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..."

Turtle and Gus: Month Nine

We made it to one of my favorite milestones! Adam has been out of the womb for as long as he was IN the womb! I don't know why I always get so excited about this milestone... I'm usually such a sap about these things. You know, "Wah, saddest, kids growing up, baby practically one, these are the good old days, we're going to miss this, why is time so fast, blah blah blah." Maybe it's because I go through those emotions at least once an hour, every day. For some reason, I see this milestone as a "Heck yes, child! Look at all of the things we've accomplished in 39 weeks! Look at how huge you are, and how well my udders have sustained you! Look at how amazing and wonderful the human body is, to piece you together so perfectly!" And other similar thoughts. I think it's so cool, truly. But in the spirit of nostalgia, here's a picture of Adam in my belly the day that he was born (you can also see it as a "remember that time you thought you might want another baby and this picture reminded you that you're probably fine with two" photo), and then a picture of us on his 39 week birthday. He's about the same size, I would say.

This month really feels like a blur to me. This should teach me to blog ahead of time, because as most of you know by now, my sweet friend Alyssa was killed in a car accident last month, and anything that happened before then feels so long ago. Like, I'm seriously sitting here staring at the wall trying to think of what to type. I guess we could cover some basics.

Adam cut his first tooth on October 26th. It felt like the teething process. I never really knew that process with Ella, since she didn't cut a tooth until she was almost one, and one day a tooth was just there. Adam, however, decided cribs were overrated, the floor wasn't an acceptable play space, and snot became a new normal. He became the clingiest, whiniest, saddest baby in the land. Unfortunately, in the name of sleep, I stopped fighting the crib, and now the crib is dead to him. He sleeps on a pallet in the floor, or with me. Oh well, we made it nine months, I guess. Since then, we had three weeks of similar symptoms, and I thought "Dear Jesus, this is his new personality and I'm not cut out for it," and then he cut 3 teeth in 24 hours. THREE TEETH IN ONE DAY.

Adam also started standing up on his own. He's really great at it, but I think maybe his legs weigh too much to lift, because he's not super close to walking. Or interested in it, really. Although, I don't know that I would be super into it either if I was as efficient at the bear crawl as he is. The kid is a speed demon, and usually growls with his soul while he crawls. It's hilarious and I always look forward to it when he sets his sight on something far away.

While we're on it, I love boys. That was a weird sentence. I'll try again... I love being a mom to a boy baby. That's better, I think. I love that boys are boys from day one. Hmm, I did it again. But I don't know another way to word it. From day one, everything about Adam has just summed up perfectly to a little boy personality. These days, anything with wheels, dirt, and noise attract his attention like a moth to a flame. And they really weren't kidding about the way a boy loves his Mama. I can do no wrong. On my worst days, he shows me so much grace. On the days when I can only give half of me, because these kids don't sleep, and a human can only tolerate so many of days of that crap at once before their body begins shutting down. On the days that I stumble on a show called "The Great British Baking Show" and binge all the episodes in one day, occasionally throwing in a "Go away!" or a "Shhhh stop having fun, Mommy can't hear Mary Berry!" For the days that Cody comes home and is super involved and playful with our kids, and it makes me hate myself because so often I can't "unclench" enough to remember that these crazy children are still babies. And they need a Mom that rolls around in the floor and jumps out from behind walls to scream peek-a-boo. And somebody that treats them like babies instead of little miniature adults. Most days, I get it right... but on the days that I don't, Adam shows grace. From a sweet grin, to a shriek of excitement when I walk into a room, to smiling at me just before he falls asleep while nursing, to pushing his Dad away with all of his strength in order to hold me. I feel adored, loved, and cherished every single day through the love of my nine month old baby. And I just love seeing little glimpses of the love of the Father through my babies. 

We're still working on Ella showing grace. I think that's one of those "Apple/Tree" metaphors. She's a grudge holder, and she'll tell you about it when you cross a line. I don't know where she gets it. Okay, fine. I know where she gets it. I guess I should maybe recant a statement that I made in another blog. I recently said that I felt like Ella was a hermit, and I was wrong. I think Ella was sheltered, but now that she's been pushed into the public eye, she's found her groove... and though it pains me to say so, I feel like I'm raising an extrovert. Do you understand the clash of the titans involved here? I am in love with my husband, and crazy about these babies, but I'm not one of excessive amounts of affection. When it comes to cuddling, it's a "let's cuddle until we're both warm, and then let's roll over and enjoy our own space." When it comes to a couch buddy, "Hey, let's sit together, but sitting on my lap is probably a little much for me." When it comes to being touched every single minute of every single day, I'm really more of a "I'm about to lose every ounce of Kool-aid left in my pitcher" kind of girl. And I'm raising somebody that THRIVES on cuddling, being in my lap, and having some part of her body touching mine, every single second of every day. And it. is. exhausting. In an "ideal" environment, I'm really more of a "Let's turn off all the lights, light a fire, brew some coffee, and read a book by only the most necessary needed lamps." Ella is more of a "Let's see if we can make our house brighter than the sun, play music as LOUDLY as we can, and play with play dough! We can even put it up our nose!" She brings me her shoes three times a day and asks me to leave, because leaving this house makes her feel alive, and recharges her "sunshine" button. It takes great effort and motivation to make me leave my house, because being home recharges my soul. There are a lot of battles that ensue throughout the day as the two personalities go head-to-head. But it's all good. The extroverts need the introverts to teach them to be independent, and the introverts need the extroverts to remind them that vitamin D and human interactions are literally needed to survive. 

I guess technically this is where I would discuss his first Halloween... but there wasn't much to it. We took a picture of him in a Mickey Mouse outfit to correlate with his sister's Minnie outfit. She threw a fit because she's on a new "I hate the camera" kick and then we waved goodbye as Dad took her trick or treating for exactly one block before her second meltdown. Fast forward three weeks, we hit another big holiday. Adam's first Thanksgiving was much more enthusiastically received than Ella's. I know he's much older than she was, but even at 4 months, Adam was more curious about things we were eating than she was. He had basically a bite of everything he could try, and then ate more than double his portion of one of those whipped cream salads that old people make around the holidays. I think this particular salad was pear based.  He was a great ray of sunshine on a day that felt so dark, but sunshine is just kind of his personality.  Turtle ate her weight in macaroni and something my family calls "Pink Stuff." Another one of those salads, but this one is cherry based. You know, nothing nutritious, but loaded with calories. Which is all we really aim for with toddlers anyway. 

There are a lot of other things that I probably need to cover, but I'm just not into it today. Or yesterday... or last week... or the week before. It's interesting, because normally writing is how I cope. For example, the day Alyssa died, I wrote a blog through sobs. But since then, I haven't wanted to write. When I write, I think of her, because she always through such a hissy fit if my blog was even a day late. You would think it would inspire me to "blog on" in her memory, but all it does is remind me of what I've lost. Most of my memories of Alyssa are happy ones, but for some reason, this blog makes me a little sad right now. But I promise that all of my zingy snarky remarks will be back next blog... but I had to do this one before Adam turned 10 months. Here's his monthly picture, we'll see ya in a few weeks!

Turtle and Gus: Month Eight

Adam is eight months old, and to fathom that Ella was 18 pounds and the same height that Adam is now at her one year check up is just so funny to me now. Especially to read old blogs and see how excited and empowered I felt that she was getting "so big" when she was clearly such a tiny little lamb. She grew well and strong for her own path, but to compare her path to her brother's is like comparing mountains and mole hills. But hey, they're two separate humans with two separate bodies. Similar DNA.. Probably the same father... Time will tell.

^In case you have zero sense of humor, that last little tidbit was a joke. Please calm down.

Eight months. My man child is somehow the sweetest baby and borderline toddler every second of every day. He's learning so many new tricks, one being growling, and another is learning that the toilet bowl has water in it. If the bathroom door isn't closed, his super helpful sister is quick to guide him to the restroom and lift the lid. Of course, as soon as Mom comes around the corner, she quickly begins saying "No no no, Adam! That's uh-uh!" And seeks approval from me. These days, I really do just laugh most of these things off. Gross? Definitely. Lathered in hand soap afterward? Totally. Micromanaging my children until we're all tense and miserable? No thanks. Will I always laugh when I find my children scheming and causing mischief? Of course not. But for the love of Pete, they are everywhere, all the time, continually moving, and sometimes Mom just needs to sing along to the Backstreet Boys while she regrets not soaking the lasagna pan over night. Most of the time, this is my new life. Adam is the nosiest baby in the land. I guess I was really, truly blessed with Ella as a baby, because I never went through this with her. She never roamed the house looking for potential choking hazards. The only scary moment of her childhood was the time she accidentally bit off a chunk of the potato she was gnawing on. I have not been so fortunate with Adam. The child is explores the world through seeing what fits in his mouth. It has been EXCELLENT to help with keeping my floors clean. You know, except for piles of laundry waiting to be folded and whatever toy clutter Ella has scattered about. But when he's not on a mission to give me an anxiety attack, he's the sweetest, cuddliest (clingiest) baby in the world. Almost to the point that one night when Cody was working late last week, I yelled "NOBODY TOUCH ME OR TALK TO ME FOR TEN MINUTES!" Because I just needed my space, and I needed a minute. Nobody listened to me. That's fine. Anyway, I can acknowledge that for the first time in his life, I've hidden from Adam. There have been times that he has turned completely purple screaming for me while in his Dad's loving tender arms. He chases me around the house, and now that he bear crawls, he's hard to outrun. He's figured out the stairs, so I'm back to the days of hurdle jumping baby gates, smiling at how ridiculous I must have looked doing the same thing with my pregnant belly last year. And it kind of makes me sad, because he's eight months old and already this grown up. He sincerely drives me crazy, but I'm absolutely mad about him. He interferes with every single task that I try to accomplish. And honestly, 97%  of the time when he naps, I sit on the couch and exhale. And I'm relieved that nobody is crawling or nursing or trying to choke on things or crying. And then he wakes up and we start all over, until Cody comes home and tries to find a way to ask why our house is a disaster and the same dishes have been in the sink for four days. Look bro, these humans require 100% of my energy and I was a C+ housekeeper before they invaded our house. Bear with me.

Ella Morgan is doing so well in Mother's Day Out. We've worked out a nice little system where her Dad drops her off and I pick her up. One day last week, he text me and said "No tears today!" which felt SO good to my soul. So when I picked her up, I was ready to have really deep and meaningful conversation about the details of her day, and instead, she melted to the floor and cried for 30 minutes after we got home. And then the same thing happened the next day. This last time, she only cried until we got to the car... but I still have to wonder what these people think about me. "Um, Ella cries hysterically when her Mom picks her up, but her Mom just stares at her like a fly that landed in her coffee." And it's true. I look at her with a face mixed with confusion, amusement, and annoyance. Because the first time that I kneel down and say "Sweet baby precious cherub! Fruit of my loins! Mommy's little pumpkin! Tell me what's going on here????," she's going to take it as a cue to do it every time I pick her up. I know this child too well to fall for her trickery. She won't take me down at the risk of being judged by other mothers! But in the same token, I am sincerely having so much fun with Ella. She's really figured this talking business out, and even though there's still a lot of "I have no clue what you just said," and "Huh?," and 97% of the time I'm the only one that can understand her, we're really having some beautiful conversations. I love this age... minus the whining and fits. I could do without those, but this attempt to repeat any word I throw at her is too fun. We've really hit a new point in our relationship, like, I even took the child to the grocery store with me. By choice. And we had a great, marvelous time together. She snacked on a cake pop and a lemonade from starbucks and waved at all of our fellow shoppers. I had to bite my tongue a couple of times to refrain from saying "Hey, jerk! Wave at my baby!" So let's just throw it out there... if a precious baby toddler waves at you from her shopping cart, WAVE BACK, BECAUSE IT'S PRECIOUS. I'm looking at you, Mrs. Buys Store-bought pesto.

I think what I'm really trying to say here is that I finally feel like I've hit my stride. It took eight months. But for the first time in probably two years, I feel like myself. 100% myself. Sometimes I'm so tired I go back to bed until noon on days that Cody is home, but I've stopped feeling bad about it. I've sacrificed so much of my energy and efforts on these babies, and I'm not going to give them only half of myself because I was too proud to rest. Sure, I'm wrecking my sleeping routine and I was awake until 2 AM on Saturday night, but there was no words to explain how good it felt to wake up on my own, without any help, and without tripping over my own feet to get the screaming baby out of his crib. I'm cracking jokes, wearing makeup, owning my messy house, and mothering without fear for the first time. You see, despite my best efforts, I bought into a lie that there was one way to mother. And it was exhausting. So when I finally came to the realization that the Lord loves us anyway, and gives us grace anyway, and my kids still think I'm the cheez-its.... man, life felt so much simpler. For so long, I fed into a lie that I needed to okay with being "the most natural beauty" possible, and my kids needed to eat all organic, all the time, and every moment needed to be soaking in grace and mercy and sweet, sweet love. And most of the time, I still strive for those things. But you know what? I like makeup. And I like to watch youtube videos and learn new ways to paint my face. And I like how I feel when I wear make up. My daughter has seen me with and without, and  I don't think that her esteem as a woman will lie in whether or not her Mom was okay with having a "naked" face. And for dinner tonight, Ella ate blue box macaroni, and chicken nuggets probably made from a factory farm chicken, and had a juice box. Technically, it was an "Honest" juice box, but I didn't dilute it with water and I don't feel bad about it. Sometimes, my kids really just tick me off, and sometimes I don't find a gracious way to deal with it. Sometimes when I trip over a toy that they left in the middle of the floor, I yell some hybrid word between a cuss word and a fake cuss word (SON OF A BI--ppidy boppity boo!) and throw it across the room. And when I trip on it again fifteen minutes later, sometimes I throw it in the trash instead of the toy box and I don't feel bad about it. Sometimes I ignore my kids when they're whining. Sometimes I play on facebook while Ella playdoughs in the high chair. Sometimes I even tell Cody that if he doesn't come home right now, I'm going to explode and it will scar the kids for life. But most of the time, I don't do those things. Most of the time, I cuddle Ella whenever she wants to sit with me and read. Most of the time, I ignore the dishes and love on Adam when he chases me around the house crying. Most of the time, I sit in the floor and watch my kids play together, occasionally inviting me into their circle, occasionally being rejected when I don't understand whatever neurotic organization game Ella is playing (seriously, she can't be my kid. She organizes things for fun). The way I parent isn't the way you parent. Things that don't make sense to me may be what makes your world spin on the correct axis. And I think it's wonderful that all of these complexities come together to keep the world a sane place...well, in our section of it anyway.

But the truth is, you need your people. You need your tribe... and I meandered about for awhile trying to decide if I even needed a tribe. And honestly, my husband and I could probably be just fine with each other and our kids, but how liberating it is to have people that get you. I text one of my friends last week and said "I'm eating a snickers in the bathtub." and three days later, she sent me a picture of her "stash" at work. One of my favorite people in my village doesn't even have kids. But we try to get together on Thursdays and watch "Scandal" and after it's over, we sit and we hash out life. And we laugh until it hurts, and we cry together, as we go through struggles that the other couldn't possibly understand, but we feel those hurts for each other, because SISTERHOOD. One of my people doesn't go to church, and there are subjects we don't discuss together, but there's a really beautiful friendship that has blossomed through it all. We're raising our boys together and we love each other so deeply, regardless of where our hearts lie in terms of what we believe to be true. Another friend is a friend that I really only see every other month or so, but she's sincerely the most kind hearted, life giving, over accommodating person I know. I love being around her because she's just the kind of person I want to be. And she laughs at every single thing I say, so she boosts my ego. I feel like I should stop naming people in my tribe, because it's beginning to feel more like a yearbook than a blog, but I've finally accepted that sometimes your tribe forms accidentally, when something begins as a "If I don't reach out to somebody that's been here before, I will lose my crap." And then a few weeks later you're sending each other pictures of your kids doing hilariously embarrassing things that you don't discuss on the internet. And then a real friendship forms, and then one day you're like "I haven't spoken to her today and I don't love it." And also, one of the best people in my tribe is a male, and he lives in Nashville, and he's hilarious. Blake always knows when it's a bad day, and sends me a perfectly timed dubsmash to combat my day. Someday he's going to be really famous and take me to an awards show, but until then, you can watch him chase his dreams HERE.

I think that's mostly everything. Adam and Ella are the best kids I could've asked for. I could have handled a daughter with a little more "chill" and a little less "need for order." And I wouldn't have minded a son with a little more "independent" and a little less "lose my crap if Mom leaves the room to do something necessary, like urinate." But this is who they are. And they're wonderful. Here's an eight month picture from Adam. There's no picture of the two of them, because Ella said "no." So there's that.

Turtle and Gus: Month Seven

I'm kind of appalled and saddened at how quickly this month went by. I really kind of stopped when we were at the doctor's office last week and said "My word. Adam will be seven months old in six days!" Fortunately, not every month goes this quickly, but I always resent them when they come around. This time is so fleeting, and I just hate it when it becomes so blatantly obvious.

Otherwise, we had a great month. My son and my daughter are four pounds and five inches apart. His doctor told me that he's easily in the top three healthiest babies in her practice. Which is good, because Ella is really giving us a run for our money lately. I don't know what switched, but this child has had chronic ear infections since April. At least two a month, so we tend to be at the doctor's office every other week. We've become real familiar with Dr. Tammy lately. Almost to the point that I can call and say "Ella has an ear infection" and she's almost willing to just call the meds in... but unfortunately, she has standards, and has us come in to make sure anyway. We've stopped giving Ella cow's milk to see if it's going to help us, but otherwise, I'm afraid a trip to the ENT is in our future, which just makes me so sick and so sad. This has been a really trying time for me as a Mother, because Ella was completely healthy for the first 15 months of her life. Head colds were the sickest she ever got, and these days, she's still perfectly healthy, but every other week (2 weeks if we get really lucky,) she comes up to my lap and says "Uh oh Ears." And is running a fever the next day. Fortunately, our doctor is great to see us on the docket and call us straight back. Ella gets weighed, measured, and evaluated in about 5 minutes. We are hopeful and prayerful that she is nearly done with this season, because Mama has had about enough of it all. It makes me wish that I had been more consistent with pumping and giving her that daily cup of antibodies. But there's no time in life for shoulda, woulda, coulda, as my grandmother says.

Adam Jace continues to be the sweetest little cherub in the land. On his worst day, my biggest complaint is how often he nurses. Though he's kind of a monster, so I guess he's not totally to blame there. Growing babies need lots of nourishment. We tried our first bit of solids and it was violently rejected. Since then, we've tried again every three days, and the child refuses. Ella was pretty great about trying new things until I had to wean her, and that's when she went on a 10 month eating strike. Adam won't try things at all. He must get it from his father. I've tried the multi-assortments, just fruit, just vegetables, homemade, homemade with mostly breastmilk and teeny bit of baby food mixed in... I've tried it all. He will not have it. ONE day, I gave him a small bite of my mashed potatoes, and he loved it, and ate most of my bowl. But never did it again, and has refused them since. So, that's our current hurdle with Adam right now. At seven months old, he's still exclusively breastfed, and Dr. Tammy says that's okay for now. He's still growing and he's still gaining weight, so he's getting what he needs. I figure if we can survive the giant hunger strike of 2014 from Ella, we can handle this. He is the master crawler, the champion of pulling up on just about anything, and last night, stood on his own for about seven seconds. And I took that really, really hard. In a super depressing confession, becoming a mother has made me aware of the fact that this life is so short. And as I'm exiting the "baby phase" of my life, sometimes it makes me feel like these are the "best days of our lives" and they're running out faster than I want them to. We are exhausted and worn down, but our lives are so full of joy, and so full of laughter. I would trade sleep every night for the rest of my life if I could stay in this moment. Truth be told, raising children (potty trained, sleeping through the night, eats the food on their plate children) scares me. I kind of look forward to the teenage years, not because I'm crazy about raging hormones, but because I believe that's when I'll really hit my stride with my kids. God has given me great peace about raising them from thirteen on, but from five to twelve, I hyperventilate. Especially if the state keeps up with common core, because stoopid. It's so far over my head that I can't even discuss it without a meltdown. Anyway, all this to say that Adam is a giant man-baby, and I'm practically pushing him down when he tries to advance into toddlerhood. 

Ella remains the firecracker I describe every other month. Between months six and seven, she really started mimicking and repeating things back to us. We're finally beginning to communicate with each other using our words, and I'm exuberant about it. Like, the wars are becoming less and less frequent because she finally understands what I'm saying to her. And since she associates saying "Sorry" with something she's done wrong, instead of spanking herself, she yells "SORRY SORRY SORRY!" and runs upstairs. It's one of those things that will probably infuriate me someday, but it makes me laugh hysterically right now. The big news with Ella this month is that we got her enrolled in Mother's Day Out at Stonegate. This was a really hard decision for me as a Mom, because I genuinely love being at home with my kids. I love watching their little minds work and being there for the victories and disasters that mold our days. Unfortunately, since I leave home maybe twice a week, Ella is rapidly turning into a hermit, and that's not a character trait that I love in a two year old. Okay wait, I need to revise my statement again. Ella loves to leave the house. She usually brings me her shoes at least once a day and says "Ready, set, Go!" By hermit, I mean Ella doesn't like to interact with people, and that's the part of me that I didn't want to pass on. At playdates with other kids, she usually just sits next to me or plays by herself. She doesn't respond well to strangers, which isn't really a bad thing,  but when it's family members and we're two years into it and she still cries when they talk to her, it's time for an intervention. The sole purpose of Ella being in Mother's Day Out is to allow her to develop social skills. It isn't to pawn her off on someone else twice a week. And I don't necessarily think it's a bad thing that Adam gets some one-on-one time with Mom that doesn't involve nursing. 

The other big milestone that I've noticed this month is that the kids are really starting to interact well and play together. Now that Adam can chase her, wherever I find Ella, I usually also find Adam. Sometimes this is nice, like when they quietly play with puzzles for forty minutes. Sometimes this is not nice, like when I find Adam with a grape in his mouth during snack time for Ella. Sometimes this is precious, like when Ella makes Adam laugh for fifteen minutes straight by playing the kazoo. Sometimes this is infuriating, like when Ella tries to pick Adam up on the tile floor and fails. Sometimes I hear the screams and don't even care what happens, I just round the corner and yell "ALL I WANT TO DO TODAY IS SCRUB DRIED CHEESE OFF OF THESE DISHES!!!" And when I hear giggles, I always turn the recorder on before I find them. Sometimes I dread what I'm walking in on, but it's usually something that I'm thrilled to have video forever. They truly love each other, and they truly are building a relationship that I think is going to be so tight and so unwavering. And that's what I prayed for the entire pregnancy. I initially prayed for a girl, because I wanted Ella to have a sister, but I knew deep down that he was a boy from the very beginning. So once I confirmed my suspicions, I prayed that they would be the very best of friends. That they would be there for each other, and look out for each other. That someday when I'm not around, they would have the other. And I still pray those things every day. I'm seeing little peeks at the Lord answering those prayers already, and I love it. Today was Ella's first day at Mother's Day Out, and sweet Adam crawled all over the house looking for her. It was so heartwarming, and so sad. It's so humbling to see new definitions of love through my kids. Adam has three great loves in his life, and two of them provide nourishment for him. The other is his sister. His eyes sparkle and shimmer when she walks into the room, and her expression always lights up. If this keeps up, Adam and I both might need an intervention when she starts Kindergarten. 

I think that's most of the big stuff. My Dad whisked me away to San Antonio last weekend (hence the late blog) and it did wonderful things for my soul. At least once a year, we try to see a broadway show. We've seen Wicked several times by now, so we both agreed to try something different. It was between "The Phantom of the Opera," "Beauty and the Beast," and "The Little Mermaid." Since I've seen Beauty and he's seen the Phantom, we mutually agreed to give "The Little Mermaid" a chance, and I'm SO GLAD we did. This is the first production that I've been truly awed by in terms of lights and effects and magic tricks. The colors and costumes are phenomenal, and I would see it again in a heart beat. If any of you are wondering if it's worth taking your girl, DO IT. Don't hesitate... but only if you can teach them proper theater etiquette, because while wonderful, it was also extremely loud from the little girl's incessant talking. I'm already so excited for whatever we choose to see next year, mostly because it means going back to San Antonio. Have you ever been to a city that just makes you feel alive? San Antonio has always been that city for me. There's something about it that I'll always love. Walking through the streets of downtown gave me glimmers of the dreams I used to be bold enough to dream (Like that I would live in a loft in a busy city, or that I would write a novel looking out into the streets of downtown San Antonio, or that I would someday raise my family in Texas Hill Country.) Those dreams may seem like little dreams, but sometimes the little ones are the hardest ones to chase down. I believe that at some point in my life, I'll live in San Antonio or it's surrounding cities, but my hair may be gray and the novel might be a journal entry. I'll take it anyway. 

That's it! See ya next month! 

Turtle and Gus: Month Six

I have a crawling six month old and a ballerina mimicking two year old.

It's always so interesting to see how quickly things can change in the course of a month. Just last month there were still so many things about Adam that seemed so baby, but here, thirty days later, he's sitting up without problems and crawling and learning separation anxiety and recognizing faces. He's knows what strangers are, and he's not super crazy about them. He has distinctly learned that I am his source of nourishment and will not be soothed by any one but me when hunger strikes. It's wonderful and highly inconvenient... but hey, motherhood in a nutshell.

Ella is blossoming into a little girl faster than I'm comfortable with it happening. I think this is the part that people look back on and say "When did I blink?" She's got her letters, numbers, colors, shapes, and animals all figured out. I'm not sure what else to teach her at this point. She loves to read, and rambles to herself with her nose in a book all day long. She's not big on talking, but she's an excellent communicator. Well, I should rephrase that sentence. The child rambles on about something constantly, but it's gibberish and cannot be deciphered, despite my best efforts. However, she signs almost constantly. Swing, slide, eat, juice, more, milk, please, park, bath, snack... The list goes on and on. Why would she need to use words? Between signing and pointing, she's got it pretty easy. There are times, of course, that she grows super frustrated because she signs or tries to say something that I don't understand, so as I stare blankly, she does it over and over until she finally cries. After 2 years and thirty different options, she's settled on calling my Daddy "Paw" and my Mom "Money." I think she'll eventually transition to Nani, but Money is the best and hysterical, so it can stay. She's mischief in its grandest form. Sometimes I honestly feel bad for the child because I feel like she's always in trouble. I get so tired of hearing myself say no that sometimes I feel like I'm a prime candidate for internal combustion.  It's a hard line to walk when you're trying to encourage creativity and boundaries without breaking a spirit when they misstep. So often, I have to stop myself and say, "Will I still be mad about this tomorrow?" Sometimes those answers are obvious. Dumping a cherry lime on my couch? Still mad. Throwing toys down the stairs? Probably not something to blow a gasket over. Staying awake until after Midnight and singing various nursery rhymes, then waking up at 6:45 and refusing to go back to sleep? Still mad. Fit because I won't allow her to eat anymore tomatoes? Probably not mad. There's a balance. But if I put her in time out every time the child frustrated me, she would actually live in timeout. This child. This sweet, wonderful, curious, frustrating, serendipitous baby... She is going to be the reason I invest in some sort of wine company. I'll need some of my money back. The funniest part is that she's probably so similar to me that we just clash. We're too alike. Too many of the same ticks and quirks. Maybe throw in 2 or 3 of the qualities about my husband that occasionally make me say "I AM MOVING TO THE CARRIBEAN AND NO ONE ELSE CAN COME!" And you have Ella. It feels wrong to say that she got a few of my worst qualities (little to zero regard for clutter, frustration when we can't convey our thoughts, screaming one word repeatedly until we're acknowledged, staying up entirely too late because we can't shut our minds down) and a few of Cody's worst qualities (a weird obsession with everything having a "house," the ability to tune all humans completely out, and waking with the sunlight.) Do you see a few things that clash? How could she make so much clutter, but obsess over all of the little toys she has that fit inside an ice cube tray slot? How can she stay up so late and wake with the dawn? How can she demand attention, yet ignore my exasperated pleas for her attention? Ella. Beautiful Ella. Beautiful mess. I'm so crazy about her. Her favorite "attention grabber" is saying "Hi!" Over and over. Gradually getting louder, then when i finally explode and say "ELLA STOP SCREAMING AT ME!" I have to stop and laugh. How can I yell at her for yelling? This is just life as we know it lately. She makes me cry a lot. I mean, I sit on the stairs and cry. And then I pick her up, and kiss her head, sit with her as long as she'll let me. Because frustrate me though she may, I see a fire in that girl that I love. It's a very cliche and over used word today, but the girl is fierce. And I want her to stay that way. So I'll fight for balance and order the best I can, but I'm already so proud of the fireball we're raising. I wouldn't be surprised at all to find her laying in protest in front of some historic landmark that the City is trying to tear down some day. Passion. The world is so lacking in passionate people these days. I'll do my best to raise one... even if she kills me in the process. She can dedicate her Nobel Peace Award to me.

Then there's Adam. The apple of my eye. The joy of my heart. If my children were a traveling dance troupe, they would be Fire and Ice. He's so chill. Every minute of every day. In the heat of the world wars going on around him (Mom VS. Ella), the child grins and coos and plays in the floor. He's not quite as independent as she was, but I'm 110% okay with it. So often, I find myself pondering if I could have another baby, because this child is the one I've been waiting for. He's like the hand of midas when it comes to children. Everything he does is precious, or heart melting, or so heartwarming to me. I don't know if it's because he's the second baby and I'm more chill... or maybe it's because he's a boy, and mothers share that bond with their boys... or if it's just his personality. Either way, he's wonderful. Never in all of my two years of parenting Ella have I ever thought "I could totally grocery shop with this kid!" Because she. is. crazy. and I would stress eat a package of cookies, or casually sip a bottle of moscato while we shopped to cope with the pain. Not this dude. I can easily throw him in the carseat and take on the world. He smiles at strangers and wins us all kinds of free things. Since he's so huge, waitresses almost always offer him free dessert, which I happily take off of his hands, because in a way, he'll still get to enjoy it... just a little bit later. And while we're on it, I'm thrilled, practically exuberant, to announce that Adam Jace was exclusively breastfed for the first six months of his life. Ella was mostly exclusively breastfed, but we offered her cereal at 4 months and baby food at five months. She wasn't consistent with either... maybe a package of food every three days and cereal once a week. It really shouldn't even matter, but I wanted to clarify the little things. Regardless, at six months of age, Adam has no idea that anything else in this world exists besides his favorite Mother's milk. I know it's probably super weird and uncomfortable for some of you to read, but it's really precious and wonderful to me. My body has been so good to me. It's tattered and scarred and stretched, but it's provided me with two years of sacrifice. And with Ella, breastfeeding felt like sacrifice. Not my Adam. It's the bond and beauty that I always read about. It makes my heart break a little bit to know that we've come to the end of the road that involves me being his only source of nourishment. I don't love that part, but I'm SO proud of the fact that we made it all six months. And let me tell you something. I've been obnoxious about breastfeeding. Maybe even judgmental. So I just want to say that lately it has become so super apparent to me that sometimes life just throws us some really disturbing curveballs. I've seen friends fight to the bitter end, and finally, for the sake of sanity and not ending up in the crazy house, they switch to formula. And now, more than ever, I give them a high five. So much of motherhood is out of our control. I have been blessed with two great breastfeeding experiences. My body was faithful to me and took care of my kids, and I never want to take that for granted. I have two exceptionally healthy kids (minus this ear infection kick that Ella's been on lately.) I am so grateful for that, and I'm so grateful that I was able to breastfeed these babies. But I no longer look down from my high horse on people that formula feed. UNLESS you just do it automatically without even considering breastfeeding... Then I'll raise my eyebrow before I change the subject. Back to Adam... He is the breath of fresh air I needed. Sometime I'll come downstairs after the nightly bedtime fight with Ella, and he'll see me and cry to be held. I pick him up, say something along the lines of "WHAT, WHINEY CHILD?!" And he grins. And lays his head on my shoulder, sighs, and stays there for while. Almost to say "Here, let's do something about that blood pressure!" And I almost instantly calm down and spend the rest of my night there loving on him. I've been going through some things lately, mostly being sad that this is likely my last baby experience and it's all moving so quickly that I feel like I'm not soaking it in enough. So you can bet your bottom dollar that I'll love on that baby until the morning dawn, if he asks. In other (sadder) news, Adam is crawling now. And it's the nightmare I was expecting. The great thing about Ella being a little Mama is that she's quick to tell me if Adam is "disobeying." If he crawls off of his blanket or leaves the living room, she quickly sounds the alarm. If he finds something to chew on that she disapproves of, I know instantly. And God forbid that he find one of HER toys. Be near, Lord. But the bad side of that is that Ella likes to help me out with mothering, and that includes offering goldfish, trying to hold him, and sitting on him to make him stay put. We're seeing our first peek of sibling fights, and they're hysterical to me, but you can see visible frustrations on both kid's faces. I've heard myself say "Ella! Who is the Mama?" countless times, to hear "You Mama" in return countless times... but obviously I'm not conveying this message clear enough.

I think that wraps us up! We are thriving in an environment with a two year old that has discovered that she LOVES to sing, and she never stops. We have a six month old that loves to laugh, and I mean really loves to laugh. All we have to do is look at him with our eyebrows raised and he chuckles. I'm reprimanded each month for the excessive shopping I do for boy clothes. It is a sickness. Cody even said that he's so glad we didn't have two boys. I love the challenge of finding boy clothes that don't say "Daddy's Big Guy!" or "Mommy's Sweet Baby Angel." Corniest. I can't stand it. So I spend a lot of time in Baby Gap and H&M (online.) To my detriment. But hey, at least I don't have that sickness with Ella! I leave that to my Mom, or my friend Holly, whom loves to bestow us with adorable girl outfits that I'm too cheap to invest in. Amen.

One more boring month before the Holiday season embarks, and I AM PUMPED. Adam already has two Halloween outfits and two Thanksgiving onesies. I truly am doomed. Here's his 6 month picture and one with his Mother... I mean, sister! Can we just discuss that they are the same child? He is so huge!