Hallelujah Again: Victory Over Unemployment

Two years ago today I announced that our job search was over and Josh had accepted a new position after nearly 4 months of unemployment. (See the TimeHop pic below!)

Well, today I'm thrilled to announce the exact same great news!

It's weird, right?  Spooky and wonderful, honestly.  My husband's contract was not renewed at the school he worked at due to budgetary reasons back in July, so we've been unemployed for the last three months.

It is with great pride that I tell you he's accepted a position as Marketing and Business Development Coordinator at a local engineering firm!  He starts October 12th, and prayers as he transitions to this new position would be greatly appreciated.

As I read back over my post about his new job from 2 years ago, God reminded me how His truth is timeless.  Here is an excerpt from that post that rings completely (albeit, eerily) true again today.  Thank you for celebrating this news with us!

From September 25, 2013...

And here's where I get real honest with you.  Here's the part where you are feeling all "oh, how nice that worked out for you" and I'm about to blow that thought right out of the water for you...so, just keep reading.

The night before we got the job, God told me something.  He said, plain and simply, "You know that if he gets this job it doesn't solve your problems, right?  Only I can do that."  I kind of brushed that off and said another prayer for the job, and then I BEGGED God for the job and then I thanked God and still said "but, please God, seriously, please let him get this job".  I didn't quite let what God told me sink in all the way.  I wanted Josh to get that job.  It would be a problem solved, and so my heart and mind were set on that.

Then, he got the job.  And, I felt relief.  I felt joy.  But...I didn't feel any more secure than I had the day before.  In fact, neither Josh nor I jumped up and down like we had in the past when much smaller victories were won (You got a call baaaack!!!!  You got an interviewwwww!!!)  Not this time.  This time was different.

Josh got the job.  Hallelujah.  But, that's not the victory here.  The victory - the moral to the story - is the three and a half freaking months that came before the job.  The miracle is the survival, the journey, the long road of impatience and questions and doubting.  The loving marriage that sustained the waves of tumultuous worry.  The food on the table brought by friends.  The cards of encouragement and support sent by loved ones.  The pride found in working a blue-collar job.  The strength of a family cared for by a community and body of Christ.  THAT'S OUR VICTORY.

I never could have guessed it.  Even a few weeks ago I could have told you what this blog post could have looked like - a long and relentless bragging about my husband and how awesome he is and how good God is for rewarding his efforts.  No.  Not at all.  Don't get me wrong - Josh is my hero - but, we're giving credit where credit is surely due, and that goes entirely to Jesus.

Here's something else - Satan hates it when we give Jesus the credit.  And today, just as we were eager to awake with feelings of assurance and celebration, we were spiritually attacked from all sides as Satan did his best to steal our joy and distract us from the goodness of God.  I'm really being honest here, gang.  Today was ROUGH.  Even my daughters were stressed out and overly emotional and the littlest things seemed like the end of the universe in our home.  Each one of us was in a terrible mood, annoyed and frustrated, irrationally snappy and completely out of sorts.

We literally had to stop in the middle of our morning and pray aloud in our living room to just invite the Holy Spirit to be present with us, to help us focus on His peace and faithfulness, and to not let anything distract us from the beauty of the moment and the assurance of God's goodness.

But, here we are.  We are here to CELEBRATE and let you know that God IS good.  Wholly good.  And the job is wonderful...but, it is merely a facet in the structure that is our lives as they should be lived out according to God's will.  We are grateful - but, not fooled by the false sense of security that money and benefits offer in this world.  We are humbled, and we are sincerely blessed by the long three and a half months where our faith was stretched far beyond the boundaries of our liking.

Thank you, thank you, thank you - to each of you who prayed for us, supported us, encouraged us, and fought the good fight through the victory of the wait.

God is using us here.  God has big plans for us.  God is good - really - all the time.

We're so grateful to celebrate God's goodness with you!

This is Real Life

A diaper explosion/outfit change at midnight.  Kid #1 comes down with a fever by 1am.  A spit-up catastrophe around 4am.  Everyone is up by 6-something.  Kid #2 has a fever by 7am.  I have a doctor's appointment at 8:15 and the baby cries the whole way there.

This is not an exceptional day.  This is not out of the ordinary, not really.  This is just LIFE.

We like to think that these days come with extra patience and feelings of triumph that keep us on our toes when an inkling of complacency sets in.  But, really, truly, this is the nitty gritty that is the building blocks for all things good and weird in the world of parenting.

I used to think there was a chapter missing in my proverbial parenting manual when days like these would occur.  I would imagine other mothers caring for their less-whiny-than-my-own sick children and happily nursing in the middle of the night with the energy of an Olympian.  Somewhere around the second kid it dawned on me that maybe all other parents really were as tired as I was.  Maybe this is what it's all about - this rapid-action chaos that adds up into years that leap by with a glance.

sick kiddos

multi-tasking

So, here it is.  The junk you won't see on Instagram to shame your own crazy-laden-lives.  We got kids, we got needs, we got Jesus (hallelujah!)  This means life is a MESS and totally worth living.  This means spit-up on my clothes has value and beauty.  This means Redboxing Barbie movies before noon is an act of compassion.  This means typing this blog one-handed while nursing (true story) keeps me humble and honest and grateful for those other parents out there one-handing their own battles.

bills, burp cloths, coffee - YES.

my (grocery shopping) hero

Purpose rarely comes with glamour.  These days might carry stress and frustration, but they are no less marked with value than the happy, predictable moments we so often long for.

God, keep me still in these times.  Help me see the beauty in the mess and the value in the chaos.  Thank you for the trials and the triumphs, and teach me how to show my children the importance of both!

Stars and Stripes Forever

Happy Fourth of July!

As I dress my girls up in patriotic fashion, I'm blessed by the FUN that we get to experience as we reflect on the meaning of our freedom and the gratitude we feel for those who have bravely fought for it.   While we prepare for an evening filled with overeating, overcrowding, and overwhelming awe as we gather to watch fireworks fill the night sky, I'm also nostalgic for the past July Fourths of my childhood.

I love July 4th!  As a kid growing up on a farm in the middle of Kansas, I grew up shooting off more fireworks than watching them.  Though, there was one tradition of going to a local golf course the weekend before the fourth to watch a huge fireworks display, much like we will do with my own family tonight.  In my memories, this tradition is filled with fun, laughter, and lots of waiting until the evening sky would finally darken enough for the first flames in the clouds to be visible.

Now, as a parent, I can only imagine the massive amounts of prep that went on behind-the-scenes that made this event possible.  Food was prepped, friends were called, parking was a nightmare, carrying all the blankets and lawn chairs, staking out the perfect spot, trying to calm the nerves of restless children, and then undoing it all at the end of the night only to drag your exhausted kids home and plop them in their beds smelling like grass and bug-spray.  Wow, thanks mom and dad.  Thanks for enduring effort to make memories for our family.

And now, here I am, hoping for the same.  I look at my goofy girls, and while I'm already tired at the thought of this evening, I'm grateful for the memories we're making right now, right in the moment.  To see my kids' faces light up when they watch the fireworks (fortunately my girls are exhilarated by the sight) fills my heart with stars.  But, the stars wouldn't exist without the stripes.

As parents, we earn new stripes daily.  Some of these came in a literal sense, as the stretchmarked scars on my belly will prove.  But most come in the form of never-ending acts of love and kindness that parenthood forces you into enduring.  Yes, I would love to be the kind of person who willingly looks for new opportunities to think of others first and consider needs other than my own...but, I'm human, and that's much easier said than done.

Parenthood has given my ego more battle wounds than I ever thought my sense of self could withstand.    I get easily frustrated and impatient on an hourly basis, yet I'm constantly motivated to give more, be more, care more, love more.  Why?  Because my children fill my world with stars.  Stars that shine brighter and longer than any perfectly, beautiful memory I could ever imagine.  They create awe and wonder in my universe unlike anything else.

So, as you lather your kids up with sunscreen, take another helping of potato salad, and finally lay in bed tonight exhausted from making memories - take a second to look at the stars.  Your stars.  And be grateful for the stripes that make them possible.

Happy Fourth.

In Season

The last two nights have been rather sleepless for me.  With the sun setting later and my kids wound-up from playing, bedtime has been getting later and later and more and more frustrating.  Last night, I came home from school to find my eldest down with fever and a sore throat, and my littlest bouncing off the walls as if she'd been feasting on espresso beans all day.  Brutal combo.

When it comes to sleeping habits, it's been my rule for a long time to simply take the shortest route to the most sleep.  Whether that means everyone sleeping together or letting them share a bed for a night or whatever - just sleeeeeep (please, please sleep).

So, last night I camped out in the living room on the pull-out bed and had a slumber party with my girls.  We stayed up late watching Little House on the Prairie, and while we threw ideals out the window, we embraced each other and made due.

So, here we are, snuggled up on our make-shift-hotel-like-recovery-room-couch-bed watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and eating Cheez-its and cereal bars for breakfast.  Some days just have to be like this.  Some days, fever trumps all other to-dos and productivity is reduced to what-time-she-last-took-Tylenol and where-in-the-world-is-the-remote-to-the-DVD-player.

And I'm so grateful for these days.  Certainly I hate to see my baby sick to any degree, but a case of the sniffles is in itself a good reminder that our health is taken for granted far too often.  I'm so glad I live a non-traditional life/schedule that allows me to stay home when I need to, to be able to feel this degree of neediness in this season of my life, and to engage with my girls when the best medicine is a hug and an episode of literally-anything-animated.

Oh, Lord, help me to cherish the sweetness of these times when the answers seem so simple.

This season is not for the faint of heart.  The incessant talking, the whining, the development of me-ness and manners and manic emotions can get so overwhelming as a parent that I find myself praying aloud multiple times a day just to get through.  It's exhausting, and the lack of sleep through this time in my life only adds insult to injury.

But, this season is so full of little gifts, and I'm determined to pluck them out of the mania and wring them dry of their beauty along the way.  When my little girls just want a hug, when they yell for me to comfort them, when they snuggle up (or even knee me in the ribs climbing onto my lap) I'm trying my best to soak it up, take it in, and cherish these moments that will so quickly turn complicated in the future.  My singing them to sleep or praying over their "ouchies" won't last forever, even when the reality of the day-to-day feels like the drama-of-the-moment is never ending.

The day will come when they will have more ouchies on the inside than the outside, when it will be harder for me to interpret what they need and what will help them, when I won't know the answer or be the answer to their hardest questions.  That season will have it's own gifts, along with the impending challenges that I'm not yet ready for.  (Some of which honestly scare the holy-guacamole out of me!  i.e. boys, love, puberty, mean girls at school...)

Thinking of that future season settles my mind in the present.  I know God is working on me right now to become the mother they need when that time comes...but, in the meantime, I'm thrilled to kiss feverish foreheads, watch cartoons, and snuggle my whiny tots while the rest of my world is on pause for the day.

Sometimes a sick day brings the healthiest perspective.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.  Ecclesiastes 3:1

Kids Ruin Everything

Someone once said that trying to clean the house with little kids is like trying to brush your teeth while eating Oreos.

I couldn't agree more.

I don't know which is more of a disaster - my house before attempting to clean it, or the chaos that follows once I start tackling the chores with the "help" of my children.  Making the bed becomes a battle of sheets and blankets, folding laundry turns into fort-making piles of towels and towers of socks and underwear that eventually get shoved into drawers.

And then, in my effort to allow them to help, Matilda multi-tasks swiffering and holding the cat at the same time, only to end up slightly scratched and bursting into tears seconds later. (Not to mention the hissing feline hiding in the corner giving me the stink-eye.  Sorry, buddy.)

I love that they want to help...I just don't want them to help.  It's frustrating, it takes time, it take extra patience, and there are times I'd rather just let the house crumble around me than put up with the fighting and frustrations that manifest in the process.  Whew.  (Can I get an Amen Sister!)

It's within these moments of loud chaos that I find myself thinking "Kids ruin everything!"  Usually this is instantly followed by a pang of guilt that turns into a prayer for extra grace and gratitude (Serenity now, Lord!)  But, today, it occurred to me - "Yes, they DO!  And thank God for it."

Life before children wasn't boring, but it was highly predictable.  It was quieter, yes, but it was also much more static.  (This isn't to say that child-free couples can't live dynamic, wonderfully full lives!) But, there are simply lessons I wouldn't have learned about myself had my children not thrown some wrenches into my efficiently-functioning-just-the-way-I-like-it wheelhouse.

There's a term in therapy we use to describe a system that keeps functioning according to status quo called homeostasis.  It's not necessarily negative or positive, it's simply a way of keeping things going and maintaining stability and equilibrium within a system - in this case, my home.  Change occurs when something from the outside rattles this ever-functioning system.

Change rarely occurs without discomfort.  Growth can't happen without a few growing pains.  And my children are constant reminders that they are in the best way completely ruining my comfort zone, my balance, my homeostasis.

My kids have ruined my very-conditional love.  My kids have destroyed my lack of patience.  My kids have obliterated my shallow capacity for grace.  And they've completely thwarted all my attempts to remain selfish and focused on my wants over my needs.

I simply can't survive this ever-changing, crazy, unpredictable home without trusting God more, developing greater patience, love, and grace, and totally laying myself down day after day.  I may live in a loud, messy house.  It might get scary-bonkers at times.  But, I'm grateful for the nonsense of this growth that continues to strengthen and challenge me hour by hour.

Kids ruin everything...perfectly.

Before Motherhood

This weekend, I will celebrate Mother's Day like many of you out there.  I'm so grateful for my two girls who make the day a blessing to me.  But...it wasn't always this way.  I can remember the days of longing for a baby and cringing at those who were celebrated around me, feeling the sting of not being yet-initiated into the mommy club.

This post is for you.  This post is for those yet-to-be-celebrated, those still longing for a child of their own, those who will cringe this weekend and wear fake smiles while aching with envy and grief inside.

Here is an excerpt from a another project I wrote where I relive those moments of jealousy, rage, and confusion.  It's okay to feel those things.  It's normal.  And I'm praying that God's timing will bring you the greatest source of comfort and joy you've ever known...

It’s a cruel joke and no exaggeration to say that when you finally decide wholeheartedly to pursue something, you start to see it everywhere.  The entire world seemed pregnant except for me.  Anywhere I turned I ran into strollers, bumped into babies, and knocked into protruding pregnant bellies.  It was like, in all my effort to conceive, I had somehow developed a special radar system to be able to spot a baby bump from a mile away.  Strangers, neighbors and close friends were all popping up pregnant, month after month.  Some were surprises, some had been a long time coming, but all were announced with explosive enthusiasm in a grand spectacle just short of a small-town parade.  At least, that is exactly how it felt to me.

With each new pregnancy that was announced, I felt like one more of my own eggs just dried up inside me.  She won this month and I lost again.  She gets a baby, I don’t.  She has new life in her, and I’m harboring nothing but envy.

I distinctly recall one day that I was walking to my car to go home after work.  It had been a particularly exhausting day and all I wanted was to curl up on my couch with a jar of peanut butter, a spoon, and a rerun of Frasier (my “go to” tv-therapy) when I spotted her: a beautifully pregnant stranger, belly in full blossom, waddling to her car in all her knocked-up glory.  I had never met her and didn’t recognize her at all.  Poor soul was probably some lovely wife of a faculty member who most likely taught a Bible class of sorts, I’m sure.  Nevertheless, lovely as she was, I couldn’t take it anymore.  Salt water started to well up in my eyes, rage clenched the air from my throat, bitterness crippled my hands into useless claws, and in one purely horrific moment of self, I silently spewed the only words that felt familiar to me in that moment:  I hate you.

I felt like my entire insides had rotted out and failed me to the core.  All my joy and hope in conceiving the next great miracle from God had been replaced by ugly, controlling selfishness, anger and jealousy.  Of course, I didn’t really hate her.  I didn’t even know the sweet gal, bless her heart, who was surely gestating what I can only imagine to be the next Billy Graham in her bulging belly.  I’m so sorry, dear woman, for pegging you as my target for hatred that day.  But, you should know, it was not in vain.

That moment of disgusting self-loathing opened my eyes to a vital understanding:  I had no control. This sounds simple.  This sounds like something as obvious as gravity.  But, like gravity, sometimes it takes an apple (or in my case, a pregnant-lady-encounter) hitting you in the head to accept it as reality and see how it really applies to your life.

I had been living in the illusion of control.  Counting days, charting numbers, calculating possibilities and conjuring up multiple justifications for each and every potential scenario that could present itself.  I couldn’t help but feel like if I could just figure out what I had done or not done in the month prior, then I could fix it and find myself pregnant in the next round.  My head new that it was by God’s hand alone that a baby would be created, but my heart’s habits died hard.  My heart knew what it longed for, what was at stake, and what was being risked each month:  The possibility that I might not get what I wanted most.
It wasn’t necessarily that my actions had to change, but my perception of what I was pursuing and how it so deeply affected me on a daily basis needed a major adjustment.  I had delicately fallen into a trap of thinking that if I did A + B, then naturally, C will occur.  Because that’s how it “should” go.  Because that’s “normal”.  Because that’s what I “deserve”.

And then it hit me.  I wasn’t just questioning my emotions here…I was questioning God.  The illusion of control had led me along a path where I was left staring down an unknown road with a pretend map I had drawn with a broken compass.  What if I’m never pregnant?  What if I don’t get the future I want?  Which, if we are really being honest here, is essentially asking the real question:  Do I believe God is truly good?
That might be hard to admit.  Questioning God’s goodness sounds like a huge leap from asking Him when I can start registering for bottles and bassinets.  But, if the goodness of my future hinged on the notion that I bore a child or not, and I believed that God only wanted what was good and best for my future, then I couldn’t have it both ways.  Was I really choosing between having a baby or believing God?  Certainly not.  I had spent too many hours praying about my desire for a family for God to ignore the request.  God knew me.  God loved me.  God understood that this longing in my being also encompassed a pursuit of His will for my life.  So, then, if God was good and it was good for me to want to become a mother…Where’s my baby?

It was time to relinquish control.  This is kind of an oxymoron, really.  The control was never really in my grasp to begin with.  My future is mine, and it is affected by the decisions and consequences of my actions, but there comes a time when you have to face your relationship with your Creator and allow Him to function through you instead of just around you.  God doesn’t “need” us, after all.  He is perfect and complete and entirely capable (this would be the “omni” part of Him) without our hot-mess-of-a-human-existence meddling about in this crazy world He built.  But He is a gracious God that engages with us, works through us, and allows us the incredible opportunity to lay down ourselves and pursue a plan worthy of His glory.

And so, as the saying goes, “I let go and let God” take over.

Maybe not much changed on the outside.  But, on the inside, I was transformed.  My prayers stopped being about ovulation and started being about peace.  I stopped obsessing about my basal body temperature and started dreaming about the hopeful future of how God would shape us into parents, even if it wasn’t exactly how we thought it might go.  My heart had gone from eager to rigid to numb, and was now thawing to the idea that “God’s best” was worth waiting for and my timeline was just that:  mine.  And I felt the raw and honest reality that truly, I wanted nothing to do with me.  

If was prepping to be a parent, to take on the task of somehow raising a child of God as my very own, then certainly I was in need of much more Jesus and much less Emily with every minute He made me “wait”.  This period of waiting didn’t seem unbearable like it had in the past.  Sitting still in acceptance and peace, suddenly felt the most active of all the months of trying so far.  It wasn’t easy.  It wasn’t even fun (as terrible as it is, the futile actions I had become accustomed to while living in the illusion of control had brought me frantic joy, allowing me to think that I was actively participating in the creation of something that was beyond my efforts in reality).  But, living in the moment of relinquished control brought me unfathomable relief that I hadn’t felt since before we ever had uttered the word “baby”. 

I still didn’t have an answer as to why God was “making me wait”…but, I rested wholly in the security of knowing that God knew, and God’s goodness justified His reasons, and Him being God and all pretty much summed up any other questions I had for Him and His lack of sharing his Google calendar with me (assuming God uses Google).  I wasn’t avoiding the stress of trying to conceive a baby…I was just giving it to God instead.  

Thank You, Teachers!

Today is National Teacher Appreciation Day!

Where would we be without teachers?  I don't even want to think about it!  We have each been touched by various educators in our lives, both good and maybe not-so-good, but every one of them has contributed to shaping our minds and hearts.

My favorite teacher of all time was my Kindergarten teacher.  Mrs. B was joyful, patient, kind, and incredibly gracious.  I can still remember staring wide-eyed as she played the piano, taught us the alphabet, and positioned our desks in groups of four so that we were constantly challenged to either "not talk" or "get along".

This was my first experience of having to be friendly even if I didn't want to befriend.  When you sit next to someone who isn't your BFF at the age of 6, this is a HUGE deal! (Besides, the boy who sat next to me, Alan, was known for his unnerving ability to inhumanly eat massive quantities of glue...and this horrendously grossed me out.)

Mrs. B welcomed me into my introduction to public education, and was the very first person to encourage me to be excellent simply at learning.  This understanding has taken me far in life.  This initial push to accelerate and achieve has become a foundation to my determination as a student.  The ability to stay focused on learning for the sake of knowledge instead of drudging through the burdensome endeavor with a intangible goal kept almost entirely out-of-sight continues to keep me hungry for more.

I want to be a learner my whole life.  I hope I am still seeking out truths, facts, and theories about all kinds of things when I'm old and gray and needing all my books in large print.  Thank you, Mrs. B, for initiating my brain into the realm of formal education.

As a graduate student, there are still times I rely on those core fundamentals from Kindergarten:  share with others, take time to rest, read the instructions, ask for help if you don't know something, listen well, and be kind.

Take time today to reflect on someone in your educational life that made a difference.  Why did it matter?  Why did it stick? And, what can you do today that pays that lesson forward to someone else?

Thank you, TEACHERS, for the incredible, daily impact you are having on the lives of others.  You get to witness something that no one else sees, in a setting where there are as many challenges as there are opportunities.  We gloss over your influence as if you are obligated to do well by our children, but the truth is, so many of you selflessly give out of your hearts and passion rather than sheer duty.  Thank you for taking the time to make a difference.  Thank you for taking the effort to listen to your class.  Thank for taking on the challenge that too many of us are unable or unwilling to.  You never know, maybe someone will write a blog of appreciation about you someday and it will help encourage another person to take a step towards education.

Thanks, teachers!  A+

Fiesta!

Happy Cinco de Mayo!  The day of the year we can all guiltlessly stuff ourselves with chips, salsa, tacos, and more while happily blaming it on a holiday we don't know much about.  Hey - any reason to eat more Mexican food sounds great to me!

This year, we stepped up our fiesta planning skills and took on Cinco de Mayo Pardy style!  Well, truly it was Tres de Mayo...but, we ran with the theme and turned it into a housewarming celebration to open our new home up to our family and friends.

Beautiful banner made by my sis-in-law!
Pardy Casa Es Su Casa!

This was an incredible blessing for us, and a real dream come true for me and Josh.  Sure, it was a blast to be able to show off our new digs (we painted this, replaced this, yadda yadda yadda).  But, it blessed us the most to be able to have the space to welcome in multiple people who have brought joy, support, prayers, and new friendships into our lives.

Piñata Time!

Just a year ago, I was starting to pack up boxes in our California apartment and beginning to get the word out that our little family was making the cross-country move to Music City.  Now, here we are, planting roots in our new city and building relationships that will shape our family in our new time and place.  To be able to extend hospitality in a setting that nurtures togetherness, laughter, fun, and community was beyond our wildest imaginations at this point in our journey, and we are so, so grateful!

I'm thrilled to share some fun snapshots from the first Pardy Party in our new home!  I hope it's a start to many more.

I pray our home is a place where everyone feels they can drop by and always count on enjoying good conversation (and most likely good coffee/food/dessert).  I pray when people enter our home they notice the presence of the love of Jesus, that there is something oddly welcoming beyond our own hospitality, and that they can sense a loveliness in the difference that is marked by this divine interference.

I hope you all have a fantastic Cinco de Mayo - gathering with friends around a giant chip bowl and setting new records of hot sauce consumption!  Our fiesta was a big hit, but I ended up making so much food that I think we'll be celebrating taco night until Memorial Day.  Hey, I'm not complaining!

¡Salud!

By the way, want a quick review of what this holiday is actually celebrating?  I found this fun video on History.com that sums it up:

Dog Gone It

So, we maybe, might, possibly, probably, sort of are considering getting a dog.  Before any of you start sending me Cesar Milan books or tell me which Pinterest dog board I should be following, let's all take a step back and just contemplate this decision.  Rather, read my rant about all these pros and cons and feel free to weigh in as you deem necessary.

Whew.  This seems like a big decision to me.  And, it is!  I mean, I understand that owning a pet is a serious commitment that lasts years and years and requires attention, money, and energy...none of which I have a superfluous amount of these days.  But, I also have a new, big, fenced-in yard and two feisty children who would dote on a new creature to play with in their outdoor adventures.

We currently have two indoor cats, though I have never considered our family exclusively "cat people".  It's just that we've lived in apartments forever, so the dog issue has been off the table until now.  And, as I peruse the local shelter websites and the photos of dogs of all kinds...well, there's no denying why they call it "puppy dog eyes" and I start to feel my heart strings tug and can hear Sarah MacLaughlin singing in the back of my head.

Maybe I'm a sucker for cute puppies.  Maybe I'm trying to stave off baby fever.  Maybe I'm trying to justify this new concept of yard-ownership with giving it a full-time resident.  Or, maybe I just like the idea of giving my girls exposure to the friendship, responsibility, and life-cycle of what it means to care for another.  As you can see, there is most likely some dog somewhere inevitably waiting to become a Pardy.

But, here's something else for us all to ponder...

As I've asked around to friends, family, strangers, shelter-owners, etc. for their insight and advice for dog ownership, one common sentiment has been expressed again and again and again:  It's a lot of work.

My initial thought is "Um, you know I keep two humans alive, right?"  Sure, I know that kids are different from dogs.  And, I'm not insulted by the remark at all.  As condescending as it may sound, I totally understand that pet owners genuinely want to convey the importance of the commitment being made, and that real life with a dog looks differently than the Pedigree dog food commercials make it out to be.

The "lots of work" comment has been followed up by several pieces of [albeit, very welcome] advice regarding what kind of dog to get.  I want this information.  I've asked for it, and I am interested in continuing to research different breeds/mixes and meet a variety of dogs before landing on a fit for our family.  However, it made me laugh out loud when I considered this notion concerning a human baby.

What if I had asked "We're thinking about having another baby - parents, weigh in!  What do you think?"  If you consider the same depth of concern regarding the answers I might get, it might look something like this:
Another baby would be cute, but be sure you get one that sleeps through the night!
Yes - but, get one already potty trained.
Don't do it!  They are so much work and you already have a full plate. 
What if it bites your children?  That's hard to discipline.

What if it grows up to be ugly?

What if it becomes sick later and needs extensive care or attention?

Be sure you don't get one that talks too much.
Remember, the bigger the baby, the bigger the poop.
What will you do with it if you want to take a vacation?
What if your girls don't like the new baby?

All valid considerations!  Ha.  But no one would EVER tell me those things regarding a baby.  And, as we all know, not all pregnancies are considered this much prior to their arrival.  Let's face it, surprises do happen!  Can you imagine if pet ownership happened that way?  What if you got a letter in the mail today that said:
Congratulations!  You've been selected to get a new dog in 6 months!  Get ready now - you will need food, water, and many veterinary bills to prepare for.  You can register at PetSmart to be sure you get the supplies you need.  There's no telling if this is a good dog or not, but you will definitely be stuck with it for a very long time.  It might keep you up at night, but it will probably love you very much.  Good luck!

It's a strange world we live in.  It's a luxury for us to even get to consider rescuing a dog and calling it our own.  Maybe we will get one soon and it will be a terrible fit.  Maybe we will wait and get one later and it will be a perfect match.  Or maybe, we'll just do the best we can and figure it out as we go and keep asking for advice and prayer along the way!

One thing is for certain...I'm glad and thankful I didn't get this much input when it came to picking out my kids.  [Thanks, God!] Yes, I would rather have a child who sleeps every night through the night and always remembers to thank me when I feed her.  But, then, she wouldn't be who she is without her spunky spontaneity and charisma for sass.

I have a feeling that if/when we get a dog, it will imperfectly fit into our imperfect family just fine.

*If you have dog advice, please feel free to weigh in!  Just because we're crazy doesn't mean we're ignorant.  

Ugly Easter

I just googled "Easter".  I don't know why I'm surprised, but I find it discouraging that it took 40 images of bunnies, eggs, and candy before an image of the cross appeared.  Really?  Forty chicks and ducks and pastel colored whatchamacallits before stumbling upon an image reminiscent of the true meaning of Easter?

I love Easter.  I've loved it since the spring of my childhood when I can remember picking out white patent leather shoes and a new dress to wear to church for Easter Sunday.  I love the traditions of the holiday, from the creepy guy dressed up in the giant bunny suit (okay, not that as much maybe) to the brightly colored eggs hidden across a fresh green lawn just waiting for children to find.  I love the meal, the family gathering, the baskets, the candy, and all the fresh, spring-timey colors that help announce warmth and light are risen indeed.

 But, as a Christian, I can't love all the beauty of Easter without also falling in love with the gore behind it.  Lest I forget that the first Easter began as a horror story; a confusing, unjustifiable nightmare that real, live people witnessed and took part in.  I can not turn my face to the sun without acknowledging the darkness behind us.   Good Friday is just a few days away, and I can't help but imagine what that first holy week felt like for so many.

Easter sermons, reading the Bible, and even watching films that depict the crucifixion allow us to know and imagine much of what happened leading up to Jesus' death.  I have a hard time grasping the reality of what Jesus endured because it is just so unfathomable as a human.  But, when I look at the faces of his friends, when I imagine the heart of his mother, Mary, I shudder at the thought of how utterly human they were in those moments.  While Jesus was 100% human, he was also 100% God; something that I'm very limited in empathizing with.

But, I can much more easily relate to those who witnessed the death of the Messiah, and it is very nearly equally unfathomable.  As many questions as we have today about faith and theology, can you imagine how confusing it must have been for them back then?  Not knowing what was going to happen to Jesus???  I can't imagine it!  The truth is, that first Easter wasn't pristine and celebrated with lilies and new dresses.  That first Easter was ugly and confusing right up until the very last moment.

There in the ground His body lay
Light of the world by darkness slain
Then bursting forth in glorious Day
Up from the grave He rose again!

Today, we have the luxury of learning the story of Easter from the end to the beginning.  We celebrate the resurrection because we know He died on the cross three days prior; but, I take for granted the fact that there was a time when people didn't know that.  There was a time when Jesus was dead.  There was a time when Jesus was mourned for.  There was a time when Jesus was gone.  I can't understand that.  I can't emotionally grasp what that must have been like.  I never want to know that feeling, and I'm grateful I didn't have to endure it.

Instead, we have the immense privilege of remembering on Good Friday and not enduring.  We don't have to ever live without the knowledge that JESUS IS ALIVE and nothing will every change that.  And while we get distracted by the ham, the flowers, the egg hunts, and shiny shoes...let's not forget this weekend that we are so insanely blessed to live in this time and space where we can grasp the entire story of Easter and its true meaning.

As you're stuffing candy into little plastic eggs, as you're picking out your Sunday best, and as you're Pinteresting those last minute recipes, set aside a moment to slow down and remember the entirety of Easter.  It might take 40 images to get to the cross on google, but it only takes one prayer to transport me right back at the feet of Jesus.

Thank you, Jesus, for the cross.  Thank you for bearing what I can not.  Thank you for taking on the worst parts of me, the stuff I don't even realize, the stuff I never reveal, the stuff I can never admit.  Thank you for providing a way for me to know God, eternally.  Thank you for loving me unconditionally, choosing to endure every pain possible over letting me go.  Thank you for the grace you offer so freely and so undeservingly.  Keep me humble, God.  Keep me patient.  Keep me remembering.  Keep me present at Your feet.  Thank you for Easter.

Glamorous

Just another day in paradise.

Nobody goes into motherhood for the glamour.  I mean, don't get me wrong, the dream exists of being woken up by butterfly kisses from your little one, images of making pancakes together in the morning, and taking long stroller-walks on sunny days.

Sure, there's an "elite" sort of quality about getting to stay home with the children you brought into the world...but, that ideal is quickly replaced by reality the first time you get spit-up on in the middle of the night or find yourself throwing chicken McNuggets in the backseat just to get a moment's peace.

We are tough cookies, us moms, and while our beauty may squelch Sports Illustrated models on the inside, our outsides rarely reflect the soul-crushing sacrifices we make in the name of love day-in and day-out.
There's just not much glamour in motherhood.

As I pour my third cup of coffee for the day (this, being hours and hours since I woke up, since it has taken me multiple reheats to polish off each mug), I rub my greasy face and look at my children with eager anticipation that this next hour of our day will be better than the one prior.  This is how most days go for us, with mornings usually off to a rough start and my patience waning by lunch time.

If there is a nap time, I'm always debating how to spend the precious minutes of quiet.  Should I do homework?  Should I do dishes? Should I write?  Should I abandon all responsibilities and watch reruns of "Friends" on the couch while I polish off the rest of that leftover cake?  Should I balance the checkbook, fold laundry, call my sister, or scoop the litter box?  The myriad of options is overwhelming, and I'm often left disappointed in myself for not having accomplished each and every one of them in the 32 minute time slot I'm allotted while my girls are dreaming in the other room.

Look Familiar?

Good heavens.  How did life get so disorganized and messy?  When did taking a shower become a luxury?  And how do my expectations so easily outweigh my realistic responsibilities? 

Well, my friends, that is the beauty of motherhood.

As the saying goes, "With privilege comes responsibility"...but, it occurs to me that all to often, as a mother, I'm so hung up on the responsibility I often completely miss the privilege of what motherhood has to offer.  I get too uptight about not disciplining consistently, too guilty about feeding my kids processed foods, too worried about whether they know their letters or numbers as well as other kids their age, and too anxious about how my mothering is going to churn out these little humans back into society.

And then I breath.  And I reheat my coffee.  And I brush my greasy hair out of my face.  And I open up my eyes to these healthy, wise, spirited children whom I have the privilege to call my own.  And I realize that after yet-another nearly sleepless night I've just expended way too much energy on thinking about myself and an entire mountain of nonsense that's primarily outside of my control.

Lest I forget:  With responsibility comes privilege.

I pray that my vulnerability shines through to my children.  I pray that, while they know their mother isn't perfect, that they see a person who knows she isn't perfect too.  A day will come when I will probably teach my girls about make-up, and concealer, and french braids, and control-top hosiery...but, I hope the most glamorous thing I pass along to them is an honest spirit that strives for a heart of gratitude.

Learning lessons in the middle of a day that are fraught with time-outs and tantrums is much harder than I ever anticipated.  I'm challenged daily and fail often, but I'm constantly reminded that God doesn't give us wasted blessings.  This season of chaos was not gifted to me because God just didn't know where to throw it.  He knew exactly who was meant to raise my children, when they were to be born, and how they would need to be handled.  And, while that's a heap of responsibility, it's a rockstar privilege.

Mamas, let's take a look at our "little privileges" today in this new light.  After all, if God thinks I'm  rockstar enough to take it on (hallelujah, by His grace) then that's glamorous enough for me.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

This last weekend, I finally got around to doing something I've wanted to do for the past several weeks:  make cookies for my new neighbors.  Ever since closing on our new house just over a month ago, we've been fiddling and dilly-dallying about our home like little squirrels preparing for winter.  Fix this, repair that, paint here, unpack there, and so forth.   I'm sure our neighbors have been wide-eyed at their windows a bit, wondering just who we are and what we're up to.

I'm not used to neighborhoods.  I grew up on a farm in the middle of Kansas, where our closest "neighbor" was a couple miles away and I only saw them if they needed to borrow a tractor or let us into their cellar for a tornado (no, I'm not kidding).  Needless to say, I didn't grow up with that "Wonder Years" experience of riding bikes until the street lights came on or strolling down sidewalks on my way home from school.  

Since then, I've either lived in dorms or apartments, and while we've experienced community throughout the years, this is our first true neighborhood that we can call our own.  Yay for neighbors!

I wasn't exactly sure how to get to know my neighbors.  I've officially met a few of them as we got our mail at the same time or arrived in our drive ways coming and going.  But, there were still many houses on our block that I had yet to see whom lived inside.  I wanted them to know that the new residents of this little house were happy and loud, and obliged to offer an extra egg or cup of sugar should the need arise.

So, we made cookies!  I figured, at worst, I'd rather be known as "that lady with the loud kids who once brought us cookies" than anything else they could come up with from witnessing me from afar.  What could we lose?  It might be awkward and uncomfortable, but at least they would know we tried to make an effort and introduce ourselves.

Most people weren't home.  We walked around on a beautiful Saturday, knocking, and eventually leaving a ziploc'd plate of cookies tagged with our "Happy to be in the neighborhood" slogan written on top.  We did meet a few new people, who informed us of their joy of living in the neighborhood.  We were also thrilled to find out that a total of three police officers live within a block of our house, which made us feel all the more safe living in our cozy nook.

And, then, we walked up to our elderly neighbors with whom we very nearly share a yard.  While our yard is fully fenced, on one side of it it slopes up to another yard which we both have clear views of from our homes.  I had met the wife who lived their, and she was quite happy to meet us and our little girls, glad to see someone using the yard with such jubilant delight.

There were a few people standing outside the home as we approached with our cookie-giving entourage, and we noticed an unusual amount of cars in the driveway.  My first thought was, "Oh, how nice to have people over on such a lovely day!  I hope they like the cookies!" which quickly turned to sadness as I got closer.  The elderly husband had passed away that same morning, just hours before.  

We politely handed over our feeble plate of cookies and sent our prayers and sympathies to the family as we left.  My goodness, it was such a shock, we were so very sorry for disturbing the moment.  Nevertheless, I was grateful to know of the news and glad we could offer our condolences. 

You just never know who you will touch, what timing might be set up before you, or exactly why you might be prompted to take action.  I had meant to deliver those cookies weeks before, but if I had, maybe I would have never known about our neighbor mourning.  And, what if I never bothered to introduce our family at all?  Who knows how those little cookies might be used...but, at least that morning they made a difference to one family, no matter how little a piece of distraction or joy it may have brought.

Later that day, while I was out running errands, the sweet neighbor lady came out to the yard and spoke with Josh, thanking us for the neighborly token.  I sure hope this is only the beginning of how we integrate ourselves into this little neighborhood.  It might be a long time before we get to know everyone, but it only took a morning for us to let everyone know a little bit about us.  

Sure, years ago it used to be common for neighborhoods to be the one to bring cookies to the "new kids on the block", but we just don't live in that era anymore.  I'm thrilled to flip the tables and take the opportunity to reach out and see what happens.  Yep, it was awkward.  Yep, it took time and energy.  But, I'm thankful God prompted my heart to take that step outside my comfort zone and privileged to have witnessed the difference it made already.

It was a good reminder to me that sometimes you don't need to wait for an invitation...you just need to step out. The truth is, you just never know who might need a cookie. 

Only Tuesday

I get it.  You're feeling overwhelmed and maybe even already behind...and it's only Tuesday.

As I returned from a "quick trip" to Target (I went in for diapers - why am I carrying three bags?) I stumble into our home with my girls, all of us pink-cheeked from the ten degree weather outside.  I had found two packs of baby wipes in my back seat that froze solid, so I figure I'll see how they thaw out and let the girls use them as bricks for a fort in the meantime.

I check my email, my voicemail, I make a couple calls as I put "Despicable Me2" on tv for my girls to watch while I simultaneously pull out a smorgasbord from the fridge (graham crackers, shrimp, cheese sticks and cucumbers do make a meal, right?) I started putting away the things we "needed" from the store.

With my phone under my cheek, dishes in hand, I see my two-year-old out the corner of my eye as she proudly pours an entire box of goldfish crackers on our coffee table.  I would have screamed if I could conjure up the energy (or not been on the phone at the time) and instead I just sighed deeply at the sight.  I don't know if I was more frustrated with her or more discouraged in the knowledge that I would have to be the one to clean it all up.

I hung up the phone and closed my eyes.  It's ONLY TUESDAY!  And then it hit me.  Deep breath.  It's only Tuesday.  Get a grip, woman.  It's not the end of the world, it's not a major holiday, it's not even the start of the new school year (thanks to Nashville's fear of the snowpocalypse, my grad class was cancelled today).  It's ONLY Tuesday, and this is good news.

Right.  Good news, that's what I needed.  Even the smallest of victories can overcome the mountains of frustration when it comes to parenting.  I look over and see my girls giggling and then my four-year-old says "Mmm, this lunch is good!" and then she lifts her shirt up so I can see her protruding belly full from the bounty.

I'm so blessed.  I'm so grateful to have crackers on smushed into my carpet and frozen packs of baby wipes.  It's stupid and silly and not real problems.  My life is full of wonderfully inconvenient delays and frustrations.  It's maxed out with delightful complaints and glorious interruptions.  There is much to celebrate in the mischievous, the mundane, and the majestically messy.

Much to celebrate - and it's only Tuesday!  Deep breaths mamas - party on.

...Six Months Later

We have officially lived in Nashville for half a year!  Can you believe it?

Only six months ago we drove our entourage into this new city and called it our own.  We traveled over 2,000 miles with two toddlers and all our belongings and no job and staked claim on a new life that we fully entrusted to God.  We were full of more questions than answers, with weary hearts that grieved the loss of our friends and family in California, and excited souls ready to embrace a new chapter ahead.

Having moved across the country four times now, I thought I knew what to expect.  I tell myself that it takes time to make friends, to get to know my way around, to be patient with finding a church to call home, to not hold my breath when it comes to waiting until it feels like home home and not just some place I now have to ship all my Amazon packages to.  I've always told people that I feel like it takes a good two years before a new place feels familiar or comfortable.

But, I have to tell you, this has been the easiest move of my life.  Nashville is home.

Six months is a blink to be able to say something like that.  It feels like when I was dating my husband and falling head over heels before I could look him in the eye without giggling or wanting to burst into song.  It may have been too soon to say "I love you"...or get engaged...or get married...but, when it's right it's right.  And my move to Nashville feels like a nice old sneaker that's come back into style.  It feels right, looks great, and just fits.  Ahh.

The Pardys are loving Nashville.

Don't get me wrong.  I miss California desperately.  I miss my friends the most, of course, and there are times I weep just by texting them or seeing a Facebook update from someone.  [I'm tearing up now just thinking about it!]  In a perfect world, all my favorite people would be in ONE place, or we would own private jets, or we could all teleport!  In my ideal universe, the ocean would be 15 minutes away, there would be no traffic, and I would have a standing date with my best friends each week no matter where they lived.

But, if I can't have everything I want all in one place, I can sit still and be so grateful that I get to have it all on one globe.  To think that people fiercely love me and pray for me and my family from miles and miles away is such an incredible gift that it makes friendship over distance totally worthwhile.  (Also, not having to ever sit in LA traffic is pretty great too! Haha)

We've already learned so much since being here.  We've seen God break us, heal us, challenge us, push us, and humble our hearts in multiple ways.  I've started grad school, Josh has a new job, and the girls are thriving in their new environment and going to start preschool one day a week next year.  We are busier than ever, depending on God more than ever, and excited about our future as a couple and family.  God has already brought amazing hope in new friendships and surrounded us with encouragers that point us to Jesus.  We are grateful to have found a wonderful church and looking forward to deepening more relationships in the new year.

Six months goes by so fast.  Just a year ago I was studying for the GRE and just beginning the application process to grad school.  Our daily lives have changed dramatically, and I miss the interactions in our old community with the people we "lived life with".  But, as I hold those memories and reflect on what a treasure that time in California was for us, it makes me all the more eager to wonder what is in store for us here.

What are you most excited about in the coming year?  How has your life changed in the last 6 months? Year?

As we countdown the days to Christmas and the New Year ahead, join me in thanking God for getting us through the ups and downs of 2013.  The fact that we are all here, supporting each other and living life "together" even in this small way is a testament to His faithfulness in the days ahead.

Survivor

I did it!  I survived finals week!  [cue "Eye of the Tiger" here]

I have officially completed my first semester of grad school, and I can hardly believe it.  I'm 1/6th a Master!  Ha.  And I'm genuinely looking forward to my brain shriveling back to its normal size over the next three weeks.  Siiiiiigh.

Last week was RIDICULOUS.  It was one of those weeks where I was literally expecting to turn on the news and hear that there were asteroids headed towards Earth because that was just about the only thing left to go wrong in my little world.

While juggling the usually bowling balls of raising two kids (ages 4 and 2), working seasonal nights at the mall, and completing my Finals (one massive project, two papers, another semi-massive project, a video assignment, and a weekly online discussion board assignment), I barely had time to sleep, let alone cook or clean or make sure I had applied deodorant that day.


I expected a few things to go wrong during the week.  I mean, even on a good week I will forget to put the milk back in the fridge or let my daughter wear pajama pants all day or totally not remember that I left the clothes in the dryer (a week ago).  But, this was no typical week.

saddest thumbs-up ever

First, the weather was NUTS.  It had just been 75 degrees a week ago and so we went to the zoo for the day.  The next day, it dropped 30 degrees and the clouds shielded us from any sunlight.  I had spent hours (here and there) getting our 2013 Christmas card together over the last few weeks, and JUST finished writing out the last address.  Eager to get them out before they got destroyed or lost inside my home, I set them out by the mailbox as usual (under our overhang which is reasonably protective) and took my girls to Target to run an errand.

At Target, I nearly lost Daphne TWICE.  She would wriggle out of her cart-straps, and BOLT.  The girl was like Seabiscuit, rounding corners and shrieking down aisles at the top of her lungs.  By the time we left, it had started pouring cats and dogs, and we raced out to the car without an umbrella.  We were soaked!  I was exhausted by the time I got home, and my heart SANK when I came home to this:

wet and wrinkly Christmas cards

It had POURED in the timeframe we were gone, and my Christmas cards were drenched.  I had to spend the next hour hand-blow-drying each one so that it was salvageable.  Thank goodness, they were.  Whew.

Then, Saturday was the real kicker.  I finally had a calm morning with no where to go.  My husband was hanging out with my brother, so it was just me and the girls, curled up to watch "Curious George Christmas".  My youngest was extra snuggly, so I thought "Ah, she is calm - perfect time to trim her nails."  Simple enough, right?

I'll cut to the chase (no pun intended).  New clippers and flailing baby hands don't mix.  I knew when she screamed it was not just a knick.  Half-a-roll of paper towels later, I could still not get her thumb to stop bleeding, so I announced to my four-year-old "This is an EMERGENCY!  Go get dressed!  We have to take her to the doctor!"

Matilda has never impressed me more.  She jumped up and ran upstairs, explaining to our cat the whole time how "This is an emergency.  Don't worry!  Daphne will be okay, but I need pants!  I have to go so she can see the doctor, okay?"  Quick as a flash, she was downstairs and helping me get out the door.  I was still in yoga pants and slippers, but who cares?!  I wrapped Daphne's hand in paper towels and secured an glove over the top of it.  By the time we got to the ER, the blood had soaked through the glove.  It was just about the worst feeling of my life.

The nurses were quick and very helpful.  The bleeding stopped not long after we arrived and the wound revealed itself to only be superficial - no stitches or glue necessary.  Hallelujah!  It was bad enough I maimed my own child, I couldn't bear the thought of her getting minor surgery because of it.  Good heavens.

They cleaned and dressed the wound, making it as baby-proof as possible so she couldn't pull it off.  Matilda danced and sang and entertained us all so that we could have a happy distraction while we waited.  God bless her sweet and spunky spirit.  I'm so grateful for her care and encouragement, and it was a wonderful reminder that her craziness can be used for good and not only for being a naughty, frustrating, four-year-old.

Last night, I peacefully wrote the last paragraph of my last final of my first semester of grad school.  And that was that.  I survived the week.  Rain, shine, blood, sweat, and tears.  Maybe this last week was really just a beautiful, messy, symbolic representation of what the entire Fall has been.

It was quite the grand finale.

Polar Express

Toddlers are extraordinary beings.  They are the only humans who can appropriately lose control of their emotions without shocking those around them.  I mean, we expect two-year-olds to throw tantrums and be a little crazy (okay, a lot crazy).

Toddlers are going through so much change in their little lives/bodies/worlds, that it's within their natural development to experience polarizing emotions within a single moment.  There's nothing rational, balance, comfortable, or reasonable about it.  And, as a parent, it can be a roller coaster to go from this...

...to this...

...all within a very short time frame.

You can see why God made them cute, right?  You can understand how maddening it is to be the one who helps contain the emotions that so rapidly cycle up and down throughout the day!?

Today, I'm so grateful God made kids unreasonably adorable to match their irrational development.  I'm so glad that there are the "He's got the whole world in His Hands" moments of the day to help us moms get through the "WHY did daddy have to go to work?!" tantrums.  I'm so glad that I am here to witness the good and the bad, to help channel the emotions into a healthy place of understanding, and to get to be the one that hugs through the unknowns when I've no other impulse or notion as to what to do.

I'm so glad toddlers are ridiculously out of their minds.  Their polarizing expressway to crazyville helps keep me on track to remembering how out of control we are as humans without a solid God to look to for guidance and direction.

Thank you, God, for one more day of survival with toddlers.  Moms - take a deep breath - hug your babes and know you are not alone.  The crazy train has many, many passengers, but the trip is short.  Let's do our best to savor the view along the way.

What are you thankful for?? LAST CHANCE to COMMENT and enter the GIVE AWAY!!!!

TBT: Contagious

I wrote this post about a year ago, and I can't believe how LITTLE my baby Daphne was!?  I sure needed this reminder today, to pause and appreciate this season of life that is going to pass by in a flash.  I hope it provides you some focus and encouragement as well.  


Tis the season...for germs.  Time to stuff the stockings with Purrell and trim the tree with Kleenex, right?  Oh man, it seems like just about everywhere I turn someone is coughing or sniffling.  I'm feeling MUCH better (thank you, Lord!) than a few days ago, but awoke Wednesday morning to a sick husband and a sick baby!  (Somehow my three-year-old, Matilda, is so far getting through this week unscathed.  My best guess is that her super-human energy allows her to dodge most germs simply out of sheer speed!)

If anything trumps not feeling well...it's watching those you love not feel well.  Luckily, a couple long naps, vitamins, and decongestants seemed to ward off any real health villains for my husband; but, unfortunately the baby has not been so triumphant.  Is there anything worse than a sick baby?

What's worse (in my book, anyway) is that she didn't catch a cold...she caught a tummy flu bug.  UGH!  Wah-waaaah.  The poor sweetie bear.  Again, the only thing worse than cleaning up disgusting germs is having to watch your pitiful little 16-month-old stare at you blurry-eyed with her sad gaze of "Why mommy?" going unanswered.  Gosh, it just breaks my heart!

Having two kids and one of them be sick is a whole other ball game.  Instead of the usual Get off your sister, you're killing her! you have to referee them with a new initiative:  Don't touch your sister, you'll get sick!  You have to quarantine them both the best you can and about halfway through the day - by the time the sick one has sneezed on the other one, they've accidentally swapped sippy cups, and you catch them cuddling and just can't bear to break up the love-fest...well, you just cross your fingers and pray the plague doesn't go any further.  What's a mom to do?

Taking care of a sick baby is such a weird, odd, terrible little gift that I think God gives us moms.  I mean, it's awful, for sure.  If I could bubble-wrap my kids and shampoo them in Purrell, I'm sure I would, don't get me wrong.  It only takes one heinous Yankee-candle-of-all-diapers to convince you that baby-flu-bug is certainly the doing of the Devil himself.  Ugh.

But, since we do live in a fallen world where illness exists, why not take this moment to try and recognize God among the yuckiness?  Anything's possible here.  So, honestly, I feel the presence of Jesus when I am stopped COLD in my footsteps to throw everything else out the window in that moment and care for my baby.  Dishes stink.  Clothes rumple.  Floors crumb-up.  Whatever.

Daphne has not been able to nap in her crib the last two days.  Not a wink.  I'll rock or nurse her completely to sleep, multiple times, but as soon as I lay her down she springs up screaming and won't stop.  The only way she has been able to sleep during the day has been cuddled up ON me.  The first time was heartwrenchingly wonderful.  Endearing.  The kinds of moments you dream about as a mother.

The next few times...well, it progressively got awkward and a bit burdensome.  With an energetic 3-year old vying for attention, it just wasn't exactly the ideal situation.  Not only that, but when you have a 22 lb. anchor on your chest you can't exactly get anything done during the day.  This is when it occurred to me:  Shut up, Emily.  Sit still.  Look at your baby.  

Whoa, okay.  Right.  Put the iPhone down and focus on the present.  WHY is this so hard to do?  (Granted, I was glad I had the phone there just to capture the moment!)  I want to remember that feeling.  I wish I was the kind of person who never needed to be forced to STOP and smell the roses (or the baby), but I am.  I'm just so grateful that I could soak that up, as best I could (even if there was a dancing Matilda in the background at times) and allow that baby to smother her germy self into my body for that moment.

How many times does this happen in our lives?  How much longer will she turn to me for that amount of comfort?

It's such a challenge to hold still these days.  It's increasingly difficult to be thankful for tiny things like fragile babies with vomit-covered jammies and greasy hair and diaper rash.  It's frustrating to have our daily schedules overturned and interrupted and entirely disregarded.  But...it's so insanely worth it.

We always talk about how this baby/toddler stage of life goes by in a blink.  But, you know, if we can just slow down once in a while (even if that's only when the germs of life slow them down) then we get to capture a silent, beautiful moment where nothing else in the world matters but this sacred, sweet gift of our very own baby needing us for who we are - mom.  It may go by in a blink...but, we're in the midst of it right now...the part where your eyes are closed and you can still hear your heart beating outside your body.  Inhale, exhale.  Everything can wait.


I hope I remember this moment.  Maybe it's even contagious.