Almost 3 years ago, one of my dearest friends died.

I was in the trudges of two under two. There was snot on every thing and tears from someone all the time. There were two sets of eyes who didn’t allow me to lay in the bed and feel the grief that I should have felt. At the time, I was thankful for it. I was towing a line between tired mom and Mom drinking a bottle of chocolate syrup. I couldn’t feel every emotion I probably wanted to feel. I had babies to nurse and toddlers to potty train and somebody touching me every second. 

Suppress. Suppress. Suppress. 

I was sad and teared up at the occasional Backstreet Boys song, random memory, or picture she took of Ella. But that deep, ugly grief never came to light. 

Suppress. Suppress. Suppress. 

One thing Tracy Lawrence taught me is that Time Marches On. And it did. Eventually, the Backstreet Boys brought smiles. The pictures of Ella became treasures instead of jabs. The random memories were gifts. Some of them I swear I didn’t remember doing until it came to me like something out of “That’s So Raven.” The babies that made me so crazy became kids and went off to school without my permission.  

The sign that has hung on the back of my door for the past 8 years is a sign she made. It says “Lights Will Guide You Home.” It was one of many incredible lines from “Fix You,” via Coldplay. It was a song I dreaded hearing when I saw them in concert a couple of years ago, because it felt like such an unfair irony that the great loss that I associate the song with is the same loss that wrote the lyrics to the song on a chalkboard for my door. Even as the chalk begins to fade, I can’t take it down. Taking it down feels like an acceptance of the loss and I don’t know that I’m ready for that. 

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve hit my max on suppressing. There are things around me changing and as anyone knows, change involves a lot of feelings. For the last week or so, I’ve felt an unexplainable grief toward the loss of my friend. The kind of grief you feel deep in your chest, making you feel the need to sob uncontrollably while simultaneously making it feel hard to breathe. I don’t know what the trigger was for Alyssa specifically. One minute I was dicing carrots and the next I was in my husband’s arms gasping for breaths  between sobs. It was a deep sadness. A thorough hurt. A sorrow like I hadn’t felt since the day I heard the news. Somewhere in there, there was anger that all of this was coming to the surface. I had just recovered from first time Kindergarten mom syndrome. I have cried more in the last two weeks than I’ve cried in the 28 years that I’ve been alive. 

On one hand, it’s been such a relief to know that she made such an impact on my life that it’s taken me three years (so far) to move on. I’ve missed her presence so deeply in my life over the past few months. I’ve missed the laugh that I swear I still hear in restaurants sometimes. My head jerks in the general direction of the noise before I realize that it can’t be Alyssa’s laugh, but what a gift to hear a similar one. I miss dreaming together. I miss how easy it was to be her friend.

It’s been a rattling few days. I don’t even know that I have a true purpose for writing, other than acknowledging that it’s an outlet for my grief. Maybe to let you know that grief doesn’t have a time capsule. Maybe you grieve for a week, maybe you grieve for ten years. It’s whatever works for you. My heart graced me with getting out of the diaper phase of my life before the reality of what losing Alyssa really looked like for me settled in. Missing her lately has hurt so badly, but felt so freeing. Not because I feel like I can let her go, but because I still feel her period. Not in a “talk to ghosts, please seek medical attention immediately, Izzie Stevens” way. Not in a “I feel Alyssa here.” No. That’s weird. In a way that every time I pick up my camera, she comes to mind. All of the things we learned together over the years. In a way that sometimes when my daughter’s eyes light up, I think of the way Alyssa looked on the day she found out I was pregnant. In the way that sometimes I drive by a car that looked like hers and still get excited that it might be her before I realize how impossible it is.

I’m in a continual cycle of disbelief that this is even a part of my life and thankfulness for the time I had with her. I don’t allow myself to think about what life would look like if she were here, because it’s unfair to a slew of people, but man do I wish she was. I wish that she could hear how much Ella talks, or sing “The Sound of Music” with Adam. I wish that she could help me figure out my complicated living room and find a way to make it feel homey. I wish that she could pull me off of the couch and into better shape. I wish that I could sit with her and talk about all of the hard stuff and the changes that accompany raising kids. I wish that I could laugh with her at the expense of others. I wish for so many things. But mostly I just wish she was here and that I didn’t have to feel the weight of her loss. 

As my friend Idina says, she’s like a handprint on my heart. I hate that it still stings so badly. Sometimes I feel like a crazy person that it still hurts so much. Sometimes I’m annoyed to know that she probably doesn’t think about me at all. Most of the time, I just miss her. For some reason over the past few days, unbearably so. I know this part will pass. Hopefully sooner than later, because my eyes burn and my nose is full of snot. 

I don’t think there’s really a bright and shiny end for this blog. I keep thinking I’ll get to one eventually, but I just rabbit trail back into the same feelings and pondering if something is wrong with my temporal lobe for sending into this whirlwind of feelings over something I felt largely recovered from. But I think mostly that it’s human nature to long for comfort. And she was comfort for me. When my heart was overwhelmed with everything from negative pregnancy tests to a screaming toddler carrying around my positive pregnancy tests while I stared in disbelief. She was the safe place. I don’t visit her grave. I know there’s no real healing there for me. I would only be there to acknowledge what I have lost. Temporarily lost. Only for now, in this lifetime. 

“Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? I do believe I have been changed for the better. Because I knew you... because I knew you, I have been changed for good.

Kindergarten.

Today is one of those days that you dread and hope for.

We dropped Ella off at her first day of Kindergarten today.

And I experienced every emotion that you could chalk up a cliche first time Mom to feel.

Excitement for her, sadness for me, awareness of how beautiful and innocent she is, amazement at the things she learned under my watch, devastation at mourning the end of her "baby years," regret at all of the times I shooed her away while I was playing with my phone, relief that she's going into Kindergarten prepared, fear that her teacher won't understand her "ticks" and she won't show her grace. All of the things. All of the feelings. I cried more today than I've cried in the 1,860 days that I've been her Mom.

Five years ago, a tiny little girl with a head full of hair was placed into my arms. She was wide awake, and never slept longer than about an hour at a time. Even as a newborn, I could see the wheels in her head turning. When she was supposed to be crosseyed and a big dull dud, I could see the sparkle in her eyes. Her eyebrows were always pressed together, lost in thought. She was continually trying to learn. It's a trait that's carried through every hour of the past 1800 days or so. For the first two years of her life, we had the hardest time getting her to talk at all. She signed or pointed at anything she wanted, and when we couldn't comprehend, she sighed and tried to do it herself.

I carried her through animals, then colors, followed in tandem with letters and numbers, soon after we found ourselves learning the 50 states, then a violent fail at Presidents. All of the presidents were George Washington. "What's that mean?" "What is it?" "Why does it do that?" essentially became the first real sentences she learned. I missed the days that I begged her to talk. We learned early on that her memory was a force to be reckoned with, followed closely by an incessant need for routine. How I, the Queen of winging it, landed a Type A personality to raise is beyond me. I feel like the Lord uses our children to teach us, but that's a lesson I haven't learned yet. I was so thankful to have the opportunity to place her at MDO at Stonegate, because if nothing else, surely socialization would encourage her to be a child instead of a mini-adult with a love for learning. I don't know that she ever fully let herself go at MDO, but we did have 3 wonderful years of a program that taught her how to be in a classroom, and gave my blood pressure a break from the incessant questions.

All of her life, I've wondered if she was a Belle or a Matilda. A Matilda in the way that she's quiet, but mighty. Sure, she never shuts up at home, but you'll be hard pressed to get much of a conversation out of her in public unless your name is Erin. She's continually thinking. Even when you're trying to teach her something and asking her to pay attention. She's a quiet force, a vigilant seeker of justice, and will completely lose herself in a book. Except "Elephant & Piggie" books, which she feels should be read out loud at the top of her lungs, to the demise of everyone around her. But I also see so much of Belle. If you're wondering if I'm about to whip out a Disney lyric, you'd be right.

"I want adventure in the great wide, somewhere. I want it more than I can tell. And for once, it might be grand, to have someone understand... I want so much more than they've got planned."

I see her heart long for adventure. I see the wonder in her eyes when we explore new places. I see passion in the things that stir her affections. I see resolute in her beliefs, even now... even when she's wrong. I see a soul not made for here. And before you roll your eyes at me, I am aware that she is 5.

I've discussed previously that I'm a big believer in names with meaning. Ella means "Light" or "Beautiful Fairy." Clearly, I attached to light. And I swear, she lights up a room. I don't even think it's because I'm her mom and biased. I think she honestly comes into the room, and the atmosphere changes. Morgan means "Dwells by the Sea" and I truly don't know that I've ever seen a child more drawn to the water. Something about her comes alive when she's near water in any form. So maybe I'm crazy, and it's a fault of mine for thinking so far ahead in the future, but I can't help but see Kindergarten as the beginning of learning to let her go.

I wish I could convey how proud I am to be her Mom. To know that I'm raising a quiet little warrior. To raise this little light, who is nothing short of a force. To recognize and encourage this untapped potential and love for adventure. To be okay with letting her come out of her shell at her own pace. To hope that I'm not picking her up from jail in 15 years for protesting the destruction of a historic building. I wouldn't be surprised at all to find her living in a teeny apartment in some coastal city in twenty years. It wouldn't be shocking to hear her say she's going on a road trip and doesn't have a plan. I see all of those wonderful, brave traits in her. And to know that I'm the mom she'll come home to makes my heart so full that I want to buy her her first camera tomorrow to capture all of her adventures. She's magic. Magic is my favorite word to describe her.

So yesterday, I've mourned the baby years. I've mourned being in charge of what her eyes see and what her ears hear. I've wept at the the way her head rests on my shoulder while we read Roald Dahl. I've memorized every bit how tiny she looks with her big girl backpack on. I've listened with a new intensity at the way she says "I love you, Mama." I've studied her eyelashes and her tan skin. I listened to the excitement in her voice when Cody came home for lunch. I looked for ways to make her giggle, just to hear the laugh that hasn't changed since she was 4 months old. I soaked every second of her up today. I cried in front of her and let her know that she has been the greatest work of my life. Every picture I've taken, every song that I've sung, every word I ever wrote pales in comparison to the joy and the pride I've experienced being her Mama. She looked at me like I was insane and stuck her tongue out at me trying to make me laugh. But I know that if I continue to let her know that she's the magic that inspired me to find my own adventure again, she'll feel brave enough to pursue anything she wants to vigorously and without being afraid to fail.

I am certain that after tomorrow, this will be our new normal. I won't cry when I leave the classroom. I won't see her baby dolls lined up on her bed and sob. I'll probably even look forward to Mondays every now and then. But today and tomorrow, I'm allowing myself to feel the hurts. I'm letting my heart feel anything it wants to. I'm writing to sort through all of the thoughts that keep bringing these tears to my eyes, and then I'm going to buck up and learn to let her go. I'll be thankful for every second that I got to spend with her in these years that matter so much.

To all of you Mama's with newborns, just trying to make it to the next feeding, I know Kindergarten feels far away. I know five years feels like a welcome wait and a time that will never creep up on you. But my word. Time. It can be such a wonderful friend. For every day that felt so long, and I felt so tired, it allowed me to feel validated. But time can be such a foe too. It sneaks up in-between their first steps and potty training. One day you look at them and you don't even know what happened but they're practically grown and need you less and less. But I'm not going to tell you to soak up every second of it. You don't need that unnecessary guilt. There were days that I laid in my bed and cried, because a piece of raising this little warrior meant incessant temper tantrums, and OCD tendencies, and a refusal to budge from routine. That's without factoring in continual ear infections and a little brother. Those hard days were HARD days, and I swore sometimes I would never make it. She is magic, but she is hard. And I know that in the middle of all of that hard, somebody telling me I wasn't taking advantage of my time with her made me feel like less of a Mom. So you hold them if you want to. You tell them that they're the best thing that ever happened to you if you want to. OR you put them in their carseat, buckle them in, and take a shower by yourself, knowing that they can't go anywhere. They might cry... that's okay too. You're both going to make it. You're going to wake up one August and realize that tomorrow starts the next phase of her life. Maybe you'll want to go back to the carseat days, maybe you'll find yourself excited to teach her about having the qualities of the March sisters (except Amy, ew) and watching little pieces of yourself shine through her. Maybe you'll land somewhere in between the two, like me. Regardless... you're going to feel so proud to be a part of her story, and probably so thankful that Jesus let you have her for a little while. And that's the magic of it all. You can let her go without fear, because she doesn't really belong to you anyway. She's firm in the palm of His hand, and something about that will bring you peace. But no one is going to judge you for crying in Starbucks because you only ordered one cake pop instead of two. They might even give one to you for free to give her after school.

Today, your heart might be devastated, but tomorrow, you get to go an entire day without watching Peppa Pig. And that, dear friend, is magic all its own.

Turtle and Gus: Rock A Bye-Bye Crib...

Today was a... I don't even know the accurate adjective... It was a day. Let's just call it a day.

Today, at my request, my husband took down the baby crib. We didn't attempt to make it a toddler bed, we didn't move it back into their room... we just took it down. On this same day, my husband moved the baby cradle from their bedroom (where it was thrown 11 months ago when Adam outgrew it) into the garage, waiting to return to my Mom's house for the next grandbaby.

Let me just be blunt. It sucked.

These pieces of furniture have been in my house in one room or the other for 3 years. They're the staple pieces that have been the sources of cuss words and the catchers of junk as we went through life. Ella slept in the cradle until she was 5 months old, where she immediately threw a middle finger at the crib and slept in our bed until she was one. Adam slept in the cradle for about 2 months before he was too big for it, and then slept in the crib for 6 blissful months before he figured out he was allowed to have an opinion. I've stubbed my toes in the middle of the night while trying to sneak from one room to the other, usually stifling a Yelp or saying "CRIB!" as the pain that only a stubbed toe causes rattled through my bones. I watched my babies look like they were laying in a giant baby trap, only to blink and watch the bed look so small as they climbed over the rails to escape.

And look, okay, I get it. "These are the days of our lives." "Time flies when you're having fun!" "The days are long, but the years are short." "You're going to miss this!"

But I just don't know that I totally agree with it. Time doesn't really fly until it's flew. Some days, I resented that crib's presence in my house. How dare it take up ALL THE WALL SPACE in its "like new" condition? The crib was moot. I had an empty crib, a crick in my neck, and a baby in my bed for three years. ...FINE! There's still a baby in my bed and I'm all about co-sleeping, even though I think it's probably done permanent damage to my neck and I think I have some condition I found on google called "Saturday Night Palsy." I sleep in the same position, and I have slept in the same position every night for 3 years. So much of the past three years have been made up of just trying to survive, bro, and just trying to make it to the "next phase."

My daughter went through a really tumultuous year, beginning in April of 2015. Chronic ear infections, sometimes two per month. Chronic tonsillitis. Picky eating. Chronic antibiotics, so bad that she even stopped responding to some. RSV. No sleep. Croup. Psychotic rage that I can only attribute to just being exhausted from feeling like crap every day of her sweet baby life. My son took it upon himself to take a few "sick shifts" whenever Ella was actually healthy. So basically, somebody in this house was sick PRETTY MUCH every week for a year. I was stuck inside. I couldn't go to church, or when the kids were healthy, I was too scared to put them in the nursery because of whatever was running rampant that season. You want to talk about being a "Stay at Home Mom." I literally stayed at home. And eventually, people stopped asking us to hang out, because we always had a sick kid. It was a dark, hard year.

P.S. I know, BELIEVE ME I KNOW, that other people have had darker and harder years. My kids are happy and breathing, and there are other people who would gladly take fevers and coughs over alternatives. I know. I hear you. I'm not discounting just how blessed we are, so let's just skip over the political correctness.

Yet in the middle of what was the hardest year of motherhood yet (yes, out of my whopping 3,) there was joy. Baby giggles erupted through pain and fevers. New tricks were learned in the doctor's office waiting rooms. My kids LOVE our pediatrician and say "Yay!" When she walks into the room. We cuddled hours upon hours. The house was a total disaster area, every minute of every day... Because somebody always needed to be held. And I held them. I scooped them up, usually cried as I rocked them, and wondered how long this was going to be our life.

Right about the time my cheese was almost completely slid off of my cracker, Ella's ears just stopped getting infected. One day out of the blue. Adam's sleepless nights suddenly turned into 7 hour stretches. We had a friend pay to have our house cleaned from top to bottom while we were out of town. I wept. WEPT when I saw what my laundry floor looked like NOT covered in snotty onesies and spit up shirts. I took a brave little leap and started a photography business, and it's flourishing. We found a little group of friends that we love to be around. We plan things, and we're watching our kids grow up together (when they don't have their eyes glued to a screen). My son is eating me out of house and home, and he's officially weaned. LITERALLY in two months, it's like I'm living an entirely different life. A life where, for the first time, I have no idea where the thermometer is. I couldn't tell you where to find a syringe for Tylenol. My kids are sleeping decently, and Ella is learning that her bed is more comfortable than the hardwood floor next to ours.

And today, for the first time, I walked into my bedroom and there was no crib there. I walked into Ella's room and the cradle left a giant space that probably matches the new hole in my Uterus. Time didn't fly until it flew.

I know what you're thinking. "Just have another baby!" Well, Cody isn't quite on board with that plan. I think technically, he's at a firm no. I don't even know that I'M on board with that plan. But now, as I type this, and my newly potty trained 3 year old is upstairs quietly watching Peppa Pig while she plays with her barn... And my one year old is munching on Apple Jacks as he watches "Toy Story," I have to stop and ponder if I'm ready for this part of it. It's been so long, I don't even know that I remember a version of myself that wasn't lactating. These tiny little ankle grabbers are moving into a new independence, and some days I can see little glimpses of a REALLY cushy future for me. Other days, I pause and wonder if this was really it. How could the baby years already be done? What's next? Eye rolls and 3 hours of homework? Boyfriends and girlfriends? Driving? MAKE IT STOP BEFORE I IMMACULATELY CONCEIVE.

Basically, I was already struggling some struggles before the crib and cradle were ripped away from my grasp. So many times over the past year, I called Cody and said "YOU COME HOME NOW OR I'M BURNING THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND!" And he usually just said "You'll be alright babe." And usually I was. Some days, I wasn't. Some days I burned the mental prison of my mind house down, and some days I had it totally under control.

BASICALLY this blog was just a place to come and say that I've been slapped across the face by the reality of these years slipping away, and I've somehow found the courage to actually request time to slow down a bit. Well, maybe we'll wean Adam and get him out of diapers... But then it can just FREEZE. And truthfully, a thank you is in order to the people who left  Starbucks on my porch... The people that randomly text me encouragements... The people that promised me it would get better as I mentally stabbed you with a fork. Thank you for picking up some of my fat rolls and trudging through it with me. I truly believe we're on the other side. It'll probably still be hard sometimes... But what it all comes down to... is that everything is gonna be fine (fine, fine.)

If you didn't catch it, you're too young for this blog, bro.

Adam Jace: Still He Loves

So, good news! Despite my lack of blogging, Adam turned 12 months old. There's a half written blog about it that I plan to publish eventually, but in the mean time, let's talk about something else. 

Remember that time when I was so embarrassed that Ella was ten months old and still hadn't been dedicated? WELP, Adam is fifteen months old, and a few days ago, he was dedicated. Life has been such a whirlwind, especially so since November. Somewhere in the the last six months, a sweet little baby has morphed into a little boy, and as cliche as it sounds, I just keep falling deeper in love with him. 

As I'm sure you'll recall, we had some drama with Adam when he was about 5 days old. A phone call from a nurse that should NOT be allowed to deliver results called us and said "Adam's PKU test was abnormal." My hormones surged as I said "which one?" "His PKU test. Anyway, you need to come in immediately so we can redo the test." I looked outside... it was sleeting. It was only supposed to get wetter and colder. Ella cried in the floor as she gazed at Cody holding Adam, both of us fighting back tears at the blunt, harsh news. The car never moved slower as we made the fifteen mile trek to the doctor, and I hated myself the entire drive. Not even five minutes before the nurse called, I had text a picture of Adam's ears to my Mom and said "His ears are not cute." And in my defense, they weren't. He had pointy little elf ears... I mean, POINTY little elf ears. But what did his ears matter when his body wasn't doing what it was supposed to? The body I grew, the body I carried, the body I delivered. I googled "abnormal PKU" and found a terrifying condition that meant no meat, no dairy, no carbs. No nuts. No beans. Just Vegetables. ONLY VEGETABLES. It meant learning disabilities and skin problems. It meant specialists and routine bloodwork. I cried and cried. I called Jay and Sheri and told them between sobs what we had heard. And cool, level-headed Sheri said "This is all super unlikely. Get off the internet. K love ya bye." We were ushered into the doctor's office, and I happen to have a fantastic relationship with my Pedi. She took us straight back and said "Hey, I've seen this before, and I've seen false positives. Take a breath." "TAMMY, I CAN NOT GIVE THIS BABY VEGETABLES AND ONLY VEGETABLES!" Confusion covered her face and said "I didn't ask you to?" Immediately embarrassed, I mentioned what I had learned on google. Still confused, she said "His PKU was okay. This is an enzyme issue." Annoyed relief washed all over me for a brief second before the panic returned. She explained that the biggest things I needed to watch for were weight loss and lethargy. Uh, have you ever met a newborn? They're pretty much the definition of lethargy. Weight loss, however, cracked me up. This fat little snowman baby peeked up at me through the hoodie of a jacket that wouldn't zip. "Well, at least there's weight to lose," I thought to myself as I watched my baby get his heel poked again, then we were sent in the sleet for more blood work and a urine test. Eventually the tears stopped, but the joy of bringing home this sweet little life stopped. In a way, I guess, I was afraid to love him. I was afraid to get too attached, because I ignored everybody I knew and googled anyway. Cody was cautiously optimistic, and even took the baby away from me and held me as I allowed myself to get mad for the first time. We were under strict orders to wake the baby every two hours to feed him. Have you ever tried waking a newborn? It doesn't happen. I was so tired. My daughter was being a terror. My husband didn't know how to help, as he didn't lactate, but wanted me to feel anything but alone. After a week of that malarkey, and a baby that just keep getting fatter, I stopped. I felt very sincerely and very whole heartedly that Adam was okay... and so I let the baby sleep. And he slept all night, every night for the next four months. In the weeks that followed that initial appointment, there were ups and downs as results started coming in. The second test was normal (yay!), but it could be a false positive (murp.) We need you to come to Fort Worth to let us look at him (Road trip!!!) and do more bloodwork (murp.) In Fort Worth, we heard "He was only .4 above the test line. I'm confident he's fine." (whoo!) But we need to do two blood tests that will be out of pocket and about two thousand dollars (murp.) A few weeks later, we learned that he is a carrier, but not an active case. Well... thanks?

In all of the weeks that followed the initial phone call, as I rocked my baby in the pitch black of the night, I prayed fiercely and fervently. I prayed with such intensity, I would often look up and realize that thirty minutes had passed. "Where are You in this? What are you trying to teach me? Is this whole thing some fluke that I'm over spiritualizing?" I was honest, open, and blunt in my prayers. And still, even when the issue was resolved, I sat back and said "I still don't see the lesson here." And I didn't until a few months later, when I went back and read Ella's dedication blog. And in said blog, I said over and over that regardless of what happened to Ella in her life, she belonged to the Lord, and no matter what, we were okay with what He had planned for her life. What easy words to say when your baby is healthy and thriving. Adam, in all technicalities, was healthy and thriving, even though doctor's were telling me that he shouldn't be. In those weeks, I didn't trust the Lord to do what He wanted with Adam. I don't believe that an astronomically expensive diagnostic test was the Lord's way of "testing" us, but I do believe that the experience showed me that I needed a little less bark and a little more bite. I was all about trusting the Lord until something threatened my baby... MY baby... and then the claws came out and I felt like the battle was mine. It was not. Since then, "Thus says the LORD to you, ‘Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed at this great horde, for the battle is not yours, but God’s." has been plastered all over his baby books, "love letters" I write on his birthdays... pretty much anything that I feel he'll read over and over in his lifetime. The battle is the Lord's. And it's so easy to say, but so hard to trust. Everyday is a struggle to surrender, because every day, I find new details to love about Adam. I know him like the back of my hand, and to be okay with ANYTHING that could potentially harm or hurt him... well... it raises the hair on the back of my neck. This boy is just everything I could have ever possibly hoped for in a baby. He's my redemption. On the days that I feel like I can't get this whole thing right, he shows me that I'm going to survive. He's such a tender hearted, sweet baby at one year old... Which is probably something that most Moms say about their kid, but there's something different about him. He's going to change somebody's life... he might even change the world. All I know is that there's something to his kindness that's different than the other babies. Well, okay I want to pause there for a second and say that he has one of the worst tempers I've ever seen. I know where he gets it. I don't know where the fits come from, but I know where the short fuse derived. And it rhymes with Baylea Faines. Most of the time, though, he's my little sugar. He shows me love. I know what it means to be wanted and accepted without stipulations. He takes me as I am, each and every day. If he had any idea how much that has taught me about Jesus, he would probably have a God Complex. He is so funny. Ella is funny on accident most of the time, but he is really, actually, completely hysterical. Every day, I'm so amazed that he looks at me and just grins, almost like he's saying "I've just never loved anything the way that I love you." I honestly cry sometimes while I rock him, because I'm so overwhelmed with how deeply I love him, and I know that it won't always be this easy to love him. It's the same situation that I was in with his sister, except with Ella, sometimes I had to work really hard to love her... but when her head wasn't spinning... I couldn't handle how intense those feelings of adoration were for her. And just as I struggle to convey that even when they're driving me completely ape sh...oes... I cannot express how deeply I love them. And in feeling these things, I see glimpses of how deeply Jesus loves me. When I don't trust him to take care of my babies... still He loves. When I stubbornly butt heads with Him over who knows what's best for these kids... still He loves. Whenever I collapse into bed and yawn as I pray and thank him for another day with these turds... still He loves. Still He loves. When I deserve it, when I don't, when I need it, and when I'm unaware. Still He loves. And because of this love that I've come to know, I believe that whatever may pass and whatever lies before in Adam's life, the Lord knows. And the Lord sees. And the Lord is sovereign. He's the God who goes before. We trust Him and we love Him. We love Adam, but our love doesn't compare to the love of Jesus. So a few short days ago, we stood before our family and friends and gave Adam back to the Lord, whole-heartedly this time. We promised to raise him to know the Lord, and to be okay with whatever that means for Adam's life. It seems to simple to talk about now, but just as I did with Ella, the heaviness that accompanies really letting these babies go weighed heavily on me in the days preceding. I'm so blessed by their lives, and so thankful that the Lord trusted me enough to raise them... but that's a whole different blog. I'm getting super emotional, so it's time to wrap it up. But I'll end with a line from my very favorite hymn, which has rested on my heart in preparation for this sweet little dedication. I'm so thankful to know and love Jesus. How troublesome and exhausting parenthood would be without this Rock on which we stand... well... how much MORE exhausting, anyway. 

"How deep the Father's love for us

 How vast beyond all measure

That he would send His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure."

Turtle and Gus: Month Eleven

I couldn't figure out why in the world it felt like I just typed a ten month blog, but then remembered that I kind of DID just write a ten month blog. But how quickly things change...

Adam is a walker. There's no other way around it now. Even two weeks ago, he would walk for awhile, but then kind of look at his feet and say "Bear crawling is so much faster" and then take off toward his goal on all fours. Not anymore! He's figured out turning, steadying himself, practically running, and tip toes. He's keeping up with his sister now, and she's none too pleased about it. We're beginning to see the very beginning of sibling fights, and I know in two months they'll annoy the crap out of me, but right now they're so funny. It's typically Ella shrieking and saying "No no no no no!" and Adam grinning while he slurps on whatever toy he pulled out of Ella's organized formation. We're caught between not letting Adam ruin everything and teaching Ella how to share most days, but it's funny 99% of the time.

Adam is still nursing like a newborn, but pretty open to trying most foods. I'm not comfortable weaning him yet, because I don't feel like he eats enough to sustain himself, so we're probably not going to wean yet. I thought I would be different this time around, and wean him on the DAY he turned one, but I guess it's just those sad little feelings of knowing he's the last baby. Hopefully I get things under control before he turns five.

We're vigorously potty training Ella. She's doing so well, so long as she's completely nude. I read a blog about a lady that let her kid run around naked and she was potty trained in two days. We're a total success story of her methods! It's taken 6 months and she will only potty if she's naked, but boy howdy, she's potty trained. *insert eye roll* Most days, I'm extremely proud of her, but I'm just 110% over it, and it's unfortunate, because potty training isn't something that I'm really allowed to be "over." We just have to survive it, I guess. Surely by the time she's 30 she'll be potty trained, right?

This blog is annoying me because it's a series of short paragraphs, but I don't want to babble on aimlessly for no good reason. Truth be told, the past couple of weeks have been extremely exhausting for me. I ended up in the "dark place" that Moms don't like to talk about. My babies are the best babies, but somebody in this house has been sick pretty much since April. As a matter of fact, we've been to the doctor's office at least once (usually twice a month) since then. Usually minor things, like ear infections, or tonsillitis, but frustrating none the same. Back in December, we gave Ella a big fat shot (well, we didn't, but told her Doctor that it was fine if she did.) And wouldn't you know it, she's been mostly healthy since. Adam decided we needed some drama in January, and we ended up in the emergency room over it. We're not going to discuss the bill, but just know it weighed heavily on my already distraught mind. Add in thrush from Adam and a diarrhea fest from Ella the next week, I just hit the wall. Truthfully, I've been waiting a long time to hit the wall, and I'm pretty proud of myself that it took this long. I'm not so proud to admit that I hit the wall hard. I felt like a zombie. Almost out of body. I didn't want to talk, cook, clean, or basically do anything outside of sleep and shower. Unfortunately, anybody that knows the Gaines kids knows that sleep isn't something we do around here. Of course, my first thought was "Oh great, we're pregnant again," but I can assure you that we are not pregnant. It lasted about three days, and my husband was trying so hard to love me through it, but I could tell he was growing weary of shrugged shoulders and one word answers. All the while, it's like I was inside screaming for interaction and help, but my pride wouldn't let those words come out. Finally, one day while Cody was home, I went and laid (practically collapsed) on my bed and woke up three hours later. I felt a little better, but not totally myself, but tried to act like it was the magic ticket to whatever had been going on. We ran a few errands, and then I stopped in the middle of the aisle at SAMs, and with tears in my eyes, I turned to Cody and said "I have to go back to sleep." And he immediately took me home, where I went  back asleep for another three hours. I woke up with a headache that made me close my eyes from pain, but I at least felt like I was out of the fog. But man, that headache. I roll my eyes when people say they have migraines, because I'm just going to throw it out there bluntly, if you have a migraine, you don't Facebook about it. If your head can tolerate the light of your phone as you type about your misery, it's probably not a migraine. BUT, if I've ever had a migraine, that was it. Lights bothered me, noise bothered me, moving or speaking made the pain apparent... Basically anything that wasn't a dark room with a pillow over my eyes made it worse. It lasted for about 15 hours before the pain let up... All that to say, I don't know if I had some funky illness, my first migraine, an embarrassingly unexpected nervous breakdown, or just a case of the "mehs." Whatever it was, it's over. And I'm truly thankful. And while my kids still drive me totally bananas, I don't squat down in the middle of the floor and cry this week, so there's a victory there. Right? We take victories as they come.

Touching briefly on my "Awaken" adventure,  I wrote down three goals for January on my planner, and I'm so happy to say that all three of those goals were checked off. One goal was something we wanted to do to our house this month, one was chasing one of those dreams that I've been brave enough to dream, and the last was to host a family dinner. And I did them all. I should probably consider adding a deep cleaning project to this month's checklist, but eh. Maybe when I don't have kids that literally follow me from room to room destroying all of the effort I put in to cleaning. That's a terrible attitude. I'll pray about it. Probably.

I've avoided the sadness that accompanies knowing that the next time I post, I'll have a one year old. On one hand, I'm thrilled. We're heading toward days of watching our babies grow up together, whether that be through playing peacefully as allies or warring against each other in a battle of the sexes. We're moving toward family dinners, conversations, and themed dinner/movie nights. Toward birthdays where they understand the big deal and Christmases that allow them to appreciate that their parents heard and delivered the desires of their hearts. Toward inside jokes, logical opinions, and LORD LET IT BE SO, sleeping through the night. The really hard days are almost done. And yes, I know, new ages, new challenges. We'll start tackling mean girls, bullies, hard questions, and broken hearts. But THEY WILL SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT IN THEIR OWN BEDS AND IT'S GOING TO BE WONDERFUL. And just about the time that I think I've got it all figured out, they'll graduate and move out, and I'll worry incessantly about what they're doing when they're not living in this nest, but I'll soothe the pain by going to Jamaica and having a beverage for every time the kids made me cry during the "diaper years." I'll be drunk before the plane leave the ground. Haha... But seriously. Anyway, today, though I know some of the best days are already coming, I also know that some of the best days are already gone. That this little boy that has nursed incessantly will soon learn to find comfort in new ways, and that's a transition that will be heartbreaking for both of us. The cradle that we've hoarded for the past two years in the corner of our bedroom has served it's time in our lives, and soon, it will go back into storage until my little brother starts his family. I'm in that cliche circle of life, where you want it pass, but you also want it to stop. I want these babies to stay babies, but I want a Nanny for the crap storms. I want to nurse forever, but also leave town for three days with no kids. I want to tuck my daughter into her bed, leave the room, and come back to find her asleep thirty minutes later. Not sit in the corner of the bedroom, praying that she goes to sleep in under two hours. In so many ways, I want life to stay the same, but in so many other ways, I welcome change. If you're wondering, I think I just described motherhood in essay form.

Okay, I think that's enough snap for one post. Here's Adam and his eleven month pictures. He's been so much more cooperative with these things than Ella was about this time. It's so crazy that this is the second to last one. BRB going to cry.

For Good.

"I've heard it said, that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn. And we are led to those that help us most to grow, if we let them, and we help them in return. Well, I don't know if I believe that it's true, but I know I'm who I am today because I knew you."

I think I've made it pretty clear that I'm a super broadway geek, and Wicked just about tops the list as my favorite soundtrack. Les Miserables is a real close second though. "For Good" is a track on the album, along with my favorite song in the play. I've always held the song as a sweet sentiment toward friendships come and gone, because as life happens, friendships come and go.

Never in a million years, did I expect November 21, 2015 to be the day that one of the friendships that I never expected to go, be gone forever in the blink of an eye. I've written and rewritten this blog five different times. I've watched myself go through a lot of emotions, but each time I begin to push publish, I stop and push delete, because I feel like my words are such blatant short comings to describe her and the brightness that made up her life. Over and over again, I've seen people write their condolences on her Facebook wall, and over and over, I've seen her described as a light. From people who run in the same circles, to people who would otherwise have no connection were it not for her, Alyssa was very obviously a light, and it's a light that death cannot overcome.

I've been blessed in my life to know very little of death or tragedy. And this isn't even a "The Lord has been so good to me!" Because I don't believe that God is a God of death and destruction. When I say that I've been blessed, I mean that I'm thankful, and there's no way to sugar coat it. My great-grandmother died when I was eleven, and if she suffered, I don't remember it. I know she was old and weak, and my last memory of her is one of her laying on the couch, watching "The Nutty Professor" and laughing. I might have seen her after that, but those memories escape me now. She died as an old woman, and to my eleven year old mind, that just made sense. That's the way the world worked. You grow up, you get married, have some babies, then some grandbabies, and if you're lucky, some GREAT-Grandbabies, and then it's time to go on to the other side. Never, in ten million years, would you have convinced me that it would just be a part of my life that at 25 years old, I would lose one of my dearest friends, and the true tragedy of the situation is that she would only be 23. That a man, making poor decisions, would walk away from a wreck that took her life, her father's life, and permanently change the course of her mother and husband's life forever. That the day after Thanksgiving, I would stand in front of all of her friends and family, and speak about her life that I think we can all agree was in its prime. That I was expected to smile and laugh at the memories we shared, while rejecting the anger I felt that she was the one who died while this man lived. Don't get me wrong, I didn't allow him to rob me of a day celebrating her life, but it consumed my thoughts in the days preceding and following her funeral... Sometimes even now. I found myself angry at some of the comments that I saw on her Facebook, everything from "The Lord just needed another angel!" To "God works in mysterious ways!" It infuriated me to see her life being cheapened with cliches and implications that God was  basically like "Oh no! Guys! We're down an angel... Somebody get Alyssa right now! I need her!" The simple truth is, God allowed Alyssa to go home that day. It says clear as day in the Bible that when our time is done, and we've finished the good work that He started in us, He'll take us home. And what a joy and an honor it was for me as her friend to celebrate her, to share a few of what has to be over a thousand memories, and to know so completely, based on conversations and her incessant social media posts, that Alyssa sits at the feet of Jesus, probably rubbing his feet with essential oils. Or maybe spending hours cuddling with Phoebe, her beloved cat, or Coco, the demonic chihuahua. I'd be shocked if that dog made it to the pearly gates. I say that in total snark. All dogs go to heaven, and you won't convince me otherwise... But that dog was a jerk. Mrs. Jean, if you're reading this, I'm sure you're thrilled about Coco and Phoebe, and they're probably going to be so thrilled to see you someday, but I bet I still get growled and snapped at, even though his body is healed and whole.

 

My friend, or my "BFFL," as we affectionately referred to each other, was a hot mess. She made things SO complicated. It was simultaneously endearing and my demise when it came to her. We made dinner for our husbands once, and I swear by the time it was all said and done, I was prepared to burn down the house before ever cooking together again. In the kitchen, I'm very much a control freak, and she was sincerely a terrible cook. God bless her, she tried so hard, but it was just... Nope. After that day, if we ate together, Tyler cooked or we went out. It was the best thing for our friendship. Booking reservations, planning trips, picking a Christmas card, or even choosing a salad off of a menu was such an exhausting process with her. And while it used to drive me insane, in hindsight, I can look back and see that she wanted to have the best possible experience in the time she was given. I don't think Alyssa ever really imagined dying young, but she had a very real, tangible sense of how precious time is. "ALYSSA! I DONT CARE, I DONT CARE, I DONT CARE!!!" Was typically followed by "I NEED YOU TO CARE BECAUSE I CANT DECIDE!" Servers hated us, our husbands gave up on trying, and most people knew we were around from the frustrated groans, followed by bursts of laughter. When I was pregnant with my daughter, Alyssa's hand was permanently on my stomach, waiting for Ella to move. I mean, we're talking I was 9 weeks pregnant and she was waiting for the baby to move. We lived in a pretty permanent state of me swatting her hand away, as I didn't like my stomach being touched, and her saying "Hate me less!" and moving it right back. The day that I found out I was pregnant, she had text me early in the day (totally oblivious that I was sitting in the doctor's office, waiting for bloodwork.) "Let's go to Vegas for New Year's! Flights are on sale!" While driving to her house after breaking the news to Cody, she text me and said "OR NOT! Whatever!" So I called her, because I'm the poster child for safe driving (heh) and said "Hey, sorry. Can't go to Vegas." An annoyed sigh huffed into my ear, followed by "Whhhhhy?" I could hardly contain my giggles as I said "Because I'll be 3 months pregnant." Shrieks. Shouts. Tears. "Come over!" she begged. As I pulled into her driveway, I saw the blinds close, where she had stood, watching and waiting to see my car. The front door flew open, and she ran right past my open arms and started doing cartwheels in the front yard. A little over a year later, she called me and said "Let's go to Vegas for New Years! Ella will be weaned!" "Cant," I said through muffled tears. "Whhhhhhhy?" She growled. "I'll be 9 months pregnant." I said as the tears broke. I swear, our sisterhood bonded us that day, because I don't think she really had any plans to go to Vegas on New Years, but she sensed there was something weird. I had just found out the day before, and I was in denial about it all. She shrieked and screamed and cried the whole drive over to my house, and when I opened the door, she ran past my open arms and instead into Ella's. Shrieking about being a big sister and how excited she was for Ella. Those two... I swear. I never had a sister, but somehow, my kids ended up with an Aunt. Adam and Alyssa never really had the chance to bond the way Alyssa and Ella did, but how precious it was to watch the two of them together. One day, when Ella was little, Alyssa kicked me out of the room and sat with Ella for over an hour, begging her to laugh. She finally sighed and said "FINE! DON'T LAUGH!" and Ella chuckled. And that's all it took. She sat for another thirty minutes, growing more and more excited each time Ella laughed. It's always been my most cherished memory between the two of them. To look in on them from the other room, and see the way my friend loved my baby. I don't know that I could have loved anybody else's kids the way she loved mine. She told me once, "Who knows if I'll ever have kids. I'll just love yours." I rolled my eyes at her statement and said "Oh, whatever, Alyssa." And how eerie those words seem now. How blessed and fortunate I am that she "adopted" and loved my babies so well, along with several other families that she latched on to over the years. So Alyssa was right, she never had kids... but I have no doubts that she caught little glimpses of the depths of a mother's love. It made her better and made her more compassionate, if that's even possible.

At her service, the Pastor made a great point about Alyssa living her entire life never knowing an unloved moments. She was born from a woman that didn't raise her, but loved her enough to let her go. From there, she was immediately placed into the arms of Ardis and Mrs. Jean, and I stand certain that God has a heart for adoption, and the Hayslips did an incredible job of portraying the love that God shows us as his adopted sons and daughters. From their home, she flew straight into the arms of Tyler, where she spent four years learning that sometimes she wouldn't get her way, and other times, Tyler would have moved heaven and earth to see her smile. From Tyler's arms, she went into the arms of Jesus, and Tyler promised me it was just like closing her eyes and it was over. She didn't suffer, she didn't hurt, she didn't have to beg for her life to go one way or the other. In an instant, the good work that He started in her was finished, and now she dances (probably to the Backstreet Boys) with Jesus, surrounded by all of the love that she had come to experience on earth as a daughter of Christ.

We sang "How He Loves" at her service. It was a song I requested, partially because it was a song that Alyssa was continuously doodling in her countless journals, and partially because they were words I needed to hear that day. And in the darkness that overshadowed that day... in the midst of the sleet and bitter cold that somehow matched the way I was feeling when I walked into the church... he came down to meet me. Tears fell down my face as I extended my arms as far to the heavens as they would reach (yeah, yeah, that's not very far, I know.) In my time of darkness and despair, I reached out to Jesus, and He came down to meet me. Peace. Relief. Joy, even. To celebrate my friend reaching eternity, leaving behind the earth that troubled her heart so frequently. To slip into a place with no tears, suffering, anger, or rejection. To know, even for the briefest of moments, that there was no doubt in my mind that the Lord is real, and that He is sovereign in every circumstance. That He wants to know me, and to comfort me. How beautiful and precious that in saying goodbye to her, I was somehow drawn closer to Him, and I think that's just the effect that Alyssa had on everybody she came in contact with.

My initial plan was to publish one blog to honor her and let that be it. And for all I know, that could be what happens... but grief is a process, and I don't know that I can say confidently that this is the only time I'll write about her. I still find myself screenshotting hilarious things on Facebook to send her. It's something we've done so many times that I don't even think before I push the buttons. Sometimes it's at the expense of other people (don't pretend you don't do it,) sometimes it's a meme, sometimes it's a memory that Facebook pops up, and sometimes it's just me looking for any little piece of her. My heart always drops after I open my text messages and see that her name is gone from my list, since I got a new phone just before Christmas because my toddler smashed my last one. Our last conversation was just small talk to each other, except we were texting in Madea voices and everything ended in "Er" or "Rt." Thank Yur Vur Murch. Ya know, normal things that two married adults take delight in. We hadn't seen much of each other in the past several months, outside of borrowing things from each other (she lived seven houses down) and an occasional pop into the house to love on my kids. Life is just funny that way. I guess the good thing about it is that it hasn't made her absence seem so real. I'm sure I would have been completely devastated if I had gone from seeing her every day to never seeing her. Occasionally, she would text me and say "It's been too long since I've seen you." and so we'd both walk to the end of our driveways, wave, dance around a little bit, and then go back inside. But we text nearly everyday, and if there was a major life event, we were on the phone. It's so hard to fathom that a friendship so dear to me has ended, but to live a life so changed because of one human being inspires me to strive to leave my own legacy.

There's never really a good way to end these things. Nothing seems fitting other than to say that I miss her presence in my life. I'll pester her husband to let me go into there house just to feel closer to her for years to come, I imagine. Poor Tyler. He just thought he'd seen the last of Kaylea Gaines. We've drawn closer to each other, mostly because we're not afraid to talk about her, and occasionally to bring up the things that used to drive us crazy about her. Like ordering asinine amounts of blue cheese and extra cilantro cream sauce at Wall Street. Easily in my top ten embarrassing moments. I think she made a server so mad once that they ended up with like, ten dollars in "extra cheese" charges. It's been an honor to walk through this life with her, and an honor to say goodbye... for now. And until I choose to write about her again, know that I am at utmost peace. I still seek justice for her circumstances, but I also hope that this is the game changer for the man responsible. That in the midst of whatever plays out, his life is changed, and he comes to know forgiveness. Will this be an easy thing to remember when that time comes? Probably not. But it's my prayer that Lord focus my eyes on him, not the things of earth, and to remember that what happened to her is over, and she's oblivious to my vigilante rants. He's overcome death, and overcome the grave, and I delight in knowing Jesus as a true Rescuer and Redeemer.

"So much of me is made of what I learned from you. You'll be with me like a handprint on my heart, and know whatever way our stories end, I know you have re-written mine by being my friend...

Who can say if I've been changed for the better? I do believe I have been changed for the better. Because I knew you, I have been changed for good..."

Turtle and Gus: Month Ten

10 months old on Christmas day. Things really don't get much more adorable than that setting.

I'm still at a bit of a writer's block. I think maybe it's because when I blog, I try to make sure that I'm in a quiet room, with coffee, the clicking of the keys and my thoughts as the only noise. Occasionally, John Mayer plays in the background, but I usually ending up singing along more than blogging. So maybe I'm having such a hard time "getting back on the blog horse" because I'm actually alone with my thoughts, and lately, the heaviness there feels like too much. And I don't want to mislead anyone, because for the most part, I'm really pretty great. I'm at peace with what's happened, but as it seems to happen when babies are involved, there hasn't been much time to sit and dwell on it. It's here, in this quiet stillness that the reality of it all kind of settles in... and I can't say that I love it.

Regardless, my babies have done a fantastic job at finding new tricks and distractions to keep me from climbing into a shell of sadness. Sometimes I appreciated those distractions, like when Adam learned Pat-a-cake and we did it (do it) literally fifteen times per day. Or maybe when Ella learned how to  count to 35, and we did it (do it) thirty-five times a day. My husband survived Christmas time at a church, which anybody who lives in a 100 mile radius of Stonegate now knows was kind of a huge deal. But that huge deal included a week of late nights at work, and early morning returns. I spent a week alone with my kids, and while exhausting, it was welcomed. Adam figured out that his legs move, and if he could only understand that he has to alternate legs, we'd have a walker. He does pretty well with "Right, Left, Right, Left" for about six steps, but then tries a double left, and it's all over. It's still pretty amazing that he had most of it figured out about a week before his 10 month birthday though, especially as fat as his legs are. I think they know Mom is a little distracted, because while busy and chaotic (Like dumping a bag of Doritos in the floor), they were pretty sweet. Sure, there were moments, and an occasional text to Cody that said "This is it. This is how it ends," but for the most part, it was just a week of soaking in this season with my babies.

Now that Adam is extremely mobile, we're seeing a little bit of that baby fat melting away, and I'm of course having some feelings about it. He's still massive, of course, but he's looking less michelin and more little boy. The dimples on his butt are still super prominent, but I can actually count the rolls on his legs now. A tooth filled grin (with the world's funniest gap between the top two) replaced the sweet gummy smile that I've grown to love so deeply. A curiosity for all things real food replaced an incessant need to nurse. Cuddling and face to face slumbers were replaced with a need for space and refusal of covers. Basically what I'm saying here is that baby phase is being taken away from me and I'm not fine with it. Contrary to raising Ella, I have never wished Adam older than he is today. Even on hard days, I was content to be cuddling my baby. A piece of me knew that this was it, and I needed to soak in every second. Now, I should clarify. Some days I would here a sad song on that radio that promised me that "I was going to miss this" and I would shout back "NO I WILL NOT!" and "It won't be like this for long" and I would say "Thank the LORD." Or sometimes when an exceptionally corny one like "Butterfly Kisses" came on, I would just turn it off. There are things that I won't miss, and you won't convince me otherwise. I will not miss excessive clutter, I won't miss messes under the high chair, nor will I miss sleepless nights or fits of rage after a nap cut short. I will miss muddy toes and watching tiny hands pick tomatoes off of the plants and eat them without a thorough washing. I'll miss the glimmer in their eyes when Daddy comes home after being at work all day. I'll miss faces of confusion and disgust after trying new vegetables for the first time. The little things that make the big picture are what I'll miss, but probably not the things that make me wonder what the big picture will look like.  Just one of those things that you have to experience to understand, I guess.

Ella Morgan is her usual sassy self. I'm almost scared to type that she's been exceptionally healthy lately, and we've never been more relieved. We went through nine really horrendous months with that girl, and I'll be the first to tell you that I told Cody on multiple occasions "Something is wrong here. That can't be her personality." And the healthier she gets, the more I begin to see that I was right. The screaming tantrums, the hour long fights we had everyday, the whiny, the overall unpleasantness of her personality is slowly melting away, and the sweet sugar baby that we knew for so long is peeking back through... and I am ELATED. She's been without an ear infection since October, and I am cautiously optimistic that we're on the other side of this mess. She is brilliant, anxious to learn, and altogether lovely. She's truly the joy of my heart. 

I touched briefly on a blog a couple of months ago that I felt like I was kind of coming into myself lately, and I'm more convinced than ever that the Lord is preparing me for something. I don't know what it is, but I'm so excited and anxious to see it unfold. I often wondered what in the WORLD he was thinking by giving me, the Queen of stressed out, two babies under two, but maybe he wanted to knock those babies out so that it would push me to find the best version of myself lately. These kiddos have been the very center of my existence for almost three years now, and while I plan on that staying mostly the same, there's been a stirring in my soul to pursue some dreams of mine. I might be listening to a little too much Mayer, because I've written "It might be a quarter life crisis, or just a stirring in my soul..." three or four times over the past few weeks. It would be a lie to say that Alyssa's passing didn't spark a few more of these feelings. When she died, she was in the prime of her life, chasing dreams and boldly pursuing the Lord in her endeavors. And I had to truthfully admit to myself and the Lord that I wasn't doing the same. So my "word" for 2016 is "Awaken." Initially, my word was going to be "Brave," because it's really taking all of the guts I have to pursue some of these things, but as song lyrics usually do, a few have really spoken to me lately.

"In these bodies we will live, and in these bodies we will die. Where you invest your love, you invest your life." - Awake My Soul, Mumford and Sons

"When it feels like my dreams are so far, sing to me of the plans that You have for me over again." - Only Hope, Switchfoot

"Don't for a minute change the place you're in." - Stop This Train, John Mayer

"Hello, it's me." - HA! Just kidding. But really, don't pretend Adele didn't change your life. 

Basically, I've dubbed this "stirring in my soul" as an awakening. To chase some dreams, love my husband, see some different cities, and plant a garden so big that I feel overwhelmed. To be okay with leaving the kids with my Mom for a weekend in the name of true connection and time with my best friend. To be bold enough in God given talents to pursue them. To be confident in my children and loving them for the way God made them, rather than the kids I want. I'm excited for the year to come, and I even bought a planner. Not for our plans... but for my dreams. Each day I write down something I did that I was proud of, and something I'd like to do. I don't expect to all of these things this year, but it's a dream, in writing, trusting God to do what He wants to with it. A journal is the same concept, yes, but this planner is put out by one of my favorite "artists" and I wasn't turning away from it.

So here's to 2016 and the courage to awaken. In the meantime, look at my adorable baby. You'll have to excuse his hobbit hair, we can't get a hair appointment scheduled lately to save our lives. 

"No, it won't all go the way it should, but I know the heart of life is good..."