Happy Birthday Layla Jo!

Here it is, a whole year gone by since our littlest lady entered the world.  

Though she put me through the wringer in those months, weeks, days (and certainly hours) before her arrival, her coming was nothing but gift!  She set all kinds of records as far as my babies go with her arrival, and has been bound and determined to keep making a name for herself ever since.  I just know that this little lady, with her spirit and spunk (not to mention those cheeks and ears!!), is going to change the world!  She sure has changed mine!  Happy birthday darling girl, Momma loves you! 

A Note to My Little Lady:

L ittle lady with the

I ntoxicating smile,

T oddling here and there,

T elling us all kinds of stories,

L aughing in a way that make those cute cheeks puff-up even more,

E exhausting Momma and Dadda…with joy. 

L ittle Diva,

A record setter from the start,

D determined, strong & spirited –

You make us so proud.    

Little Lady, you are going to (you do) rock this world!     

An Ode to Time

After wanting all summer to write about the crazy happenings in my family's world, and the lessons being learned, and all the places God was present, but never quite getting around to it, I finally decide  just to write about the passing of time instead. But this too didn't seem to happen. Finally as summer officially ended, I did it...sort of.  

This was supposed to be shared on Monday, the official end of summer.  But as usual, time got away from me!   Better late than never, right?  :)

An Ode to Time:
Oh time, you are a magician!
Perhaps the greatest magician,
With your greatest trick, your vanishing act!
 
Where do you go, when you slip away from us?
How I wish sometimes I knew your secret,
So I could hold onto you a bit longer,
Keep you from disappearing,
keep you always steady in front of me.

But despite the illusion that I can stop you,
Before I know it, you are gone again, 
And your audience is left wondering where you went. 

You are a magician not to be reckoned with!
And once again, despite my efforts to hold on,
You have performed your illusive act.
Months worth of fun, countless moments, gone again.
 
And so, as I cannot seem to keep you still,
I will instead hold onto that which you leave in your puff of fleeting majestic smoke,
The memories you create in your magical wake,
All of them magical too!
 
I miss you time,
But I welcome the magical show you leave behind in your place...
LIFE!

Watch Summer 2015 Video  (to see all that happened during our vanishing summer months)

In the Beginning

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.  Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light.  God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

In the beginning, God made us husband and wife.  We spent the better part of a year trying to adjust to living with one another – me to his piles of socks and un-swept floors, and him to my passive aggressive hints at the cleaning needing to be done.  Our work schedules seldom meshed with one another, and there were lonely nights; but when we were together we enjoyed the “honeymoon stage” in all its new marriage euphoria.  There was the excitement of the secret pregnancy that Winter, followed by the devastation of silent loss that Spring. And we ended that year – one with its dance of both light and darkness – with a cake brought by our wedding cake-maker to mark our anniversary.  And there was evening of the 24^th, and morning of the 25^th – the first year.    

And God said, “Let there be a vault between the waters to separate water from water.” So God made the vault and separated the water under the vault from the water above it. And it was so. God called the vault “sky.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the second day.

Beginning in grief, we spent much of the next year holding tightly onto each other and to prayer, as we tried again for a little one.  Trying to allow the joy of the pregnancy to separate the heartache of last time; hoping the potential of a new home and new work position would separate the fear when this pregnancy was having complications.  Our marriage, like our faith, shaken yet strengthened, as we talked about names and turned to every saint we knew until the late, or sometimes early, hours.  And we ended that year – one where we did our fair share of turning to the sky – with cheesecake snuck in by my parents to our hospital room as we slept beside our day-old son.  And there was evening of the 24^th, and morning of the 25^th – the second year.   

And God said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear.” And it was so. God called the dry ground “land,” and the gathered waters he called “seas.” And God saw that it was good.  Then God said, “Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds.” And it was so. The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the third day.

Then God said, “How about trying that again;” and so after spending the first half of the year marveling in the sheer awe of our child (and watching each other no longer as just spouses, but now as parents), we spent the second half preparing for number two.  Work was more challenging than ever, and we gathered up all our strength, and my fleeting energy, to both enjoy and plan for the fruit our love was bearing, and the life it was producing.  And though tough, it was good.  We ended that year – one in which God granted so much growth – with Pizza Hut delivery and Catabwa on the couch as one baby slept and the other kicked within.  And there was evening of the 24^th, and morning of the 25^th – the third year.   

And God said, “Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark sacred times, and days and years, and let them be lights in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth.” And it was so. God made two great lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. He also made the stars. God set them in the vault of the sky to give light on the earth, to govern the day and the night, and to separate light from darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the fourth day.

We spent this year in chaos, measuring time in boxes and tears.  Tears that marked the days, as we welcomed and enjoyed our beautiful little girl in all her wonder and grace, side-by-side with those that marked the dark night of the soul as postpartum depression set in.  We said good-bye to the first place we together called home, and bought the place that took far longer than imagined to feel like home to me, where we had to re-learn how to live together – now along with two other lives; where the threat of counseling was the guiding star that finally saved us from the darkness that seemed too vast to navigate.  And despite it being our toughest year, in the end, God saw (and showed us) that our love was good.  We ended that year – the one governed by challenges – with the delivery of “the big red chair” (that along with our children was what finally made me feel at home), followed by the worst DQ cone ever for dessert (par for the course that year).  And there was evening of the 24^th, and morning of the 25^th – the fourth year.

And God said, “Let the water teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the vault of the sky.” So God created the great creatures of the sea and every living thing with which the water teems and that moves about in it, according to their kinds, and every winged bird according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them and said, “Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the water in the seas, and let the birds increase on the earth.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day.

This year was spent enjoying additions and comforts, settling into the “American Dream.”  We got the dog of my dreams, raised the chickens of Mike’s dreams, and watched our two little blue-eyed blonds teem along with them – all the creatures moving about together on the land we mowed with our riding mower, around our dream playset.  Changes at work brought new levels of comfort for both of us there as well, so all aspects of our life seemed to fit together in this year of contentment and thriving.  It felt clearly that God had blessed us and happiness increased as each month passed.  We ended that year – one in which we seemed to be flying high – with a “fancy” (Mike in full suit and everything) dinner out, where we skipped dessert to head back to our hotel room (in time for the stomach bug to set it).  And there was evening of the 24^th, and morning of the 25^th – the fifth year. 

…Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.” So God created humankind in His own image, in the image of God they were created; male and female God created them. God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”  Then God said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food.  And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds in the sky and all the creatures that move along the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food.” And it was so.  God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day.

Like the surrounding years, this one was spent often forgetting we were spouses to one another, as our days as parents became so demanding.  God had given us so much to rule over and care for, so much it seemed to fill the whole earth at times.  (Even to the point of not having time to help one another through the grief of difficult losses that year).  I spent a few weeks in Kenya, feeling more and more called to have the third child we had talked about; Mike spent a few weeks alone with the kids, feeling less and less sure about our plans to be fruitful and increase in number.  After waiting and discerning, we ended that year with lunch and pie at our favorite small town café, along with all the life we had made – our two and a half kids.  And there was evening of the 24^th, and morning of the 25^th – the sixth year.   

Thus the heavens and the earth were completed in all their vast array. By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day God rested.  Then God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work of creating that he had done.

Beginning with the spreading news of a new one coming quickly on their way, much of this year was dedicated to a lack-of rest.  From a difficult pregnancy that led moods and patience to falter, to weeks of false labor that altered our plans and expectations, from major career changes that put our schedules in upheaval, to the additional little life that awoke every few hours (and then some) that made our routine (and sleep) non-existent – there was little resting.  Yet all those waking hours helped us see all that we have made – all that God was and had been doing – in our lives, and it gave a profound feeling of being blessed.  We ended this year – one made holy – with a double-date with my parents that filled us up so much we traded supper for just popcorn and a movie after the kids were in bed.  And there was evening of the 24^th, and morning of the 25^th – the seventh year.

* * * * * * *

As Mike and I finish celebrating our seventh anniversary, I can’t help but being amazed at all that can happen in a seemingly short amount of time – the vast array of what God has done, and all the life that has been created since we became one.  And it was very good! 

But what amazes me even more still, is knowing that it was just the beginning....

Mother's Day Magnificat

10:30pm Saturday: I was exhausted from the past several days of screaming-infant-in-the-middle-of-the-night syndrome (aka, Teething).  So much so that I fell asleep in the middle of reading (that last paragraph tried over and over to head-bobs, until I finally gave up, not to remember reading it at all the next day). 

11:09pm: The baby cries.  So it begins, I thought, as I fumbled my way out of a deep sleep, and into the darkness (apparently my husband had shut the lights off and gone to bed with as much notice from me as that last paragraph received).  I find her “plugger” on her dresser, and give it to her, along with a melodic “Shhhh-shhh-shhh,” and gentle rub of her back until she is quiet, before making my way back to bed.  I’m out again as soon as my head hits the pillow.

11:24pm: She cries again.  “Ohh!” I groan, and repeat my activities of a few minutes ago once again. 

11:44pm:  Ditto!  This time, the pacifier and (admittedly less melodic and more annoyed by now) “shhh-ing” don’t work, and after removing her from her crib and rocking her in my arms doesn’t work either, and we are both now crying (especially when I realized that it was my third nursery trip of the night and I could still hear the dryer running that I started before lying in bed to read…I’m not good at math, but I knew the potential number of nursery visits ahead was not looking good for me), I call out for her Dadda to come help.  It works for a little while, and I return only once more (at a time I am now too tired to even take notice of), before my next night-time adventure starts.

2:20am Sunday:  I feel the smallest of fingers offering my shoulder the smallest of nudges.  I roll over to find both my two older children staring at me.  “What’s up?” I ask in no-doubt mumbled form.  “We are having a sleepover in the living room, and Beluga is nowhere to be found,” Adrian tells me in a sort-of whisper.  “A sleepover in the living room?,” I ask, more tired/confused than I am upset yet (stress on the yet).  “Adrian made me,” Lilly offers quickly, before her big brother goes on some spiel about needing a flashlight, and his new one is on the fridge, because Dadda took it away, and could I get it down so he can use it to find Beluga…  I again rolled out of bed, followed (or did I lead?) the little hooligans to the kitchen where I fumbled for his flashlight on the fridge, which he proceeded to use to slightly illuminate the pitch-black living room, now filled with kids blankets and pillows from their room, and almost immediately declared, “Oh, yeah, there he is.”  Too tired to fight it, I simply grumbled for them to lay down and go to sleep, before I shuffled my way back down the hall to my bed, where I tried to thank God for how beautiful the day before had been so that I would keep a positive attitude about how this one was starting out.  (It didn’t work)

4-something am: This time I don’t think they even had to nudge me; I had been woken enough times that my sleep was far from deep at this point.  I asked what they were doing in our room again, and Lilly explained in her soft, high-pitched squeak that she wanted to go back to her bed.  So I told her to do it. But Adrian retorted with his explanation of not wanting to be lonely in the living room without Lilly; to which I (less than “pastorally” shall we say) rebutted with a demand for him to go back to his bed too.  I remember going into their room with them, but can’t recall if we replaced blankets and pillows or not, or how long it took for them to re-settle and go back to sleep; all I recall is mumbling as I ushered them there that, “This is the worst Mother’s Day ever.” 

5:14am: Baby cries again; calming routine ensues.  Followed by 6-something fussing, to which I nudge my husband to help, and listen to him grumble as I roll over, and cry. 

* * * * * * * * *

7:40am: After snoozing my alarm, and making milk for the repeat fusser, I get myself out of bed with the help of my oldest.  Adrian came into my room, laid on the bed beside me and chatted with me a little in a sweet, loving, makes-mornings-feel-calm-rather-than-like-the-hell-that-was-the-night-before voice.  And as I listen, I think to myself, I can do this; it’s Mother’s Day, my special day; I can get up for this.  “Do you want to make chocolate-chip waffles with me buddy?”  We, and Lilly who woke and joined us on our way to the kitchen, begin making my favorite special breakfast.  During which time gets away from me (as usual), and I leave them and their caffeinated Dadda to finish while I rush to shower and get ready before rushing out the door 5 minutes late for Church, still not having had my favorite breakfast (again, as usual). 

9:40am:  We’re only half-way through Mass, and already Adrian has gotten “shh-ed” well beyond his 3-count (x3, x3), Layla has been given her pacifier to hush her, Mike has commented “quick, run” when the kids left to bring their money to the collection basket (and the kids must have heard him, because they went in a few different directions before finally returning to our pew), Lilly has knocked the carseat off the pew twice (with one more to follow again in a few minutes), I’ve already forgotten what the readings and the homily were about (that is, if I even heard them to be able to remember), and we’ve been told “I don’t love you” by a certain preschooler, in addition to being told “I’m not a fan of having you in the pew by us” from fellow (kid-less) parishioners’ looks.  “Jesus loves the little children,” the Eucharistic Minister says as she places a hand of blessing on the little blonde heads attached to little arms trying to rip away from mine, before giving me Communion.  I want to laugh and cry at the same time. 

11:00am: The girls and I are settling in to my parents’ living room for a nice visit, while answer everyone’s questions of, “Aren’t you missing someone?” and “Where’s your Dadda and Adrian?”  To which we answer that Adrian is having a time-out in the car.  (Because things went sadly downhill after 9:40)

2:20pm: Finally, after finding a make-shift meal at Mom and Dad’s so the kids could eat without us having to leave the visit early, wrestling with the inevitable long-process of cleaning up toys and gathering up shoes, coats and weirdos, and then trying to settle the excitement of a visit (complete with special cherry dessert) down into beds that now have all their blankets and pillows (I still don’t recall how or when they made it back from the living room sleepover), all three kids are sleeping!  And at the same time!! (the only thing that wasn’t par for the course that day)  So I settle on the couch, imagining all the things that could make this unique moment on this special day worthy of the exceptional gift of the simul-nap – a run or nap myself, movie or cuddle with Mike?  But we’re too tired (and my husband’s new love, “The Justice Network,” too interesting), so folding the kids’ laundry (that I swear I had just done) is the only excitement of the afternoon, before the first rosy-cheeked face emerges from the bedrooms and draws us back to our regular afternoon. 

4:25pm:  While locked in my bedroom to pump milk for Layla to take with her to daycare the next day (wow, is the weekend really almost over and time to start the grind of another week already?), Adrian came and visited me.  “What should we do for supper Little Man?,” I asked.  After suggestions of going to a restaurant, ordering pizza, a picnic in the living room, lasagna or something else “special,” he decided on “turkey sandwiches and peaches in the living room while watching ‘Jake’ or something.”  Nothing says wonderful Mom like that, I thought. 

5:50pm:  I finally convince myself and the kids (it’s a toss-up who needed the convincing more) to sit down on the couch and read the book they gave me on our way out the door for my Mother’s Day gift earlier that morning.  And after reading, talking and other bouncing-all-over-me-activities, it was suddenly 6:30 and I was feeding Layla, knowing that it was now too late to get everyone presentable to go out to eat, it was too late to order pizza, and there was no way the lasagna would be ready in time…so I resigned myself to making turkey sandwiches (that I don't eat) and peaches (that there weren't enough of for me) for the kids, that they ate in a “special” picnic in the living room, while I sat in the dining room feeding Layla rice cereal.  (I never did get any supper myself)

10:05pm:  Long after bedtime, Adrian and Lilly are still taking turns (or sharing turns) coming into my room with some excuse or another why they can’t sleep, or because they wanted to “just say” that they love me or something else “sweet” (I say in quotations, because it gets more and more less sweet with each visit, and each passing hour, until it feels just plain vindictive on their part).  I’ve also already been into Layla’s room, the night’s plugger-count already begun.  Mike finally finds his way back to the bedroom after the news (which lucky for him drowned out all the news the kids were sharing with me for the last two hours), which also seems to be after I’ve finally got them all settled down (for a while at least), and I’m ready to pass out!  He apparently is too, because we don’t say a word, just close our eyes and bid good-bye to another “Normal Day.”  (And I cry myself to sleep) 

* * * * * * * * *

By all accounts, it was a Normal Day – the tired morning after a long night, the rush out the door and my needs met last (if at all), the sweet kids-turned-chaos, the inability to commune with God or community the way I would like to, the hints of beauty entangled with moments of frustration ugliness, the so-caught-up-in-survival-mode-that-we-forget-to-connect-with-each-other pattern of spouses, the challenge of thrown-off schedules and time getting away from us, the list of to-do’s and dreamed-of activities as a family (or for myself) left un-checked, the fatigue and overwhelming-ness of it all at the end of the day, the LIFE WITH LITTLES!  

  

A Normal Day in nearly all respects.  The problem is that it was Mothers Day, and I expected it to be “Special.”  A day for me to feel special – feel honored, celebrated, pampered (or at least temporarily relieved of constant mother-duty), peaceful, appreciated, loved.  It was the day I’d been waiting for!  And it came and went…as usual. 

When it wasn’t “Special,” the normalcy of it ended up feeling “Bad” instead of just “Normal.”  That made it a difficult day.  It was still weighing heavily on my heart and prayer (and tear ducts) the next morning, as I tried to figure out why I didn’t get the “Special” day I thought I should have.  When I read this:

And Mary said, "My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,

my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed:

the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is His Name.

He has mercy on those who fear Him, in every generation.

He has shown the strength of His arm, He has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly.

He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich He has sent away empty.

He has come to the help of His servant Israel, for He has remembered His promise of mercy, the promise He made to our ancestors, to Abraham (and Sarah) and their children for ever.”

* * * * * * * * *

Mary’s Magnificat (from Luke 1:46-55) is a prayer that has come to mean a lot to me. I first fell in love with it for its social justice implications – He has cast down the mighty from their thrones…and the rich he has sent away empty!  Mary saw the need for a new world order, recognized her place in that upside-down new creation, and felt blessed that God invited her to be a part of her son’s way to justice.  For years, the prayer served as a reminder for me to trust in that promise - of a better world. 

Then last year, one night as I read the prayer as I did every night, it took on new meaning for me.  It was during my pregnancy with Layla, and the evening after Mike and I had had an ultrasound.  As I read it, still reveling in the joy and beauty of those little black waves on the screen and all the promise they held, the prayer suddenly reeked to me of Mary’s excitement – my spirit rejoices…from this day all generations will call me blessed!  I related to her song in a whole new way; now I saw her professing excitement not so much because of what her Son would accomplish, but simply because she was having a son, because she got to be a mother!  I prayed this prayer for my remaining months of pregnancy, and beyond, holding tight to that parental promise - of the blessedness of giving life. 

But as Mary’s prayer found its way to my inbox the morning after my difficult-“Normal”-Mother’s Day, I once again read it differently.  It occurred to me that Mary may not have felt all that blessed (at least not 100%) as she said these words.  She was pregnant, which always carries with it its own set of pains, worries and problems.  On top of which it was a “surprise” pregnancy (in a manner of speaking), she was a social outcast because of it, and she is probably still trying to figure out the ‘why me’ and panicking about all the baby-prep and child-rearing needs ahead of her.  Perhaps her excitement at being in her expectant-cousin’s presence is less pure joy, and maybe some relief – finally, another woman who understands and can help me with this crazy-hard-momma-gig!  Maybe Mary’s song wasn’t entirely a song of praise, but a reminder to herself to stay positive in the midst of challenges.  A reminder that God has been keeping his promises for generations and will surely be merciful on her too as He helps her through all that is to come as a Mother.  A reminder that she said ‘yes’ to this, and must continue to do so even when it's not all roses…when some if it will be crosses.

Maybe this was Mary’s Mother’s Day Song – even when her hopes are matched by her fatigue and moments of beauty are entangled with those of struggle, she recognizes that she is blessed (it is a gift, even when it’s incredibly hard); senses that she is unworthy and imperfect for this role (we all are, but God is there to help, picking up the pieces of our scattered pride and conceit); knows that generations will in fact honor her (even if they’re too young and energetic to slow down enough to help her feel it all the time, even on “special” days); and remembers to say ‘yes’ again despite difficulties that make her want to say no (even when we feel sent away empty, God and this call we have to parent will fill us with good things if we continue to try our best).  Today, I am trying to hold tight to this promise - of not being alone, especially in the thick of things. 
 

Being a mother is hard!  Even on Mother’s Day.  (Let's face it, parenthood doesn't take a holiday)  

But Mary, and all the promises of her Magnificat, reminds me that the promise of the second Sunday of May is not a guarantee that we will feel special, honored, peaceful and loved; it is a covenant that we will have those things and more if we continue to serve Him through His children today.  

And though I am not always good at this mothering vocation, as I look back on this Mother’s Day and begin the long journey to the next one, I thank goodness that we have the promise of a God who turns upside-down expectations of “greatness!”  (Perhaps my Mothers Day was more “great” than I realized after all). 

* * * * * * * * * 

8:04pm Monday:  Mike is working late tonight, and yet somehow the kids and I have managed to enjoy a fairly calm evening of solo-parenting, complete with a re-do picnic in the living room (Mac’n’Cheese and broccoli this time – something Momma can eat).  Everyone is in jammies and all four of us are sitting together on Lilly’s bottom bunk.  Layla chews on my necklace, Lilly’s bear and anything else she can get her gums on, while I run my fingers through her sister’s beautiful, but crazy-messy after a fun day, hair.  Adrian bounces around with his usual zeal, as I read our story books, him finishing the last line of each page's rhyme for me.  We pray together as Lilly appears to be drifting off already, and I kiss them both before Adrian and I do a duet of “Old Woman” (his favorite silly song-turned-lullaby).  As I turn off the light and stand in the doorway for one last look before going to Layla’s room for her bedtime feeding, I can’t help but feel a sense of blessedness and gratitude for the beauty before me and behind me, as we made it to the end of another “Normal” day!