I am okay.

I am okay now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am broken.  I am hurting.

But I am okay.  

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

All at the same time.

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

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

I realized it was.

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

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

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

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

I remembered the verse and I went in.

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t remember each layer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God has me.

I’ve known it all along.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unrecommended

I am just going to be completely honest here, and here's the forewarning- it's going to sound like a pity party even though it's not really meant that way. No pity, please. 

If you know me well, though, you know that writing out my thoughts is therapeutic (as in I have kept journals, written poetry, blogs, letters, notes... For as long as I can recall). I don't really want to unload this on my children, because they're children, and there are no adults here. And when I talk about emotional things I start crying and get snot faced, and when I'm sick, I cry and cough and gag and it's a mess. I also get pretty tongue tied and mix up nouns for no reason sometimes... So... Writing it is. I've prayed and cried it all out to God, but there's just something about writing to also help me process, and I often tell myself there might be someone out there struggling to pinpoint their own thoughts or feelings that may resonate with what I say.

But truthfully, I feel bad considering writing this, and even worse actually doing so, because my life is not nearly as difficult as countless others out there and I'm so very fortunate in so very many ways that it feels like I should just silence my thoughts and be simply grateful for the life that I have. I AM grateful for the life that I have, and for the countless blessings bestowed upon me and my children during this stressful time.

But yet, here's how I feel...

This past month has sucked- not all of the moments, but overall, it's been wretched and I want to just curl up in a ball in my bed and sleep for a few days because every part of my body, my mind, my spirit, my emotions, and my ambition is exhausted.  I used to tell the kids not to say "sucks" or forms of it, but during this isolation time, I agreed it was an acceptable description of the circumstances.  I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired while being a mom.

In the past, when I've gotten really sick, I've still been a mom, and really in those times the only parent around. This time is different in that their dad came back to their lives, but it's still very similar in that basically, because of the circumstances surrounding the Covid-19 pandemic, I'm the only parent around. They live with me and therefore they are considered contagious or potentially so, and they've had to quarantine with me while I have been "isolating" for a month.  And, since I can't "isolate" myself from them because they're not self-sufficient (or cannot be trusted) even when I'm finally better, they're supposed to be quarantined here. I feel absolutely terrible, guilty, ashamed, angry, and sad for their little hearts having to have not only been stuck here in this apartment for over 30 days now, but with a mom who is sick and tired of being sick and tired, who has little energy or ambition, and less patience than normal, although every effort is made for patience, grace, and mercy.  The only upside is that when I'm finally feeling better, at least I will hopefully be able to provide more enjoyment for them during this time than I currently have been, though goodness knows I've tried. 

I feel like I try so hard. I push to play games, listen to their stories, anecdotes, ramblings, and songs, cuddle, do creative things, watch movies, cook, and enjoy each other. I try so hard to be persistent and encouraging with the distance learning for school, which it seems, no matter what, ends in tears for at least half of us on a daily basis because the environment right now is not conducive to actual learning and it feels like  a chore or punishment to work through in such an array of distracting situations.  I feel like I fall short from their expectations or hopes though, and that slays me. 

• I know I'm not alone in my feelings, I just haven't had a homework assignment telling me to write about it yet.

In times past, when I've gotten sick, even though their dad was MIA, sometimes the boys could go to school, Norah could go to daycare, or friends or family could take them to church, or on a date, or hang out with them so I could rest. 

This time, that has all basically been stripped away because of coronavirus. 

So there's the diagnosis and the insanely long recovery time that I was finally working through, and then pneumonia hit me and set me back to basically square one. And while that's not an illness that would itself cause this isolation to continue... It's all wrapped up in the coronavirus pandemic. 

I worry my kids are suffering because of this. I know they're technically fine, and I know they know I don't feel well. Some days I had been doing better than others, and it has been such a rollercoaster all along, I feel like it's so hard for them to understand or anticipate and it's incredibly frustrating for them. It has to be, because it is for me. 

This month-long illness for me has been one unlike any other.  I cannot even fathom what it would be like to be a single parent with a terminal illness and it breaks my heart so heavily to think that there are people out there who have that reality as their life story. 

The doctors and advice all say to rest and not stress... And it just feels impossible when you're the only parent of three children in the home. 

528 out of 10 : I do not recommend getting sick when it means the world shuts down around you and locks you away like it does during the covid-19 pandemic. I do not hold strong opinions one way or another on the way the government and population are approaching things, because I see many facets of thinking and how many options are simultaneously good and not so good. 

I don't understand why this has happened. I do know that, just like every other difficult, overwhelming, exhausting, or traumatic thing we have been through in the last 7 or so years, we will come out declaring that God is still good (because He is). I am just... a beautiful mess singing a broken hallelujah, I suppose. 

Sorry, that was heavy and long. 

Thankfully, while I was writing this, worship music and prayers playing in the background gave me the press I need to carry on and try to tackle this day too. 

Special thank you to anyone who has prayed over us during this time, sent mail, texts or other messages, brought groceries or meals, helped us stay afloat, and so much more. I can't even imagine how much more difficult this would have been without you.

Spectacular Six

Dear Norah Girl,

That's what you told me, tonight, that you want me to refer to you as when you're six- "Norah Girl."  It's to mirror that you call Spencer "Spencie Boy" and Collin "Ollie Bear," and "Norah B" is reserved for some special others in your life.  I suppose it's time I move on from calling you "Pip" or "Bubs," but I can't guarantee that it will happen.  I'll try to refer to you by the requested name though.  You said you would try to remind me.

We will see what tomorrow holds.

What I do know tonight holds, though, is a beautiful five-year-old little lady, snuggled up in the fort she made out of her bunk bed, with her new nightlight tree from Grandma plugged in and sitting at your feet.  Tonight is your last night being five.

Goodness girl, you are excited about that.

If I'm honest, your brothers, as the day went on, became a tiny bit annoyed listening to you go on and on a thousand words a minute (roughly) about how tomorrow is going to be the best day, because it's your birthday, and you will be six.  They surely couldn't wait for you to stop at bedtime, and the look in their eyes said it all.

Momma, on the other hand?  I loved listening to your excitement.

You see, this birthday... this one is different.

It sounds so cliche to blame it on this pandemic that's spreading throughout the globe, but it really is to blame for the strangeness this birthday presents to us.  School is closed, the world is nearly shut own, and we are stuck here at home while I overcome the virus that's tried to take over my lungs.  

You've been praying frequently for the last 11 days, for "corona VIRUS" to leave your momma alone.  As much as I hate the words, the way you say it, with the emphasis on the end, is just adorable.  

I'm sorry the past few weeks at home have been so hard, leading up to your birthday.  I know I've been asleep so much, sick so much, a bit crabby, and just not my normal self.

But baby girl, you've been phenomenal.  You refuse to accept that I shouldn't be with you, and you snuggle up beside me as soon as you decide you miss me.  Your brother do too, but not as much as you.  You don't want to leave my side.  I know it's partially concern, and it's a lot of loneliness.  You've always been such a social sunshine, and being isolated at home for two weeks already has been hard on you.  

I've seen you cry about missing your family, your friends, church, school, and daycare more than I care to admit.  I have held you, wishing I could make this isolation and virus go away.  

But instead, we've just been here, together.  You've been praying for me.  I've been praying for you.

I've been so worried, since school first was cancelled, that your birthday would be sad.  You see, I had taken the day off work to surprise you for lunch and in your kindergarten classroom.  I couldn't wait.  But that was taken away.

So then, I decided since I had the day off, we would surprise you with a trip to daycare to see your friends for a treat, so you could celebrate anyway.  

Then I got super sick.  And since I'm still sick, we cannot do that either.

We can't even have people over. 

But it's okay.  You've shown me over and over that my prayers surrounding your special day have been answered.  I was so worried you would be crushed by the isolation and saddened by all the losses involved.

But you haven't been crushed.  You have been a little sad.  But it won't overtake your joy.

The most beautiful thing happened this morning.  You knew that since I am still sick and we can't leave, we couldn't even get birthday decorations.

You wouldn't let that get you down.  So you made them yourself.  And you decorated the apartment with our help.  You spent the entire day just filled with joy over these decorations.  And then when someone dropped off streamers, we hung those too.  And tomorrow, there will be surprises that people have dropped off at the door, and the gifts that I ordered online- even though I couldn't leave.  And your brothers, this year, sorry babe, but they're getting some stuff too.  It's a hard time for them as well.  They'll forgive you for all the birthday talk when they see they are most definitely not forgotten or overlooked.

And tomorrow, you'll have video chats and phone calls and written messages from people who care about you.  There's even a surprise visit being planned for the deck sliding glass door.  So, it won't really be just us.  We will be the only ones in the apartment, but you will still celebrate with people who love you, because goodness darling, you love people.

Sweet Pea, you radiate joy.  Yes, you have other, strong, explosive emotions, but overall, you are just filled with joy.  You have been since the day you were born.  I think I say it every year in your letter, but God knew what He was doing when he brought you to us.  You may be the smallest, but goodness, you love like the biggest of them all.

This past year has been chaotic, beginning school, having your dad come back into your life, bringing a new family into your life as well, but you've handled it all with grace.  Yes, there have been some pretty intense struggles, but you were never broken down.  And you've become stronger, smarter, and more fierce, both good and not-as-good ways.  You've become a bit more sassy, a bit more emotionally charged, and hugely more humorous.  While you do talk... oh... pretty much non-stop, it's usually quite fun listening to you.  I especially love listening to you play with your toys by yourself.  You're so creative and come up with some of the most interesting scenarios.

You told me yesterday that someday you hope to have a daughter, and name her Maria, but also you don't want to get married and have kids so maybe you'll just have a dog named Willow.  Then you walked away.

Alright, Norah girl.  You know I love you beyond words.  I know you know I pray for you.  For this year, specifically though, I pray that you do not let the world rob you of your sunshine.  Do not let the world dull your sparkle.  Do not let the world steal your joy.  Carry on with Jesus shining in your heart, so you may carry on loving others the way that you do.  I pray that you continue to grow into your bravery.  I pray that your patience develops even more deeply.  I pray that your creativity and imagination continue to blossom and bloom.  You have so many amazing things in store for you and I cannot wait to see what invaluable treasures you bring into this world.  I pray that you know that no matter what, I am on your side, and I'll always be here, and there are countless others who feel the same.  I pray you always know God loves you more than I ever could, even though neither of us can figure out how that would be possible.

You told me today that you love me most of all.  When you walked away, I cried.

I love you, and your brothers, most of all too.

You are the best things that ever happened to me, and I am so glad that you're mine.

Happy Sixth Birthday, Baby Girl.

Love,

Momma

Day One

Today is a milestone day. It's one I don't talk about frequently, and in the past, pretty much only with people I know well.

Five years ago today was day one.  Day one of myself really taking charge of my children and my future in big ways.

Leading up to day one was almost a year of struggles and heartache and turmoil and unknowns and the world falling apart in front of us, where I felt we were just being washed up by the tide and I was trying to stay afloat and just praying we would make it by.  With the help of some dear and trusted family and friends, we did make it by, and I found the footing underneath myself to step into day one.

Day one happened at night.  One night after work at my job of 6 weeks, I came home with the children, and made the terrifying, bold, now-or-never decision to pack us up and move from our temporary shelter in a friends apartment to the new (at the time) homeless shelter, knowing our time would have to end with her soon anyway due to a lease being up, and feeling like if I didn't act, we would run out of options quickly.

So, we went, one cold winter night.

It was a temporary solution that felt like an eternity, especially the first night, as I heard my infant daughter's crying in our cold, empty bedroom, because my two-year-old son had woke up screaming and terrified, as it echoed into the high ceilings and sounded like it would echo for eons.  We had to be up and out before the sun rose the next morning, and I had hours to waste before I had to be at work, but 90 minutes to waste before we could be let back into the doors of our temporary shelter.  The next nights weren't any better, really, and I barely slept in days.  But, we stepped out, day one, day two, and continued, one foot in front of the other, until we found a temporary apartment at the St. Francis House (which is sort of like transitional housing for the homeless) and then I had enough footing and finances to secure our permanent home, the same apartment we have been at since.

Tonight, I came home on another freezing cold night, to a warm, inviting home, where instead of hearing my baby cry echo, I hear laughter in the bedroom as the children play together happily.

We have come such a long way since that first day.

I am very proud of us for holding onto God as he helped us navigate year after year of struggle, to bring us to this fifth year, where I think we are happier and healthier in many ways than we have been since, I dare to say, before my daughter was ever born.  God is so good.

I won't continue on, I've written about this before.  If you care to read more about it, or another milestone post, you can by clicking here.

Here's an excerpt I read this evening from my journal that night.  I have to smile as I read the last sentence.  God has done just that, in more ways than one.

"Tonight, here we are. In a family room at a homeless shelter where we can’t have food or drink in our possession, our clothes had to be sanitized before we could have them, we can have no TV, and minimal personal belongings.

I know I should and shouldn’t feel both ashamed and embarrassed. I do feel both. As I walked through those doors with a few bags of clothing and a few handfuls of toys, I knew this was the bottom or very close to it. I feel betrayed by myself and my marriage and my hope and my faith.

As I laid down beside my two toddlers tonight to help them relax and fall asleep, I sang to them, and their eyes quickly closed. My tears started flowing, and I realized that my heart is still so full of love. I feel beaten, but I feel brave. I have been told for years I am strong. People admire my strength and my outlook.

Tonight, I am tested. I am at the edge of my strength and my positive outlook. But, I am going to take that leap of faith that miracles will happen and my children and I will have a home soon. I have faith that my credit can be restored. Someone will give is a chance. It won’t always be this. I won’t always be at the bottom.  I am seeking strength like never before. Strength I don’t know that I have. I am praying endlessly for miracles. God can redeem this all, and maybe if I’m so fortunate, my children will have a mended family someday too."

The last single digit birthday for my first baby

Dearest Spencer,

This is your last night being eight. Tomorrow, you’re nine. Nine is the last single digit birthday. It’s hard to believe that it has been that many years since I laid in bed, crying both tears of excitement at your scheduled arrival the next day and tears of fear and worry that I wouldn’t be a good enough mom to you. That’s right. I prayed and longed for you most of my life, but the night before you were to finally meet us, I was terrified that I would fail you.

Truthfully, that’s been my fear every day since. I hadn’t thought about it really until that night nine years ago, when it completely overwhelmed me, but it’s been in my mind at some point almost every single day since.

God has reached me multiple times, of course, and reminded me who I am, my calling, who you are, and how perfectly equipped we both are to live this life together.

He made us for one another, you know.

Photo Copyright : Seize the Day Photography & Video

I made you, inside of me.

But you, my son, made me who I am, also inside of me.

You made me a mom, and as the two of us have discussed multiple times, we have been learning what that means, every day, together.

My brave boy, thank you for your patience as I continue to learn and embrace this calling upon my life.

I know this year, again, has brought us some struggles, but I think overall, it was a pretty good year of learning who we both are. I have watched you develop a new sense of confidence and really show me that when you set your mind to something that interests you, you can do amazing things.  Watching you succeed in taekwondo, for example, is one of those things and it brings me such great joy.

I’ve been so proud as I have watched your grades excel and hearing almost all positive reports from your teacher at school. Seeing you interact with kids on the playground and school functions has shown me you’re  coming out if your shell more this year. It’s been a delight to witness.

I’ve have also seen you grow over the year in your love for babies and toddlers, who up until this point, have made you a bit uneasy. This shows me your confidence and security are growing.

I love seeing your compassion for others continuing to grow, like when you suggest we pray fir people, donate things we don’t need, or when you snuck your arm around me at the theater watching the remake of “Lion King” and tried to console me while I sniffled away watching Mufasa die, even though we all knew it was coming.

That’s not to say that we haven’t had our issues and had things we have been working through. I know we struggle with the fact that you are feeling bigger and older now, and your conversations and tone of voice are occasionally something we are at odds about. I know also that as you continue to mature, there will be more awkward and in between quirks and things we will continue to navigate. I pray we both continue to have the patience to navigate these challenging waters we have up ahead.

I try not to think about it too much, but I know that ten is right around the bend, as well as a lot of big changes for your mind and body. I pray for wisdom and understanding for us both as those days come along.

I know that you struggle with your thoughts and emotions sometimes, especially when it comes to letting people in and sharing whats on your heart and your mind.  I am so proud of you for the growth you've exhibited in this area in the last year.

I also love watching you fulfill your role as a big brother.  You often have patience with your brother who tries every ounce of it and gets on your nerves more than you would like, but who is also one of your best playmates and someone who understands you better than most anyone in this world. I am so proud of you in that when he is being bullied, you've begun to stand strong and firm for him. You are a protector and leader for your little sister who adores you like no other.  They're both blessed to have you.

Thank you, dear boy, for still letting me hug you throughout the day  and give you kisses at bedtime. Thank you for the random snuggles and cuddles that I refuse to fully acknowledge are growing more scarce.  Thank you for all the random tidbits of information you share with me, because sometimes they're things I didn't already know, and I love knowing random things.  Thank you for making me laugh.  Thank you for challenging me to follow through with things that I expect of you all, like kind voices even when we are upset.

Spencer, I pray that year nine is a year of countless blessings. I pray you hear God speak to you, to help you understand your purpose in this world.  I pray that you continue to find your passions.  I pray that you continue to develop your drive.  I pray that you find the courage and strength to embrace your emotions, your fears, and your worries, and to find the words to let others know what bothers your heart when you're in a space feeling down.  I pray that this year you laugh like no other, that you sing your heart out, and that you explore and learn so much that you feel the world open up like it never has before.  I pray that you can stand up to peer pressure and know in your heart that you have it in you to do what is right, even when it's hard.  I pray that others can see the light inside of you, the one I see and know is there.  I pray that you realize that you are leaving a brilliant mark on this world.  I pray protection over you as you go, each day, into this big world that's continuing to expand all around you.

I pray you never doubt your worth.

I pray that you always know you are loved.

Dear son, I am so grateful you're mine.

 Happy Birthday when you wake, my first baby boy.

Love always, mom.