One Door Opens

Tonight, I opened a new door. I stepped through the threshold and forward into my new life as a single mom. I signed some papers, received the keys, and unlocked the door to our future, literally and figuratively.  

When I heard that door click, a tidal wave of emotions overcame me.  Up until this moment, I was filled mostly with excitement.  Signing that lease and acquiring the keys was a huge step in the right direction, and I know that.  But that click struck me so hard I thought I might be sick.

 

I have spent most of the last 5 days or so sorting through our belongings, packing, purging, and loading up the van to move.  Today, I brought the first boxes and bags into our new home.  Somehow, through the last weeks leading up to these days, I had thought I would remain fairly emotionless, because I knew it was a great step, and I knew it was a necessary step in moving forward with mine and my children's lives as they now are.  I was wrong.  What I thought was going to hold up a cold and calloused heart, in fact, was the opposite. 

 

I've been having flashbacks to last fall when my husband left us and his responsibility to his family, and we lost our home and were sent on this stressful spiraling journey.  Last fall, I had the help of a few close friends and a family member or two to help pack up an entire house, sort through and separate our belongings, and move us into a temporary space until I could find a job and get us on track to be self-sufficient.  It was a dreadful, heart-shattering feeling to walk through, not knowing what the future held for my marriage- a sliver of hope that it could be reconciled and mended and my family would be whole again someday was present at the time.  I was kind of an emotional trainwreck at the time.

 

This time it's different.  I've been basically the only person in the apartment able to do any of the packing activities, loading up the van and such, so it's been a lonely few days, and therefore I've been isolated with my emotions.  I have found a few things of his or ours that somehow ended up here, and I thought I would just want to throw them out, but discovering them was paralytic initially and I couldn't even touch the boxes. The box of photographs from our years together was especially difficult to pick up and move.  But, for now, until I'm ready to share them with our children, when I am better able to explain to them what has happened to our family, I will bury them in a closet somewhere.  At least I will be better equipped to find them again.

 

I am excited about this new home, a real home, not a transitional one with tons of rules and the isolation that comes with their visitor policy.  I'm excited to be able to open my blinds and let some sunlight in, or open the windows and breathe the fresh air. 

But, this move is different.  It is the first move that the children and I are making where I know that the hope of our reunited family has been tossed to the wind.  I know that our family portrait we will eventually have on our wall will just be the four of us and never include their father.  I know that he has made his choices that have left my children basically abandoned by the man who wanted them so badly, and that is just how it is now.  It is brandished in my face with every box I move and every step I take.  My heart is very raw.

 

This move is different also, in that the children and I are surrounded with the hope of a brighter future.  We have all the love we need amongst the four of us, and we are enveloped in the love of so many others who have been supporting us along the way and making this entire move possible.  People we hardly know or do not know at all have been blessing us with love and prayers in ways I find hard to describe.  It's surreal that at the same time we can feel so discarded and worthless by one individual that we can feel overwhelmed with love by others.  It truly carries us through these transitions.  We were surrounded before by the love of close and trusted family and friends, but it was a much more private move.  This time, I broke down my own walls, and in response, have seen God here on earth in more ways that I dared to imagine.

 

So, today was a big day.  I've laughed and cried.  I've been terrified and excited.  I've been morose and joyful.  I've been defeated and overcome.  I'm sure the waves will continue for quite some time.  At least now I realize that my heart is as it always has been, not one of stone, and I'm better prepared to deal with the tides of emotions as they come.

 

In this current juncture, I have been quite humbled by the different forms generosity afforded to me and my children, in large ways and small, from the gift of a table to those who have spent time with my children.  Those who have known me well for years know that I am not one who enjoys receiving in this way, when it's always been on my heart to give and to help those I care about.  I've gone back and forth feeling ashamed and unworthy, to realizing that the tables are just turned for now and some day I'll be back on the other side of things, doing what I love to do by being that person for others.  I've still been there for others through it all, of course, but I feel like I haven't been as much as I would like to.  And having others there for me instead isn't an easy thing to embrace.  But, to all of those out there who have been there for us, thank you, eternally. 

Some Day, I'll Tell Them...

I apologize in advance if this jumps around a bit.

I've had a lot on my mind lately. Ever since a local girl lost her family in a tragic one-car accident, I can't get her off my mind.

I can't get family off my mind.

I can't get mortality off my mind.

The whole incident had weighed me down last week. Until Friday. I prayed for her again, and suddenly felt more hopeful for her future and coping and living life until she meets them again.

But the finality of death, the shortness of life... The fact that my dad is over 50 and my mom approaching 50 in the next year or so... The fact that my husband is 30, that I will be 30 in October... My siblings are in their twenties and teens... Spencer is 2... And Collin just turned 6 months... all of those things seem heavier to me somehow.

Life is so short. It could end minutes from now.

There are things I want to tell my sons someday. I want to tell them about how hard it was to have them, how badly we wanted them, how long and hard we waited and prayed.

How much they were loved before they even existed.

I tell them countless times a day, "I love you SO MUCH." I hope that soon enough they will comprehend what that means.

But not too soon. Life flies by too quickly. You don't see that fact coming until you've spent years on this earth.

I will tell them about their births, their childhoods.

I will tell them how hard their daddy worked so mommy could spend every day watching them grow and caring for them so a stranger didn't have to.

I will tell them about our financial crisis and how we were terrified every day that we may end up homeless.

I will tell them how we came out stronger. And how we were surrounded by love. Not only from our nuclear family of four, but by others... Family, friends, and strangers who cared.

I will tell them that they matter, not only to their parents, but to the world.

I will tell them that EVERYONE matters. Everyone deserves to be loved by somebody.

I hope that my time with them can show them that, too.

I will tell them how it was because if people loving is and helping us through that I was able to start a small business while being home with them. It started because I wanted to give them some homemade, beautiful things. And to share those things with a friend or two. And how the sharing, out of love and gratitude, produced the Spenk & Ollie line.

And, I will tell them that because of those things, in their honor, I... We... Have already been able to make a difference for other's lives. Not by product, necessarily, but by giving. Because, out of gratitude, and my constant desire to make the world better somehow, I have decided that a purpose for the business will be to help. In small ways now, maybe bigger someday, but to help.

To help a diabetic toddler and her family acquire a life saving Diabetes Alert Dog.

To help a homeless teenager and her 4 month-old have a place to call home, finally, for the next year.

While I... We... Didn't support these causes alone, I believe in my heart that every small gesture can lead to a big result, somehow.

I will tell them that we are a part if a bigger purpose. I will tell of how there is strength in numbers. I hope that they will be love warriors, and fight for what love can do to better the world.


I will tell them that love should always win.


God willing, I will tell them these things, and many more.

And, if by some tragedy I am unable, I hope that someone can tell them my words for me.

A Business Adventure

Being a small business owner wasn't in my plan for this year. It wasn't in my plan really... ever. I used to run a photography business with Jake. We did pretty well with it, but the act of competing and soliciting prospective clients was mentally exhausting. Then, I got pregnant with Spencer. We shot one wedding after that, and my focus was on our growing family.

It still is, really.

And that's kind of how this new adventure started.

It started when one of my best friends sent a pair of baby leggings in the mail for Collin, and I just thought they were excellent. He had been cutting his calves with his toenails, regardless of the fact that they were as short as could safely be clipped. With the leggings, it wasn't a problem. I wanted more, stat.

After some initial browsing, I thought to myself "I bet I could just make him some."

That was all I really intended. I wanted more leggings for Collin.

Okay, and a couple for a friend who is due with a baby girl very soon.

I made them. I was proud. I shared the photo of the gift leggings on Instagram and Facebook.

And, hours later, "Spenk & Ollie Creations" was born. Wednesday night, by the urging and excitement of some friends and family, I decided on a whim, really, to be a small business owner.

In less than 24 hours, I had 50 fans. I have sold over 10 pairs of leggings at my "Grand Opening."

I'm already learning. Fortunately, I have a few friends who are work at home moms/small business owners who are helping me tackle this project with advice, insight, and mentoring. I would be totally overwhelmed thinking about it if Jenn of Butterfly Designs, Carrie of Mud Butt Cloth Diapers, and Staci of Something Clicked Photography weren't already supporting, encouraging, and guiding me.

I find it a bit silly to say that, honestly, I have no expectations for this adventure. Maybe I will cute-ify ten pairs of baby legs and that will be the end. Maybe it will last years and I will send out hundreds of pairs.

The unknown is a bit scary, but exhilarating. I have already said to multiple people that I can't believe this happened.

If it ends tomorrow, I will be sad, sure. But, at least I got to try.

Assuming it doesn't end tomorrow, then in the next few weeks, I have some fun things planned.

It will be a learning adventure. But, I am excited to see what, if anything, develops.

Because I am typing this on a phone, I can't link to the text above. But, please head on over and show my mentoring friends some love by liking their pages.

Jenn - Butterfly Designs - http://www.facebook.com/ButterflyDesigns
Carrie - Mud Butt Cloth Diapers - http://www.facebook.com/MudButtClothDiapers
Staci - Something Clicked Photography - http://www.facebook.com/SomethingClickedPhotography


And... Spenk & Ollie Creations
http://www.favebook.com/SpenkOllieCreations

Transitioning

The past few nights, Spencer has been fighting sleep pretty badly.  Even for Jake the other night, he cried and screamed a few times before finally giving in to sleep.  My sister, Samantha, and I discussed it briefly tonight, as I was mentioning how it stresses me out, though I try not to let it.

After talking for a few minutes, we both concluded that it's probably a reaction to all of the transitions that have been going on the past few months, as well as those that he may be able to "sense" that are coming up over the next few months.

Now, I know I've mentioned some of these transitions and changes in blogs prior (though I truthfully haven't been keeping up with blogging as much as I would normally do, partially because Spencer's taking more and more of my attention and focus, and also I've been spending time with people when they're around and available), but tonight, I was thinking about them all over again.

I realized I'm more stressed out about things than I let myself show.  I guess that's okay, because I'm probably more pleasant to be around that way, but internally, it might be wearing me down a bit.  So, here I am, blogging again, finally.

As I've said, Jake has started a new job with Washington National. He loves it, and he's doing well, which is a huge blessing, because it's meaning I'm still able to stay home with Spencer and grow baby Bo.  But, of course, the three nights away/four days away in a row (most weeks) takes a toll on all of us.  We're still adjusting, I think.  It's hard sometimes to be the soul parent in the house for that many days, only to have everything thrown for a loop when Jake finally comes home.  Schedules differ, though I try to keep things consistent, and Spencer doesn't understand really, though he seems to be doing pretty well being flexible.

Jake and I have been trying to adjust, still, too, the two of us, and our marriage, to the new stresses and changes of his job.  Sometimes, it seems a lot harder and more stressful than I imagined, but other times, it seems like nothing's changed really.  But, it's hard, and I've been really emotional about it.  And he's been really busy, so it's not always worked out the easiest to sit down and talk things through or have one-on-one time.

Then, we've been a one-vehicle family for about two months now while our other vehicle has issues.  We haven't put the money into fixing it yet, because we've been saving up to move.

Yup, we're moving.  More on that shortly.

Two weeks ago, or so, my sisters both came to stay.  Allison, who is 13 now, stayed for two full weeks, and then on Sunday, left with my dad and brothers who came to visit.  Spencer loved having her here, and was really actually distraught when they all left us on Sunday.  He threw quite a little tantrum as soon as they walked out the door, actually.  Fortunately for him (and for me) Samantha, who is 17, is still here and is staying the duration of the summer (give or take a few days or weeks).  She's been an amazing help, I must say, in not only caring for Spencer (especially during these 100°F or hotter days when I still try to get him outside for at least a short period here and there), but also keeping me, miss hormonal-eight-month-pregnant-stressed-out-mommy in a somewhat stable emotional state.  Gosh, I'm so lucky to have her.  Seriously.

Allison is coming back in a few weeks, with my dad, who is going to help us move.  Yes, back to moving.  When Spencer and I went to visit my family in my hometown in June, we all came home to new neighbors.  Now, friends of mine on Facebook especially can vouch that I complain about our neighbors pretty consistently, and have since we moved in, basically.  I think we've gone through five different neighbors or sets of neighbors since we moved in, and only one of them (borderline two) were what I call "good" neighbors, who didn't party, stomp, slam doors, yell, etc. at various hours of the day and night.  The new neighbors are just as loud, if not louder, than ones in the past, and when we got home and found them (heard them) living above us in the middle of the night, Jake declared we were going to move.

So, I spent the better part of two or three weeks trying to track down a rental place (because we're still not in a position to really buy a home) that would have enough space, in our current budget (with Jake still acclimating to his job), and allow our dog.

Sadly, as we drew closer to our "deadline" for securing a place so we could move within our time-frame, we realized we weren't going to be able to keep Wendell with us this time.

We're blessed again, in that my dad (and siblings who live with him) offered to keep Wendell for the duration of our lease, until we can/will move again and can have him back.  Now, I will admit, our dog has the knack for driving me completely up a wall, but I love him very much.   We've had him since we were first married (minus a month and a half), and as I joked with Jake "I've spend more time with him than my actual husband" (because Wendell is always home with me, or at least 99% of the time).   Not only do I love him, but Spencer does.  Wendell is his puppy, his dog, his pal.  He talks about him and gets excited and calls all dogs "Wen-doh!" now, even though he knows that they're dogs/puppies and can say and identify them as such.

To picture the next six to twelve months without Wendell by Spencer's side makes me cry.  I'm not even kidding.  I've cried many times since realizing we couldn't have him this next move.  But, knowing that my dad will have him, and we can still see Wendell, and can and will have him back again helps.  Thank goodness!

We finally did sign a lease for a 3 bedroom, single family home.  It's a pretty nice, older place. It's got its perks and it's downfalls, but it will work for us.  We were really feeling stressed and rushed to find a place and move before our next child is born... sometime in the next 5-9 weeks, most likely.  It's less than 7 weeks until my official due date!  We knew it'd be easier on us all to move and get settled into the "new" place before we brought home a new baby, so finding one, signing the lease, and getting over there has become a main focus of our days.

Well, now it's to the packing part.  We signed to move in on July 14.  We did this last Friday, giving us approximately two weeks to go through and pack all of our stuff again. Fortunately, we're moving about a mile (maybe two?) from where we live now, so it's not a huge move, but it's still stressful.  I find it especially stressful, because, much like last time we moved, I'm nearly full-term in a pregnancy, and I'm not allowed to do what I would normally do while moving, lifting and hauling stuff.  Yes, I can fill a box, but after that, chances are I'm not supposed to be carrying it around.  And this time, we have a "helpful" toddler around who is making it pretty challenging to get much of anything done on a daily basis.

Then, we'll be moved... and transitioning to a new home.  Do we transition Spencer to his toddler bed before we move?  Right when we move?  A while after?  Originally, my reasoning for wanting him in the toddler bed was that it was physically straining me to lean over his crib railing to pat him to sleep over and over every night.  But then, we did the sleep training thing and for the most part, he is fine on his own (except the past few aforementioned nights).  So, is the necessity still there? I don't know. I don't know what would be easier on him and easier on us.  I know when we stayed at my mom's for four nights, he was trying to sleep in a new room, in a different bed (his pack and play) and he did NOT do well.  So, part of me is afraid to switch him to a toddler bed at the same time that we move, and wait it out, or do it now.  I just don't know.

And then... we'll have our second child.   We won't have our dog.  My sister may or may not be here for a bit after the new baby is born, I don't know, she hasn't really decided (either way is fine, I don't want to pressure her).  Jake will be home for two weeks or so to help me and Spencer (and himself) adjust, but then he'll be gone.. and it will be me, and Spencer, and baby Bo.  Will Spencer like having Bo around?  Will he hate it?  Will he act out?  Will I be able to handle it?  Will I be able to find help if I can't?  Will I ever sleep again?  Will we... will I... be okay?!

There's just SO MUCH going on!

Gah!

Okay, that was long.  I commend you, and thank you graciously, if you managed to read the entire thing, and have any input, advice, commiseration, or... anything... to say afterward.

Bless you.

a big change

I have been putting off writing this blog entry for... two months now.


This year, it seems, has been one that's brought on quite a few big changes in the lives of my little nuclear family. 


To begin with, Spencer is one now, and busy as can be, getting busier and more mischievous every day.


At the beginning of the year (January), Jake and I decided that at the beginning of February, I would change jobs.  I went from doing daycare at a friend's house, to being a stay-at-home-mom. It was quite an adjustment.  It still is, actually.  I mean, I think I'm getting the hang of it, have a routine, what-not, and then Spencer goes and changes things and throws me for a loop all over again.  I will admit, sometimes I go stir crazy, am super exhausted, or feel like I'm at wit's end, but generally, I love the change, and I wouldn't trade my time with Spencer for a job, unless I had to, of course.


In the middle of February, another big change came up.  That change dealt with Jake's job.


Jake's been working with Schwan's since a few months before we were married, making him a Schwan's man for six years now.  It's been a long, hard haul, for both of us.  He's enjoyed the job and his customers, but it's taken a lot of long, long days and much time away from home.  He has worked four to five, 12-16 hour days every week.  When we moved to Sioux Falls, he generally had Wednesdays off, every other Saturday, and Sunday, unless they needed him to fill in or do a fundraiser.  It has made it hard to plan for vacations, time with friends and family, let alone time to relax together.  It has always felt like his time off was rushed, trying to get things done in a really short amount of time.


As I said, in February, something new came along.  The opportunity to travel, still, which is something he enjoys about his job (I can't imagine him being in an office all the time), to meet new people (which he also loves), to potentially make more money, and have a bigger "block" of time off.  


He signed on to sell insurance with a company called PMA, toward the end of February.  The past few months have been leading up to the job switch, which occurs over this coming weekend.  That's right, as of Friday (tomorrow), my 5.5 year marriage to a Schwan's man ends.

Now, while this is exciting news, it makes me very nervous, as well.  Yes, there's potential for greater income, which would make it even more realistic (not that it isn't realistic now) to be a SAHM until Spencer (and Bo, possibly) go to school.  That's an amazing thing that we're really looking forward to.


But, with this new job, comes big changes and some sacrifices.

While Jake has always (since we were dating, really) been away from me (and Spencer) a lot during the week, he's been home 6 nights out of 7 the majority of the time.  Because he'll be traveling further distances with his "team," he will be away from home, sleeping in a hotel, 3 out of 7 nights a week.  That's a BIG change.  Granted, ever since Spencer was born, I'm usually asleep (or close to it) when Jake comes through the door after 11pm, but there's something to be said about rolling over in the middle of the night and feeling your husband next to you, or to see him through sleepy eyes a few minutes in the morning (because sometimes he sneaks quietly out if Spencer's asleep so I can get a few more more minutes rest (bless his heart)) that makes the idea of him being gone for two extra nights a week very overwhelming.  I've cried  my eyes out more than a few times in anticipation of the loneliness I'm expecting to feel come next week.

Not only that, but he's been an AMAZING partner in parenthood, and since I became pregnant in December, he has been the one to get up with Spencer (if he wakes) the majority of the time in the night.  So, that'll be a change.


I shouldn't complain, of course, there are many who always are the only ones to get up with their children, or sleep alone, but, as I said, it's going to be a big change for me.


Then there's the fact that he's been home, fairly consistently, on Wednesday every week.  So, he's worked two really long days, been home (not always the whole day, but still, home) for a day, before going back out.  I always have looked forward to the Wednesdays as a "saving grace" for my sanity, especially on harder weeks.  Well, that'll be gone, and we'll be apart for four days straight.  


Not only will I have to adjust to that, but Spencer as well.  Spencer's been known to get "crabbier" as the week goes on, especially if he doesn't see Jake a few minutes in the morning.  I'm very nervous to have him have to go without his daddy for four days, three nights, in a row.    In preparation, we're going to make videos of Jake reading books or playing guitar, so that will helpfully aid in the transition and stabilize Spencer's mood a little when he misses his daddy.


The thing I am looking forward to most, I must admit, is knowing that we'll have three days together, in a row, weekly.  It's going to be amazing.  I know that once the transition period is over, that will really be something spectacular, and I'm holding onto that hope to get through the hard weeks ahead.  It will be great to be able to go on a weekend trip more than an hour or two away, and not feel totally blitzed by traveling.


Also, there will be more opportunity and flexibility for holidays and vacations, or time off when our child is born.


And then.. there's.. Baby Bo, coming in August (God willing).  That's going to be a huge change.  I feel like going from zero children to one wasn't a shock to our family, but I feel like going from one child to two with my husband being gone so much IS going to be a shock.


I'm scared.  I don't know if I'll be able to handle everything on my own.  To have a toddler as busy as Spencer and then a newborn who is very needy is going to be tough.  I'm not looking forward (in fact, I'm downright dreading and scared) to being without my husband three nights a week, as I fight (if things continue with Spencer not wanting to go to bed for me) SJ to sleep, and then getting up every two to three hours with a newborn.  With Spencer's daily nap duration dwindling as well, I'm terrified to think of how exhausted I'm going to be.  I'm afraid I'll be entirely overwhelmed and an emotional, mental, and physical wreck.  Trust me, I've cried over these fears many a time already, too.


I am fortunate, I believe, that our children are so young (well, Bo will be) that the transition will most likely be easier on them, than say, if they were in elementary or preschool.  I think that they'll grow up just feeling that "this is how it's always been," and they will be okay with it.  I hope. I fear it won't be, but I hope that it will.


So, there's that.  Next week, the second big change in our lives this year is going to occur. 


 I will admit, I am very much looking forward (as in, I can't describe it) to having my sister, Samantha, here with me this summer.  I remember being exhausted and such when pregnant with Spencer in the summer, but I wasn't a full-time mommy then, and I wasn't full-term.  So, she's going to be such a huge blessing.  Not that I intend for her to be a maid or live-in-nanny or anything like that.  I can't wait to have fun with her, and to have her company, especially getting used to Jake's absence.  I hope she enjoys being here as much as I'm enjoying the idea of her coming.


Of course, at the end of August, she'll have gone back home, Jake will be back on the road... and then... I'll be here with Spencer and Bo, alone.  Yup, I'm back to that.  I'm terrified.  But, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there.  That will be big life change of 2012 number three.


I'd appreciate your prayers for our family during this transition and change.  I know that Spencer (though he can't express it) and Jake will too.

Dear Sprout,

Dear Sprout,

Today was the day that your father, your brother, and I were "due" to meet you, see your face, hold you in our arms. April 18, 2012 was the predicted date that you'd enter this world.

I can barely wrap my mind around the fact that it's been 32 weeks since your heart stopped beating. It's been 31 weeks since we found out you were gone. It sounds so recent, and somehow, it seems like forever ago. I sit here, tears falling softly down my face, as I remember how beautiful my life was with you in it, and how devastated I was when you left.

Somehow, though, I feel strong. I wonder how long that strength will last.

My goal for today, while I celebrate your Auntie Allie's 13th birthday, while also observing the life you barely began to live is simply to smile. I hope to fight back tears and carry on with the day. I want to embrace the joy you brought us, as I embrace your father and also your brother. We have gotten through the loss so far, and I know that we can continue onward.

While I am sad that your'e gone, I know you're in a better place. I know that you never suffered the cruelty that this world can bring upon a person. You lived, so briefly, in a serene, calm place, and then ever so quietly went to meet our Maker.

I know that He has held you in his arms, even though I was unable to hold you in my own.

I know that there's a purpose in all of this- in your short life inside of me and the eternal life you began living, what I deem to be "too soon," and while I often sit and wonder what it is, I have decided to let it go. Someday, I will know. Until then, I will just embrace the fact that you happened to me- to us, and that it was a perfect and beautiful gift.

In a way, I suppose I should thank you, too, for giving your father and I the chance to become parents once more- for giving Spencer the opportunity to be a big brother to your little brother or sister, who we currently call Bo. It breaks my heart that there is no way that the two of you could exist in this household, on this earth, living this life together, but again, I know that someday, we all will be reunited as a family. I know I will live my earthly life imagining, from time to time, the day that the reunion comes true.

Baby, sweet baby, I miss you. I love you. I thank you for giving us the opportunity to know you exist and to love you forever. I carry you with me always.

Someday, Sprout, I will hold you.

Love, Your Mommy

Struggles and Thankfulness.

Last week was hard. It may have been one of, if not, the most tiring and frustrating week I've had as a mother thus far. (I can hope that it'd be the hardest one ever, but let's be realistic...)

Spencer was sick, basically, all week. On Tuesday, he really wasn't eating, and was pretty crabby all day, and a little warm, but I just figured it was teething, and by that evening, his sixth tooth (a top one) had finally popped through. We'd been waiting on that one for weeks!

But, come Wednesday, he was burning up. As in 103.7 degrees at the highest temperature reading I had gotten. Took him to the doctor on Wednesday night and on Thursday, and both times, I was told it's something viral and nothing can be done. Just wait it out.

So, I did. I was home alone with him most of Wednesday and all of Thursday except when Tarah came by in the evening (thank goodness). On Friday, at daycare, he was a little happier and his fever seemed to be gone.

Saturday, though... that was a tough day. Jake was supposed to be home from work as he had the day scheduled off so we could attend a wedding, or my family Thanksgiving. Well, a family emergency happened to the co-worker who was going to replace him, and Jake ended up having to work.

I won't lie, I was really bummed out that Jake wasn't coming home after all, and that I would be missing the wedding and Thanksgiving. But, more than anything, I was tired of dealing with Spencer. I know, it sounds horrible. But, it's true. Jake worked his normal, long (over 12 hour days) Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Spencer doesn't do well without Jake having Wednesday off during the week, and last week, due to holiday scheduling, Jake had to work. And so, when Saturday rolled around and SJ was "daddy-less" it was just... the last straw, for both of us, I guess.

It got to the point that Spencer was hanging on my legs screaming every time I would get up, move, or do anything, if I wasn't holding him. But, if I was holding him, he would just scream and writhe until he was free. But, then, he would be screaming and angry because I wasn't holding him. Needless to say, nothing appeased Spencer, and my nerves were shot.

By evening time, Spencer would cry, and I would cry. We just sat around and sobbed together.

I felt like a horrible mother. I know I'm not actually a horrible mother (or at least I pray I'm not), but I felt like it. I couldn't find anything, or there was close to nothing I could find, that would make Spencer happy or content for more than ten minutes. I couldn't get him to nap. I couldn't get him to eat, or drink, or be away from me. I didn't eat until late. I felt like he might be growing to hate me. I know he doesn't, but man, when your wits are ending, you think some pretty dramatic things sometimes.

Sunday, in the church nursery, I was scheduled for an hour. He didn't like me that hour either. He screamed and repeated much of Saturday's behaviors.

Then, Jake saved us. He spent a lot of time with Spencer on Sunday, which rejuvenated my spirit and seemed to bring Spencer pretty much back to his happy little self. For the most part, anyway.

I was very grateful. I still am. I really wasn't sure I'd have the strength to pull through Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of this week before having Jake with us for FOUR FULL DAYS. (Yeah, I'm EXCITED about that!)

Moving on.

I contributed a piece to a blog of a local shoppe, one that specializes a lot in breastfeeding, cloth diapers, and homemade mommy/baby/family/children type items and activities. They are doing a "thankfulness" marathon, as you could say. I chose letter F.

You can read it here.

I know, you've heard me talk a lot about those battles and struggles and issues. They're very near and dear to me. They're something I don't think I'll ever forget. I still struggle with them now. But, I am thankful for winning a battle once... even twice.

And I am exceptionally thankful for the blessings and miracles that God has given me along the way, Jake and Spencer, to name a few.

With that, I bid you all adieu, as I am exhausted and my bed seems to be calling my name (or maybe, I'm delusional and it's not really talking at all...).

Scared-y-Pants can hit a ball!

Two months, or so, ago, my reproductive endocrinologist told me that I was going to be put on birth control and Metformin for two months, to let my uterus heal, post D&C surgery, before he would feel that we could "safely" start trying for another baby.

Well, two months is almost up.

When he first told me that, it felt like a giant stab in the hope sector of my heart. I felt like birth control was the complete opposite solution to my problem (though, medically, I understood why he was suggesting it, and of course, agreed to take that route), prohibiting us from having another child (temporarily, of course). The past two months, I have struggled with that over and over, each night as I took the tiny pill. I swallowed it hard (literally and figuratively, haha), and what do you know, I made it through it without excessive amounts of emotional baggage. Woohoo.

Now that we're getting closer to "starting over" on our journey to bring a brother or sister for Spencer into this world, I am nervous. More nervous that I was before we conceived Spencer or Sprout, I think. Maybe not more nervous. Maybe different nervous. And somewhat scared. With the potential to be terrified.

I am not necessarily scared that we won't get pregnant. I believe that we will. I hope it is sooner than later, even.

But, I am afraid of being pregnant again. I know that sounds strange, but hear me out.

When I was pregnant with SJ, I was super excited. I was nervous because we found out before I was four weeks pregnant, and cautious about it at first, until we heard the heartbeat. Then, we shared the joy with the world, and a few months later, Spencer was born.

With Sprout, it was the same. I was nervous (more so than with Spencer, looking at the event retrospectively, but we found out just one day earlier than we did with Spencer, too), and when we saw the heartbeat for the first time, we shared our joy publicly again.

Only, of course, we lost Sprout.

So, when we find out we're pregnant again, I'm nervous of how I will feel about it, and how I will react. Will I be invested in it, filled with joy? Or will I be totally detached and terrified to lose another child? I can't know, of course, and I hope it's the first option, but knowing myself, I could see the second coming to fruition just as easily (hey, I'm being honest).

Will I be too nervous to be "normal" feeling about it? Will I be overly-cautious? Will I over analyze every little thing and foresee another miscarriage? I sure hope not. I will try not to. I will pray that I don't become "that kind of woman," but, the possibility is seriously there, and it makes me nervous.

When we see a heartbeat again, will we feel comfortable sharing? I feel like we would, because, following the same path of thought as the first two pregnancies, if we share the news, we enlist countless friends and family as a prayer and support system. So, probably.

But, will I ever feel "at ease" being pregnant again? Or will I just be terrified?

I try not to think about it, but I can't help it.

I know they say that a miscarriage doesn't usually mean and increased risk for another miscarriage. But, you just never know.

So, there you have it. I'm a big scared-y-pants who wants to be pregnant so intensely, but isn't quite sure how to handle herself when that time comes again.

New subject.

Racquetball! Yeah! I never really saw myself being a racquetball player. I won't lie. The most I'd had interest in racquetball courts was in college when Jake and I would sneak our guitars into the racquetball courts at SMSU, turn off the lights, and play guitar and sing in the dark. (If you've never done that, do it, it's a phenomenal experience acoustically.)

But, a few weeks ago, I decided I would like to join Jake at the wellness center, and by golly, he invited me to learn how to play racquetball. Feeling a bit spunky and daring that day, I agreed to do just that.

Now, I won't brag, but I am a great racquetball player.

Haha, no I'm not. I am a great loser though. Meaning I haven't scored more than 6 points total (if I recall correctly) in my entire career (which is about three weeks long now), but I tell you what, I have FUN. Yes, I will admit, I enjoy playing racquetball!

Jake is a really good sport about it. He doesn't play "full force" against me, and he intentionally avoids beaming with the ball, especially in the head (I actually haven't been hit once by Jake, and I have accidentally hit him at least 3 times (which I apologize for repeatedly as he tells me it's his own fault)). He doesn't hit the ball insanely fast either, so I actually have a chance of lugging my slow self toward it and may actually hit it!

I have scored points though (not sure if they were "pity points" or not, but I'll pretend they are legit), and I have caused quite a few (at least 9) side-outs, AND I HIT THE BALL many, many times. I can even serve fairly reliably! Yeah. That's right. I'm a player. (Haha.)

Some day, maybe I'll even start scoring enough points to warrant having my own racquet, and not have to touch the creepy over-used-super-germy-from-tons-of-sweaty-hands racquets at the wellness center. That's my goal. To be good enough I can buy a $30 Wilson Hope Racquet (because it's a girly one that donates to breast cancer research).

And, to note, while I am "not good" at racquetball, I think I might be even worse at Squash, which Jake taught me to play on Sunday. But, again, it was a fun game!

Of course, the extra perk to my new found interest in racquetball is that it is making me go to the wellness center more and utilizing the membership I've been paying for, while also benefiting my health. ;-)

And now, to check on Wendell, who has been whining in the bathroom for about 45 minutes after I gave him a bath because he got sick all over himself in the kennel earlier, and I wouldn't let him tear around the house soaking wet, but didn't feel like wrestling him dry.

Goodbye, Sprout.

This is one blog post I had never imagined having to make. I knew there was always the possibility that this situation would occur, but of course, I had hoped and prayed it would be avoidable.

Alas, what do I really know?

Seeing as how the Oxycodone I took two and a half hours ago did not make me fall asleep like I was told it probably would, and I cannot turn off my mind, I decided maybe I would share what was on it, and hope to find some peace... or at least wear myself out enough to fall asleep. Heck, at this point, I'd give for falling asleep in our computer chair....

On Monday evening, I started spotting. It was light, and when I called the doctor the next morning, they said it was normal and okay. So, I tried not to think about it.

Tuesday afternoon, though, it became suddenly heavy, and I started with light cramping. I called the doctor back on the way home from work, and she was more concerned. I was told to go home, rest, put my feet up, and do as little as possible. If it got worse, go to the ER.

Well, it got gradually a little worse, but come bedtime, it was starting to get better. Jake and I had been enlisting prayers all night, and I thought that perhaps, they were working.

Right before our scheduled ultrasound appointment on Wednesday morning, the spotting started returning again. I looked out the bathroom door at Jake, and simply said, "It's back." Right then, in the pit of my stomach, I felt like I knew what it meant, but I tried to remain positive, anyway.

One of the worst moments of my life came at about 10:40 on Wednesday morning. As soon as the ultrasound images showed up on the television screen, I knew. Before the ultrasound technician said anything about it, or even "looked" at Sprout, I knew. There was no movement at all. There was no pulsating little heartbeat. Just stillness.

And Jake knew it too, I think.

After she looked around at other things, she zoomed in. After a few moments, she uttered, "I'm sorry guys." Tears flowed freely from my eyes. I was right. Sprout was gone.

She asked if we wanted a printout of the image, and I said yes. Now, I have no idea why I did. I can still, very clearly, see the most haunting image in my mind. It's burned there. I don't need or want a photo of it to commemorate that saddest moment.

We cried in the room for a while before moving to the next, where they explained that at about 7 weeks, 6 days, Sprout's heart stopped beating and he/she stopped growing. There was nothing they could have done to prevent it, and it was most likely because there was something "wrong" with the fetus, chromosomes and the like. It was nature's way of protecting us and the baby, basically.

They explained options, and sent us on our way. I bawled all the way to my chiropractic appointment, and then somehow made it through, but on the way home, I broke down again. I laid in the bed, sobbing. Our baby died. The heart stopped beating. I thought I was going to throw up all over myself.

Then, I realized I was lying there with our dead child inside of me. They told me they wanted me to try to "pass it on my own" over the next week, but if I hadn't, they'd do the D&C surgery to remove the tissues. I decided, after talking with Jake, that I didn't know if I could go a week with the constant reminder of what was going on, and then maybe still carrying around our child, no longer living or growing, inside of me. And what if I didn't pass the tissues and have to have the surgery in a week anyway?

Emotionally, I just didn't think I could handle it. So, we called, and scheduled the D&C surgery.

I spent the majority of the day on Wednesday crying uncontrollably. I kept apologizing to Jake. I KNOW it's not my fault, and I was not in any way blaming myself (though, sometimes I feel it would be easier if it were my fault and I had someone to blame), but I was apologizing because I was genuinely sorry for him that his child was no longer growing inside of me, either. Sprout was not just my baby, after all.

I did have a few moments of happiness, of course, where I was not sobbing. Undoubtedly the best part of my day was when I was sitting in the chair by the window, crying so hard, and Spencer was on my lap eating a snack. He peeked his head around to face me, smiled, and shoved a puff snack straight into my mouth, then laughed. I couldn't help but laugh. And then, he kept doing it. It was the first time he willingly shared and allowed me to keep something without taking it back to be funny. It was the sweetest moment.

By the end of the night, I was terrified for today to come. I knew that Wednesday was hard, perhaps the hardest day of my life to date, but the next day was to be the procedure that really finalized our loss.

And to make matters worse, while at first, Jake thought he could/would be there for the procedure, by the end of the night, that wasn't the case. He couldn't switch his route days, and he didn't think he could wait until the middle of the afternoon to get going. So, we settled for him being there until I went in for the procedure.

I hugged him goodnight, and cried some more, letting him know how sorry I was that he lost a child. I couldn't stop crying, I didn't know how. Thankfully, he held me in bed so I was not alone.

This morning, I had a hard time getting out of bed. I prayed it could still be night. I didn't want to wake up, because I knew that in waking up, the nightmare would still be my living reality and there was really no escaping it. To make matters worse, I knew that I would be going through the procedure alone.

Not totally alone, of course. I had God with me. And my mother-in-law, Angela, was also there, as Jake asked her to come to be my support. And while I appreciate it greatly, of course, it wasn't the same as having my husband with me.

Angela and I left for the hospital, as I fought back feelings of being abandoned and alone, and Jake took Spencer to stay with some dear friends, because post surgery, I would not be able to care for him.

The ultrasound I had this morning to confirm wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, initially. But, tonight, I can see it again in my mind. I laid there, eyes transfixed on the screen, seeing the image of Sprout, even more lifeless looking than the day before. And no one was there to hold my hand. Following, the doctors and nurses went through the procedures with me, then I went to the lab for a blood draw, and then it was off to surgery.

Around noon, they took me through the freezing cold hallways into the even colder operating room, where, after a few agonizing and terrifying minutes, they finally put me to sleep.

The worst part of my day was what happened next. I woke up, cold, in pain, and alone, in a sterile, noisy, hospital recovery room with a bunch of medical personnel I did not know. I couldnt' even ask for my husband, because he was not there. I was there. No Jake. No Spencer. No Sprout. I began crying somewhat hysterically as the situation hit me. The nurse gave me oxygen and wiped away my tears as I tried to deal with the fact that indeed, I was no longer pregnant, and Sprout had gone to meet our Maker, instead of waiting to meet us in April of next year.

I don't know that I'd ever felt so lonely. It was truly overwhelming.

When I finally calmed down, they had me recover before meeting Angela back in my personal recovery room.

Seeing her helped me regain my calm. I was able to talk, to smile, to laugh again. We talked about our loss and the heartbreak, but we talked about the good things too. She reassured me that it wasn't my fault, and that these things, as sad as they are, happen.

When I was finally released, we came home, to find the door was locked. I had forgotten my key, so we ended up having to drive to meet Jake to get his. The car ride was a challenge. I felt very sick to my stomach and was fighting back emotions that I just did not want to deal with at the time. Angela was very helpful company then, too.

It wasn't until after she left for home that it started to hit me. I had been relatively numb for the majority of the day. But, I sat down on the couch, next to Wendell, and looked at the toys across the room. Spencer wasn't here, and he wouldn't be having a little brother or sister any time in the next 7 months, after all. I cried.

To cope, I went online and chatted with our friend who he is staying with, so I could hear how he was doing. That helped subside the tears a while. It was a nice break.

At 9pm I took the Oxycodone that they said would most likely make me dizzy and drowsy, and I went to lay in bed. I called Jake. He didn't answer. I waited and called again. No answer. Eventually, he called me back, but it's his busiest night on the route, so he didn't really have time to talk.

Needless to say, I felt abandoned and lonely again. I know, of course, that wasn't his intention, but with the huge loss of the day, the terrifying procedure, and all of the emotions I have been trying to deal with, I just felt... dejected.

I sobbed even harder than I had since finding out about our loss. I tried to call my dad a few times, to no avail.

I know that sometimes, it's easier for some people to cope or to deal by removing or distancing themselves from a situation. Unfortunately, it's really hard for someone who needs the person closest to them to be with them to deal with their own emotions. It's a huge conflict, really.

I can't sleep. When I close my eyes, I see the haunting image of Sprout's lifeless body on the screen. When I open my eyes, my husband and my son are gone. It's just me. When I wake up tomorrow morning, it'll be just me.

I just hope it's not just me for long. I don't know how to handle that.

I will admit though, that the countless prayers, the condolences, the kind words and sweet messages, on Facebook, in my email, and on my phone, truly are immeasurable in worth. I cherish every single one of them, even if I haven't the words or the energy to respond right away. I have never had to deal with something like this, and I'm just living moment by moment as I go along.

I know that it's not the same as losing a child you've given birth to, held in your arms, and watched grow. But, we loved Sprout from the very moment we knew of his or her existence. We were already planning for the future, shaping hopes and dreams. Sprout was definitely a part of us, and a part of our family. And while we did not get to hold Sprout in our arms, he or she definitely took up strong residence in our hearts. In that way, we very much lost our child.

And, I can't say that it'd be easier or harder to go through a miscarriage after struggling with infertility and the invasive and ruthless battle that it takes to conceive a child. I wouldn't know. I have been trying not to think about it. But, when it does cross my mind, I do feel like it is a double heartbreak for me. The rounds of assistance where you get a negative result are harder than I can describe. But then to have that positive result taken away from you... I just don't know how to deal.

I wish it made it "so much easier" to know that I'm not alone in this, and that many of the women I know have miscarried a child also. But, it doesn't. Well, it does, but it also breaks my heart. No one should ever have to lose a child, before or after they are born. It's a heartbreak I never would wish upon anyone.

I wish I knew a way to find closure in all of this. There's no funeral for a child lost before birth, really. It feels absolutely surreal at times. Did this all really happen? Surely it did, as I have the physical evidence and hospital discharge paper to prove it.

But don't worry. I am not angry with God. I refuse to lose my faith. God's what will really pull us through this. God, and the support we find in each other and in our friends and family. And of course, this doesn't mean that I do not appreciate the miracle child that I already have. Of course I do. I may even love him more now.

I am sorry that this was so long and disjointed. But, if you've read all the way through, I thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my broken heart.

On Time

I must admit, this evening, I had my mind set on writing on Spencer's blog about the various things he did over the weekend. It was set so firmly on the idea, in fact, that over the past 45 minutes when I'd been "fighting" with him to get him to sleep, I found myself wishing that he would just go to sleep already so I could get on with my evening and have some time for myself, finally.

Yeah, that's a good summary. I had said to my husband last night something along the lines of how in four days of being together, I didn't have any time for ME. I was with Spencer all weekend long, except for during sleep and a few short moments here and there, but basically, while Jake was home, I still felt I had Spencer with me every moment of every day. Not that it's a horrible thing, of course, but I was hoping to have some personal time away from the house for just me, without having to worry about Spencer waking up or having a diaper change, etc. Call me selfish if you must.

So, after a very long (feeling) day at work and the cranky baby episode around supper-time followed by a short bath and fight for sleep... I just couldn't wait for him to finally be asleep so I could do what I wanted to- blog about Spencer.

Then, the song "Never Grow Up" (a Taylor Swift (gasp! Yeah, I like one or two of her songs, I'll admit)) song came on his Lullabies CD. The lyrics, as they often do, resonated with me, and suddenly, I was no longer dwelling on the fact that he was fighting me and I still hadn't had ME time.

Instead, I was realizing... I have Spencer time. Yeah, he was fussy, and he was fighting sleep the best he knew how. Literally.. I was trying to hold him onto his tummy and pat him to sleep like he usually likes to have done, and he was trying SO hard to roll over and grab my arm while crying and smiling at the same time... BUT... he was there, in his crib. He's so big, but he's still so small.

I realized that tomorrow he will be 7/12 old. In FIVE MONTHS, he'll be one. Time does seem to pass by us way too quickly as it is, and here I was, just wishing these moments of fighting would fly by and be done.

My frame of mind changed. Instead of being completely frustrated, I was mostly not frustrated (I will admit, still a little, I'm only human after all), and instead, looking at my baby boy just wishing that time could stand still for a little while. He's going to be a toddler WAY too soon.

I know that personally, I often find myself wishing that we could go back in time to a various occasion or age. I know that even now, I sometimes find myself wishing Spencer could be a newborn again, so tiny and curled up on my chest, or I could be nursing him again and have him clutching onto me with his tiny fist. I know that in not all that long I will be wishing for the days when he was only six months old, sitting and bouncing on the floor, full of smiles as he watches the dog play.

I feel like I'll spend countless hours of my life wishing he was little again.

So, why do I let myself wish that time would speed up now, just so I can do something other than savor the moments that I know deep down I will eventually miss?

Tonight, I wish I could push pause on our lives.

I know I won't always feel that way, and I will admittedly wish for circumstances and events to speed through to get onto something greater (whether it's sleep or just time to read something funny on a random website). But, I hope that I will be able to reframe most of those instances, so that I will again realize that time is short, and I'm going to wish for these moments someday.

If I Die Before I Wake...

For the past four days, I keep finding death on my mind. Not in a suicidal fashion, so don't worry about that. More so in a "I hope I don't die soon," sort of way.

I've had "episodes" like this in the past, so it's nothing brand new to me, but I can't help but wish it would pass quickly. I used to be afraid of dying when I was young. I'd lay in bed terrified to go to sleep because I was afraid I wouldn't wake up. After I met Jake and was engaged to him, I was deeply saddened listening to the song "Romeo & Juliet" by Edwin McCain, because it got me thinking (mind you, the song itself doesn't directly deal with death, that I recall, it's been a while since I heard it as I have long lost the CD it is on) that I did not want Jake to die before me, but I also didn't want to die early and leave him behind in sorrow.

Well, now I'm back to not being afraid of death, but rather... fearing it will come too soon and being saddened at the prospect of that and just praying that it doesn't happen.

I obviously realize that how I feel about the matter has no bearing whatsoever on when God will take me from this life into the eternal one, but I can't help but find myself praying that he lets me live out more days here, to see my family and watch my son grow, especially. I'm just not ready to be done. Graciously, thus far, he has answered my prayers.

Thursday night, I lay awake in bed shortly after Spencer fell asleep, thinking about how if I were to die that night, Spencer would be alone, he'd wake up hungry and sad and cry for hours and no one would be there to comfort him because Jake was on his overnight route. No one would probably come to the house to look for me if I hadn't shown up at Jillian's for work the next morning until many hours of calling my phone and no response. He'd be so hungry and upset by then, his diaper certainly soiled and irritating his bottom as his stomach ached with emptiness. Naturally, I started sobbing and continued to do so until I had successfully cried myself to sleep. Needless to say, when he woke up each time that night, I was relieved to hear him and know that I was still there to take on his needs.

Tonight, I had trouble falling asleep again, thinking about how if I were to die when he was so young, he would not remember me for himself, just through what others tell him and what little legacy I have left behind for him to find on my own. I definitely had trouble falling asleep. As luck would have it, he woke up half an hour later, so I changed his diaper, gave him a bottle, and came here to write this.

Hopefully, getting the words out will help this "phase" pass once again.

And, here's to one more prayer that God lets me live many more years so I can be there for my husband and son.

When did I stop?

When I was in high school, my main goal in life was, "to make a difference." That's what I'd tell people. That idea carried on through high school, to college, and after college... for a while.

Recently, I feel like I've lost that. Not that I don't want to make a difference, because I do, definitely. But, I've stopped vocalizing it. I've stopped using it as a driving force.

I'm conflicted about that.

I didn't necessarily think I was doing big things when I was working on this goal. In high school, it was writing poetry, mainly, and sharing it with the world. I know it sounds totally strange, but man, I was popular when it came to the online poetry community. I was on boards and people were reading my work left and right, praising me, and telling me how much they could relate. I received so many thanks and comments on my webpage (now deceased, due to the collapse or whatever of geocities) that I was completely astonished with myself. I didn't think I was really good at writing, I just wrote because it's what I could do. It was an outlet. It was a release and hey, an avenue for my ever burning creative fire. I made friendships with my poetry, online, and offline too. Even after my mother read my poetry about my inner pain and got mad at me for writing it, I continued, because it seemed to mean something, not only to me, but to the world. I felt powerful.

After high school, I joined outreach groups and other activities in college. At Augustana, I did youth overnight lock-ins with the IXOYE outreach ministry. It was wonderful! We were sharing the love of the Lord with so many children. It inspired me to work at Shetek Lutheran Ministries the summer of 2003 as a camp counselor. I loved the work we were doing. I returned the next summer as a daycamp director, and took other staff along with me as we shared the Lord with children all across southwestern Minnesota and southeastern South Dakota. I remember one camp where we re-wrote the Lord's prayer with the children, in their words. I still have my camp binders. I sang the love of the Lord with my guitar, for me, for staff, for children, for families. I felt I was really making a difference there, too.

I was an RA in college at Southwest MN State University two years later, and I was able to counsel and support freshmen students in our house as we went through some crazy situations. I allowed a random guy, who was drunk and drugged up, to grope and harass me for the protection of the students, and then work through it with them. I did everything I could for that house of students, everything they would let me. We formed some really great relationships, and it was really hard to say goodbye and get married that summer knowing I could never be an RA again.

During my junior and senior year, I worked at a Crisis Center in Marshall, doing supervised visitations. It was a relatively simple job most times, though it was always hard to pry children from their parents. But, I felt like I was making a difference, I was allowing these families to have time together that they wouldn't have otherwise.

My senior year of college, I took an internship at Western Community Action, and made it my mission to help combat the terror of poverty in our area. I loved it. I worked at the food shelf, basically running it, helping people have food. I helped run a free tax clinic where those who couldn't afford others to do their taxes could come and we would help. It was wonderful. I fell so in love with it that I applied to work there after graduation, and was hired. I then took on the food shelf, and started a group for girls, where they empowered themselves and learned leadership skills and other useful things. I ran a Big Buddies program in Redwood county (mentoring), and then my final project was to help form the Circles of Support program, where the community would come together on a regular basis, to relate, learn, lead by example, fight poverty, and form relationships, across all lines that are considered barriers (class, race, age, gender, etc.) I really felt I was doing something big.

During this time, I also volunteered at my other employment, the crisis center, as a Crisis Line advocate. The crisis line was a wonderful way to make a difference, with late night calls reporting rape, and I'd drive to hospitals to be an advocate for women who were going through perhaps the worst situation in their lives. I was there for suicidal callers. I was there for so much. They didn't always know me, but I was there. I was making a difference.

When I resigned from my WCA job and started as a preschool teacher, I felt important then too, not as important, but important. I mean really, I was educating young minds. Same goes for when I moved to Sioux Falls and started working in an infant room. But the impact didn't feel the same. I'm sure it's meaningful, but it just wasn't the same.

I sit here, raising my son, and am very, very proud of it. But at the same time, I don't feel like I'm making a difference like I hoped for, dreamed of, and wanted. I don't know why I feel that way. What did I actually mean when I told myself that? Was it to make a difference for countless people, or could it mean to make a difference in the life of one little boy sleeping on my bed? I don't know. I don't think there are clearly defined boundaries for my dream.

I think I just need to work on seeing the way things really are, and that I am still making a difference, just in a different way than I expected.

And who's to say I can't do something big, yet?

I'll give them the best of my life.

This afternoon, I received a text message from my husband, Jake, saying "Lead Me by Sanctus Real." I locked it in my phone, knowing I would come home from work later and look it up. I hadn't a clue what the song was, but I figured it must be a good one if he took the time to send the message.

He called this evening, before I had a chance to make my way for home, and asked me if I had received his message. I told him that I had. He went on to explain that one his way to one of the little towns he has his route in on Friday, he heard that song and it completely overwhelmed him. He said "It is how I feel sometimes."

Needless to say, as soon as I got home, I had to look it up.
Here are the lyrics.
Here is the music video.

I would summarize the song as a prayer to God, from a husband and a father, who feels like he has wasted time away from home, chasing things that didn't matter nearly as much as he being a role model and guidance for his family, and he asks God to help him to change that.

A few weeks ago at church, the pastor was talking about marriage, and how God calls men to be the spiritual leader for the family. He talked about how rare it is to see a man bring his family to church, as it is usually the wife bringing her family along. It's rare to see a man alone as his wife sits at home, or goes off with her friends, instead of going to church, but you see women alone and their husbands off playing golf, for example.

After church, I made a point to tell my husband how much I appreciate him, especially in regard to being a spiritual leader. Yes, I'm Christian, and I believe, and I pray, and I try to live my life the best I can to be a role for others, but for example, it was Jake's idea to find a church to go to together, and actually keep going to it. Yes, now we share in the leading and following, but really, Jake has always been a guide to me in my faith journey. Truly. He helped me years ago when I was starting to question what it was I really believed.

I also thanked him for being who he is to me. He isn't the kind of man who just shoves his family aside, or doesn't stop to pray, or who ignores things at home.

When I heard the song tonight, I broke down in tears. I can understand how Jake feels that way sometimes. We've been married for four years, and in those four years, it really does feel that we haven't really seen each other much, or spent a ton of time together. We have, but we haven't. He works so hard for our family, providing the main income and stability, 12-16 hours a day each day he works for Schwan's. He works so hard for us that he even works on his days off sometimes. I used to hound on him, truthfully, for "avoiding being at home" or "avoiding me" or "neglecting me." The argument was always the same, I felt I valued time and he valued money, and that was that. I realize, especially as of this past year and a half, that's not the case, and we haven't really had an issue with it.

I understand why he works so hard. I appreciate him for that. Yes, I hate that he's gone and I am guilty as charged for telling him how much I hate his job and how I hate that he's gone, and how I hate being lonely at home "all the time," but I know it's for a good reason, or one that is at least valid.

I've often told him I'd rather be dirt poor than be without him. It's true. But we've found a way to make it work that we don't have to make that the reality.

He really is an amazing man.

I know he loves me.

I just don't want him to miss out on us, on our home, on our lives, and on the love that I have to give, and that his son will have to give.

It amazes me how he can work such long days, almost every day of the week, and yet, he still comes home and the first thing he wants to do is wrap his arms around me and hug me as tight as he can... giving me what I need, and what he needs, despite physical and mental exhaustion. He even takes the dog out for a walk most nights, even in the cold, even at midnight, just so that I can rest. He takes out the trash when I ask him to, or brings the laundry basket up the stairs because I can't carry it and see where I'm going. He even makes a late-night snack if I need it. I find that he would give me anything and everything I need before he even sits down to take time for himself, most nights. It's an awe inspiring thing, his devotion and love for me. I hope the world knows that of him. I'm not sure that they do.

I feel like a cruddy wife sometimes, when I think about all those small, but intensely meaningful gestures he makes so that I feel and know I'm important to him. I sit and question if I do the same in return. I try, but I too feel like I fail.

In a way, I feel that song was written for me, too.

Celebratory Episode of Epic Fail.

Last week Wednesday (June 23), I found out the sex of our baby! Jake didn't want to know, so I promised I wouldn't tell him, or at least try as hard as I could to keep him from knowing.

Earlier this week, I was the wonderful instigator of an early-morning episode of "Epic Fail."

Jake (my husband), and I were lying in bed on Wednesday morning, cuddling, taking in some early morning light, and mostly, on my part, avoiding being fully awake and trying my best to squeeze a few extra moments of sleep out of my morning. I've never really been a morning person, and much less of one lately, it seems.

For a few weeks now, Jake has been fortunate enough to be able to feel the baby lightly kicking from inside if he rests his hands on my stomach. Many places or people would say it's too early (22 weeks this week), but I know that it's true, because I have placed my hand there and felt it as well. So, he's not crazy for wanting to try to feel any chance he can get, in my opinion. (Sidenote: we noticed tonight you can see movement in there too sometimes, which is really awkward and totally awesome.)

Back to Wednesday morning, I was lying on my side, as I usually do nowadays, and his hand was draped over me and resting on my mid-section.

He said, after a short while, "I can't feel it kicking."

I responded, slowly, groggily, not paying a lot of attention to my words, "That's because [gender specific pronoun] isn't kicking right now." (Bet you thought I was going to tell here too, huh? Sorry, no such luck, still a secret!)

Immediately, or almost so, I started sobbing uncontrollably and buried my head into my pillow so he couldn't see my face. I cried and cried and apologized, and Jake just smiled and laughed a little.

I felt HORRID. Like a failure. Like I let him down and ruined the best surprise ever. He kept asking, "is it true? is it?" I finally mustered "would I be this upset if it wasn't?!" (Meaning, of course what I said was right and I'm ridiculously sorry for saying it...)

He said, "I think you're more upset about telling me than I am knowing!"

I eventually calmed down and apologized without sobbing, and he forgave me. Sure, he was bummed that I let it slip of course, but he said he wasn't mad at me for it. I'm pretty lucky to have him as my husband, I must admit.

So, the surprise, for him, was off, and now he too knows the sex of our baby.

While I'm still really disappointed in myself for letting it slip, knowing how badly he wanted to be surprised on the day of the birth, I am kind of happy about it now, too.

I was having a really hard time keeping myself from using the proper pronoun around him, for one. It was really hard to think of our baby as an "it" once I knew if it was a boy or a girl.

But more than anything, I'm really excited that I can now let Jake know the details of my dreams and visions. From the moment I found out, I could see our child as a toddler, chasing our dear beagle, Wendell, around the house. I could see our child playing with us at a park, going to family gatherings, cuddling with us on the couch. I was having SO much fun thinking and envisioning and dreaming about the future with our child, but I was really sad that I couldn't share these details with my husband, the one I wanted to most of all.

And now I can. For that, I'm grateful, though still sorry. It's quite the paradox.

Truthfully, I think now, Jake is kind of excited too. He can start piecing together his own visions and dreams of our future.

I can't wait to see what really comes true.


And Jake, if you're reading this, I'm still sorry. But thank you for being so understanding, compassionate, and wonderful to me. You're my hero.