The Trouble with Labels

A great discussion after yoga class this morning has had me wondering all day- what would you choose to be if you removed all the labels you place on yourself?

Seriously. Maybe they're characteristics of a particular season in your life in which others identified you- just adjectives from adolescence or childhood- and you just accepted them as permanent fixtures, adopted them as your very nature.  Or maybe they're self-proclaimed, true tendencies, and you wear them like a badge.  But let's think about it for a second.

I convinced myself I was made a certain way for much of my life.  I'm a procrastinator. I'm lazy. Incapable of finishing what I start. Naturally good at math, science,  and music, but too undisciplined to be great at any of them. Bad knees. Eating issues. Genetically incapable of being an athlete of any sort. Big boned with a slow metabolism (my favorite)... the list goes on.

It was true.  I was all of these.  But here's the deal- it's who I was and who I remained because I accepted those things and they became my excuses. I didn't struggle through them to be more of what I wanted. I instead struggled to accept them... and accepting most of them truly was a struggle for me because I didn't like some of those traits. In acceptance, though, they became road blocks that held me back, and I grew comfortable in my box just saying, "Oh, that's cool, but I could never do that. I'm too _________. I'm content where I am."  But I wasn't.

I didn't want to be (mostly self) labeled as lazy anymore, so I got off the couch to knock out daily "to do" lists and learned (ok, still learning) how to better manage my time.  I didn't want to be someone who didn't finish what I started, so I took one step after another to finish whatever it was. Everyday was a choice to counteract those habits I wanted to change. Am I still a procrastinator by nature?  Yes, but I don't like that, so I recognize the behavior and make a conscious choice to change it when I see it.

Of course, in all of this, I realize that my childhood dream of being an Olympic gymnast is beyond me now, but that doesn't stop me from bending over backwards, flipping around, and enjoying the movement my body grows more capable of everyday. At almost 37 years old, it's almost the same thing, right? I still have bad knees, but I don't let them stop me from making steps toward my physical fitness goals.  I just go slower (because it is important to recognize limits and not injure yourself.)

The hardest realization is when I find myself doing it to my children, describing them to people as this or that, and boxing them in, however unintentionally. I believe we are each given certain gifts we should nurture and develop, and we are absolutely led by certain traits. I encourage my kids to seek those out, but I don't believe they (or we) should be limited to activities, careers, etc. based on predisposition, genetic or otherwise.  I try to be very careful of my words now. I want my children to own who they are, but I want them to find the balance to know when to move if they want something more or different.

All I'm saying is this- if you want something, figure out what it is keeping you from it, and tear down that wall one small brick at a time. Be good to yourself along the way. The journey can be long and riddled with ridiculous opinions and hardships. But strip yourself of the labels, even just for a second, to imagine all that you've ever dreamed of being, and let nothing stop you in that pursuit, especially not your own perception.

Nooks and Crannies

When your place of residence changes too frequently you learn to define "home" solely by the intangible spaces you create in yourself and in between the people you love.  No address or physical place will do, for you cannot take those nooks and crannies with you when you go.

It is simply one lesson I have learned as a military wife.

We remain in one spot for a fleeting breath of a moment it seems- often only three years or less.  It is long enough to attempt to settle in a house always owned and decorated by someone else.  By the time our belongings are sufficiently scattered from corner to corner, the packing season has rolled back around.  Everything finally organized on our assorted-colored shelves or in our mismatched furniture must carefully be rewrapped, repacked, and rearranged in relabeled boxes.  Even now, our time here on Sandusky Court is up, and we are once again a family awaiting orders.

I'd say "patiently awaiting," however, patience has never been a forte of mine.

I'm a planner; living in limbo makes me crazy.  Truly insane.  But insanity must be tolerated, as this is our chosen life.  Fall homeschool registration, extracurricular activities, plane tickets and summer travel plans... even our small business future precariously rest upon our next move; every one of these tasks in need of being settled very soon.  Luckily, February is the promised month for receiving orders, and we know it is only a short time before the setting of our next chapter is written.

Try though I might, leaving always bears a substantial weight on my every thought as the days tick by.  It is not, however, the unresolved details that are the most taxing effects of our transfers, but the heartbreak that comes of the distance enforced in each cherished relationship built in these transient years.  They are, of course, our greatest blessings- chosen family always is- and so, it is a heartbreak worth enduring, with promises made for visits whenever circumstances allow.

Connections such as these are never broken.  They are the very filling of my invisible nooks and crannies affectionately carried from town to town, and that by which I create this, my unconventional definition of "home."

Wait. Quietly.

This is no small thing I seek.

And so I will simply do as I’m told.

Wait.
Quietly.

It was in the stillness of an evening a few nights back that these words came to me, reverberating in the deafening silence as a critical answer to a question I’ve been forced to ask.

Waiting isn’t foreign to me. I am a military wife. We are forever and always waiting on something. In fact, I’m fairly certain “hurry up and wait” is the unofficial motto every military family has displayed in fridge-magnet form or cross-stitched neatly on a pillow. If not, we should. And though I’m typically not so keen to just wait, and certainly not patiently, this particular time, the words echoed through my body with the soothing warmth only peace can offer- a sensation these restless bones haven’t known for far too long.

Still, I questioned.

No, it wasn’t the “wait,” but the “quietly” that tripped me up. So, what did I do? I went straight to the online dictionary for the cliché writer’s definition search...

quietly- adv. 1. Making no noise or sound, especially no disturbing sound. 2. Free, or comparatively free, from noise.

Quietly. Not still. Not patiently. Not even silently.
Wait quietly.

Ok. My mission, should I choose to accept it… free from expressive noises of great excitement or grievance, I will move through my days in productive pursuit of the tasks at hand and tackle each one with a content heart. I will live and love each moment… and I will wait. I will wait faithful that in its time, this seemingly non-answer answer will work itself out. I will allow that initial peace to fill me and replace the sneaky doubt that creeps in with the passing of time.

I have my work cut out for me.

Wait.
Quietly.

Mission accepted.

Domino Toppler Extraordinaire

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I don't get that question much anymore, because, well... I'm 36. Grown. But don't you know, it still applies!I wear many of those proverbially hats people are always going on about. First and foremost, you can label me the typical wife & mother, of the "stay home" variety. We'll throw "tattooed and sometimes scandalously clad homeschooling momma" in there together, just to be more specific, and because it's fun to see the look of surprise on people's faces when slaying their vision of the stereotypical, sheltered homeschool type. That makes me a teacher, too, though I tutor more than my own spawn. And because that's not enough to keep my two hands occupied, I've passionately adopted the title of small business owner, times 2, making gourmet jams & jellies with my best friend, and building my own little branch of the most fabulous health & wellness company 'round these parts. Together, these make up only a small portion of the dreams I'm setting out to realize. My desire is to be the the most eclectic combination of all these professions, as well as yoga instructor, farmer, and writer. Interesting fusion, right?

Its a mouthful of an answer, too, so I've invented a better, all encompassing title, however vaguish it might be. For the sake of simplicity, and because I doubt the defining of who I am will stop with merely these fine adventures, I've chosen to designate my pursuits and achievements under the title of...

Domino Toppler.

That's right! I'm gonna set those little dominoes up one at a time, and then I'll knock 'em all down, insuring that each falls right into its perfect place, creating the flawless masterpiece of the run. I'm fully expecting crazy looks when entertaining anyone who dares ask what I do, but at the very least it would be an interesting conversation & far better than the "jill-of-all-trades" response. 

Further more, the one thing I've learned in life, and will be passing on to my unsocialized weirdos, is this... I define who I am, and I don't concern myself with the likes of titles others bestow upon me.

Cold Feet

Another whirlwind vacation of traveling five major interstates spanning eight southern states in a minivan with two exhausted adults, three restless children, two chihuahua half-breeds, a squeaky gerbil, and all the baggage that comes with each, emotional or otherwise.  The whole trip- for two weeks of an unusually warm winter- my poor ten toes have been ice cold!

Virginia to Alabama.  A short visit with good friends, where my toesies were unhappily reminded that all thermostats are not set to my ambient winter temperature of "toasty."

Alabama to Texas.  An 80 degree Christmas, the warmest in recent Houston history, where two new pairs of shoes were purchased; one for running and one for church to match the more temperature-appropriate new Christmas dress.  Neither provided the warmth my little piggies seemed to crave.

Texas to Georgia. The much cooler New Year holiday spent snuggled in borrowed UGA slippers and my husband's dress socks in a home with poor engineerical planning for the FROG... or was it the industrial sized freezer our bed was made in?  I'm not sure!

And now Georgia back home to Virginia.  My forever-frozen footsies still desperately seeking heat as we make our way further north.  Today's attempts include huddling together in the warmth of the dash board vent and the recently-elusive dazzling rays of sunshine.

Still cold.

But they will be tucked in the cozy comfort of their own bed soon.  They are happy, happy feet after all for all the miles traveled.  As am I, still filled with the magic of every warm embrace given by loved ones seen far too infrequently.

What Kind of Cheeseburger Do You Want to Be?

Would you rather be a cheeseburger from Red Robin or McDonald's?

This may seem like a very silly question to you (unless you've recently participated in one of the many Buzz Feed quizzes currently circulating on Facebook), but it was in a moment of insane and sheer parenting desperation that I asked my son this very question.

We are coming off of a really tough couple of days.  There has been a lot of whining, fighting, and just plain ole grumpiness in our house this week.  Everything I have asked of my boys has been met with resistance and frustration.  Sadly, the bad attitudes haven't only belonged to my children either, and yesterday I reached my limit.  Each child took a turn throwing their own little fit…

And then it was my turn.

I try very hard not to yell at my kids.  I am no expert at parenting, but I have been doing it long enough to realize that irrationally screaming at them doesn't do any of us much good.  I learned this lesson years ago when I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I was angrily shouting about the importance of obedience.  As you can imagine, the distorted fury on my face wasn't pretty.  It still happens more often than I'd care to admit, but I'm learning to at least recognize my limits.  Yesterday, as I crossed the border of rationality into insanity, I simply retreated to my room for a much needed "timeout."

Twenty minutes later, it was Christian who braved the uncertainty of Mom's mood and quietly came into my room, his face still stained with the tears from a battle over what little homeschool work he had been given that morning.

 At first, I didn't dare open my mouth.  I wasn't sure what he wanted or where it would go, but as he stepped closer to me with the clear intention of apologizing, I asked him, "What kind of cheeseburger would you rather be- one from Red Robin or one from McDonald's?"

I'm not really sure where it came from and I'm almost certain by the look on his face he was thinking, "That's it- call the looney bin!  She's lost her mind for sure this time," BUT I had his attention, and so I ran with it!

"Let me explain,"  I said.  "If we were going out to dinner and your choices were Mickey D's or Red Robin, which would you choose?"

"Red Robin," he answered.

"Why?"

"I like their food better."

"Me, too.  Red Robin's burgers are made of better beef, fresher ingredients, and served on a real plate.  They put more time and effort into creating their meals, don't they?  And they have better customer service, all making a visit to Red Robin more enjoyable and worth the higher price.

"THAT is what your father and I are trying to do with you.  If we invest in you by teaching you good manners, responsibility, independence, and we give you the opportunity for the best academic education possible, we're hoping you'll grow up to be… well… great cheeseburgers… or the best human beings you can be anyway."

He giggled, and with it came the very moment we needed to turn our day around.

I continued, "It's important though for you to invest in yourselves as well.  You have to want to be better burgers, and it isn't always easy.  It takes dedication in the pursuit of self-improvement.  That is why you're assigned the school work and chores you're given and why I expect you to do them with happy hearts.  They are meant to enrich your lives and make you better people.  Does that make sense to you?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"So again I ask, what kind of burger do you want to be?"

"Definitely a Red Robin cheeseburger," he said with a grin stretching across his face.

"Good.  Now send Julian in here so he can understand the importance of being a good cheeseburger, too."

And with a hug, he gave another giggle as he ran off to find his brother.   As he did, I took one more moment to myself- but this time, it wasn't a "timeout."  It was more of a "holy-cow-that-just-happened."  I actually found a way, however off the wall, to explain to my boys that our expectations of them are not so we can call ourselves rulers of this little 3-man army we've made, but for their own health and well-being!

I'm not sure how long this light bulb will stay on.  It seems I've been repeating myself for years, and we've had so-called breakthrough moments before that have been shorter lived than I expected.  What I do know is I reached my kids better in that 5 minute conversation than I had in the few weeks leading up to it.  The rest of the evening went much smoother, too; school work that wasn't even assigned was completed, floors were swept and vacuumed without a word from me, and happily everyone's attitude was on the mend.  This morning I even awoke to Christian copying his charts for his Essentials class!  (If you knew how hard it was to get this kid to pick up a pencil, you would understand my elation in this gesture of his!)

So, now I am armed with the "Red Robin cheeseburger" weapon against defiance, and a once-again renewed perspective on parenting.  Discipline of all sorts will always be in my armory, but I won't forget that creative parenting strategies often throw their game off just enough to cross the great divide between parent and child, and truly move mountains.

A Blue Balloon for Walker

Walker's birthday is today, February 20th... and he's celebrating his 10th birthday in heaven.

In 2008, a few years before we moved to Chesapeake and met the Gorney family, Walker, their youngest son died after a rigorous five months of treatment fighting childhood cancer.  Since his passing, every year on this day, family and friends send balloons of blue, his favorite color up to heaven.  I've known him only in pictures and stories, but he is not a child I will soon forget.

Walker Gorney
February 20, 2004-April 11, 2008

We've known Charlie, Laura, and their other two children, Mason and Aliya for almost 4 years now.  Laura was a mother in my Chesapeake area MOPS group.  It turned out they were also our neighbors and lived just a few streets over.  Laura is an out-going person, and like me, very open about her life story.  Though I was new to the group, it wasn't long before we were sharing our tales of adoption and loss.  At the time, Laura and Charlie had just begun the process of adopting their little girl, Aliya, and it seemed we were placed in the same MOPS group together, along with another adoptive mother by more than just chance.  It was the same year our family was reunited with Zach; a time of great rejoicing and need of support for our family.  There was much love in this group of ladies- for each of us in our precise time of need.

I have heard other stories of families experiencing various degrees of loss, including of their children, but never known any of them quite as closely as we have the Gorneys.  Perhaps it was this, or that Christian was born just a few months before Walker.  Whatever the reason, I have always been deeply affected by their loss.  This year, however, it has been made more real to me than ever before- as much as it can be for anyone who has never lost a child.

At dinner this past Monday, I was telling Carlos that Walker's birthday was coming up and that Laura was participating for the second time with the 46 Mommas in their Shave for the Brave event to be held in Boston this July.  Our boys asked about Walker.  As the youngest, Adrian, of course had the most questions.  We explained as best we could, but when I told them Walker was only four when he died, Adrian immediately shouted, "He's my age!"

I hadn't even realized.

It took everything I had to hold back the tears.  To look into the face of Adrian and know Laura was forced to say goodbye to her son at his age is heart breaking.  And then to look at Christian and Julian and know she has missed seeing him grow through the ages of 7 and 10 is completely unfathomable.  I've watched the Gorneys make their journey along the never-ending path of healing and life on earth without Walker.  I've seen Laura struggle with feelings of life and loss that I can't possibly understand, nor could anyone who hasn't buried a child, and even in those struggles with anger and the deepest hurt imaginable, she wakes up every morning and presses on.  More than that, Laura and her entire family are in a constant and passionate pursuit to honor Walker by participating in organizations that support research and funding for childhood cancer.

There are many, many types of childhood cancer and the statistics are staggering.  These cancers claim the lives of more children than any other childhood disease, and worldwide, every three minutes another kid is diagnosed.  Most of the time, the cancer has already spread to other areas of the body by the time of diagnosis.  These are just a few of the facts that organizations like St. Baldrick's and Alex's Lemonade Stand are raising funds to fight, alongside the families, like the Gorneys, affected by all forms of childhood cancer.

Our family has chosen to support Charlie and Laura in their pursuit both financially and in prayer.  I hope you will consider doing the same in any capacity of which you are capable.  This week, in honor of their son, the Gorneys are matching all $10 donations to Laura's participation in Shave for the Brave.  I have included links below for further information about childhood cancer, a few of the organizations that support research efforts, and, of course the web pages that share the story of our dear friends, the Gorneys in their own words.

Today and always, we send our love to Walker in heaven and to Charlie, Laura, Mason, and Aliya in Chesapeake.

Links:
Support Laura Gorney's participation in the 46 Mommas Shave for the Brave
Support Walker's brother, Mason as a St. Baldrick's participant
Walker Gorney's story through CaringBridge
46 Mommas Shave for the Brave
Statistics from St. Baldrick's
Statistics from Alex's Lemonade Stand

Blue Balloons for Walker ~ Feb 20, 2014

Stepping Out in Faith

I'm thinking about doing something insane this next school year, and as with all leaps of faith, I'm pretty scared at the prospects of what I'm considering.

We have already decided to continue homeschooling with the Classical Conversations program.  We love the structure yet flexibility of both Foundations, the first level and Essentials, the second, and plan to continue through the Challenge A and B levels.  If you are considering homeschool as an option for your family, I highly recommend looking into Classical Conversations.

Here's where the crazy comes in.

The director of our area CC Foundations group is stepping down to start Challenge A for this same area.  Her youngest is aging out of Foundations and CC needs someone new to take over.  She approached me about the job, and I immediately said I wasn't interested... after politely giving her the most insane look possible.  Why would she even consider me?  We're fairly new to homeschooling, new to Classical Conversations, and new to Foundations- surely not qualified.  I was interested only in tutoring for the 2014-15 school year.

It came up in casual conversation over the last several weeks with a few of the other moms, all of whom paid me the great compliment of saying they thought I would be a wonderful addition as director.  Each encouraged me to at least consider the position.  Despite my attempts to remain reserved and low-key this year, these women saw something in me, and without even realizing it, I caught myself mulling it over as I washed dishes this weekend.  I set the glass in my hand down and gave Carlos a look of which I'm sure he is quite familiar.  It was my crazy-idea eyes; the same ones that led to MOPS leadership.  I think he laughed before I said anything at all.  His support is, of course crucial, and as always, God bless him, freely given.

This isn't the first time God has caught my attention just like this, in the everyday monotony, but I'm always surprised when He calls on me.  It often reminds me of Moses thinking Aaron would surely be better suited to saving God's chosen people from the grips of slavery.  He couldn't see past his own imperfections to imagine he could possibly be the one to do God's bidding.  I feel a little bit like that now.  It's terrifying.  I know I'm capable of fulfilling the obligations of director, but I'm worried I'm not up to it just yet.  Sometimes it feels so much easier just to be a member of the crowd rather than the one to step forward, but I suppose we rarely remain happy inside the comfort of our own little box for too long and I know for a fact we miss out on great blessings.

Admitting I'm interested is only the first step.  CC will have to approve, should I volunteer, followed by a great deal of training and prep.  This is a very big decision for us and one we will most certainly not take lightly.  Your prayers for clarity and sanity are greatly needed and appreciated as I make this decision with my family.

Winter Blues vs. Favorite Things

The winter has been hard and long this year.  My spirit is ready for spring, and so is just about everyone I know.  However, since "cold and dreary" has been thrust upon us yet again (though I have to admit I'm glad the white stuff was kind enough to stay away this round), I am composing a cheesy-yet-cheery list of my favorite things to shake the Winter Blues today.

1.  The little giggles of children.  First, because it is my favorite.  On a bad day, there is absolutely nothing that can make me smile like when my boys get tickled about something (or nothing at all, as is mostly the case with Julian) and giggle uncontrollably.  It is the purest sound of "happy" and should be listed in Roget's Thesaurus as a synonym for such.

2.  The company of friends & family.  My love language is "Quality Time," so no one should be surprised by my enjoyment of visiting with loved ones.  I would take a messy house and constant chaos over hours and hours of "me-time" any day.  What can I say?  I'm a people person.

3.  Music.  Do I really need to explain this one?  Music is magical, and therefore not something I could explain very well anyway.  I love all (well... most) music, from a little bird's song to the twang of Scott Avett's banjo.

4.  Foods that generally aren't considered healthy.  This one has been a blessing and a curse, as my waistline can attest.  Cupcakes, preferably red velvet immediately come to mind, as does Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream.  I'm also very fond of cheese and chocolate.  "May I have a helping of pure joy with a large side of calories and fat, please?"

5.  A good, sweaty workout.  Not something I can honestly say I've always appreciated, but after #4, I had to redeem myself!  My health and weight loss journey has been a long time in the making.  About 2 years ago, I weighed in over 200 lbs.  While I'm not yet to my goal weight, I have dropped more than 35 lbs. and I am far stronger physically than ever before.  I can tell you now- there is nothing quite like the feeling of muscles made of jello after a good, hard push-yourself in the gym!

6.  Accomplishments.  I am plagued by a terrible ritual of not finishing projects begun, and I'm sure I've referenced this nasty little habit before in my blog.  I fight very hard to overcome this almost daily, and I've learned to greatly appreciate the pride of accomplishing most any task.

7.  A good book & a comfy spot to read it.  My love of books truly began when I set forth to remedy the problem referenced in #6.  In desperation to finish anything, I made a rule- I would read a book and I would finish it.  It was simple and short-term... and I had to start somewhere.  That single accomplishment and the real-world-escape that book gave led me to another book, and then another, and voila!- a love of reading.

8.  The sound of water.  Raindrops falling.  Waves crashing.  Rivers and streams running.  Snow melting.  It would appear I just listed the tracks of a nature CD, I know, but I suppose they record it and sell it because others love it, too.

9.  The moon & stars.  A clear night in the middle of nowhere?  Yes, please!

10.  The perfect morning.  Coffee is most definitely involved here, and it hasn't gone unnoticed that a good day usually starts when I rise before the kiddos do.  It is, however, more about how I wake up as opposed to what happens when I do.  (Although, certain happenings can most definitely get me up on the right side of the bed, while others are sure to be the day's downfall. )

So there it is, ten of my favorite things.  It's no schnitzel with noodles, but I'm fairly certain Julie Andrews would be proud!

A Tiny Little Light

Pardon the understatement of the year, but documenting a walk through a dark place is not easy.  While I've read plenty of reflections of life's infamous difficulties, I haven't actually read too many blogs in which people share this part of the journey as it is happening.  Not to go all "cliche" on you, but hindsight is 20/20 after all, and it is much easier, though I'm not saying it isn't difficult, to share from a perspective of joy and lessons learned.  It's no secret I'm not there yet.  Sadly, I don't have much else to give you at the moment but my wearisome walk, but my need to get it all out is strong.  There will always be pieces I cannot yet share, whether because it is too personal or because it is not mine alone to share, but it is in the hopes of finding a healthy way out of darkness, and maybe being a little inspirational as I go that I continue to post.

The point is all to say (and reassure my loved ones) I am constantly in search of improvement; of a little light to draw me out of this funk I keep droning on about.  It is with high hopes I tell you now, when I awoke this morning, I found my fight, my motivation to wiggle free of this unhappiness that has such a tight grip on me.  I don't know what was different about today (and I hope I feel the same tomorrow), but I made a decision to not look at my children one more morning and be overwhelmed with the sadness of not providing a better form of myself for them.

Whether it is human nature, something genetic in me, or a learned behavior, laziness and complacency have always been some of my worst habits.  Simply dwelling where I am is far too easy of a trap and one I've been known to fall into every now and then, but I absolutely refuse to be stuck here anymore.  God has blessed me with many gifts and I have taken them, like a new toy a child doesn't want to use for fear of breaking it and kept them in their box.  But toys bring the most joy when they're played with.  So, too, should I find delight in my callings.  I won't let fear, laziness, or a combination of both keep me from the many opportunities currently before me.

For many, many years, I have collected thoughts and ideas with the ambitious dream of one day publishing a novel.  Long shot?  Maybe, but I have always wanted to write.  In fact, my mind is constantly producing conversations and scenarios for beloved characters in novels I have yet to begin.  I have gobs of notes for at least three different stories jotted on random slips of paper stashed in secret spaces around my house, all saved for "when I have more time."  Well, I don't have any more time now than I've ever had, but I can't waste another second making promises to myself.  It's a "now or never" kind of pursuit at this point... and I'm choosing now.  Just a little writing a few days a week- nothing too overwhelming.  It may take decades to finish, but progress is my goal.  Besides, why not put all this emotional baggage to good use?  We'll just call it a therapeutic journey for mending my bent and broken psyche.  I have a sneaking suspicion that much of writing fiction comes out of life's little experiences anyway.

So there it is- a promise made to myself for the world to see.  I'm counting on your accountability here, folks.

Hiding in Fredericksburg

All the schools and offices in the area have called for a "snow day" today, so I'm giving my kids a break from homeschool, too.  We're a week ahead anyway and snow sounds like a good excuse to take a day off!  So, I have a little time and thought I'd take a second shot at writing this blog entry.  I started a week ago, but just couldn't get my thoughts together in the right words.  Not sure I can today either, but it's clearly something that is still weighing on my heart and on my mind.

As I've said before, I am nomadic by nature, so being a military wife has worked well for me.  I like change and I have always enjoyed moving (not the packing part, just to be clear).  It's a chance to start over; to reinvent or build on who we are.  It's not that I pretend to be something I'm not in a new place.  On the contrary- I am always true to and real about who I am.  Settling in new towns has simply given me the opportunity to nurture certain parts of who I am (people are multi-faceted after all) and to have a clean break with the things I should or want to leave behind.  I am a very social person and have been known to overly involve myself and my family in activities outside of our home.  This is an easy pool for a stay-at-home mother to drown in, though I'm not sure I could explain that to you if you don't understand what I mean.  It is, however, always a balancing act between my family's needs and my own, and it is one of those things I will always have to work at.  In any case, moving every few years helps these seasons of life begin and end neatly and naturally.

When our new orders came this past summer to move just a few hours north, I decided it was time to slow down. I am the woman who was not just a parent of a child involved in certain activities;  I was the mother leading and participating.  A mere year ago, I was in charge of childcare for MOPS with plans to coordinate the group the following year, leading Julian's Cub Scout Tiger Den, an active Senior Consultant in Thirty One, and a helper with our church's childrens choir in addition to many other less regular activities.  Many of our week nights and weekends were spent running to extra curricular interests, mostly in opposite directions, and our family was no longer benefiting from these activities, but rather drifting apart.  I rarely felt like we spent any time together, even in places where we were all present.  A relocation was the perfect opportunity to refocus.  And so I made a promise to Carlos and the boys-  I wouldn't jump into anything right away when we settled in Fredericksburg.

Needless to say and quite uncharacteristically of me, I have found it far too easy to keep this promise.  I'm beginning to see maybe I've even taken it too far in the other direction.  After six months of living here, we have joined only our homeschool group and the local y, and I have limited our involvement even in these organizations.  My problem isn't in being involved in only a few things.  No, the problem comes when I admit I haven't truly invested in the lives of the people we have met, nor have I allowed them close enough to invest in us.  We are, of course, friendly at school and I chat with the other mothers as the boys work and play, but it is only small talk.  Beyond the doors of the church we meet at and the y, we keep to ourselves where these families are concerned.  You see, I have found the process of making new friends to be exhausting this time around.  I don't like the isolation I have created.  In fact, the urge to get out is just as nagging as ever, but I just don't have the energy or the attitude to actively pursue new relationships.  I'm afraid the social butterfly in me has flown away.  Believe me, I know how dumb this sounds.

Our only saving grace from my anti-social antics has been old friends that happen to live in Fredericksburg; a family that already knows us well.  They are one of the many reasons we chose to live here instead of closer to my husband's job in DC, second only to the cost of living.  When we need a little fun, we call on them.  It is not healthy to not have a bigger local support system though, and it certainly isn't fair to these family friends for us to become their burden and responsibility.  I know they don't feel this way, but I'm worried it won't be long before they do.

So, what do I do?

Well, I have no immediate desire to crawl out of this isolated cave I've stumbled into.  I wish I could tell you why.  I'm not really looking for advice, but owning up to my depression (let's be honest and call a spade a spade here) seems to be the best place to start.  Sharing this is far harder than you will ever know.  No one likes to admit their faults and imperfections, especially not on the world wide web, but I'm clearly getting desperate for motivation to move on.  I want better for my children, for my family, and for myself.  My only hope is found in the will I still possess to make it better.  For now, taking one day at a time is all I can promise and I hope in my next post I can share a more inspirational and encouraging side of myself.

P.S. If you see me on the streets of Fredericksburg, don't let me get away with small talk.

Caspian the Giant Saves Christmas

I'll admit it.  I never thought I'd participate in anything as silly as the Elf on the Shelf tradition.  Like ever.  A little Christmas elf that magically moves every night and reports back to Santa?  Really?  The last thing I need is to add one more "to do" to my list, especially this time of year.  And compete with Super Mom for the most creative elf appearance?  Sounds like a fabulous way for me to ruin the Christmas spirit altogether by forgetting to move said elf and breaking my sons' little hearts.  I mean, let's be honest- ain't nobody got time for that!

I've seen a few anti-elf posts on Facebook already this year.  People sharing their thoughts on how obnoxious it all is, all sounding quite familiar to my previous feelings on the subject, although I was more worried about being able to keep up with it daily rather than being annoyed by someone else's decision to partake in this tradition.

Here's the thing.  Last year, I was in a very different place, both physically and emotionally.  I don't know why I'm always amazed at how life's circumstances can give you a very different perspective of everything, but so it is.

2013 has been a very big year for our family, the biggest event being the blessing of becoming an officer family in the U.S. Coast Guard.  We were, of course, so excited and honored by my husband's promotion.  It is a wonderful thing for our family, and he has worked so hard for this.  The trouble is, with a promotion like this also comes the probability of an early move, often considered a curse of the military life.  I don't typically mind a move.  In fact, I was born for this nomadic lifestyle and I'm usually thrilled to find adventure in the change of scenery.  But this time was different, and I'm not sure I've discovered why just yet.  Really, we didn't move far, but the changes have affected me much more than I'm happy to admit.  As a result, the joy I normally find in this time of year has been rather elusive.  There is no Christmas music blaring in my home, as is the custom from early November through the first of January.  Though I have purchased and wrapped most of our gifts for family and friends, I have done so with a grinch-like countenance.  We carelessly disposed of our little Charlie Brown tree in our move this summer with no intention of replacing it.  Our Nativity is still tucked away in its box.  I have not even glanced at the super long list of Pinterest holiday ideas and crafts pinned just after Christmas last year to my "Must Do Holiday" board.   I'm just not feeling it this year... and that's no way to celebrate the birth of our Savior.

Now, let me pause here to explain another military family truth.  Many, if not all of our holidays and vacations are spent traveling to visit family.  If the husband has time off and the kids have no school (though this aspect has changed since we began our homeschool journey), we squeeze in time with as many loved ones as we can possibly manage.  The more we move, the more people we adopt as family, and the more we want to visit.  It is a wonderful thing to have family and friends spread all over the country, (and please don't misunderstand- I wouldn't change this) but it is also a sacrifice.  My children have only spent one Christmas Eve in their own beds, waking up Christmas morning in their own living room.  We don't have those cool family traditions for December 24th and 25th (or the two weeks surrounding) because we never know where we will be.  And don't get me started on what a logistical nightmare Santa can be!  For the first time, this year our children have expressed a desire to be home for Christmas and questioned why we always had to be somewhere else.  I didn't know what to say to them.  I did, however, have an idea of how to make the season a little fun and to step out of this funk I seem to have led my family into.

I have a very talented friend who owns a little shop called the Burbs.  She sells toys and collectibles, all made with her own two hands and lots of heart.  One of her seasonal items is a quirky little elf.  I followed her family's elf, Monroe and his crazy shenanigans last year, and thought one of these little guys could really bring some special memories to my boys.  And so Caspian the Giant was created!

It is only the second week of December, and already Caspian has helped our family find Christmas.  It was so sweet to see the expressions on the faces of my three boys when they awoke to find a beautiful 6-foot pre-lit Christmas tree awaiting the ornaments Caspian had dug out of the dark basement on only his second day with us.  Some of these ornaments hadn't seen a tree in 10 years!  The boys giggled when they read his note expressing slight irritation in our delay of decorating.  Caspian even surprised our visiting friends with poppers and silly string in celebration of reaching the half-way mark in their daddy's deployment.  He brought Christian balloons and a little gift on his birthday (because having a December birthday is always tough).  With every little act of Christmas fun, the bah-humbugs are replaced with holiday bliss.

His gestures are not always a big to do and they can be rather mischievous sometimes, but I don't mind giving Caspian credit for the deeds he has done.  Having him around has truly been more fun than I could've imagined an elf being.  It's been the best addition to our Christmas traditions this year; one we can easily do here at home, or on the road visiting friends and family.  I'm creating memories for my children- happy, joy-filled fun, and what in life is better than that?

I'm certainly not saying that having an elf is necessary for every family or that our elf antics supercede the real meaning of Christmas.  I simply wanted to offer another perspective to those who see the Christmas Elf as an annoyance or as a competition.

Here are some pictures of Caspian's adventures so far in the Ortiz house:

Caspian needed a bit of sugar to get him going and he got into the candy bowl on the first night.

Caspian was a little irritated that we hadn't decorated yet, and actually provided us with a tree!

A reunion with all his friends from the Burbs.  

A friendly game of Five Card Spud.

Attempting to decorate a bit more.

A celebration for half-way through friends' deployment.

A snowball fight with the Cat.

Happy birthday, Christian!

Christmas Hangman with the Christmas Little People

Caught him watching Despicable Me 2, a gift he brought for the boys.

The Thirteenth Christmas

As submitted to James Avery Craftmen's Facebook "Christmas Memories" Contest on November 24, 2010:

The Thirteenth Christmas

I know many people whose favorite seasons are fall and winter, mostly because of the holidays and the joy they bring. I am no different, but this time of year marks a very special anniversary for me that has really carved the seasons of fall and winter deep into my heart.

Thirteen years ago, I was pregnant at the young age of 18 and due to deliver a baby boy in December. It was a very difficult time for me. It was an unplanned pregnancy for my boyfriend, Carlos and me, and we knew we had big decisions in our very near future. We had just graduated high school and my dreams of college were quickly slipping away. I desperately wanted to be a mother to this baby I loved so much, but I knew that babies could not survive on love alone. We decided it would be foolish not to consider adoption. Still, we struggled with the choice- how do you choose a family that is right for your baby? It wasn’t long before that question was answered.

Lisa was my aunt’s sister-in-law. She and her husband, Al were awaiting the arrival of a baby girl they were to adopt in the summer of 1997, but when the baby was born, the mother changed her mind and the adoption fell through. They were heart-broken. I had just shared my pregnancy news with my mother when I was told of their story. In their sorrow, I heard the gentle whisper of the Lord; this was the loving couple He had created for my son. I wish that I could tell you it was a moment of joy, but I was truly overwhelmed with sadness for I finally understood that he was not meant to be my son, though he would always be just that in my heart. I pushed through my sadness and shared my revelation with Carlos. He agreed and we shared our decision with our families and Lisa and Al. They were over the moon, but cautious – their scars were still healing from the last baby they gave their hearts to. I included them in as much of the pregnancy as I could, but I made sure to treasure the moments that remained with my sweet baby boy. As the leaves of fall began to change and the temperature gradually cooled, I would often visit the neighborhood park and sit quietly beside the pond with my arms tightly wrapped around my belly, as though I could keep him there forever. I would whisper all my hopes and dreams to him, and he always seemed to stir at just the right time, as if to acknowledge my love for him. I spent much of the fall lost in these precious moments, but they passed far too quickly. The minutes turned to hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. As the mild Texas winter came, so did our baby boy. On December 8, 1997, Zach was born.

It was an emotional day; the proverbial rollercoaster of elation and fear and sorrow. I had been so anxious to meet him, but the excitement was over shadowed by my fear; it felt like the beginning of the end. Amidst a roomful of people, the nurse placed him in my arms and all the world faded away along with my sadness. It was just the two of us. I knew our time was short, but how could I be sad with this beautiful child, this gift from God in my arms? He was absolutely perfect and I knew the Lord had great plans for him though I would watch from a distance.

The days that followed passed very quickly and before I knew it, the day had come for me to go home. I chose not to see him the morning I left. I wasn’t sure I could say goodbye, though at the time, I thought I would see him soon and often. It was a verbal arrangement made between Lisa, Al, and I. We would see them as I always had, at occasional family dinners, graduations, and weddings. Unfortunately, life seldom goes according to plan.

Christmas came and went, the saddest I had ever had. And then another and another. I learned to live with a giant whole in my heart. Carlos and I married in May of 2002. Still, we had not seen Zach and heard very little about him. He was doing well, we knew, and even had a sister now, Lydia who was also adopted and the same age as Zach, but it was all second-hand information. Following Zach’s birth and adoption, Lisa grew very distant and withdrew from all contact. All we could do was give her space. I thought for sure it was temporary, but years went by and we were always told the time wasn’t right. We could only wait. I clung to mementos from his birth and a few precious pictures I had collected from random places over the years. These and the daily prayers of my hopeful heart were all I had.

Twelve falls have come and gone, followed in the usual way by winter, and many things have changed. We have since been blessed with the birth of three more boys, and are living far from our home state of Texas as a Coast Guard family. But no matter where I had been, when September rolled around and the trees began to change, I had always found a quiet place in God’s wondrous world to send my whispers out hoping they would stir his heart as they had before.

God never leaves prayers unanswered or promises un-kept.

Now, another fall and winter come, but our thirteenth Christmas will not be spent without Zach or his sister, Lydia. Following the tragic loss of their mother to an inoperable brain tumor this September, we were reunited with Zach and his family. I cannot understand the need for the loss of Lisa, but as God so often does, he has created new hope from the ashes of this tragedy. Lisa has left a new hole that will never be filled, but together, Al, Carlos, and I are redefining a family for our children with a special place for everyone, surrounded in love and grounded in faith. It’s an exciting new chapter in our lives and the first of many Christmases in which we will count our many blessings and cherish each moment we have together.

No Words

I have tried and failed at all attempts to blog about the events and subsequent feelings of last week. There are currently 2 unpublished entries from yesterday and 1 from several months back just sitting in my Blogger dashboard hoping I will return to make some sense of the original words when I can't even make sense of the emotions.

Those who know me in the "real" world know the beginnings of this story from 13 years back when I was pregnant at 18 and due to deliver a baby boy in mid-December. Carlos and I were not married, but had been dating since the beginning of our senior year of High School. Not the ideal situation for 2 graduating teens, but life is rarely ideal. I cannot even begin to tell you the chaos that engulfed my heart and head with the decisions we faced. Still I put on a brave front and though I wanted desperately to be a mother, we chose to allow a couple I had grown up with to adopt him. They named him Zach. It may have been the most selfless thing I've ever done, as I've been told by many people, but it was, by far the hardest as well. The turmoil of emotions has never gone away; it has merely faded a little over time.

I thought I had made some sense out of it all, until about a year ago when my mom called to tell me that Lisa (my mother's sister's sister-in-law and the mother of Zach) had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Her time in this life was running out, and far quicker than anyone could imagine. I hadn't had much contact with her over the years despite my thinking at 18 that I would, but my heart broke and into so many tiny pieces. It broke for her, knowing she wouldn't see her children graduate, marry, or have children of their own- a thought that, as a mother, I could hardly imagine. It broke for the thousands of children who would never know her as their favorite teacher, as so many had in several elementary schools in the Houston area. But mostly it broke for the lives of her own babies, Zach and a daughter, Lydia they had also adopted not long after, now both 12 years old. To be 12 and losing your mother was a pain I could not fathom and it made me a little angry. My choosing her to be the mother of my son was nothing short of God's plan, but why now was she being taken away from him before her job was done? I struggled with this. I know God has great plans that we are not always privy to, but my human brain just couldn't (and still can't) comprehend the need for such sadness.

I would occasionally get reports as her illness progressed and her body grew weak. I prayed daily. I didn't believe it was unreasonable to expect a miracle, but mostly I asked for comfort and acceptance of God's will, whatever it may be, for the family she would leave behind. Consumed by thoughts of her struggle, old wounds were split wide open and, like a flood, I was engulfed again.

Last week, I got the call. In a few precious moments with her brother (my uncle) and her mother, Lisa had taken her final breath. Lisa was free from her pain and finally at peace. Now, in the wake of this loss, her family- her children, her mother, and her brothers and sisters could begin their grieving and subsequent healing.

With the family's approval, I attended the funeral services. I needed to pay my respects and I needed closure, same as anyone. It was just a bit more than awkward though. I had been told Zach knew he had been adopted, but he didn't know who I was. We had had one chance encounter at my cousin's graduation 2 or 3 years ago. Other than that, I had seen him only in a few precious pictures I had collected from random places over the years like Christmas cards sent to my grandmother or a Thank You note written to my mother. Meeting him, getting to know him was a day I had dreamed of since God created his tiny little life in my belly. I did not, however, want our introduction, as I was told would finally happen, to coincide with his loss or his grief. Though I had already waited what seemed like an eternity, it was inappropriate and it was not the time. Still, if I was honest with myself, seeing him would overwhelm me with joy, even if he didn't know me.

Flying is my very least favorite way of travel, but as I made my way to Houston, 8 month old Adrian in tow, I let the waves of sorrow and joy, confusion and fear wash over me. Again, I prayed for God's will and for the strength to swallow that sometimes over-sized pill. It's strange how a plane full of people can still be a peaceful and quiet place to reflect and can make you feel ever so slightly closer to heaven.

Thursday was the visitation. My mother-in-law kept Adrian and I was grateful. It gave me the opportunity to grieve without worrying about my little guy. Seeing Lisa was strange. She had been so sick and though I know they did their best to make her look like herself, it just wasn't the same woman I knew. My uncle had created a slide show depicting her life to display as people came and went. It was amazing and truly captured her spirit, lessening the blow of how her body had withered in the final days of life. It reminded us of what a happy and wonderful life she had lived though the consensus was that it had been too short. There was a bittersweet sting to the photos though. Many of them, of course included pics of Zach growing up. Seeing these and seeing him was almost more than I could bare, but I gained my composure by reminding myself I was there for Lisa.

The funeral was Friday morning, and though I would have chosen not to have Adrian with me then, I had no choice but to take him. It was a nice service where Lisa was remembered and celebrated by friends and family. I'm convinced every student she had ever taught would've been there if they could've been. Following the service, while waiting for the pallbearers to walk the casket out, we congregated in the foyer where I introduced Adrian to some of the family and I noticed Zach looking at me in a very different way from the night before. Seeing Adrian was like looking at a baby Zach. There was no mistaking their resemblance. I leaned over to my friend. "Jackie, he knows!"

Suddenly, I got really nervous. How would all this play out? And why now? I did my best to continue conversations and to act normal, but inside I was breaking. I had just convinced myself (and accepted) it would be Christmas before anything more happened- just another "wait for the right time."

But just before lunch at my aunt and uncle's home, everything changed. Zach's dad, Al said he wanted to get a picture of Addie and me with Zach. I thought he was crazy! He's a smart kid, wouldn't he figure it all out if he hadn't already? He insisted it would all be fine. Imagine my surprise when I came out holding the baby and Zach introduced himself, "Hi, Adrian! I'm your big brother!"

Is your jaw on the floor? Mine was.

The moment I had agonized over daily for years had just caught me by total surprise. There were no words. But there were plenty of cameras, and though I'm grateful for it now, it was a little awkward at the time. I don't know how many people were there, but it felt like we were surrounded. Incredible joy and relief swept over me, and I really struggled to contain this. I shared a few pictures of Carlos, Christian, and Julian with him and told him how long we had waited for this. It was a lot to take in. I wanted to steal him away from everyone there and find a place where we could just figure it all out, but thought better of it. (First impressions are important; let him find out I'm crazy later, right?) It wasn't easy, but I thought it was best just to leave it with that little introduction and give him some space and time to absorb it all. I think time might've been what I needed, too. Too many highs and lows in one day just isn't good for the crazies, if you know what I mean.

I came down from my high pretty quick that night. Fear set in and by the next morning I was down in the dumps again. What if it had all been too quick for him? Would it be unreasonable for him to have been angry with me? What if he didn't even like me? What if his only interest was to meet his brothers?

Let me tell you, there were about a million other questions that overwhelmed me and not many of them, if any at all were good scenarios. Anxiety, panic, fear... how much more could I take? It was then I called Shell to meet for brunch. I had to get out of the house and shake this off. In the few minutes that I had before Shell was meeting me, I made a last minute decision to visit Lisa's grave and search for some sort of peace and understanding about it all. I'm not sure I found understanding, but within an hour after brunch, Al called asking if I was interested in meeting the kids for dinner Monday after school. Did he really have to ask? Maybe this was Lisa's blessing. I told myself it was; I felt it in my heart. I wasn't going to fight this anymore. "Just let it happen, Nik!"

My nerves were shot and I was a total wreck when Monday rolled around, but my mom (my rock) was by my side when we strolled in (late) to the restaurant. Immediately, my fears dissipated and my nerves were calmed. Seeing Zach and Lydia again was just what I needed. However this continued, it had to be a good thing. I was left that night with a great happiness words cannot describe. I won't say I haven't had moments of darkness and panic since then, but what I can tell you is, though we may be the blind leading the blind here, we are moving forward. This is just the beginning; just another chapter and, baby, this is gonna be a good book!

Party of Five

Our Family is now a family of five! Woohoo! Addie made his grand entrance on Friday, January 15 at 9:44 in the morning. It was an interesting journey that ended (though it has really just begun) with all the excitement that you would expect from the birth of a baby boy... and then some!

When we went to the hospital early Friday morning, I was convinced that there was NO WAY they would send me home after having contractions that had begun the evening before and only intensified to an incredible pain just after midnight. Afterall, I had a c-section scheduled for the very reason that the doctors didn't want me laboring on my previously disected uterus. Of course, as soon as I was hooked up to the monitors, my contractions subsided; I only had two in the hour they had me strapped down. The midwife that was on call in triage told me it was a result of my body producing adrenaline and that it was quite common for contractions to stop after coming in. Nevertheless, she told me to get dressed- I was going home. "You'll likely labor for several days before it's time," she told me. I couldn't help but cry.

"But I'm a c-section," I protested as she left the room.

A few minutes later, I heard her talking to the on-call doctor just outside my door, following which she stuck her head in the room and said, "Get your gown back on. You're staying to have your baby!" Apparently, a shift change had occurred and the information that I was a repeat c-section had not been shared with the new shift. Needless to say, I was elated that I wasn't being sent packing!

It was only another hour before the were wheeling me into surgery. The real excitement was about to begin. I patiently awaited the sounds of my baby boy's cries with my husband at my side. I caught a glimpse of the surgery in the reflection of the lights and watched as Addie was delivered. To my delight, he was handed off to the pediatric resident, Dr. Kari, who happens to be a very good friend of mine. It was good to know someone WE knew so well was taking care of our baby.

They announced he was a healthy 7 lbs 8.5 oz and doing well, though he was having a bit of trouble breathing- a problem common with babies delivered via c-section. After an hour or so in the NICU on oxygen, he was doing great and on his way down to the Newborn Nursery.

Meanwhile, back down in recovery, CJ had just been brought in to where I was and Kari had come in to give us an update on Addie. Suddenly, CJ dropped to his knees and hit his head on my bed, splitting his forehead open. I didn't know it, but he had taken some cold medicine before we left home at 4:30 a.m. and had absolutely nothing to eat or drink since. (It was almost 11:30 a.m. by then.) Kari and the Recovery Room nurse took him down to the Emergency Room to have stitches. Luckily, Dermabond did the trick. After getting some food in his belly, he was better and back by my side in no time. When we made it up to my room, the news of CJ's fall had made it around the hospital, much to his dismay. Every nurse that came in was just as concerned for him as they were for me. It was really quite sweet, but I think HE found it to be a bit embarassing.

After a whirlwind of five days in the hospital, both Addie and I were on our way home. It's a good thing, too- I was ready to hang curtains and move the furniture around in my hospital room. I was truly climbing the walls, but I did my best to take advantage of the staff and their help.


It's been a little over a week since Addie arrived and we are quite the happy little family. I'm recovering well and Addie has made himself very comfortable amoungst the chaos of our household. Adjusting to three kiddos has been much easier on all of us, even Juju and Coco, than two ever was. Clearly, we've been busy or I would have posted this little announcement sooner, but thus goes the life of a family with a newborn, right?

The Waiting Game

CJ and I are expecting our 3rd son... well, really any day now. I am 37 weeks and 5 days pregnant (Of course I'm counting!) and my c-section has been scheduled for the 20th of January. If I make it until then, it will have been the longest pregnancy I've ever had. Ugh!

For a little over a week, I have been obsessing about how far away the 20th sounded and searching for ways I could possibly move things along (in the safest ways possible), but following an appointment this past Wednesday that showed no further progress and wallowing in the disappointment of not thinking we would meet our son anytime soon, I settled on acceptance. I spent that evening praying, not that God would move it along, but that I could accept that Baby Addie would come when he was darn good and ready. God is good, God is great, and He has granted me great relief in fulfilling my request. Lucky for me, the past two days have been much more relaxing. I've enjoyed cuddling with our older boys, one on each side of me in the recliner (What will I do with a 3rd?) and doing activities that, as restricted as I am now (and by "restricted" I mean "big"), will be impossible after surgery, like playing cars or legos with them on the floor. I've also taken great advantage (and this is a biggie) of the sweet slumber that will surely elude me with a newborn in the house. I also must remind myself that, as uncomfortable as pregnancy can be, not only has it been a healthy one, but it is also the last moments I will feel the miracle of a child growing inside of me. We have no plans of having anymore children, so though sometimes painful, I am enjoying the last little kicks and rolls that Baby Addie dishes out.

The point is, I see the glass half full now, and while we are still anxious to meet our newest baby boy, we know how quickly time truly flies and he will be here before we know it. I know we'll even look back in a year or two and wonder when all of our babies became big boys. Then, I'll be blogging about how I wish the time would slow down!

And so, I leave you now with this question to ponder. Why do we always think we know what is best for us and fight so hard to steer God's plans for us even when we truly think we believe we are in His wonderful hands? Perhaps I will "go there" in my next blog, but this question surely deserves some thought.