Easter Photos

It took me awhile to not be annoyed by how these turned out, but having embraced the fact that was no human way possible (at 7am on a Sunday morning in the cold, wet grass) to get all 3 kids in the SAME shot and actually LOOKING at the camera, and/or not crying, I can finally present, with a smile, the Easter Photo Shoot.  It is actually pretty true to life, so it will serve as a great reminder of this year.

This was probably the best I got.

Then an airplane went over.

Then things started to get silly.

Really silly.

 

Judah only wanted to pose IN the bushes.

 

 Cora only wanted to do these strange poses.

 

Peter was having NONE of this grass touching him and there was a slide, so...

But I managed to catch a little spark of true self from each kid.

 

 
 
 

And a pretty good reflection of the two of these boys as brothers.

 

Two outta three ain't bad!

   

So happy Easter!  (Peter didn't like being held on to.  Poor guy.)

One! (Part 3)

Our youngest guy turned 1 with just a little home fanfare and family fun.   It was a lovely birthday and he is a great baby!

He went right to work on his cake as if he had been waiting his entire life to get a hold of some of this stuff.

We set down the cake.

 He ate...

And ate...

And ate...

And ATE...

AND ATE... 

Until it was GONE!

Then I had to hose him off.

Happy Birthday, littlest guy!

Stain Glass Project with the kids

A trip to the local craft store yielded up glass "gems" or beans, as we call them, some cheap frames with glass in them and glue.

Add those together and we got "stain glass" designed by the kids.

They laid out their design and I want back and glued them down.  One by one.  I was going to call this project "easy" but that killed it.  Simple, but not quick or something the kids could do, at age 3 and 5, without help.  They enjoyed making pictures though.  

We had to campaign hard for J to include any colors other than his favorite.   You can see how many concessions he made to our pleas.  The orange is purely accidental since it looked like red in the bowl.

10 years - a letter to my husband

Hey babe,
I sat down to write you a song for our anniversary, but my fingers were rusty from disuse on the frets of my guitar and the words were halting, resisting my efforts to mold them into lines and phrases that said what I wanted them to.   There's just too much to say.  Our 10th anniversary is today and I am watching five marriages dissolve around me.  People who have been together as long as us.  It is heartbreaking and makes me angry, discouraged, and a little bit afraid.  If it can happen to them, can it happen to us?

The answer to that is yes.  It will always be yes.  Only three things stand between you and me and the devastating untangling of lives that we have witnessed; you, me and God.  Luckily one of those things will never fail.  I have a love song on repeat in my head.  It's one of our favorite singer/songwriters.  You know the one I mean.  He sang at our wedding before he hit it big and we have danced barefoot in the living room to his love songs.  The line from the song is "Love will be enough." and I am struck by how much that is not true.  I wish it were true.

Love is not enough to hold us together.

Kind of a crappy sentiment for this anniversary, but just wait a minute.  It's not the end of the story.  For the last 40 days I have been doing the "Love Dare", secretly, with women from our church.  Yes, it's cheesy and the movie I found out about it from, staring Kirk Cameron, is even cheesier.  But every day I was "dared" to love you better and given a task to practice unconditional love. You may have noticed a difference, but you may have not.  I'll admit, I failed left and right at loving you well.  But as the days went on, I saw again and again that love, the kind that makes us work, is not something that happens between us.  It's something I choose to do myself, again and again, even when I don't want to.  Even when I have to go hide in the bathroom and scream into a towel to keep from saying every nasty thing that comes into my head, while we are in the middle of an argument. 

I wish I could say that our relationship was somehow profoundly different as a result of this dare.  It isn't.  We are pretty much still us.  Hot tempered, Spirited, Passionate people, surrounded on all sides by kids who seem intent on never giving us another private moment together.  Sometimes, like a few weeks ago during that stomach bug, the only thing "hot and heavy" around here is the washing machine setting.  But I learned something.  A hard lesson.  The love I give you isn't about the love you give me.  It's a choice.  One that I have to make daily when I am tired, or about to go nuts because I gave up sugar for Lent and that has been my drug of choice for...oh...forever.

So I am just gonna shoot straight and say what I know you already know, I suck at it.  I really do.  But I am never going to stop trying.  Never going to stop laying down my pride and my right to be right, no matter how many times I may pick it up in some effort to feel in control of this marriage.  Never going to stop reaching to put my arm around you in the dark, even when of of the kids has snuck into our bed and is asleep between us.  Never going to stop fighting for us.  Never going to stop asking God it root out the character flaws in me that threaten to destroy us.

I love you.  Not with the kind from love songs that says when the "fire" burns out, it's time to move on.  The kind that requires me to become less of me, (not in that unhealthy way that requires therapy) and to love you in a way that will never be easy, but will always be good.

Happy Anniversary, honey.  Thanks for sticking with me this far.

Love,
Me

Coming out of hibernation : : A Winter Recap

Warning....Photo bomb!

It has been a long, long, cold winter.  I'm currently popping vitamin D just to say ahead of the dark and gloomy days.  Spring is just around the corner and I am OH, SO GRATEFUL for that.

We had some rough times this winter.

Our cat (Gizmo) went to live with family members.

 

Our dog (Freckles) went to heaven to steal pizza crusts from the heavenly hosts during family movie night.

The pipes froze, several times.

We had wild weather with tornado warnings. We hung out in our "safe place".

And we spent most of February sick.  Almost all of us. Boo.  (But we snuggled everyone a lot.)

Not that we haven't had a good time around here.

There were heaps of good books.

Little girls totally overawed by teen ballerinas.

Chores turned into fun by hilarious kiddos.

A baby "baptism", or dedication, if you will

"Snow" days. (A small dusting, a few times)

Fabulous holidays with far off family come to visit.

Wonderfully terrible Christmas photos. (Seriously.  Not a good one in the bunch.  They remind me of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbs.)

A 3rd Birthday.

Amazing art projects.

Epic sheet forts.

A ballet recital.

The ever blossoming friendship between these two.

And these two.

And these two.

And a whole lot of this wonderful girl, who is growing up on me, all sneaky-like, when I'm not looking.  My right hand gal, my perpetual conversationalist, my snuggler, my inventor, and queen bee/gang ringleader of this rabble.

And this boy, who is the sweetest boy.  Who is my guy, my wild boy, my tenderhearted, fearless one.

And this baby boy, who is amazingly strong, non stop motion, giggly sweetness, and mischief.  He has charmed us all!

And this guy.  My heart.  My love.
 

Who is just IN it with this parenting stuff!

 

 On the whole, we made it. We survived. Now March...enough of this Lion business, I am ready for the Lamb.

 

One more.  Just for good measure.

 

Five of the most wonderful months of my life

The giggles and smiles of this one get me.  They shoot little love arrows straight at my heart.  He is my personal cupid.  I bet you can see why.  Third baby.  Laid back, happy baby.  Joyful, giggly, oh so very wiggly, lovely baby.  Your eyes have that same exact mischievous tilt that your Papa has.  Happy 5 months, littlest guy.  We are crazy about you.

I Never Wear High Heels - and my other failings as the mother of a girl

If you know me, you read that title with the sarcastic lilt that you know you would hear in my voice.  I don't think it is a failing as a mother to not wear high heels.  IN FACT, I think I personally am a better mother because my attention isn't on what my feet look like.  Or my outfit.  Or my nonexistent makeup.  However, I do have awesome hair.  When I wash it.  Ha!

But I didn't always feel that way.  My mother didn't wear shoes often at home and if she did, it was wooden bottomed clogs, or boots.  It was the 70's.  It was Texas.  (now she wears sliver and pink sneakers...go figure)  And there was a time I was sort of ashamed that she wasn't more cool.  Or more dressed up.  Or teaching me how to wear makeup.  I learned haphazardly from friends and from watching my older sister.  It was a rough route at times, but I settled into a style that, when I am not between pregnancy fluctuations, is a comfy jeans a t-shirt kind of style.  With sneakers.  Or flip flops.  And a ponytail.  Not that fancy isn't fun, but it's just not for me on a daily basis.

I see women who pull off the coolest outfits and walk flawlessly through this journey called motherhood and I am in awe, because when I put on fancy clothes, I feel strangled.  And unnatural.  And I sure can't ride bikes, or go on hikes, or scrub toilets, and sweep floors, sort laundry, clean up poo and pee accidents, or get puked on every feeding by my babies, (3 for 3 in the reflux department...awesome) or read books on the floor, or play chase like a bear, or wrestle my children without worrying about those clothes. *For those of you who do it, more power to you.  Your fashion rocks my face off. 

When I do take the time to dress up, the appreciation on the part of everyone here is great!  All the kids who can talk and my hubs take the time to tell me how lovely I look and in the mirror, I know it's true.  But I also know I am lovely like I was today.  Slightly grubby.  Wearing yesterday's jeans, a t-shirt with a spit up stain on the shoulder and having an indoor reading fest of new library books, spread out on the floor around us like a feast of words.  I will teach my girl all the fun of being fancy in years to come (as if she isn't already schooling herself), but I will also enjoy days that end in mud and dirt and a different kind of fun.  And I will LOVE not having crumpled up feet when I am on old lady from wearing heels.  Just my thoughts for today.

The world stops

 

I have housework to do.  I have laundry to wash.  I could take some "me time."  But some how none of that matters when these babies fall asleep on my shoulder.  I let it all go and stay here in this moment.  Wouldn't you?

Music in her blood...or not

Music runs in my family.  My parents play instruments and sing, and each of their seven children (my siblings and I) sing and play an instrument of some kind.  My grandparents played instruments and sang.  Three of four of my uncles have made a career of music of some kind at one point or another in their lives.  My mother taught us harmonies in the car when we drove anywhere and dragged us to nursing homes to regale the elderly with our Von Trapp-like musical styling.  When we get together, we sing and make music.  It's just a natural thing we always did.  I also married a musical guy.  He has a great voice (that he rarely uses) and played musical instruments for years. 

It was always my assumption that my children would be musical, but in truth not all of them are.  Cora sings but only to herself when she thinks no one can hear here.  She flat out refuses to sing with me, every day.  She was nearly four before she could sing a song back to me.  In the car, I love to listen to music and sing, Cora, from babyhood until recently, would cry if I turned it on.  She just wants to talk to me.   Judah came out with music in his veins.  He would match pitch as a six month old when I sang to him.  And now all he wants to do is sing.  He sings songs all the time and I love it.  I also began to noticed a little twinge in my heart when he wants to listen to music and she doesn't, and I thought to myself, this is when it begins, if I let it.  This is where the divide could happen.  Music doesn't run in her veins the way it always has mine.  She isn't 'just like me'.

So many moms and daughters butt heads and have such a hard time being together.  Even my own mother has the power to make me batty.  But this is my only girl.  She and I will share a unique bond through the years.  I will weep when she weeps.  When her best friend says that she is no longer my girl's best friend, I will see the hurt in her face and cry for her, all the while teaching her about sharing her friends with others.  The same thing I struggled to do in my childhood.  I know what it is to be a girl growing into a woman.  I could smother her with motherly wisdom, not leaving room for her to talk or feel, or I could try to mold her into a mini version of myself, or I could let her grow into who she is.

I am choosing today to not focus the thing she does not do, but the things she does.  I hesitate to call her an artist or a dancer or a deep thinker, because those are just things she does.  She IS a wonderful little girl, my daughter, and when we are older, she will be my friend.  Even if she never loves to make music.