The house is quiet but for the sound of pages turning, novels held in the hands of my boys. Their tired lids fight to finish just one more chapter before sleep washes over them. I look up periodically as one of them pads down the hall to share a funny part with me. I smile, taking in their broad shoulders and long limbs. These boys that are turning into men right under my nose. And me, powerless to stop them.
Hannah has finally succumbed to sleep, and tonight that is no small victory. Her repeated pleas to sleep by my side were rejected, one after the other, each more creative in its attempt to persuade. Were it not for the cold I am fighting, I would have given in. Her snuggles keep me company most nights in my life as a travel widow. In spite of her flailing limbs and all-night-thrashing, her presence is comforting in a quiet bed. But tonight, I need rest above all else. The calendar this week is dotted with line after line of tasks and activities, all of which will require my best self.
The phone rings, and a familiar voice closes the gap of miles that lie between us. I share every moment, even the ones mundane. He laughs at our idiosyncrasies, the ones he knows so well. He vents a little of his own day, and my heart aches for him and the stress of his life. We say goodnight, and I offer a prayer of gratitude for the good man that he is. For his capacity to love that is seemingly endless.
I weigh the choices before me and pick up a book instead of a remote. I relish the extraordinary ordinary that is my life. I snuggle under a blanket and close another day. I am grateful and humbled by the peace I feel deep in my soul.
Life is extraordinarily good.
Showing posts with label Blessings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blessings. Show all posts
Monday, January 9, 2012
Monday, October 17, 2011
Je voudrais chocolat viennois...
Internets, I would like you to meet one of my favorite things about Paris:
Chocolat viennois. My sole source of caffeine after my one and only attempt at drinking coca cola light, a.k.a, the horrible French version of diet coke. It was disgusting and not worth drinking. So, tragically, I was forced to move on to bigger and better things.
I had so many of them that it's no wonder the jeans are fitting a whole lot tighter this week. Yikes.
C'est la vie, right?
Other highlights from the trip included:
Chocolat viennois. My sole source of caffeine after my one and only attempt at drinking coca cola light, a.k.a, the horrible French version of diet coke. It was disgusting and not worth drinking. So, tragically, I was forced to move on to bigger and better things.
I had so many of them that it's no wonder the jeans are fitting a whole lot tighter this week. Yikes.
C'est la vie, right?
Other highlights from the trip included:
* The Eiffel Tower both by day and by night. We stayed about a block from the famous landmark and crossed under her massive steel girth many times. She is as magnificent as she looks in the movies. My favorite view was after dark when she had her lights all turned on.
* Unexpectedly catching mass at Notre Dame. Completely amazing in spite of not understanding a word they said. And the cathedral? UN-FREAKING-BELIEVABLE. So beautiful. So amazing. How did they build such massive perfection without the use of modern tools? Geniuses.
* Walking along the Seine and stopping at little shops.
* The Lock Bridge - you write your name and your lover's name, lock it up on the bridge, and supposedly your love is sealed forever. I was not necessarily excited to pay 15 Euros for a lock, so my love with the Husband remains unsealed. Here's hoping we survive.
* The Louvre. Absolutely fantastic, but way too crowded. My favorite part was eating at Cafe Richlieu which served food from the Angelina's menu. Divine. Especially the dessert.
* Also? Napoleon's dining room is a wee bit fancier than my own. But only slightly. I clearly need to get my gold on.
* Fat Tire Bike Tour through Paris. Amazeballs. Do it if you're ever in a city where they are. Worth. every. penny. Biking on cobblestone streets through the heart of Paris? Nothing like it anywhere else except, well, Paris.
* Fat Tire Bike Tour to Versailles. Slightly scary to put a bike on the subway with 20 other people and their bikes, but so fun. Gorgeous, surreal, and impossibly gaudy. So picturesque to ride around the grounds at Versailles. And definitely a cultural experience to order food at a French farmer's market, as well. Hmm. A food reference again? Are we detecting a theme here?
All in all, it was the trip of a lifetime. I never got tired of Annie, looking at the fabulous architecture, eating all the rich foods, and pretending to understand the language. It was JUST like they tell you it's going to be. It was everything they say and more.
It was magic.
* Unexpectedly catching mass at Notre Dame. Completely amazing in spite of not understanding a word they said. And the cathedral? UN-FREAKING-BELIEVABLE. So beautiful. So amazing. How did they build such massive perfection without the use of modern tools? Geniuses.
* Walking along the Seine and stopping at little shops.
* The Lock Bridge - you write your name and your lover's name, lock it up on the bridge, and supposedly your love is sealed forever. I was not necessarily excited to pay 15 Euros for a lock, so my love with the Husband remains unsealed. Here's hoping we survive.
* The Louvre. Absolutely fantastic, but way too crowded. My favorite part was eating at Cafe Richlieu which served food from the Angelina's menu. Divine. Especially the dessert.
* Also? Napoleon's dining room is a wee bit fancier than my own. But only slightly. I clearly need to get my gold on.
* Fat Tire Bike Tour through Paris. Amazeballs. Do it if you're ever in a city where they are. Worth. every. penny. Biking on cobblestone streets through the heart of Paris? Nothing like it anywhere else except, well, Paris.
* Fat Tire Bike Tour to Versailles. Slightly scary to put a bike on the subway with 20 other people and their bikes, but so fun. Gorgeous, surreal, and impossibly gaudy. So picturesque to ride around the grounds at Versailles. And definitely a cultural experience to order food at a French farmer's market, as well. Hmm. A food reference again? Are we detecting a theme here?
All in all, it was the trip of a lifetime. I never got tired of Annie, looking at the fabulous architecture, eating all the rich foods, and pretending to understand the language. It was JUST like they tell you it's going to be. It was everything they say and more.
It was magic.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The power of prayer
Image via
This week, some friends and I threw a bridal shower for the daughter of another friend. Monday night, we got together at my house to make the party favors.
We laughed, we talked, we got it done.
The next morning, I received a call from one of my friends asking if she had left her rings behind. I hadn't noticed them, but searched the kitchen and living rooms to no avail. A few hours went by, a few more frantic calls, and I searched again.
What she was missing was her gorgeous diamond wedding ring (in and of itself a hugely valuable treasure), and a diamond ring that had been her grandmother's. One, mind you, that she had just been given at her mother's death a few weeks before.
I was sick. She was sick. I gladly went through disgusting trash bags and looked in every nook and cranny I could think of. Still no rings.
All day yesterday, I worried and fretted about them. I was devastated at the possibility that these beautiful treasures would be lost. The monetary value alone was enough to make one weep, but the sentimental value was irreplaceable.
And last night as I slept, I had a dream. In this dream, something came to my mind and I knew exactly where the rings were. I sat bolt upright in bed and instantly knew that she had slipped them off while we were working and put them in the pocket of the apron she had been wearing.
Baffled, I laid back down and went to sleep. After all, there were no pockets on that apron that I knew of. I figured my mind was reaching for any solution to this problem.
But when I woke up this morning, I felt compelled to at least check. I rifled through the laundry basket in the mud room where I had tossed our dirty aprons Monday night.
And lo and behold, tucked safely in the pocket of the apron, were the rings.
I immediately called my friend and felt her relief and joy reach out through the phone. She had spent the last few days tearing her own house apart, searching her yard, retracing every step. Heartsick, she prayed fervently to find them. She hoped that her sweet mother would whisper from heaven and help lead her to the rings.
I truly believe that her prayers came true.
I am in awe at the turn of events. It was not simply a matter of our continued searching that led us to the rings. It was not even dumb luck. I was told specifically in a dream where to find the rings, and they were in a place I didn't even know existed.
It was a tender mercy from our Heavenly Father, I have no doubt about that.
It reinforces to me that our prayers, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, are heard and answered.
And I just wanted to share this story in the event that you, like me, sometimes need a reminder of that.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Blessed
Mother's Day for me was one of the best. With church at nine a.m., I woke early to breakfast in bed and four smiling faces. The presents they gave me were much more than I deserved and proved definitively that diamonds really are a girl's best friend.
Leaving for church, I glanced behind me with a smile at the spotless kitchen that I had nothing to do with cleaning.
Lunch and dinner were made while I sat on the couch in my bare feet with the iPad. Diet cokes were topped off and treat samples brought to me for tasting.
I tried not to laugh too hard at the sight of the Husband decorating the coconut cupcakes. Somehow a pastry bag does not look very much at home in his big hands. But they were as delicious as they were beautiful.
I was pampered and loved, and felt utterly appreciated.
These four fantastic people in my life are a miracle. I love them with the whole of my heart.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Finding myself again
I wake up, the bright sunshine streaming through my window. In spite of the migraine that is just beginning, I am ready to take the day on. I stretch my tired limbs. I am determined not to let Monday win. I intend to take her by the horns and throw her to the ground.
I ignore the scale today and walk downstairs, where my biggest boy is up and dressed. I chat quietly at the table with him, and laugh as he gives me one of his famous would you rathers. He heads out the door, but not before hugging his mama. I hug him right back, and make sure not to let go first.
I walk down the hall and wake the girl who makes the rockstar hair in her sleep. She does not rouse easily, and mumbles all the way to the breakfast table. She is quiet in the mornings, and is best left alone on these kinds of days. Sort of like her mama.
I call the early bird up from the basement, where he has already spent an hour watching a documentary on alligators. I shake my head and wonder how it is possible to wake up so cheerful so early in the morning. I smile, knowing he is sure to share some gory details over his bowl of cereal, much to his sister's dismay.
I pack lunches and pour milk. I remind them both to brush their teeth. Again. I comb her hair, and find that she has warmed up to the day. I listen as she chatters away. I hug them tight and send them out the door with I love yous. The boy, as he does every day, turns and waves. The girl, as she does every day, is busy talking with friends.
The trainer comes and I work out. Hard. I feel my body returning to a strength I once took for granted. I hydrate and thank god for letting me get better. For letting me heal. I put in some laundry and clear out my inbox. I start a couple loaves of bread and return a few phone calls. I shower and tackle a mess in the office. I edit pictures. I run errands.
I am busy. And it feels so damn good.
I feel myself returning to the person I used to be. Someone who was productive. And strong. And happy.
Tears fill my eyes as I remember the place I was in, even just a few months ago. A place of despair and sorrow. A place that, for me, was without hope.
I am so grateful.
I finally feel like me again.
I ignore the scale today and walk downstairs, where my biggest boy is up and dressed. I chat quietly at the table with him, and laugh as he gives me one of his famous would you rathers. He heads out the door, but not before hugging his mama. I hug him right back, and make sure not to let go first.
I walk down the hall and wake the girl who makes the rockstar hair in her sleep. She does not rouse easily, and mumbles all the way to the breakfast table. She is quiet in the mornings, and is best left alone on these kinds of days. Sort of like her mama.
I call the early bird up from the basement, where he has already spent an hour watching a documentary on alligators. I shake my head and wonder how it is possible to wake up so cheerful so early in the morning. I smile, knowing he is sure to share some gory details over his bowl of cereal, much to his sister's dismay.
I pack lunches and pour milk. I remind them both to brush their teeth. Again. I comb her hair, and find that she has warmed up to the day. I listen as she chatters away. I hug them tight and send them out the door with I love yous. The boy, as he does every day, turns and waves. The girl, as she does every day, is busy talking with friends.
The trainer comes and I work out. Hard. I feel my body returning to a strength I once took for granted. I hydrate and thank god for letting me get better. For letting me heal. I put in some laundry and clear out my inbox. I start a couple loaves of bread and return a few phone calls. I shower and tackle a mess in the office. I edit pictures. I run errands.
I am busy. And it feels so damn good.
I feel myself returning to the person I used to be. Someone who was productive. And strong. And happy.
Tears fill my eyes as I remember the place I was in, even just a few months ago. A place of despair and sorrow. A place that, for me, was without hope.
I am so grateful.
I finally feel like me again.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Snow day
The call comes in early this morning, the one we were waiting for. I listen to the recording with a smile on my face, and hear two sets of feet immediately climb out of their beds and pad softly down the hall to my door.
Even in the darkness, I can see their anxious looks. A nod of my head, cheers from their lips, and a stern shhhh, lest they wake up their sister. I pull the warm blankets up and feel the pull of sleep. I give into it with a grin on my face.
A couple of hours later, I stretch and yawn, relishing in my laziness. I ignore the scale, for surely today it shouldn't count, and slide my feet into the worn, fuzzy slippers. I shuffle downstairs, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and pull my hair into a ponytail.
I bypass the sugar cereal with a sigh, and reach instead for the heart-healthy fiber one. I sit and read a few blogs, relishing the unhurried feel of the day. Downstairs, the sounds of Bear Grylls float up from the tv, and I smile, thinking that they likely will reenact later whatever insanity shown them. I laugh thinking that maybe even they'll film it.
Next on the schedule is a very clumsy, short-winded run on the treadmill. I think of this newly returned pleasure in my life with a deep sense of gratitude, for the healing that has taken place in my body. I have desperately missed the one thing in my day that makes me feel like me. I am not whole unless I can sweat and strain, working this gloriously imperfect body, pushing it to the limits.
What also tells me that I am, and forever will be, me is the mental note I make WHILE on the treadmill to whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies.
I finish the run, and look in on my babies. They are snuggled up under a warm blanket, laughing together over a Calvin and Hobbs. The phone rings, and it is the Husband, calling to be a part of it all. I regale him with the exciting stories from our short morning. He chuckles and sighs, wishing he were in town to share it with us.
I take a deep breath, as the tears threaten to spill over, and I thank God for the blessing of this beautiful, imperfect, amazing life he saw fit to trust me with.
I have everything I ever wanted.
And I never want to take it for granted again.
Even in the darkness, I can see their anxious looks. A nod of my head, cheers from their lips, and a stern shhhh, lest they wake up their sister. I pull the warm blankets up and feel the pull of sleep. I give into it with a grin on my face.
A couple of hours later, I stretch and yawn, relishing in my laziness. I ignore the scale, for surely today it shouldn't count, and slide my feet into the worn, fuzzy slippers. I shuffle downstairs, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and pull my hair into a ponytail.
I bypass the sugar cereal with a sigh, and reach instead for the heart-healthy fiber one. I sit and read a few blogs, relishing the unhurried feel of the day. Downstairs, the sounds of Bear Grylls float up from the tv, and I smile, thinking that they likely will reenact later whatever insanity shown them. I laugh thinking that maybe even they'll film it.
Next on the schedule is a very clumsy, short-winded run on the treadmill. I think of this newly returned pleasure in my life with a deep sense of gratitude, for the healing that has taken place in my body. I have desperately missed the one thing in my day that makes me feel like me. I am not whole unless I can sweat and strain, working this gloriously imperfect body, pushing it to the limits.
What also tells me that I am, and forever will be, me is the mental note I make WHILE on the treadmill to whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies.
I finish the run, and look in on my babies. They are snuggled up under a warm blanket, laughing together over a Calvin and Hobbs. The phone rings, and it is the Husband, calling to be a part of it all. I regale him with the exciting stories from our short morning. He chuckles and sighs, wishing he were in town to share it with us.
I take a deep breath, as the tears threaten to spill over, and I thank God for the blessing of this beautiful, imperfect, amazing life he saw fit to trust me with.
I have everything I ever wanted.
And I never want to take it for granted again.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Here's to a new year and a new me
Oh, internet. Words cannot begin to express my gratitude at your heartfelt empathy, sympathy, and love on my behalf. You are just plain good. When I think that the majoirty of you have never even met me in real life, your sweet words are that much more touching.
Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. It was not easy to put that post out there. It is hard for me to put my weaknesses on display - be they real or perceived. I have a hard time letting my guard down. But this blog has become such an important record of my life that I felt I could not let such a soul changing, monumental experience go unwritten about. And yet you embraced me anyway. And made me wish we could all sit around in my living room, large slices of coconut cake on our laps, and laugh and cry over it all in person. Please tell me there is a way to make that happen? Someday?
Anyway, when I saw this video on my real-life friend Katie's blog - I knew I had to share it here and make it my new motto for the year. I love it. Made me laugh and made me cry. My two favorite emotions rolled into one.
No more looking back. Only moving forward.
Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. It was not easy to put that post out there. It is hard for me to put my weaknesses on display - be they real or perceived. I have a hard time letting my guard down. But this blog has become such an important record of my life that I felt I could not let such a soul changing, monumental experience go unwritten about. And yet you embraced me anyway. And made me wish we could all sit around in my living room, large slices of coconut cake on our laps, and laugh and cry over it all in person. Please tell me there is a way to make that happen? Someday?
Anyway, when I saw this video on my real-life friend Katie's blog - I knew I had to share it here and make it my new motto for the year. I love it. Made me laugh and made me cry. My two favorite emotions rolled into one.
No more looking back. Only moving forward.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Tender mercies
Six or seven weeks ago, I got the phone call that no one ever wants to get.
It was my dad. In a shaky voice, very different from his usually calm tone, he told me of the tests doctors wanted him to have.
Tests with scary names like bone marrow biopsy, MRI, CT scan, PET scan, blood work.
They feared the worst - blood cancer.
Turns out that a protein marker for this type of cancer had shown up in a blood test he'd had done by an orthopedic surgeon who he went to see for a broken rib. Hearing the story of his broken rib, she doubted that the bone should have broken the way it had and ordered further tests, ultimately referring him to an oncologist who specialized in this type of cancer.
We spent the next several weeks mindful of him, praying for him, praying for the doctors, and hoping that when the diagnosis came down (as the doctors were telling us it would) that we would have caught it early enough to kick that cancer's ass right back where it belonged.
After a grueling Memorial Day weekend spent worried and afraid, we got the call.
There was no cancer. That protein was no longer present in his body. They could find no evidence of the blood cancer they were expecting to find. Anywhere.
WHAT. THE. EFF?
I was instantly relieved, but questioned disbelievingly. Were they sure? How could the protein be there one month and gone the next? Would it come back? Why was it there in the first place?
There were a few things that did show up on the scans, however, and a referral to a neurosurgeon confirmed it.
My dad has a brain tumor the size of a lemon.
They are confident it is benign, and he is scheduled to have it removed on Tuesday. The doctors expect him to make a full recovery and be back on his feet within a few weeks.
Throughout this whole process of worry, fear, speculating, and frustration, I am left with only one conclusion. The protein showed up, not as a marker of blood cancer, but so that we could find the tumor and treat it quickly.
It was quite simply a tender mercy of our Heavenly Father.
Surprisingly, my dad is experiencing no symptoms - even with a tumor of this size - and it likely would have been some time before they discovered it. By which time, who knows what would have happened or how he would have been affected.
Today, I am grateful and humbled by the reminder that someone up there is watching over me and my little family, insignificant though we may feel at times. And though life often takes us in directions we may not understand or comprehend, someone has a plan for us. A purpose. A design.
That plan definitely includes me.
And it definitely includes you.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
I'm gonna do the things that I wanna do...
Holy freakin' crap.
I just wrote out the biggest check of my life. Was it to buy a new car? Or a new house? What about plastic surgery to make me look as scary and wax-like as Joan Rivers?
Theoretically, this check might have covered all three, so big it was.
But unfortunately, it was to my federal government for a little thing we like to call the taxes.
It just stinks. And makes me ridiculously angry.
So I am not thinking about it. Not one bit.
Instead, I am looking over at my babies, happily reading with their damp hair, just out of the shower. I am smiling at the memory of Chase tearing open the brown box from Amazon this afternoon that held a new book - just for him. I am basking in the warm, sweet smell of pancakes, fresh off the griddle because, well, it just felt like a pancake kind of night.
I am looking forward to proofing a lovely newborn session tonight after the kids are in bed. I am remembering how fun it was to hold him during the shoot. I am relishing the tired, sore muscles that got destroyed by the trainer this morning because it means that I worked as hard as I could.
And it just feels so good to work this body of mine.
I am turning up the iTunes on my new favorite song, even though I am late to the party in loving it. As Hannah informed me the other day, "Everyone in second grade has been singing that song for-like-ever, Mom."
Well. Maybe I'll even eat some candy.
[But probably not with the pork and beans.]
I just wrote out the biggest check of my life. Was it to buy a new car? Or a new house? What about plastic surgery to make me look as scary and wax-like as Joan Rivers?
Theoretically, this check might have covered all three, so big it was.
But unfortunately, it was to my federal government for a little thing we like to call the taxes.
It just stinks. And makes me ridiculously angry.
So I am not thinking about it. Not one bit.
Instead, I am looking over at my babies, happily reading with their damp hair, just out of the shower. I am smiling at the memory of Chase tearing open the brown box from Amazon this afternoon that held a new book - just for him. I am basking in the warm, sweet smell of pancakes, fresh off the griddle because, well, it just felt like a pancake kind of night.
I am looking forward to proofing a lovely newborn session tonight after the kids are in bed. I am remembering how fun it was to hold him during the shoot. I am relishing the tired, sore muscles that got destroyed by the trainer this morning because it means that I worked as hard as I could.
And it just feels so good to work this body of mine.
I am turning up the iTunes on my new favorite song, even though I am late to the party in loving it. As Hannah informed me the other day, "Everyone in second grade has been singing that song for-like-ever, Mom."
Well. Maybe I'll even eat some candy.
[But probably not with the pork and beans.]
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
another lesson in humility
My kids leave soggy, wet towels on the floor in their room after a shower.
My kids ignore me for hours, and choose the exact minute I pick up the phone to desperately need all of my attention.
My kids leave a trail of crumbs behind them everywhere they go.
My kids eat way too many pancakes, covered in way too much syrup.
My kids (especially that middle one) track mud obliviously through my just-mopped kitchen.
My kids climb trees and scrape their knees. And then proceed to use no less than 19 bandaids to make it all better.
My kids fight and tease each other.
My kids get their feelings hurt by other kids at school.
My kids somehow always find and consume my stash of the good (and expensive) protein bars.
My kids jump on the trampoline until they are breathless. Then they get up and do it again.
My kids ride bikes in the wintertime with red cheeks and knitted caps.
My kids sometimes make their beds.
My kids love to read.
My kids cannot fall asleep unless they hug and kiss me goodnight.
My kids run hard, play hard, and laugh hard.
My kids do a lot. Some of it gets on my nerves.
My kids have full bellies and rich lives.
Today I was reminded of this as I sat once again in the waiting room at Children's Hospital where McKay goes twice a year for his asthma check up. I sat next to a mama who held a toddler on her lap. The beautiful boy was bald, though not like a newborn - from chemo. She had bags under her eyes and wore her tremendous worry on her sleeve like a thousand-pound anvil. She smiled and thanked me when I handed her something she dropped. My heart ached for this scared little mama and her sick baby. I felt guilty, as I looked over at my robust, healthy boy - totally absorbed in his book and oblivious to the sorrows surrounding us.
Today, once again, my heart is full of gratitude for all the many things my kids can do.
And it aches terribly for the mamas whose kids cannot.
My kids ignore me for hours, and choose the exact minute I pick up the phone to desperately need all of my attention.
My kids leave a trail of crumbs behind them everywhere they go.
My kids eat way too many pancakes, covered in way too much syrup.
My kids (especially that middle one) track mud obliviously through my just-mopped kitchen.
My kids climb trees and scrape their knees. And then proceed to use no less than 19 bandaids to make it all better.
My kids fight and tease each other.
My kids get their feelings hurt by other kids at school.
My kids somehow always find and consume my stash of the good (and expensive) protein bars.
My kids jump on the trampoline until they are breathless. Then they get up and do it again.
My kids ride bikes in the wintertime with red cheeks and knitted caps.
My kids sometimes make their beds.
My kids love to read.
My kids cannot fall asleep unless they hug and kiss me goodnight.
My kids run hard, play hard, and laugh hard.
My kids do a lot. Some of it gets on my nerves.
My kids have full bellies and rich lives.
Today I was reminded of this as I sat once again in the waiting room at Children's Hospital where McKay goes twice a year for his asthma check up. I sat next to a mama who held a toddler on her lap. The beautiful boy was bald, though not like a newborn - from chemo. She had bags under her eyes and wore her tremendous worry on her sleeve like a thousand-pound anvil. She smiled and thanked me when I handed her something she dropped. My heart ached for this scared little mama and her sick baby. I felt guilty, as I looked over at my robust, healthy boy - totally absorbed in his book and oblivious to the sorrows surrounding us.
Today, once again, my heart is full of gratitude for all the many things my kids can do.
And it aches terribly for the mamas whose kids cannot.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Then and now
Do any of you remember this?
That was my babies in August of 2006. Here are some tidbits about our lives during that time:
And here are some ways our life has changed in the past three years:
Life is good. And it just keeps getting better.
- We lived less than a mile from the beach in sunny, perfect, warm San Diego
- The Husband did not ever get on a plane, and frequently came home for lunch
- McKay and Chase were both in elementary school, and Hannah had just started preschool
- We were both renting and owning a home at the same time (it wasn't pretty)
- I had a blog that a few people liked to read
- Hannah's best friend was Sleeping Beauty (and she was sure to remind us of that daily)
- I had very little time to myself
- I made lots of cookie dough
- I drank lots of diet coke
- The Husband hated his job and was professionally very miserable
- My kids went to bed at six o'clock every night
- Chase spent every waking minute hunting lizards
- I pushed Hannah in the stroller daily on our walk to pick the boys up from school
And here are some ways our life has changed in the past three years:
- We no longer live less than a mile from the beach
- My three kids are in school all day long
- The Husband is very happy now at his job
- We are thankfully owning just one home
- McKay is in his first year of middle school, and Chase and Hannah are both in elementary school
- Hannah's best friend is no longer Sleeping Beauty
- Chase spends every waking minute hunting frogs
- I am now a small business owner
- The Husband is once again a frequent flier and is never home for lunch (or breakfast, or dinner, come to think of it)
- My kids still go to bed some days at six o'clock
- I still make way too much cookie dough
- I still drink lots of diet coke
- I have a blog, and a few people like to read it
- I no longer own or operate a stroller
- And I have oodles of time to myself
Life is good. And it just keeps getting better.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Fare thee well, 2009
I am breaking radio silence here at Casa de Stie. (I know. Try to contain yourselves.)
We have had a lovely holiday break, and plan on making the most of the few days we have left. It has been just a fantastic week - lots of movies, books, games, naps, and food. The Husband has been TOTALLY off the grid. We have only ventured out of the house for movies, absolutely necessary grocery store runs, and church. It's been positively heaven. I could stand this life all year long.
Of course, my house would be a wreck.
But it'd be nice to live like this a little more often.
Today I have been pouring over my photo archives -- reminiscing and laughing, cringing and critiquing. And what I decided was this: 2009 was very kind to us. So much so that I find myself on my knees in gratitude and sheer wonder at our good fortune. We've had our challenges, as every family does, but we successfully wound our way through another year -- learning, laughing, crying, and loving.
Here, to ring in the new year, are the highlights from our family. In photo form.
Happy new year, indeed.
We have had a lovely holiday break, and plan on making the most of the few days we have left. It has been just a fantastic week - lots of movies, books, games, naps, and food. The Husband has been TOTALLY off the grid. We have only ventured out of the house for movies, absolutely necessary grocery store runs, and church. It's been positively heaven. I could stand this life all year long.
Of course, my house would be a wreck.
But it'd be nice to live like this a little more often.
Today I have been pouring over my photo archives -- reminiscing and laughing, cringing and critiquing. And what I decided was this: 2009 was very kind to us. So much so that I find myself on my knees in gratitude and sheer wonder at our good fortune. We've had our challenges, as every family does, but we successfully wound our way through another year -- learning, laughing, crying, and loving.
Here, to ring in the new year, are the highlights from our family. In photo form.
Happy new year, indeed.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Lord help me, I love them something fierce
Today there was a shift in the universe. Did you feel it?
It happened about 6:30 tonight. I was driving home after taking one child to tae kwan do, and had carpool duty for the little ballerina and her friends at the same time. Both boys were in the car, begging to be let out as soon as we were within running distance of our neighborhood.
Apparently the soundtrack from Glee, combined with the high-pitched chatter of three little girls, was causing their heads to explode off their bodies.
I gave in today, as I was just too tired to fight them on it.
After dropping off the noisy ballerinas, I headed home, fervently wracking my brain for a dinner plan that did not include the words "Subway" or "Mc" anything. Unfortunately, the brain wracking was not netting me any brilliant ideas.
Tired, with feet hurting, I opened the door to the house and was met by a light, sweet scent. I set my purse and keys by the door and walked through the mudroom towards the kitchen. And then I stopped, a lump caught in my throat.
There were my boys. Cooking dinner. All by themselves.
This was a real first. And my mind could not help but flash back to a time when I'd walk in the door and frequently find my boys doing this instead:
But here today, these once-terrors grew up just little a bit, right before my eyes. As I watched McKay confidently flipping the pancakes, and Chase at the stove scrambling some eggs, I got a little teary eyed. I thought back to those hard nights where it was all I could do to not fall down in a puddle of tears before bedtime rolled around. Days spent wrestling them in store checkout lines and then fearfully chasing after them in crowded parking lots. Wondering if they'd be this way forever.
Wondering how I would survive if they were.
But tonight they looked older to me than they ever have before. Chatting pleasantly with each other, they worked together doing such a grown up task. Taking it upon themselves to do something they knew would make my life just a little bit easier. It was a brief window into the men they are becoming. Men who have good hearts. Hearts at home in their sweet, pure souls. I stood there in the shadows, soaking it all in. A tear spilled out, and I caught it before it trickled down my cheek and betrayed my sudden rush of emotions.
Then all at once, Hannah brushed by me, threw off her coat and scrambled up to the bar.
"Yay! Pancakes!"
Yay pancakes, indeed.
It happened about 6:30 tonight. I was driving home after taking one child to tae kwan do, and had carpool duty for the little ballerina and her friends at the same time. Both boys were in the car, begging to be let out as soon as we were within running distance of our neighborhood.
Apparently the soundtrack from Glee, combined with the high-pitched chatter of three little girls, was causing their heads to explode off their bodies.
I gave in today, as I was just too tired to fight them on it.
After dropping off the noisy ballerinas, I headed home, fervently wracking my brain for a dinner plan that did not include the words "Subway" or "Mc" anything. Unfortunately, the brain wracking was not netting me any brilliant ideas.
Tired, with feet hurting, I opened the door to the house and was met by a light, sweet scent. I set my purse and keys by the door and walked through the mudroom towards the kitchen. And then I stopped, a lump caught in my throat.
There were my boys. Cooking dinner. All by themselves.
This was a real first. And my mind could not help but flash back to a time when I'd walk in the door and frequently find my boys doing this instead:
But here today, these once-terrors grew up just little a bit, right before my eyes. As I watched McKay confidently flipping the pancakes, and Chase at the stove scrambling some eggs, I got a little teary eyed. I thought back to those hard nights where it was all I could do to not fall down in a puddle of tears before bedtime rolled around. Days spent wrestling them in store checkout lines and then fearfully chasing after them in crowded parking lots. Wondering if they'd be this way forever.
Wondering how I would survive if they were.
But tonight they looked older to me than they ever have before. Chatting pleasantly with each other, they worked together doing such a grown up task. Taking it upon themselves to do something they knew would make my life just a little bit easier. It was a brief window into the men they are becoming. Men who have good hearts. Hearts at home in their sweet, pure souls. I stood there in the shadows, soaking it all in. A tear spilled out, and I caught it before it trickled down my cheek and betrayed my sudden rush of emotions.
Then all at once, Hannah brushed by me, threw off her coat and scrambled up to the bar.
"Yay! Pancakes!"
Yay pancakes, indeed.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Thankful
Why, hello there, little blog. Miss me?
I am just unpacking, laundering, and detoxing from four days spent off the grid with our cousins from the east in Amish Country, Ohio. While having no cell or internet service whatsoever was a wee bit inconvenient at times, this was my view first thing every morning:
We stayed once again in these charming little cottages smack dab in the middle of a working Amish farm. Our kids spent approximately 18 hours outside every single day and got so dirty it made my mama heart warm. They hiked through fields. They shot bows and arrows. They ran hard. They slept hard. We sat with our husbands around a table and laughed until our sides split.
It was a little taste of heaven.
The farm also allowed our kids to indulge their inner pet ownership fantasies, as the two farm dogs kind of adopted them. One of the dogs is missing a leg, and we respectfully dubbed him Tripod (though his real name was Tango). We suspect he lost the leg while trying to win a race with an Amish horse buggy. He tends to be a little reckless, this one.
Tripod's companion on the farm is a small four-legged dog that our kids called Little Dog (creative naming geniuses at work, clearly). Little Dog sometimes lifts that fourth leg up and runs on only three legs. We think he does it so Tripod won't feel left out. You know, with his disability and all.
Everybody needs a friend like that.
It makes me wonder why I ever spend the holiday cooking for days at a time.
Plus, it was sinfully delicious and sent us all into that magical tryptophan coma.
On our way home, we stopped in to see some very good friends, and felt sad leaving, as there just wasn't enough time spent with them. It was like we had been together yesterday, instead of four years ago. It was so easy to pick up right where we left off. We drooled over their fabulous home, gorgeous boys, and shared a meal like old times. Remind me sometime to tell you my favorite story of our friend, Chris. He's a good man, that one. He and Emily are the best.
A lot of hours on the road later, and we are home safe and sound. There is mud in every crevice of my children's jeans, a pile of mail to go through, and a million calls and emails to return. But I find my heart is full from the love of it all - good friends, family, simplicity, and time.
I feel so blessed.
I am just unpacking, laundering, and detoxing from four days spent off the grid with our cousins from the east in Amish Country, Ohio. While having no cell or internet service whatsoever was a wee bit inconvenient at times, this was my view first thing every morning:
We stayed once again in these charming little cottages smack dab in the middle of a working Amish farm. Our kids spent approximately 18 hours outside every single day and got so dirty it made my mama heart warm. They hiked through fields. They shot bows and arrows. They ran hard. They slept hard. We sat with our husbands around a table and laughed until our sides split.
It was a little taste of heaven.
The farm also allowed our kids to indulge their inner pet ownership fantasies, as the two farm dogs kind of adopted them. One of the dogs is missing a leg, and we respectfully dubbed him Tripod (though his real name was Tango). We suspect he lost the leg while trying to win a race with an Amish horse buggy. He tends to be a little reckless, this one.
Tripod's companion on the farm is a small four-legged dog that our kids called Little Dog (creative naming geniuses at work, clearly). Little Dog sometimes lifts that fourth leg up and runs on only three legs. We think he does it so Tripod won't feel left out. You know, with his disability and all.
Everybody needs a friend like that.
It makes me wonder why I ever spend the holiday cooking for days at a time.
Plus, it was sinfully delicious and sent us all into that magical tryptophan coma.
On our way home, we stopped in to see some very good friends, and felt sad leaving, as there just wasn't enough time spent with them. It was like we had been together yesterday, instead of four years ago. It was so easy to pick up right where we left off. We drooled over their fabulous home, gorgeous boys, and shared a meal like old times. Remind me sometime to tell you my favorite story of our friend, Chris. He's a good man, that one. He and Emily are the best.
A lot of hours on the road later, and we are home safe and sound. There is mud in every crevice of my children's jeans, a pile of mail to go through, and a million calls and emails to return. But I find my heart is full from the love of it all - good friends, family, simplicity, and time.
I feel so blessed.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Thirty-six
Today, I am thirty-six.
Lots of people asked me today how I felt about turning over yet another year. And do you know what I said?
I feel so damn good.
For sure, my thirties are a lot more fun than my twenties. In my thirties, I no longer have to change diapers. Most nights I get a full eight hours of sleep. I feel more confident - like I am finally at home in my own skin. My wrinkles are not yet prominent enough to be requiring the botox. And I am slightly less concerned with how large my rear end is than I was in my twenties.
Only slightly.
But still. That's something, right?
Plus, I am actually getting paid to do something I love to do, on my own terms. I spend approximately seven hours every day all by myself. I have three beautiful kids who I can't wait to see at the end of those seven hours. I have a husband who, though out of town today, made sure to send two of my favorite birthday things: Cash and flowers.
I have friends who went above and beyond to make me feel loved and adored today. Friends that are like family. I have actual family who called and texted the birthday love. I have the Book of Face (which happily announces your birthday for you), thereby leading many old and new friends to wish me a happy day.
So as I sit here tonight, proofing pictures from a fabulously rich weekend in Philly, my new favorite soundtrack (Glee) is playing softly in the background, and I can't help but notice it --
I am just so blessed.
Can't wait to see what thirty-six has in store for me.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The Funeral
I huddled under the large umbrella, wishing for a lull in the endless, gray rain. Goosebumps covered my bare arms, and I found my thoughts drifting to the jacket that I knew I should have brought along. Hannah's tiny hand clasps mine, and the Husband shifts his weight from one leg to another restlessly. I watch as dirt is shoveled solemnly onto the tiny coffin. Nearby, the forlorn sound of Taps signals that the time has come for us to do what we came here to do. I reach my arms out and hold him as he cries. With each wracking sob, my heart aches for my little boy and this loss. I hate for any of my children to face mortality.
Yes. Even the mortality of pet hermit crabs.
As I stood barefoot in the rain yesterday at the funeral of Chase's hermit crab, I grumbled at the absurdity of it all. I winced as McKay played Taps on the trumpet, hitting a particularly painful high note, one that pierced my eardrums to the core. I fought the urge to snap hatefully as Hannah hung on me and whined for dinner. I glanced around shamefully, hoping none of the neighbors were watching.
And then it occurred to me: Is this really my life?
I flashed back to my 15-year-old self and remembered wistfully some of the dreams I had for myself. I wanted to travel ALL. THE. TIME. I was going to be thin and rich. I would never have bad hair and would certainly not be scrubbing my own toilets. I may or may not have thought I was going to marry Johnny Depp.
No one ever told me about these kinds of days.
The days where you feel pulled like a rubber band - stretched in so many directions that you fear the sheer pressure of it all will cause something in you to snap. Wondering just how many more seconds you can take before you lose it and scream at them all.
But then, almost all at once, it changes.
It softens somehow, my heart.
I look at the tear-stained face of my sweet son, see that his heart is breaking, and I know that I would move heaven and earth to ease his pain for just a moment. I look over and smile at the thoughtfulness of my oldest child, paying respects in the only way he knows how. Not because he loved or cared for the stupid little crab himself, but because he knows it was important to his brother.
My eyes suddenly fill with tears at the realization of just how strong the bond between them is. That for all my failings as a mother, I know that these boys love each other fiercely, and maybe, just maybe, a small part of that is because of me.
I bend down and scoop up that hungry, scrawny, seven-year-old girl, getting an eyeful of her jack o-lantern teeth on the way, and remember what it was like to be her age. I briefly wonder if I drove my own mother crazy with my nonstop chatter, and feel pretty sure that I whined and complained while having to wait for dinner myself.
And all at once, I realize something wonderful. At age seven, waiting for dinner is pretty much her biggest problem in life. I silently pray in gratitude at the sheer providence in my life because of that.
Then my eyes meet the Husband's on the way inside the house, and we share a smile of understanding, of solidarity for these little creatures that have become our life. And I think, surely, he knows just how desperately I still love him after 15 years together. I vow that I will show and tell him more often, just in case he has forgotten it.
Maybe this wasn't the life I pictured as a love-sick teenager, mooning and dreaming over what would be. But do you know what?
It's so much freaking better.
Yes. Even the mortality of pet hermit crabs.
As I stood barefoot in the rain yesterday at the funeral of Chase's hermit crab, I grumbled at the absurdity of it all. I winced as McKay played Taps on the trumpet, hitting a particularly painful high note, one that pierced my eardrums to the core. I fought the urge to snap hatefully as Hannah hung on me and whined for dinner. I glanced around shamefully, hoping none of the neighbors were watching.
And then it occurred to me: Is this really my life?
I flashed back to my 15-year-old self and remembered wistfully some of the dreams I had for myself. I wanted to travel ALL. THE. TIME. I was going to be thin and rich. I would never have bad hair and would certainly not be scrubbing my own toilets. I may or may not have thought I was going to marry Johnny Depp.
No one ever told me about these kinds of days.
The days where you feel pulled like a rubber band - stretched in so many directions that you fear the sheer pressure of it all will cause something in you to snap. Wondering just how many more seconds you can take before you lose it and scream at them all.
But then, almost all at once, it changes.
It softens somehow, my heart.
I look at the tear-stained face of my sweet son, see that his heart is breaking, and I know that I would move heaven and earth to ease his pain for just a moment. I look over and smile at the thoughtfulness of my oldest child, paying respects in the only way he knows how. Not because he loved or cared for the stupid little crab himself, but because he knows it was important to his brother.
My eyes suddenly fill with tears at the realization of just how strong the bond between them is. That for all my failings as a mother, I know that these boys love each other fiercely, and maybe, just maybe, a small part of that is because of me.
I bend down and scoop up that hungry, scrawny, seven-year-old girl, getting an eyeful of her jack o-lantern teeth on the way, and remember what it was like to be her age. I briefly wonder if I drove my own mother crazy with my nonstop chatter, and feel pretty sure that I whined and complained while having to wait for dinner myself.
And all at once, I realize something wonderful. At age seven, waiting for dinner is pretty much her biggest problem in life. I silently pray in gratitude at the sheer providence in my life because of that.
Then my eyes meet the Husband's on the way inside the house, and we share a smile of understanding, of solidarity for these little creatures that have become our life. And I think, surely, he knows just how desperately I still love him after 15 years together. I vow that I will show and tell him more often, just in case he has forgotten it.
Maybe this wasn't the life I pictured as a love-sick teenager, mooning and dreaming over what would be. But do you know what?
It's so much freaking better.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Counting my blessings again
I have nothing for you here, my friends, but can send you elsewhere today for some of my words.
Mormon Women is featuring a post I wrote over a year ago that was definitely life-altering. Go check it out if you haven't read it yet or read it again if you need a reminder for yourself, like me, that somebody is watching out for you.
I still get chills when I think about what could have been. And I still tear up when I wonder why it wasn't.
God is good. And He blessed my little family in a very simple, yet profound, way.
Happy pretend Monday.
Mormon Women is featuring a post I wrote over a year ago that was definitely life-altering. Go check it out if you haven't read it yet or read it again if you need a reminder for yourself, like me, that somebody is watching out for you.
I still get chills when I think about what could have been. And I still tear up when I wonder why it wasn't.
God is good. And He blessed my little family in a very simple, yet profound, way.
Happy pretend Monday.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Bliss
I am startled out of sleep by the loud, merciless beeps. It is chilly this morning, and the tiny warm body in my bed is snuggled up close, stealing my body heat. I smile at her tangled mass of hair and wonder how she makes that perfect rock star hair in her sleep. I sigh and hit the snooze button at least three times before I can force myself out from under the warm covers.
I strip down and stand on the scale. I smile, for today it has been kind to me. I pull on the workout gear and slip into my pink, fuzzy slippers. I plod down the hall to wake the boys. As usual, they are already up. Up, at the crack of dawn.
Just like their father.
I chuckle and shake my head in awe, not comprehending how it is they manage to wake so early every day. And do it so cheerfully, too.
At breakfast, their sleepy faces start to light up as they speculate about the upcoming day. I take the morning poll and find out who is bringing and who is buying. I can almost always predict this, even without asking. Today they all surprise me and want to bring.
I suspect it has something to do with the pan of brownies on the counter.
I do dishes. I pack lunches. I blow dry the now smooth and very un-rock star-like hair. I smile and listen as she chatters on about every boy and girl in her class. I love her endless chatter, and silently wonder if everyone is lucky as I am.
I tie shoes. I zip backpacks. I look over and notice that both boys have a peanut butter smile on their cheeks. I laugh and send them in for a wash. I wipe counters. I sweep floors. I give hugs. I give kisses. I miss them already.
I stand at the door and wave. I watch the big, yellow bus take them from me, as it does each morning. I pray in my heart for their safety and happiness, as I do hundreds of times a day.
I sigh, content.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
I strip down and stand on the scale. I smile, for today it has been kind to me. I pull on the workout gear and slip into my pink, fuzzy slippers. I plod down the hall to wake the boys. As usual, they are already up. Up, at the crack of dawn.
Just like their father.
I chuckle and shake my head in awe, not comprehending how it is they manage to wake so early every day. And do it so cheerfully, too.
At breakfast, their sleepy faces start to light up as they speculate about the upcoming day. I take the morning poll and find out who is bringing and who is buying. I can almost always predict this, even without asking. Today they all surprise me and want to bring.
I suspect it has something to do with the pan of brownies on the counter.
I do dishes. I pack lunches. I blow dry the now smooth and very un-rock star-like hair. I smile and listen as she chatters on about every boy and girl in her class. I love her endless chatter, and silently wonder if everyone is lucky as I am.
I tie shoes. I zip backpacks. I look over and notice that both boys have a peanut butter smile on their cheeks. I laugh and send them in for a wash. I wipe counters. I sweep floors. I give hugs. I give kisses. I miss them already.
I stand at the door and wave. I watch the big, yellow bus take them from me, as it does each morning. I pray in my heart for their safety and happiness, as I do hundreds of times a day.
I sigh, content.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
My favorite time of day
I think I love the half-hour after dinner, showers, and PJ's the best. The dishes are usually done. The kids all smell nice and clean. The house is silent, but for the sweet little voice of this girl, reading out loud to her mama. Our favorite lately is anything Junie B. Jones. But we laughed ourselves silly at this old classic the other day.
The quiet is briefly interrupted by one of these wily fellows, wanting to share something funny from their books, or stumbling upon a word they're not quite sure of. 
The day's cares have melted away. There is a look of contentment on each of their faces, as they are immersed in one of my favorite worlds - the wonderful world of books. 
I have raised three readers, and I might just think myself a success for fact that alone.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
A simple reminder
Last night, I had something happen which confirms to me what I know, but sometimes choose to forget.
I should preface this story by telling you about my sleep habits. I am a deep sleeper. I know as a mother, that is usually an oxymoron. Mothers are not deep sleepers. Mothers will wake at the sound of a slight cough, while Fathers will sleep through the earthquakes and thunderstorms.
It hasn't always been this way for me. When my babies were small, all it took was a little stirring in the newborn crib, and I was up, rushing to their side. If someone so much as sighed in their sleep, it woke me up.
Not so much anymore.
I find that when my head hits the pillow, I am OUT. I often barely wake as the Husband is heading out the door for early morning flights or going into the office (a fact which does annoy him to no end). I love my sleep. I NEED my sleep.
Me and the sunrise? Not good friends. We've never actually met.
And it is that fact which makes this experience all the more amazing to me.
Last night, probably around two or three in the morning, I sat bolt upright in bed. I was awake and conscious, but was not sure what had woken me up. I then felt the strong need to go into my boys' bedroom.
There, in the middle of my two sleeping sons, I saw that their lamp was on, and the shade was tilted, resting on the hot light bulb. There was smoke rising from the lamp, as the heat from the light was burning a hole in the side of the lampshade. I immediately went over and pulled the smoldering shade off, and unplugged the lamp. Not even recognizing the significance then, I went back to bed. Even as I crawled back under the covers, the what-ifs still had not hit me. Like a lug, I was back to sleep in an instant.
It was only when my eyes first opened this morning that I realized and thought about what might have been. What could have happened, had I not been pulled from a deep sleep, and directed into their room. Today, in the light of day, I have a pit in my stomach as my imagination has run wild with the horrible what-ifs.
I know that lamp was off when we went to bed. We always tuck the kids in, turn off their lights, and pry books out from under their heavy arms. Always. The only thing I can think of is that one of the boys must have gotten up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and turned on the bedside lamp in the process.
So, why did I wake up? There were no smoke alarms going off, no bright lights in my eyes. No noise from stumbling kids. Why?
Well, I'm a dummy if I don't know why.
I do know why.
My Heavenly Father woke me up, directed me to their bedroom, and helped prevent anything bad from happening to my sweet boys.
Simple as that.
What is not so simple now is the overwhelming feeling of love and protection that I have in my heart today. In this great big world of ours, someone loves me. Someone loves my family. Someone is watching over us. He really is. Even in the middle of the night, when a simple lamp shade is turned too far the wrong way.
Today I am grateful. I am grateful to know that He loves me. That He is aware of me. He is watching over me, and my sleeping angels. Even though I swear sometimes. Even though I complain about having to go to church on really pretty Sunday afternoons. Even though I get annoyed with my kids. Even though I tend to tuck my spirituality away, and pretend it's not there. He still loves me. He still loves us.
I just wanted to share that with you, in case, like me, you had forgotten, too.
I should preface this story by telling you about my sleep habits. I am a deep sleeper. I know as a mother, that is usually an oxymoron. Mothers are not deep sleepers. Mothers will wake at the sound of a slight cough, while Fathers will sleep through the earthquakes and thunderstorms.
It hasn't always been this way for me. When my babies were small, all it took was a little stirring in the newborn crib, and I was up, rushing to their side. If someone so much as sighed in their sleep, it woke me up.
Not so much anymore.
I find that when my head hits the pillow, I am OUT. I often barely wake as the Husband is heading out the door for early morning flights or going into the office (a fact which does annoy him to no end). I love my sleep. I NEED my sleep.
Me and the sunrise? Not good friends. We've never actually met.
And it is that fact which makes this experience all the more amazing to me.
Last night, probably around two or three in the morning, I sat bolt upright in bed. I was awake and conscious, but was not sure what had woken me up. I then felt the strong need to go into my boys' bedroom.
There, in the middle of my two sleeping sons, I saw that their lamp was on, and the shade was tilted, resting on the hot light bulb. There was smoke rising from the lamp, as the heat from the light was burning a hole in the side of the lampshade. I immediately went over and pulled the smoldering shade off, and unplugged the lamp. Not even recognizing the significance then, I went back to bed. Even as I crawled back under the covers, the what-ifs still had not hit me. Like a lug, I was back to sleep in an instant.
It was only when my eyes first opened this morning that I realized and thought about what might have been. What could have happened, had I not been pulled from a deep sleep, and directed into their room. Today, in the light of day, I have a pit in my stomach as my imagination has run wild with the horrible what-ifs.
I know that lamp was off when we went to bed. We always tuck the kids in, turn off their lights, and pry books out from under their heavy arms. Always. The only thing I can think of is that one of the boys must have gotten up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and turned on the bedside lamp in the process.
So, why did I wake up? There were no smoke alarms going off, no bright lights in my eyes. No noise from stumbling kids. Why?
Well, I'm a dummy if I don't know why.
I do know why.
My Heavenly Father woke me up, directed me to their bedroom, and helped prevent anything bad from happening to my sweet boys.
Simple as that.
What is not so simple now is the overwhelming feeling of love and protection that I have in my heart today. In this great big world of ours, someone loves me. Someone loves my family. Someone is watching over us. He really is. Even in the middle of the night, when a simple lamp shade is turned too far the wrong way.
Today I am grateful. I am grateful to know that He loves me. That He is aware of me. He is watching over me, and my sleeping angels. Even though I swear sometimes. Even though I complain about having to go to church on really pretty Sunday afternoons. Even though I get annoyed with my kids. Even though I tend to tuck my spirituality away, and pretend it's not there. He still loves me. He still loves us.
I just wanted to share that with you, in case, like me, you had forgotten, too.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)