Two Teen

Dearest Collin,

The day is upon us. Tomorrow, you will become my second teenager.  As is always the case, I feel that this year has flown by and tomorrow could not possibly be your birthday again. As is always the case, I cannot slow time down, and tomorrow is your birthday again.  Time is cruel in that way.

I want you to know that I have loved this last year with you, watching you grow and mature.  I have loved this past year, because in some ways, time has been kind, and although you're a big kid, you still hold on to some of that younger-child joy.  There's a sparkle in your eye when you wonder that I hope you never lose, like I believe you will never lose your love of dinosaurs.  My momma heart hopes you hold onto that as long as possible.  The world as a whole makes us grow up sooner than we should, often times, and holding onto those special things that bring you joy is important, if you ask me.

I know that you do not always agree with me, but Collin, you are so smart.  So often, I will be talking about some random topic, and although I do not realize you're listening, from across the room, you will interject some random fact, or answer a question I hadn't even asked yet, and I absolutely adore that about you.  I love the way your mind works.  I find it to be an intriguing place, and I often muse about what kind of things are buried deep inside.  

I have enjoyed watching you grow in courage as well.  When you went to the youth group retreat this summer, I had a moment of tears, seeing you ready to experience something like that, far away from me, not knowing what to expect, but being full of anticipation.  I heard such wonderful things about you and the color you bring to people's lives when you are not with me.  

I love watching you with your cousins.  Although most of them are younger than you, you connect with them in fantastic ways.  One of my favorite moments of the summer cousin time was when one of your cousins told me that she knows you will protect her.   I loved watching the two of you laugh endlessly, then focus and discuss things on the couch together.  I just love seeing you "click" into place with people.  I love that more than one of your cousins has told me recently that they know you love them so very much.   

I love that we all know that even if there is tension sometimes, sibling bickering, or foul moods, you will ALWAYS have our backs.  You are always on our side.  You have fierce, unwavering love for the people you choose to love, and you would do anything you could to protect them.  We have seen it many times.  I pray that as you continue to grow in patience and wisdom, you will be able to discern the right time and way to stand up for those you care for.    

I know that you are going to do big things in this world.  I know that you are going to continue to live a life of inquisitive discovery, and that you are going to find special ways to leave a lasting mark.  I know that you are passionate for making this world a better place, that you love the environment, nature, animals, and more.  I have seen the fire in your spirit when you hear or see injustice.  

As always, there are struggles in each year that we live and grow, but really, Collin, this last year was so wonderful overall.  You have become more patient, and less quick to react in many situations.  I know that it has been a hard road to get to this point, and I have seen you work incredibly hard to be where you are.  I know that it isn't always easy and that mistakes will be made, but I also know you learn from each of them.  

I pray that in this coming year, as a teenager, you continue to find passions and interests in new and exciting things.  The world is still opening up for you, and there are countless opportunities ahead of you to find what brings you joy.  

I pray that you continue to have patience, grace, and kindness for those around you, and that each day, you feel patience, grace, and kindness toward you as well.  You give some of the very best hugs on the planet, and I pray that you never stop sharing that gift with me and the many others who love them too.  

I pray that while you grow stronger, you continue to grow gentler as well, and are able to find the balance in each moment.  I pray that your love of nature, of cats, and the rest of the world around you continues to deepen.  

I pray that you are always able to find safe spaces and comfort in your environment.  

I pray that while your mind continues to race, it also continues to learn to rest. 

I pray that you and your siblings continue to grow up, but grow together, and use these next years to solidify your bond that will carry you through the rest of your lives.  Siblings are a priceless treasure, and I pray that you all always know that you can count on one another. Always. 

I pray that as you continue on in middle school, you find your people- the ones you know will have your back just like you do for so many that you love. I pray that you will find yourself as part of the larger community of peers, and never as an outsider.  

I pray that even though you sometimes feel different, you realize we are all unique, and even in your differences, you truly, completely belong.

I pray you will continue to be proud to be my son and never embarrassed to be with me.  There's something so wonderful about the fact that you are still willing to hold my hand while walking sometimes.  I love that you tell me you love me in the drop off lane at school as you exit the car- even if occasionally you're in a grumpy morning mood.

I pray that these teenage years are a lot of fun. I know there's potential for... moods, and stuff... that comes with the age, but I also know that there's potential for SO. MUCH. FUN.  It has already been a joy seeing our relationship grow and evolve as time ebbs on.  

I pray you will always let me call you Ollie Bear, even if it's eventually only in secret.

Collin, my love, the world is a better place with you in it.  Never let yourself believe otherwise. 

I pray that being a teenager is all you dream it will be, and so much more.  

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'm so glad you're mine.

Love,

Mom

 

Another Dozen Years

 Dearest Ollie Bear,

I wonder how long it will be before you ask me to stop calling you “Ollie Bear.”  I hope that you never do, but I understand that as you get older, things like that may be less acceptable, so I’m holding on to that nickname as long as I can.

As you lay in bed tonight, wrapped up in your blanket, with Mr. Cuddles and books strewn about your bed, you look so young, but so much bigger than I remember you being not all that long ago.  In the last year, you’ve not only grown taller, but more patient, focused, and mature.  I’ve watched you deal with complicated situations and heated emotions with more grace than ever before.  I’ve seen you kneel down to the eye level of younger kids and help direct them in clear, loving, rational ways.  I’ve seen the amount of impulses you act upon decrease in number as the days wind onward. You’ve walked long, difficult roads, for many years, and come so very far.

Mister Collin, you bring such depth and variety to my life, but also the lives of countless others around you.  This year, you’ve started middle school, which was an emotional transition for both of us.  You’ve left such a lasting mark on the hearts and minds of so many in your days, however, that there were emotions and questions and anecdotes and memories shared with me by so many of the elementary teachers  and staff that you left behind as you go forward on the new journey.  Watching them all hug you on the first day of school this year, as we took your sister to her final elementary year, brought tears to my eyes.  They trickled down my cheeks after I watched you step out of the car and walk bravely to the new school where you will meet an entirely new set of people to leave a mark upon.  I pray that it’s a positive, beautiful mark, and that you can touch their lives as you have so many teachers and staff before them.  I get such joy hearing all sorts of Collin stories.  You really liven up this life.

You are such a smart dude.  The amount of information you are able to bring to us is incredible, and listening to you and your older brother discuss more complicated topics than you have in the past makes me grin in the other room as I listen in quietly.

I’ve enjoyed learning new things about you over the course of this last year.  Just recently, I found out your favorite song is “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” by Tears for Fears, which intrigues me greatly.  It sure does bring a smile to my face to see you run to the room the song is playing from and do your little bee-bop dancing as you sing along.  I really have no attachment to the song and could go my life without hearing it again, but then I wouldn’t have those moments of watching the joy it brings to you. I love that you found an interest in playing the trombone in the school band last year, and that you’ve become quite a talented artist, bringing your unconditional love for dinosaurs to drawings I find throughout the apartment and car. 

You still have such a quick sense of humor, but also a clever set of problem solving skills that have become quicker as days go by.  It’s been another fun thing to watch you really tap into. 

You’ve become braver over the last year and really been more open to trying new things.  It’s been a joy to watch you realize new loves, likes, and even dislikes.  The world is such an expansive place and with so many experiences to immerse yourself in, and I love that you’re willing to approach it in ways you haven’t in the past. I love that you realized you love steak… and bacon- lots of bacon.

I love that you’re almost always up for some kind of adventure (even if it takes a little coaxing) and that you still let me take your picture even if you don’t really want me to.

I love that you still love to hug with full force and wreckless, loving, abandon.  I love that you still like to snuggle me.  I love that you still rest your head on my shoulder as we sit on the couch.  I love that you remind me you love me.  I love reminding you the same.

Collin, I can’t wait to see what your next year brings.  The first dozen have shown developed a love in me like no other and helped me see the world through so many different lenses and filters.  You’ve taught me deeper patience and understanding.  I have seen you bring those same gifts to others in all areas of your life. 

I pray that your next year is filled with life-altering and personality-solidifying experiences, but I mean that in the best ways.  I know you’ve had enough heartbreak and trauma in your first twelve years.  I (perhaps unrealistically, because we know how the world can be) hope that only great and beautiful things fill this next year of your life.  If, by chance, some less than wonderful things happen, I hope you can find the beauty in them, at least looking back at them, if it is hard to as you go through.

I pray that you make life-long friends and supportive, positive relationships in middle school. I hope you find your niche and your people and that you sense safety in those spaces and communities.  I pray that your mind is enriched greatly by all the new things you will learn and do. I hope you love your middle school years.  I hope your year twelve is the best one yet.

Thank you for being a beacon of unconditional love, not only for me and your family and friends, but even for many who have “wronged” you or caused heartache in the past.  Recently, we were discussing a person that, at the time, was incredibly difficult to continue interacting with, and you remarked how they were a good person.  It stopped me in my tracks and I tasted the bitterness in my spirit and realized that you were right, they are likely a good person, even if our experience with them was pretty wretched overall.  

I hope you can continue to easily forgive others and to not hold grudges that weigh on your heart.

I love you, my Ollie Bear- more than you’ll ever know.

Happy Birthday, Buddy.

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m so glad you’re mine.

-Mom

Aching elementary hearts

 This morning in our home, today began like most mornings over the last nine months have- a flurry of alarm clocks, sock hunts, lunch making, shirt turning inside-out-ing, backpack filling, shoe finding, five minute reminder chaotic filled moments. We made a special trip for "last day of the school year donuts" on the way to yet another traffic jammed elementary school drop-off lane commute. 

"Have a great last day of school! I love you!" I called to each of my three kiddos as they jumped out of the van and scurried off for the school doors. 

Yesterday, my fifth grader gave me permission to cry if I needed as I embraced the sentiment of the day. As I drove away, I did just that.

I have spent the majority of the past six years' mornings in that drop-off lane, calling out to one, then two, then three kiddos as they left my presence each morning. I've watched scrawny little wide-eyed, nervous and excited kids grow into bigger, more confident, wise, hilarious, and sometimes awkward kids. 

I have had six years worth of first day of school teary drop-offs and now six years of last day of school teary pick-ups. 

This afternoon was different. I surprised my kids at the school picking them up again this year, and each one greeted me with tears falling down their cheeks, as usual for the day. But this year, the tears had a little more depth to them as we all realized the end of an era has come. 

The big brother of the trio finished elementary school today. Overcome with emotions, he made his way to me, walking alongside one of the counselors who has helped him grow so these years, and immediately found solace in my arms. I held him while he cried and told me how it was hard to say goodbye, so difficult to be done with the hallways and classrooms of the building, and so sad to say goodbye to almost every other fifth grader, as he would not be attending the same middle school as they would. He told me how much he was going to miss his teacher and so many other teachers and staff in the building. He found himself embraced in hugs from his siblings and from some staff, and waved teary goodbyes to many others. I reminded him that he may still see some of them around the city, and again in early mornings next year as he waited for his bus transport to middle school each day. He reminded me gently that "that's not the same." I acknowledge the truth as well and held his hand as we walked onward. 

His siblings, also saddened by the see you later the end of the year brings, cried over having to part with teachers they loved, and knowing it would be a shorto before they'd see many of their classmates again. But this year, they cried alongside their brother as the reality that he wouldn't be in their school next year sunk in. They cried over surprise encounters and hugs in the hallway they would no longer have. They remarked on the sadness knowing they would be across town. They all hugged each other a while, before walking silently down the sidewalk to our van. 

We celebrated with a treat after school as we usually do, and then came home to unwind. They all fell asleep quickly after mentioning in an upbeat fashion that it's now summer break and that it is exciting. 

As they fell asleep in their room, I laid in my own, tears streaming yet again as I process the events of today. My heart swells with pride in bittersweet moments where they huddle together to embrace memories they have shared and anticipation of change. 

My heart aches as I remember all the years that have gone by, and feeling like somehow time cheated us all. We spend so much of our days going from one thing to the next and planning for things to begin and subsequently end, looking at the clock and the calendar and cramming as much as we can into our lives, day in and day out. The past few years have brought a bit of reprieve from that way of life and have made way for evaluation and reset, but still, so many days pass us by in old fashion. 

Tonight, I realized my oldest is nob longer an elementary student. He is nearly 12. Most of my years with him in my home may have already gone by. Most of my summers spent making memories with all three have likely passed us by. We are holding onto final years, weeks, and days together, and we will never get them back again. I find myself holding my breath as I write those words, knowing that I need to embrace that reality and make our time count. I know the risk of complacency and the ease at which we can take our time for granted. In the uncertain world we find ourselves in, I tell myself that cannot be good enough. I have to do better. 

I pray for the strength, the resilience, the persistence, determination, resolve, grace, wisdom, and mercy to truly value our days together while my children are young. I pray I am not so easily distracted or frustrated and able to be more present. I pray that even amidst preteen and teenage drama and hormones and power struggles and boundary testing, misunderstandings and overwhelming emotions, beautiful relationships continue to flourish. I pray that for every fight there are two loving encounters on the other side. 

Rocky roads may lay ahead in uncertain territory but I believe some of the most wonderful journeys will occur right beside them.

I pray for countless tomorrows in a life we take for granted, with the stark realization from current times that there's no guarantee for any hour past this one. 

One of the things I want most for my life is that my children will look back some day, and despite the countless traumas, trials, struggles and sorrows, they will see me there with them, helping them embrace the beauty and joy in every season. I want their memory banks to be filled in a way that they will never question whether I was there or cared enough. I want them to one day be adults that knew just how fully loved they were in every stage of their childhood. 

Time is already winding down. 

Little Miss Seven

 Darling Norah,

You told me this morning that you can’t believe tomorrow is your birthday.  Honestly, I’m finding it hard to believe it as well.  This past year certainly pulled us all through the wringer, and while we’ve joked about it not “counting,” it most certainly does.

A year ago, as you reminisced today, I was “so super sick” and we “were stuck all by ourselves,” but it was also such a blessed birthday.  Countless people sent or dropped off treats, balloons, and gifts, and your eyes sparkled with such joy.

This past year has helped sculpt us all, and one of the ways it affected you was helping you to be even more cognizant of the little joys and small victories in long, trying, isolating days.  There have been so many times you have pointed out to me the ways that things are good or better, and it’s such a refreshing lens to look through.  I love seeing those moments through the lens of your vision.

This year has also brought out some of the most generous and caring attributes of your personality and really let those facets shine.  I remember the excitement at Christmas as we walked through a store where you chose gifts for a little girl across town that we didn’t know, with such a twinkle in your eye.  You could not wait to surprise her with blessings to help make “her Christmas amazing.”  You secretly mailed money to some of your favorite people, “just to be nice” and “to do a good thing.”  When I told you about the groceries we were planning to bless someone with, you came up with an entire additional list of things that they needed, because kids need treats sometimes, even if it includes six flavors of Jell-O.  You make me so proud.  When we made tie blankets with the women’s group at church last fall, you loved it so much  and were so inspired that you asked if we could “make a bunch” to donate ourselves.  With the help of family and friends supplying so fleece, we ended up making a stack of blankets that was taller than you.  You blow me away.

You’ve made sure to remind me through the year how great it is that I’m here.  I know you and your brothers spent a long time worrying about me during various scary health struggles, and you are always cognizant of the fact that things could have turned out very differently.  You admit that the times made you sad, but you are more aware of the fact that things are okay, and that you’re just happy that things turned around.  Your optimism is inspiring on days I struggle to be that way myself.  You’ve stepped up and been so incredibly helpful during my recovery, even though I know it occasionally irritates you to “have to be helping,” and I am incredibly grateful for you and your brothers during this challenge, because I know it’s hard on all of us, but you have all been quite gracious and patient in the situation.

Sure, over the year you’ve also gained a little extra sass, spice and spunk, and maybe a few decibels in your volume register, but you’ve also gained such resilience and intelligent along the way. I’ve loved watching you really blossom in reading, and seeing you bounce back up quickly and determined when things don’t quite go your way.  

There’s been a lot of inconsistencies and change through the year, and you, my dear little lady, have shown such strength. I know that your strength will continue to grow, and that you have such amazing things in store for you. I cannot wait to see you take on the world, although, I wouldn’t mind if you slowed down just a little bit, and we can enjoy these younger years before they vanish with the wind.  You and your brothers are all growing up way more quickly than I would like, and my heart aches a little bit looking at how the years have gone by so swiftly.  The days may be long, but the years are short- or something like that.  I’ve been told that so many times, and this year, it’s proven more accurate than almost any year before it.

I have loved watching your creativity bloom as well.  Sure, you make a lot of little messes (and some giant ones, but who am I to judge because I make crafting messes too) and I feel like I’ll forever be finding scraps of paper, sequins, clumps of yarn, or bits of vinyl everywhere, but it excites me to no end to know that you seem to follow in my footsteps creatively, and although I will likely never run out of tiny little “notebooks,” it is absolutely wonderful to see the things made by your pretty little hands.

I love hearing you worship.  More often than not, the songs that come through your voice while we are sitting at home or driving in the van are worship songs, and it makes my heart soar.  It makes me giggle when the boys want to listen to Kids Bop, and you beg to change it to a worship station.  When I look over and see you singing in church, it nearly takes my breath away.  One of the most powerful moments that helped get me through my hospital stay was watching you sing and dance to worship songs in your dad’s basement.  It lifted my spirits so greatly and brought me enough peace to rest a while.  It was such a great gift that you didn’t even know you were giving me.

Another thing I’ve absolutely loved watching bloom is your relationships with your little girl cousins.  They all have such joy in their eyes when they see you, and you are so patient and understanding with them, but also so incredibly excited when spending time with them.  It’s so beautiful to me to watch those relationships form, because my cousins were also some of my very first and closest friends going up, and although there’s a few years in between me and my cousins, and a few years in between you and your cousins, I see the foundation for those lifelong friendships forming, and it blesses my heart immeasurably to watch you all flourish as you do.

The past year was filled with a lot of “missing out on” and “missing people” and I’m so sorry that life played out that way, but I am thankful for the many hours and days we all were able to spend together, even if sometimes it stressed us out.  I am also so grateful that things are turning around this year, and more typical things are beginning to occur, and we can get back to some of the old traditions and joys that we have longed for over the months.  

I am so thankful that this year, you can walk outside our doors and be greeted by many who love and care for you.  I’ll miss seeing your delight all day long as you are celebrated and cherished at school, but I’m so very happy that I get to share you with the world again.   You are a ray of sunshine in many people’s cloudy days.

Norah, I pray that this year you continue to flourish outside these walls, but also within them.  I know God is moving in your heart, and I pray that you can continue to overflow to those around you, and it magnifies greatly.  I pray you continue to have courage and tenacity in all situations, and that you really can feel how invaluable you are in this world.  I pray you always not only feel beautiful, but know in your mind that you’re beautiful inside and out.  I pray that you have confidence in who you are in all situations.  I pray that you always take the honest road, and keep truth at the forefront- I know that is something that is hard in a world like ours, but I know you have the strength to do so.  I pray that you touch the hearts of others and continue to show kindness and compassion.  I pray your heart never hardens toward those around you.  I pray you know how very loved you are.  I pray that you can continue to change the world around you, and that the world around you does not change who you are inside.

I am so proud of you, little lady.  

I can’t believe you’re going to be seven in the morning.

You think you love me most, but it just can’t be true.  No one on (other than God, as you point out frequently) can love any one more than I love the three of you.  I know, we debate this at least once a night.  I love that about you, too.

Love, Mom

It has been a while, Ole.

Yesterday, my children and I found ourselves at my alma mater homecoming parade.

I choose this as my alma mater, although I did not graduate from the college, my heart never left.

My roommate, best friend, the other half of my brain was in town for our graduating class 10 year anniversary. Had she not been, I likely wouldn't have gone at all. I love her something fierce though, and gladly snatched the opportunity for much of the day together.

It was the first time I've visited in a few years. It was fun, and sad, and nostalgic, and contemplative.

I was nervous to go, because most everyone I knew from there knew me back when... back when I was young, in love, starting a life story with my former husband. They watched our relationship grow and blossom and be challenged and solidify. They all knew me back then.

Over the course of two years, I developed friendships there. One friendship in particular, with my aforementioned roomie bestie, has remained strong and really been cultivated over the last 14 years. As it usually goes, most dissipated to merely Facebook type friendships with occasional check ins and comments. I still consider these friends to be friends, but not close friends. It doesn't mean I don't value them, of course.

I knew that seeing my bestie would be wonderful. She's stuck by me through better and worse, longer now than my former husband did, and long enough to be family. But, I didn't know what to expect from seeing anyone else I knew.

I wasn't really a part of Augie long enough to leave a lasting mark, and I certainly don't believe I was very memorable or important to most people beyond my bestie, a camp friend, and one professor. When I saw people I knew, my inclination was to shy away because I was pretty sure they didn't know me well enough or like me enough to really have a conversation. It's okay, though, because I had my kids along to supervise.

As I sat and listened to people catch up with one another later in the day, while I pushed all three kids on swings, I felt myself retreat inwardly. Here were my classmates living their dreams and pursuing their careers and making something out of themselves and their degrees and had all sorts of accomplishments and stuff to talk about and compare.

And then there was me. The one who left after two years to pursue a social work degree that I used for a while. The one who had a fairy tale love story and three children whose life turn a psychotic thriller type turn, and now lives day to day usually, her main aspiration and goal to raise good children and provide them with a home and some sort of consistency. 

I felt inadequate, by no fault of anyone's except my own inner demons.

After talking with a trusted friend, I realized that my three children are a huge accomplishment and while they're not a career accomplishment or any great material reward or something, they're happy, thriving, and filled with the joy and love of the Lord.

So there's that.

Sometimes, I wish I had stayed there. I wish I had been a part of the last two years with my class and had those lasting friendships many do.

But, I won't play the what-if game.

I'm blessed as I am and my worth isn't defined by the two years at my alma mater, the things I did or did not accomplish because of or inspire of my degree, or what people remember of me or whether they remember me at all.

Really though, it was a good day. It was filled with laughter, smiles, some hugs, new memories, renewed and new friendships, and the beginning of sparked interest in my oldest child toward pursuing academic dreams in his future.

Not forgotten

For as long as I can remember, I have had the blessing of being able to remember people's faces and names fairly easily.  If I see someone I recognize, there's a good chance I can recall their name and likely where I met them or know them from.

I know this isn't so with a lot of people, and for that reason, I find it's rare that I approach someone that I haven't seen in years, especially if we weren't ever close, and let alone ask if they remember me.  I don't want to put them in a position where they feel awkward or feel bad that they can't remember me.

Why? Because I don't feel that memorable.  I really never have felt memorable.

I feel very common.  I'm a very ordinary woman, really.  I don't see anything that remarkable about myself that would make people remember me after years, especially if we never had a close-knit relationship.

Today, at church, two questions were raised in the message.  Where are you from? Where are you going?

I realize I write often about where I have come from, specifically the saga leading up to my current single-mother-of-three-ages-five-and-under-who-never-hear-from-their-dad situation.  If it gets old, I apologize, but as I have said before, I write therapeutically, and also for those who may need to find someone to relate to.

Anyway...

In the message, there was a comment about how it is okay to look back to where you've been or what has happened and compare it to where you are now, and to see where God is leading your life.  I know I'm guilty of looking back, probably more than I should.  The past week, I have had many instances were I looked at where I've been, and I see God in the steps along the way to where I am now.  I see them much more clearly and much more significantly than ever before.

There are so many moments that I can see that God had it all under control.  I see people and places and situations he orchestrated that broke down my walls and chiseled away at my pride, to mold who I am becoming.

I see that even when I felt like I might have been forgotten, he never left my side and he never forgot me.

What is equally mind-blowing is the fact that, although I'm ordinary, there are many people who have remembered me that I would have not expected to remember me (or my children).

Over the past year or so, there have been multiple people that I have not had contact with for a very long time come back into my life for various reasons.  There are people I was never close with, that I just sort of knew from high school and my hometown.  There are people from college, from former jobs, from old blogging and message board websites, from local mother support groups, and so forth.

These people have all shown me and my children God's love in ways both big and small.  I never sought them out, and they found their way to us.

It's totally a God thing.

Because although I'm ordinary, to Him, I'm remarkable. I'm memorable.  And as I have been struggling with the fact that I feel discarded and forgotten by my former husband, he's been in the background sending me these messages  (that I may or may not have understood at the time) that my former husband is just one little person in this great big world who happened to hold a huge piece of my heart and was a part of my life's treasure.  But, he has so many other people who I had placed on my mind or heart's shelves and set aside.  And these people, people that I remember and never expected to remember and love me, these people remember me.  They remember me because God remembers me.

He has also brought people into my path who know me, or know of me, that I didn't know had any clue who I was.  Considering how, really, when it comes to my daily life (although I am much more outgoing on my blog) I shy away from meeting new people and feel uncomfortable doing so, it is incredible to be known and not know it.

And God wants me to let go of the value I placed on what one person thought of me, because what He feels for me is much more significant.  He cares about me enough to show me in tangible ways that I am remembered, because as he knows, sometimes I need to see something tangible to get through my fogged up vision.

He remembers each and every one of us the same.  He loves each and every one of us the same.  And while he may have sent people to show me that I am remembered, it doesn't mean He will speak to each of us the same way.  But, He does know how to reach us, when we are open, ready, and willing to receive Him.

Thank you, Jesus.

Littered Dates

The months of March and April are littered with dates that pack so much significance. Many, I often wish I could forget.

There are some wonderful dates of course, some family birthdates, including my daughter's. But even that brings a pain to my heart to reflect on. 

That date hurts, because her father was hardly present for much of my pregnancy, and even though he was there for her birth... I realize looking back, he wasn't really present.   In fact, he was halfway across the room just moments before she was born and almost missed it.  

Then he was there, for a while, sort of, off and on, for months.

And then he wasn't.  And I spent months and months wondering, fighting, trying all I could to figure it out, get it back, move on, etc.

A year ago today, I decided it must actually be over, and I knew deep down I should look into a divorce, because he was just stringing me along and he wasn't going to do it himself.  It took me quite a few days, until I finally met with my caseworker at the transitional housing/homeless shelter we were living at and told her my decision.   That was March 18.

On March 21, he showed up right outside our housing before the kids and I had to be inside for bed.  He seemed different, and told me he wanted to try and reconcile the family.  I was blown away.   The next day, I met with him, without the kids, and he confessed his many wrongs that he had done against me and our marriage.  There were dark secrets, huge mistakes, and shocking facts.  But he told me he hit rock bottom, explained when and how and the person he met and talked to that made him realize his huge mistakes and how badly he wanted and needed his family back.  He asked for my forgiveness, and I gave it to him. I told him my terms for trying to mend things and how it was going to be difficult, intense work.  He told me he was all in.

Easter happened on April 5 last year, Easter has always been one of my favorite holidays.  We were given the opportunity to spend it at a friend's house, together.  I didn't know it at the time, but it would be the last real holiday we spent together.

Our daughter's due date came, which was the date we set for her first birthday party.  He showed, but he was incredibly late, and it took near begging to get him to actually arrive.  He left quickly, secretively, and in a hurry, and did not return like he promised he would.

Her birthday was April 15.  We met up with him for what would be the last birthday the children spent with him.  He agreed to meet us at the mall for cake and play time.  He stayed possibly an hour and then had to hurry off.

The very next day, while I was at work, I was contacted by a man I had never heard of, nor met, asking how to reach him.  I asked this guy how he knew my husband. He said he was his boyfriend of a month.  I felt the earth shatter below me, my heart crumble, and my throat close off.  I trembled, lightheaded, thinking I may pass out.  When I was given a chance, I ran to the bathroom without a word, where I fell apart, sobbing in a stall.

I confronted him.  He told me he wasn't dating this man, and that they were friends, and the guy was obviously just trying to make a mess of our marriage now that we were trying to reconcile.  I met him on April 18th, my youngest sister's birthday,where he gave me a much more detailed explanation and his plan as to how he would prove that it wasn't true and he was wholeheartedly trying to stay married and get his kids back.  He swore to me he wouldn't talk to this guy again.

I decided to try to believe him, but I was incredibly reserved because his story and plan seemed suspicious.

It's a year later, and all of these "anniversary" dates are coming up.  I try not to think of them, but somehow they're embedded inside my heart. They're like a bad tattoo scar that's trying to heal.  I know that they may always be there, but I pray that they will fade, peacefully and quickly.

My heart and mind have always operated in this fashion.  I try not to dwell on dates, but dates are important in our society and when I see them on the date that big events happen, I remember them.  I always have.  And when each year passes, the memories flash back in movie fashion, and I try to fast forward through them so I can move onto what coming up next.  But it isn't always easy.

I don't write this to air our "laundry," but rather to process it myself, and to be able to hopefully prepare my heart and my mind for the days ahead.  Often, when I get things out through my blog, it is therapeutic in that way, and I am much less likely to be blindsided by potent emotions.

I guess we will see.

Each year will be easier, I know, from experiences in the past.  I will try to enjoy Easter this year without too many flashbacks, as well as our daughter's second birthday.  They're two of the greatest dates littered amongst the many.

As I know from experience, also, God is on my side, and when my legs give out and my tears cloud my eyes, He will pick me right up and carry me through.

Through the doors

Ah, New Year's Eve is upon us again. It's almost always met by the majority of the population with a feeling of nostalgia, and we sit around, alone or with others, reminiscing about the last 365 days and other years prior.

Tonight, I sit with my two sons, daughter already in bed, at the end of a long, exhausting day, hoping that they will sleep soon too, and I won't be awake to see midnight.

But, I am reminiscing, as I am sure others are as well.

This past year has, undoubtedly, been the hardest year of my life. I've seen over 30 turns of the calendar come and go, and in each, there have been hard times and simple times. This year, I cashed in on countless hard times. 

Now, writing that likely seems like a plea for sympathy or pity, but it is not. While the year 2015 brought immeasurable loss and sorrow, it brought countless blessings and indescribable joys.

Last weekend, the sermon in church was focused on shutting doors and moving forward through the hallway into the next doorway. It resonated with me on so many levels that I cried multiple times throughout the service, tears of grief and tears of healing.

As the calendar changes tonight, we close the door on the year we lived through. As we do, I find myself in a dim hallway as I wait out the changes that are coming my way. It's not an easy wait and I am often finding apprehension and anxiety as I brace for the unknown. But, I have found peace, most days, in the hallway. I see the door ahead, and I know I will get there, even if it feels like an eternity I must wait.

The trials my children and I went through this past year still catch me in uncontrollable sobs from time to time, late at night, as the pillow beside me is empty and I feel absolutely alone, but it's becoming less frequent.

And that's because amidst the heart shattering we endured, greatness has come.  I have found my God is closer to me than I had ever found before. He has carried me through.  

This year, while it could have been defined as horrible, is actually, in some ways, quite great. I have found strength in myself. I have been blessed with deep, true friendships. I have had my pride shattered and been brought to the floor in humility. I have experienced grace. I have seen determination in myself in ways I did not know existed. When I could have given up, I pressed onward.

I have seen this year take my biggest fear and forced me to live through the nightmare, but I have seen love I did not realize existed outside the love I thought I could not live without.

As I close the door on the year and reflect on this loss, I realize it is a gain, in many ways. Because while I longed to hold onto and restore what I had for fear of what would come if I no longer had it, my marriage and the "security" that it provided, I can see so clearly now that it was not what I deserved, and there really was no security in it for myself or my children on many levels. While I clutched to it so terribly, we suffered greatly through the fight.

So, I think, I am ready. I think I'm ready to slam that door and seal it. I am ready for the new one, terrifying as it may be to open. Because now that I'm so far through it, I have more clarity than I have had in years.

Sometimes, it really does take hell-fire to purify your life. It sucks. It sucks bad. But, perhaps it is truly worth it after all.

I pray that I continue walking forward with the clarity and strength I find in myself to confess these things tonight. I know I will need God, and I will need my friends and family that have stayed beside me through this all. But, I will make it through. It's not the end, it's the beginning.

Isaiah 43 NLT

18 “But forget all that—
    it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.
19 For I am about to do something new.
    See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
    I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.

Happy 1st Birthday, Baby Boo.

My darling Sweet Pea,

As I held you in my arms tonight, tears filled my eyes. I thought about how one year ago tonight, I had never touched your skin, heard you breathe, or looked into your gorgeous eyes. As I realized this, I was overcome with gratitude and sadness both.

Tomorrow, you will turn one year-old. While it is a joyous day, a true blessing, a miracle, really, my momma heart aches a little. 

The year, as they anyways do, flew by too quickly, and I regret not savoring more moments than I did. I should have held you longer in the middle of the night, breathing in your scent, feeling your warmth against my neck as you rested on my shoulder. I should have studied your toothless grin a little longer, before it vanished forever. I should have slow danced with you all night long just one more time.

I cannot live in regret, of course, and I know I am being too harsh on myself. I took in countless moments with you, and they will be cherished every day I live. My heart exploded with joy when you smiled at me with your brilliant, beautiful smile that brings sunshine to the darkest moments. My heart ached incredibly when you would cry in turmoil. 

This past year was filled with many changes, but one of the things that remained constant, day in and day out, was that you were loved- endlessly, tremendously, selflessly, and unconditionally. I loved you before I saw you, and that love has grown exponentially with the passing days. But I am not the only one who loves you so much.

You bring out the softest, sweetest side of both of your older brothers. From the day we brought you home, they've been enamoured with you. They've held you to comfort you and kissed away your tears. They shriek with joy after being away from you all day. They laugh relentlessly with you as you chase them up and down the hallway. They kiss you goodnight, and pray blessings upon you. 

Your daddy always wanted a baby girl, and here you are. Your smile could brighten a dark night when you see him enter a room. He spent so many nights playing you a lullaby to sleep or you would cuddle up on his chest, serenaded by his heart beat.

The love extends further to your grandparents, aunts, uncles, other family, and friends. If there's another thing I can say without hesitation, it is that this past year has shown me that there are countless people out there who love you (and your wonderful brothers) more than I ever imagined possible.

You are truly a blessed little girl.

I am undoubtedly a blessed momma.

Before you were born, because you were such a surprise, I had to tell myself that God's plans were greater than my own. This year has shown me that, full force.

God KNEW what He was doing when He created you and brought you into our lives. 

I have so many hopes and dreams for you, sweet baby girl. I pray that you grow to be a kind, compassionate woman someday. I pray that you love enormously, and live passionately. I hope that you will be filled with empathy and understanding, wisdom and grace. I pray you're strong, but also gentle. I pray that you smile often, laugh often, and enjoy the many moments this life will give you. And I want you to never, EVER doubt how beautiful and wonderfully made you are.

Know that you've been loved since before you took that first breath, and that you've been loved every moment since. 

Happy Birthday, Norah Rachelle. 

Love,

Momma

PS: Miss Norah, you've softened me. I never thought I would love pink and girly things, but the sight of you in a pink dress as you place necklaces on yourself just melts my heart in ways I cannot describe. I never saw myself gushing over tulle and pigtails, but you've done me in. <3

A Year Post-Test

One year ago this very morning, I sat in silent disbelief on the edge of my bathtub, staring, dumbfoundedly, at a test. 

There was no way the test was right. I was certain of that. 

I trembled later as I tested once more. This time, I used a digital, and in less than 30 seconds, the test glared

PREGNANT

in my still shocked and disbelieving face.

I trembled. I cried. I worried. I feared. 

After battling infertility to conceive our sons, I just could not believe that I was pregnant again. We had been utilizing charting to avoid pregnancy because we wanted to wait a few years before expanding our family again. I've never been a very scheduled woman inside, but I was certain I had missed the window to have a baby that month.

I was wrong.

It wasn't a "good time" for us. I had JUST accepted a job two days prior. We were just getting on our feet again after financial crises. We were finding our footing. 

This pregnancy scared me. And I worried for nine months whether we could make it work. I wondered if I would be a good mom to THREE babies under four. I wondered if we could afford it. I also worried if, due to all the stress and worries of poor timing, that I would love this baby or resent myself for getting pregnant.

I felt judged. People close to us knew the timing wasn't great. I didn't want them to think we were being stupid. Or that we shouldn't have another baby. So many more worries of similar fashion circled mind.

They didn't stop circling for nine months. They slowed down circling a month or so after that.

One year ago, I was terrified. 

I always said that one of my dearest dreams was to get pregnant "on accident" because I just did not think I could. But I did. And I was guilty because I was upset about it.

Tonight, after a few hours of protesting, Norah Rachelle sleeps peacefully in her bed. Her soft, sweetly scented skin pokes out beneath her (big brother's) silky, pink blanket. Her soft breath whispers as I sit here in silence focusing on my memories and emotions. Her gorgeous, dark eyelashes flutter as she dreams.

I couldn't imagine my life without her. 

She is a perfect fit in our family. I feel that she looks like a bit like one brother and acts a bit like the other. She laughs and squeals and smiles so frequently. She's absolutely the snuggliest of the three. She loves her brothers and they adore her. They're a perfect trio. She calms down to daddy's scent and voice. She lights up when she hears me talk.

While I know my fears and worries were founded in practicality, I feel ashamed for being scared or sad about adding her to our family. 

I was wrong. God was right. She belongs with us, here and now, even if a year ago I was on the verge of being completely convinced otherwise.

Dear Diary.

My very first diary was given to me in 1991. I was 8 years old. 

Somehow, through the years, I managed to hold onto it. Not only that, but it's in dang near perfect condition over 20 years later.

I generally forget that I have it. Tonight, however, I found it beside a stack of games I have stored high up on a shelf.

I decided to open it up and read it. It's amazing to look back and see the hand writing of a little girl in elementary school, and the things I thought important enough to pen for future memories.

Here's my first ever diary entry:

It's so simplistic. No stresses or worries. No fears. Just simple daily joys. Such innocence and silly grammar. 

I kept journals off and on through high school and college, as well as online ifs for the last 13 or so years as well. 

Life has become much more complicated since then, of course. My pen and paper journals are stored away in a box somewhere, as I used to dream someday I would have children, and hopefully a daughter that loved to journal, and I could leave my thoughts, fears, joys, wishes, and dreams on paper to them. They would get a chance to know a younger version of the "old lady" that raised them.

It was fun and refreshing to read through my diary, even if it was only a few entries, not a full book worth.

Happy Due Date Day, Ollie!

Dear Collin,

It's hard to believe that it's been a full year since you were tucked away inside my body.

That's what you looked like one year ago.

I was so incredibly anxious to meet you. Not only because I had reached the point of constant discomfort weeks before, but because, one year ago, we didn't even know your name. To us, you were still Baby Bojangles. We didn't know if you were a boy or a girl, and we were finding it a bit agonizing to have to wait and find out.

For weeks, I had been having uncomfortable contractions, and thought maybe, just maybe you were arriving soon.

Goodness, I was wrong. Your stubborn (albeit adorable) little self decided to stay put. I spent the next thirteen days trying nearly everything I could to coax you to come out. I cried nearly every night, wondering why you weren't as excited to meet me as I was to meet you. 

And one year from your due date, you're walking around the living room, chewing on apples, laughing, smiling, and bringing us joy.

Someday, I will tell you these stories. Until then, I will just keep telling you "Happy Due Date Day, Ollie!" because it is absolutely adorable to see your face light up with your precious four-tooth grin as you squeal with delight at my greeting.  

Love, 

Mommy