Gracious Birth

It’s true what they say about the third child.  Being a third child myself, I remember looking through my baby photo album and feeling jipped over the lack of photos in comparison to my two older siblings.  And only about 50% of the pictures in my album were of me alone; the other half were photos of me with my brother or sister.  Whose album is this anyway?!?! Well, as a parent of three children, I can now attest to the fact that having fewer photos and less of a to-do over your arrival does not in any way mean you are loved any less.   

When Leah was born, we posted photos to the blog from the hospital room a mere few hours after she was born.  Isaac’s photos were put up a day after his arrival.  And here we are, on December 6^th with a 2 month old baby in our hands.   So, it is without further ado that I introduce you all to Anna Noel, our newest family member who joined our world on October 5^th.   (Anna, should you read this when you are older, please don’t be offended.   Life has been tumultuous.  You will understand.) 

 Just hatched.  And still not so happy about it.

                                                An hour later, feeling a bit more content.

When our fourth baby arrives, we *might* tell you about it.  (And no, fourth baby is not “in the works” yet, folks.   We are just hopeful we will be blessed with another little one… one day.) 

Anna’s due date was October 16, but thankfully, she was ready well before then.   During the wee hours of October 5^th, I randomly woke up at 2:26 am.  And there was no going back to sleep.  It’s not that my water broke, or there was any strong contraction that rousted me, but I just had a feeling.   I lay in bed for a while, trying to go back to sleep, and eventually meandered out to the couch where I drifted in and out in between some very sporadic contractions.   No biggie, I told myself, I got this.  I’d prepped for months with a hynobabies program to birth this baby naturally, and having decided to give birth at the local Birth Center, I didn’t really have any other choice.  

We took a walk that morning and while Jared and his mom fed our kids lunch, I did my own thing.  Listened to some hypnosis tracks (which weren’t working *quite* like I’d hoped), but mostly, just focused and gave myself some hardcore pep talks.  (Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.  Thank you, Coach Eric Taylor.)  I don’t know what it was, transition maybe, but shortly before 2 pm something snapped inside my head, and I remember clearly thinking, “What are we DOING here?!?!  We need to go!”   

Enter the most intense, yet miraculous, hour and a half of my life.  

We arrived at The Birth Center at 2 pm.  I started pushing at 3 pm.  And at 3:25 pm, sweet little Anna Noel graced us with her presence, where she floated up to me and I scooped her up and cradled her in my arms.  I was the first person ever to hold our baby.   No doctor, nurse, or midwife got their hands on her first.  Just me.   It may be the hormones, but I still can’t think about it without tearing up with utter joy. 

It’s funny the things I remember about it all.  I remember the soothing warmth of the water in the tub.  I remember at one point feeling as if someone was tearing my hips apart.  I remember as Anna was crowning, thinking, “I bet this would really burn if I wasn’t in the water.”  I remember feeling intense pressure with each contraction.  I remember feeling her little head, and with it, the sense of relief that I was almost there.  As with most babies, Anna’s shoulders got stuck and the midwife needed to help her out.  And I remember thinking, “Those are hands in me!”  I remember asking if she was a boy or girl, but nobody had checked yet.  So I checked myself, but I couldn't get a good look, and it just didn't seem that important at that moment.  But mostly I remember seeing that tiny little body in the water right before I scooped her up and thinking, “We did it.  Thank you, Lord.”

Throughout it all I never felt unbearable pain, discouragement, or like I couldn’t go on.   (And that, I attribute to Hynobabies.  Seriously ladies, give this program a whirl.)   It was hard.  It was intense.  It was amazing.  And undoubtedly, the most worthwhile thing I’ve ever worked for.   

I should have known that would be the case.  After all, Anna Noel, a name we’d picked out years ago, means “gracious birth”.  How could I expect anything different? 

And now she’s here, and she’s perfect.   She looks mostly like Leah, but I see Isaac in her too.  She eats well, sleeps well, and is just generally mild-mannered as far as babies go.  Her biggest fault, if you could even call it that, is that she wants to be held to fall asleep most of the time, which requires me to sit with her rather than do chores around the house.   And you know what?  Perhaps that’s just God’s way of saying, “Sit, Gina.  Rest.  Delight in your child.”    

Don’t mind if I do. 

He gives and takes away

I’ve opened up this document and stared at a blank page with a blinking cursor on more than one occasion.   And yet I’ve struggled to actually put anything down.   I guess today I’m feeling bold enough to try.

October 2012 was undoubtedly a month I will never forget.   It began with the most amazing, joyful experience of my life; I gave birth to Anna Noel on October 5^th.   Less than 3 weeks later, on October 25^th, I lost my mom.   Most of you know the story— when Anna was 11 days old, my mom went into cardiac arrest at her doctor’s appointment.   Though the doctors were able to get her pulse back, they were never able to bring HER back.  And so our family had to make a decision that I pray most people don’t have to make.   Despite my countless prayers to give us just a little more time, God made it clear that He wanted her with Him. 

My mom, as most of you know, has been battling breast cancer for the past 8 years.   And when I say battling, I mean standing on the front lines, furiously wielding her sword and shield.  Multiple surgeries, countless (endless) rounds of chemo, medications, doctors, hospitals, etc.  And she did it all with little complaint even though she was in almost constant pain.  She was a warrior, but even the fiercest warriors can only take so much chemo before their heart says, ‘enough’.  She is, without a doubt, my hero. 

We came home from Texas to a whole pile of mail.  I have to say, it is utterly overwhelming to have a stack of cards awaiting you—half of which are congratulating you on the birth of your new baby girl, and the other half are expressing their sorrow on the loss of your mother.  Talk about contrasting messages.

At this point, I’m riding on an emotional rollercoaster that is constantly teetering back and forth from new baby bliss to extremely aching heart.   For the sake of those around me, I try to keep it in check.  In the moments that I feel joyful (because let’s be honest, I have a lot to be joyful for), I also feel guilty for feeling anything other than sorrow.  But I’m mostly irritated, frustrated, and exhausted, and feeling like I’m trying to hold it together by just a few tenuous threads.

I didn’t talk to my mom daily, and since we lived almost 1500 miles away from each other, we only saw each other but a few times a year.  And so I guess I was hoping that maybe it would be easier once I got back home.   For the record, it’s not.  I never realized how much I thought to call her during the day until I wasn’t able to call her anymore.  Like when we had our first snow flurries last week, when Leah tried to tell Isaac about heaven ("Isaac, do you know where Tyrone [Her fish that died after one measly month.] is?"  "Yeah, he's in da dirt."), and when sweet little Anna gave me her first smile. 

I dream about my mom almost every night.   And I feel thankful for the fact that in my dreams, my mom is exactly like she was before she had cancer—vibrant, throwing her head back in laughter, and wonderfully alive.   I like to think this is God’s way of showing me how she is now in heaven.   When I wake up in the morning, I feel the ache all over again when I realize that dreams are the only way we’ll get to spend time together anymore.  And on the nights when I don’t dream of her, I wake up panicked, wondering if I’m losing her already.   

On the day my mom went in to her radiation appointment, she dropped an anniversary card for Jared and I in the mail.  The card says this, “May your memories be warm ones.  May your cares today be few.  May your moments all be happy.  May your joy last all year through. “  Little did she know how fitting those words would be for the situation at hand. 

I wish I could end this post with some sort of sweet wrap up of how every day is easier.   How I see the light at the end of the tunnel.  Etc etc.   Instead, I’ll just leave you with the lyrics to a song, which has been running through my head lately and which I've never fully connected with until now.  After all, I can't imagine a better example of the phrase, "You give and take away."  In my best moments, I find the lyrics to be true.   And in my not so great moments?  Well, I’m still working on that.   

“Blessed be Your name

When the sun's shining down on me

When the world's 'all as it should be'

Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name

On the road marked with suffering

Though there's pain in the offering

Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out

I'll turn back to praise

When the darkness closes in, Lord

Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord

Blessed be Your name

Blessed be the name of the Lord

Blessed be Your glorious name

You give and take away

You give and take away

My heart will choose to say

Lord, blessed be Your name”

Out of sorts

One day, when my head and my heart stop being so jumbled, I will post on here again.  And in the mean time?  Just remember that patience is a virtue.

Summer time videos

Since it's been a while, I figured I'd post a few videos taken on some of our summer adventures.  

Once or twice a summer, we like to head to the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk and take the kids to Funland.  Cheapest ride entertainment ever.  The rides haven't changed since the 60s, and neither have the prices.  And these two girls love this ride, even though they can hardly keep their heads up while on it. 

Slowest cart race EVER at the Delaware State Fair.

Isaac takes a turn... and clearly doesn't make it very far. 

We were able to spend a decent amount of time in the pool this summer, and the kiddos got to work on their swimming skills.  Oh, and that incessant noise in the background???   Oh yes, that's Isaac, apparently wanting me to catch him. 

To love like Leah does

People hear God speak to them in all kinds of ways.  Some through a beautiful scene in nature, some in prayer, some through music. I often hear God in my 3 year old daughter.  Let me explain...

Lately, loving like Jesus did (does) has been on my heart.  There are a lot of things I don't fully understand about what the bible is saying, but the one thing I am clear on is that we are to love others.  While the simplicity of it is nice, at times, it is an overwhelming and daunting concept for me.  Because when I am tired (which is often when you are 6 months pregnant, and home with a 2 year old and just-about-4 year old), I don't feel very loving.  I feel frustrated and somewhat annoyed and well, just tired.  And so these are the moments when I just have to ask, God, how do I do it?

Then I look at my daughter.  Sometimes the best examples are right in front of your eyes.

Leah is my mini-mommy.  She tends to her friends (both real and pretend), her family, and her pets like it's her job.  (It's amazing to me how naturally different boys and girls were created.  Thus far, we've raised our two similarly and yet the nurturing gene runs much stronger in Leah than it does in Isaac.  For instance, one day I went to wake her from her nap and found that every one of her "friends" [stuffed animals] and dolls was tucked into individual beds she made out of blankets and towels from the closet.  The floor was literally covered in mini-beds with sleeping friends, all tucked in tightly.  Leah herself had fallen asleep in the glider, while rocking her favorite doll to sleep.)  Luckily for me, her care-taking tendencies are mostly directed towards her little brother.  When Isaac falls down and hurts himself, she (sometimes roughly) helps him up and whispers, What's wrong, Isaac?  I'm sorry you got hurt.  You're ok, you're ok, until he settles down again.  The other morning around 5, I heard Isaac crying in his crib.  I laid there in bed, trying to determine if he would fall back asleep himself, or if I would have to get my sleepy self up to tend to him.  Then I heard the sound of Leah getting out of bed and climbing into his crib, followed up with her gently soothing him and telling him that she would take care of him.  They fell back asleep snuggled up together until about 7 or so.  I fell back asleep with a thankful smile on my face and a warm heart.

Now don't get me wrong; Leah is not perfect.  She gets mad at Isaac as well, and sometimes she is the cause of his crying and injuries.  He tortures her like any little brother can torture his older sister-- smacking, kicking, taking toys, knocking down carefully built creations, and most recently, biting (more on that in a minute).  But she doesn't focus on all the frustrating things Isaac does and hold a grudge towards him.  She openly tends to, nurtures, and loves him all the same.  And I can't help but think-what if I followed her lead in the relationships in my life?  What if, instead of dwelling on the frustrations that being close with people can sometimes bring, I focused on the companionship and love we have towards one another?  (Don't we do that with our own children?  And why is it so hard to extend that towards adults as well?) What if I chose to let my heart lead my mind, instead of my wounded pride/ego?

Yesterday morning I was picking up a few things around the house, when Leah came running to me crying because Isaac had bit her "really, really hard" on her arm.  (Hardly a mark in sight, I tell you.)  Isaac went to time-out and when he was done, I gave him the standard "do you know why you are in time-out, we don't bite talk".  As he was getting up to give Leah a hug and say he's sorry, she came over and said, No, Isaac, don't worry.  I'll come to you.  At which point she hugged him, said I forgive you, and they went on their merry way.  Later on it struck me how quickly she was ready to forgive him.  How she didn't stand there and wait for him to come to her, but instead how she went to him, with her arms open.  What if, instead of quietly tending our own wounds, we went with open hearts and arms to those who have wounded us?  What if we chose to love willingly, forgivingly?

My last example, I promise.  A few weeks ago, one of the light bulbs over the kitchen table died.  There are two lights up there, and while it was slightly annoying to have half of the family eating in dim lighting, it wasn't annoying enough for me to fix it.  (That would require going to the basement to get a bulb [Stairs?  No, thank you.], climbing up on the table, and then cleaning up all the crud that somehow seems to gather on a light bulb that had fallen on the table.)  After about 2 days, Jared fixed it.  Leah watched in amazement, dancing and exclaiming, Wow, Daddy! You saaaaaaaaved the day!!!!  She was so appreciative of this little task, which in turn, made me appreciative of this little task.  Was it a big deal for Jared to change a light bulb?  No.  But it was a task I didn't want to do, and without asking, he did it.  And I thought, why do we only feel the need to appreciate the big things others do for us, the out of the ordinary things?  What if I showed my husband the same appreciation for changing a light bulb that Leah showed him?  (I don't necessarily mean dancing around the kitchen and singing, but a kiss and a thank you ought to do it.)  I can't help but think how amazing all of our relationships could be if we actually chose to appreciate all the wonderfully ordinary things we do for each other on a daily basis.

In Matthew 18, verses 1-4 Jesus and his disciples are having a discussion on who is the greatest in heaven.  Jesus called a little child over to him and said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.  Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." 

I realize my daughter is not extraordinary (although I think she is).  But she is one of 2 children I am around all day, every day.  Leah and Isaac are my living examples and reminders of how open and free love is from a child.  How forgiving, natural, and unceasing love can be.  They show me the way God wants us to love, without having all the filters, blinders, and biases that life experiences can bring. 

Thank you, Lord, for the love you've given me, and for the two little blessings who probably teach me more than I teach them.  May their hearts always be open, and may mine be more like theirs with each passing day. 

Sometimes we do fun things.

And then I like to post about them.  (Well, not really.  Otherwise I'd post more often.)  In my defense, this is my second attempt at putting these pictures on the interwebs.  My first was thwarted a few weeks ago when I spent almost an hour uploading, captioning, etc, only to lose all my work.  Then I said some inappropriate things to the computer, slammed it shut, and muttered about how I would never, ever post anything again as I stumbled off to bed.  I have matured since then, and realize my decision may have been a bit rash, so now I'm trying again.  :)

Leah loves, loves, loves to bake.  I like baking too.  Alone.  Without flour, sugar, and other ingredients being accidentally spilled all over the place.  (This is also why I don't bake with Jared, either.)  But sometimes, I just have to let it go and accept the mess.  And it's always worth the disaster of a kitchen when I see her excitement about whatever it is that we're pulling out of the oven. 

 This was our first ever attempt at a rhubarb pie.  

 I'm not going to lie;  I just don't get what all the hype is about when it comes to rhubarb pie.  It tastes great when you put a giant-sized dollop of whipped cream or ice cream on top, but what doesn't taste good like that?

 In honor of Chrysalis season, we did a series of lessons on caterpillars, chrysalises, and butterflies.  These were the results of caterpillar day's activities.  

 One of our most favorite activities lately was our ABC fishing game.  We put our magnet letters from the fridge in a little container with some water and fashioned some fishing rods out of sticks, string, and some leftover magnets I had from a craft project.  Once they fished out a letter, they had to match it with the coordinating foam letter blocks set up around the room. Isaac just had to tell me what letter he caught.  Leah's job was a bit trickier, as she had to tell me the letter, the sound it makes, and a word that starts with that particular letter.  They loved this game, and it was a huge hit.  (Meaning,  it occupied them for approximately 30 minutes.) 

 If you look closely, you'll see that our fishing pond is actually our "hats and scarves" bin from the closet.   What you don't see in these pictures, are the hats and scarves scattered all over the living room floor. 

 "I daught a fis!"

On nice days, we like to open up the front door and be the official greeters as we eat lunch.  

 And I like to stand behind them, snap pictures, and think of how blessed this life is. 

A few weeks ago, Jared was out of town for a conference and I took the kids strawberry picking.  I was interested to see how the day would go, because berry picking can sometimes be lots of fun.  And sometimes, not so much.  We tend to be marathon pickers, and go for hours on end, picking relentlessly until we've gotten a somewhat acceptable quantity.  This day?  Was awesome.  The kids picked with me, for as long as their little selves could without getting bored.  Luckily, the playground was just across the field from where I was, and I felt comfortable sending them over there to play while I powered through the berry patch.    It worked out great.  We ended up with about 26 lbs of strawberries and 5 lbs of cherries.  A stop at McDonald's on the way home for such patient behavior, and then this happened...

 ... about 30 seconds before I pulled into the driveway.  

 In case you are wondering what 26 lbs of strawberries and 5 lbs of cherries looks like.  

 In our house, the awesomeness of a day can often be determined by the dirtiness of little feet.  

 These pictures were Leah's idea.  She was super excited for me to take a picture of all the berries while she gleefully stuffed her face with them.    

 By this point Isaac was all berried out and refused to participate.

Jared recently purchased a bunch of equipment to do all-grain beer brewing.  (For more details on all-grain versus extract brewing--which is what he was doing-- you'll have to ask him.)  From what I've gathered, all-grain brewing takes more time and makes a bigger mess.  But maybe I'm just bitter since I'm not able to currently reap the benefits of his brewing escapades.  :)  We had a few large boxes in the house and I let the kids go buck-nutty with them. 

  If you ask me, this is the best box of goodies I could ever receive.   

It all started out mild, and then things got a wee bit crazy.  (And then the website stopped aligning my text.  That happened too.)   

  I'm pretty sure these boxes lingered in our house for almost a month, with various activities and uses for them.  (Tunnels, forts, houses, etc.) 

Stay tuned-- more posts to come!!

Ummmm... hello?  I never know how to start these things when it's been, ohhhh, maybe 2 and a half months since I last acknowledged this blog even existed.   So let's just skip the small talk and cut to the chase. 

Isaac turned 2!!  And did he ever.  About a week before his actual birthday, he fully embraced the concept of turning 2.  (In short, he turned terrible.  There I said it.)  Apparently, my sweet little monkey of a boy must've hightailed it to the woods and sent back this adorable, yet monstrous, imposter.  Luckily, he's smart enough to know just when he's pushed limits beyond my capacity and uses that moment to "div mommy a diss."  Well... my hands are full. 

Leah continues to be sweet.  And listens well (mostly) (when she wants to) (not very often).   She is independent and creative and silly to the max.  She can coax Isaac to do anything-- play tea parties with her made up friends, or various pretend games outside like "Pirate Island", Dragons, and T-rex.  Her coloring has gotten ridiculously good lately, and she'll do it for much longer periods of time.  Most of the time, she's so well-spoken that Jared and I forget the period of time when she talked like a baby.  She wants to "do school" with me daily, but that requires dragging my sleepy, pukey bum off the couch.  And, thankfully, she loves holding babies. 

Because, ya know, we're gonna have another.  (Not like everybody doesn't already know that.)  The due date is October 16.  Since both the others were early, we're anticipating the beginning of October.  Most days, I'm excited.  Some days (like today), I'm so exhausted by the time bed time rolls around that I wonder what we were thinking.  I choose to believe this baby will sleep, sleep, sleep and that I will have more than enough energy to play with and tend to my three(!) little beauties.  Which will be the case, I'm sure.  If there's nothing else I've learned, it's that God will provide.  (And in this case, it shall be energy.  Whether that be via a sleeps-all-night newborn, or a shipment of  Red Bull to my front door has yet to be determined.) 

Also, our computer is angry with our photo files for some reason.  So until I get that squared away, no new pictures to share.  But perhaps this video will suffice?

I made fresh cinnamon rolls the day before Easter.  And we served them to Leah and Isaac as a bed time snack.  Can I make a recommendation?  Don't give homemade cinnamon rolls to your preschoolers at 8 pm.     Can I make another recommendation?  DO give homemade cinnamon rolls to sleepy mommies of newborns.  

Happy (Belated) Birthday, Dad!

Since last year's birthday post for my Dad was such a hit, we figured we'd give it another go.  And since I like to test my patience limits in all things possible, I thought it'd be fun to include the dogs as well.  No? Ahhhh, well.  Lesson learned.  

(Although it should be noted that my Dad's birthday was a few weeks ago.  We did manage to get these pictures taken and sent to a local-to-them Walgreens for printing on his birthday.  Hooray!)

Surprisingly, everyone was very cooperative.  I'm still baffled as to how the whole thing was pulled together so smoothly.  

Ok, everybody!

Let's get ready to sing!

And now for the group shot...

Isaac's happy!  Heidi's looking! (Although you can't see beyond her furry eyebrows.)  But what are Rowdy and Leah looking at? 

Leah's looking!  (Albeit holding her sign funny...)  But we lost Isaac.  Drats. 

Heidi is my star pupil here-- what a good pup.  But this is where it all starts to break down... (was it ever really together?).  I blame it on that darn sticker that Isaac found. 

A sticker?  I shall put it on my cheek.  

And suddenly the sticker is no longer fun.  Insert the whine.  Moooommmmmyyyyy, dere's a dit-ter on na deek.   Funny, I wonder how that got there? 

Happy Birthday, Dad!  Now just wait until next year.  I've left myself no choice but to involve the cats and potential outside woodland creatures. 

A Snowy Day

Since it's snowing outside, I'm finally in the mood to post these photos from our "Big Snow!"  we had a few weeks ago.  (And by "Big Snow!", I mean 3ish inches.  But the biggest we've had thus far this year.)   

Once we realized it was snowing outside, we quickly bundled up and scampered out.  There wasn't much there at first, but we did the best we could to build a wee snowman.  

 See?  Leah is oohing over its fine craftmanship. 

 Meanwhile, Isaac is all Mark Davenport about the snow... "Waaaahhhhh, it's so cold.  Wahhhhh, snow is the worst!"  This *may* have been due to the fact that at this point, it started (freezing) raining on us.  

 Our second attempt to go out later on was much more successful.  Does anyone know how long it takes to get two small children geared up and ready to play in the snow?  Because it feels like FOREVER.  And then inevitably, there's a need to go potty.  How come nobody invented snowsuits with zipper up butt flaps? 

 Most enjoyed snow activity?  Why eating it, of course!  I tried to explain that this would just make them feel colder, but oddly enough, logic is lost on (almost) 2 and 3 year olds. 

 The freezing rain put an ice layer on everything, giving the whole backdrop a nice Winter Wonderland look.  

 See?  Now that's just pretty. 

 The overall consensus was that our pond is obviously not quite ready for skating.  

 Nom, nom, nom. 

 Now, it's not so much that I really love winter, but more so that I love living in a place that gives us the opportunity to experience the beauty and uniqueness of each season.  

And back inside for some backyard bird watching.  Leah's got all the regulars down, so she was tutoring Isaac.  Thus far, he can identify doves, blue jays, cardinals, and chickadees.  I'd say Leah's a pretty good teacher. 

One of the things I’ve really been trying to pay attention to these days are those moments you have when everything seems to click. The “A-ha! Moments” when, even if for just a few seconds, everything seems clear. Those moments when it seems like God is trying to catch our attention. I truly believe that as God’s children, He is trying to speak with us and guide us all the time. (After all—wouldn’t you do the same for your children?) And those moments when we feel that “revelation”, so to speak, are those times when we actually pause from our all-encompassing daily lives to listen. Call it a revelation, call it clarity, you can call it what you want, but I call it a Kairos moment (And so does the all-knowing Wikipedia. See for yourself.)


In the past week, I’ve had two Kairos moments that have particularly stuck.

You see, part-way through last year I finally started to feel more settled in after moving back here. We had friends! We had a semi-schedule that I stuck to during the week days! We had finally finished potty-training! At last, I felt like I was getting a grip on the whole Stepford Wife/stay at home mom deal. And then the end of the year came with holidays, visitors, eye surgery, and general craziness and the schedule fell apart. I stopped cooking the awesome meals on a regular basis. We didn’t always have clean socks and I was completely falling behind on keeping up with the cloth diapers. I was on the internet more and playing with the kids less. The kicker came when I realized that I was getting upset/frustrated/angry with Leah and Isaac when they would interrupt me and prevent me from getting the things done that I “needed” to do. (Mainly cleaning, laundry, and a grocery shopping trip that didn’t result in me wanting to tear my hair out to match the two children in the cart who are, quite literally, tearing each other’s hair out…) My patience was short, and my temper was quick. Totally not who I want to be. Totally not who I want my kids to grow up to be.

It was during a quiet nap time one day while I was cleaning the house, when clear as a bell I heard, You are not home to keep your house clean. You are home to raise your children.

Ohhh. Right.

If it weren’t for our kids, I wouldn’t be staying at home. I would quite possibly still be commuting 50 miles one way in the most ridiculous traffic I’ve ever encountered to get to work. And here I wasn’t exactly treating them like a priority, but more like an interruption to my to-do list. Oops.

This past week has been an improvement. I’m trying to do a better job of integrating play time/teaching time with the usual things that are necessary to keep the house going. (And no, I did NOT clean the entire house top to bottom on Monday morning before I started this “play time integration” program.) (Yes I did.)  BUT, I can honestly say that I feel so much more relaxed, and I’m having much more fun with my little sidekicks.  My daily agenda is less stringent and therefore, less stressed.  It’s funny how a small shift in attitude can make such a big difference.  Thank you, God.

That was Kairos moment number 1. If anybody’s even still reading, onto number 2.

My mom and dad visited over the holidays. It was awesome. It always is. And yet, whenever I spend time with people I love, I’m not very good at making it obvious just how much I love and treasure them. It’s something I think about afterwards, once my parents/siblings/friends have already gone home. Sadly, my parents being my parents, they seem to be the pinnacle of this lack of appreciation. (And by that I mean, I appreciate them the most and they might be told the least.) I’m sure I’ve said it before, but since I’ve had Leah, my gratitude for all my mom and dad did for us kids growing up has skyrocketed. Yes, I noticed some of it when I was younger, but let’s face it—teenagers are selfish, no matter how you slice it. Parents do so much more behind the scenes stuff than we ever realize. (Until we are the ones actually doing the behind the scenes stuff.)

Since my parents have left, I’ve been wanting to call them or send them a general Thank-you-for-giving-up-so-much-of-you-for-me card.  And yet they went back home 3 weeks ago, and it still hasn’t been done. Then one day early in the week I had this horrible dream that my mom had died.  It was awful, obviously, and I woke up all panicky and nervous.  Now I’m not saying that I’m prophetic by any means.  I am not.  (Thankfully!)  But the point is that while in the dream, aside from the extreme sadness, there was one thought I couldn’t shake—I didn’t get to tell her thank-you.  I carried that with me throughout the next few days and couldn’t help but feel blessed.  Obviously, blessed to have the amazing parents (all 4 of them) that I have, but also blessed that I was able to have this moment of regret without actually having to lose anyone.  Thank you, God.  I often pause in telling and showing people how much I appreciate them for fear of vulnerability, an excessive amount of emotion, or even being cheesy.  How silly.  So for all of my friends and family out there, if I haven’t said it recently (and even if I have), thank you for bringing such joy to our lives.

And Mom and Dad? Your card is in the mail.  :)