Runner's High

People speak of this phenomenon called "runner's high." Some runners experience it, others swear it is completely bogus and just a way for crazy people who run long distances to make others want to do it. 

Last December, we found out we were expecting, and pretty much, since then, we've been on a marathon run. I was sick at the beginning of the pregnancy, we moved across the country just as I was beginning to tolerate the smell of chicken, we settled into a new home, new life, new job, new friends, had babies in July, started new schools in August, added on to our house, braced for the holidays and are about to break into 2014. And I feel the runner's high! It's here, and somehow, we've made it. 

I feel so humbled by God's confidence in me. I know He would never give me more than I can handle, and some days, I feel like surely He's gotten me confused with someone else. The days when everyone's hormones are out of control--the days when we are all emotional, but denying it, we are all over-tired, under-nourished, confused, frustrated and somehow kind of lonely in a house full of people. I don't know why He thought I was qualified for this. 

And then I get this:

 

And a this: 

And a:

At five months old, the babies are starting to sleep better. They are both on their tummies, with fingers securely in their mouths. They smile and laugh and watch everyone. I love this time when they are becoming people with personalities! What a privilege it is to be the first to see these developments. I feel like I'm backstage with God Himself, just watching and studying as He creates these little lives. 

The months before this have not all been hard, but they certainly have not been easy ones. And to remind myself that the hard parts of living make the person is just fine and dandy. But to be living those hard parts? That's another story all together. The reason people call it "hard" is because it is. It hurts. It's confusing. It is daunting, never-ending, lonely, tiresome, monotonous, difficult and just plain hard. And plain hard wears you out in ways other things don't. It changes you. 

It's like I'm on the dogwood trail again and I'm seeing pieces of it for the first time. I'm appreciating little things and rediscovering the importance of details. I'm realizing that though my body is not what I want it to be, it's not how I want it to look or feel, my body built two babies at one time. It carried two babies successfully, and they are perfect and healthy and beautiful, and so I can forgive myself the "flaws," for though I've run the marathon and earned the medals, my greatest accomplishment, my greatest feat will always be building human beings. 

And that, for me, is a great high. To say, "Good morning, God!" rather than "Good God, morning?!" feels like we've made it through the tunnel and have hit a nice stride. I have no delusion that there are no more hills or valleys or twists along this early part of child-rearing; but there's been a little angel with me lately who keeps whispering, "You are doing it. It's working. Your life will never be the same, but isn't that marvelous?!"

Dear Babies

My dear babies,

For the record, you are so loved. I marvel at you everyday. I cannot believe we get to love you so much! 

I am humbled at the belief that you were planned, destined, built before the stars and heavens and little fish in the sea were fashioned. You have been Known since the beginning of Time and I get to be your mother. What a sacred, wonderful, beautiful honor! Thank you for letting me be your mother. You will never understand the wonder and hope you brought to Daddy and me. You cannot fathom the joy you have given us, by letting us touch your ears, feel your toes, nuzzle against your cheeks. We feel like we've been knighted! Such a fantastic, unbelievable gift you are to us. We believed in miracles before we knew you. Now, we live one everyday. 

Know you are a gift of God, you come from Heaven and you are loved with a depth and breadth that is indescribable. You are perfect, more than the sum of your parts, and because you were both created in His image and likeness, little windows into the Love of God. 

 Twins. Two. My arms are so full, but my heart is fuller.

Our Holy Day

The day I found out I was expecting another baby is a day I'll always remember. We had asked God and prayed so fervently to Him for this miracle, I cried and sobbed with unimaginable gratitude and joy. The day I was told we were having two is also fairly memorable. :) After that day, when the babies' hearts weren't even beating yet and were only a fragile and sensitive 6 weeks old, we prayed and prayed that God would let us keep both. And He did. Of course their birthday will always be one of my best and happiest and most remarkable days of my life. . . and following this incredible list of beautiful moments is the day Olivia and Tommy joined their cousin Jimmy in the Body of Christ as they were baptized, all three, together at the Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart. I will always remember how white the event was, how brightly the sun shone through the enormous stained glass windows. It felt as if the Holy Spirit was truly in our midst. I think He was. 

See--look at all that white!

Jacob and his patron saint, St. Juan Diego

Sweet Susie wearing the Archbishop's cap.

Nick and Tommy. See--white.

Olivia and her godfather, Uncle David.

Baby Jimmy

Baby Tommy

Baby Olivia!

The O'Banions were all there, and Uncle James' family. You three babies are so loved!

Again. . . the white, right? Was a heavenly day, truly.

One is Silver and the other Gold

During my long stint in Brownies, we learned a song I've always remembered: "Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold."

I have golden, golden friends in my "the Shellies." I met them while living in Arizona on a fifth grade field trip to the Grand Canyon. They are neighbors with each other and good friends, and they accepted me and loved my family and made Arizona an experience full of love and great, true blessings. 

They are the kind of friends you want to be to others. They are honest, funny, gentle, strong and good. They consider motherhood their most important job. . . and their hardest. They support their husbands, organize block parties and have the gift of living in the present.

Shelly J has big hair. Like fluffy big. She would wear fake eyelashes if she knew how to put them on. She makes the best guacamole this side of the Pacific and she used to think toilets operated only if the electricity was on. Yep. She thinks she's a wild child who thrives on adventure and spontaneous day trips. She is the most dependable, loyal, dedicated person I know. People leave Shelly J with a bigger, fuller heart. She's all about the love.

Shelly B rides a motorcycle. She thinks etsy.com, up-cycled cardboard, and camping without deodorant are kind of cool. She's so real, she still wears a 1980s cross-stitched applique sweatshirt with her name on it. She makes her bed before her housekeeper comes, will read any book with words in it and treats everyday like she can move mountains. She is the most independent, confident, generous person I know. She loves my kids a lot and my dog more than I do.

They came to visit for a few days. Or at least that's what I thought they were doing. They came to fill my love tank. They did my laundry, played board games with Jacob, cooked several dinners and froze others, let me nap (ahhhhh!!!), listened to my stories, read to Ellie, rocked my babies, made me laugh, cry and think. They, in giving of their time, gave their very selves to me. And I love them and their spirits more than I can articulate. They are golden friends I will always hold closely.

I dig them. Totally.

Doing Your Best

I have a sign that hangs above our kitchen door--"Just Do Your Best." It's a motto and a reminder that is not unusual to many families. I tell my children, myself, my husband all of the time--just do your best. Try your hardest, show up, put your best foot forward, life is not a dress rehearsal, etc. Miss Judy used to tell us that the audition started when you walked into the ballroom, not when you first danced. It all mattered, even how you put on your ballet shoes. 

But, by example, we're not living this for our kids. We are not. I've written about this topic before today, but recently, the "living hands free" thing has presented itself to me again. 

We have a babysitter who keeps my little kids a few afternoons a week so I can get other things done quickly (It's amazing how fast I can grocery shop.). I pay her to be responsible, present and active--all the things I am (or should be) when I'm parenting. She is 19, newly engaged, and ON HER PHONE ALL OF THE TIME. She's "reading" to Ellie, and half of her attention is on her text messages. She's rocking the babies while checking her Facebook status. She pushes Ellie in the swing outside, while with one hand, talks with her fiance. And it dawned on me--these will be Ellie's memories of adults. Of life. Of "normal." And that is just not acceptable to me. Watching this sitter half-ass her job reminds me of how I half-ass my vocation. 

I do not want Ellie's memory of me to be the top of my head. I do not want her to remember looking over at me from the playground and seeing me more engrossed in a friend I haven't seen in years but who posted something on Facebook than on her--the most important contribution I will make to this universe. I do not want her to think it's ok to be halfway paid attention to, halfway listened to, halfway appreciated. What am I teaching her when I treat her this way? To expect others to treat her the same. "Your friends, spouse, co-workers, boss, children--none of them, Ellie, will give you 100% because I don't." If your mother doesn't, who will?

Now. I am not a very messy mom. I am not into sensory play (whatever that means), pouring and dumping and gluing and cutting just for the sake of exploration and discovery. It doesn't mean I shouldn't be, it just means it takes a lot from me to prepare myself for a kitchen to look like this after Ellie discovers sand and rice and lentils: 

I have to remind myself that being present doesn't mean being perfect. It doesn't mean thinking everything my kids say is critical or earth-shattering or hysterical. It doesn't mean I have to stop what I'm doing every time they speak or need me or decide to treat Bonnie as a small horse and ride her until she bites. But it does mean that SOMETIMES I do stop what I'm doing, lock eyes with them and listen. Pay attention. It means it's unacceptable to go to bed at night and think I know my children when I've spent the entire day "with" them but really with my phone. It's unacceptable to treat the people on the phone more importantly than my children or my husband. Just not right. And that's what we're telling each other when we are captivated by the text and not by the person with us. That's what we tell our children--you are not as important as this other person and the gossip we're engaging in. Your story, problem, question, observation--has to wait. It has to always wait for me and my attention because I have 267 contacts who are all saying different things I have to notice.

Put it down. I say this to myself and to you. Put it down. Put it on silent and plug it in by your bathroom sink. It can wait. What are your childhood memories? How did your mother make you feel? Did she make you feel valuable and worthy and interesting, like you could do anything and be anyone and that your best was amazing? Or did she make you feel like you were boring, kind of interesting, adequate company for when she had the leftover time to spend with you? 

Do your best. Nothing is really acceptable unless it's your best. Be the best mom and wife and friend you can be today. And today will be different than tomorrow and next week and next year. And your best might not look like someone else's life, but that's ok because it isn't someone else's life. It's yours. And if you look back on it and realize you half-assed it all, you'll be sad. You won't know your kids, you won't know your spouse, you won't know yourself. But you'll know your 267 contacts. Kind of. 

See your children. See your family. See your friends. Look at them. Pay attention.

"Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike." J.K. Rowling

“To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.” Elizabeth Gilbert

“I will love you always. When this red hair is white, I will still love you. When the smooth softness of youth is replaced by the delicate softness of age, I will still want to touch your skin. When your face is full of the lines of every smile you have ever smiled, of every surprise I have seen flash through your eyes, when every tear you have ever cried has left its mark upon your face, I will treasure you all the more, because I was there to see it all. I will share your life with you. . . and I will love you until the last breath leaves your body or mine.” Laurell Hamilton

When God Created Mothers

I was visiting with a young priest recently. He and I have become friends, and he has been a sweet part of our family since moving to Tyler. We were sharing our experiences in the common trials and challenges of living your vocation. He as a priest and I as a wife and mother can relate to many more emotions than I first realized.

We laughed about the concept of "dying to self." That, when spoken and written of, this concept is often seen through rose colored glasses. Dying to yourself is expressed through beautiful language, lots of sacramental images and sacred descriptors. It is seen as a privilege and an honor, something you should want to do and enjoy doing everyday. When you choose (or rather follow the choice God has made for you) your vocation and you die to your individual self little by little, you expect it to be happy and liberating and energizing. 

This is why we were laughing. Because it's not any of those things. It's hard. And constant. And, as Ellie says, "exhausterating." Father said something, though, that resonated with my tired little brain. It went something like this:

"The reason this 'dying to self' is so hard for humanity is that Christ knew why He was dying. He lived for that one purpose. He was born to die for us and for our sins, and He knew every moment of every day His life's purpose and goal and reason for 'dying to self.' We, as humans, do not know our life's purpose everyday and every moment. We do not always know why were are dying little by little. And it is in this not knowing that we find our faith and we find our strength to continue dying so we might live."

So, on the day we celebrate our Blessed Virgin Mary's birthday, I ask her to continue helping me die to self. I ask her to help me be a better mother and wife and woman. I ask her to help me be gracious and graceful, humble and strong. It is a prayer with an answer that is far reaching, with lasting effects. This is a time in my life that cannot be mastered or survived without prayer. How to be the kind of mother Nick and Jacob need and want and deserve is a different challenge than being the kind of mother Ellie needs or even the kind of mother the babies need. Remembering my first calling is as wife and partner to my husband requires another kind of patience and dedication, and then knowing that caring for my health is critical to the health of my family is an additional daunting reality. 

Therefore, I pray! And drink coffee. And take naps. And know that life is so beautiful, especially in the dying moments. 

In honor of Mary, our Mother's birthday, I share this from Erma Bombeck:

“When God Created Mothers"

When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of "overtime" when the angel appeared and said. "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."

And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order?" She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts...all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands."

The angel shook her head slowly and said. "Six pairs of hands.... no way."

"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "it's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have."

"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded.

"One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word."

"God," said the angel touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest tomorrow...."

"I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick...can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger...and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower."

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed.

"But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can imagine what this mother can do or endure."

"Can it think?"

"Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.

"There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model."

"It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."

"What's it for?"

"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."

"You are a genius, " said the angel.

Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there.” 

What We Didn't Know

We found the Grand Canyon. We jumped right into it, and here we are, floating, paddling, surfing--gosh, I don't know, pick your verb--the Colorado River. 

The babies arrived July 29, 2013 on my Dad's 61st birthday. "The Baby Thomas" (as Ellie calls him) played by all the rules and was delivered easily. He came out screaming and very little. The Baby Olivia was a little more stubborn, arriving 12 minutes later, feet first. I have a feeling this will be typical of her. 

 

Steve and I kept telling each other (even in the delivery room) there would be so much we couldn't prepare for. So much we didn't know we didn't know. As we are learning these "didn't knows," we enter week 3 with some knowledge and tools to live a life of five children, spanning 15-newborn. So, our list of Didn't Knows that now we know:

1. Delivering in an OR is like entering heaven. Or at least what I think it would be like. Very bright. Very white. And lots of people up in your grill. Way up in your grill. Very personal and intimate. And crazy bright.

2. Two babies it not "pretty much like one," as many people told me. Nope. There are two. All of the time. They are not the same person or the same mouth or the same bottom or the same soul. They eat and poop and scream and chatter all on their own. Not like one. More like, you know, two.

3. You can double nurse while dressing your toddler for school. 

4. You can sleep through the season premiere of Duck Dynasty.

5. Going to Target alone feels as exciting and thrilling as the day you turned 16. Or 21.

6. You think you'll know your babies by their cries. You don't. They sound the same.

7. When your mom leaves, you think you'll curl up and fail (I already knew this part.). But you don't. You grow another set of arms somehow and still manage to breathe and eat (sometimes) and shower (rarely, but it does happen). 

8. You grow more in love with your husband. Not just as a daddy. As a man, a provider, a partner and a person who now knows what you look like when you need help going to the bathroom because you're 36 weeks with twins, hooked up to an IV pole, using the handicap bar for assistance and can't see to properly keep up with hygienic requirements. You love him for loving you and for telling you that "though you're really acting ridiculous right now, I can't believe I got to marry you." (That was a compliment in case you missed it.)

9. You seriously consider taking a walk with the babies in the middle of the night. Why not? They settle well in the stroller and you're so tired you'd tie them up by their toes if someone told you it would help.

10. People are really nice. A lady brought us dinner one night--I had never seen her before. Just a friend of a friend who "heard about that poor woman with five kids!" No joke. She said that. She brought dinner, a gallon sized bag of trail mix and cupcakes for the kids. I introduced myself as she walked in my front door. No way. So nice. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I didn't know people would be so generous and sweet and go out of their way to help--in the parking lot, at bedtime, during school pick up hours, for Mass. Anything. 

11. I am so happy we live here. It has truly been a community effort, and I am grateful. 

12. You'll continue craving foods. I actually crave more now than I did when I was pregnant. Sweets. That's it. And that's not like me. Toffee--made a batch a week ago. Brownies, cookies, chocolate bars. Whatever. I think about it a lot. Almost as much as coffee. 

13. My go-to baby songs seem to King of Anything (a throwback to what was popular when I had Ellie. I sang that song all the time to her because it was on the radio every day, every 3 minutes) and When the Saints Go Marching In. Why? I have no idea. Catchy tempo? But it came back to me with a vengeance as soon as I started swaying and rocking and singing to the babies. There it was. Saints and Kings. Not bad, I guess.  

Each time we'd go to the doctor, I'd cry with happiness and relief. Both babies were still there. Both still had heartbeats and both looked so good. Why had God graced us so generously?! And would He really let me keep both of them? I remind myself of these answered prayers while I try to manage both babies in the middle of the night, with a sleeping husband and a dark house. I remember how much I wanted just one, so the juggling (literally) of the two babies on the sofa while watching Say Yes to the Dress at 3 am seems comical, really. I can't believe I was given what I begged for--"Please, let me be pregnant just one more time. If that is all I can have, let me experience this miracle just once more." Ha. He sure pulled a fast one over on me! 

More than anything, I've learned that "whatever it is, it doesn't really matter." I find myself saying this almost as a mantra. I pray a lot, I talk to Mary a lot, but in addition to that, I hear myself saying these little seven words. And it's true. Whatever it is (that's bothering me, that's wrong, that isn't working, that won't work, that I thought would be awesome and is crashing and burning--eg, experience at park yesterday that didn't last as long as the car ride to get there), it doesn't matter. What matters is what I hold in my arms--my family, my children, my husband, my faith. That's it. 

In a few months, remind me I said that.

Pray for us, oh Holy Mother of God. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ!

Approaching the Grand Canyon

The other day, Steve said he feels like those pioneers who rode blissfully along the Arizona plateau when they suddenly found a Really Big Hole in the middle of the woods. We, unlike the pioneers, know the Hole is coming, but we aren't really sure if we're ready for it. Take that back: we're pretty sure we're not. 

So, as pioneers do, we have packed our chuck wagon and tried to accomplish all we needed to before the Hole (aka beautiful, precious babies) appears. Countdown: approximately 2 weeks. Or, as Jacob said this morning, "So what you're saying is it could be ANY MOMENT?" Sure. If we err on the dramatic. Sure. 

Nick started and completed his driver's education course. He thinks he's 20 now. At least. He drove home from Texarkana in his new car, donated by his generous Uncle David and Daddy-O. He loves it. 

Ellie now uses the potty. That's all. Really big deal. I'm really happy. That makes us now not outnumbered when the babies come--all but two will have bladder and bowel control. Sweet.

Ellie learned to stand on Daddy's head (was inspired after watching the Flying Welendas cross the above mentioned Grand Canyon). Daddy organized the garage, and then the family had a much needed summer painting class. New rocker, pretty flower and some Pollock-inspired free form. 

High on my list of "Really Would Like to Do Before Reaching Really Big Hole" was having Ellie's birthday party. She hasn't actually had one before, so I was excited about having cake and presents and family and friends. After some initial false starting, the party proved to be plenty of fun for little kids and, though almost a month early, Ellie felt like a real three-year old.

Jacob came home! Big completion. Everyone is back in Tyler in one piece, so the babies are now invited to arrive. Please do not judge me by Nick's shirt (that he wears twice in this blog entry). It was a gift from my parents. I think it's his favorite. :)

Ellie helped me clean our baby gear. She insists the baby girl get the new car seat and the baby boy use her old one. Not sure where she gets this, but we're probably not telling her that when we're piling into the car, Mommy won't care who goes where or if the seat belts work. After all, the pioneers traveled cross country without even a seat, let alone a belt. She seems so big to me, now. I can hardly picture her fitting into this little thing.

 

And, we got Jacob to camp. That was my last adventure, which really turned out to be pretty ordinary. Thank goodness. Van, TX is great, I'm sure, I just didn't want to have my babies there. Jacob was happy and settled, it seemed, before we even got his bed made.

35 weeks today. My doctor tells us we just need to make it past 36. So that's my dad's birthday. 37 would be great, and that's Ellie's birthday. The Big Hole is coming, and I think it looks breathtaking and overwhelming and magnificent!

"Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting." --Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

Life IS a Choice

A woman who had her first child as a teenager is being lauded as a champion for women, "giving voice to thousands of Texans." I am saddened and so disheartened that, though I do not know the entire history of this story (and I freely admit that), I do know enough to find this ironic. She "chose" to keep her baby, raise her in a trailer park (and be proud of her "working poor" background, as she should be) and then claim to be a voice for thousands of Texans?! Who is the voice for the babies being murdered because they are inconvenient, not chosen, unaffordable or too difficult? 

As I expressed in my first blog entry, this medium for me is not for others. It is for me and maybe my children one day. It is a way to release to the cosmos those things I cannot keep inside. I feel so strongly about this that it would be wrong of me to keep silent. 

As a Texan today, I am ashamed of what we think is "good," "right," and "strong." How can people post on Facebook that "as a Christian, I do not believe in abortion, but as a woman, I believe in the right to choose what happens to my body?" You cannot separate being a Christian and being a woman, just as you cannot separate being a man and being married, or being a man and being gay, or being a woman and being a mother. 

What happened to our sense of basic responsibility? You choose to behave a certain way, there are consequences. Always--whether or not the decision was a good, bad or indifferent one. That's a law of nature. Why is it permissible now to do what feels good, what you want to, what makes YOU happy or safe or popular or brave? Why don't others matter, the ones affected by your choices?

As a quote from one of the articles:

"[She] read testimony from women and doctors who would be impacted by the changes, but who were denied the opportunity to speak in a Republican-controlled committee. During one heart-wrenching story describing a woman's difficult pregnancy, [she] choked up several times and wiped tears.

The bill would ban abortion after 20 weeks of pregnancy and force many clinics that perform the procedure to upgrade their facilities and be classified as ambulatory surgical centers. Also, doctors would be required to have admitting privileges at a hospital within 30 miles – a tall order in rural communities."

I am not arguing against health care for women. Clearly. I am a woman. :) I want health care, and I want it to be good. I like feeling confident in my care and wish every woman (and man and child, for that matter) experienced the same care as I do. However, I believe the issues are separate. You cannot catch your abortion as health care. It is not. It is murder. When you choose to participate in an act that could (by miracle of miracles!) result in a human life, that was your choice. You chose life, do you not see that? And then to deny that baby a chance to live outside the womb is not caring for your health. It's caring for everything BUT your health. 

Drawn from several sources, these are some of the facts regarding abortion. The most shocking of all is that most women (72%) who have abortions are already mothers. The following is just a sample list. . .

Over 48 million people have been killed through abortion in the United States since the Roe vs. Wade decision.

Abortion worldwide kills more people every 2 months than the Holocaust did in 12 years.

Almost 1 out of every 4 Americans babies are aborted.

Abortion is inherently unsafe to the mother.

Physical problems from abortion can include hemorrhage, infection, sterility and even death.

Psychological effects can include depression and mental trauma to divorce and suicide.

The psychological effects of an abortion are so well documented, that psychologists have grouped them under one name: post-abortion syndrome (PAS). 

Women may experience symptoms of PAS right after the abortion, but oftentimes PAS does not manifest itself until many months or years after the abortion.

Symptoms of PAS are: recurrent memories, dreams of the abortion experience, avoidance of emotional attachment, relationship problems, sleep disturbance, guilt, memory impairment, hostile outbursts, and substance abuse.

30 Weeks

Well, here we go. I feel like we're on the last lap (or maybe the last few laps?). Knowing I won't go a full 40 weeks of pregnancy, it seems like #30 week is a milestone (at least I'm seeing it that way!). 

40 weeks. Day I went into labor with Ellie.

30 weeks with the twins.

So, we wait and get hot and squished. Poor Ellie has run out of lap room. :) We've finished "nesting," I think--two carseats, two beds, two little bassinets, a double stroller and Amazon Mom for the 3000 diapers (apparently each baby will go through 8-12 a day. A. Day.). Ellie's uniform is bought for the new school year, and I keep checking the school's website for the boys' supply lists. I've pinned some ideas for freezer crockpot meals so my kids and husband don't live off of Papa John's for 2 months (I'm sure they'd be devastated if this happened). We have pacifiers, burp cloths, onesies, cute little white hangers and lots of Boudreaux's Butt Paste. That should do it, right? 

It's what I keep telling Steve--I just don't know what I don't know. We still need to find a babysitter to help me, and I don't know how exactly the three "big" kids are getting to and from school. I'm not really sure how the three carseats will work in the car--I guess straight across the middle and the boys will just have to get in through the back hatch door of the suburban? Nick thinks we should just buy a church van. Maybe get our own logo and theme song. Oh, and the second dog is due to arrive sometime in early October. 

We are abundantly blessed, no? I knew my 33rd age would be great, I just didn't know it would be this great. 

For my Children

My sweet children,

Sometimes I speak too quickly. Or too loudly. Or not well enough. Often I mean to express things but don't know how or am not brave enough to. I want you to read this when the sky seems too gray, the days too long or you've forgotten how much you are wanted and loved and cherished.

Lead the life you were born to live.

Dream while you're awake. You cannot live without dreams.

You are a human being, not a human doing. Be great. Be marvelous. Be your best.

You know all the things that make you happy. Focus on these things. Don't get caught in the busy-ness trap where you think you are pursuing happiness. You're not. 

There is a difference between surviving and thriving. Thrive! If you simply survive, you are no different than the simplest of God's creatures.

Do not allow our culture's crisis of commitment disable your life's purpose. If you're going to say it, do it, promise it, want it, believe it--then dedicate yourself to it and complete it. 

You are beautiful. Beautiful. Your eyelashes are perfect. You matter. You come from God and to Him you are going. Do what is right. Be what is good.

Be the best version of yourself. Because we are our habits, make it a habit to be the best You everyday. Not the ideal parent or friend or spouse or employee. Just the best You.

Find a companion. Know that this choice is your most important. Find someone who cherishes you, wants to watch you sleep, challenges you, shares your joy, anticipates your pain and comforts you when you are sad.

Follow your dreams. Your dreams are real. They are real. (Write this down and read it everyday!) A comfort zone is an illusion.

Dedicate yourself to things that deserve your dedication. That is all.

Life is not a dress rehearsal. Living with regret over things said or done is tolerable. Regret for things never said or done is heartbreaking.

Nothing will influence you more than your friends. Choose them well, for you will become like them.

Waste time with those you love. Don't box them into a schedule. Real relationships don't fit into time.

Be quiet and still. Learn to seek out these moments. They will feed your sweet soul.

Find your genius, your passion and live it.

Always works towards a clear conscience. There is great joy in knowing you did the right thing for the right reason.

Be a good decision maker. Be guided by your life's purpose and make your own choices.

Know that I love you. With a depth you do not understand but a brokenness you do. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You. Carry this worth with you always and remember you are a child of God and a creature of Heaven.  

(Some of these ideas were influenced by Matthew Kelly's The Rhythm of Life.)

Learned from my Mom

My mom once told me, "I know you better than you know yourself, Katie. Remember, I knew you before you knew you!" Good point. And I now understand what she meant--I doubt there will be much Ellie will share with me about herself that will be surprising. I know her.

And, she tried to explain, "You can never love me like I love you. You think you do because you love me a lot. But you don't. You won't understand until you are a mother." And, again. Good point. She was right. So I know my "lessons" from my mom won't nearly come close to describing her influence and importance in my life and on my self, but in honor's of Mother's Day, I wanted to reflect on why my mom is not necessarily "the best," or "the funniest," or "the coolest," or "the nicest," (for how can we really know any of that?), but why she is MY mom. And that is all that matters.

 

So, as a mom, when I encourage my kids with these "suggestions," I often preface them with, "Wow. Mamalise would SO say this if she were here!"

1. Join a club. 

It's good for you. You meet people that way. You'll enjoy yourself. If ever in my life I felt listless or lonely, this was the second thing she'd say, with the first thing being:

2. Put a little lipstick, you'll feel better. 

Enough said. Always true.

3. Pray.

Always, about everything, for whatever. Never stop asking, never stop hoping. Go to Mary and beg.

4. Know their name. 

Anyone and everyone. The plumber, the janitor, the kid in the hallway, the professor, the friend's mom, the lady who serves you coffee everyday, the sacker, the produce manager at your grocery store. . .right. Everyone. She told me once, "Everyone's favorite word in the English language is their own name. Use it. Look them in the eye when you say 'hello' and say their name. It will matter."

5. Try it (except for illegal substances and bad ideas). . . you never know.

6. Take lemonade out to the man mowing your grass--even if it's your brother.

7. Be a good sport, but. . .

8. Stand up for what and who you believe in.

This is really important (and sometimes hard). This is called integrity, and you are nothing without it. Figure out what it is you'd fight for, and for goodness' sakes, fight. And when someone needs or deserves your defense, defend them. Always. It will make you unpopular (which makes #1 kind of hard :)), it might mean your are misunderstood or left out, but that idea or that person is more important. 

9. Keep your elbows off the table.

I can't think of one exception. Not even BBQ or oysters.

10. Stand up straight.

Again, no exceptions. Often, I've heard her say, "Bless her heart. She'd be so pretty if she'd stand up straight and hold those shoulders back." Something about a ballet posture that makes you feel better, leaner, prettier and lovelier. Hold your tummy in, cross your ankles, and put an iron rod up your spine at all times. 

Thicker than Blood

Blood is thicker than water

Oh, but love is thicker than blood.

So, big news flash. Nick and Jacob are not my biological children. They are from Steve's first marriage. Falling in love with Steve and realizing I was called to love him and be his partner began that whole "coloring outside the lines" thing when that man meant and fashioned for me came with two children I had not seen in my dreams.

Loving them and being their mother has brought special meaning to Mother's Day. It has made it a little less simple than I'd imagined it would be, but simultaneously, it's been this huge bonus in my life. God gave me three people instead of just one when I said "I do!" Because they live with us all the time, the lines of definition ease the confusion of common "shared" homes. I get the "Wow, you look good for having a high schooler!" often or the "Oh, how smart of you to give yourself a big break between groups of kids." If I like the woman, I explain. If I think she's being nosy, I just smile and let her think I had Nick in high school (senior year, to be precise). 

Moments after we were married, Jacob asked, "Can I call you Mommy now?" Despite the obvious highs of the day, this one brought me to my knees. 

I had prayed for children. I had prayed for someone to love and share my life with. I had prayed God would help me find the man He had intended for me. I didn't ever expect to get all my prayers answered in one day. Just never occurred to me. 

I love Nick and Jacob with a special love. It's a different love than my love for Ellie. It's more careful, less taken-for-granted, I think. I feel like I borrow them from God, not like they are mine (I know this is false even with Ellie, of course. No child belongs to us, anyway. They are gifts, to be loved and cherished and protected for as long as we're given them.).

But I feel as if they are mine to hug and hope for and protect and guide, but that the returned love is not obligatory. And that makes me want it and work harder for it. They made me a Mother, and for that, I am forever indebted to them. I love you, sweet boys. Thank you for calling me Mommy. xoxoxo