The End of October

Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn. -Elizabeth Lawrence

I thoroughly enjoy this tree in our backyard.  It literally glows like fire.  I've noticed it more this October than in the past.  October is a busy month for us. . . actually the end of October is a busy time.  Who isn't busy these days, right?  This final week of October brought us to two birthday celebrations, trips, dates with kids, and memories being made.  The fun culminated today with a parade around a neighborhood where tiny hands of costumed little ones were led from house to house repeating the all important trick-or-treat and thank you's as pieces of chocolate, sweets, and other goodies were dropped into buckets. 

Can you guess who she was?

A good time was had by all and I can't wait to record the memories.  However, a busy day with a drive home that included three hours of intense contractions is leaving me very tired and wondering. . . are we going to add another birthday to the end of October? 

Oh, I hope not. 

In order to do what I can to prevent three birthdays during the final week of October I'm going to rest, take in the scenery, and pray for a November, rather than an October, baby. 

There will be more to come.  In the meantime. . . have a Happy Monday!!

He's Six

Today, my first born turns six.

My beautiful boy is 6 years old. 

If I were to ask this little guy what he wants for his birthday I would doubt that "Mommy's words" would  make the top 100 on his list.  Regardless, I write them now trusting that someday he might deem them as valuable.

Charlie,

Six years ago today, just before midnight, you burst into this world and in a moment made me a Mom.  In a blink of an eye your tiny five pound frame transformed our family into something different. . . something better.  On that day I had no idea what the future would hold.  What it meant to have a little boy.  What it meant to hold tight and let go.  What it meant to be a Mommy.  Oh, how I've enjoyed being your Mom.

To be honest, when you were first born I was scared.  I didn't know how to be a Mom to a boy.  I was afraid that I would be clueless.  That I wouldn't know what you need.  That I wouldn't understand you.  Even now as I write this I question myself. . . would a boy like my words? 

I write anyway, because my heart is full of emotion for you.  Full of thankfulness.  Full of pride.  Full of love.   In six short years you have changed from a baby to a boy.  A boy who I am proud to call my son.  Oh, Charlie, we are so grateful for all you are and all that you are becoming.  And let me tell you. . . this has been a year of becoming.

This year we have watched you transition into Kindergarten, play soccer, learn how to be a friend, get your wings and begin to fly.  Our quiet little boy who used to cower behind us has stepped out into the light.  We've watch as you have grown more confident and learned to face your fears.  Charlie, you are so brave.

A funny thing has happened as I've watched you grow. . . I have grown, too.  Maybe that surprises you?  Yes, at six years old, Charlie, you are teaching your Mommy a thing or two about being brave. 

There are so many things that I appreciate about you.  I think the best way to describe you is "well-rounded".  What I mean is you seem to have the best of so many qualities.  Like, your laugh.  Oh my, you have the greatest laugh.  When you really get laughing the sound reaches into the deepest parts of my soul and I feel my heart dance.  Your entire face actually comes alive and a light actually reflects from your eyes. I love the way you enjoy being silly.

Oh, we so enjoy your serious side, too.  Your serious side is deep and complex and way beyond your years.

The best way I can describe it is a "sensitive soul".  A heart that is large and tender.  A heart that is simply beautiful.  We see it in the way you interact with people and in the way you seem to just know what others need. 

We see it in the way you care for your sister.  The way you love her and the way she adores you.

Charlie, we all adore you. 

You are six years old today, Charlie.  This year we have begun the process of letting go and letting you fly. . . little by little.  That process will continue throughout your life.  Sometimes the letting go will be easier than others.  As your Mom I want you to know that I'm doing my best.  I've never been a boy so I won't always know what you need.  (That's why I married a great guy like your Dad.)  No matter what, though, I will always be here for you.  There will not come a day when I don't believe in you and when I am not cheering you on.  Some days I might be louder than others. . . but my cheers will always be there. 

You see, I believe in you with everything I have.

 

And I pray for you. . . often.  I pray that your heart will remain tender and you will always see the goodness that resides in you.  Oh, the goodness is so abundant.  My greatest hope for you?  My greatest hope is that you will, simply, be you.  Because "you", Bud, is absolutely perfect. 

Happy Birthday my Handsome boy!

Love,
Mommy

Shadows

I feel safest in the shadows.  Unnoticed and unseen.  In a crowded room I will be on the outer edges, probably near the door.  I will be the one observing.  The one hoping to blend in. . . the wall flower.  I've always attributed it to personality.  I'm an introvert.  Quiet.  Timid, but not shy. 

I much prefer to be behind the camera. . . not in front of it.  Spotlights make me cringe.  Attention makes me nauseous.  Crowds are dizzying.

This is how I'm built, I've said to myself.  Some people are "up front" people, while others are "in back" people.  I'm a back of the room person. . . Or I think I am.

I took a walk with a friend yesterday.  A beautiful walk in beautiful surroundings. 

We talked about this.  The question for which answers always feel so elusive. . . the who am I? question.  We walked with our kids.  Our kids who shine as bright as the sun with confidence and security.  Our kids who, we know, are meant to shine.  Our kids who are anything but shadow dwellers. 

They are explorers.  Adventurers. Risk-takers.  Dreamers and believers.  It got me thinking. . . are any of us meant to be in the shadows? 

My friend and I stood and watched our little ones delight in the beauty that surrounded us.  Intent on building fires, chopping down trees, and finding the chipmunk in the hole.  There were no inhibitions.  No insecurities.  There were no shadows. 

Oh, how I want my kids to see the goodness that is in them.  Not in a haughty arrogant way, but in a quiet confidence of their gifts and their purpose.  How I want them to avoid insecurities, questions of worth, and all the issues that seem to plague the majority of the people I've known.  I asked my friend, is it just inevitable that it will happen?  That they will have to fight through these doubts?  Does it have to happen?  Is it some sort of rite of passage? 

I just can't believe that.  If they are shining brightly now. . . so should they in 10, 20, or 30 years, right?

But it leaves me wondering. . . what is my role in it all?  While I know it's not all up to me. . . I do believe I have a part in it.  Could it be as simple as stepping out of the shadows every now and then?  Going to the front of the room?  Allowing myself to be me (an introvert) in a crowded room--and be okay with it? 

The question remains right now. . . but as I observe my kids and anticipate the arrival of another, I don't believe any of us are meant to live in the shadows.  I believe that each of us have a light that is meant to shine bright in its own unique way. . . a light that is not to be dampened in shadows. 

"And the day came when the risk (it took) to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."  -Anais Nin

Words

When I read beautiful words, I record them.  I write them down and return to them over and over again.  I revisit them.  I turn them around in my mind and even try them out on my lips.  When the words really strike me, I see how they fit into my life. 

It never ceases to amaze me how simple words strung together in a particular order can impact me so.  I have revisited these words over and over since first reading them nearly ten days ago.  Perhaps they will impact you, too?

Artists of the everyday excel in elevating the simple to the level of the Sacred. -Sarah Ban Breathnach

Again, I am reminded that we are all artists. Maybe you are preparing a meal, enjoying lunch with a friend, walking along a crowded sidewalk, rushing to work, or soothing the hurts of your little one.  Maybe your day isn't going as planned.  Maybe you are over-whelmed and weary.  Maybe it seems there is no way out. 

I wonder what might change if we see the everyday through the lens of the Sacred.  See each moment as a gift.  See ourselves not as powerless. . . but powerful.

Maybe these words only struck me because I needed them.  Because in these final days of pregnancy, filled with sleepless nights and discomfort, I know I am merely surviving and not thriving. 

Perhaps these words are only for me. . . but maybe they're not. 

She's Four

She's four today.

Four years old. 

I will skip the cliche' "where did the time go?, although I do feel that.  I will, however, take this moment to honor this beautiful little girl on her special day.  This incredible soul that entered our life on a crisp fall afternoon and with one look into our eyes captured our hearts forever.

My little girl is Four.

When you become a Mom, everything changes.  (I'm sure it's true for Father's, too)  What is that saying?  The one about being a mother means your heart is no longer yours, but it wanders wherever your children are.  Oh, that is so true. I gladly send my heart to wherever this little girl roams.

As I sat down to write this I felt an immediate tremor in that still very tender part of my heart.  The part of my heart that knows the preciousness of the mother/daughter relationship.  The part of my heart that longs for my Mom.  The part of my heart that, more than anything, longs for my Mom's words.  So, while I know that my little girl is just four years old, I believe that the greatest gift I can give her is my words.  And while she might not get it now, someday I trust  that she will visit this space and be thankful for them.

Chanelle, I love you.  With all of my heart, I love you. 

You're probably thinking, of course you do because you're my Mom.  It's true that I love you because you are my daughter, but there is so much more than that.  Chanelle, I love you for the person you are today.  For the way you literally light up a room when you walk into it.  When you walk out of the room do you want to know what we say about you?  We say, she's is just so happy. . . like a ball of sunshine.  Oh, Chanelle, that's exactly what you are.  Every day you lighten our hearts.

People often make comments to us about how beautiful you are.  It's true, you are beautiful.  But you know what?  There is so much more to you.  What I want to say to those people is, oh, if you only knew her heart.  Your heart, Chanelle, is even more stunning.  At four years old you carry within you a heart that is deep, sensitive, and pure.  A heart that, on some days, I can almost see by looking into your eyes.

Today, Chanelle, you are four years old and I want to tell you. . . there is nothing you can't do.  My prayer for you is that you will continue to grow into the person God created you to be.  That your heart will be filled with dreams and your soul the courage to walk toward them.  That you will always be comfortable in your skin and know that the way you were created is perfect. 

Chanelle, I love that you marvel at simple things. . .

That you walk to the beat of your own drum. . .

That you are able to bring out Daddy's "crinkle eye" smile. . .

And that you are always filled with awe and wonder. . .

Oh, Chanelle, I pray you never lose that.

As your mom I look at you and know that you will change and grow and experience so many things in the years to come.  I realize there are days when we may not see eye to eye.  I understand that we will not always understand each other.  But you know what?  I will always be your Mom.  I will always remember the way it felt to have you tucked in the crook of my arm and what it was like to sneak into your room just to hear the sound of your breathing.  But even though I will try my hardest, I will make mistakes.  I won't have all the answers.  There will likely be difficult days.  No matter what, though,  I will always support you.  I will always cheer you on.  I will always love you.

So today I just wanted to take a moment to say I love you and to thank you for the joy your continuously bring to our lives.  I want you to know that we are so very proud of you.  And Chanelle?  I want you to know that if I had my pick of all the little girls in the world to call my own. . .

. . . I would pick you.

Happy Birthday my Sweet Girl.

Love,
Mommy

Homestretch

"I'm sure it won't happen quickly", I told him.  "It will probably take months, if not years, if ever.  Let's just trust that God has a plan for us." 

These were some of the things I said to Chad last winter before we decided to let go of the "control" of our family and see if we might have another little one join us.  In all honesty, I didn't believe it would happen.  At that point in time I was put through a battery of medical tests in an attempt to discover why I was having so many unexplained symptoms.  I was tested for lymphoma, a number of auto-immune disorders, and even menopause.  At that time, getting pregnant seemed highly unlikely. 

I still remember lying in bed just a few weeks later and listening for Chad to leave for work.  One ear tuned toward the door as I waited to hear the familiar sound of the garage door and the start of Chad's car.  I don't remember the exact time, but I do remember that it was dark and the first number on the clock read "5".  When I knew he was gone I rushed into the bathroom.  With shaky hands and pounding heart I dug in the cabinet for the little white stick that would tell me if what I suspected was true.  The dialogue in my head went something like, "No way will it be positive.  I'm sure I'm just making things up in my head.  It's probably early menapause and we will just have to deal with that.  As I paced around the room and waited the instructed 2 minutes before reading the stick my internal conversation continued, "What if it is?  What will Chad say?  Am I ready for 3?  Are we ready for 3?  Do I really want to do this?  I'm scared.  Why mess with something that already seems perfect?"

Two minutes later I walked back into the bathroom and saw it. . . clear as day. . . "+"  My knees nearly buckled under me as I stared in shock.  No, it wasn't menopause. . . I was pregnant.  I sat and stared for several minutes trying to take it all in.  Disbelief.  Surprise.  Fear.  The emotions were over-whelming and confusing.  I picked up my cell phone and hit "2" and Chad answered.  His shock mirrored my own.  We said little to each other as we let the news sink in.  He still talks about pulling into work that morning with absolutely no recollection of the 30 minute drive to get there.  What we were both thinking but not saying was. . . this is a scary change.

Here we are nearly NINE MONTHS later and the news has officially permeated.  Dude, we're going to have a baby.  Again.  For real. 

I had an appointment today. . . 35 weeks.  I'm measuring at 31 weeks (which is typical for me), but she wanted to do an ultrasound to be sure that Baby is growing okay.  I was ushered into the darkened room and for the third time this pregnancy, got a glimpse of the little life that is completely intertwined with mine.  Is it strange that today, at 35 weeks, it finally feels real?  I stared at the screen as the tech took measurements and saw a little arm cover and uncover it's face.  (Obviously, already a pro at peek-a-boo.)  She told me our little one has hair.  Hair?  Really?  (Charlie and Chanelle were bald).  She measured the head, the legs, fluid levels. . . all looks good.  Small, but not too small--I just carry strange.

Today I got it. . . at 1centimeter dilated and 50% effaced his or her arrival is imminent. (Somehow I have lost sight of that, feeling as though I'll be pregnant and uncomfortable for the rest of my life.)  Today, the flutters of excitement were felt.  Gone are the fears and trepidations of nine months ago.  Today, only excitement and anticipation remain.  What will he/she be like?  Look like?  Will it be a he or she?  How will Charlie and Chanelle react?  So many unknowns. . .

Oh my, I'm excited.  We are all excited.  Little by little it sinks in a bit more that our family is going to change.  Last week, for example, we received the sweetest thing in the mail from my friend over at Sassytimes. . .

Was Charlie ever that small?  Yes, yes he was.

How great is that?!  I was so pumped when I opened the package.  Chad's reaction?  Is the baby seriously going to be able to fit into that?  Will it really be that small?

Oh, how quickly we forget.  How quickly the time goes by.  How precious are these days.  I can feel my emotions beginning to stir.  So excited for the change, yet at the same time relishing these final days as the four of us. 

I love what we have now.  Our dynamics just work.  It's easy. It's fun.  I enjoy watching Charlie and Chanelle grow together and actually be friends.  I listen to the way they laugh with each other and wholeheartedly enjoy being together.  I like watching how Chanelle admires her older brother and her older brother cares for her.  Tonight, he actually read a book to her.  How is my little guy reading?!

And my Wednesday afternoon's with Chanelle have become precious, precious hours. . . to me and to her.  She understands that she gets all of me and she calls the shots.  From dressing up our girls for ballet class. . .

To taking a few moments to dance in the rain. . .

To lying on the floor and competing in the board game of the day. . .

. . . these are days that will be forever treasured in my heart. . . and I hope in her heart, too.

Right now the change feels bitter-sweet.  For me, change always is.  I trust, however, that in a few short weeks the change will only feel sweet.  Even tonight as we climbed up in Chanelle's loft to read a bedtime story I watched my not-so-little-ones talk excitedly about the baby.

They talked about how they would help to take care of the baby.  How they will teach it to talk and show it all the toys.  Charlie assured me that if the baby is cold in the hospital he will certainly bring the "one-one" (onsie) to keep it warm.  And as I sat and listened to their conversation I was reminded that while change is always hard, it's almost always good. 

That dark morning nine months ago seems like years ago.  So much has happened and our hearts have been  prepared.  Today, just weeks shy of being a mother of three I feel only excitement about meeting this new little life.  A life that I'm certain will rock our world in the same way, but in it's own unique way, that Charlie and Chanelle did. 

In just a few short weeks another story will begin to unfold and I can hardly wait!

Revelation

"Everything changed the day she figured out there was exactly enough time for the important things in her life." -story people

Have I mentioned that I love story people?  When I read this quote I was struck with the reality that I have yet to completely grasp this concept.  Always feeling as if I need another hour, another day, another week. 

Tonight, I'm putting these words into practice.  Tonight, I'm doing what is important.

Tonight, I'm going to bed early.

Have a wonderful Wednesday!