Begin Again

 This year, as we are all aware, has been one unlike any other.  That sounds so cliche because every year is different, but with an on-going pandemic still taunting our lives, there have been so many events we have never faced before.

The school year is no different.  In-person learning, locally, ended abruptly in March right about the time that I came down with covid-19.   The week I awaited my test results and gradually became sicker, we attempted the distance learning model at home.  When I became so sick I could hardly breathe sitting still, let alone walk around the apartment or deal with school work, we quit for multiple weeks.  

The children never went back to their classrooms again, not even to pick up school supplies.  Everything was handled outside the school building.  Playgrounds and parks were closed.  Swimming pools never opened.  The summer was also, one we had never experienced before.  As I have still been dealing with lasting effects of a six week fever from covid-19 and subsequent pneumonia, then a break and two weeks fighting off bronchitis, I have worked very little at my job, and we have been at home more than we have since I was a stay-at-home-mom six years ago.

What simultaneously seemed like suddenly and also ages later, the school year approached.  

Locally, the decision was made for the kiddos at our elementary school to have two separate first days, divided alphabetically.  That meant that my littles had their first day back inside the school building this past Friday.

They had been excited, nervous, anxious, and occasionally dreaded going back.  There were so many changes happening this year.  Masks are expected for students and faculty, and although not mandatory, we are told that if your child doesn’t wear a mask, they’ll be repeatedly asked to put one on, questioned, and parents may be contacted.  (Side note: this is not a mask debate, so please do not start one.). Each of my children’s classes will be eating lunch in their classrooms this year.  The playground has been divided into sections, and none of the classrooms in each grade level are permitted to play together during recess.  Visitors are restricted.  The sick policy is very stringent... so forth and so on.

So, when we prepared for school to begin, there was a lot to process.  Truthfully, having survived the virus, although it’s still causing me issues, my children and I have looked the potential fatality of it straight in the face and come out the other side, so I haven’t felt worried or anxious about sending my children to school. I know the risks involved, and I’ve heard all sides of the debates going on.  It was the right choice for my family for my children to return to school.

The first day of school for my children was riddled with initial excitement, some grumpiness, a little rain, a little sunshine, typical first day photos, and a fun new addition in that they were able to take a photo with their future step-sister, who also started the same day, and is now going to the same school they are.  As we walked to the school, knowing that unlike years past, we could not wait together on the playground, and children could not play on the playground before school, their nerves started rising slightly.  As we approached the doors they will enter this year and pulled up their masks over their noses, both boys hugged me and walked in with slight-to-no-hesitation.  Their sister was a different story.  She cried and clung to momma as hard as she could, eventually taking the hand of a friend and going inside.

I cried as I walked away.  It was not tears of fear or anxiety.  It was tears of letting go, tears of change, tears of momma-hood.

I was fortunate to pick them up for daycare myself, and each ran out of the school with a smile.  We talked about the days and they all reported that the first day was good.  The only complaint came from the middle kiddo.  There’s a nut allergy in his classroom and because they are eating inside the classroom, this year he cannot have peanut butter or Nutella, which is his favorite sandwich combination.  After researching and connecting with the proper faculty, we decided on Wow-butter and jelly as an alternative.  I sampled it and thought it tasted nearly identical.  I did not tell him about the swap because I was sure that if I did he wouldn’t give the sandwich a chance.

The report, his day was “good but there was something wrong with the sandwich at lunch.”  He took two bites and declared that to his classroom.  I tried it again today with more jelly.  We shall see what the report is.  He knows the science behind acquiring a taste for new foods, because he’s told me all about it before.  Somehow, the boys seem to think that it doesn’t apply to them personally however.  

Today was the second day of school.  Due to a light work schedule this week, I am able to walk them to their doors again.  This morning went more breezily, and there were less tears from the little miss.  There was more sunshine in the sky and less supplies in the backpacks.  There were still masks on the faces, but bigger smiles in the eyes.  Hopefully, there will be less wow-butter sandwich left in the box.

I am okay.

I am okay now.

It took me quite a while to get here, though.

If you aren’t my friend on Facebook, you might not know, but on March 31, I was sent home to isolate from the world.  I had ended up in the emergency room after helping my three littles with their distance learning, after the schools all shut down.  I thought there was a possibility I was going to have a heart attack. 

I had to test for Covid-19, which at the time, seemed crazy to me.  After the test, I was sent home to wait on the results.  They told me in approximately 3-5 days, I should know, and best case scenario was that I did not test positive and I could go back to “regular” life when that result came.

I had no idea how sick I was going to be.  I barely had a cough at that time, and my temperature was 100.1 and I had no idea.  I felt fine, nothing unusual from the colds I so often seem to get.

As the week went on, I slowly started feeling more yucky, and like I had bronchitis or something.  I was sure it was not coronavirus.  I hardly left the house and did as much as I thought I could to prevent possibly catching it.

I tested positive for Covid-19.  I received the phone call that Friday.

By then, I was surprised, but also not surprised.  By that point, I definitely didn’t feel well.

I spent the next EIGHT WEEKS battling Covid-19, and then pneumonia as a result of it.  I am still battling a cough, though every day it’s less and less frequent and forceful.  

Those eight weeks are both a blur but also burned into my soul.

I am not going to get into all of the physical symptoms I dealt with, although there were multiple days and nights I was unsure if I was going to be able to battle it at home.  

On June 1, the children and I were finally released from our isolation.  While this was an extremely joyous and welcome release, it turns out, it was also the trigger for emotional and mental turmoil I did not realize I was suffering from.  

It was this really weird feeling like the world had collectively been through this pandemic, all sorts of changes and restrictions, and world being turned upside down and closed off for weeks. I knew and understood it but did not relate. Similarly, I had been through the pandemic but personally through an intense period of illness, breathlessness, struggle internally and externally, feeling like a failure as a mom unable to care for my kids as I knew I should, trying to balance my fear of them getting sick if I was around them with the fear of their hearts being sick if I wasn't around them, being isolated with no one to call on physically for assistance in the home, solitude and feeling like my struggles were unrelatable. I was part of the world but displaced from it. Being released felt like being let loose into a place I no longer really fit into or understood.  It also timed perfectly that my "release" occured at the moment the country was quite literally on fire with civil unrest and I did not know how to process it. 

Finally, I was going to be able to go back to work, the job I’ve had for five years, a job I LOVE, with people I LOVE.  

But as soon as I saw my name on the work schedule, my heart started racing and I felt sick to my stomach.  I wanted to be there, so it did not make sense to me that I would be having this physical aversion.  The thoughts started swirling and tears started falling as I realized all the ways things have changed there- children in new rooms, different staff, new policies, art taken off the walls, and new paint.  They all sound so trivial.  I told myself it was just me overthinking things. 

I went to work on Monday.  As soon as we walked to the door, the kids pointed out a poster on the wall talking all about Covid-19 and instantly a wall went up around my soul.  I could hardly make eye contact with my dearest coworker, who I trust with everything.  She’s seen me through so many traumas and heartaches, trials, tribulations, breakthroughs, and joy in five years.  But I could hardly form words.  

I just kept telling myself I did NOT want to cry.  I am a crier, as much as I hate it, and I was doing everything, consciously and subconsciously, to avoid tears.   I went to the grocery store and was completely overwhelmed when I couldn’t find the apples from where I was standing and all of the weird dots and arrows on the floor did not make sense in my mind for any route I would have taken under normal circumstances.  By Tuesday night, I realized the self-sabotage of that wall, and fought off so many negative thoughts toward myself of stupidity and embarrassment.  

Throughout the week following being at work, I realized just how messy my spirit was feeling.  I spoke and wrote the words to more than one person that “my faith is okay, but my mind is a mess.”  I knew that God would see me through this next leg of the journey, but at any given moment, I just didn’t feel okay.

I tried to trivialize it within myself.  I told myself I didn’t have it THAT bad with Covid-19 and pneumonia.  I never did end up in the hospital on a ventilator.  I played down the severity and refused to use the word “trauma” to describe my situation.  I was just sick, and I had been sick before.

The more I thought about it, and the more my emotions kept creeping up (no matter how hard I tried to push them down), I was able to begin to put them to words.  A few close friends suggested possible things like PTSD related symptoms or moral trauma.  They were able to pinpoint emotions and things I had taken on before I even could.  They were able to point out so many ways my heart and spirit were injured or affected by the two long months.  They were spot on and I could not argue, just embrace the insight being given to me.

I am broken.  I am hurting.

But I am okay.  

I am broken BUT I AM HEALED. I am hurting BUT I AM COMFORTED.

All at the same time.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, how Jesus makes it possible to be both.   We are earth-side but we are eternal.  He understands and sees our pain but he counters it with his life.

Last night, I expressed to my friend that I was unsure I was brave enough to go to my actual, physical church building and experience the service live today.  She asked if it was fear.

I realized it was.

So I asked what God could give me to replace the fear I was trying so hard to give up to Him.

I heard the word “assurance.”  I did a quick google search for that word in the Bible and the verse that struck me was 2 Chronicles 20:17 “You won’t have to lift a hand in this battle; just stand firm, Judah and Jerusalem, and watch God’s saving work for you take shape. Don’t be afraid, don’t waver. March out boldly tomorrow- God is with you.”

This morning, I woke up, and immediately my heart was racing.  I was feeling anxious.  

I put on my best “brave” which felt so weak and uncertain, and drove to church. I sat in the parking lot, feeling overwhelmed.   

I remembered the verse and I went in.

I was embraced by a hug and instantly started crying.  I received another hug and was holding my composure fairly well, and went to sit down.  I felt like I was going to burst at the seams so I left and came back again.  Then I sat there, just trying to breathe through all of the anxiousness I was feeling. I didn’t want to cough, even though I know I’m not contagious anymore according to the Department of Health, but I did not want to scare anyone.  I did not know if I was sitting too close to people.  I knew if I started crying I would start coughing and did not want to make a scene or stress anyone out.

Well, as God would have it, I cried all the way through worship. 

Then the message was about overcoming- the first half was about the healing of one’s mind.

I realized that God had led me to where I needed to be.  No, He pushed me where I needed to be, into uncomfortable waters, so he could calm and restore.  

After the service, I let him pull me forward for personal prayer.  Step-by-step, my trusted friend led me through breaking off so many layers of chains that had wrapped around my spirit.   When I couldn’t think of words, she helped me.  I tore off guilt, shame, fear, anxiousness, unworthiness, loneliness, and so, so much more.  

I don’t remember each layer.

I remember there were many.  I remember I shook and I sobbed and I told her how I felt like I had been imprisoned in my home, and felt burdened like I was wrapped in chain mail.  And now that I was “free” I felt out of place where the freedom was being given back to me.  Where I first felt imprisioned and alone, I had begun to find my “comfort,” and the freedom overwhelmed every part of me. 

When the breaking off was done, the filling began, and I remembered who I really am. I could see her again.  I am okay.  The healing has begun.  I feel better.

She hugged me, and I was not afraid or nervous for the first time in two months.  I realized that even though I had been given hugs from my children, and then a few after being let out of my apartment, they were always tainted with the fear of harming others or making them sick.   They were tinged with the fear of  “death.”  

This hug was not like that.  This hug was filled with hope and life.

And I was able to walk out of that sanctuary without the weight of the world on my shoulders.  I had a real smile.  I was able to make eye contact with people who loved me.  I received more hugs.  I cried good, healing, releasing tears.

I did not get a chance to talk to everyone who prayed for me or loved me through these months, and I was feeling a little overwhelmed again, not negatively this time, but just in the way that I had been through a whirlwind and I was getting tired.  

I had to go back to the grocery store before coming home.  I walked in and I felt okay.  I did not cry.  

I came home and prayed again.  I turned church back on, and continue to listen to the message again as I write this story.  

God has me.

I’ve known it all along.

But I kicked that wall down this morning and I now I feel it.

I know, realistically, there are still triggers out there I am going to face.  I know that there may be struggles.  I know that I am human and I may falter and stumble still.  I know that the enemy is going to continue his pursuit of me.

I’m thankful though, that today, I can see more clearly.  I am thankful that I am comfortable again with being honest and open about how I really am.  I am so thankful that God pushed me where I needed to be today, despite myself, so I could be embraced by His love, through His words to me, and through those He placed beside me who love me. 

I pray that as I continue to face these triggers or thoughts and memories that may come along, I’ll have the strength and openness to keep that wall broken down.

I am finally able to say that this experience was a trauma.  I say it without quotations marks to downplay it.  It was a trauma.

However, if there’s one thing that God has shown me, through worship, church, and others alongside my journey, is that I am an overcomer.  He and I will overcome this, too.

There they go.

Today was a big day in our household.   Everyone woke early with all sorts of nervous, excited anticipation of what was to come- the very first day of school, where all three siblings would be in the same elementary school.  They'll continue on there for a few more years together, but this year, the oldest is a 3rd grader, the middle is a 1st grader, and the youngest started kindergarten.

I woke early and began praying over my babies before their eyes ever opened.  Last night was rough for Norah, as she laid her head on her pillow, she started crying. I asked why and she gave me a reason, but I didn't think it was the real reason, so I asked if she was nervous for school.  She shook her head yes and began crying, unleashing all of her worries and fears.  She had been putting up a brave face for a while, and it was good, although almost unbearable to walk through, the flood gates opening wide.  I prayed overnight that she would be filled with peace in the morning.

Each of my babies put on their first day of school clothing in a hurry, and sat at the table, full of giggles and smiles as I finished preparing for the day.  We then headed out front for our annual first day photos.  We had time to spare, so little miss asked if we could go to daycare and she could surprise her best friend (my coworker) before school, like we have visited her for almost every day for five years.  She was so excited to open the door and jump through and give her hugs before school started.  Then, we met up with their dad who gave them his well wishes on his way to work, and off we went to find a parking spot fairly close to the school.  We managed to be only about two blocks away.



The walk, as it was two years ago, and three years ago, was pretty quiet.  The children shuffled along in a line at first, and then two in front, and then three all together, as we neared the school.   When we were about a block away, big brother bear Spencer insisted he hold his little sister's hand the rest of the way.

We got to the playground and, as usual, it was filled with all sorts of excited and nervous energy, happy laughter, tearful smiles, and people all over the place.  Collin immediately found his class line and some friends, and we almost had to beg him for a hug each before he told us to have a good day and went off on his own.  Norah and I walked Spencer to his line and hugged him, before she transferred her hand from his to mine.  She hadn't said much yet, so I asked if she was excited and she gave a quiet "yes" while looking shocked at the amount of people around her.  Eventually, she spotted some of the kids she has spent most of her life with at daycare, and hugged them, finally excited for the day to come.

We found her line and stood together, and I asked if we could take a picture together.  She said yes, and we both smiled at the phone.  As soon as I had the photo taken, she turned to hug me, and the bell rang.  Lines started moving inside, and she began to cry.  She was scared, she was nervous, and she was afraid she would miss me all day.  She didn't know if she could do it.  I held her close and reminded her she's brave and that she would see me in a few hours.  I nearly had to peel her off of my torso, before she released enough to be just holding my hand, and I walked her as far as I could to the door.

As she went inside, I realized I was crying, too.

I cried on the way to work.  I calmed myself enough to go inside.

Then her best friend asked me if we made it through okay.  I said yes, but my voice was already crying. 

I was okay for three hours before I cried again.

The hardest part was that I couldn't just hear her voice, text her teacher upstairs to check on her, or walk there myself.  I knew I wouldn't just randomly see her in the hallway.  She was far away with a teacher I don't really know, for the first time ever.  Almost five years in the same building is a hard tradition to break.

I received a text from a friend who works at the school, saying she saw Miss Norah and she was doing amazing.   I felt so much better.

Both Spencer and Norah visited me at work briefly after school and said they had great days.  At the end of the day, Collin reported the same.  I was also told that Norah was so kind at school that there was another little girl crying at recess because she missed her mom so much, and Norah helped her to feel better.  My heart about burst.

I knew it was going to be okay.  I knew what I told myself the other night- it was time to let her go and spread her light, her love, and her joy at the school.

Tonight, as I sit here, all three sound asleep within minutes after a long and overwhelming day, and I am filled with anticipation at hearing what will come of their lives, all in the elementary school, shining their light.  I pray that they will make the world a better, brighter place.  I let them all go.    I have tears on my face as I realize the younger years are done, the baby days will never be back, and their journeys are well underway. I pray I've done well in preparing them.

I know they'll make me proud.

I know it's time...

Tonight, my slightly dramatic Momma heart is aching.  Tonight, I sit in quiet living room, my mind whirling as I prepare for bed, exhausted and tired, but not quite wanting to go to sleep.  I would like to postpone the hours of the day just a little big longer in hopes to prevent tomorrow from coming too soon.

Tomorrow is another milestone in our little family.  Tomorrow is the end of a chapter in our lives, one that's been almost five years in the making, that's somehow arrived at a close way too soon.

Tomorrow is my little girl's last day of full-time daycare before she goes off to elementary school.

It's funny to me that I'm so emotional about this.  Both of her older brothers have come and gone from the daycare rooms already.  Her oldest brother has been gone for almost as many years as she has been there.  I don't know if it's harder just because she's the youngest, or more likely, harder because she's been there longest.

Daycare has been a huge part of my life story with this beautiful girl.  

Her first day of daycare

She, the boys, and I all started daycare together on December 8, 2014.  She was 8 months old, and the other two were a toddler and a preschooler.  We ended up at our daycare by a sheer act of God, where I was able to be employed and there was room for all three of them to be there with me in the building while I worked.   It was a huge blessing in a very dark and chaotic time in our lives.  

Nearly every single day since, Norah and I have gone to daycare together.  The boys were with us too, for a while, but they both eventually left us behind, and the last two years, it was just the two of us.  My baby girl has spent the majority of her life at this daycare, with many of the same staff throughout the years, and a lot of the same children growing up alongside her.  It's been a huge constant in our lives.  It's so familiar.  She radiates joy throughout the halls, and I love bringing her with me every day to stop in and say hello to her "best friend," a momma-like figure in her life, her first daycare teacher, and my dear friend.  Every day she comes in for a hug, gets the lowdown on the lunch for the day, and bounces out the door calling out "I love you!" before we make our way to her classroom.

Tomorrow is the last day for that daily tradition (except for school breaks, which seem so far away right now).  Soon, I'll just be coming through that door all alone.  As I write this, it seems like an echoing memory that hasn't even had a chance to actually develop yet.

I've loved the security of having a job and also knowing my babies were safe within the same walls with people I've trusted and known were loving them all day.  It's been so hard to let each of the boys go.  This one just feels a little harder.  My dramatic side already worries that the halls will seem a little colder and the days a little lonelier knowing that all of my children will be down the street for most of their days from here on out.

Yet, I know it's time.

It's time to let go.

It's time to see her grow.

A few weekends ago at church, we were asked to take a moment to listen and hear what we thought God was wanting to tell us, and write it down.

The only thing I heard was, "You are raising light."

It made sense.  "We are the lights" is a lyric to one of our favorite songs (by Cade Thompson), our wi-fi network is "Be a light," and I get "light" songs stuck in my head frequently.  But this was a little different, which I didn't really grasp until tonight as I kissed them all to sleep and left the room.

Photo Credit: Seize the Day Photography and Video

I am raising light.  I have been doing the best I can to raise them to be bright, positive influences on the world, before I let them all go out on their own.  The boys have already entered the school.  Now, she will.  Now it's her turn to bring light, sunshine, joy, and love to the world outside the walls who already know her for those exact reasons.  She's ready to join her big brothers, and I pray that together, they're able to spread joy, love, laughter, kindness, and Jesus to those around them in their personalities, words, and actions.

I know it's time...

Even if I don't want to let her go.

Just a Little Different this Year

Christmas is here, again!  Can you believe it?

It's been another long year of ups and downs, triumphs, setbacks, and trying to give glory to God amidst it all.

This year was so much like the past few years, in that we found ourselves showered with love and blessings in many shapes and forms, from hugs, to being welcomed into homes, to spending time with family and friends, to being given gifts without any expectation.

We continued with the traditions we have been developing over the last four years.  We made some gifts, we bought some gifts.  We spent a Christmas weekend with my family back home.  We dressed up (well, this year I wore jeggings and not a skirt which was a bit different than usual, but we were crunched for time) and went to the candlelight church service.  This year, my children all sang "Silent Night" loudly, and I had the biggest grin on my face throughout the entire song.

We spent Christmas Eve with the children's aunt and uncle, having pizza and breadsticks and exchanging gifts.  We all were given new Christmas pajamas to come home to, and I stayed up too late doing the last gift wrapping duties. 

There was one gift for each child wrapped in brown paper, blessings from "Santa," just like years past, because I've wanted the kids to know each year that there are so many people out there who love them deeply and want to bless them with items that they chose especially for each of them, that we don't "need" much from Santa so I've asked him to be simple. The brown paper is to help take the focus and glamor off of Santa and more on the abundance of blessings and love from others. (In no way is that supposed to be condescending to anyone else and how they approach the Santa issue, that's just how I've decided to do it.)  And when it's all said and done, their aunt plays the role of Santa anyway.

The children let me stay in bed until I was light outside, then we took a few photos, and had our gift opening marathon.  We spent the afternoon at our dear family friends' home, enjoying homemade Mexican food, conversation, laughter, and gifts.  We came home to unwind, and here I sit, reflecting.  Some things are better left unchanged.

But, this Christmas was different in some ways too.

For example, this year, as years past, I set it in my mind that I should probably grab a couple small gifts for myself to wrap up and stick underneath our tree.  However, this year, I took my daughter, who is now four (and a half, mind you), along the day I happened to find a small item I thought "they" would like to give me.  I decided to run the idea by her, which resulted in a strong counterargument.

"But, Momma, we didn't get it for you.  We didn't go shopping.  We didn't buy it."

"I know, but I can wrap it up and pretend that you did.  I will act surprised, for your brothers..."

"But I will know that you got it and that we didn't."

Good grief.  This is the same little girl who used the exact same argument for her fourth birthday, where she chose her own gifts, we locked them in the back of the van, and she had to wait two weeks to open them.   "I'll act surprised so my brothers don't know," was her exact argument.

Well, I bought the cup anyway.  And before all the commotion started, I enjoyed a quiet cup of coffee on the floor by the tree this morning.  This year, we've past that era.

This year, as in years past, there was one big expensive item that was requested.  It was actually the same item that my oldest son requested last year, but he never received.  This year, his siblings knew what it was and joined in on thinking it would be a good item to have.

In past years, if there was something that was out of my budget, they either wouldn't receive it, or it might come from someone outside our apartment walls.  While I have always been grateful from the depths of my core for generosity and kindness, as humbling and overwhelming as it is to accept sometimes, there's always been this small sliver of sadness inside of me that I couldn't always provide their most expensive, popular culture type items myself.  I always knew it wasn't failure on my part, because I've been working full time and trying hard for years now, but still, I often wished I could just do everything on my own.

This year, out of unexpected urging from a friend, I started baking macarons for other people.  In an absolutely surprising request, I was able to bake a few hundred macarons, which helped me with bills, also was the provision for the item my children had wanted that I never imagined I would be able to give them.

This evening, after all the hustle and bustle was done, I revealed that the one gift on the couch labeled for me was really for all of us, and the joy in my oldest son's face after I explained that I had worked very hard to get this gift for them, and that was how much I loved them, showed me that it was a choice worth making.  They knew I had been working hard at all that baking for other people, and he knew how expensive the gift was.  It was then that he realized what I was saying, and he ran across the room to hug me, and hug me, and hug me.  He had tears when he finally backed away.

This year, that was different and it was a huge milestone and accomplishment for me, and the meaning behind it was perfectly timed for my oldest son especially.  I believe it's a Christmas he will always remember.

This year, you see, he and I have been struggling a while.  He's eight now, and his intelligence and language are great enough that he is becoming more adept at expressing his feelings verbally.  But, for the past few months, he just... hadn't been.  He had been quiet and quite speechless most of the time, especially for me.  Recently, we had a breakthrough, and those language skills came to the surface, where he admitted his deep heartache and sorrow at the continued absence of his father.

I know, it's still about that.  I've received a few comments in the past about so much of our lives and our story being about that.  And, truthfully, it is going to be about that quite a bit of the time until there is some sort of resolve or healing (or both) for my children.  We pray it through as we wait.

Anyway, this year... he admitted that he's angry with me.  He's angry with me for divorcing his dad.  We have had lengthy discussions about it since he expressed himself, and it has made me realize that's why he doesn't speak to me much and is so withdrawn sometimes.

But, the great news is that because it is in the open, this year, we are going to be able to work through it, and he can join me on the healing side of the path.

But on that topic, this year... this year I didn't even miss their dad on Christmas morning.  I feel so conflicted saying that, but it is the truth.  Most Christmas mornings, I wish he was here to see the joy and hear the laughter in the room around us.  This year, I didn't even think about him until this evening at bedtime, when we said bedtime prayers, and I realized that in my blissful ignorance, my children had probably missed him silently all day long.

This year, I forgot to make a birthday cake or cupcakes for Jesus like we have the past few years.  My children forgot, too, so I'm in the clear.  Hopefully, next year, we will remember.

This year was a good Christmas, just like the years past.

It was just a little different this year.

And off they went

Today was another milestone day in our little family's journey. Today was another first day of school.  Today, my oldest son started first grade.  Today, my younger son started kindergarten.

It was a day we had been anticipating for months, after making the decision to register for kindergarten.  That decision in itself was harder than accompanying the boys to school today, because my new kindergartener's birthday was cut-off day.  He attended a couple different pre-kindergarten schooling adventures prior, and both sets of teachers said they thought he was ready, so I registered him and  we began talking and planning for the big day to arrive.

Today was that big day.

This morning began like many others, only it was prefaced with a night of very little sleep for the younger boy, I suspect as he was filled with anxious excitement following a long, busy weekend with extended family.  I woke the children with my special "good morning" song, and dressed them in the outfits they decided on the night before (which isn't always how we do things, but for big days, we plan ahead).  We had a light breakfast and then excitedly hurried out the door for first day photos.

The most emotional one this morning was their little sister, who has been heartbroken for days at the realization that she would not be able to attend kindergarten this year OR next year.  She really, really really, really, really, really wants to go.  She says so herself.  I've tried to explain how awesome it will be to have momma all to herself if I don't have to work some mornings while the boys are at school, but so far... she's not sold.




To keep her in good spirits, or at least the best possible spirits, we decided that we would all accompany her into daycare this morning, so she wouldn't have to watch the boys leave her, rather, they hugged her goodbye, told her they loved her, and hoped she had a good day.

The boys and I then made the short trek to the elementary school.  We arrived early, which was my plan, so that they could play on the playground a bit and get out any nervous energy left over.  We took some photos together, and some of them individually.  When the bell was about to ring, we went searching for their class lines, and I left my oldest with his class and walked the younger to his.  I stood beside him, talking him through the process of the bell ringing, and how when they started to walk into the school, I would not be able to go with him.  He was very calm about it all, and then I ran back to his brother... twice.... to surprise hug him and tell him I was proud of and excited for him.  When the bell rang, the kindergarten class went in first, and Collin turned around, smiled, and waved at me as his class went inside.  As soon as I could no longer see him, I ran once more to Spencer, for one last hug, and watched him smiling and waving as he too went into the school.


And just like that, off they went.

Their days were filled with excitement and some frustration.  First grade was reportedly the most awesome and the teacher was top notch, so says my son.  Kindergarten was a bit of a struggle, but knowing that my kindergartener was literally the youngest in the class and the youngest one could be to be in school that year prepared me for that report.  When I asked him how school was, he reported it was good, and he liked his teacher, and yes, he did get in trouble a some times.  It's a learning curve, and I'm just going to pray he adjusts quickly (because I know he resists change and new authority), and that soon, his days will be as wonderful as his brother claims they are.  I would covet your prayers on the matter, too.

When we got home tonight, the little sister was overjoyed to see her brothers, and that they still all matched.  She asked if she could go to school tomorrow, but she didn't cry when we told her she still had two years to wait.