Our Diva

After Tucker and I made the "decision" to start a family so young, we were determined to give our child (just Emily at the time) as perfect and as normal a life as possible. We were determined to be the perfect family.
Tucker grew up with dogs. Lots of dogs. His parents were quintessential dog people, and he inherited that trait from them. Although I had a dog growing up, she died when I was young, and most of my "pet experience" was from cats. When Emily turned a year old, we decided it was time to find a furry friend to add to the family. We went over and over which kind of animal to get. In the end, we decided on a Chocolate Lab puppy because my mother's good friend had just bred her dog.
The Martins lived in a small town a little under an hour from our home. We packed Emily up, and away we drove to meet our new baby. They lived in a little ranch house on sprawling land. As we drove up, their German Shepherd came to greet us. Ms. Martin had set up an area in the yard surrounded by a large plastic baby gate. She went into her house and brought out two by two, little chocolate bundles of fur and placed them in the cordoned off area. She wanted us to be able to see all of the puppies and get a feel for which one belonged with us. I remember Tucker getting inside that little pen, and the puppies swarming all over him (with some even hanging onto his pant legs by their teeth!). In my mind I was thinking how different this would be from the cats I was used to, but seeing the look of joy in Tucker's eyes made me sure everything would be fine. The decision was ours to make. Which puppy would come home with us. They all were so similar yet different at the same time. The choice was so very overwhelming. Finally we decided on the pudgy, sleepy guy (or girl, as it was) in the back. She seemed a lot more laid back than her siblings, and she had kinda of a ho-hum Eeyore quality about her that appealed to us.
We named her Godiva, as in the high quality chocolate, but everyone who knew her called her Diva. (long i, not to be confused with Deeeva, as in spoiled pop princess)
It was hard getting used to raising a puppy those first few weeks, but it wasn't long before I felt as though we had had her forever. She was the consummate best friend to baby Emily, who had grown quite fond of riding her and resting her head on her during naps. Diva grew like a weed that first year but remained as gentle and as loving as the very first day.
She was a great pet and a great friend to my kids. I never had to worry about their safety when they were with her. She was so strong and so beautiful. Everyone who knew her, including my mother who is NOT a dog person, loved her and recognized how truly special she was.
We lost Godiva last week very unexpectedly almost eleven years after we got her. The vet said she seemed in perfect health, although given her "geriatric age" a heart attack was very likely. Our sweet Diva died in her daddy's arms on her way to the hospital. She died peacefully and with people who loved her; just as she lived.
Life is not the same without her, and everyone misses her terribly. It is hard to see other Labs and not feel a knot form in our chests.
I know how blessed we were to have her be part of our lives, and I know her legacy will live on in our children whom she taught to love animals.

Unknown Blessings (Mark's Shout Out)

Before the Thanksgiving break I led the chapel lesson for the entire preschool. I really don't know what, if anything the kids got out of my lesson, but as I was preparing it, something really struck me. We all need to be thankful to God for the obvious, such as the trees and the sun and our families, etc. Those are givens and most people readily acknowledge God's part in them. But what I learned is that there is so much more that we need to be thankful for, that we don't even know about yet, or perhaps never will. These unknowns in our lives, are huge blessings we are unaware of, but somehow God has orchestrated them that way as a means of taking care of us. For instance, there are amazing functions of our body that keep our health on track, even though we are blissfully unaware that they are even going on. The earth's rotation--what a blessing!! What if one day it stopped?! We should always thank God for the blessings in our lives that we don't see on a regular basis.
Tucker and I share a good friend named Mark. We all became acquainted years ago when I taught his children and became friends with his wife. Mark is the typical 30 something father of three. He plays with the kids out in the yard, is always doing some home improvement project and enjoys a good beer with friends from time to time. He is the kind of person who you feel like you have known for years the very first time you meet him. He's just an all around good guy.
Mark is one of those blessings that too many people are unaware of.
He is an Army Ranger. Since Tucker and I have known him, he has been deployed TEN TIMES to the Middle East! 10! He puts himself in unthinkable circumstances so that people who are completely unaware of his service, can have a better life. He has never made a big production of the fact that this is his "job," it just is the way that it is.
This is a man with three young children and a wife who is also his best friend, and he constantly steps up to the plate for all of us. It really is kinda amazing.
I know that the world is made of up all kinds of people. We all have our strengths and weaknesses and we all have things that we can offer to the world. What an enormous blessing it is, that there are people like Mark in our world who are willing to make their life's work protecting others! We are always reminded to "support our troops," but I really think it is important to remember that that is not an ambiguous notion. These "troops" are the men and women mowing their lawns on Sunday afternoons, and running behind their child's bike as they learn to ride. They are so normal yet so extraordinary.
Their are hundreds of thousands of these men and women in our country. They all have a life outside of the military. They all have people they love and places they would rather be when it is time to deploy. But they make the same decision to go and be an unknown blessing to millions of us at unknown risks to themselves. God has given these people the courage to put themselves behind their duty. We must remember to be thankful for each one of these unknown blessings.

Oh, Charlie...

Charlie has always been a relatively docile kid with the very occasional whiny spell. You can usually count on him to tell on himself if he does something naughty, because the wrongness of whatever he did really gets to him. Overall, he has really just been a dependable, all around good kid who stays out of trouble.
The other day, in an attempt to straighten the house, I told him to go cut off the balloons that had been tied to the knobs of his dresser for weeks. They had long since died and now were only strangulation hazards waiting to be discovered. I braced myself for some protesting on his part, because he loves balloons, but he was all to happy to oblige and off to the bedroom with the scissors he went.
The house remained a flurry of activity for the next hour or so. I was in the process of cookie decorating, the kids were all putting things away, and Tucker was doing laundry. We had ordered Chinese delivery earlier so that we would not have to stop our "productiveness" to cook a meal. The Chinese arrived and everyone excitedly sat down to the table to eat. There the six of us sat, passing around the different dishes and sauces and talking about our day. The Norman Rockwell family moment was ruined when Emily very innocently asked, "Did Charlie get a haircut?" Huh? Uh, no?
The entire table panned their eyes towards Charlie who is sitting in his chair with a butchered new do. "But my hair was in my eyes" he said. He instantly got upset because he knew he had been naughty, but we reassured him though it is never okay to cut anything but paper without permission, that we loved him and his hair would grow back. Eventually.
So it took us over an hour to realize what he had done which doesn't make me feel like the most together mother in the world. He continued to apologize all night until I told him I wanted to take his picture so I could exploit his mischievousness on facebook. My, how the mighty have fallen. Oh, Charlie!

The "Whipping" Boy

Patch. He is "whipped" as they say. The object of his love is a little girl, appropriately named Caroline. When he sees her everything makes sense inside that fuzzy, little head of his.
Caroline, who is called Sis by her friends and family, is the daughter of a good friend of mine. She is not your average run of the mill two year old. Since she was teenie-tiny, Sis has had a spunk about her. If she's not happy, you know. If she is bored, you know. If she thinks you look funny, you know. If she just wants to have nothing to do with you, you know. She is the most opinionated little tike I have ever met. Her mother says she's moody, I say she's hysterical. It is like talking to a 14 year old inside a two year old's body!
Patch loves Sis. He thinks she is THE greatest person in the world. He talks about her all of the time, and at school he seeks her out. He has such an overwhelming love for her. Problem is he gets on her nerves! She doesn't want him near her, but like a little puppy he keeps coming back. Her mother asked if Patch was her "boyfriend." Sis said no very vehemently, but acquiesced and said Patch was her "boy." As in "No need to lift a finger, my 'boy' will handle it." Patch could not be happier to fill that position in her life.
Every once in awhile, when no one is looking, Sis has fun with Patch. They will sing together or play together or just act like normal stinky two year olds together. For a moment everything is right with the world. Then Sissy decides Patch really is as annoying as she originally thought and goes back to snubbing him. The beauty of their relationship is that Patch doesn't care. He loves Sissy exactly the way that she is. (and probably BECAUSE of the way that she is!) He never gets his feelings hurt or becomes timid around her. He even has been known to say, "Sissy, you being ugly!" He will always be there for his friend because he just loves her that much, and he knows deep down she loves him, too!

My Sweet Tucker

I met Tucker another lifetime ago. Neither of us much resemble the people we were back then. If you could have searched the campus for two people who had the least amount in common, chances are you would have picked us. But, like some crazy magnetic force, we kept ending up together over and over again.
I was a party girl in those days. He was an overly serious 60 year old man trapped in a teenager's body. We both needed someone, and we were there for each other. I was convinced he was going to be my best friend for life but never anything more. He knew we would spend the rest of our lives together. I was in a serious accident the summer after we met, and from then on, I knew he was right. We belonged together. And from then on we have been; always together.
Tucker and I grew up together. We were mere babes when we married and neither one of us knew a thing. We had nothing, but we had each other. (and when there is nothing else, that is an awful lot)
I wish I can say the past 13 years have been one blessing after another, but that wouldn't be true. There has been a tremendous amount of heartache and regret. There were times when my words and actions devastated the man I love, and times when he acted like a stranger to me. Those moments were so very hard. Where do you go from there? As hard as those hurdles were they were so very necessary. One of the lessons of our Fireproof class was that the deeper one's marriage falls, the higher the possibility for it to be redeemed. I believe this is true with all of my heart. Had our struggles not been as fierce as they were, I'm sure our reward would never has been so wonderful.
Today I feel like Tucker has always been a part of me. We can flash each other a look and instantly know what the other is saying. There is a commonality we share between us, that could never be duplicated by anyone else. I spent the afternoon with him today, and I felt just like I did when I was 18 years old and holding his hand for the very first time. "Look at this wonderful guy I am with! Aren't I the luckiest girl in the world!" And he still makes me feel like that cute, little 18 year old!
God is not promising us easy marriages. He doesn't say that as long as you remain the same 2 people you were when you got married then all will be fine. You can not possibly grow without changing. The person you were the day you got married had not been subjected to the life experiences that came following your wedding day. People change. Those changes can be hard and so scary. You have to love your marriage and your God enough to love your spouse even when it feels impossible.
The many metamorphoses that Tucker and I have gone through in our marriage have not been easy in the least but with all my heart I thank the Lord that we went through them; that we loved God enough not to bail when it felt like the thing to do. I am so thankful for the husband I have, who I love more every moment of every day, all the while knowing that tough roads still await. I pray that God continues to bless us with His strength so that we can see each other through whatever comes our way.

Thank God

We were lucky enough to host the Connors again this year for Thanksgiving. It has become quite a nice tradition between the two families. The kids have literally grown up with one another so the relationships among all of them are very easy going. Every year these few days prove to be fun and relaxing for everyone.
It really is something how the Lord works. We say it all of the time, but when you slow WAY down to think about it, it really is just amazing. Janet and I really became "friends by accident." I'm sure when we met neither of us would have expected traveling hours to share Thanksgiving together, but... We are all very different people, but we honor those differences in one another and have developed close bonds because of it. Janet, to me, has become somewhat of a lighthouse. When I feel lost at sea, she has a way of bringing me back. Most of the time, I am sure she doesn't even know it.
So here is where the Lord comes in. It has been a very hard few months. There have been a lot of constant, little stresses. Just when I felt like I was getting my head above water, a wave would come and knock me back down. By the time the Thanksgiving holiday rolled around, I was wiped out. Having my friends visit really was what I needed. It really is funny. I look back on that week and try to gather what it was that really made the difference for me. Of course, not going to work and drinking a lot of beer helped, but it was just the friendship; knowing that I could eat pumpkin pie in pajamas for breakfast and that my friend would be doing the same, being able to sit in the den and knowing I didn't have to "entertain," watching my children snuggle up to their 'Aunt Janet' and 'Uncle Jimmy,' being able to look at little Sarah and Nate and still remember the moments I found out their momma was carrying them, staying up late and playing games...it just goes on. 13 years ago the Lord knew that these two families were going to be important for each other. He put us in each other's path so we could enrich our lives. It is so nice to realize that even though we may not have a clue what we are doing in our own lives, He is guiding us. He is sending us what we need to get through each day. It may come in the form of friends. It may come in the form of health. It may come in the form of wisdom. But he is looking after us, and making sure we are taken care of. I think, that that is what I am most thankful for this holiday season.

Jingling Bells

Tis the season.
We all have come to expect the familiar ringing of the brass bell outside all of our favorite retail shops this time of year. As we walk up to the entrance of the store we see that bright red bucket and hear the constant ringing of the bell held by the very hopeful hand of a Salvation Army volunteer hoping to get our attention and perhaps some spare change. Many times we are too busy, or don't want to deal with the inconvenience of rummaging through our pockets to find a donation. But, there are those times when we look at the shivering body of that eager helper, and know that our small sacrifice is worth so much more to many than the cost to ourselves. It is in these times that we slow our selves down long enough to realize, THIS is Christmas, and this is what matters. Sometimes we just require a little extra reminding.
Today, I decided it was officially time to start the "Christmas shopping panic." Although I still have more than three weeks to go, it seemed like the proper OCD way to go. After work, with toddler in tow, I decided to hit a favorite shopping location of mine in the hopes of crossing a few names off my list. Sure enough, when I reached the door I saw the familiar sight of a Salvation Army volunteer ringing her bell. Because Patch was in a hurry to meet up with a friend of his who had already gone in, I thought I would stop by her bucket on the way out. My shopping extravaganza was anything but, however I did manage to pick up a few things after a leisurely stroll throughout the store. When we exited the store I noticed the sound of the bell was intermittent at best. I looked over to the ringer and saw that she was leaning on the wall, turned AWAY from her bucket chatting wildly on her mobile phone. I should have been above it, but I just could not bring myself to drop a penny in. Though I know the money would have gone to serve a wonderful cause, the thought of someone taking such a cavalier attitude while asking people to GIVE what little they may have (in a recession no less) really rubbed me the wrong way. What happened to the days of graciousness?
The Christmas season has just begun. I know my family will drop money in several buckets around town, as we do every year. But today's experience really has tarnished my naive attitude towards charity. I want to feel as though my contribution means something. That by taking the time to donate, I am improving the situation of someone else. Today I only felt as if I would be interrupting a phone call.

I Know Nuthin'

I am a seasoned mother. There are so few experiences I have not encountered through the raising of my four kids, that I am without a doubt an expert in the subject of parenting. I speak with such overwhelming authority to the parents of the students in my class, because, after all I know everything.
Well...
I think God has an enormous sense of humor. Just to make sure we don't get a little too carried away with our opinions of ourselves, He throws us curve balls every now and then. Like after I had Emily, the most docile child on the earth, I was convinced colic was just something bad parents made up because they couldn't make their babies happy. Enter Baby Elizabeth...I became convinced that I had been wrong with my initial hypothesis. Colic was not only real, it was enough to send someone over the edge.
One would have thought that lesson would have been enough to teach me that my limited experiences, do not make me an expert, but no. (some people never learn)
My final child is Patrick Bryan. Anyone who knows him, knows him by Patch. Patch was what Tucker and I decided to call him way before he was born, in an effort to prevent the inevitable Pat or Patty, and to bless him with a fun and unique name. Thus, Patch. It conjures up images of doctors who dress up as clowns, happy scarecrows, energetic mutts, and dastardly pirates. Perfect!
So this little guy was born and has by far lived up to his name. Every thing I learned in my years as a preschool teacher and a mother is null in the face of my Patch. It is not that he is bad, per se, he just is well, Patch. The only thing I know for sure, is that I can expect what is unexpected.

I miss my friend.

I miss my friend.
She passed away in February of 2008, but I feel like I just talked to her the other day. It makes me sad to think that life has been able to resume normally since she died; shouldn't daily operations have been altered forever in her absence? I logically know life doesn't work that way, but my heart does. I really miss my friend.
From the moment I met her, even before I met her, she was warm and welcoming to me. She made me feel accepted and special and wonderful. She personified grace in every way, and even though the same has never been true for me, she loved me and she showed it unwaveringly.
I have never met anyone who did not like her. Whenever anyone learns of my connection to her, they always respond with, "oh, she was such a sweet lady." And she was- such a lady and so very sweet. She spoke to everyone and wanted everyone to feel taken care of and spoiled. She treated the house painter as she would treat a friend. Everyone was entitled to respect, and she went out of her way to show it.
She loved to throw parties. From big, garish holiday parties, to backyard croquet matches, every detail was thought of- the food, the drink the music. She relished in making sure everyone was having a ball. Truly, nothing made her happier.
She loved her dogs. They were just as much members of her family as anyone. They would follow her around the house all day, and the little one would often ride along on errands with her.
She always was such a classy dresser. She wore bright colors that showed off her dark complexion and she always had her hair and nails done. She had what seemed like millions of different pairs of shoes to coordinate with all of her outfits. Again, no detail was overlooked. In fact, after she died and I was cleaning out her drawers, I was amazed that her drawers were organized by color! It was when she began to put less effort into her daily wardrobe that I realized my friend was really sick.
As wonderful as she was to everyone around her, she did not feel the same way about herself. She never felt good enough. No amount of praise could penetrate the level of disapproval she felt for herself. She constantly tried to ease her hurt with all of the wrong things. She knew it wasn't good for her, but it was what she had. The people who loved her tried everything to help her. Everything. I always hoped that one day I would say something in a way that would really click inside her, and she would be okay. I guess I never did find the right words.
I watched my beautiful, vivacious friend slowly poison herself. This fiercely independent spitfire, became a decrepit and home bound woman, who relied on paid around the clock care. Up until her dying day, I was convinced she would come out of it. If anyone could turn it around, I believed she could. She had been given so many second chances before. I guess we all took for granted the fact that they would one day run out.
The day she died, she didn't open her eyes at all, but she responded to what was being said by smiling and different facial movements. I sat by her side almost the whole day. I talked about funny things that had happened and how silly my kids were. I told her how much I loved her and how sorry I was that I wasn't always the friend to her that I should've been. I held her tiny, little hand and I brushed her hair out of her eyes. When she seemed uncomfortable, I tracked down a nurse to ease her suffering. Maybe I somehow thought that if I was diligent enough, something would change. Maybe I was just so scared about losing her that I couldn't stay still or be quiet. Maybe I was so worried that she was frightened that I wanted her to know that there were people around who loved her and were looking after her.
I was not there the moment she died, but many people who loved her were. She died peacefully and gracefully. And with her dogs.
I miss my friend. In a few months, she will have been dead two years. That thought takes my breath away. How can anyone so full of life, be no longer here? How does that happen? How is that fair?
In the time since her death, I have called on her often. I have heard her voice and seen her smile in my mind a million times. For that, I am so extremely grateful. I hope that I never stop missing her. I don't want to become complacent in my sadness of her passing. She needs to be remembered and talked about. Her good qualities need to go on in the people who loved her, and her illness needs to be etched in our hearts and mind forever. It is crucial we never forget how she suffered, so that we too, will not follow that path. That is what she would want for us. I do know this.
I believe she is looking down on me. I know she can hear everything I am saying now, and she doesn't want me to be sad. I am confident that if she could call me right now, she would try to lift my spirits with some slightly off-color humor and the promise of a lunch out together soon. The thought instantly makes me smile, but also breaks my heart.
Oh, how I miss my friend.

My Emily

The other night I was reminiscing about the day Emily was born and someone asked me how I remembered all of that. My answer? I remember everything about the pregnancies and births of each of my kids. I ordinarily have an awful memory, but something about those times in my life has left indelible marks within me.
Emily turned 12 years old the other day. Twelve. That is a whole new realm. (sporadic heartbeats occurring) She is in middle school, has tons of friends, talks on her cell phone all of the time, and has an obsession with a certain Hollywood vampire. Pretty typical, really. She is a very well adjusted, happy 12 year old. But, she's twelve...
When I found out I was pregnant with her, I was an unmarried 20 year old with a less than stellar record. I was a really crazy kid. But the moment, sitting in the upstairs bathroom of my Grandma's house, when the two lines appeared, changed my life in an instant. I cherished the life that grew within me. I was thankful for the rescue of my life that it represented. I read every book I could read and prepared in every way possible for this new little person. Tucker and I were married and began our lives as young, completely naive, children playing adults. Overnight we grew up. The transformation was immediate, and enormous. There was no other option.
Emily was born on the coldest day of the year. Perhaps God's way of shaking us awake and saying, "Here you go, get ready!" There was our Emily. More beautiful than anyone could have ever imagined. Everything I knew about life up until that point was suddenly void. All that matter was this angel squirrming in my arms.
Now she is 12. Twelve! How has it been twelve years? It feels like one of those movies where they fast forward a decade in the next clip. I watched her grow into the beautiful young woman (breathe in, breathe out) that she is, yet somehow, I feel as though I just brought her home from the hospital.
It is inevitable that our little chicks grow up and fly away. People have been telling me that since the beginning. I just can not fathom that one day that means that that precious, little newborn will be off in the world without me.

A Little Drop Of Rain

I was recently talking to a single friend of mine who claimed his life was so different from my cushy, suburban lifestyle, that I would be "terrified" to live in his shoes. This all stemming from a conversation on responsibility and growing up. I believe I was somehow meant to feel inadequate to handle his "edgy" life. Oh, my.
Terrified. Yep, I have been there on more than one occasion, but honestly, "a little drop of rain can hardly hurt me now."
These are lyrics from a favorite song of mine. It would be hard to find many words as true. You get to a certain point in your life, through certain circumstances, where your soul has literally grown armor to withstand tragedy. I have had my fair share.
I do not wish to in any way downplay the experiences anyone else has been through, by claiming mine were more tragic. I believe we all get our fair share. But my life challenges belong to me, and have made me who I am.
This friend announced in this conversation that he is an atheist. Hmmm.... for so many reasons I did not know how to respond to this. It seems often times this is the card rebellious teenagers pull when they are hoping for shock value. My theory is that he is in the same place in his life for whatever reason. So, supposing he is an atheist, yep, I would be terrified to be in his life. Without the love and guidance from our Lord, being completely susceptible to evil...yep, I wouldn't want to be there. On the other hand, suppose he was just blowing smoke about the whole atheist thing to make some point. Again, I would be terrified. Last time I checked it is not a smart move to denounce God for any reason. I am not sure he is terrified enough, but unfortunately he is still in that "if it feels good- do it stage." Ahh, we were all young once right?
A little drop of rain can hardly hurt me now. It took me so long to get to this point, and on some days, I still run screaming from those little drops. But I know one thing for certain. God is with us. At all times. Whether we want Him there or not. He knows our troubles and He knows the outcomes. He promises us an everlasting life in His kingdom. Our earthly troubles are so inconsequential compared to the Glory of God our Father. This is why I know that I can handle whatever it is that is in my path. This is why I will not become "terrified" in the way that this friend expects. This is where the armor has come from.
I hope my friend is able to enlighten himself enough to realize that he will not lose his "edginess" by committing his life to God. Perhaps, he might find that all of the things in his life that are missing, might suddenly be found. He too, can learn to walk in the rain.

Sweet Caroline's

Somehow, somewhere, I picked up the fine art of obsessive cookie making. Don't know how this has come to be, but it has, and it has consumed my life!
When Emily was a little baby I tried making press out sugar cookies, because I thought that that what mommies were supposed to do. It was a disaster. I was so frustrated that I swore off cookie baking for years after.
When I moved to Columbus, my mother in law gave me her large stash of cookie cutters. I thought they were so neat because they represented pieces of my husband's childhood. From time I would come across them and think about trying to bake again, but life just always got in the way.
Over the past few years I have begun to get back into baking. Slowly I have been tweaking my recipes and methods and I have become quite fond of it! Through the encouragement of a dear friend I have slowly begun to "advertise' my cookies. To my utter shock and surprise I have gotten a phenomenal response that has kept me very busy. It really is something that i am actually profiting from something that I was so dismally bad at a few years ago!!
I do not hope or expect to be a world-famous gourmet cookie maker. I do not believe my new hobby in any way will allow me to quit my day job. I am excited to be able to share this new talent with my friends and people I care about. I want to know that these cookies make people smile!

Desperate Housewife

I'm a desperate housewife. I hate to admit it, but it's true. And if more women would admit it, I bet they would say the same for themselves.
I have a good life. 4 beautiful and healthy kids. A loving husband. A roof over my head. Enough money to meet our needs. Great friends.
Yet, I am desperate.
I think the conflict comes from the fact that deep within me, in the part of me that seems so hidden at times, I am still the teenager from so many years ago. Anyone who knew me in those days would be frightened to realize that I still identified with that person IN ANY WAY.
I never got in any real trouble, but my life was a whirlwind of constant drama. I was incredibly emotional. My highs were as high as the heavens and my depths were as low as the pits of hell. I dreamed so large and my behaviors so often were crazy and without thought.
I used to sing. I lived to sing. I would have aching in my heart to be heard. I was never a very good "technical" singer and it stood in my way from really going anywhere. But when I was put with the right creative soul, who would let me just go, it was awesome. I can still remember the intoxication of the applause. (How narcissistic) All of my fantasies would include me on stage somewhere wowing a crowd. It has been over seven years since I have sang publically. I rarely even sing in the shower anymore.
I used to honestly feel that if I walked the straight and narrow, then I would be selling out; that to be me, I had to go where my emotions led me- safe or not. Those years were often so destructive.
Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of the Line from years past. Sometimes it will be after hearing a certain song, and I can feel her tugging to get out. Sometimes its during a ferocious thunderstorm, and the solace is so overwhelming that I am reminded how I used to allow myself to literally get lost in them. But more often than not these days, she is buried so deep inside me that I forget she ever existed. I am Mommy now. I am Ms. Hearn. There are responsibilities. The luxury of being able to wrap up completely in the world, just is obsolete.
I really do love my place in the world. I love being a mother and a wife and a teacher. It's nice to have security and stability.
But still, sometimes, deep within the most hidden recesses of my soul I can feel her. And as desperate as she is to come out and let loose, I am reminded that I am a housewife now, and in my soul she will remain.

The "New" Me

Tomorrow I am going to a meeting at the church where I have been worshipping. During this meeting, I will learn more about Methodism and the church and begin to make the decision on whether or not I will officially "join the church."
This is such a huge deal for me. I grew up Catholic. Everyone in my family is Catholic and Catholicism is a really big part of my history. I married a devout Catholic and baptized my four children in the Catholic church. But for a long time I have felt that it is not who I really am. Over the past several years I have gradually felt more and more lost within the Catholic church. Although the familiarity was comforting, I was feeling more and more isolated. I prayed that the Holy Spirit would enter my heart and show me what to do. I kept waiting and waiting.
Tucker and I went through a major adjustment period about a year ago. It was a time where we both had to take a serious look at who we were, and who we wanted to be. Hiding behind what was comfortable had to be put aside to find what was authentic. It was during this time that I began attending a non-Catholic church -alone. My life began to change. My marriage began to change. Most importantly my heart began to change. This was the work of the Holy Spirit. This was the answer to my prayers.
Although, me attending this new church meant a division on Sunday mornings at my house. Tucker and some of the kids would go to one church and I and the rest of the kids would go to another. It was not an easy choice, but it was without a doubt the right choice.
I have taken this past year slowly. I have not denounced my Catholic roots (nor will I ever). I have not claimed to be Methodist. I have just begun to build my heart back up, and learn to truly love the Lord once again. I am at the point now, where I think I am ready to take the next step and fully embrace my new spiritual home.
I thank God for so much. I thank Him for giving me an understanding and supportive husband. I thank Him for giving me the courage to branch away from what was "easy." But most of all I thank Him for making His presence so available and abundant; to allow me to learn and love in a way I never thought I could; and to carry me when I was to weary too try and find my way by myself. I really think I am on the right track now. I am excited to meet the new me.

All in the Family

My mother had 3 kids in 3 1/2 years. The thought of putting my body through that, sends it into shock. But that was how we grew up; like stair steps. (until my brother outgrew my sister, which happened pretty early on) Despite the unavoidable sibling bickering, we still managed to play together those early years. My sister Beth tells the story of how we used to play Star Wars. She, of course, was Princess Leia, Bryan acted as Hans Solo, and I played the role of "baby storm trooper." Then of course there are the memories of "baptizing" our dolls in the bathroom sink. What Catholic child does not share in this? And who could forget the ten plus hour drives to and from Pennsylvania in the back of the station wagon.? The three of us would cram in like sardines; constantly shifting in the hopes that somehow a comfortable position would possibly be found.
Fast forward.
My sister has two beautiful little girls. They are both special and unique, yet both have unmistakable likenesses to my sister. I had the pleasure of having her girls stay with me for a week this summer. At times, as I looked into one of her daughters' eyes or listened as they spoke, I felt like I was being pulled back 25 years to the days of those cramped back seats. I saw things in her girls that I didn't remember I knew, and wouldn't have expected to be refamiliarized with. As different as my nieces are from my sister, as well as each other, the commonalities they share are incredible.
It really is an amazing thing, that our children carry with them so much of us. They are literally pieces of who we are. Their children will be pieces of them. For better or for worse, we do go on.
As I look back on the hundreds of pictures I took of my 4 children as well as my sister's two, I see two parrallel childhoods; the one I shared with my siblings, and the one our children will share together. The gift of family truly transcends the here and now. Family, no matter how often you are with them, how readily you accept them, or how strong the bond, is always within you. The thought, really should inspire us all to be the type of family that anyone would chose.

Catharsis

I have never been a "nature-y" type of person. I can appreciate the beauty in the outdoors, but it is usually quickly replaced with the fear that an unwanted critter is going to come out from under a log and "get me." I prefer to enjoy the less dirty/buggy confines of the great indoors.
Despite my aversion to all things nature, I have an uncommon adoration of the ocean. This has not always been true. As a child, I was terrified of the ocean, (see above reasons) and would often spend entire beach trips asleep on a towel. But as an adult, I have become almost mesmerized by the power and tranquility of this absolutely uncontainable entity. I can sit on the shoreline and stare out into the everlasting waters for entire days. I get lost out there. I think about nothing and everything. There is a strength and a calmness there, that I believe does not exist anywhere else outside of the kingdom of God. I am so thankful every time I am able to experience that beauty.
At least once a year, I find it necessary to make the pilgrimage if for nothing else than to recharge my mental batteries. I find nothing else to be anywhere near as cathartic. I return from my trip with a new vigor to take on what comes to me; a strength only possible through those healing waters.
Thankfully we were able to spend time in the Gulf this summer. I, as always, am ready to take the world on now...at least until next time.

My Patchy

My baby is almost two.
After having 4 kids, I can finally say that I will never have another. After each prior child, I never felt certain whether or not it would be my last. But we know now, without a doubt, Patch is the last.
I love being a mom, and I have great kids. I remember how I found out I was pregnant with each one of them. I remember the circumstances in which Tucker and I came up with their names. I remember all of the details of each of my pregnancies as if they have just occurred. I can retell my labor and delivery stories over and over and over again. Although, I often didn't feel well, being pregnant and having my babies has been among the most fulfilling things I have ever done.
That book is closed. No more pregnancy tests stashed in the back of the bathroom closet. I can pack up the mountains of pregnancy and baby name books we have acquired in the 10 years it took us to create our family. I will never again have use for those itsy-bitsy onesies, that look so tiny until your baby is born and then are just swimming on him.
I was watching Patch today. He really is phasing out of babyhood. He wants so much to be big like his siblings, it seems he is intentionally speeding up the maturing process! He talks as if he is the authority, and I really need to remind myself that he is only a baby! But baby no more. My little guy is growing up. And as he grows up, so must I. I am no longer that "young mom" who is just starting her family. That phase of MY life is over. Did I subconsciously enjoy that phase so much that I kept it going by procreating? Geez, I hope not!!
Regardless of how old my baby is he will ALWAYS be my baby. (As all of my children will be) Though the realization of him growing up is bittersweet, I am equally as excited to see what is in store for him. His future is limitless, and I believe he has the personality that will seize every moment.
I just don't even know how to end this. Excited for the possibilities that await my littlest one, or melancholy over the end of an era? (gulp) I just really don't know. I think maybe it just doesn't have to end...

Ch-Ch-Ch Changes

This will go down in history as the summer we changed everything. Well, hopefully not everything, but we are doing a whole lot of home improvements. In addition to the kitchen remodel, we have hired a landscaping company to clear out and grade the backyard. It was a collection of massive over growth, and it will be so nice when there will be such room for the kids to run around!! To get the job done, the landscaper has brought in 2 giant, tractory-looking machines. I'm not sure what they are, but the kids sure were excited to see that they had been left behind after the workers called it a day. All 4 kids enjoyed hopping up inside for photo-ops. (Although, I'm quite sure that was not why they were left!!)

A Quick Brag

Yesterday Tucker was outside doing yard work while I ran errands. He decided it would be a good idea to encourage the kids to help and maybe earn a little extra money. The task at hand was to dig up Monkey Grass from the back yard, separate it, and plant it around our front natural area. Quite an arduous task, indeed. About 2 hours into the morning I receive a call on my cell phone from Elizabeth saying Daddy has cut his hand and it is bleeding very bad. So when I got home I cleaned and bandaged Tucker's wounded paw, and put him on yard work restriction. He had wanted to go back out and finish, but we both felt like his wound, which wasn't too pretty, would do much better to rest.
Here comes the brag...
Emily and Elizabeth spent the next 2 1/2 hours finishing the job. They weren't told to keep going after Daddy came in, they just did. Not only did they do the lion's share of the work, but they did a really good job. Everything was spaced beautifully and planted very well. When they were finished, they were beaming with pride. They were rewarded with dinner at the Olive Garden as well as being able to choose a new game from the used game store.
I say it ALL the time, and I know people are tired of hearing me say it, but my kids are awesome. They are really nice and thoughtful people. I am so thankful for them. Not just because they are my kids and "you have to say that about your kids," but because I am grateful for being able to know the people who they are becoming. It is because of them that I aspire to be a better person. There is a whole lot of hope for this world when you see such remarkable young people.

Falling in Love... All Over Again

I teach preschool. It wasn't what I had anticipated for my life but it is just the way things have worked out. I can't really imagine doing anything else. These kids become my kids, and I truly somehow, fall in love with each and every one.
I have a tough age group by preschool standards. The dreaded "Terrible Twos." There are days when I really do go home wanting to pull my hair out, but for the most part, my days are filled with little miracles. I have always felt that during the 2-3 year, kids change and develop so rapidly. I am able to witness these babies turning into "real people." I really count myself fortunate. It really is something to watch.
Every year I fall in love. Sometimes especially with a special one or few, and sometimes with the entire lot, but I always end the year feeling like there will never be kids I could love as much as those little ones who will now be leaving me. Every year it happens. I feel so torn as my little friends grow up and leave me for greener pastures, but so very proud of all that they have done in the past year.
This year has been a challenging one. I went from a relatively small group of "older twos" last year, to a large group of late birthdays. It was really an adjustment. But the triumphs were there, and the miracles were there, and so was the love.
I started back to teach summer school today. The majority of my class from this past year will be with me as well as some new friends. One child who I have had all year long, came back after just one week away a completely different person. Suddenly she grew up. It was truly a blessing to have been able to see that. They are only little for such a very short time, I am so grateful to be a small part of their lives. Truly.
I have such a heavy heart when I think of these kids who I have bonded with for a year, being under someone else's watchful eye in the fall. In many ways, they feel like MY kids, and I don't want to let them go. But I know that I am just a brief stop in their long journey, and I am so excited for them to continue on.
So, in a couple months, a new school year will usher in a whole new class. And inevitably I will start the year homesick for those who have moved on. But so it goes. And in the end, I'm sure I will do as I always do, and fall in love all over again.

Wonders Never Cease

Charlie is the pickiest eater I have ever met. He hasn't always been that way, but he got the memo from the other kids when he was about three and a half, that he was suppose to give us a hard time at dinner and he has been impossible to feed since then. His favorite meal is "naked spaghetti." Yep that's right. No cheese, butter, sauce-nothing. Plain noodles. Such is the way all of his meals tend to be. Colorless, flavorless and nutrition less. I am an avid cook and the thought of him passing up some top notch dinners in favor of plain noodles really gets me.
Since the kitchen remodel is close at hand, I have been trying to use up all of the groceries in the refrigerator so nothing has to be thrown away. I came across a carton of tofu I had been meaning to stir-fry. I am the only one I know who really loves the stuff. As I opened the carton, Charlie was instantly intrigued by the cheese-like substance. He asked for a piece of uncooked tofu to try. (even a bit adventurous for the likes of me) He smiled and asked for another. Very odd. I gave him a few more pieces and told him I was going to cook the rest with carrots and broccoli in Terriyaki sauce. While I was stirring the wok, he kept picking chunks of tofu out!! This from a child who won't even eat macaroni and cheese. I finally gave him a plate stacked with tofu and he ate it all.
Just when you think you know a kid, they go on and do something like this. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined Charlie's love of tofu!!

Graduating

It was an important month in the life of two little Hearns. Charlie graduated from preschool and Emily graduated from elementary school. Both of them will be going to brand new schools next year.
I really am so blessed that the schools my kids have gone to have been so great. Wynnton Preschool is such a loving and friendly enviorment. It is the ultimate "safe place" for parents to leave their little ones those first years. Not only is it such a warm place, but the kids really do learn so much there. I guess my love for the preschool is what drew ME there. I tell my kids all the time that I'm never going to graduate from preschool.
Britt David is the best kept secret in this town. (although, in recent years the secret has begun getting out) We enrolled Emily there kinda on a whim. Tucker's cousin worked there and it seemed like a good school. We didn't do the due diligence many parents do when looking into kindergartens. Boy, were we lucky. It has that same nurturing and comforting feel that Wynnton has. We have never had a teacher we haven't absolutely loved. The administration is amazing and knows every ones names. It is a tough school, and the kids who go there have to work very hard, but they get used to it and it becomes just who they are. Emily was so fond of Britt David she cried the whole last week of school. Fortunately for her, we will have a kid there until she is about 20, so she should have plenty of opportunities to go back for visits!!
It both cases these schools have really prepared the kids for the next step in their lives. My kids love school and love learning and I can't help but believe it comes from such great school experiences. I can't imagine what it would have been like to have not have had such positive beginnings. I hear all the time about how people hate the schools their kids go to, and I just shudder. We really are so lucky.
But, off they go. Emily to middle school and Charlie to kindergarten. I can not believe how fast the time goes. I am so proud of babies. (and they will ALWAYS be my babies)

Staying Put

We bought our current home four years ago. It was the third house we had bought as a married couple, and we were determined for it to be our last. No one likes to move, but I am convinced no one detests it quite as much as my dear husband. I tease him that if he had his way we would still be living in the 950 square foot apartment where we lived at the start of our marriage.
We bought this house out of necessity. Our previous house, though adorable, was small, and the kids (3 of them at the time) seemed to be requiring more space. Tucker was especially hesitant to leave our prior house, because we had bought it from his grandfather who had lived there for over 40 years. So, I played the part of the mean, 'ol wife forcing him to move under duress.
We found this home in the north part of Columbus. It was huge by our standards. (about 3500 square feet) Enough bedrooms, bathrooms, a large playroom- it was hard to pass up. But since, nothing is seamless for us Hearns, there was a catch. The inside hadn't been updated since the 1970s. At all. It was hard to look past the mountains of work that would lay ahead, especially for Tucker who would be doing the lion's share. It really became a tug-of-war. In the end, he relented, although quite unhappily at first, and we bought the house.
The first two years were busy. We scraped wallpaper and painted. We replaced almost the entire house's flooring. A light fixture here, a kitchen appliance there, but slowly and surely the diamond was emerging from the rough.
I intend to stay in this house for the rest of my life, God willing. I can see growing old here with Tucker, and sitting on the front porch rocking in our chairs and shaking sticks at the neighborhood hooligans. It is that kind of house; the kind of house no one would want to leave. It is truly a home.
Early next week we are having the kitchen ripped out and completely replaced. We always said that we were going to do this one day, but I don't think either of us really believed we would. Even as we begun the process of talking with the contractor, I was sure that somehow we would weasel our way out. I am going to love my new kitchen. I designed it exactly the way I wanted. I am thrilled to pieces that we were able to do this. Although the perks of a brand-spankin' new kitchen excites me, I am even more excited for what this upgrade really means for our lives. It means we are steadfast. We are here to stay and to start spreading our roots. Hopefully it means that the moves are over and we have found our home base. The time, effort and financial commitment would never have been spent on a home we were just passing through. We are here to stay. Just as we take care of our children to make sure they grow up to be strong and healthy adults, so must we take care of our home so that it will always be able to fulfill our needs. This prospect is so comforting to me. I am settled. I am where I will stay.

Growing Branches

I grew up knowing that my Aunt Dale and Uncle Charlie were not "real" family. They were my parents' best friends, and thus became family by default. They loved us, as my parents loved their children and the fact that we didn't share a blood line was very inconsequential. I always wondered if I would ever have a friendship so deep, that the family tree would grow extra branches to accommodate it.
I met Janet the summer I was pregnant with Emily. I had just been married and was working at a facility for disabled children. I was assigned to be a 1:1 teacher to a severe and profound disabled boy named Russell. My duties were to adapt the regular program activities in a way that was meaningful to him. There was only one other child in our small group who was in a wheelchair. He was much higher functioning than Russell, but had cerebral palsy and was deaf. Although he could operate his wheelchair himself, he required a sign language interpreter at all times. Janet was hired to interpret for Chris two days a week.
It was a friendship that happened out of sheer necessity. The other employees in our small group were a couple of dim-witted, flirty college-kids. They knew everything about nothing, so it seemed, and tended to pay more attention to each other than the children we were charged to take care of. Janet and I quickly developed a camaraderie and it instantly seemed like we had known each other forever. With wheelchairs in tow, we always brought up the rear, talking about her upcoming wedding, or my impending childbirth, or music or college or whatever. We never had a moment of silence between the two of us. It was just so comfortable and easy.
When our stint at the center was done we had a dinner or two together before she was married in September and moved to Texas. We exchanged all the pertinent information to stay in touch and that was it. She was just a girl I knew for 2 days a week for 7 weeks. It was nice knowing her, but that was that.
I sent her an announcement when Emily was born and she sent me a gift. It was nice to have had a little contact, but mostly it was just a Christmas card here or there.
It was within a year or two that Janet and Jimmy moved back to Charlotte. They called us and we had them over for dinner. It was so nice to have reconnected. Slowly that connection got stronger and stronger. In 2001 Janet and I had babies "together." She always has said I got pregnant with Elizabeth so that her little Sarah would have a friend. It was soon after the birth of the girls that we began taking family trips together. I had Janet, Tucker and Jimmy were becoming great friends, and now our girls had each other.
It was somewhere along the way, and I'm not exactly sure where, that they became Aunt Janet and Uncle Jimmy. It is certainly not what I had ever expected when we were wheeling our little friends around the center that summer.
My kids have never known life without them and hopefully never will. Our tree, had indeed grown that special branch reserved for "chosen" members of the family.
We now live six hours apart. Somehow, though, the distance has only enhanced our relationship. We know that when we are together it is because both sides really wanted it to happen. When Tucker's mother died, none of my family made it down. Our dear friends made what amounted to a 12 hour trip so that they could be with us for 2 hours. During that week of sadness and heartache, nothing touched Tucker or I more than that act of love.
I am so very thankful to have these people in my life. We have seen each other through many a bumpy road, but have had our share of laughs along the way. There is an unspoken knowledge, among all of us, that we ARE family. Not the kind of family that grows out of years of lineage and DNA and genetics, but a family that is born out of the simple knowledge that we are loved.

God has a Plan

I admit the fact that I'm a facebook junkie. It's sad, but true. I love looking at every one's pictures and videos and reading their updates day after day. I'm sure some people would call that simple-minded, but for me I consider it a lesson in psychology. You can learn so much about people, and the world in general by reading these daily statuses.
Today I was struck by an interesting similarity in two of theses such statuses. In one, a woman who had recently lost her job was talking about tough times ahead. She talked about her nervousness with the uncertainty but how she felt confident because she knew "God had a plan." The other was a mother up at my preschool who is carrying her third child and was recently diagnosed with preterm labor. Suddenly her pregnancy is routine no more, but she described a peace in knowing that "God had a plan." Within 3 hours, these two women, both facing incredibly difficult obstacles, spoke of the confidence they have in God to see them through.
We learn at a young age that "our God is so big, so strong and so mighty; there's nothing our God can not do..." We have all heard it. Most of us have sung it. We know it in our heads, but how many of us feel it in our hearts? Truly. To be able to take such a scary, mind-weighing battle and put it in the hands of our Lord is not easy. With the way our world is so control-driven these days, it is near impossible to sit back and give it to God. I have found in my own life, that only when a crisis seems absolutely insurmountable am I able to let go. The "Footprints in the Sand" prayer comes to mind. How many times do we all feel too tired to carry on; that we just need God to carry us through the next part of our journey?
I guess if there would be any revelation to me today it is this: First, these two women will have a much larger capacity to better handle their challenges, knowing that they are not in charge and, two, we don't have to wait for crisis to lean on God for help. If you are frustrated with your spouse, you can give it to God. If you are anxious about a storm, you can give it to God. The market has you down? God can help!
There is no magic wand. I know that. But there is grace and there is peace. To me, knowing that I am never alone (no matter how small the problem or how scary the situation) makes everything so much bearable. There is a way out of every trial we face, and that is the way of the Lord.

12 Years and Counting

Today Tucker and I celebrate 12 years of marriage. I can't believe it has already been 12 years, and I can't believe it has only been 12 years.
When I was growing up I dated a lot. I'm sure to the outside world it seemed like I needed the attention of a boy to make me happy, but I think I really just craved companionship. Who doesn't? For the most part, the boys I dated in high school and college were really nice people who I have remained friends with. I was lucky. I had really good experiences as a young girl dipping her feet in the dating pool. I guess with that in mind, marrying at 20 doesn't seem so far-fetched!
I met Tucker when I was 18. I had just started going to the Abbey and had just broken up with a boy I had dated the prior year. Tucker was like no one I had ever met. He seemed like an old soul. I always got the feeling that he had a secret about the world that no one else knew. This attracted me and frightened me at the same time.
We had tried our hand at dating early on. It didn't work. I was still very much in that crazy, "Let's have fun" mindset. He was so very reserved. I dated other people from time to time, but he was always there in the background. Constant. He just was always there, waiting for me to need him. Need him I did. Time and time and time again. No matter where I had been or what I had gotten myself into, he was there.
After my first year in college I was in a devastating car accident. Everyone survived, but the ordeal was so traumatic. As I lay in the hospital alone and scared, all I could think of was Tucker, my friend. I needed him. When I was finally flown home, I called him immediately. Within days, he had left his home in Georgia and drove to me in North Carolina to be by my side.
As we sat and talked I fell in love, a love that I had never felt for anyone before. It was a calm love, a peaceful love, a safe love. I was hesitant to share this realization with him, but eventually I did. Over the next few months our friendship turned into a romance, and we were engaged less than 4 months later. People ask how long we dated before we got engaged, and we always tell them we never really did. We just went from friendship to marriage in one fell swoop.
So when I say I married my best friend, I really mean it. Before anything, there was friendship and throughout all of the trials of 12 years of marriage, there has always been friendship.
So I guess I am still that same girl who wants companionship. The only difference now is that I have it. I am now and will forever be linked with the man who knows me better than I know myself, and loves me anyway.

Where Does the Time Go?

"Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives." (Cue the music)
I just got done talking to my friend Tom. His little girl and Charlie have been together in preschool since the beginning of time. I have watched his tiny, little girl, grow up into a feisty, vivacious, and opinionated little person. He has watched my little guy as he has broken each arm, and still somehow managed to survive. We are a close-knit family at our preschool. We love one another's kids, and we relish in the fact that everything has been the same, year after year.
Tom was talking about how he hates how "official" kindergarten sounds. Say it...KINDERGARTEN...doesn't it just send chills up your spine? Next year our little ones will fly from their cozy nests where they have been for so long together and find new nests, all over, away from all that is familiar. (...momentary pause due to hyperventilating) No longer will I be able to count on this family to watch after my boy when I can not. I will not be able to see the sweet and funny little changes in my friends' children as they grow day to day. They will see each other again, I'm sure, but the safe little cocoon will no longer be.
How does this happen? I just delivered Charlie yesterday. I remember as clear as day. (How could I forget, Tucker just about delivered him!!) He was the little boy we were sure would never be given my family's female-dominated gene pool. He just learned to walk, he just learned to go potty, he was just a baby a second ago. Now, all of a sudden, without my knowledge or permission, someone took my little boy and forced him to grow up, and now they are going to throw him in the bureaucratic world that is kindergarten. NO!!!
....I digress. This cocoon, this family that Charlie has known for so many years is exactly what he needed to be able to take this step. He feels safe and secure enough to be able to step out and test the waters. What he learned at preschool far surpasses the ABCs and 1,2,3s. He gained the sense of self he needs to move on and fly to that next nest. I know the transition would not be as seamless had he not had such a warm and loving environment to pave the way.
Charlie will be fine. Tom's little girl will be fine. All of the little kids they have grown up with will be just fine, too. Of this I am convinced. Now us, the mommies and the daddies, I'm not so sure of.

Jenny-any-Dots Fluffy Gumby Hearn

I grew up with cats. Lots of cats. We always joked that we were the crazy cat family. I always felt a somewhat spiritual connection to them. They always seemed to really know when I needed a friend, and they would always come. After Tuck and I were married, and began spitting the kids out, we adopted two dogs. He grew up with dogs and was convinced they were the superior species and would make better pets for the family. I loved my dogs, but something was missing.
Our first Thanksgiving in Georgia, our dear friends, Jim and Janet came down to celebrate with us. They were leaving Saturday afternoon, but Janet and I still managed to squeeze out of the house in the morning for a little girl time. We were mostly window shopping when we happened upon a sidewalk adoption set up in front of the Petsmart. Being animal lovers, we had no choice but to stop!! I was immediatley drawn to a cage of tiny little gray and white fluff balls. Janet, who has always been the voice of reason in my head, was giving me that, "Don't you even think about it" look. My sanity snapped. I was smitten. I looked up at my friend (who at this point was standing over me rolling her eyes) and told her I was not leaving without one of these kitties. In a moment that I accepted as total approval on her part, (although I"m sure she would disagree) she said, "Get the one with the polka dots. That one's cute."
What comes next is iconic folklore in our family. I walk in the door with my new little baby, (while Janet is mumbling something to the affect of being murdered by my husband) and Tucker asks why Janet got a cat. When he realized the fast one his wife had pulled on him, he was not happy to say the least. By the end of the evening though, Tucker had fallen in love. However, my theory has always been that he bonded with her when he named her Jenny-any-Dots, after the T.S. Elliot poem and CATS song by the same name.
So, thus is the tale of my sweet Jenny. She is still my heart and soul after all these years. I love my children, and I love my husband, by my Jenny...there just is no one in the world who could ever fill her furry, little shoes. She waits for me at the window every afternoon for my car to pull in from work. She meets me at the door. When I'm tired she curls right up to me. She sits on the edge of the tub while I soak. She is always there when I need her. I have even been able to develop a language that she responds to. (now I sound nuts) If I'm lying in bed and she is not there, I will meow a few times and she comes running.
Today at work I was telling a co worker about a design idea I had for my bedroom, based on the color pallette in Jenny's fur. My friend just looked at me like I was crazy. I really think I may be.
I'm just so thankful to have such a sweet and loyal friend in my life.
There is so much to celebrate in the simplest of blessings.

Friends Forever

I have four children. Everyone who knows me, knows I'm that lady with the four kids. When we descend upon a grocery store or a public event, the world seems to know it. That being said, I have 4 of the most well behaved children I know. (and in my line of work I know A LOT of children!!) But still, no matter how good they can be, there is still four of them, and I often get those "haven't you figured out where they come from yet?" comments.
I really enjoy being a mom. It is the best thing I have ever done, although I have had some challenges as of late. Apparently, having 4 kids, fairly spaced out in age, presents unique challenges. For example, the 11 year old is on her cell phone, conducting very important business, while in the background the 1 year old is asking for a clean diaper. Alternate universes. It can be a lot to handle.
So, as I try to do in everything, I look for that proverbial silver lining; the nugget of inspiration and hope to carry me through.
All of us went to a party tonight for one of Patch's little school buddies. It was an outdoor party, and the kids spent 2 hours running around in the Georgia heat, and loving every moment. By the time we packed up to leave, our little Patchy had really begun to melt down from exhaustion. His daddy was holding him and talking so sweetly to him, yet all he would cry out for was "Lou Lou." (his name for his sister, Elizabeth) The 8 year old did what neither Daddy or Mommy was capable of at the time, and calmed him down and comforted him as we got in the car and drove home. Once home, and clean, my daughter and my son, snuggled up and fell asleep. Together. All is right with the world.
So, yes, being the mom of 4 is hairy at times. I get frustrated and overwhelmed and feel under appreciated. But tonight I was reminded what an awesome gift God has given me and my husband and children. We have the gift of each other. My kids will ALWAYS have their siblings. When Tucker and I are old, and go crazy, as is inevitable, I'm beginning to believe, they will have each other to lean on. We have each other to learn from, and to grow from- to play with and to spat with. We enhance each other's lives.
Whether it is just a much needed bedtime snuggle, or a personal crisis, we are friends in the truest form-forever.

Fate vs. Faith

My husband is really fond of saying, "Life can only ever have happened the way it happened."

We got married at 20 and 21 years of age. Young and stupid. We were from different areas, had different interests, and neither of us truly had a clue about what life was about. We became trusted friends, became pregnant and then married. Not exactly the preferable sequence of events, but again, we were really too young to realize how scary a situation we had found ourselves in.
We had our first child, Emily, and neither of us had graduated college. Tucker worked days as a technical writer and nights finishing his triple degrees. Emily and I had fun. As I watched her grow, she forced me to do the same.
Without knowing it, Tucker and I were growing up together; making the same mistakes that all 20 somethings make, but doing it married with a child. It must have been fate. Or was it?
When I became pregnant with our second child, I was given a 50% chance of miscarriage due to complications. I was put on bed rest and lived in fear that I would sneeze and lose my baby. Elizabeth was very sick as an infant and required almost constant holding, but my baby had made it! It must have been fate!
And the years went on. We grew together and grew apart at least a million times. We decided to move to Georgia about 5 years into our marriage for a "change of pace." We handled our move much as we had handled the rest of our lives. With eyes shut, jumping head first! Tucker got a great job, I got settled with the girls, and we began a new chapter. It must have been fate.
Our first son was born in 2004. He was the first child I breastfed any longer than 2 weeks. I spent many hours holding, feeding and gazing down at my newborn son. During our marathon feedings, I could tell he could not see me. Charlie was completely blind. When he was 8 weeks old he was diagnosed with Delayed Visual Maturation, a condition in which the baby's vision did not develop as it was suppose to in utero, but would continue to improve outside the womb. After almost twice monthly trips to the doctor, when he was 6 months old his vision test was normal. It must have been fate.
I have at least a thousand of theses stories. Stories where Tucker and I think about how our lives would be different if...What if he never came to college in North Carolina, What if we hadn't gotten pregnant so young, What if we didn't somehow make our meager earnings work... What if, what if, what if?

Life can ONLY ever happen the way it happened.

It's fate.

Or, is it faith?

Before I was born, God knew I would meet Tucker. He knew we would get pregnant and be married too young. He knew the struggles we would have with each other and the struggles we would have with our children. He knew everything.
This is not to say, it was fate that made these things happen. I made my choices through free will, as everyone does. But there is only one way life can happen, and that is the way that it happens. God has a watchful eye over everything we do, and He makes sure we have the tools to handle the outcomes. No matter what mistakes we make in our lives, we are never left alone to sort them out ourselves.
I have faith that my life is in the hands of God. I have faith that when I completely run things a muck, my Lord will be there to help bail me out as He has done countless times before. I have faith that God holds all of the answers to all of the questions, and all I have to do is seek Him, and I will know the answers, too.
There is no fate. There is only faith. Faith in God to see us through.

Motherly Love

The day I became a mother for the first time, my life changed forever--drastically. I had been a very self-absorbed teenager with no desire to make a responsible decision. But on November 15, 1997 my life really began. I learned what true love really is. I discovered that perhaps the purpose of my life had more to do with others than myself. I was overwhelmed that day, and have been ever since. The love I feel for my children is immense. I make sure I tell them every day. The thought of them ever "wondering" if Mommy truly loves them, is terrifying to me. When one of them hurts in anyway, I, too, hurt.
As much as I would love to believe the bond I have with my children is unique only to us, I know that that is far from true. In fact, I am so reassured to know that there are so many of these strong mother-child relationships in a world that can sometimes be hopelessly lonely. I was so touched during a recent trip to the zoo, when I had the opportunity to witness one such relationship up close.
It wasn't a mother attentively walking her children around, explaining to them the habitats and behaviors of the different species. I was captivated by the palpable love of a mother ape and her child. In the arms of it's mother, that baby was safe and comforted. In that warm embrace, the baby knew that Momma would never let him down. The mother in turn, could never have been more content, for with her, she had her life source; the love of her child.

Locks of Love

My greatest hope for my future, is that when my children are grown I can know that they are "good people." I know that is an incredibly vague statement, but it is truly my most chief dream. I know that if a person is good at their core, and they know that about themselves, so many other things fall into place. It is a lesson that as an adult I am still learning.
Everyday I hope that some tiny little piece of wisdom or hug or realization will enter their impressionable little minds to contribute to their "goodness." With this in mind, I know and accept that flaws are necessary and to be expected. I just want my little ones to grow into the best people they can be-- whatever that may mean for each of them.
I got perhaps a glimpse of some of that character building this past February, when 11 year old Emily cut 11 1/2 inches of her prized golden hair to be donated to children who for one reason or another lost their own hair. It was a goal she had had in mind for some time, although she was becoming increasingly attached to life as a spunky tween with long blond hair. I was beginning to wonder if she would ever be able to part with it!!
Sure enough, she went through with it. The pride she had in herself for following through in her years-long plan, flooded my heart. I saw what I hope was one in a long line of selfless acts that one of my children does for another. Because of my Emily, another child's life will be a little less difficult.

Weathering the Storm

What a morning! Our dear sweet Grandma/Mother/all around amazing person, Elaine, gave us tickets to her Exchange Club's annual Pancake Jamboree. This was to be an exceptionally fun treat because Elizabeth had a friend spend the night, so we would have 5 kids with us instead of our regular 4!! We go every year, and every year cars are lined up for blocks up and down the street around the Fraternal Order of Police building where it is held. As we loaded all 5 children in the car, we noticed the sky looked a bit threatening, though it had not begun to rain. As soon as we backed out of the driveway, the rain begun coming down. By the time we were half way there, it was starting to come down steadily. I told Tucker that I'm sure the rain will have scared many people away, and we would be able to find parking right up front near the building. Well, I was wrong. We turned the corner to see cars lined up and down the road as usual. I, in my infinite wisdom, found a spot between two trucks on the side of the road and chided Tucker to parallel park in between. (By this time, the rain was teaming) My ever-obedient hubby, unfortunately listened. Before he could straighten the wheels of the van full of children, we were stuck in inches of mud! I was convinced for some reason, that I would be able to "unstick" us. So, I got out, in the pouring rain, to go to the driver's side. My adorable, little red and white ballet flats instantly sunk in 3 inches of mud! Oops! At this point the kids were already complaining about the smell of "burning rubber" and being scared of the now loud claps of thunder and lightning. My poor husband--that is just what he gets for following my brilliant idea! At this point I began to panic just a bit. (As did Tucker, if he would ever really admit it!)
But then, the Holy Spirit came into our hearts and instantly calmed us. It was then I remembered, God was in control of this situation, not me, not Tucker. God would find a way. He always does.
I left Tucker in the car, with the 5 kids, and I ran down to the building to find Elaine. She immediately gave me her coat, (I was now completely soaked) and had her Exchange Club buddies on the case to help us. One man went to get his truck to pull Tucker out, one man was directing traffic away from our stuck van, and a sweet woman, traversed up the road with me to bring extra umbrellas and help me get the kids inside. Once inside, Elaine took the kids and made sure they had their food and drinks (all while holding Patchy) and the nice umbrella lady was drying their hair off with towels. Soon Tucker had become unstuck, and his breakfast and coffee was brought right to him. We sat down and laughed at how crazy all of this was. As Elaine was feeding Patch his mound of pancakes, another Exchange Club member, came to her and told her that there was a tornado watch! We just hunkered down a little longer until we could safely get the kids in the car and home.
What an adventure!
Tucker, as if he had read my mind, commented about how we would have handled the whole situation so differently not that long ago. Instead of trusting in the Lord to see us through, we would have stressed out, and yelled at each other, and probably ended up scaring the kids. It's amazing to me, that when you open your heart just a little to God's light, how He shines so very brightly and guides you. It is such a comfort to know that I am not in charge.

Illness Induced Reflection

After what seems like ages of taking care of sick little ones, it seems like those awful little germs have taken up temporary residence in me. I am experiencing the out-of-head experience that comes with a bad cold/flu as well as those potent OTC medications. You know the feeling of which I speak...you're aware of what's going on but your a little not quite there. (although sometimes by not being "quite there" you are able to be where you should have been all a long) I refer to this condition as IIR or Illness Induced Reflection. It seems like in this state, conclusions are able to be reached and appreciated in a way that are often overlooked in a healthy functioning state. Some might compare IIR to being high, though I can not comment on that.
So here I am-- in intense IIR. As pitiful as I feel, the reflection is beginning to set in. I look (and listen) around my modest suburban home. I hear the sometimes loud sounds of my children and husband. I see stacks (and I mean stacks) of freshly laundered clothes on the hearth, waiting to be put away. Crumbs of whatever the baby ate for dinner, thrown from his highchair are now littering the kitchen floor. A calendar strewn with graffiti hang on the door reminding me of the unendless list of "to dos" that await me for the coming week. Ordinarily I would be unable to relax at the computer with such distractions, tonight in my advance case of IIR I find it all inspiring.
My modest home is MY MODEST HOME. In an age where people are losing their homes left and right, I have my safe, little cave to come home to. It is not large or fancy, the paint is smudged and the doors tend to stick. But this is my home. A home that I have, not because I deserve it, but because God saw it in His plan for me to live here. I hear the sometimes constant choir of voices. The bickering, the whining, the tattletaling--- I sometimes want to bury my head under a rock. But these are the voices, whether happy or sad, that God entrusted to MY care. Voices that I prayed for long before I heard, and that I think of every moment of every day. These voices I must not take for granted, because so many people are praying for little souls to enter their lives, yet keep coming up empty handed. As for those stacks of laundry-- they never stop coming. There is always more to do. The faster it gets done, the faster it piles up. This is yet another way that my Lord has shown His love to me. He keeps my family clothed and warm. We are able to wash our clothes and keep them nice. We do not have to wear the same thing day after day. We have the joy and benefit of being able to CHOOSE what we WANT to wear. And yes, the floor may be littered with crumbs that need to be swept up. This gets under my skin more than anything. But what do the crumbs on the floor mean? God has provided my family with food a plenty. So much, than when some is dropped, it is not missed. It simply becomes garbage that is to be swept up and thrown away. In a world where more people are hungry than not, how can I not look at the crumbs on the floor as a blessing? The beckoning of the calender will always await. It will feel like there are not enough hours in the day to accomplish all that there is. But just as my Lord has provided everything for me and my family that we need, so too, will he provide to us a way to succeed. When I am able to sit back and take a deep breath and see how God has never let me down, I am able to trust that He will carry me when I get weary.
It is all in God's plan. This I am sure of. So maybe God sent this illness to me as a means to tap into my wonderful IIR and realize the gifts that are before me everyday. The gifts that I'm not entitled to, but given nonetheless.