sections. . . they're so much easier to explain. . .

Briefly I inform him. Matter of fact is the way to go on these things.

"So if you have to push the baby out do you have to push it in?"

Why is Daniel always at work during these conversations?

Cambria to me: "Mom, please write vitamins on yoah list on the fridge. It's im-po-tant not to foah-get things foah yoah kids."

JD: "Mom, I love you."

Me: (teary) "Ohhh. . . . Jacob. . . I love you too. Thaaaaaaank you, buddy."

Daniel: "Hey, what about me?"

JD: "Daaaaad. . . of course I love YOU." {implied} "Dad, you hung the moon- you know that- let's just throw a few crumbs of affection to Mom for a minute, here."

Cambria, observing Jacob weeping over his math workbook: "When I do school I won't cry!" Totally self righteous as she blissfully uses markers and art supplies, {fun stuff} free as a breeze.

Jacob: *blubbering* *pile of kleenex next to math page* "Oh I bet you will cry, Cambria. . . [sob] I bet you will!"

JD to Daniel: *conversationally* "Dad, I know you're almost thirty but you look like you're forty."

Cambria, worried that we will run out of oatmeal, her all-time fave breakfast: "When we run out of that one in the cupboard I will *re-wind* you to get more." Do ya think she meant remind?

We weren't planning on using this pictures for our annual Christmas greeting so I thought we could put them here.

Ha ha ha!

when the story isn't mine to write

2011-03-06T21:21:00.000-06:00

I'm not good at faking life.

I'm just not into fake.

I find so much joy and release in just spilling my heart out and being honest.

I'm brutally honest with the people closest to me. . . but pretty honest with those who aren't, too. I've been known to confess to my Bible Study group that I have thrown spoons in anger and I can cry with complete strangers.

Is this a personality trait or because I am a woman?

Probably some of both.

I know that writing about Gabe has been so incredibly healing for me. It has helped me sort out my thoughts, my heart, what I still believe about God, and helped me grieve the loss of my son.

Men aren't as open.

I am always baffled by this.

Is it because they don't want to admit weakness?

Putting themselves out there and admitting doubts and fears is probably just not helpful to them.

Endless personal reflection?

Not any guys I know!

So as I watch my husband grieve and walk through steps I walked through months ago. . . my heart breaks. I feel a little bit like you all must feel as you stand on the outside of our grief looking in, wanting to help, but not able to take away the pain.

I want to write about it; but it's his story and not mine to write.

So I don't have a lot of words right now.

I know that Daniel has been so strong for me. . . for so long. You can only be strong for so long.

I tell him it's okay.

He doesn't have to be happy.

He doesn't have to be strong.

I cry.

I physically ache to take the pain away from him, knowing that there's no way to go but through.

I tell him I believe for him like so many have believed for me

that when the road is too dark

and the way is too long

and little places where Gabe should be are too quiet

I'll still be here. . .

and we are going to hang on. . .

and I don't know what to say

but I love him.

Ahh. . . he is such a good man.

I pray that God will bring healing to his heart and that I will be a refuge for him. . .

I love him so much.

Speaking of Red (and pink). . .

2011-02-16T22:24:00.002-06:00

{RED}

[MFD's very own Red Shift]

my favorite is the guy fourth from the left

{RED}

Barbeque Pork Pasta

Whenever it gets warm. . . I start getting hungry for this. . . totally springtime.

1 box penne or rotini, cooked (preferably whole grain)

2 cups barbecued, shredded pork

2 carrots, grated

handful of cilantro, chopped

1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

1 can Ro-Tel

1/2 onion, chopped

1 green pepper, chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 teaspoon cumin

salt and pepper to taste

1/2 cup beef broth

3 tablespoons oil

Saute onion, pepper and garlic in oil. Add pork, seasonings, and beef broth. Simmer. Add the remaining ingredients and serve.

{RED}

(well, they aren't red. oh well. the cupcake liners are)

Symphony Brownies

(How have I missed these all of my life?!)

Apparantly Paula Deen is to be credited with this fabulous idea:

2 9 x 13 brownie mixes, mixed according to package directions

3 Symphony Bars with Toffee and Almonds

Pour half of brownie batter in greased 9 x 13 pan. Place Symphony bars across the batter. Pour remaining batter over the chocolate bars and bake at 350 for 40 minutes. Cool or chill before cutting.

There is one left, sitting on top of the refrigerator.

Hopefully it stays there until Daniel gets home tomorrow.

{PINK}

[from Daniel and Cambria]

I love them.

(the roses, too.)

love isn't always red tissue

2011-02-13T16:38:00.002-06:00

I remember our first Valentine's Day.

We were tentatively doing the long distance dating dance across two thousand miles and we aren't poster children for great communication.

My mom elevates the great pink and red holiday to quite an occasion. . . little tissue wrapped gifts at each place during breakfast and of course everyone must wear the appropriate colors.

I'm not really sure Daniel even knew the significance of February 14.

That first year together (and I use that term very loosely) I was away from home, staying for a week as a live-in nanny with a military family that were (and still are) great friends of mine.

I still remember where I was standing in their house when their phone rang.

"It's for you." Janie hisses at me, with a crazy smile on her face. . . "I totally think it's Daniel!"

I stand in stocking feet on the hardwood floor in their dining room, looking out the window at the white fields and brittle branches of winter, then down at the phone in my hand.

"Hello, it's Hayley," I say.

Hey. . . {deep voice} hi. . . yep, it's him.

"Hey! What's going on? Are you at work or at school?" {This was early enough in our relationship that I had no clue what his schedule was, much less whether or not he loved me.}

So it seems that I have botched Valentine's Day pretty bad. . . he continues and my heart flips. (Hello, heart, he is acknowledging the Great Holiday Of Love.)

. . .and it must be kind of a big deal to you, so I feel really bad that I just totally missed it and I just wanted to call you and tell you that you are really special to me. I can't talk long cuz I'm at work but I just wanted you to know that.

I try to calmly wrap up our conversation without saying anything too stupid and when we disconnect Janie and I shriek with endless speculation the rest of the day. I think he loves me. Do you think so? What are your wedding colors again?

I found out later that my future mother-in-law had just happened to call my mom that day and Mom mentioned what the morning had entailed, probably mentioning the cherries on top of the french toast and the flowers Dad had just sent. It didn't take my mother in law long to phone her son at the fire department and clue him in to the cultural differences between our two families.

But that was almost ten years ago and we've enjoyed many fun dates and flowers and chocolates since that awkward phonecall.

Love is so not about the flowers this year.

Right now I battle to know what love means to my husband.

I want to love him the way he needs to be loved.

I don't always know what that looks like.

When your world turns upside down, you change. Your whole outlook changes. You aren't the same person anymore.

In a marriage that's kind of scary.

Who is she, he wonders and who is he, she cries.

Initially most couples cling so tightly to each other. They desperately grasp one thing that they know for certain. . . each other. That frantic clinging lasts for awhile, and in some couples just stays.

Yay for them.

But for us (just being painfully honest, here) . . . the differences in the way we grieve, in the way we process, in the way we view each other and God. . . gave way to confusion and distance. . . pushing each other away so that we wouldn't hurt any more than we were already hurting.

Exhaustion.

Sleeplessness.

Panic.

Physical ache.

Receiving our son's autopsy report.

Oh we aren't madly in love.

Drowning out the pain in work.

Crying in the bathroom at events.

Misunderstanding.

Loneliness.

Missing each other.

Oh how not sweet our marriage is!

God intervened in our marriage in a big way by sending us away, far away and pouring out His love on us in such a safe environment. We realized there, that we needed each other still. . . that neither of us could make it better. But we could hang on and not let go.

I think that's where we are now. . .

We're hanging on and not letting go.

I think of Daniel's tentative phonecall all those years ago. . .

. . . reaching out. . .

. . .showing that little glimmer of kindness and love. . .

. . . and my woman's heart, ever optimistic in matters of love, opens wide to those tentative steps.

What can my tentative step be?

Being a safe place for my man. . .

For once, being strong for him.

Maybe realizing it's not always about me.

What if it's just shutting my mouth?

Maybe telling him that even when life is cold and hard and cruel there's still no one I'd rather walk with than him.

That's a little different than chocolate and hot dates and red tissue wrapped gifts; but it's what love looks like this year.

I'm hanging on, Daniel. . . so glad God gave you to me.

white light love x 4

2011-02-03T22:53:00.000-06:00

And the week of white lights continues.

White lights on top of peanut M & M's = difficulty in grabbing any time you wish.

Being totally snowed in is a great reason to organize my perpetually messy pantry closet / cupboard. Of course I can't resist a makeover. What fun would order be if it always looked the same?!

It's not done yet. . . I'll keep you posted.

white light love x 3

2011-02-02T14:19:00.000-06:00

Subtitle: Blizzard 2011

These are white lights on our back porch. . .

And then , to the left, {follow the white extension cord} you will NOT see my artificial ~~Christmas~~ winter tree which, buried beneath the snow, ALSO sports white lights.

I tried for awhile to free the tree and set it upright.
Then I gave up.

We valiantly made a dent in what I thought was our sidewalk. . . nope, just the yard.

Finally aligning ourselves with the neighbor's snowblower path, we figured out where our sidewalk was.

I shoveled and shoveled.

You could shovel all day and maybe clear a couple feet.

The neighbor kindly had mercy on me and finished the walks for me.

The kids love this stuff. They worry constantly that they will run out of snow to shovel and I overheard them today chatting about how now they finally have enough. . . no need to hog it, plenty for everyone!

Plenty like 16.8 inches!

white light love x 2

2011-02-01T11:52:00.000-06:00

I bought these white lights on white string to copy an Ikea white light wire wreath, which I planned to hang on our pseudo-headboard. But I haven't gotten that far, and I actually like it the way it is.

I could keep up these white light posts for a verrrrry long time!

white light love

2011-01-31T13:05:00.000-06:00

It's a cold snowy day and I am finally taking down our Christmas tree.

I so miss the glow of the white lights in the living room, though, and Gabe's big tissue flowers. . . so in they went to the top of the laundry cupboards.

Looking at this photo, I am shocked at the drabness of our bathroom wall color. Huh. That may change soon.

Few things make me happier than white lights!

5th Annual Ski Trip

2011-01-29T20:01:00.001-06:00

I took a deep breath yesterday and let my son do what he's been dying to do all year. . .

I told myself that something in a boy's soul dies when an over protective mommy squashes what he and his daddy are okay with. . .

Jacob's soul is not dying anytime soon.

I'm pretty sure that JD thinks that his Grandpa exists to make his life fun. . .

Ummm. . . somebody crashed, I think. We had 45 skiers in our group this year. So fun.

What is this? Snuggles and love to appease me? Yup.

Yes, that is my little boy, down at the very bottom - the smallest pin dot! Yikes! I kept saying to myself I can't believe we're letting him do this. . .

And here is our purple puff, Cambria. . .

She was so excited to go down {the slopes} with her daddy! At some point in the day the outdoor sound system changed to KLOVE and Daniel told me she was belting out Cry to Jesus with Chris Rice as she "skied." Hilarious.

i am afraid of happiness

2011-01-24T23:07:00.002-06:00

I am afraid to be happy.

When did I discover this?

Not all at once, that is for sure.

Little glimpses of happiness and then a cold wave of fear reveals this new phase of grief: a fear of joy, of normalcy, of that life is beautiful feeling.

I wonder if this is normal.

I wonder if it's because we were so happy that particular morning that our little man met Jesus;

I remember. . .

joy

crazy life

busyness

packing for a wedding

sunlight

coffee brewing

shampoo

windows open wide

dancing in our kitchen to Lead Me

crying on Daniel's shoulder;

Why are you crying?

"Just because God is so good to us. . ."

Fifteen minutes later that happy world shattered into a million fragmented pieces.

I never thought normal life would return.

I wondered if we'd even live.

I wondered if our family would shatter, too.

I didn't think I'd ever be able to laugh again.

I didn't think life would ever feel happy.

Now I see glimpses of that normalcy and I want it and yet it is so scary to me.

It's not that I want to be sad.

It's not that I want to stay paralyzed by grief.

It's certainly not that I like the black hole!

I am afraid of being happy because I don't want to shatter again.

I think this on days like today, when the kids play with friends and school goes great and I get a sitter so I can steal a few moments with Daniel at work and then have a girls night out and laugh until we cry. . .

coming home tonight,

putting kids to bed,

planning meals for tomorrow,

stacking library books,

straightening the kitchen. . .

it's so normal.

I loooooove normal.

I feel organized.

I start to turn on David Crowder's Oh, Happiness

and then. . .

I stop.

The last time I felt normal and busy and happy bad stuff happened.

And here is where I meet God, wrestling out these realities.

He is good.

He is kind.

He saw my son die.

He is faithful.

He is my Father.

He saw our world shatter.

He is all seeing.

He is all knowing.

He is always there.

There isn't a simple sweet ending to this today. . .

I am holding these truths in my heart and still holding His gifts to me in my hands. . . my children, my husband. . .

I don't have answers.

I am just learning, just finishing up kindergarten (or preschool?) in the school of loss and grief and bad stuff.

It sounds so awfully inane and easy and simple. . .

let go

trust God

allow the joy when it comes peeking in. . .

just be happy.

But it's a huge huge HUGE step of faith for me.

shelf makeover

2011-01-22T23:57:00.000-06:00

I found this shelf. . .

somewhere. . .

on some street.

{. . .being thrown away. . .}

I painted it and put it on top of an antiqued dresser rescued from Daniel's grandpa.

{It was in his garage. . . being thrown away. . .}

{Thrown away + rescued by me = free home decor. Love it!}

It needed something on the back, so I cut out fabric that I liked {at that time} and

glued the pieces to the back of the shelf.

It was okay.

Kind of vanilla.

My attention span with my house really lasts about three months per project, so I'm surprised

that the vanilla roses have been here for two years.

Goodbye vanilla roses!!!

Loving my $2.99 wrapping paper {Hallmark} makeover!

best. pancakes. ever.

2011-01-22T23:46:00.000-06:00

I've made tons and tons of pancakes and these cornmeal pancakes were the best I've ever had!

I didn't change these one bit, so it isn't mine in any way, shape or form; you'll have to go here to see the recipe.

Super yummy!

creating a reading environment

2011-01-20T21:33:00.000-06:00

So have you ever noticed

that if you try to display something

your children will mess it up?

I'm one step ahead of my kids this week and we are displaying books in the windows.

They like to read anyway, but they are beside themselves now. Everywhere they turn, there are books

they haven't noticed before.

They're just irresistible. . .

especially if you can warm your little toes up on the furnace vent. . . .

or snuggle up in your mom and dad's bed. . .

My mom has always encouraged and cultivated a love of reading and books. . . as demonstrated here by Daniel.

who was thoroughly involved in The Great Picture Atlas for Children when we were there for Thanksgiving.

My mom is great at creating every kind of relaxing environment though. . . my mom and dad's house is the one place I can go and totally kick back and let all troubles roll away.

And speaking of relaxing, how cool is my mom's dining room? I love her house.

But this has nothing to do with reading. So on with my current creative tangent. . .

And this idea borrowed from my friend Pam, one of my many mentor friends that ought to blog:

I found these Scrabble tiles today at a thrift store for 65 cents! Woohoo!

How do you encourage your little people to read?

they were meant to be

2011-01-19T12:37:00.000-06:00

Remembering a really special guy today. . .

Pastor A met Jesus last year today.

Our children loved him.

His going-home was their first experience with death.

Pastor A's precious other half, Pauline, has opened her heart wide to my children and as they walk their own grief-road, she is walking it with them.

They never forget him. They know he belongs with her. They love that he is in Heaven.

We spent some time with one of my favorite people in the whole world yesterday. I tell her, "Speak, O Wise One, and I will listen!" and she laughs. We looked through pictures of their lives together. . .

His football uniform. Did you go to his games? I ask and she says of course and that she was just distraught watching him be carried off the field after an injury once; his eyes twinkle at us from the black and white photo.

She tells me about an announcement she gave in an assembly meeting at school and how he sat in the audience, listening to her, and that he leaned over to his buddy and said that's the girl I'm going to marry.

His first car. . . I tell her that Pastor A's chest is puffed out cuz he's so proud. . . new car and a pretty girl hanging onto his arm. . . their joy is real and alive and almost like you could reach out and touch it.

And then the picture I fell in love with. . .

two people, madly in love with each other. . .

headed off into life to serve a God who is faithful. . .

to raise an incredible family. . .

to see sorrow and loss. . .

to impact countless lives. . .

their beginning.

Love them both so much. . . one in Heaven and one still here. . .

They were meant to be!

on skeletal comfort

2011-01-16T15:39:00.000-06:00

Notes from church this morning. . .

Genuine

must meet

Truth.

One without the other

is like separating

bones from the body.

Genuine care

must meet

God's Word.

Sincere listening

must meet

real prayer.

Acknowledgement of pain

must meet

pointing to eternity.

Care without Christ feels good but lacks the strength of the {bone structure} of the Word of God.

Simply handing Bible verses out to the hurting, without genuine care, is skeletal comfort.

We are blessed by so many who have showed us these truths in real life. . . praying for the wisdom and sensitivity to be this kind of comfort for others.

lack of scotch tape

2011-01-15T20:27:00.000-06:00

When you ~~don't have Scotch tape~~ can't find the Scotch tape:

Use electrical tape. It looked terrible, so we kept going. And then it kind of turned into a fire truck. . . . WOooOOOoo. . . .

I looove creative wrapping.

This reminds me once again that while I am very prone to creativity, organization and planning are not my strong points. The electrical tape will also ~~run out~~ get misplaced; adding tape to the grocery list would be a good idea.

Someday when I grow up the cups will only be on one shelf in our cupboards and surely my t-shirts will be sorted by color.

ice rescue class

2011-01-15T19:36:00.000-06:00

Can I just say "SUPER SUPER COLD" ?

Eleven degrees!

Happy 1st Birthday, Little Man

2011-01-12T08:59:00.000-06:00

My heart is celebrating you, today, Gabe. . .

What a fun day January 12 was! Non stop snuggling with you from 6:36 AM til midnight. You were one loved little guy.

You brought so much joy to our home!

You are treasured.

You are His.

You were funny and cheerful and hilarious.

You were loved every single minute by every single one of us.

You are still a happy thing to us.

You are still talked about daily, if not hourly by your brother and sister.

I am so thankful that you were here.

Happy Birthday.

january banners

2011-01-06T22:41:00.000-06:00

I was not feeling too hot today. . .

{Note to self: when trying to hide pinkeye and a cold by wearing Daniel's Hawkeye stocking hat and dashing into the library *crossing fingers* hoping not to see anyone we personally know. . .

You will see the childcare coordinator from Mops (who defines graciousness, but still. . .)

You will see supermom bloggers who homeschool and cook their own dinners and look super cute and patiently truck their kids to fun programs at the library (hi, Michelle)

and your mother-in-law's college roommate will check out your library books.}

But at any rate, I am comforting my sad appearance and sore throat by making some whole wheat cinnamon rolls and crafting all day.

I started with this:

This is my stairwell window . . .$5 roman shade from Ikea. . . going three years strong, except for the cord, so I thought it might look cute tied up. I'm really in a funky color mood, and still have tons of orange ribbon, so. . .

. . .then I had this cute green Gap shirt that never fit right. . . (at least that's my excuse - really, the geometric print was just perfect for my little flag banner) plus an orange and pink striped Isaac Mizraih whatshisname- you know, the Target Isaac- tablecloth (or was it a sheet?)

. . . and they became the flag banner. I just sewed them {without finishing any edges} onto 47 cent 1/4" white ribbon from WalMart.

The kids love it. They want to make one go down the stairway railing. (I just might do that.)

Then I started thinking I needed little flag banners in my kitchen windows, but I didn't think the size was right, so I cut little circles out and just sewed them onto that same ribbon and thumbtacked them in each of the three windows.

It does brighten the grey January view!

the grief bookshelf (for kids)

2011-01-05T22:18:00.000-06:00

Not as many here. . .

I'm still adding to this list.

The three listed are so, so good, though.

God Gave Us Heaven {Lisa Tawn Bergren}
This is precious. I loved the God Gave Us. . . books anyway and was thrilled when my mom found this one. Sweet and simple answers to children's questions.

Someday Heaven {Larry Libby}
I think this book covers almost any question a child could think up. The paintings are beautiful and it's soothing and calm.

Tear Soup {Pat Schwiebert and Chuck DeKlyen}
I love this book. Ingredients for grief and grieving in a healthy way.

I will add to this list as I find more.

Thank you for all of the suggestions that each of you have made. . . I'll be adding them to my Amazon cart!

the grief bookshelf

2011-01-04T23:34:00.001-06:00

Besides handing endless kleenex to us and the kind of hugs that squeeze all of your air out, one of the most healing things people have done for us is give us books to read.

On those sleepless nights when my mind wouldn't stop and praying didn't work and the grief was just unbearable, I would turn my lamp on and reach for a book - blindly - from the stack on my nightstand. The books had started coming almost immediately after Gabe died; in the mail box, with a meal, wrapped in tissue and tied with bows, wrinkled and dog-eared, new and crisp.

Books about God, about finding Him in the storm, about real people who have gone through real loss. . . about how to hang on.

I would read late, late, late into the night until exhaustion forced me to dreamless sleep. I still do this a lot.

This is a rough list of what we've been reading.

The One Year Book of HOPE {Nancy Guthrie}
Organized into days and weeks, hope for each moment. Nancy writes from her own heart and the experience of losing her daughter, Hope. I think this book is helpful because it shines a light at the end of a tunnel, just with the word year in the title.

Silent Grief {Clara Hinton}
Again, from personal experience with child loss, this author spoke of the very real need to let the grieving happen, even if others don't understand.

When Life is Changed Forever {Rick Taylor}
My friend Pam gave this book to me at JD and Cambria's first swimming lesson last summer. I was numb and in shock, still jumping every time someone screamed. At that point, I couldn't imagine anyone with a tragedy greater than ours. Tunnel vision. I sat down that afternoon and read the entire book. Rick and his wife Judy lost one of their sons in a tragic water accident when their five year old little man tried to save his two year old brother. The two year old lived, but not his hero big brother. The Taylors acknowledge that life changes forever. I knew that, deep in my soul, and it felt good to have someone say it instead of platitudes like time will heal. Raw, honest and real.

Mommy, Please Don't Cry. . .There Are No Tears in Heaven {Linda DeyMaz}
First book I received. It's a picture book, a letter to a mom from a child in Heaven. The baby in the third picture looked exactly like my Gabe; chuckling and happy. I met Jesus today, Mommy. . . I wept. This is a beautiful book.

Keep a Quiet Heart {Elisabeth Elliot}
Short essays by one of my favorite authors.

Heaven {Randy Alcorn}
A beautiful, Scriptural, outside the box approach to Heaven. What if we truly longed to be in Heaven?

Love and Respect {Dr. Emerson Eggerichs}
This book and the principles in it literally saved our marriage. I wouldn't have thought of reading it (again) through the lens of grief, but it was required material at the marriage retreat we went to in October. Love and Respect still apply BIG TIME while grieving. . . living it out is keeping us from the 85% of marriages that end in divorce after losing a child statistic.

SIDS and Infant Death Survival Guide {Joani Nelson Horchler and Robin Rice}
When my mind was driving me crazy with insane what ifs I read these accounts of many, many people who had lost their babies to SIDS. One story even had the firefighter daddy coming home in the morning, so strikingly similar to our loss. These little people went to Heaven. . . and there was nothing anyone could have done, at any time, to stop their deaths. My heart needed that assurance so, so badly as we waited on autopsy reports and answers and so many questions.

Lessons I Learned in the Dark {Jennifer Rothschild}
A blind woman writes of the Light she knows in Christ.

Heaven {Joni Eareckson Tada}
Her subtitle says it well : your real home.

The Spirit of Hope {gift book from Hallmark}
Small collection of quotes. I like this one: Courage is doing what you must, when doing what you must is the hardest thing of all.

Because He Loves Me {Elyse Fitzpatrick}
God so loved. . . me. . . that He gave. . . His only Son

Morning Will Come {Sandy Day}
Infant loss stories; more realization that I was not alone in the loss of my child.

What Do I Know About My God? {Mardi Collier}
Focusing on what I do know about God was calming and helped me hang on to Him.

At the Scent of Water {Linda Nichols}
I was stunned by the realness of this fictional story of Sam and Annie when I read it several years ago. I wept reading it. Linda Nichols weaves a breathtaking story of tragedy, a love that only God could restore and hope that only a loving Father gives. I never forgot the verse that the book is based on, and after we lost our little man, I spent an afternoon in our guest room curled up on the bed re-reading this beautiful book. Frankly, there is far too much reality for this to be a simple work of fiction. "At least there is hope for a tree: if it is cut down, it will sprout again, and its new shoots will not fail. Its roots may grow old in the ground and its stump die in the soil, yet at the scent of water it will bud and put forth shoots like a plant." {Job 14:7-9}

Surviving the Loss of a Child {Elizabeth B. Brown}
A grief counselor suddenly loses her twelve year old daughter and learns about grief firsthand. This book is excellent; one of the many influences that discouraged us from seeking pills and medication for the pain and sleep loss. The author writes with the experience of her own grief and the knowledge from years of counseling.

I Will Carry You: The Sacred Dance of Grief and Joy {Angie Smith}
Author of the very famous blog Bring the Rain, Angie writes about the loss of their daughter Audrey. Beautiful. Drawing from her own loss and her knowledge as a developmental psychologist, she gently incorporated her daughters into their grieving process instead of shutting them out; I learned a ton about helping my children grieve.

Choosing to SEE {Mary Beth Chapman}
This is a phenomenal book; we found hope in just scanning the chapter titles, let alone reading the Chapman's words. I love the illustration she uses of buying a pitcher and having a family ceremony of breaking it on the driveway and then gluing it back together as a testament to the healing of God and that they wanted comfort to seep through the broken places in their lives. Like many aspects of grief, the pitcher didn't break according to her plan; it shattered into fine powder. Mary Beth writes with honesty and sincerity. Grief doesn't follow a formula; it's a journey, and the Chapmans are walking the road. I'm so thankful that they are sharing the journey.

When the Road Seems Too Steep {Ronald E. Minor}
Daily, weekly plan, thoughts, reading. Again, light and purpose just in having someone chart the course ahead for me. Next week? It's such a burden to think about when grieving. It helps to have something mapped out.

Surviving One Bad Year {Nancie Carmichael}
I just started this book. It is divided into two parts: emergency tactics to cope immediately and strategy to recover. Excellent.

The Beautiful Ache: Finding the God Who Satisfies When Life Does Not {Leigh McLeroy}
Embrace the pain. . . find Him in the aching longing. . .pointing my aching heart to Heaven, a place we were created for.

When Answers Aren't Enough: Experiencing God as Good When Life Isn't {Matt Rogers}The pastor at New Life Christian Fellowship at Virginia Tech writes with an extremely rare honesty about the sting of death; death isn't okay. It wasn't his time. Death is not part of life. Death is not God's design. I was reading this the other night in bed and couldn't keep from reading aloud to Daniel; we both agree that this guy "gets it" and are so thankful for his forthrightness, his reluctance to skip to the happy part, and his clear understanding of Scripture. Four stars.

I'm so thankful for each one of these resources; I know there are many more. . . what are some you find helpful or have given/or received?

*Children's Grief Bookshelf coming. . .

i don't want be a blogger

2011-01-03T23:05:00.000-06:00

I started this blog to let my out of state family see pictures of the kids.

I quickly found amusement and satisfaction in chronicling the story of my little family; writing has always been a love of mine and I felt like I was actually one of those cool scrapbooking girls like my sister in law Marlys.

Then it became sort of a lifeline, a way to preserve memories and know my son's life was not in vain, that his story wouldn't be forgotten, an outpouring of hope and horror and grief and the grace of God.

And you read.

I am humbled by each one who chooses to use their precious moments to read what is written here.

Obviously most bloggers hope that people read, hope that they touch lives and hope that people read their story. There is a temptation to "go big," to link up and to track back; {are those the right terms?!} to advertise and join networks to gain attention and followers.

I just want to say that's not what we're about.

If one person reads and learns that life is precious,

If one woman reads and thinks maybe I could bring my heart home,

If one friend can say . . . I know this girl. . . her baby died too, and she is still alive. . .

If one grieving couple can see. . . we're still fighting to hang on and stay together and walk this road of grief as one,

If one soul finds a God Who is still a loving Father, even in the fire,

If you close your laptop up and go kiss your kids,

then I will be so happy.

Not sure I'll be blogging much in 2011. . .

but I do plan on stopping in to my Google account

after the kids are in bed

after my sink is clean (thanks Flylady)

after my real life relationships are up to date

and sharing my heart.

(deep sigh)

2010-12-26T22:50:00.000-06:00

We made it.

I have never

ever

ever

been so glad that Christmas was over.

Sweet, sweet bitterness.

So many people softened the blow of the first Christmas for us. . .

Someone reached his tiny grave before us on Christmas morning. . . all of the snow brushed away, that small little pine blanket brushed clear of six inches of snow. We tried to follow the tracks of the angel who did this for us. . . but I think they wanted to remain a mystery. Thank you, precious friend.

The little tree at his resting place; covered in tiny blue bows and blue snowflakes and blue butterflies. Breathtaking. Bless you. . . unknown friend.

tiny ornaments in memory of our little man. . .

pictures. . .

journals. . .

cards with his name added, too (thank you, sweet Becky. . .)

We are so blessed by so many who poured out, unselfishly caring and carrying our grief during what is supposed to be the happiest time of the year. Thank you to each one who chose to face our pain, and not turn away. . .

It is hard to dull the throbbing ache of loss.

I am learning so much.

I am blessed beyond belief to have a man who loves me so well, even through these dark, dark days.

I am learning that a grateful heart is sometimes also an aching heart.

I am finding out how strong the love of a Father really is.

I am shocked at how weak I am.

I am in awe of how strong HE is.

I am savoring the joy of my children and the crazy hilarity of their age.

I am loving watching JD's thrill {still} at being on Christmas vacation. "Dear God, thank You so much that I can have Christmas vacation, because some kids don't get a vacation from school, so thank You." (I didn't set him straight.)

Laughter at Cambria's honest efforts to rhyme words. . . some are perfect combinations, others not so much. "we and me! we and he!" {good} "eat and car!" {not good} "you're the best mommy!" {perfect}

Hanging on to Daniel. . . drawing so much strength from him this week.

Still incredulous that Daniel discovered both of my Christmas gifts for him. . . wireless internet + gifting him with my {treasured} Blackberry. {Sigh.} I was never the best at keeping secrets anyway.

Planning what day to schedule my hour long massage birthday gift. (Yes, my birthday is in May. But that massage has motivated me through hundreds of thank yous over the summer, weddings, packing and unpacking, cleaning, rentals, Thanksgiving, diets, Christmas cards. . . and well, it's just time to use it.)

{another sigh}

Thank You God. . . thank You for never letting go. . . I love You. . .

love from. . . us

2010-12-23T08:28:00.000-06:00

{thank you to sweet Rebecca who continues to bless our family with the gift of her photography}

merry christmas, little man

2010-12-23T08:18:00.000-06:00

Hi, my little man. . .

How are ya doing?

I was hoping that the angels are singing you Away in the Manger; I think you could almost do some of those actions. . .

I missed you, little man, every minute this month.

We made our tree for you. . . we got little lanterns like you helped mama order for the weddings this summer and big tissue flowers like at your baby shower and we put them all over our tree with tinsel. . . and that was all we could do.

Your brother and sister had their cracker sandwiches without you and we all wished you were there, so bad.

I was trying to be brave on our Christmas day and then your daddy said "this is really hard for me," and then I just laid my head down on the table and cried for you, little man. Neither of us want anything but you.

Your daddy wrapped gifts for you that he picked out. . .

Baby mittens {cuz he totally would have taken you sledding on his Christmas vacation}

Handwarmers {so you wouldn't get cold}

A little fire truck {cuz he wanted you to grab it and put it in your mouth and then he would take it out and explain to you how it worked}

And he even bought you some ice cream of your very own - Chunky Monkey, for our little Chunky Monkey. {it's in the freezer }

Ahhhh, little man. . , my little Gabe. . . . I wish you were in our house, buddy.

I filled the kids stockings last night, and we didn't leave you out, little man. . . you got some cheerios and a little flashlight and playdough. . . mostly just for your big brother and sister to open because they wanted to do a stocking for you, too. They aren't up yet; they're all tuckered out from their big night last night of caroling and sledding.

I wish lots and lots of things, little man, mostly that you were here; none of the things I wish for this Christmas can change until Heaven, so I have to choose to hold on to the gifts God has given me.

You were a gift, Gabriel. We loved every minute with you.

Life is a gift.

Eternal life is a greater gift.

We know we will see you - in just a little while, Gabe - because Jesus left all of the gifts that God had given Him and chose to come down to our little messy yucky crummy selfish aching world and give us

hope when there is no hope

peace when there is no peace

love when there is no love

and life when there is death.

That's what Christmas is about. . .

And I celebrate that with all of my heart.

Tell Jesus Happy Birthday for me, little man.

Mommy loves you.

Merry Christmas, buddy.

Gumdrop Wreath

2010-12-16T14:47:00.000-06:00

{Inspired by Cheryl at A Pretty Cool Life. . .}

I love it!!

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Cheesecake

2010-12-15T23:44:00.001-06:00

{subtitle: yes, I still like to eat}

1 3/4 cup oreo crumbs

3 T. butter

Mix together and press on bottom and up sides of 9 x 13 springform pan

Cheescake:

3 packages cream cheese

1 cup sugar

3 eggs

1 cup sour cream

Pour into crust.

Cookie Dough:

1/4 cup butter

1/4 cup sugar

1/4 cup brown sugar

1 T. milk

1/2 cup flour

1 t. vanilla

1 cup mini chocolate chips.

Drop by teaspoonfuls into cheesecake. Push down with a spoon and smooth cheesecake batter Bake at 350 fro 50 minutes, cool for an hour on wire rack and then refrigerate overnight.

I tweaked a recipe from an ancient Taste of Home magazine. . . credit where credit is due. . .

And the breakdown of where this went and how much is left. . .

1 piece (warm, yuck) -Daniel

4 pieces (snuck into McD's while clueless children played ha ha ha ha) -da girls

1 piece to pacify the whistleblower at McD's - JD

4 pieces to my friend minus 1 piece JD stole off of her gift plate (while I was on the phone with my mom) = 3 pieces for her

2 large pieces to Station 2

And this is what is left. . . .

Oh so very tempting.

24 Days before Christmas

2010-12-11T13:10:00.001-06:00

. . . well, actually, its more like 13 or 14 days before Christmas. . .

I put up our advent calendar last night . . . er, this morning, at 2 am. . .

This is my very cheap spin on the advent calendar on Infarrantly Creative. I went to Dollar Tree to buy the cute little buckets and realized I was going to spend about $10, which I don't mind, but these little white bags in packs of 12/$1 caught my eye.

Then, since I don't own one of those cool cricut machines, I sent a humble request to my friend Pam for numbers 1-24 in green and orange. She was kind and made them for me. (Thanks, Pam! )

I (shhhhh) hot glued the green ribbon to my chalkboard wall. I think when I take it down, there will be some sadness, i.e. chipped paint, but no worries, I have tons of chalkboard paint. I pinned the bags up with green paper clips.

They are filled with little tags that say things like:

Make Peppermint Bark

Read Luke 1

Sing Away in the Manger

Play "hide the Christmas candy kiss"

Put a string of white lights up somewhere

Read a Christmas story

Put together Christmas puzzles

Look at Christmas lights with hot cocoa in Daddy's truck

Go to Fareway and pick out Brach's candy mix

and so on . . .and on. . .

I'll be honest, I don't have them all filled. I can think of what to put in there as we go along. It's the right of the mommy in her mommy kingdom.

And I've always wanted to try this idea. . .

. . .sorting clothing into outfits for each day of the week. I don't know if it will work, but at least it looks really cute!

I am such a conundrum of beautiful design and absolute chaos.

Really? Advent Calendar on the 11th of December at 2 am?

Please, tell me I'm not alone.

Deuteronomy 18. . . and The Three Trees. . . and Jesus

2010-12-10T23:28:00.001-06:00

Lots of things swirling around in my mind today.

Cambria, while I was organizing her {extremely messy} room. . . Mommy, Jesus died on the cross for me.

I turned to look, wanting to burn that moment forever in my heart.

Cheesy grin.

Reading The Tale of Three Trees.

*naked*

Hmm.

Lately the issue of communication with the those not here has surfaced frequently. Maybe because someone I love has died. . .? I know that the grace of God has kept this desire from my heart and I'm thankful for that; today I went searching for answers from God's Word. As a believer, it's easy to pass off, gloss over, and ignore this issue, but when you are faced with it, I don't want to simply dismiss someone and their earnest desire to see or hear from their loved one again.

I expected to find what I thought was there; a negative command. Don't do it. I found that. I also found an
incredible promise, right there in the middle of the Old Testament. . .

. . .proof to me that the One who created our hearts also knows how to care for them, even in unthinkable sorrow. . .

After God says not to ask for answers from the dark. . . He says this. . . "The Lord your God will raise up for you a Prophet. . .listen to Him. . ." {Dt. 18:15}

In one of those light bulb moments, I realized that once again, God always gives so much more. Instead of psychics, how about eternity with all of the answers and Gabe? In place of shadowy quests for bits of hope. . . Jesus, the Light of the World, and our firm foundation.

I'd pick Jesus any day.