The last single digit..

 Miss Norah,

The day is almost near. It's a day you've been waiting for somewhat patiently for months. Your birthday. Again. Didn't you just have one? And must you keep reminding me that you are turning nine?

Nine. My baby girl, my unexpected sunshine, is on the verge of her last single-digit birthday. You won't stop reminding me. I can't believe I've been a mom this long. 

The last year has been a year of growth in many ways. You seem so much taller, your hair thicker, darker, straighter. You're less baby-faced and more muscular. You're so strong, physically, mentally, and emotionally. You have faced your biggest academic struggles head on and threw down the walls of your heart in order to conquer them. 

You are such a compassionate little sister to both of your brothers. When someone picks on one, you stand by his side. You know how to calm him, reach him, and understand him, when sometimes even I don't. You are one of his safest spaces, even if some days you do more fighting than laughing. You have such forgiveness in your heart for when you are wronged. 

You know how to pester your oldest brother in a way that's filled with love, and the two of you have such a great relationship in that way. You stand up for him, but also to him when necessary, and you keep each other accountable. 

The three of you are a beautiful team. You've begun to grow in your communication skills, relating, and friendship, just as you've been growing in your capacity to irritate each other. Clearly, God made you to be a unit. 

Your almost nine years of experience living through hard situations alongside your brothers and I has helped you to be such a kind cousin and friend. 

Every one of the cousins you spend time with adores you for various reasons. You may be older than all but one of them, but you love each of them well for who they are, and you can tell how much they appreciate who you are. I adore watching you play together. I love that your cousins are some of your best friends. 

Your friends are so blessed as well. You have friends of all different ages, races, backgrounds, and abilities, and you treat each one with value and respect. Your experiences with your brothers have shaped your compassion and empathy and ability to embrace and cherish other kids who are neurodivergent which is something that the world needs more of and I am certain you are lighting the way for others around you. 

I love your heart for the suffering of others. When we see people on street corners holding up signs, you always want to help. Tonight, when we watched "the Hunchback of Notre Dame " you were filled with tears in the first few minutes as your heart broke for the injustice and suffering of one person cast out from the world. You spent most of the movie voicing how unkind people were and how unfair it was, because Quasimodo was beautiful to you with his cute, misshapen face. Your heart hurts for the hurting and you are not too proud to say so. I love watching you come alongside those who may be struggling, overlooked, or feel broken. 

This past year has been surreal in the way that you have become my little friend, not only my daughter. Sometimes, that's hard for you, when I have to parent in ways you don't appreciate, but as I have reminded, I'll always be your mom first, and friend second. But the development of our friendship has been such a blessing to both of us. I love sitting in the car with you to run errands as we laugh hysterically about something silly we said, or thought the other said, or a funny comment on the radio. We share similar interests in crafting and smoothies and have had many a date just the two of us when the boys turn us down. It's been a true delight. 

As you continue to mature, you continue to develop your own brand of sass and stubbornness, which while appreciated in some ways like in knowing you'll be able to stand your ground when you need to in years to come, and you won't just let others push you over and trample you, it has also been a bit of a struggle for me, learning to grow and figure out how to walk through it with you. In so many ways, I've found you are not like your brothers, and the things in little girl world are complex and deep many times. The one perk to going through these developments with you is that I too was a young girl once, so I relate just a little more than I do to some of the boys similar, but differing struggles. I have had to tell them that I was never a young boy, so sometimes I may need more clarity and understanding to know what is going on in their hearts and minds. 

Pip, I pray that this next year is absolutely splendid. I pray that it's filled with so much emotional rainbows and sunshine that you can hardly stand it. I pray that you can look back and see how far you've come in overcoming things in the past, and it gives you fortitude and courage for the future. 

I pray that your friendships continue to strengthen, despite the way young girl friendships ebb and flow, bend and break but then reform again, coming and going much like a tide. In the same way, I pray that those dearest friendships remain constant, also like the tide. 

I pray that you continue to see your inner and outer beauty in a world full of mirrors that are filtered to bring you down. I pray you see through that and only hold onto the mirrors that show the truth, and that builds you up. I pray I've done a good enough job filling your emotional storehouse of self-worth that you will never, ever believe you are anything less than beautiful and worthy. 

I pray the cats accidentally scratch you less and snuggle you more. I pray they really do eventually want to take pictures with you like you want to take pictures with them. 

I pray that as you and your brothers approach big years of growth, you remember who you all are deep down inside, and you can approach each other with mercy and endless grace. 

I pray that you hear the truth Jesus has spoken about you, and you hear his whispers regularly. 

Baby girl, not so much a baby, but yet, always my baby, 

I love you. 

You love me more...

But as I've told you, that's not possible. 

Happy birthday, Norah B. 

Love,

Momma

Elevensies

 Dearest Boy of Mine,

Tomorrow is my anniversary.  It’s my anniversary of motherhood.  I joked with you tonight about how I should get a present every year on November 1, because it’s my big day- the day I became a mom.  You and your siblings laughed and told me “NO!”

The joke in it is the reality that I don’t need a gift- my gift is you.  You were the child I prayed so fervently for, the baby I dreamed of, the baby I longed for from the depths of my soul from the time I was a teenager, at least. You were the baby I fought against my own body to create and grow, and you were the miracle that God gave me back in 2010.

Spencer, you are becoming such a wonderful young man.  It baffles my mind that you have been in my physical presence for eleven years now, because it does not seem possible that we have had that many days together on this earth.  It sounds like such a long, long time, but it feels like a fraction of a second simultaneously. 

I think you’ve grown six inches in the last year, because when you stand beside me, it feels like you’re almost my height.  I know there’s only six more inches to go before you surpass me, and I’m a little afraid that will happen by the time your birthday rolls back around next year.  One thing I love about you is that even though you’ve grown so much, your bright blue eyes have remained the same.  I always thought they would fade away into some other color, but they’ve stayed the same eyes as they were when you were a baby, which means when I look into them, it feels like home and it’s possibly the most familiar and constant love I have ever found on this earth.

As is often the case during the pre-teen years, I know you’re still searching to figure out who you are deep inside and to see your place in this great big world.  I know all too well the ways you may feel awkward or peculiar, or an outsider in your own surroundings.  I promise you it will not always feel that way.  I also promise you that you are so much stronger, smarter, braver, kinder, wiser, and compassionate that you give yourself credit for. 

 I wish you could see yourself through the eyes of the many people who love you dearly and strive to build you up.  The way your teacher proclaims your brilliant intellect, creativity, wit, and skills brings me such pride and joy.  Your musical abilities are magnificent, as you continue to learn two different instruments, while having great vocal capabilities in both singing, and even more surprising and new- beat boxing. Watching you freestyle beat box with our pastor was one of the highlights in this year’s memory lane reel, that’s for sure.  I love your sharp sense of humor and hearing you laugh hysterically when something hits you just right.  Your collection of trivial knowledge is astounding and interesting to me all at the same time, and I surely see myself in you when you drop a random fact about a random subject at a random time.

I find an overwhelming sense of pride when you will drop whatever you are doing to help someone in need, whether it is running across the blacktop at school when you notice some random student drops their papers in the wind, or the way your hand flew up in the air at the call to sponsor a child overseas at the concert we went to a week ago.  You offer a helping had, an extra dollar, a hug, a snack, and so many more things when you see a need and know you can meet a need.  It’s one of the most beautiful things about your soul.

I know we’ve had our share of struggles again this year, as we do any year, but I love that it doesn’t keep us from having a great relationship overall.  Sometimes, let’s be honest, you’re a little moody with me or I’m a little too uncool for you, but that’s okay.  It’s all part of the journey.  Sometimes, I’m also a little too crabby for you, and it’s understandable that there’s friction sometimes.  It’s normal that we disagree on things like technology usage or privileges, and I know you think I’m too strict when I adhere to rules and consequences, but it all resolves back down to the fact that no matter what, we know we have each other, and our love is strong.  Some days it’s hard. Other days it’s so easy and carefree.  I’m thankful for each day, no matter what it brings, tears or laughter, no matter what.  Do not forget it, and do not let me forget it, either.

I am so sorry that there are things that have happened this year that have caused you fear, anxiety, worry, or pain, especially at the beginning of the year on that day you begged me to see a doctor because I couldn’t stand or walk without crying or screaming out in pain.  Then I was just gone, and you didn’t know if or when you’d see me at home again, and it was another way you were afraid that I would die, like Covid the year before.  I know that it was a trying time for everyone in our lives, but that as the oldest child in the family, you felt a unique and special burden, while I was gone, and again while we were reunited at home and I was (and still am) healing.  I know.  I promise you, I understand, and I’m sorry that in some ways you may have felt cheated out of the carefree joy and freedom of childhood.  I CAN promise you that even through it all, good things have come and will continue to blossom within you because of the unique circumstances and trials you have faced in your life.  I can guarantee more and new trials will find their way into your life, but I pray that you’ll always have your firm foundation in faith, followed by family and love, to see you through.  

I pray continually that you’ll always know you are treasured, loved, and wanted, not only by your Abba God, but by your mother, father, siblings, family, and friends.  I know that you perceive your value to be less than some days, but I promise you, you’re worth more than all the gold in the world to many in this life. I pray that you are able to hear God’s voice and feel the Spirit guiding you toward goodness and truth, and your are able to grasp his mercy and grace and to share those things with your own self like you do to others.  I pray that you are able to begin to clearly see your intellectual and creative magnificence, and that you embrace those aspects about yourself.  There are so many great things ahead for you, and while I would love for you to stay this young just a little bit longer, I am quite excited to see your story continuing to unfold.

Thank you for being such a loving son and brother to your siblings, grandson, nephew, cousin, and friend to those around you. You really, truly, are a treasure to us all.

Happy 11th Birthday, Spencer.  Thank you for being my gift, for making me a mommy, and for helping me figure out how to continue growing as I go down the road of motherhood, one day at a time.  

Love you always,

Mom (not Bruh)

In the morning, she will be three.

My sweet, beautiful girl,

Tonight, I laid you down, and you told me "tomorrow is my birthday, mama."  We said our bedtime prayer, which ends "God is great, God is great (you insist we say it twice), AMEN!" You asked me for a kiss, and then a hug, and then to cover you up, and then for a kiss, and then for a hug, as you do almost every night.  I closed the door behind me after hugging and kissing your brothers and turning out the light, and I breathed deeply as I realized that tonight is the last night of this year of your life.  It tugs at my heart.

This is the first year you've shown excitement about it, after celebrating a few other birthdays over the year, your memory being much more acute, and feeling traditions take place as you and your brothers grow older.  I'm excited for your excitement, though it's bittersweet to see you transition from baby-hood even further.

Darling girl, tonight, you're still two.  Tomorrow, you'll be three.

I sit here thinking about how, growing up, I had hoped that someday I would have a daughter.  In my mind, she would be a perfect, smiling ball of joy, with curly hair, and beautiful features.  She would be kind and smart and so much more.  After God blessed me with your two brothers, I felt it was my calling in life, loving them so deeply, to be a mom to three or four boys, and felt I would never have a daughter.  I don't know why I felt this way, and it was bittersweet, but I was so sure.   When I was told you were on the way, I didn't believe it until they placed you on my chest, and you were in fact my little girl.  Every day since then, it has made so much sense that you were brought into our lives.  I didn't ever imagine you would fulfill my dreams to precisely.  You belong with us, and God knew it.

My heart can hardly handle another birthday.  Yet another year has flown by too quickly, though, fortunately, the chaos in our lives has slowed down quite a bit, and this transition from two to three years of life with you is much clearer in my memory and I feel I was much more focused on our days together, enjoying them, savoring them, and cherishing them.  Not that I didn't in years past, but someday, you'll understand what I mean when I say they were busier and harder and much more muddled together.

Not this year.

This year, I watched you blossom from a young toddler into a much more mature toddler.  I've heard your vocabulary soar with countless words and phrases I have never heard a two-year-old use before.

I've seen your sweet little self turn a little more sassy, as I was warned may happen over time.  I miss the days when I don't have to remind you to use a "kind voice," but I cherish your personality all the same.

I've seen you grow so tall, your hair so long and curly, your eyes so wide and filled with deep wonder.  You've become very independent, but you still totter back and forth from being "big" and "little" where sometimes you want to do everything on your own, and other times you'll cry on the floor because you think you need to be carried.  I'm sorry when I don't give in to the tantrums.  It's not because I don't want to carry you, it's just that I don't want to fuel that behavior.  I do, in fact, love that sometimes you still want to be carried, and I love the feeling of your arms wrapped around me as I carry you.  Your brothers very rarely express that desire anymore, and I know it will be all too soon that you won't want me to, either.  You use the most adorable phrase when you want to be held, as you tell me "I want to hold you," even though you really mean it the other way around.

I love that you still want to cuddle, sit on my lap, and snuggle in bed sometimes.  I love that you still ask for a kiss and a hug when I drop you off at daycare or Sunday School in the mornings, and that you still want them both before bed at night.

I love when you call me "Mama" instead of "mommy," and I don't know why.

You've got an excellent memory, little lady.  You know almost everyone's name at daycare and Sunday School, and you can recall the middle names, favorite colors, and eye colors of the people who mean most to you, assuming you've inquired what these things are already.

You love music, and art, the outdoors, and your blanket. In the morning, your favorite cat is Benjamin, but when we get home at night, your favorite cat is Lucy.  They both love you, and they're so gentle with you.  When you're sick, they are by your side.  You recently developed a love for birds, and you proclaim it almost daily.  You also love tigers, and dogs, and fish, and bunnies, and lions, and horses, and ponies, and unicorns...  I'm sorry I couldn't give you a pet tiger for your birthday like you requested repeatedly.  Someday, you'll understand.

You've surprised me and gone from wearing diapers full time to barely wearing them at all, and you're so proud of your big girl status in this area.  While I'm grateful that the diaper budget has dwindled immensely and I don't have to change diapers all day every day, it's a reminder that you're not going to be little for much longer.

I love listening to you sing songs and narrate your play.  You've such a bright imagination.  I love that you will play with both of your brothers on a daily basis.  They love you dearly and they make sure you know it.  They are so good about building you up with positive affirmations and compliments.  I hope you'll always remember how beautiful they think you are, even if sometimes they're not being very nice to you.

Baby girl, soon you will lose the remaining baby features on your little body, and become a preschooler like your brothers.  I pray you'll take the days a little more slowly than you have been over the past year.  I know you want to go to kindergarten, too, but you've only a few short years to be a tiny little girl.  Don't rush through them, please.

I pray that as you grow older, you'll continue to be kind, gentle, intelligent, helpful, and hilarious.  I hope you'll want to spin in a dress for years to come, rock baby dolls gently, and give hugs freely.

You light up every room you walk into with a smile full of sunshine.

I pray that I will always be able to remember the deep chocolate color of your bright eyes, the spirals in the back of your hair as they dry after bath, your dark, long eyelashes, especially as you sleep against my shoulder sometimes, the warmth of your tiny little hand as it holds my finger while we walk, and the jubilant melody of your laugh, among everything else about you.

I pray you'll always let Jesus in your heart, and show other's his goodness.  I pray you'll be a blessing to each person you come across.

Miss Norah, you stole our hearts from the get-go.  Cherish it as we cherish you.

Thank you for all of the joy you bring to this world.

I love you, Sweet Pea.
-Mama

Because, Spencer, you're almost not five...

Dearest Spencer,

This morning, you proclaimed to me, "Mom, I'm almost not five!" We have been talking about your upcoming birthday for quite a few days now, and the excitement of it's impending arrival is definitely stirring excitement in your little-huge heart.  

It's true, buddy, you're almost not five.  In fact, within a few short hours, the clock will strike midnight, and it will be the first of November, and you will turn six.  Now granted, you weren't born until the evening, so you won't officially be six til after 7:30pm, but I will keep that secret to myself for now and enjoy a few more hours knowing that you're "still five."  My momma heart isn't ready for a six-year-old just yet.

Spenk-a-Doodle, you are growing way too quickly.  Within the past few months especially, you've transformed so much from a slightly anxious preschooler, to a confident kindergartner.  You've shown me that you are now incredibly brave, gentle, strong, intelligent, and surprising.  You're so full of wonder and intrigue.  It may drive me to the brink of wanting to put in ear plugs and pretend I can't hear the seven bazillionth question you've asked on the way to school (which, by the way, is about a 7 minute drive, sir) some days, but truly, I appreciate your intense desire to learn.  "I like to know stuff," you told me recently when I asked why you fire off questions so quickly.  It's true, you do.

Spencer, I am incredibly impressed with your compassionate heart, and your desire to know Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit.  You talk of all three of them frequently, and questions about them and the Bible are among the never-ending questions you ask.    Your questions are so deep sometimes that I am unsure how to answer, and while I feel timid attempting, I am so impressed and so proud of you for where you are in your faith. You may be pint-sized in the eyes of some, but you are growing ginormous faith.  I pray that others will see this and be inspired by you, especially your siblings.

You love nature and athletics, art and music.  I am continually impressed by your many skills.  Some of your recently acquired ones are tree climbing, reading some words, writing and painting words, hockey, skee ball, climbing walls, and identification of many musical instruments.  

Your brother and sister adore you and look up to you very much.  I hope that you know this, and remember this, even when they're pestering you, in your personal space, and driving you crazy.  They miss seeing you around as much as they did, now that you are in school, and sometimes they don't know how to really handle those feelings.  But, they love you. They talk about you when you're not around, and miss you, asking where you are and when we will get you back.  

Spencer, I want to thank you for all that you've taught me in our almost not five years together.  It's crazy to think that we've been on this team together that long.  Six years sounds like such a long time, even though in the grand scheme of things, it's minuscule. You've taught me so much about patience, unconditional love, parenting, faith, wonder, and whimsy.  You make me laugh until I cry sometimes (although the interrupting cow knock-knock joke has really worn out it's novelty, no offense).  Sometimes, I just look at you and cry tears of overwhelming joy and gratitude.

You're the one who made me mommy first.  We've had so many firsts together in these past five years, and I know we have countless more ahead of us.   I'm so grateful that they will be with you, my brave, caring, funny, ornery, blue-eyed miracle.  

Thank your for still being willing to cuddle, to hug me, to kiss me, even in public and in front of your friends, and for telling me that you love me countless times a day.  Thank you for inviting me to play, telling me your stories and dreams, and challenging me (even when I can't stand it sometimes).

I'm sorry there are days your heart still hurts and aches incredibly as you miss your dad.  I know you're still looking for him, and I know that you're still sad he's missing out on your growing up, and things like your birthday.  I love that you still pray for him.  I'm sorry he's missing your birthday again this year.  But, I am so thankful that there are so many others out there who love you, who tell you how much they love you, and show you how much they love you.  From family, to friends, to Sunday School teachers and neighbors- you are one adored little boy.  It doesn't make it better, but I pray it fills your heart to overflowing.

I've said it before and I will say it again- You're the best thing that ever happened to me (and yes, I say it to your siblings too). 

 Happy Birthday, Spencer Jacob.  I pray immeasurable joy, love, and blessings upon you.  

I love you.

MOM 

A place of my own

I have my very own bedroom.

I haven't had my very own bedroom since the spring of 2006.

It happened last Sunday, after a month or so of meditation.

Prior to this, I had been sharing the larger of our two bedrooms with my nearly 2.5 year-old daughter.

I actually began sharing a room with her in January of 2015, when we moved into transitional housing straight out of the homeless shelter.

Prior to that, I spent two months sharing a bedroom with my two sons while we roomed with a friend at her apartment.

Before that, I spent 9 years or so sharing a room, and a bed, with my former husband.

My daughter doesn't sleep very well. She never has slept more than a few hours at a time for me, and I have been so perpetually exhausted for years now that sometimes I think I'm crazy.  She sleeps okay for other people. It's been a combination, I assume, of recurrent ear infections, tonsils, adenoids, teething (she's still missing two of her two-year molars), and knowing I'm near. I'm a cruddy sleeper, quiet noises wake me, so listening to her cry at night is overwhelming. I have not been one to pick her up and coddle her when she cries at night, but I think part of it is that she would cry and I would even just voice from my bed "it's okay, babe, go back to sleep." Who knows.

Regardless of why, I thought it might be worth a shot to combine her room with her brothers room, and pray for the best.

It's been going well. She still wakes up sometimes, but not every 40 minutes to two hours. The boys stay in their beds quietly because she's in there, so the middle child hasn't been wandering out eight times before he falls asleep. I'm praying these things continue or improve. 

It's nice to be able to go to bed and turn on the light whatever time I want to, or turn it on first thing in the morning and not worry about waking anyone. It's nice to have my own closet and not have to share space. It's nice to not have toys to step on, or other people throwing clothes on my floor. I can decorate for just me. I could read in bed if I wanted, or not wake anyone if I cough.

I have still been sleeping like crud. I think it's partially because it's a new room, new light, new noise, new temperature, and because my body is so used to waking up multiple times a night. It will take some adjustment. I'm holding onto faith soon we will all be sleeping well, though.

Last night, I had a few nightmares. It's not really a big deal, but irritating. However, I was going to make my bed a bit ago and I remembered them.  Then, I remembered the 9 or so years where I had a roommate to share them with.

Suddenly, I realized, sitting on my bed, that my new room, while exciting and deserved, feels a bit lonely and sad at the same time.

It seems silly. But, I realized that in 2005, I was engaged and planning my forever, which included a roommate for life.

And now, the bed and the room contain just one person. Just me.

It's empowering on some levels, to know I stood up for myself and worked so hard to be in this room, alone. But it is also currently weighted reminder that my life dreams and plans were shattered and remade.

It will take some getting used to.

And my bed is still not made.

Dear Spenk, Ollie, & Pippin

My darling children,

Momma is having a hard time falling asleep tonight, despite my state of physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion.

I rest quietly in the dark, and my mind starts to wander.

I think about how unfair life has been to you the past couple of years. You've had such instability, loss, and trauma. 

My eyes swell with tears until they begin to overflow.  My heart physically aches for you. I say a prayer that God will protect your hearts and minds from the effects the years could have on you, and ask Him for the strength and grace to get through, alongside you, whatever lies ahead. 

He has carried us this far and I know He will carry us still.

I hope that you never feel forgotten, discarded, or unloved. Even if you have every justified reason to, I pray against it. I know I personally struggle with these feelings as well, after all we have gone through, so if they do come, know I understand. And, if those feelings arose, I pray you will come to me so I can guide you through them in the way that others have guided me through them and into God's arms, time and time again.

As you all sleep soundly, my heart goes from aching for your pain, to aching with love.

I have so much love for you. Sometimes, it feels like my heart cannot contain it, and it aches as if it may actually burst. Funny how the heart aches in the chest when the love really stems in your mind... But that's a lesson we will have another day. 

Babies, I fought for you. I fought for you before you were born, and I fought for you since your first breath through the ones you're taking now, and until I no longer breathe my own.

 I have tried so hard to fill you with goodness, with joy, with compassion, and with love. I know that there are times when those things won't be on the forefront, but I know with every fiber of my being that those things are within you. I see it in your eyes, I feel it in your hugs, and I hear it in your laughter. 

I apologize, my little ones, for the days when I shed tears, am sick, in pain, exhausted, or drained. Please know, even on those days, I am trying to be my best for you. I will fall short from time to time. I pray I am always humble enough to apologize, and strong enough to try harder the next chance.

I am so thankful that we have each other. I know we all need our space sometimes, and it's hard to get that when its a small apartment and our days are often so busy. I know also that there will be days we feel we need less togetherness and more time apart, and others we feel like all we need is more time together. I pray we will be able to find a balance in it all.

I hope you know how very much I love you, and how I wouldn't trade you for the treasures of the world. I hope you'll always feel the same of me.

Always, 

Mommy

One Door Opens

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

the birthday card I can't send

Dear Leora Mae,

For the past few days, I've been counting down the time until your birthday. Every year, I do the same. Just yesterday, I was informing my sister "Grandma's birthday is tomorrow!" We decided we would celebrate with slushies and that I was super you would approve.

Remember how we went to Dairy Queen so many times just for slushies or Blizzards? So many great treats we enjoyed together...

I miss you like crazy. I have songs on my phone I swear you would LOVE and I wish I could share them with you. Instead, I share them with my children and husband and say "my grandma wpd LOVE this."

I wish you could hold my babies. They're so beautiful. You would laugh as you watch them play and your heart would be full. You were right, Gma, I was meant to be a mom. And you were right, God wouldn't keep me from being one. I have three children now, Gma. I just welcomed home a baby girl 8 weeks ago. 

As I said, I miss you. I miss you every single day, but I see this photo of us and I remember that, while you left "too soon" by world standards, I am incredibly blessed by over twenty years a of movies and love that grew from our relationship. I see countless ways you've influenced my life, and I know so much about you. Unfortunately, so many of my cousins and siblings cannot say the same. I'm a very lucky lady, and I hope I can help you live on down here.

Happy birthday, Gma. Dance with Jesus.

Things I need to tell myself...

No creative title today. Today, I bring you a personal list of sorts, of things I need to tell myself. I need a few reminders, or perspective alterations, to help me improve my mothering on a day I'm not really ready to get up out of bed.

---

1.) Spencer loves the mess out of you. 

Sure, he's started this new thing recently where every 17.58941 seconds he asks for a hug, and then asks for a kiss, and then turns around to move and asks for a hug, and often asks for another kiss...

Yeah, approximately half the time it is being used as either a stalling technique (you really do need a diaper, Spenk...) or a way to butter me up instead of being frustrated, but, if he didn't love me, he wouldn't be doing it, because he doesn't just hug everybody he meets.  It may be exhausting at times and keep you from accomplishing much of anything in the three spare minutes you have between feeding three mouths and changing three diapers (unless someone goes again in their new, fresh diaper... again), but he's showing he loves you all day long, and he's excited and loves doing it. You best not forget it!

Someday, he won't want hugs and kisses as much, and maybe not at all, so, cherish them now, mommy.

---

2.) Collin is hilarious.

Yes, the way he is short tempered (probably because he refuses to sleep as much as he should) lately and is perfecting the art of half-hour tantrums is enough to drive a mom to buying noise-canceling headphones and hiding in the garage some days, but at the same time, it also is amusing. 

The way he flops his short little body into the floor (or couch, or yard, or playground sand....) so suddenly looks like it could hurt, but he's so graceful about it, and let's face it- it looks ridiculously funny. He makes you laugh 80% of the day at least, so why not up it to 90% of the day and just be used by his upset over a leaf falling on his head, and move on instead of feeling agitated?

Someday, he will be even worse when he's upset, possibly swearing or throwing things and slamming doors like many teenagers do, and you're going to wish it was as simple as belly flopping into sand.

---

3.) The boys are best friends. 

Sure, they spend 3 hours of nap/quiet-time laughing and yelling the words to "Green Eggs & Ham" instead of laying in their beds sleeping, but they love to be together. Heck, half the time you find them sharing a bed. They may get into mischief together, be loud and wild when you're on the phone, or create a scene as they laugh hysterically at one another doing... nothing but shaking their heads in a restaurant, but they love each other.

Someday, they may not get along at all. That really does happen to brothers in some cases. Smile, breathe, and know they're perfect together.

---

4.) Norah needs you. 

She loves you. She wants to be on your chest all the time, feeling your heartbeat. Sure, it seems like she's hungry every nine minutes and nurses for three hours at a time, but she needs you, and you chose to help her grow and thrive by giving yourself to her. She may have been "unplanned" and an incredible surprise, but you you love her no less and from the moment you saw her, you knew she was a perfect addition to your life.  

Someday, she will not need you so intensely, and you will ache and long for those moments where the only thing that could make the world right were the sounds of your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin (just like you did with her brothers). You will miss the image of her tiny fingers searching for and clutching yours as you continue to give her the gift of sustained life. You will miss the way she looks up at you grins her huge, toothless grin, as she fills her tummy at 2am, 3am, and again at 5am. So hold onto those moments now. You'll be free to be busy enough with everything else way too soon.

---

5.) The house is chaos. 

It's messy and loud here during the day, and kids are crying and laughing and hugging and fighting and jumping and sleeping and everything in between. The dishes aren't completely done and you might not have swept yesterday, who knows. It wi get clean enough to keep you safe and hopefully sane, and the craziness will die down around 10 (or maybe 11:30) tonight, you will have a snack and some milk, and watch a little tv before going to bed and hopefully getting at least a nap before doing it all again. 

Someday, your children will all be gone, living elsewhere and maybe starting families of their own. You will be lonely, missing their laughter and their cries. So take it all in and remember these years fly by too quickly. 

---

Okay, momma. Time to face the day. You got this.

Acoustically...

Music has always been one of my passions. It's been a true love for as long as I can recall. 

I began singing when I was a toddler, and to this day, my life is (almost an unofficial) musical. Heck, my sister, the other day, said as she walked in the door and I was singing something random "your life really is a musical."

I asked for a guitar for a few years before my parents gave me one for Christmas in 2000. I taught myself to play. I was incredibly self-conscious about it (I still somewhat am) and would stop playing if I knew people were eavesdropping. I never became "that good," but can play a few songs decently well.

The majority of the time, if given a choice, I would prefer an acoustic version or cover of a song over the original. Acoustic music is my real soft-spot.

I am incredibly fortunate that my love of music entwined with the love of my life- Jake. Around the time that I got my first guitar, 40 minutes from my house was a teenage boy who also got his first guitar. I didn't know him at the time, but the coincidence, to this day, in timing, still amazes me. 

When we met, we both were still learning. We played guitar together and learned songs together. More often than not, he taught me, but I do recall teaching him a few, like "Wonderwall" by Oasis, and "Be Like That" by 3 Doors Down. We would sit in my room (usually) and play. We would sing. We would fall in love with music while falling in love with each other.

So many memories of our courtship revolve around our acoustic guitars. He learned to play my favorite songs to surprise me. He wrote me a song once and played it at open mic night as a surprise. I wrote him a song, and recorded a video of it and played it for him. 

I hear many songs on the radio, but instead of the famous radio versions, I hear Jake, singing alone, simply with the acoustic guitar. I fall in love with him every time, even if he's not near me.

Tonight, as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep, I heard an acoustic version of a song I had not heard before, by a cover artist both Jake and I have been find of for a while.  When the music stopped, and I was lying in the silent darkness, I was taken back to college...

I was actually visiting him for a weekend, and we were spending time at his (and his roommates') apartment, when he asked me to pack up the guitars.  He didn't explain, but I obliged his request, and he lead me to a part of the college campus I had never been to before. We headed to the racquetball courts.

And there, I experienced such a wonderful acoustic concert, as he lead me to the center of the court, then went and shut off the lights so it was completely blacked out. Rising through the dark silence was his guitar, as he slowly made his way around the court, playing and singing some of the songs he knew at the time (including Avril Lavigne's "I'm With You,") and the sounds just catapulted to the ceiling and enveloped the entire space. It was electrifying. When he had finished his set, he had me join, and together, we played and sang together, etching the memory into my heart and embedding it on my mind.

It's almost as if I can hear the residual echo tonight, as my eyes finally grow heavy. 

What a lullaby.

I may not play as often as I once did, but Jake still does. He plays frequently, and he plays very well. Both of our boys have fallen in love with the acoustic guitar concerts that have become a part of our life soundtrack. 

Three, already.

Dear Spencer,

I must have blinked a few too many times this year, because it seemed the last 365 days flashed by in a rush. It cannot have been a full year since we celebrated your two full years on earth. Is it really possible?

Oh, sweet baby boy, my baby, grown much behind baby-hood, how I cherish you. I cherish you even more today, if possible, than the day you entered our lives.

You are the beautiful miracle that made me a mommy, and made Jake (as you were calling him last night) a daddy. I cannot imagine my life without you. I imagined becoming a mommy, dreamt of its splendor for so long, but could never have imagined how wonderful you would be.

Spencer, you are incredible. Do not let the world lead you to believe any different. At three years old, you are incredibly intelligent, so polite, kind, and loving (and mischievous, I won't lie). You are artistic and musical, resembling your father and I both so obviously. You make me laugh so hard, it wins over any frustration I find in times that are tough. 

Your kisses, your hugs, and every time you say "I love you so much," make every second of motherhood worthwhile.

I adore watching you play with your little brother. You may not always get along (and sometimes your fights are downright hilarious), but there is an unmistakable well of love for one another that flows between you. It is indescribably magnificent.

I love countless things about you, little man- the way you kiss your shadow on the wall, your glorious laugh, the overwhelming and contagious joy you find in a select few songs that causes your brother to join you in laughter, singing, and dancing, the way you will run from person to person throughout the house to give hugs, kisses, high fives, or shake hands, or how some early mornings you sneak out of your bed and cuddle up beside me, your love for trains and freight cars, the fact that it seems you occasionally dream about penguins and then feel the need to search your closet for them, how you tell me "good job" when I do simple things like pour Kix in your bowl, your ability to recite your favorite books word-for-word... and so many, many more things. You make it so easy to love you.

Dear boy, I want you to know that while some days I feel I may fail as a mother, I love you with every ounce of my being. I would lay down my life for you and your brother in an instant. I pray every day, nothing but the best that God can bless upon you. 

While every birthday is a little bittersweet (or maybe more than a little, as I realize I have tears on my cheeks), seeing another reminder that time passes so quickly, I look forward to celebrating each coming day with you. I cannot wait to see what your future holds.

I love you little buddy. 

Always and forever,

Mommy

Symptomatic

When I was a little girl, before puberty, I dreamed of a wedding someday. As many little girls do, I went through periods of dreaming of marrying a prince. I dreamt of a movie-type romantic love.  I dreamt of being a mommy someday.  

When I hit puberty, I still had these dreams, but they were tainted with fear and worry. As many girls do, I suffered from self-esteem issues related to my appearance. I worried people thought I was ugly and fat. 

But, I also had added worries, and they haunted me for years. Well, they still haunt me sometimes. 

As most teens encounter, I began developing some acne. I felt so gross, because nothing seemed to help clear it up. I was sure people thought I was crazy hideous.

Next came a change on my arms. I started noticing the hair on my arms was darker and thicker than it once was. I thought maybe I was part man. It sounds stupid, but I had nightmares. I tried shaving my arms a couple times, but felt it worthless because it would just grow back, quickly, dark and coarse. I resigned to wearing long sleeves as much of the year as possible and just cry about it. I was certain I was a freak. And I was pretty convinced no one would ever think I was pretty.

And then toward my 20s, I started gaining weight. I wasn't really any less active in college than in high school. In fact, I would argue I was more so, walking campuses constantly, for example. But it didn't seem to help.

However, by the time the weight gain had started, I had met a new friend. His name was Jake. I thought he was pretty good looking. I had a crush on him I his from myself, or tried to ignore, for over a year. I met him in 2001, and the crush started a few months later when he caught a ride with his best friend and surprised me for my 18th birthday party, having traveled hours to get there. He wrote the sweetest, longest message in my birthday card (I still have it), and after, we emailed, talked on the phone for hours, wrote letters, and visited as much as possible. He would drive five hours to come see me for one night. He would kidnap me for a weekend. 

I just never imagined he could love me. I was too nerdy. Awkward, ugly.

But, in the fall of 2002, as I lay on my dorm room bed, he told me "I love you, Nicole." And I confessed that I had fallen in love with him, too.

It was surreal. There have been countless times since then where I have doubted him. Not necessarily his love, but his attraction to me, and whether or not I could believe if he said I looked great, or was beautiful, or sexy. And I would doubt whether or not he could just honestly love someone he wasn't really attracted to.

I love myself. I've gotten there, by the grace of God and support from family and friends. I do. But I still suffer from self-esteem issues. Especially from the symptoms of PCOS that I suffer. These things that haunted me since puberty, made me question if I was really a woman (or if maybe at birth my parents just decided to raise me as a girl). These things I didn't understand until college when I researched them more, and after college when I was diagnosed with PCOS after we began trying for a family. (Oh, I married Jake, in case you're new to my blog).

These symptoms cause me the most self-doubt and negative thoughts when  meeting new people for the first time. At job interviews. Around groups of kids. I still opt for long sleeves if the weather allows it. I try not to show my arms or full body in photos, if I can help it. Kids, as blunt as they are, sometimes ask me about my arms, or if I'm part werewolf. (Depending on the kid, sometimes I say yes, and they think that's so awesome.) I worry that one day my kids will get made fun of because their mom looks like a gorilla. Or is hairier than their dad.

I worry that the first things everyone notices about me when they see me in person is that my arms are hairy, my skin isn't clear, and I'm pudgy. I worry they are embarrassed to be seen with me. I hate it. But I am pretty good at hiding my dear and carrying on. 

Last night, I took this self-portrait for my August Moms group, because someone asked the pregnant mommas to show off. I was in a hurry and not paying a lot of attention, and uploaded it without "proofing" it to hide my flaws- those ugly symptomatic arms especially. In my caption, I apologized-ish for showing my gorilla-esque arms because they're unsightly and embarrassing.

And one momma replied she hadn't even noticed until I said something.

And this morning, she reminded me that there are some people who see me as beautiful, for whatever reason, or who don't see what I see in the symptoms that cause me so much self-doubt. She reminded me that my husband thinks I'm beautiful, and attractive, even if I don't see it. He even told me I was last night (or it may have been the night before). 

It reminded me that some people really like me for me.

On my blog, I sometimes wrote serious topics. I write for me, but also on behalf of the countless others who may relate but not be able to express.

I cherish every comment my blog receives. If you wish to comment, but prefer anonymity, you may comment that way. If you need someone to talk to, but don't feel comfortable commenting here, you can reach me at Nicole.m.worthley[at]gmail[dot]com

Blessings!

It's not that I'm brave.

I've been told in the past that I'm a great writer, too good a writer, or brave for writing. 

My own husband, today, sent me this:

I laugh now as I read that he says "you know it."  Pfft. I would argue I'm your common, every day blogger, just typing it out as it comes.

I digress (big shock, I know).

I posted last time about the paradoxical feelings of being joyfully, miraculously pregnant while you have dear friends suffering a loss. 

I recieved this comment:

It was written by a dear friend, one I admire and respect, who inspires me to be a great, God-loving mommy to my own boys, both by her blog and in real life. When I read it, I smiled, feeling, honestly, a bit of self-esteem boost, knowing she was willing to publicly say such a thing to me. Especially because I don't see myself as brave.

On Facebook today, I saw this:

I was totally not expecting to see it. I had completely forgotten I had given permission for them to use that letter. It can be read on their blog here:

http://elegantmommysiouxfalls.blogspot.com/2013/09/to-my-angel-baby.html

A few friends, my husband, and I began discussing it. And the topic of "bravery in my blogging" came up. 

"I just feel like... I've been there, maybe you have, maybe you are, maybe you will be, but it won't be alone, because I've been there too. So don't be ashamed."

I write my life. I write about things I've either been through, am going through, or am passionate about. I have receive comments occasionally, not often, but I have thousands of views for the blog and sometimes hundreds of views on posts. I rarely look at my stars, because they just don't really matter. I'm not pleading for comments, though, admittedly, I love them.

But it's just not really about that. 

Today, I told my friends, that I just love when people are willing to openly tell me (via comment, email, or Facebook message, whichever is their comfort level)  that they relate to what I wrote about. I realized after I said it, it could come off a bit conceited, but that's not what I meant. I meant it in that "I just feel like... I've been there, maybe you have, maybe you are, maybe you will be, but it won't be alone, because I've been there too. So don't be ashamed." 

I mean it in that I believe it is important to know YOU are not alone.

I don't so much care about me. I know realistically I am not alone, but not everyone knows that. I've gotten comments before reflecting the sentiment that for the first time, after reading about my experience, they felt they weren't alone anymore.

That's what it's about when I blog intense subjects.

My friends pointed out that some of the things I write about are still a bit "taboo" to some social circles and media sites. Lots of people do not want to acknowledge them. 

I write about infertility and pregnancy loss a bit. Because I've been there. Because I KNOW others struggle and might not feel they have support or someone who understands.

But, sadly, most of the time, society and social media wants to brush these subjects under the table.

I'm here to say I think that is absolutely preposterous. There is NO reason that a woman (or a couple) should be made to feel ashamed for something they are already heartbroken about. 

So, I guess, if that makes me brave, so be it. 

If you are someone needing to reach out, feel free to comment below. It can be anonymously, or if you feel more comfortable, my email is nicole.m.worthley[at]gmail[dot]com

Peace to you all.

Conflicted

 

It is absolutely heart-wrenching to suffer with infertility. To try, to battle, to lose month after month, while friends and family around you bring new life into their families. It's crushing to hear people say "we weren't even trying!" or "we got pregnant the first try!" when you live, day in and day out, in the agony and turmoil that infertility brings.

I know. I've been there.

It's so incredibly hard to lose a baby. It takes your breath away. It makes your uterus ache with emptiness, and your arms ache with loneliness. The hot if a positive pregnancy test shattered and stomped on with the absence of the heartbeat that was once in your womb. The constant ticking of the clock that no longer brings you closer to the joyous birth of your miracle. 

I know. I've been there.

When I went through those dark journeys, I did so openly, not caring that there would be (and there were) judgements and ridicule, shame and condemnation, for choosing the level of openness that I did. I knew that if I held it inside, seemingly to hold it all together, my hope and my spirit would crumble quickly. (You can read about my journeys here on this blog.) 

I've been blessed now with four pregnancies, and the births of two sons.

And in this fourth pregnancy, I find myself on the opposite side of the some of the darkest of journeys motherhood, or the pursuit of motherhood, can bring.

This time, I've been the one to openly confess that, despite years of infertility battles, we conceived without trying. 

I feel like I should be over the top overwhelmed with pure joy in this miracle that we never imagined would come naturally. And yet... 

I've been conflicted, openly, from the beginning, mostly regarding the timing of this new miracle.

However, there's more to it.

This time, I'm the one with the baby growing inside of me, while multiple friends that I love so dearly, struggle through the darkness of infertility, miscarriage, or the sheer longing to be a mother but the inability to be one due to various other life circumstances.

When I was going through the battles and the loss, as I said, the pregnancy announcements and births were quite a paradox. There was the incredible joy I felt for those I care for, but also the sharp stabbing pain in my own heart and hope. Jealousy, anger, despair- they are miserable and lonely emotions. You feel ashamed beyond description to feel the negative side while also the joy for them. You find yourself either distancing or trying to overcompensate by being extra interested. Not always, but sometimes. I've done both to various extremes. 

You try so hard to discount your negative feelings, because you think they shouldn't be there.

I say, embrace them. Explore them enough so you can understand them. Then, pick up the pieces of your broken heart, and try to heal. Somehow.

I don't have the magic answer. For me, it was being surrounded by support. Love. Empathy and encouragement. Understanding. Compassion. Prayer. Blogging.

It may take years, but I believe you can heal.

But, I digress.

I'm learning about the other side, as I said. I'm now the one who, God willing, will be delivering a baby in April. I have multiple friends due to welcome new life into their families around the same time.

But, I also have a few friends who were supposed to join. That's what their pregnancy tests confirmed. That's the joy they've embraced so fully, dreamed about, and maybe even shared with the world. And suddenly, as happened to me, the dream was shattered. They've empty wombs and broken hearts. And, no matter how much I portray I understand, I'm now a living, breathing reminder that they lost their child.

I am sure it was so with the previous pregnancies, though I cannot say with the certainty that I can this time around.

And, while I'm reveling in my miracle, my heart breaks for my beloved friends. Perhaps they need to distance themselves from me because just the sound of my name brings them to tears. Or, perhaps they've reached out for my comforting ear and empathy.

Either way, I cry. When I cannot sleep, and I feel the early flutters of this life I side me, I often find myself praying for these amazing women. Tears well up in my eyes, and my throat constricts with intense sorrow. 

I feel ashamed. I feel embarrassed. I want to withhold my joy and be private about this miracle. I want to take back my pregnancy announcement so we can be as we once were.

But I can't.

 It kills me inside every time I want to share, but feel incredibly rude in doing so. But, I know also that it's no good for friendships to deny my joy either. It seems the unselfish thing to do, but it doesn't necessarily mean its the right approach. 

It isn't my "fault" that I am pregnant, just as it isn't their "fault" that they no longer are. One of my dear friends said that to me recently, while we discussed how her loss and my sustained (this far) pregnancy affected us. 

But then, what can I do? I don't want to be the salt in the wounds that have not healed. 

I pray for them, knowing that I cannot heal them on my own, but that my God can. And, I pray it happens sooner than later. I pray they can embrace their sorrow, and hope for the joy that will come again someday.

And I miss them. 

I'm not sure I've made a concise point, but I'm hoping that my thoughts, which help me process, reach those out there that need it.

Love to you all.

Note: while I cherish all blog comments, I understand sometimes it is scary to put your feelings out there. You are able to respond anonymously, but if you are wanting someone to talk to, feel free to send me an email at Nicole.m.worthley[at]gmail[dot]com