monday laser surgery

a pudgy little hand and a little chocolate around the corners of his mouth.
something spilled on his sweatshirt.
long eyelashes.
chubby cheeks.

An IPod and head phones...who knew.

:::::

This morning he took a little Lego light saber and pretended to laser off the age spots on my hands. Isn't that thoughtful? He would say, "This will hurt just a little bit...zzzz...zzzzt."

I was almost convinced it was working so I sat very still.
This is a good start to a (finally) sunny day.

Happy Monday, friends.

past halfway

21 weeks

We are past halfway to meeting her.
Pregnancy, for me anyway, is one of those things that goes
both too fast and too slow,
mixing itself up to be just the right amount of time.

I think back to seeing that faint line on the test, way back in October
and it was yesterday and soooo long ago.

Before we know it, she'll be here and we'll be looking at her like
she was always here
and that seems really far away,
before we know it.

It's just the right amount of fast and slow and then
there will be this soft and holy HELLO.

She kicked right below my belly button right when I typed that. She did. Or maybe it was a hello punch. I'm not sure, of course. But it was just right.

one way or the other

{those of you who have been around awhile will recognize this post. It was originally posted on 9.23.09 and came to be known as The Dust Bunny post. I share it again today because it's Valentine's Day and so I'm reminded that love is best when the darkest places are uncovered.}



There are dust bunnies. So many. They are under the bed and in me, scurrying across the wooden floors of my home and my heart. They are moving much too fast through the empty, bumping into toys and crayons and dried up play-doh, then coming to a weary stop.

It seems no matter how we try to keep up with them, they are winning. So we sweep up only the ones that are out in the open and then we leave the house, coming and going with the living of everyday life.

We could hold them out in the palms of our hands to show that we have them, but the bunnies float and they spin and we can't seem to catch them. We push them under the rugs to hold them still.

We ignore them.

We force them to unnoticed parts of our cluttered minds, and move on to do the easier, the more manageable and mundane things. We go through the motions.

This thinking I'm doing about dust bunnies and life began the other day when Ryan was playing with the boys on our bed, wrestling. Arms and legs were flailing and there were giggles and shrieks.

Then Ryan's coffee mug was knocked to the floor by one of those flailing feet or hands. It fell with a crash, shattering off the nightstand and splashing into a large puddle under our bed. Coffee covered the floor and chased the bunnies.

So we stopped the easier things we were doing and lifted the bedside table, we wiped clean the unseen places, sliding as far as we could across the wood floor under the bed, on our bellies, reaching. It seemed like a gallon of coffee under there, dripping down the walls and oozing into the floorboards.

I sighed and sat back as I saw all the other things that needed cleaning while I was there. Something sticky, dog hair, and those dreaded dust bunnies.

The more I look, the less I want to do this, I thought.

We did not rot the floorboards by leaving that mess that seemed too big. Instead, we were knees to the floor, uncovering the darkest places so long ignored. And then the stubborn bunnies rose in protest, making it even harder. Oh, how they hurried and hunkered with each reach of the broom or rag. They fought to find their way back to the darkest corners, annoyed at being forced out and up.

So we tried harder, we took to chasing them down and wiping them out.

We were cleaning up the dark places, together.

It needed to be done.

It's much easier to walk away from those same kind of ignored places between us, the ones that itch at the subconscious and tug at the heart, the ones swept under rugs. But even when that goes on too long, unexpectedly but certainly, a destructive wind of change will blow in. The kind of blast that forces us to look under the bed and into the dark corners, because of all that shattered glass.

Then we lift up the rugs, letting up the dusty air, revealing what we've told ourselves is just fine the way it is when it's not.

It breaks the quiet that's not really peace after all.

It pulls the bunnies from under the rug and puts them in the palms of our hands where we cannot deny them, where we have to grasp them and then take them away from our home, from ourselves.

Sometimes we remember to keep working at a clean house, belly crawling and then grasping and releasing before it all gets out of hand.

At other times, we find ourselves strangely thankful for spilled coffee and broken glass, for the overwhelming messes that pull us down to the dark places, to take a look and make a change.

:::::

Happy Valentine's Day to my Sweetie, the guy who cleans up with me in so many ways. And Happy Valentine's Day to each of you. Thank you for being here.

xoxo

she

Her profile is so much like her oldest brother's profile. I wonder if she'll be more like him, or more like Asher? Or just plain different than all of us? For now all we know is that her profile is a lot like her oldest brother's profile, a boy who will turn six the week after she is born.

Ryan and I walked through aisles yesterday and we talked about six years ago. We carried that registering-for-baby-things-gun that beeps. (Yes, we created a registry for a third baby. We did. For moms and grandmas to know what we need, since we did that thing where we got rid of everything somewhere between colic and hydrocephalus...or maybe that was after...whenever it was it was obviously too soon, but we thought we knew we were done. Stress will do that to you...until time passes...I think I'm rambling like this because registering feels greedy even if it's really not...)

It's funny how we realize now how little we need compared to what we thought we needed those six years ago. Back then, when Miles was coming, I think we beeped everything in every aisle. This time we beeped one or two things here and there and kept in mind that we really don't need much. People would stop us to try to give us advice, assuming that this was our first baby, and we wouldn't correct them, we'd just smile and say thank you.

Because just as much as this isn't new to us, every new person is new. She is new.

She.

I can't wait to see what she'll be like.

Asher and his sister belly

(photo taken with my Droid-Retro Camera app)

Batmen and Superman Girl

They went back and forth. Asher said their sister was going to be Superman Girl and Miles tried to correct him with, No Asher. It's SuperGIRL. He'd say, OH! and then say it "wrong" again. Superman Girl.

I love eavesdropping.

Yeah, we're all over here just trying to figure this out. The beautiful reality is slowly settling in...
There's a girl cooking in my belly right now and there's no way I don't know that because the ultrasound tech kept saying "See that little hamburger bun?!?" over and over and over...

(I will never hear "a bun in the oven" quite the same way ever again. Just saying.)

Yup, there's the girl anatomy! WE GET IT! WE GET IT!

I mean, we were already so surprised and we just wanted to keep looking at each other saying "WOW" and "WOW" and "NO WAY" and then she just kept saying hamburger bun.

Anyway...

That is not the point of this post. It's a random side note...because I'm good at those. The point of this post is actually a big thank you. You know what? I continue to be so honored and humbled that you're here, visiting my Lego man and me, my words, my stories. I don't assume you're here all the time, we're all busy and this is just blogging. But I appreciate every single second you take the time to check in, to see what's up with me. I really do.

When I scroll through the comments from my last post and I see that so many of you took the time to share in this baby girl excitement, all I want to do is sit and visit with each of you. I honestly wish that I could.

:::::

Also.

I want to always remember the moment when we told the boys they're having a sister.
They'd been out in the waiting room with their Uncle K during the ultrasound and when we came out, all three of them were bursting a bit at the seams. Their eyes were all anticipation and there was a lot of bouncing going on. (Uncle K didn't bounce much, but the boys sure did.)

Asher kept asking, "What kind of baby is in there, Mama? What kind?!?"

So we took them out in the hall and I bent down close to both of their faces and I told them they're going to have to work really hard at getting strong. I said that they're both like super heros and they need to be the biggest protectors of their...(long dramatic pause)

LITTLE SISTER!!!

*cue more bouncing and more big smiling*

Then Miles looked a little disappointed, because right before the appointment he professed his want for another brother. I asked him if our news was good news and he said no. So I told him that a sister doesn't really mean everything in our house will be pink and then I explained that she'll probably like boy toys like he does, and it doesn't mean he has to play with girl toys.

Then he looked all relieved and everything was fine. He decided to like having a sister.

Asher? He thinks it's especially cool, girl or boy, that he gets to be called a BIG brother.

Of course, we're all just super happy that the baby on that screen, with a joyously drum-beating little heart and other working parts, looks completely healthy. She's a total Superman Girl.

:::::

FINALLY, I sort of kind of totally forgot to announce the winner of the Pleated Poppy giveaway. I apologize, I was totally distracted.

The winner is Suzannah from So Much Shouting, So Much Laughter. Random.org chose commenter #2. Congrats, Suzannah!

Maybe it was an episode of Touched By An Angel (in which we play the people who can't think)

I got home from Nashville last night wiped out and ready-ready-ready to sit with my boys. We read books and talked about the last few days and we watched some sort of superhero dog movie. We were so happy to see each other, and I swear to you, they aged a year while I was gone. Thicker and longer and deeper and wiser. It's insane.

Later, after the boys were in bed, Ryan said, I still don't know how you guys did that. He was referring to a story I told him the night before. I said that what we had done makes perfect sense to me--that Katherine and Ellie and I would have such a day with such an ending on our final day together in Nashville. I mean, we attended a conference with approximately 600-something other women, and as much fun as that is, it's also exhausting. It does things to you that are similar to newborn sleep-deprived-brain. So by Saturday, after having been at the conference for four or five days, we were all experiencing some serious brain deficiencies.

It all started with the three of us standing in front of the Opryland Hotel talking with some young men from the hotel's transportation company. They pushed steered us toward using their company rather than a taxi to go spend a few hours in Nashville. We agreed to do just that because everything they were saying was only semi-clear, blurred by our exhausted and slow-to-snap synapses.

You want to go to Hillsboro Village? That's just a mall, they said.
OH. Weird. We don't want a mall. We were told it was a hip little neighborhood.
Yeah, you don't want that area...you want (such and such and such)...
OH. Okay. Take us there then.

We ended up being dropped off in a Borders bookstore parking lot with a Have fun ladies and just call a half hour before you want to come back and we'll get you right away.

We stood in the parking lot and looked up and down the street. We saw McDonald's and Taco Bell and what seemed like a million other chain restaurants and stores. We had wanted and requested Nashville charm, so we started to walk to look for it, confused as to why the young men from the transportation company would think this location matched our "kitschy and quaint" request.

We walked and walked and found nothing we hoped for and while we did, the pregnant one among us (that's me!) grew hungrier and fussier and quieter. So we sat on a curb and looked at smart phones, begging them to tell us of a very nearby eating joint that wasn't a chain, something unique to Nashville.

We thought we found something promising, but it was too far to walk, so we grabbed a cab. (cha-ching!) We gave the cab driver the address and he said (I kid you not) Where is that? We answered with something along the lines of uuum, maybe just follow the numbers on the buildings or the order of the streets or something.

It turned out it didn't really matter where it was because it was closed. 11:30 on a Saturday...closed.
So we three weary ones stood in front of the dark building on a curb and tried to figure out what to do next, hoping for less cha-ching and more AH-HA.

We started walking again, heels and soles slapping the sidewalk and big sighs our only other sounds. (Seriously, we were mopey.)

Then...hope arrived (or so we thought) in the shape of a rectangle sign and letters painted in the color red, pronouncing--"Named Nashville's best restaurant 3 years in a row!"

We thought we'd finally hit the jackpot, even if the neighborhood was nothing like we'd hoped for, so we followed the sign's arrow and came to a door, a door that read,

Gone Fishing.

(True story.)

Our six shoulders slumped and we started to wonder if maybe we had spent far too much money for a round-trip ride only to give up and go back to the hotel with no idea what else to do...Yes, we were about to give up...

And then a couple walked toward us, fresh from their car, on their way to doing their Saturday things. We stopped them and asked them kindly for help, could they please point us in the way of a Nashville area that's more..."Nashville-y"?

They started by saying we'd been dropped off in the totally wrong place and then they tried to explain how we needed to go right and then left and then right again (or something like that) and they were pointing far away and my head got all fuzzy and I was thinking about how there's NO way we could walk that far while being that hungry and disoriented and then they said it...

How about we just bring you over there?

We let out a collective REALLY? (Probably a bit too loudly.)
Then they opened the doors to their car for us and they climbed in front and asked all about us, interested and kind. On the ride talked about being at a blogging conference called Blissdom and they understood that and had even heard about it, rather than the usual, "What does that mean?" We felt totally safe (no worries Mom!) and loved being with someone who knew where they were going when we had felt so lost.

We pulled up to just the kind of neighborhood we'd been looking for, with great little gift shops, book stores, ice cream and coffee shops and hole-in-the-wall eateries.

The BookWoman bookstore

We went straight to eating and I had the best salad of my life and we talked and shopped and strolled, all thanks to our Nashville stranger-angel friends, Matt and Lisa.

Jackson's Bar and Bistro

Later, about a half hour before we needed to go back to the hotel, I called for our return ride.
Then a cheerful voice responded with, I'm sorry, it will be well over an hour, probably an hour and a half or longer, until we can get there...we're on a shift change.

Greeeeaaaat.

So we sat and waited...and waited...and waited...
We talked, we felt really sleepy and we talked some more. We grew more impatient and frustrated, having such a bad experience with our expensive transportation.

We were sitting silently for a moment, watching the traffic go by when Katherine suddenly said, I KNOW WHAT WE SHOULD HAVE....done...her words trailed off and her face turned sheepish and then her hands came up to cover her eyes...

What? WHAT? What is it? Ellie and I laughed and watched her, ready for something but not expecting this:

You guys? she said. I have a car here....I drove to Nashville!

The End.

Katherine

Ellie

P.S. Here's the thing, friends. Not only had Katherine forgotten (as we stood in the hotel parking lot trying to figure out our transportation) that her car was in the parking lot, but we all had this conversation at that very same time:

When are you driving home, Katherine?
Tomorrow morning.
Oh. How nice that you're close enough to drive.

(and stuff like that)
(then we turned to the guys and asked if we could get a cab)
(I told you we were tired)

The Real End.

Oh wait. Just kidding. Not done. WE HAVE OUR ULTRASOUND TOMORROW!!!

Really REALLY The End.

16.5 weeks

Now. Can you imagine what that belly is going to look like at 30 weeks? 35?
I can tell you. It's going to look full. And it's probably going to cover two more rows of tiles on the wall.

And then I'll have a baby. We will have a baby. That's cool.

It will be a boy baby or a girl baby, we don't know yet. But I'll tell you on February 1st.

Word.

ya gotta do what'cha gotta do

He didn't want to go outside when Miles asked. He wanted nothing to do with it, actually.

Until he remembered what happens when they come in from outside.
His thoughts were something like this...Oh yeah...the warm-up cocoa...
which brought on
this...

{as he's running away he's saying, and then I really want hot cocoa}

{and that little blip of me at the end is from an old video I posted and am now trying to record over. Please forgive}

{and just pretend my storage space office is super clean and orderly}

So. We put on pants and then socks and then snow pants and then a coat and then he added a scarf (of mine) and then a hat (of Daddy's) and then two mismatched mittens and then boots and then he went out for no longer than 5 minutes and then he was back at the sliding glass door shouting for cocoa.

And I quote, "I want cocoooaaaa, it's sooo coooold." (Repeat x 5)

The End.


P.S. All credit for that rockin' cool new blog header up there goes to my friend Sarah, who saved me from trying to do things I don't know how to do by doing them for me because she knows how to do them. And another thank you to the lovely Ann Imig, who came up with a tag line that I love. My heart. My gut. My boys. Indeed. And finally, a photo credit is due--Miles (yes, my very own 5 year old), my photog, snapped this Lego man photo on his very own. He's a genius.

again and again

Everything keeps coming out wrong. I try to write what this week held and I just can't. I feel that way about going downstairs to change the laundry, too. I think of doing it and then I just can't. I walk to the bed and lie down instead, like it's the only option in the world. That's what I do sometimes.

I suppose it's pregnancy hormones or the winter blues. It just feels extra cold and dark in every way lately and then when hard things happen, they feel extra hard. My thoughts get too heavy behind my eyes and then I just can't pick up the book or the phone or write it out or play slap jack again. Or go downstairs for the laundry.

Something strange is happening though, because I don't feel like a horrible person or even a horrible mother over it. This is new. Usually I'm very very good at the guilty thoughts that make it even worse.

~~~~~

The boys and I watched part of Harry and the Hendersons yesterday. I had completely forgotten that movie, since it's from the 80's and that means it's been a while. I forgot that the beginning is kind of scary, with this big hairy guy that looks like a monster getting hit by the family car and all that.

Asher reached over and took my hand and pulled it over his other hand and he whispered, Mommy, keep touching me.

So I did, as long as he needed, I did.
It didn't take long for him to not need the grasping. He went on to laugh at Harry, the furry family friend, and forgot his fear. And I thought about how we all need that. We all need just a moment from each other, to just show up for the being together while the hard feelings swing through again, whatever the reason is that they came.

We just need a touch.

This week held something really hard and I wish I could fight to make sense of it, to write about it, but I can't. It's not my story to tell and it's not coming out right anyway. I think maybe I wanted to write and write until I wrote something so profound that it made everything make sense for all who are grieving...but there is so much that doesn't make sense and so I'm choosing to accept that rather than believe the lie that I always have the answers in me somewhere and I'll find them, if only I think long and hard enough. Sure, there are answers, to many things, but there are none for many things, too. And maybe that's okay.

I'm learning not to fight to know what to say or to fix or control. I'm learning not to do that because it feels desperate and false and it tries to steal mystery and grace. And I usually really mess things up, when I pretend at knowing what to do or say or be. Because all I really need to do is to show up, to stop pretending, and to extend my hand for the touch.

That's all.
To say I don't know either
and then just love.
Until it passes
again and again
and again.

goodbye pacifier, hello reminder

Yesterday we decided to be done with Asher's pacifier.

say it ain't so!

(Actually, Ryan decided and I begrudgingly tried hard to see why this made sense on this particular day because yeah, I'm quite easy-going about such things, I'll admit it--I don't get all uptight about what the books or other people say about pacifiers.) (And yes, Asher is 3 and a half and still slept with a plastic thing in his mouth.) (Don't judge.)

So last night was the big night, if only on a whim, and so we prepared ourselves for a fight. We prepared ourselves to get up a lot. We tried to prepare Asher by talking about it throughout the evening, before bedtime.

He argued a whiny attempt at changing our minds incessantly for the last ten minutes before bed, his enormous blue eyes looking up at us, begging. So we tried bargaining and praising and convincing, etc...infinity...

But he continued to say things like, I don't want anything but my paaaaciiiiii. (And believe you me, it was so tempting to say OKAY FINE because he's the cutest little cherub with a nasal-y voice you ever did see.)

I carried him to bed and whispered good things to him. I put him down and told him that he's a big strong boy, just like his big brother and that I knew he could do it.

And then, after all that arguing and whining, he said, "You are right, Mommy." (With a little quivering lip, a big sigh and very sad Goodbye Paci eyes.)

Then he immediately went to sleep and did not make a peep all night long and slept later this morning than usual. True story.

~~~~~

I'm consistently surprised by motherhood. By parenting. By life with kids. We hardly ever get what we expect no matter how we try to prepare or not prepare and no matter how uptight or easy-going we are. All I really no for sure is how totally out of control I am no matter how much I try to control things.

I'm in no way an expert on anything. I mean, I allowed my boy to have a pacifier until age 3.5 (and honestly, I'm totally cool with that), but if I could give one piece of advice (even though I'm truly not much of an advice-giver, since I know that can be annoying) to new parents, this would be it:

Roll with it, friends. Almost everything in the early years works itself out in its own time, it really does. The sleep schedule, the feeding schedule, the potty training and the pacifying. These are simply small things when you look back. So trust your heart-gut rather than the books or even the experts and do your best to...well, relax.

I wish I had done that, from the beginning. And maybe it just takes time for us to learn to do that. But it's not laziness to relax a little. I think it might just be surrender--to life with kids, on its own terms. Of course it's important to remain consistent with discipline and all that, I'm not saying it's not. I'm simply talking about letting go and living out the process and trusting your heart-gut if it's telling you everything will be okay, even if it's not right now.

I mean, really friends. If I don't take on this attitude myself, I may not be able to handle it tonight when Asher has a complete fit over not having a pacifier anymore.

(Look at me, trying to predict the future again. My learning curve...it ebbs and flows.)

2010. Hundreds of photos. These are the favorites.

My favorite photos are the ones that capture exactly who they are...

In 2010...

{I'm joining Steph today in recapping my words in 2010. Thank you, friend}

In 2010
I said,

Oh friends, here's my truth
and then you were so gracious to me,
all year.

I told you about the want want want
and the freedom of a safe place
and ended up helping you and me both
in our understanding of addiction and its propensity
to steal a person.
(I want to always always remember the people in that post.)

:::::

In 2010 I came away from many conferences and it
made me want to say,
I am not a "big" blogger and neither are you and neither are they-
we are all the same and fighting rhinos. (yes, rhinos.)
(and I also called Mommybloggers the Mary Kay ladies of the Internet)
(ahem)

:::::

Then strangely enough I ended up on TV
and then it was weird to hear my thick accent
and see my frown lines up so close.
But you were still so kind and supportive
and loving and I thank you.

:::::

And then I said that I'm pregnant
and I named this little person in me
The Acorn
but right now he/she is the size of a lemon.

I love lemons.

:::::

Cheers! (Raises glass of bubbly...water and calls it all,
every hard and beautiful moment,
GOOD.)


Happy New Year, friends!

{Feel free to join in--recap your 2010 with Steph at Adventures in Babywearing.)

fully alive

This post was originally written on January 19th, almost a year ago, and on the day before I quit drinking. The experience described in this post was a catalyst for change in my life. Because it's true, what are we here for, if not to feel fully alive? To take risks and let go...to strive and overcome...to find ourselves wrapped up in the journey while we tell our truths and help each other. The moments with my boys in this post were just the taste I needed of all of that, and I'm so grateful.

:::::



We laughed until our cheeks hurt.

We burned down that hill like gravity itself with our coats and mittens crackling under the cold and we just couldn't stop laughing.

We bounced and spun and grabbed tightly to each other. We even face planted once, spilling off the sled in a pile, me on top of Miles on top of Asher. Poof! and then a split second of silence, the kind that holds a mother's breath while she waits to see if it will be the laugh or the cry.

It was the laugh that came. The very best kind of uncontrollable belly laugh, from both of my beautiful boys. A laugh that said I cannot believe that just happened it was so terrifying and so great.

We lay there, all three of us propped up on our elbows, laughing too hard to get up and feeling the ice cold of snow pushing through our layers. We looked at each other through tears brought on by laughing in the cold. We had done this wild and crazy thing on the biggest hill in the state park and then crashed and only we could know exactly what it felt like.


It was joy.

Again, they said, the very moment we came to a halt, every time. Let's do that again.

We're made to feel like that, fully alive. Like maybe we could even get hurt but the risk is worth the doubts and the adrenaline is a keeper of heartbeats and we just so badly want to feel them.

So that's what we did. We would feel alive like that and then stand and trudge our way back up so steep, legs feeling the uphill burn, huffing and puffing but not minding at all because of the expectation, the excitement.

Over and over we went and we were so tired when we slowly climbed back in the car.

It was so good. So worth every bump and grunt and huff and puff. So worth all the effort and strain.

To feel. Chilled and working hard and then riding the adventure for the sake of the joy.

~~~~~

"The glory of God is man fully alive." ~ St Irenaeus

child actors: a picture story

Miles and Asher played a significant role in the Christmas program at church...



They were a bored and tired shepherd and his lost and lazy sheep...

(Yes, shepherds wear black tennis shoes and sheep wear jeans...and glasses.)


They totally engaged the audience...



and sat poised and ready to sing along with their stablemates...


yeah...that sheep was having some issues...



and then at the end it was time to stand up and be clapped for, because of all of that effort...

would you just look at their hands?


just one more time...


when you feel shy and nervous and way too over-tired to play your part,
reach for your brudder's hand.

The End.

the things they do

I came around the corner ready to remind Miles (oh so gently, of course) for the eighth time to brush his teeth and put his pajamas on.

Then I saw something that made me have to run for the camera. (Pregnant lady running!) Because strangely enough, in a light bulb moment, Miles had suddenly realized that if he moved the play book stand on the piano, he could stand up, push the keys and watch them move on the inside of the piano...

Please forgive the quality of this photo, I was straight up rushed.
And yes, the picture on the wall is all kiddywampus, and so is the lamp.
most things in life are kiddywampus, no?
We need to start piano lessons, actually. Miles is really interested and when he makes up songs he calls them happy or sad or angry and he makes them sound exactly that way. And we didn't name him M*les K*ng for nothing. I mean, what a perfect musician's name, if I do say so myself.


Then there's little brother. He prefers life in his Halloween costume. A lot.
I love how it pushes his cheeks out.

The End.

what we carry

We talk of old things and new things and I'm caught in between with a thousand thoughts and feelings tight in my throat. I feel it all, every memory with their aches and their releasing and then I see the depth and grace of what is happening now.

Our bowls are piled high with noodles and vegetables that make a rainbow and it's all covered over with a sauce that fills every space and covers every color, and we are thick with words and time and now. Two babies are coming and we have babies at home that are kids. We have years with husbands and more years of knowing each other and we watch the history of it all flashing across the table in exchange when we're together. It seems that's what happens for me anyway, when I sit with people I've always known. It triggers the long long ago past and then suddenly I'm walking through every year until the now, remembering all my old things. Some of those things are so painful, I used to drink when they tried to surface. I used to drink to cover them, like the sauce.

~~~~~

We ask about grief and stress and the tired. We talk about struggle and surviving. We don't say it just like that, but all people struggle and we talk about it all and it's safe. Then we turn to joy and we laugh about our kids and her mouse phobia and embarrassing moments caused by our scattered and over-flowing minds.

We are filling our bellies and each other in. We are still the same and exactly not. We are laughing over years and years ago, there it is, still in our hearts while we leave it more and more behind.

It has been 12 years since she snagged that job and it's been 11 years this Sunday since he died. They got married in their early twenties and now we're entering our late 30's.

She has an eighth grader now who rolls her eyes, which means she has a child that is the age we were when we already knew each other, had already known each other long.

Yes, we have known each other so long it never feels wrong to hug, no matter how long it's been. We have known each other so long we make fun of each other easily and it doesn't hurt. We say a name or a place and then we all just know, all those same things from all the many years, there is so much knowing underneath, no need for explanation.

And yet everything is different. All those old things are left and gone and still sitting with us, falling in the spaces and in the moments of silence.

~~~~~

Sometimes I wish I were not so tied up in memory. That maybe for just a while I could be one of those people that lets go of the past with a deep breath and a shrug. I'm nostalgic and haunted at once. I cannot think of people or places for only a time. If you are loved by me or I lived in your walls, you are with me always even if we never speak again. I feel the void and then struggle to make more room for the people of my present. I love fiercely these boys of mine now and so I feel guilty sometimes over how much pushing around they are required to do, making room in my heart past all the things I carry there.

~~~~~

We laugh and someone says, We are old. And we know that we really aren't, we've got a long way to go, but with all of these memories within all of these years it seems we must be running out of room by now. I think that's it for me, anyway. Sometimes I worry that I'm running out of space, that maybe my devotion and impeccable memory have stolen something from my heart's capacity in the now and maybe in the later. This pumping and beating muscle of mine is stretched and stretching with things I may never forget, the wounds and triumphs all the same, pushing like a crowd in my chest while sometimes the feet of motherhood and marriage and sobriety and faith pace circles on the outside, waiting for a turn.

Because when I fall into memory, I am gone for a while, struggling to heal and let go, to puzzle out, to pray. To say thank you for it all even when so much of it hurts and begs me to question. These memories are wild with colors and I can't help but notice them, to feel them, to let it all open wide with feelings I once numbed over and over again.

It hurts and it's hard, but now I see these pains and connections are covered, every part of every one, with redemption. They have turned to something new, a different shade, shifting me to ready or more.

I believe in freedom and healing, but I don't think that always comes with a forgetting. I will remember, but I will not always be held down with grief or longing or shame, these things that take up so much space. There will be a shift from heart to mind and less waiting around the edges for a turn.

I believe that.

those things...

I was on the other side of the glass, toasty warm. I needed to watch their joy...without putting boots on. They came in quickly and had hot cocoa. {Don't call it hot chocolate, Asher will tell you it's cocoa.}

Last night we had our first fireplace fire of the year. We all lounged around on the floor and the couch and we told Christmas stories in the dark. Then we remembered Thanksgiving so Ryan and I told the boys about The New World and a fine feast and we figured there was a lot of corn. Asher thought Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria were hilarious names for boats.

Things can change really quickly and I have friends with that kind of hard change in their lives so heavy right now. It makes me turn to look around and find thankfulness in white snow and good questions and hysterical giggles. I have no other choice because those are the things that steal some of the power from all of that heavy and hard. The grace things. The always good and right things. I need those things.


Happy Thanksgiving, friends. I'm grateful for you.

And oh yes! I'm really thankful for a brewing 3rd giggler, too:

{10 weeks}

3

On this day 3 years ago, I published my first blog post.

October 3, 2007.

It was a simple post sharing pictures from a day at an orchard. This space had an entirely different name then, and I had very little idea what the blog world was all about. I certainly had no idea what this blogging gig would end up meaning to me. I had no idea it would be this meeting place, this connection to people I've come to know and love, people who have supported me with or without telling me they're reading, through so much.

Three years ago, I had no idea, about so many things.

In these last few years, our family has walked through Asher's diagnosis and surgery, moving, my addiction and decision to get sober, and all the changes that every new year brings for any family. I've shared so much of our journey in this space. This space that has connected me to kindred spirits, given me a creative outlet and led to so many experiences I never could have expected.

So much has changed since the start, but I'm still me and I still love doing this, so today this post is much the same as the very first one.


A day at the farm, like the beginning...





























The bliggity blog is 3 years old. We are 3 years older. I am sober. We live in the country. I am writing a book. And I still love marshmallow Peeps and my family.

Happy Birthday, EO.