I know it's time...

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

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

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

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

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

Her first day of daycare

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

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

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

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

Yet, I know it's time.

It's time to let go.

It's time to see her grow.

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

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

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

Photo Credit: Seize the Day Photography and Video

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

I know it's time...

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

I'm not who I was...

Thirteen years ago tomorrow, at 22 years old, I became a wife. It was a beautiful summer day, surrounded by so many family and friends. My dreams were coming true, and I was going to spend my life with the one who I felt God had chosen for me. We were going to do life together until we breathed no more.

I was legally married for nearly 10 years, and those nearly 10 years brought me so much joy, beautiful children, and cherished memories.  I look back on them and have so many memories where I could laugh until I cry. I have so many memories where I felt such love and joy that I did cry. And I have so many nightmarish memories that I try not to think about or I know I will lay in bed and cry until my eyes swell.  For the most part, honestly, I would say that it was worth it. I was blessed with the treasures I desired since I was a young girl, and that makes the entire journey worth living through.

The last few years of the marriage really brought me nearly a life's worth of stress and trauma.  There was so much darkness, too many surprises, and tons of huge mountains the children and I had to climb.

 Every year, now, I see the date come and go, I reminded of both the beautiful and the terrible memories that marriage brought to me. It's like a silent movie real that plays a rerun in my mind. This is my third year seeing August 5, my wedding date, as a divorced woman.

Each year, I look at my children and remind myself they were the best gifts ever given from that marriage and I am so grateful that God blessed me with the marriage that made their mommy. Each year that passes, I look back, and I see just how much stronger I am, how much wiser, how much more empathetic, how much braver, and how much more resilient I am than that young woman.

As the years carry on, I must say, on my wedding anniversary, I am able to look back and see that I'm not who I was, not entirely, but rather, how God continues to form me day by day, into the woman He always knew I would be.  I don't feel like I fully know this woman yet. Some days, she seems like a stranger I haven't really met. Many days are a blur, raising three young kids in a busy world, but I've been told this new woman is there and she's the one taking control of my life. I may still shed some tears, knowing my life is not like I had dreamed, walking down that aisle in my pretty white dress 13 years ago, but I think that's to be expected and likely very normal, even if my story is a little less than ordinary.  What I do know is that on my wedding anniversary, each year, I can look back and see a life lived with God, great friends and loving family standing by my side every step of the way.

This year is a little different, because after 26 months of near silence (again), my former husband is back in my life. It's been a few months in the making, but God has called me to allow reunification between he and the children that he willingly walked away from (again) in 2017. I've been pretty quiet about this, trusting my prayers and what I feel God has called me to do, instead of soliciting much advice.  I believe I am doing what is best for my children. On the eve of the anniversary, I ask for a gift this year, not for me, but for the children I was blessed with through this marriage.

Please pray for healing in their hearts. Please pray for healing in their dad's heart.  Please pray he will be a dad to them for real and forever. Please pray for patience, peace, and guidance for us all as we navigate this season with hopeful expectation and obvious reservation.

My littlest graduate

Last week, my heart simultaneously was aching and beaming with pride, as I watched my youngest baby walk down the aisle for her preschool graduation.

Yes, the long-awaited day had finally come.

She was the one waiting for it.  I was hoping to postpone it just a little bit longer.  She is so eager to be bigger and move on to grander things.  I, on the other hand, am trying hard to catch up to her in that respect.

But goodness, watching her enter the room with a smile beaming brightly set my heart on fire.  She is ready for grander things. 

She's so smart.  She's so sassy.  She's so independent.  She's so creative.  She's so brave.

She's going to take on kindergarten full force in the fall.

Watching her graduate was a little harder on my heart than watching her brothers.  When she started daycare, where she did the preschool program that she graduated from, she was less than one-year-old.  She started on the same day that I did.  We started together in the same room.

She's left me way behind.  I love where I am, and so does she, but she's ready to break forth.  I am not.

It's been such a joy watching my kiddos grow and move through the rooms, finding relationships with not only their peers, but my fellow staff.  I have LOVED the four years of having my princess in the building with me.  I have loved knowing she's near, just like I did with the boys.

But watching her go?  I'm not ready for that.   I have a few months to adjust, but I don't know that I will ever really be prepared to enter the daycare doors alone next fall, and not bring her smiling face through the door to see her best friend- the first daycare provider she ever had, whose heart she found a home in, and has loved her, and seen her, almost every single day of her life.

We are in for a big change.

I am so excited for her, though, as she is thrilled to join her big brothers at elementary school.  She has big plans and ideas for the days to come, and I love hearing her squeal with excitement as she tells me all about them.

Her graduation program was adorable, of course.  She grinned until she couldn't grin naturally anymore, then faked it and sang her heart out.  She was beautiful.  She enamors me. 

She wants to work in a hospital when she grows up.  She used to want to be a nurse.  I guess it's a little more open ended now. 

I stood there, watching her, grinning as huge as she did, with tears in my eyes.

My baby graduated.

They're all growing up so quickly.

When you rise, you will be five.

Dearest, sweetest girl of mine,

You have drifted off to sleep now, my love, after two full days of celebrating your birthday, which greets us when we wake in the morning.  You have been so excited and giddy with anticipation of this day for oh, so long now.  The little twinkle in your chocolate brown eyes gets me every time you smile, telling anyone who will listen that you are almost five.

Five.

How can that be?

Was it really that long ago that my completely unexpected, little ray of sunshine brightened this world?

I've said it before, but I will say it again.  I never knew I needed you, I never knew this family needed you, until we met you face to face.

Norah, dear, you are a gem.  You bring such sparkle to our lives, not just in literal form with all your pretty jewelry and glitzy garments, but your personality just radiates in a way I didn't know was possible. 

I've been told multiple times recently that you are just the sweetest, kindest little lady, caring so much for others bringing joy to many lives.  I sat here thinking last night, as I thought about what I wanted to write to you this year, that someday, I hope to be more like you.  Well, I mean, in some ways.  I do appreciate the fact that I know which shoe goes on which foot and I can zip up my own boots on the first try, most of the time.  But in matters of the heart, I think your brothers and I have some things to learn.  You forget offenses so simply a lot of the time, are so quick to forgive, and bursting with hugs and laughter. 

Little girl, you bring so much sound into our world.  You're your own little symphony.   You're always either talking, laughing, yelling, crying, or singing at the top of your lungs.  It's very rare you're silent- usually only while you sleep.  You have so much to say, and so many songs to sing.  I love when you break out in worship songs multiple times a day, whether its in your room, in the van, in the yard, or in the shower.  I try, when you're not paying attention, to catch it on video, so I can hear your small, gigantic voice for the rest of my life.

You have a wonderful sense of humor, and a nice helping of sass, rounded out with so much intelligence that you amaze me.  I was telling someone today, that you are so very smart, but that you're still little enough, though not for long, that you know big words and sometimes just cannot say them correctly.  I will be so sad when I no longer hear words like "callipetter" coming from your mouth when you tell me all about the little worm that turns into a butterfly.  These days will fly by all too quickly, and you will probably know more words than even I do.

Pip, I love when you help me bake in the kitchen, and I am so excited that I was able to create for you, the cake of your dreams this year.  Literally... your little unicorn loving mind has dreamed you riding on a rainbow unicorn with pink hair so many times.  You probably tell your brothers and I all about it at least once a week.  The look on your face when you see something that overwhelms you with joy is so unbridled I cannot help be overwhelmed with joy right alongside you.

Darling, you are a perfect combination of girly-little-princess-ballerina-with-pearls and please-let-me-pick-up-thirty-worms-in-the-rain.  You keep us on our toes, trying to keep up with what you adore and what you dislike.  I'm so thankful you are brave enough to try new things.  I promise you, we will be eating spaghetti soon, and I really do think you will like it.  I mean, you tell me all the time how your favorite foods are salmon and cottage cheese, and I have seen you eat noodles and sauce before.  I think you're just trying to pull one over on me, really.

Oh, beautiful, Norah B, I cannot wait to see what this next year has in store for you.  You finally will attain your dream of going to kindergarten, and I'll be left all alone to drive to work in the mornings.  I know you're going to do amazing at school, and I pray that you love it as much as you believe that you will.

I also pray that you will always stay kind.  I pray your heart will continue to grow and shine God's love to everyone around you.  I pray that you will change the world for the good.  I pray you will always know that you really are a princess- a daughter of the King.  I know we have talked about it before.  I pray that every time you feel the world tries to knock you down, you stand up, tall and strong, and press on with bravery and grace.  I pray that every single day you find numerous reasons to laugh.  I pray you never stop singing.  I pray that you never feel that you are anything short of a treasure.

Your brothers and I are so thankful for you.  I know it's not always easy growing up the "baby" of the family with two older brothers who are bigger and stronger than you and who, as you say, get their way more often (I promise you that's not true, at least I don't think it is...) but you round out our little family perfectly.  While you and the boys might get so sick of each other and fight about the most random of things, I know that you will always love and each other, stand by each other, and have each other's backs.  I see it daily.  Those brothers, they adore you.  Don't ever forget the countless times they call you a princess, and mean it with sincere love.  Don't forget how they agree to play dolls or superhero dolls, horses, or tea party with you.  Don't forget how they like to try to teach you things, too.  I know Spencer gets frustrated that you don't know how to multiply yet, but consider it a compliment that he thinks you're just that advanced.

Thank you, Norah, for showing us sunshine we didn't know before you came along.  Thank you for never letting anyone dim your fire.  Thank you for all the snuggles, the hugs, the kisses, and the laughs.

I love you, Sweet Pea.

-Momma

Just a Little Different this Year

Christmas is here, again!  Can you believe it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, this Christmas was different in some ways too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was just a little different this year.