I am (not) Clara.

A little over a week ago, one of my very besties had her first published novel released to the world.

THE GIRL BEFORE, by Rena Olsen, is an amazing piece of literature for many reasons.

This post contains slight spoilers, so if you haven't read the book yet and are wanting to, I suggest you head to Amazon, Target (or Target.com), or Barnes & Noble (or bn.com) and get your own copy. I believe you can read it safely without it giving away too much of the book.

This book is poignant and it deals with a hard, but extremely important topic that affects nearly every country in the world today, millions of people, including those in the United States. Years back, I blogged about the topic because it's so striking and important.

From the first page, each time I read it, I was hooked into the story. 

But one thing, above all, really resonates with me, especially this most recent time I read it.

Clara.

Clara is the leading lady in the book. It's her story. While I read, I found myself drawn deeply to her, becoming attached, empathizing with her so strongly that I could feel it in my core.  

A few days past my most recent read through the book, a friend told me that I reminded her of Clara.  Something struck me there, and it's been on my mind since.

I am not Clara, but yet, I am.

As many know, I've been through the control, manipulation, mind games, deceit, betrayal, neglect, and abandonment of a former husband who disappeared over a year ago from mine and my childrens' lives.

As I trudged through the loss, the further down the road I traveled, the more lies I uncovered, the more crazy plot twists and details I unveiled, the more widespread effects of his choices I understood, and the more overwhelmed and confused I became.

But I never gave up hope. I never stopped believing in the good. I never stopped holding onto faith. I never gave up on love.

I saw how naive I was at times for believing in him so deeply, and for allowing myself to be convinced he was a good person making bad decisions "to benefit his family" as he claimed. I forgave him multiple times and took him back. I allowed myself to take a stand for him, beside him, helping him fight his battles and clean up his messes when he lead me to believe it was necessary because he couldn't do it himself. I allowed myself to believe in his web of lies so strongly that I would stand up for him and fight for others to believe, too.

I trusted. I believed it was okay. I believed I was doing the right thing.

But then my world shattered and he was gone and I began to see the truth, and see the world so much more clearly.

I began to understand that I loved him deeply, but I didn't love the things he did or who he became. I understood I could love and let him go. 

I began to see my own strength. I began to relax and worry less. I began to gain control.

And then, I did what I never thought I would do. I stood up against him, fighting for myself and my children. I fought for him to be held responsible, all on his own, for the things that he did.

Because it wasn't me.  I may have been there, but it wasn't me and they weren't my messes.

I stopped fighting so hard to hold him close and fought to let him go. 

So much of what I believed to be true and real wasn't. I could be cynical and jaded. I could be bitter and spiteful. I could have given up on hope and what's good.  

But I didn't.

Good things can come from the bad things of the past. 

Today, I'm a new woman. I'm the lone parent and provider of my household. God is the foundation of our home and I'm the pillar of our family. I walk with my head held high, with joy in my heart, hope in my soul, even on the saddest or loneliest days. 

Because I am Clara, even if I'm not.

When I briefly discussed this with my friend, the author, she said this.

"I hope a lot of women in those sorts of relationships (like mine) will find a way to relate to Clara."

I think that's largely the beauty of the book. She's taken a serious subject (that you should read the book to learn more about, as I am not telling you exactly what the subject is here), pulled at your heart and caused your mind to think about it. It should anger you and stir within you the desire for action, really.  It should make you uncomfortable and passionate.

But, she also introduces you to this beautiful brown haired, green eyed, hopeful, confused, strong, brave woman that I believe so many can relate to. While their stories are likely to be quite different, there's going to be countless women who see themselves in th pages. Perhaps they'll only be at the beginning of her story, or perhaps they'll be more toward the last chapters or somewhere in between. If they're only at the beginning, I hope at the end of the book they see hope and the promise of better tomorrows. And, if they're where I am, more toward the last chapter of the harrowing story, they'll be able to look back and see just how far they, and Clara, have come.

While my friend has no idea I wrote this (or at least doesn't know I am writing it but will soon), I urge you to check out her site: http://www.renaolsen.com for more info and links to be in touch with her.

Made to Love

This morning, I went to MOPs for the second time. Now, I will say it was my favorite gathering so far, which doesn't mean a ton, other than I enjoyed it more than the first time.

And yet... it means a bit more. In my opinion anyway.

This morning spoke to me more personally than the first meeting. The guest speaker, Ginny, was fantastic. She spoke on friendships.

The way she presented the topic reminded me SO MUCH of a day from my childhood, where my best friend, Michelle, and I sat down in her garage, I believe, and were discussing the same topic. Friendships. Where we were in our relationship compared to other friends in town. In not so many words, we had a very similar idea that was presented this morning.

The most coincidental part was that we too diagramed friendship relationships, using circles. Where others were in relation to our closeness.

Just for fun.

I didn't even realize it while Ginny was speaking, but rather a short time ago, back at home, while reflecting.

It seems that we knew what we were talking about at the time.

This morning was a little different in that Ginny took it to a deeper level, binging God into it.

My summary: you are the center. You're the heart of your relationship circle. The ONLY perfect friend that you could have I the heart of your circle is God.

She kept saying that in order to develop deep and meaningful friendships, true, inner circle friends, you had to "power up on the power source."

Loved that.

Anyway, to combat your loneliness and fulfill your desire to be heard, valued, and loved, you need to power up. God comes first. He can do that. He is always there. And he will always love you.

And then, with his power-up, you can have these true and deep friendships. But be selective as to who you let in your inner circle. These people should build you up, not criticize or condemn. They should accept and encourage you. They should support you. They should be honest. Don't let "trash" into your heart (bring negativity).

Thoughts to null over.

I must say that I've had a fairly large (compared to some) group of best/inner-circle friends. Six that I can name immediately, and for that I am amazingly blessed. Of these six, some are closer now than others, in distance and relationship, but I think I could call on any of these six if I need. Two of them, I feel incredibly blessed by, as they share similar life circumstances with me and are very close in distance. I will be honest in saying that seeing them weekly (give or take) is definitely a saving grace.

Relationships, as I've known in the past, change and wane sometimes. It's true that these inner six and I have gone through changes, and maybe some have waned a bit.

I hope that my friends see me as a good friend, too. I try to be.

She also talked of marital relationships, and honestly, it was what I needed. Last night was rough. Things have been kind if stressful at home since the loss of Jake's former job, an antsy toddler with cabin fever, a teething baby (he's really not that bad as I probably portray in my frazzled texts to my husband as I listen to screaming boys...), and my out-of-wack-post-breastfeeding hormones throwing me for quite a loop.

The other night, Jake said he would do dishes. And he didn't.

And then yesterday was TOUGH. And last night, I had a meltdown.

Ginny used the illustration that when you ask your husband to do something, or he says he will, and doesn't, we often take that to as "he doesn't hear me, doesn't understand me, doesn't value me." (I think those were the three she said.) then, that leads to "he doesn't love me." Because love is shown by hearing, understanding, and valuing another (among other things). But that's not true.

I know it's not, but I tell you what, sometimes it really feels that way. Especially after you go through the situation time and time again for years on end.

People will fail you. People will disappoint. Not always, and hopefully not often, but it's inevitable. Because we aren't perfecto only Jesus is.

She challenged us to call on him and his perfect love for us in times of loneliness. Before calling a friend. Before your husband. Before Facebook.

I don't think it has to be a long call to God. I have always been of the "silent prayer/conversation with God" variety, not aloud, and I offer my thoughts often. Though its not always first.

So, I'll try. I don't think it will take away from my time for friendships at all. I think it will actually add to them.

We were created to love. We were created for community. The first was man and God. Then, with God, we love others.

I'm sorry for lack of cohesion in this post. It's another sort of "note to self" writing.

where the love spilled out they called it art

Have you ever found a CD that you fell totally, completely in love with?

I have.

And it was totally unexpected. Well, maybe not totally, but I wasn't expecting it. Maybe that is totally. Who knows. I'm tired, and done contemplating the phrase.

When I was a daycamp director for Shetek Lutheran Ministries in the summer of 2005, my friends (co-workers, what have you) and I were in Sioux City, IA shopping. While there, I came across a music/CD store, and was browsing the discount bin. The CD I found was Edwin McCain's "The Austin Sessions." I already owned two of his CDs and liked them, and thought the $4.99 sticker was quite a bargain, so I purchased it.

I would like to be able to report that I took it back to our host family's house and listened to it right away on my discman, but that'd be a lie.

It wasn't until almost a year later that I finally opened it and gave it a listen.

I remember the setting vividly. It was my college dorm room, spring of 2006. I was an RA that year and had a room to myself. Jake and I were engaged, and he was over visiting. At one point, we were going through my CDs to find some music to listen to, and there the CD was. So, we opened it. Then, I laid down in the middle of my floor and used my red body pillow to support my head. Jake joined me and we laid there listening to the CD in its entirety... more than once.

Immediately, I loved it.

It's a mostly acoustic set (I don't know if there's drums or piano, the CD is in my car currently) but it's mainly guitar, mandolin, possibly banjo (I could look it up, but like I said, I'm tired). I love acoustic music, so it's right up my style.

What I wasn't prepared for was to fall in love with each and every song. I don't know that it's honestly happened to me before this CD, nor after. I like most songs on most CDs I own, but I don't love them all.

Sure, some of the songs on the CD are somewhat dark or somber, but some are really upbeat and bright sounding. And they're all just amazing.

If I recall correctly, after researching the album a long time ago, most, if not all songs, are covers that McCain did of various other artist's music. But, not once had I heard any song before. I haven't looked any of them up since, either.

Sadly, when we moved, I lost my original CD, and it's really hard to find. Brand new on amazon.com, it's over $20. But, because I loved the CD so much, I had burned a copy for a friend or two years ago, and one of my darling friends re-burned me a copy to have at home again, because I've missed it so much.

Even Spencer likes some of the songs. He loves to dance to "Little Girls."

Jake loves the songs, too. His ambition is to learn to play them all.

I remember once, listening to the song "Romeo and Juliet" in Jake's... gold... car (I forget what kind of car it was) in the country late at night while we were driving home from somewhere. I was suddenly overcome with the realization that one day, we'll die, and how I really hope that it's together because I can't imagine either of us having to live without the other.

My favorite song on the CD, however, is called "No Choice." I will leave you with a link to a cover of it by some guy on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09lpEpK8COg (because it's all I could find) and the lyrics. It's just downright beautiful.

It was a love so big that it filled his heart
Til it swelled and finally burst apart
And where the love spilled out they called it art
But he never really had no choice

Chorus
Whoa, he had no choice
No, he never had no choice
When he gave his river a voice
He never really had no choice.
He was thinking that the pain came much too soon
When he locked himself up inside his room
Well it hurt real bad to write that tune
but he never really had no choice
And there were some who could not understand
When he built those castles with his hands
And he knew damn well they were only sand
But he never really had no choice.

Chorus

Sometimes a man sometimes a boy
And he made some music and he made some noise
But he felt his pain and he felt his joy
But he never really had no choice.
There was a beautiful fire inside of him
As he balanced his way out on that limb
Could've burned right through that branch so thin
but he never really had no choice

(Chorus)

And they all talked about him when he died
They studied and they theorized
But when he was through they'd laughed and cried
And he never really had no choice
It was a love so big that it filled his heart
'Til it swelled and finally burst apart
Where the loved spilled out they called it art
But he never really had no choice

(Chorus)
(Chorus)

See You Later.

This morning was hard on me.

This morning, Spencer and I said goodbye to Jesse and Samantha at the airport, as they ventured off to a new life in Alaska.

The past few days, actually, have been hard. On Wednesday night, I watched Jake hug them both goodbye, knowing that we'd see them again in November, and not knowing when we would after that, if it'd be months, a year, or more. That was hard. I cried quite a bit, knowing that it was the last time my husband would see his twin for quite some time.

This morning was our turn. They both crawled into the backseat for a few moments and said goodbye to my baby boy. Then, after numerous hugs and kisses on the cheek, I got into the driver's seat, and pulled away.

Luckily, November is barely over 2 months away, so it wont' be "too long" until we see them again. And, we purchased a webcam, so the three of us can Skype with the two of them. And of course, we have text messages, Facebook, and hand-written letters to look forward to. But, we won't be in the same car, park, room, what have you, for quite some time, and that's hard.

I try to figure out why I am so emotional over the entire situation, and I think I have it figured out.

Samantha and I met this year, she met me in March (after my surgery), which I don't remember, and we met for real in April. We quickly became close, talking, laughing, and spending tons of time together. We realized how similar we are, almost like sisters, and definitely new best friends. It's amazing! Then, she was blessed with the opportunity of a lifetime and was offered a job in Alaska, doing what she dreams of doing. Obviously, I am ecstatic for her, but it's hard to see her go. It's hard to let someone so close to you go, especially after only having her around for a short period of time.

And then, there's Jesse. We've known each other for almost 10 years, but unfortunately, I would say that we weren't really friends, or close, until around the time that Spencer was born. Now, I love him (not just like a brother-in-law, but as a brother, and a dear friend), and we have been able to really get to know each other, and finally spend quality time together. And now, too, he is on his adventure, and it seems all too soon for me. That, and he's my husband's twin brother, and the only uncle Spencer has within two hours time (roughly). So, I'm sad for all of us that they're gone.

But, as I said, I am very happy for them. I LOVE seeing them together and I know that they're deeply in love. I support their move and their lives in Alaska, wholeheartedly, and I want them to have the most amazing time away from us. I hope that we can visit them soon. I can't wait for Spencer to be able to spend his first vacation with them there. We've been talking about it for weeks! Only a few more years...

But, obviously, the conflicting joy for them and sadness for us doesn't make it easy to know they're gone.

Sam, Jesse, if you're reading this... I... WE LOVE YOU!

Juror.

Wow, two blog posts in one night!

Normally, I don't blog about current events and matters in the media, but today, well, by golly, I am about to.

But, not in a way that you might think. No, it's not going to be a "I agree/disagree" post.

Yes, it is about the Casey Anthony trial. (I think that's how you spell her first name.)

I have to admit, I've only followed bits and pieces of the story since it happened. I remember it happening way back when, and hearing about it quite a bit, and then not hearing about it as much anymore. Coupled with the fact that we haven't had cable television in quite some time, and I usually don't have an impulse to read the news (sadly), well, I am not all "up on current events," as you might say.

However, I did get sucked right into the news coverage this afternoon as I heard the verdict was soon to be announced. I was covered in goosebumps as the silence on the screen enveloped everyone watching. And, as the "not guilty" charges were read, my jaw dropped, hand covering the shocked expression, and I found myself thinking the jurors were crazy for not charging her with the murder of her daughter.

Yup, I will admit it, initially, my reaction was "SHE IS SOOOOO guilty!"

It didn't take long for me to start questioning the ramification of a not-guilty sentence. Would she become famous now? Make millions writing a book? She sure looked happy. Would I have been?

Yes and no. Yes, if I was not guilty (and I would be RIGHTLY not guilty, mind you, like I would kill anyone, heck, I hate killing animals), I'd be happy. But, I don't know that I'd be so elated... knowing that my DAUGHTER WAS STILL DEAD.

Yeah. Dead. My baby. DEAD.

The thought makes me physically sick. I sat there thinking I might throw up all over the place.

And then, I wondered... "so, if people just keep changing their story, no one would EVER really know the truth, so how could they be found guilty?"

Blah.

Fast forward, tonight I'm sitting here.. thinking about it again as I see all these posts and what not flaring up on Facebook once again. And I found myself, again, initially thinking, "ugh, she is guilty."

But then almost immediately, I got to thinking, "but who am I to think that?"

I mean really. It's not my call. Not only was I not there when it happened, but I was not a juror, and I certainly haven't been well-informed on the case.

But more than that, who am I to decide? The murderer knows. God knows. He'll deal with it.

Just like he'll deal with the baby girl whose life was taken... as he wraps his arms around her and allows her to live with him, side-by-side, for all eternity, alongside the thousands of other innocent children who passed away all too soon.

Furthermore, I began thinking about how I truly hope I NEVER am called to be a juror. I mean, maybe I wouldn't have such a qualm with petty court matters like parking tickets, but seriously... having to decide someone's fate like that? I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. I think I'd be physically sick the entire time. Especially in a trial like the one that ended on national television today.

Just a disclaimer: in no way is this post supposed to imply that we should not gave a jurored court system. It simply is to state I hope never to be a part of it.

Lullabies, Crafts, and Fireworks

I apologize in advance, and in retrospect, that almost all of my blogging lately has to do with Spencer or motherhood. It obviously is one of the very biggest parts of my life, and seriously, it's always on my mind, or nearly always.

Spencer has a CD with lullabies on it that plays in his room, pretty much non-stop, unless we realize it's running during the day and turn it off. It's a collection of songs, mostly that have meaning to him or our family. For example, "Never Grow Up" by Taylor Swift is the first song, for him and for me, because we danced to it right after he came home from the hospital, and it also reminds me not to take anything for granted, even his fussy evenings. Next is, "Godspeed" by the Dixie Chicks, as when I first heard it many years ago, I had hoped for a little boy to sing that song to at night. Somewhere further in the tracks is "A Page is Turned" by Bebo Norman, which was the song his daddy and I danced to at our wedding. Those are just a few.

Recently, I have decided that, since I have the linguistic abilities and some musical skills as well, maybe I should write him a personalized lullaby. Unfortunately, the idea hasn't taken off in depth, other than a few lyrics/melodies I sang to the voice recorder on my cell phone. I told the idea to Jake, and he wrote lyrics to his own lullaby. So, hopefully soon, Spencer will be spoiled with two of his own lullabies.

I happened upon Stumbleupon (or a friend told me about it and three weeks later I joined and started using it), and amidst some of my recommendations, I found a craft blog that I sat and read in its entirety and became inspired. The other day, I pulled out some of my craft papers, and constructed a tree. Yup, a tree. And I enjoyed it so much I started another (which is not yet finished).

It made me miss the days of Jake's big desk (that I was given when we moved in together) that I used for crafting- specifically book binding. Man, I LOVE binding books, but after we moved to Sioux Falls and didn't have room for the big desk, and therefore gave it to his brother, I stopped binding. We didn't have room. Still don't, really, but I found all of my old supplies that I just couldn't bear to part with, and I wish that I had space and time to make a few books again.

Last night, we took Spencer to a fireworks show here in town. He LOVED it. And while we were sitting there sharing our ice cream as Jake ate his own (he couldn't share, because he had peanuts and chocolate), I realized that another of our long-time family-oriented dreams had come true and we were living it right then and there. For as long as Jake and I have been together and discussing a future family, we would say things like, "I can't wait until someday when we show our kids fireworks." And there we were, all three of us... watching fireworks. And it was magical.

And a parting thought... I am ready for a new blog title. I just can't decide on one.

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.

She used to write poetry... and take fine art photographs...

Last night, I wrote a post about how I used to play guitar and vowed that I would bring that back into my life.

Tonight, I was sitting on the computer, browsing a friend's etsy shop (which I happen to adore and hope to own an item from someday) when I also happened upon a list of that friends' etsy favorites, which included photographs of coffee. (I think that was a complete sentence...)

That made me realize that it's been quite a long time since I've picked up my camera to take a "fine art photograph," or photograph of anything that wasn't my son or other family member.

I used to do that frequently (read: I had a project 365 for over a year straight, until I found out I was pregnant, actually, and I stopped that day), and I would sell them online in my own etsy shop.

Once, I had someone from a college in Tennessee (I forget which one, which is kind of embarassing, because the entire event was a big deal to me) tell me that she wanted one of my images in her curated show in a local art gallery! One of my biggest dreams had been to be featured in an art gallery somewhere!

Anyway.... Photographing "fine art..." I did it mostly for fun, however, and with the "crazy" idea that someday I would have my own art gallery in my home. Not to sell or anything of that nature, just to display some of my favorite photographs.

I loved taking photos. Heck, I still do, my focus just has, undoubtedly, changed from "art" to photos of my adorable (yes, I'm biased) son.

But that doesn't mean that desire isn't still there. I still have some photos for sale on an etsy shop, but I haven't really done any marketing to find an audience. Part of me doesn't have any interest in selling it, but then again, the other part of me does.

Tonight, on facebook, I commented how I miss taking fine art photographs. A few friends told me that they'd buy my art, or display it, which was great to hear, I won't lie. This then lead to someone commenting on how I should publish a photography book.

That had been one of my dreams as well. I guess it still is, I just haven't focused on it at all since Spencer's arrival. I have always wanted a book of my work published.

Then, I remembered I used to write poetry. I had over 200, maybe three hundred, poems written and published on a long-deceased geocities website. Fortunately, I had a crazy whim once to make sure to save them all and made two copies of the entire "works," one for my high school German teacher, mentor, and friend, Frau. The other, I gave to my boyfriend at the time (who is now my husband). When geocities had their demise, the website was surely lost, but luckily, these works are around somewhere. Jake says he still has it, and I know Frau does, because she let my little sister read them at school, or something to that effect.

I miss writing poetry. I haven't done that in YEARS. I don't know why. It's not like my love of language has faded, nor have I really lost my words. I guess I should probably find a spark inside of me and get that going, too.

What does poetry have to do with anything, you might be wondering? Well, I had the idea that maybe I'd put poetry with my photography, and have the two mesh, somehow.

Maybe. I guess we'll see.

The photos in this post are a few of my personal collection. Be a pal, and don't steal them.

No More Nursing.

After weeks of deliberation and internal personal battles, as of last night, I am no longer a nursing mother.

As I wrote in my "Dear Anonymous" post a few weeks back, Spencer has always been very slow while nursing, approximately an hour per sitting. It was okay at first, but as I've gotten more busy, and he's gotten bigger, it just wasn't working out.

And pumping was, at first, but then the supply dwindled.

Last week, I had a conversation with Jillian about it, in which I told her I was contemplating ceasing, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I knew the end was near on Friday night when he was so upset that I offered to let him pacify himself, and he just wouldn't take it.

This morning, I did not have time to pump before church. On the way to church, it hit me hard, like a sack of stones, "it's the end for us."

The end of nursing, of pumping, of breastmilk (except for freezer bag reserves) for Spencer and I.

The only thing is, I know it makes sense to quit. It doesn't work for our schedule and daily activities, and it's become nearly pointless to pump with hardly anything to show for it... but I didn't want to quit. Really. That's what's been holding me back.

I've been exceptionally emotional about it all day.

I've cut that tie to my baby. It's like I've lost a part of our relationship, and I wasn't really ready for it. I wanted to nurse for at least six months, and hopefully a year until we started whole milk. I made it to four months.

Yes, that's better than many can say, but it just feels a little bit like failure.

Like I am not good enough a mother to him, to give him what I know he deserves.

And then, while I know it's not actually the case, I feel like ceasing nursing is almost like a punishment to him for being too slow. Like... if you can't do it fast enough, then you don't get to at all. And I don't mean for it to be that way. I know he doesn't think of that, because he really can't process it, but my adult mind realizes that's how I would interpret it... so I feel like he must, inside, somehow.

So, all day, I've been battling these emotions, these demons inside of me, the ones telling me I'm selfish, I'm a failure, I'm a mean mom.

And I look at him and cry, because he wants so badly to be able to have what I will no longer give him. I visualize how beautiful and peaceful he looked as he would snuggle up next to me to nurse, holding onto the center of my shirt with his one little hand... and I know that I won't have that with him, ever again. It's a real loss, one that I was unprepared for mentally and emotionally. I didn't sit and nurse him for every feeding, but I did cherish those times when I had the hour to give him, and now... they're gone.

I know he will forget soon enough those times that we had together, and he will be okay. I just hope that I won't cry too hard, for too long. I can't even help it. I cried at church six times to three different people!

Green means go.

My mom and her boyfriend spent the last four or five days (I lose count) at our place while she searched for a vehicle to replace the one that was demolished in front of our house the night before Jake and I went to California.

Today, she found and purchased one. In order to secure the purchase, I gave her a ride to the bank. Spencer got mad at a red light, and when it turned green, I said something to him to the effect of "green means go, so now you can be happy." That lead to a conversation between my mom and I, in which she told me a story from my childhood.

To summarize: I was about two, and my mom and dad were in the car with my dad's good friend, Brad. Brad was driving. I was telling Brad, at a stop light, that "red means stop, and green means go." And, he proceeded to run a red light after I said it. My parents were like "What the heck?!" sort of thing, and he realized he listened to a 2 year-old for no reason and ran a red light. We laughed.

But then, I got to thinking about Brad. I don't really remember him, except a few photos from my early childhood, with like, a railroad hat on (my dad worked on the railroad, and those guys spoiled me, I hear), or with a teddy bear. But beyond that, I don't really remember him.

It made me sad. I remember there were years growing up when we mused with my dad about trying to track down Brad, but never were able, that I recall.

I realize that friends drift away. It breaks my heart, but it's true. Fact of life. I have friends that I was really close to that I haven't heard from in years, and others I haven't seen in a very long time either. I was trying to fall asleep, but got to wondering about them all... hoping they're well, wondering what they're up to, if life has blessed them, and all sorts of other things.

I'm sure everyone who reads this has a person or two that they feel that way about, as well. I know we can't keep everyone in our lives forever, but when I think about those I've missed out on along the way, I really wish that we could.

I think what is worst about having friends fade out of your life is when you don't have a "good" reason for it. You just sort of... stop talking. It's not that you don't like each other, love each other, care about the other, and all that, but for some reason, the communication just dwindles away and the flame of your friendship is smothered with silence.

And it always seems like it's been way too long to do anything about it, by the time you finally notice.

Time stood still.

It's been 78.5 days since Spencer was born. Over the past few days, for some reason, I have been reflecting back to that day, over and over, and over again. It's like my mind is in some sort of time warp.

My mind, apparently, was in a time warp that day, too. I suppose that is to be expected.

As I have been sitting here recalling the day that my son was born, it's like I am watching a movie. Everything still seems so vivid and clear. I almost hear the nurses voices, or Jake's as he "bounced" around the room with excitement and anxiousness. I remember the visitors and doctor visits, the pain, the excitement.

It feels, to me, that the world stop spinning that day. I don't recall if I felt that the day was moving really slowly while I was in labor, but looking back now, I feel that it went by super quickly. I wasn't have strong contractions until 10:00 or so that morning, and he was born at 7:34pm. I only pushed for about an hour. I know the act of pushing felt long, but it really didn't feel like I had been pushing, taking a break, and doing it again for an hour straight. Time was really strange that day. I had no concept of it.

I was realizing I only know how I feel, or what I experienced that day, really. I mean, Jake was with me, and I saw his emotions and experienced things of that nature, but I don't really know what was going through his head or what he was feeling, or what he saw, remembered, etc. What did he do when he would leave the room? What conversation did he have with his brother, or mother, or father, or step-mother, or our friends, when he wasn't near me? I just don't know. I wish he'd tell me. I asked, and he sort of laughed.

And then I wonder... what was my mom's day like? What did my dad do that day? My siblings? My friends? Jake's family? I remember his step-mother talking to me on the phone the Saturday before, asking if I wanted them to wait to come visit until after we were home, and I said they could come whenever. Her original plan was to wait until Tuesday or Wednesday, after Spencer was born, but she and Jake's dad were there waiting while Spencer was being born. Obviously, there must have been some excitement and anxiousness in their lives... but what did they experience? What happened in their lives that day? Jake's mom and twin also visited before Spencer was born. And our friends, Robert, Jillian, and Grayson, were waiting there as he was being born too, to meet him.

I know the world didn't stop turning, time continued on, and all sorts of things happened, maybe even some of great importance, on November 1, 2010. But, it's so crazy to me to not be able to recall any of them, to feel like I was plucked out of the world into this seemingly alternate reality, where the only thing going on was the labor and birth of our son. To me, there was nothing else.

But I wonder... what else was there?

Fluffy White Stuff

Snow. It's cold. It's white. It's pretty. Today, it's fluffy and falling beautifully outside!

This photo, to the left, is one of my all-time favorites that I have ever taken. It was taken January 20, 2009, apparently. These snowflakes were on my windshield, and I couldn't resist capturing their perfection.

I love watching snow fall. It's completely serene and mesmerizing. It calms me and lulls. It entrances me. I just found myself staring out the window watching the precipitation dance as it fall to the ground, for 15 minutes. It whirls and waltzes with such grace that I could have watched it for much longer, had I not the urge to sit here and write about it instead.

I love that snow is so soft after it's first fallen, that you can pick up a handful, and blow it away like a wish, or like a dandelion that's gone to seed.

Last year, my sisters and I were so excited about a snowfall much similar to that of today, that we

bundled ourselves up to go play outside, taking pictures of ourselves throwing snow, playing in it, blowing it around, and making snowballs as perfectly round as we could. It's one of my fonder memories of us spending time together.

I also adore how calm and peaceful the world looks as snow settles upon the ground, the stair railings, and the trees. It's as if it's been kissed with the beauty of heaven. I know that sounds corny, but I feel it to be the truth. Before the plows have thrown muddy snow onto our yards, or animals leave their marks in the fluff, everything looks like it belongs on a postcard of some sort. I absolutely love that pristine white landscape!

The one thing I really dislike about snow is that it makes traveling quite treacherous at times, especially if it is proceeded by rain and ice, and accompanied by wind.

If I am allowed to be safe at home, I do not mind it nearly as much, because I know that my safety is not threatened. Though, I worry about my husband on wintry roads, because he travels for work. Really though, driving in snow really makes me nervous. If it's just a little snow, that's fine, but as soon as it accumulates, or slushes, or ices, I'd much rather just stay at home with a cup of coffee or hot chocolate and watch it falling out the window, much like I am, today!

After roads are safe for travel, however, I do enjoy a venture out into the snow dusted world, especially if I have my camera in hand!

So, all this babble, and no real point, other than the fact that I do adore the aesthetics of a lovely winter snowfall. I don't even mind the cold so much, so long as I'm not forced to be outside for long in one of the famous midwestern sub-zero windchills. But a merry little jaunt to the yard to throw a few snowballs, make a snowman, a snow angel, possibly a fort, or just throw some snow around taking pictures? That sounds like a delightful way to spend a winter day. I can't wait until Spencer is a little older and can enjoy the snowfall

with me.

(All of these photos were taken by me, except the one of me, which was taken by my sister, Samantha. You can see the ones I took that day (and some that she or Allison took) by clicking this link. Please, do not copy, save, paste... well, steal, these photos.)

Moving, I despise thee.

Tonight, I'm feeling exceptionally overwhelmed.

I spent the majority of the weekend painting the duplex that we are going to be moving into the middle of this week. It was a long task, and more physically exhausting than I thought it would be (I presume Spencer can be to blame for that, at least partially). The other chunk of the weekend, I spent going through things at our current residence, packing them up, sorting them into piles, trying to savor some energy, as well as spend time with Jake and Wendell.

Tonight, I came home from work, and took a look around, and just burst into tears.

I hate moving.

I don't hate the aspect in which you take up residence in a new place. that part, I actually find to be a somewhat thrilling adventure. The aspects I hate are... packing, transporting, and unpacking. I'm not what you would call "skilled" at packing, and I find it to be tedious and boring under normal circumstances.

But, I've been alone for the majority of it... and I haven't really accomplished much. I'm not blaming anyone, and I'm not trying to complain and whine about it either. I'm just stating.

It's hard to be 33 weeks pregnant, emotional, tired, sore, and then unfocused... and try to pack up a household of things. And then I find myself trying to debate what I can pack up, what I should pack up, and what I should wait to do until right before we move. I mean, come on, let's be practical, I shouldn't pack up and move all of the food and the bathroom supplies... and then not eat or shower for three days. And then there's the focus thing... I get side tracked, or I'd rather have some human contact (because Jake is working to provide for our family, which I appreciate more than I express to him sometimes (I am sorry, babe, for that)) so I check my facebook, or text my friends. I can't stand trying to accomplish this task in utter desolation. (Yes, that's somewhat dramatic, I realize, but like I said, I'm an emotional roller coaster lately, ask Jake.)

And it's really hard to not be able to be carrying and lifting boxes on my own... and furniture, too. I understand it's not really safe for me, nor Spencer to be doing so, but then I just feel so... helpless.

And I feel horrible for my husband. I dread the packing and the small stuff I can do on my own, and then... I think about all that he has to do without my help, and how he has to try to find help to do it. As strong and amazing as he is (which he is, I tell you), he can't exactly carry a piano 10 blocks by himself, as well as up and down stairs.

It's just... a dreadful scenario all around.

But, instead of continuing this ramble... I'm going to work on washing the rest of the laundry and getting ready to move it over there myself (because hey, I can do that!) so that the washer and dryer will be ready to be moved come Wednesday as well. And I will most likely go through the desks as I do the laundry, and de-clutter and pack those up as well.

The Value of Postage

I'll be completely honest, I don't even know (without looking it up) what the price of a single postage stamp costs these days. I haven't really paid much attention when buying a book of them, and therefore, just do not know.

I do know, however, that the value of a postage stamp, in my opinion, is worth much more than say, 47 cents or whatever it is that you pay.

(Though, as a sidenote, I believe that there is no value in postage if it is being used to pay bills. I feel like companies who overcharge you (as most do) for their services and then expect you to not only write a check or money order and pay an extra amount just to mail it back to them (because heaven forbid they have an online or telepay option) should definitely pay for the postage themselves and send you an envelope that is prepaid. Yeah, that's how I feel.)

I'm sitting here at home, eating some chocolate peanut butter ice cream, having just finished going through the mail that we received today. In our box was a wonderful surprise, a hand-written letter from my younger brother, who is at basic training for the National Guards. Now, granted, his handwriting sucks and some of it is barely legible, but it is a treasure, nonetheless.

There's something about opening up the mailbox, sorting through all the junk, and finding a piece of actual correspondence, from an actual person (let alone one you know and love), written in his or her actual handwriting that just makes the heart smile (not to mention the face)!

I can't lie and tell you that I'm great at staying on top of handwriting correspondence, nor do I send out letters to my family and friends at the rate that I used to, especially when I lived at home in a small town, or was at camp during the summer and had little connection with everyone, but I do take pride in the fact that I do, from time to time, manage to get a piece of "snail mail" out there into the world. While I haven't been told by everyone who receives a handwritten morsel of thoughtful goodness that they really appreciate the gesture, I do believe that the recipients enjoy the letters when they arrive.

It's kind of sad to think that the internet, cell phones and text messages have almost wiped out the art of letter-writing in our younger generations, but, alas, it seems to be true. I just hope this artform doesn't completely vanish any time soon.

I guess in closing, I'll just say that if you feel like being truly generous, buy a few stamps, spend a few minutes writing down your thoughts, pack them in an envelope, seal, address, and mail. I wouldn't complain the least if it were me that were the chosen recipient, either.