Bitty Baby Growing Up

I was just a baby when Emily was born. Many 20 year olds are mature and wise. I was not one of them. All I knew about babies was what I learned from playing with dolls. But Emily taught me a lot.

In the early years of our marriage, and when Emily was an infant, Tucker was still in college and worked all of the time. My bitty baby and I had to make it on our own. We traveled everywhere together, and I soon was filling our days with play dates, library story times and trips to the park. Everything I did revolved around her and she thanked me by being the easiest and most mild mannered baby in the world.

I spent money we did not have on color coordinated bows and little ruffly socks. She had short curly blond hair that would bounce around her head as she moved and a smile that could draw the attention of strangers from across the room. She very simply was a beautiful child. I loved being her mommy. It was more fun than I could ever imagine it would be.

Because I was such a young mom, I remembered so vividly my childhood. I put all of my focus on duplicating what had been pleasant and avoiding at all costs the things that could cause her hurt. I was determined to be the best mommy ever. I was going to give my bitty baby the best life ever!

Over the years Ems and I have stayed uniquely close. We have always had a very open dialog and I have made it clear to her that no matter what, she will always be my baby and I will always love her. We have made each other angry at times but it never takes long for the offending party to come to the other with an unsolicited apology. She has shared with me that some of her friends had very strained relationships with their parents and that she was so thankful for Tucker and I. Everyone has warned me that once she became a teenager, our happily ever after connection would end, but I was convinced that Emily and I would be different.

Now my bitty baby is 13. Just hearing myself say that puts a knot in my stomach. 13. My little girl with the matching bows and bouncy hair, is suddenly a lean, beautiful independent thinking young woman. She fascinates me. As close as we are, she and I are so very different. She is extremely preppy and smart and organized; none of those qualities have ever been used to describe her mother. Still, she respects me and loves me the way I am, and I... well, I am in utter awe of her.

I know that there will come a time in her life where the apron strings will be cut. She may go away to school or even marry and move to another place one day. (gasp, gasp) The thought breaks my heart, although I know whatever decisions she makes for her self will be well thought out and prayed over; for that I am so thankful.

She is not a bitty baby anymore, but in my heart she always will be. She will always be the tiny little person who taught me how to mother and to give unselfishly. She will always be the first person to show me truly unconditional love. She really is the person who taught me most about myself.

We are still very close, despite the inevitable teenage angst. On occasion she will snuggle with me and we still talk about matters of the heart and mind, but it is becoming clear that she is able to rely on her old momma less. She has a core group of friends who are now her "go to people." Hanging out with mom is now not nearly as fun as it once was, and I hate to admit it, but I have gotten "the look" more than I care to recall. You all know the look in which I speak- the "You have got to be kidding me, you crazy monster from another planet look." Each time she shoots me "the look" I want to say, "but Ems, it's ME, remember?? Your momma, the one who you think knows everything and the person who you would rather be with than anyone else in the whole wide world! Remember??"

Yep, she is growing up, my bitty baby. I really couldn't be more proud of the person she is choosing to become. Oh, my sweet Emily. I am so proud and just a little heartbroken.

Laundry Love

When I was in my last trimester of pregnancy with Patch, I was very sick. It was initially very confusing to the doctors as to what was going on, and as a result I was misdiagnosed and mistreated for nearly a month. The result was several hospital stays and near confinement to my bedroom. I was so very scared for myself as well as for my little unborn baby.

During my illness, even the simplest of tasks felt impossible. I was unable to read a magazine, follow a television show or even take a shower without having Tucker close by. I was a wreck and I just kept getting worse.

Several weeks into my illness, Janet called to see how everything was going. Because she is six hours away and I had not felt well enough to call, she had been completely unaware of what was going on. Tucker filled her in the best he could with the information we had at the time. Anytime she called in the coming weeks, I was too ill to talk and the news was always worse than the time before.

After Patch was born, I received a correct diagnosis immediately by my general practitioner. Within a week or two I was beginning to recover and finally felt well enough to call my dear friend and fill her in on what I had been through the past couple of months. It was a tough conversation to have because the experience had been so painful. She listened as I cried my way from beginning to end., and then she said something that I have held close to my heart since that day. She had spoken of how she knew there was a problem when she had stopped hearing from me and how worried she had been. Then, one day she had a dream. She dreamt that I was sitting on the sofa and she came and dumped a load of freshly laundered towels, straight out of the dryer on me. She said when she awoke, she knew that I was going to be okay, because the feeling of fresh, warm laundry was such a good feeling.

I am not exactly sure why, but that imagery has meant so much to me since the day she shared it with me. It makes me feel loved and nurtured. It is such a simple image, but so comforting. I have called on that image several times in the last three and half years. Anytime I am feeling a little lonely or down or overwhelmed, I imagine my friend smiling at me and covering me with warm, soft laundry, and I can almost smell it in my mind. Instantly I am calmer.

Today, while pulling laundry out of the dryer, I was reminded of Janet and her love. Six hours away, but I felt as though she was in the room with me. And I smiled. I love her and I miss her, but there is always laundry.

Bumper sticker

I saw this on a bumper sticker the other day. It took me only a few seconds to decipher the meaning and then I was so impress with how clever it was! Really got my attention, which is EXACTLY what it is supposed to do!

Anyone else want to give it a try?

My Brain Hurts

It's relatively quiet here. I can hear the sound of kids playing in the playroom, the soft buzzing of the refrigerator and very little else. After a long day of child corralling, my body is tired and I am so thankful to have this moment of peaceful respite before the dryer buzzes, the dogs need to go out and the kids want to be fed. Ohm...ohm....ohm...
As much as my body relishes in the temporary inactivity my mind shudders in the near silence. I have never been the kind of person to be able to "clear my head." I admire people who can take a few deep breaths and go to their happy place. Not me. My mind jumps from list to list, worry to worry, chore to chore, fear to fear and so on. Never quiet. Constantly buzzing. The benefit of my line of work is that it doesn't really allow for mindless or otherwise daydream or really any reflection at all. We are on the move and alert from the moment we start the day until the last little kiddo gets picked up. Any pressing matters of the head or the heart must be pushed aside because little Ms. Priss poopied in her pants or little Mr. Tough Guy got his feeling hurt. I am not complaining. Although often exhausting, there is something to be said for being able to focus solely on a group of miniature people for awhile. They can be really entertaining!
Of course what tends to happen in my case, is a massive unloading of thought and emotion when the quiet replaces the chaos.
I am a freaker-outer. Always have been. I remember very clearly in high school taking my stereo into Service Merchandise for repairs. Apparently, I was convinced that whatever was wrong with it could not be fixed and I would be left without a stereo or a really big bill. Panic set in and overwhelmed me and I lost it. My boyfriend at the time, who NEVER lost his temper EVER, turned to me with somewhat of a fearful look in his eyes and yelled, "Quit FREAKING out!!" Over 15 years later and I can still see the look on his face. Somewhere between utter annoyance and unbridled fear. Hmmm, wonder why that one didn't stick around??

I have grown up in many ways since the "Day of the Great Stereo Freak-Out," but I am sad to say I still have a tendency to allow the most negative of possibilities fill my brain and convince me of impending doom. I over-analyze every nuance of every situation. I replay conversations in my head and I attempt to hypothesize the meaning of every expression. I am an over thinker in the worst way. I can over think until there is no possibility that an outcome could ever work in my favor. Surely, I convince myself, that all is black and white and I'm just doomed. Yeh, not good. It sucks to be me when I'm doing it, but sucks even more to be anywhere within a 15 mile radius of me when it is going on.

The last couple weeks have been a time of tremendous growth and redefinition in my life. I did not intend for it to happen, but like so much in this world, it was thrust upon me. I have done my share of freaking out. I have over analyzed and obsessed. I have studied and reexamined. I have thought and I have cried and I have freaked out some more.

And now I am done. No more freaking out for me, I have decided. I'm passing the torch on this one. Hear you go, I'm too tired, your turn. My brain hurts from thinking and my heart hurts from aching and I'm just gonna take it easy now, if you don't mind. It's funny, really. I always thought the obsessive reexamining was necessary in solving the problem. I think I am learning that it is yet just another barrier. I am looking forward to seeing only one set of footprints in the sand in the coming weeks, because I know I need the lift. I am so thankful that I have Someone willing to carry me the rest of the way.

My Love is a Fire

I am a moody person. No, really, it's true. Back "in the day" I saw my moodiness as a really cool gateway into the world of everything artistic. I tried to channel all of those youthful feelings of angst into radical enlightenment. That's right, dude, life was way groovy. I could sit in my bed room for days and listen to the same Dead Cd over and over again and feel hypnotized and euphoric. It was a drugless high and I was an addict.


I really do miss those moments of being completely lost in the moment; being able to get so enraptured by something that the rest of the world ceases to exist for a little while. Recognizing how much I sound like a whacked out drug addict at this moment, I digress.

On occasion I still can get in a music fog like I once did, but never anywhere near as heady. It's hard to really have music envelop your heart and soul when at the same time you have someone in one direction yelling to have his bottom wiped while in the other direction a wrestling match over the remote control is underway. All the while the phone is ringing.
"Come here, Uncle John's Band..." yeh, it's good but let's face it- it's not the same.

I'm okay with not be a transcendental hippie anymore. Really, I am. I know there comes a time when actually "dealing" with problems, opposed to brooding over them is a more appropriate response. I can reach truth without hours of monotonous stereo play. It comes in different ways now. But, I still miss those days of endless heartfelt deliberations.

A little over a year ago Tucker and Jim built a fire pit in the backyard. You see, Janet is an absolute fire genius and my kids and I always marvel at how she can make flames come from just about nothing. In fact, I believe I once overheard one of my children telling a friend, "My Aunt Janet breathes fire." Anyway, it was a spur of the moment decision one day, that the men would take some extra brick we had lying around and try and dig out a little pit. That night we had an outdoor fire. It was spectacular!

Over the course of the past year we have used that pit more than I think anyone expected. When we have something to celebrate- let's drink beer around the fire, company in town- we should have a fire, day off from school- let's roast marshmallows by the fire...and so it goes.

I have come to realize that that impromptu fire pit has become an outlet for me much in the same way that music was all those years ago. I tenderly build a strong base in which to begin the fire, I nurture the flames by adding wood or straw, I blow from underneath the flames to keep the oxygen circulating, and I get extremely defensive and protective when anyone steps up to "really get it going." And let me tell you- Everyone seems to think they are experts in fire building. Everyone. Usually I quietly take a backseat until they reduce my fire to a pile of smoldering logs, and then I gladly reclaim my position as fire monitor.

I can sit by the fire for hours. And I mean hours. I could do nothing all day, but tend to the fire and watch as the flames dance in the air. I inhale deeply as I breathe in the smokey outside air, convinced that somehow I am breathing in rejuvenating magic. And I sit, and I sit, and I sit. If there is someone out there for me to talk to, I will. And usually the conversations are honest and open and important, as if that is all that can exist around my sacred place. If I am alone, then I am happy alone; out there just me and the fire.

I can't believe of all things in my life that would bring me to a place of peace and reflection that makeshift pit in the yard would be the one. But it has.
And I am so very thankful.

I used to believe ignorance truly was bliss.
What you don't know can't hurt you, right?
I was so wrong.

I want to be a good person. I want to be a Christ-like person. Most people who know me probably would describe as funny or crazy but probably not Christ-like. But the people who know me well; who know my heart, understand that despite my many many flaws, I want to be a GOOD person; the kind of person that is often not really easy to be.

I have been told that if you pray for patience, God will give you something to challenge your patience. I never understood this before. I do now.

I have often heard that to be a really good artist or musician you must have a gritty life history, for it is this history that you tap into to create depth in your masterpieces. I wonder if the same isn't true for growing close to God. Although I recognize that God allows everyone into His fold, it seems to be the unimanginable sufferings that people go through that solidifies or destroys their need for Christ in their life. I have always desired a close relationship with Christ. However, as the grit of life seems to be mercilessly pummelling me lately, I am convinced now more than ever, that the only way through is through Jesus Christ.

I prayed for a close relationship with God, and I have been given something that challenges that relationship. But I choose God. I come to Him as a completely lost and vulnerable person and put all my trust in Him.

There really aren't any other options.