That Time I Got Engaged In A Castle In Sweden

On my way home from dropping my five-days-away-from-turning-four-year-old at preschool this morning, I had a flashback to the days of yore when I was a mere babe of 23. I was somewhat fresh out of college and living in Nashville where I had moved for a job that was the opposite of awesome. But, it all turned out and I was able to intern at a lovely church in the Country Music Mayberry, also known as Franklin, Tennessee.

One of those Nashville summers, a friend of mine from church started hosting supper clubs once a month at his home and I received a coveted invitation to one of said events. Dinner was good, the wine was nice, the company was friendly but then a question was posed to the group that did not bode well for little, ol' me.

"What is the most romantic thing that has ever happened to you?"

Uh oh. I held hands with a boy at Six Flags? Eh. I got lost on a hike with a boy I liked once? Nope. I got asked out at an airport? Ummm. No.

It was a bit of an awkward situation as each person shared increasingly romantic, and occasionally TMI, antidotes from their apparently VERY romantic dating lives. I had zilch. It was a teensy bit humiliating. And, obviously, twelve years later, it still haunts me. Ok, not really. But, maybe the memory still stings a little.

Anywaaaay, I got over it.

Fast forward a few boyfriends later to the summer I met Matt in a series of random run-ins, which turned into emails and then phone calls and finally a real live date in Knoxville, Tennessee that ended with Matt leaving early to go to a family member's birthday party. Blergh. He also cancelled on me the next day, which drove me to O'Charley's where I drowned my sorrows in sweet tea, yeast rolls and caramel pie. Luckily, this was not the high point of our relationship. It got better.

The next three weeks were a tornado of dates, hikes, movies, dinners, family visits and finally an official declaration of intention (of sorts).

And then Matt moved to Sweden. To be a missionary. It was not awesome.

Ok, the missionary part was nice. But, the transatlantic boyfriend thing was not. Skype was my best friend that year.

I'll spare you the drama of dating someone overseas for a year and skip ahead to the fun part.

I went to Sweden in the spring of 2007 on what was called a "Vision Trip" with some other Campus Crusade for Christ staffers. We were supposed to get a feel for the ministry that was happening at the university there to give us a better idea of what we were talking about when we got back to Knoxville and encouraged students to go share the gospel with Swedish college students.

It was snowy and cold and beautiful and there were H&Ms on every block. Everyone was tall and thin and stone-cold attractive. I felt like I had stumbled into the GAP's winter catalog with a few five-hundred-year-old buildings tossed in. In a word, it was MAGICAL.

Matt and I had been officially dating since August, so this was around month eight of our romance. We'd had a minor breakup in the fall and then he'd come home at Christmas, surprised me by showing up at a conference I was working and then there was a Smoky Mountain night hike that convinced me he was the one. All in all, things were going well, but I had no illusions about getting engaged anytime soon.

A couple days after we arrived in Swede-ville, we all took the train to Stockholm, Sweden's capital, and explored the city, which was incredible. Matt had planned a date night for us that evening, so we took the train back early afternoon to make our dinner reservations. I was completely unsuspecting, otherwise known as clueless.

He dropped me off at the place I was staying so I could get all gussied up and then he ran home to get ready, whilst also placing a quick call to my dad back in the good ol' U.S. of A. to ask for my hand.

When he picked me up, it was in a black Mercedes taxi. Fancy. He said we had to make a quick stop to drop something off for another member of his team who was meeting with a student in the city. Sure, I thought, just make it quick so that I can have a date with my boyfriend who lives across the ocean so I never get to see him.

The taxi dropped us off at the city's local governor's mansion, which is actually a very old, very large, pink castle. Yes, pink. Still, no suspicions on my part. I was a teensy bit concerned though that the taxi had left us because I had on heels and the streets were cobblestone.

Our friend let us in the side door of the castle where the student she was meeting with, also known as the governor's daughter, lived. Interesting.

We climbed some stairs up to the governor's family's living quarters and we were offered a tour. No thanks, I'm on a date with my transatlantic boyfriend so let's get this little errand out of the way so I can hang out with him, mkay? No dice. A tour was happening.

But, after only a few minutes, the girls had disappeared and Matt and I were walking down a hallway where every window was lit with candles. I think I even mentioned how they probably had a butler do that for them every evening. What? At the end of the hallway was a turret room, large and round and fancy. There was also music playing in the background. And there were roses in every window that looked out over the city.

I was still oblivious, people.

I kept thinking that if we actually ever did get engaged, how was he going to top THIS date?

We walked to each window and looked out over the lovely, snowy city. When we got to the last window, we turned toward the table in the center of the room where a few books were stacked up. A Bible, a book of poetry, and I think A Severe Mercy (a favorite of ours). I started to get a weird feeling about things.

Matt had me sit down at the table and before I knew it he was reading something biblical about a bride. Um, what is happening here? I glanced at his hand to see if it was shaking because that was supposed to give me some clue as to whether or not I had misjudged the serious nature of this current situation. It wasn't shaking. OK, must not be getting engaged.

Then a poem was being read. And then there was some shuffling around as Matt got down on one knee. AUGHHHHHHHH!

A ring, a yes, a kiss, a hug, a dance, a picture and then we had to leave because the governor needed to use the room for some state business later. Ha.

We walked down the cobblestone castle driveway to a little restaurant where we celebrated with champagne and reindeer steak (surprisingly, yum) and some kind of chocolate. It was perfection.

And, so, dear readers, I finally had my romantic story. And, it happened in the land of Ikea, H&M and Abba.

The End.

Stitch Fix: That Time I Got Fun Clothes in the Mail

I don't have time to shop anymore unless that shopping trip involves tomato paste and cereal. It's ok. I mean, I've got fourteen pairs of stretchy yoga pants to choose from each morning, so there's really no need to shop for clothes. However, I do occasionally find myself daydreaming about wearing something that isn't spandex. Or "athletic" wear. Or stay-at-home mom uniform-ish.

So, I did what every girl does when her closet starts to make her feel sad. I went online. And, lo and behold, I discovered that there are people out there who will shop for you when you can't seem to exit your house. (Unless that exit includes a carseat, three jackets, one lunchbox, a juice cup, four diapers, one backpack, and small people that you have created.)

Because I have limited time before I go pick up the larger of my two small people from preschool, I'll just cut to the chase. I filled out a bunch of basic info about my size, shape, and style preferences on a website called Stitch Fix. I linked my Pinterest board with all my pins of outfits I wish I was wearing and then sent Stitch Fix $20 (for shipping and styling) via my credit card. And then I sat back and let the magic begin.

I'll just let the photos I took speak for themselves. Ok, not really. I've included captions to delight and inform:

This is what a box full of fun clothes delivered to your doorstep looks like.

Even the inside of the box is fun. Plus, there's a nice note from your stylist. Mine was Jennifer.

Aaaaaaand, it's dress up time!

 

Here's the other info they include such as, how to wear clothes.

The jacket. It's knit. It's comfy. Sadly, it's $128.

I'm rethinking this pose right now.

This is an unfortunate angle, but it's hard to take a picture of yourself wearing a maxi skirt when the point of the picture is to include the maxi skirt. This one was gray, super soft and stretchy, but not really a winter item of clothing in my opinion. Also, take note of the regrettable way it accentuates the hips. Or don't take note. Maybe just disregard I mentioned that at all. Moving on...

Kensie skinny jeans. I kind of loved these. But, this body just recently gave birth to a human being, so skinny jeans aren't always the answer. Still, I'm considering them at the moment. $88.

 

Another weird angle. But, you get the point. FYI, I'm not really this disproportional in real life. I hope.

This shirt was super stretchy and had a nice little scalloped (maybe?) hem. I dig it. But, it fits a little snug in the tummy department which is where, I may have mentioned this before, I carried a small human recently. Not quite ready to draw attention here yet. But, this shirt was way cuter on than I expected. It was $42 I think.

  

Another shot of this great jacket.

Another shot of the skirt. Perfect for summer. Just not so much for cold weather. Atleast in my humble, non-stylist opinion. Oh, and this was $58.

The scarf! I really liked this thing and it'll probably be the one thing I keep this time around. It was $32 but, that makes it $12 after subtracting the initial $20 (shipping/sylist fee). Perfect.

Here's all the items that were in my box. Overall, I give this haul two thumbs up.

So, I'll sum things up for you if you're thinking about ordering from Stitch Fix. It's a fun way to shop that doesn't require you actually doing the shopping, which is nice if you don't have time to shop. Or take a shower. The stylist got my "style" pretty well and the sizes were all pretty dead on. My only complaint is that she didn't take into account the note I included (when I filled out all my info) about just having had a baby and not wanting any fitted shirts. But, everything else was on target.

The details for those of you about to do this:

-$20 bucks gets things started. It's non-refundable but does count toward your purchase.
-25% off everything if you buy it all. (My order equaled $380, but the discount and the $20 took it down to $250).
-Took about three weeks to get and then you have three days to try stuff on and mail back what you don't want.
-FYI: You get a chance to stipulate what your price point is at the initial sign up.

I think that's a pretty good overview. I'm thinking I might do this again next time we have an event coming up (i.e. wedding, party, etc.). Or maybe just to update my date night wardrobe. Or maybe just to have a fun box of clothes to try on sent to my house at random.

If you've got questions, let me know!

AND, if you're about to head over and start your Stitch Fix, here's a link that includes my getting referral credit, which is basically a win-win for both of us. But, no pressure. Really.

http://stitchfix.com/sign_up?referrer_id=3240392 

High fives to all of you wearing yoga pants right now.

An Open Letter to Friends I Never See

Dear Friend(s) Who Lives Far Away and Possibly Left Me A Voicemail A Few Months Ago That I Never Responded To:

Yesterday, one of my favorite friends called me whilst chauffering her little brood of three who had apparently all fallen asleep in their carseats. I was in the middle of nursing my fussy six-week old while also fending off my three-and-a-half year-old who wanted to hug and squeeze and kiss his newest, favorite-ist toy, also known as his nine-pound baby sister. It was not an easy situation for casual catching up on the phone, but, because I have a serious deficit of adult conversation with friends who know me well, I ill-advisedly answered the phone.

And subsequently, all hell broke loose.

I kid, but I did end up nearly face-planting into the carpet with the babe in my arms because my preschooler was underfoot in a major way and so I did the only thing I could think of, which was to impulsively close my bedroom door and lock it, with my preschooler on the other side. After a couple moments of muffled weeping and gnashing of teeth, I opened the door and found a very distraught little boy who informed me through crocodile tears that "when mamas lock their doors, people who are strange (a.k.a. strangers) can come and get little boys." Um, he will most likely need therapy at some point for this little incident. And I will probably remember "that time I locked my kid out of my room and destined him for abandonment issues" for the rest of time.

All this to say, it's hard for me to talk on the phone with friends these days. And this makes me sad.

After that conversation with my friend, which was made possible by PBS Kids yet again, I hung up the phone feeling disappointed that I was so distracted and frazzled while we talked. And then a weird fear took hold. Was this the beginning of the end of friendships that have been years in the making, but still require maintenance and real connection which I am currently unable to give? Were all my friends who haven't heard from me in months or seen me in person since that last wedding or reunion going to begin to give up on me? Would our phone calls become even less frequent and when they did actually happen, would they feel stiff and formal and have none of the old familiarity that is so necessary for real friendships? Gah!

All these fears flashed through my mind as I cleaned up yet another diaper explosion and disciplined yet another of my preschooler's willful moments.

And so, here I am, friends, letting you know that I think about you a lot, even though I don't call or write or send you texts full of emojis. I have random memories of you that show up every time I watch "You've Got Mail" or hear REM's "Nightswimming" or write haikus (shout out to Alexis Ward). You are each a part of my story in specific ways that I am so intensely grateful for.

I daydream sometimes about the future which I imagine will include time to visit and call and write actual letters. And, yet, I wonder if there will ever be enough time to make up for all the catching up we need to do.

So, I just wanted you to know that you are still dear to me and that despite this crazy season of life that makes calling or writing or visiting or taking a shower (not relevant) so impossible sometimes, you are often on my mind.

And you are always in my heart.

I just made it awkward, didn't I. Well, I meant it. So, deal with it.

Sending you a virtual rib-crushing hug from my little part of the world.

Love,
DL

The Fourth Trimester: How to Survive a Newborn Invasion

Note: Despite the title, this post is not the first chapter of my new zombie/vampire/werewolf sci-fi novel. I'll save that for a later post. 

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So, I had a baby. A beautiful, dark-haired, blue-eyed, pink-skinned babe with the sweetest little fingers and toes and eyebrows and well, you name it, it's cute. And this is a very, very good thing. Because the cuteness almost makes up for the middle of the night crying jags. I kid, and yet, whilst in the middle of the so-called 4th trimester, there are moments where I wonder why anyone has more than one child. I don't really mean that, except sometimes I do.

People, it's hard adding human beings to your family. Especially the kind that don't believe in sleeping at night or feel that not being constantly cradled is a form of torture.

In light of these things, I just stress-ate a whole bag of chocolate chips over the past few days.

The day we brought our newest babe home, I had this incredibly euphoric feeling of contentment with my shiny little brood of two. I commented on this to my husband who also had a bit of a new parent glow about him. It was a glorious twenty minutes of perfection.

Then, we actually got home. It wasn't long before I was crying those big, hormonal tears and my husband was once again mystified by the whole "I don't know why I'm crying" explanation. There was also the baby-crazed preschooler who wanted to kiss and hold and hug and squeeze the life out of his new, seven pound sibling. I didn't anticipate this extra bit of crazy. It's sweet, but also rather intense. And by intense I mean, insane.

In other post-partum related news, I made the mistake of putting on pre-pregnancy jeans within a couple weeks of having the babe and wore them triumphantly to the grocery store. It wasn't until later that evening, while bending over the tub for Sam's bathtime, that Matt informed me there was a three inch rip in the seat. Darn you, postpartum love handles. Matt suggested I sew on a patch. Bless his heart.

After 4.3 weeks of being in newborn survival mode, I've compiled a list for those of you who have just had a baby, are about to have a baby, are thinking about having a baby, or may possibly have a baby at some point in the future. You're welcome.

Keys to Surviving Your Newborn:

-Wear yoga pants at all times.

-Expect to have lots of awkward conversations with adults and possibly laugh at ill-timed places in said conversations. It's the sleep deprivation. Plus, you won't even remember you talked to those people by the next diaper change.

-Always have some form of chocolate close by.

-Don't feel guilty about all the PBS Kids your preschooler is watching while you retreat to the pantry to eat chocolate chips and regain an infinitesimal portion of your sanity.

-Go to Target.

-Drink a large pumpkin spice latte. Don't even think about the fact that it costs $4.

-Always have Oxyclean stain remover on hand. Possibly apply it to the clothing you're currently still wearing.

-Keep a post-it pad nearby because your short term memory has just been flushed down the proverbial commode.

-Watch Kathi Lee and Hoda for grown-up company when you start forgetting how to use words with more than two syllables.

-Eat fiber like your life depends on it because it might.

-Call a friend. Let her tell you about the things she did in the outside world which you currently only dream about. Live vicariously through the dinner and a movie date she just went on with her husband, sans kids.

-Shield your eyes when you walk in front of the bathroom mirror after getting out of the shower. I know you're curious, but it's not worth it. I promise.

-Never go to Wal-Mart with your children. Ever. Wait at least one year before attempting said trip.

-Send your husband out for groceries.

-Send your husband out for wine.

-Send your husband out for chocolate.

The chocolate is key. Make sure you write that one down.

I'll write about all the sweet new baby stuff later when I'm less sleep-deprived/caffeinated/hormonal/brain-dead/socially awkward.

This face makes it all worth it.

                                                   

Everything Changes

I'm not sure why I'm even trying to blog right now, because I have a serious case of pregnancy brain and there is no telling what will come out of my mouth. Pregnancy brain is a real thing, for the record. If you're still a doubter, come visit me and let's try to have a conversation. I'll convince you after I've stopped in the middle of a sentence because I've forgotten what I was talking about at least four times during our convo. It'll be awesome. And the best part? I won't even remember you came by or what we talked about within the hour.

But, here I am, while the boy is having "nap" time (another name for "do something quietly in your room while Mama tries to retain her sanity" time), trying to put a little something down about what's going on around here lately.

For starters, the sun came out today and as soon as I noticed this welcome phenomenon (in the midst of a rain-soaked summer), I opened all the blinds to let every little bit in. (Seeing the sun is a little like having an Elvis sighting these days and I'm pretty sure the summer of 2013 will go down in the history books as the Summer of Zoloft.) I was reminded of how different one feels when the morning sky is blue and not full of heavy, gray clouds, threatening to rain on one's parade or ruin a potentially good hair day.

Feeling all sunshine-y, I walked Sam into school today and watched him hang up his robot backpack and tuck his folder and his lunchbag in his cubby. He didn't look back to see if I was still at the door and even though I almost wished he would, I'm glad that the prospect of friends and building blocks had his attention instead. It made it easier to walk back to my car without him.

And so began my last morning to myself before everything changes.

It's literally the very last day of these quite mornings alone because Sam won't be back in school until next week and the husband will be starting his "paternity" leave (also known as using up vacation days). And then next week...we have a baby. I just typed that and now I have to pause for a moment to marvel at that crazy reality.

Everything changes in a few days and the fulfillment of some deep hopes will come true, hopefully uneventfully. (I'm still shaking in my flip flops a teensy bit with this scheduled delivery thing.) And, I'm thinking that all this means I'm about to change a bit as well. Next week includes going from a mama of one to a mama of two. AND, I get to be one of two girls in my house, rather than the lone collector of purses and shoes.

I'm wondering how all this is going to feel. It's a strange thing to ponder the addition of another person into one's family. Especially one that's almost a total mystery to you at the current moment, other than having a serious penchant for the hiccups.

Somewhat selfishly, I'm hoping that she will love some of the things that I love. That she'll want to read books that I read when I was a girl. That she'll want to go on walks with me in the fall and feel giddy at the smell of a bonfire or the thought of a pumpkin farm with a hayride (or feel the need to drink a load of pumpkin spice lattes the minute Starbucks starts making them in September). I hope she'll want to wander through old bookstores and watch Gilmore Girl reruns and bake cookies with me on rainy days. I hope that one day, she and I will be friends. Like my mom and I are.

But, at this moment, all of that is a bit of a dream and the reality is that what's familiar right now has an expiration date. This little family of three that we've got going on has had a good run. And now after 3.5 years, everything is about to change. I wonder if we know what we're getting into. I'm pretty sure that we don't.

The nursery is ready. The hospital bag almost packed. The out of town family members are planning their visits. The baby presents have all been washed and folded and put away.

And, here I am, wondering what my little family is going to look and feel like after next week. Everything changes and I know that in this case, that's a really good thing. It just feels a little unnerving at the moment.

We Threw A Party

A few weekends ago, my mom and I hosted a shower for my brother's fiance'. I'm not a photographer, which you will soon be convinced of, plus my aunt took a few of these shots with my point and shoot. Try not to be too disappointed by my family's lack of photography skillz. I realize that everyone else out there with a blog has a super cool camera and some fancy photog abilities, but, alas, I am not one of those people. And yet, I am still planning on subjecting you to a short slideshow of the first par-tay hosted at my very own hizzouse. (My apologies for the rapper slang. I'm obviously trying to compensate for my lack of picture-taking talent.)

I feel like I would be remiss if I didn't include a shot of the lovely yardwork my husband and dad did to get things ready for the party. Disregard the yellow line in the middle there. I let some worker men drive into the yard the day before and have already been mildly reprimanded for this lapse in judgment. Who knew it would kill the grass in like 24 hours? Not me.

This photo probably doesn't need a caption. But, I'll give it one anyway. Basically, this sign was intended to make sure ladies came to the front door and not to the back, which would have taken them through my laundry room, which is usually sporting someone's underwear.

Every party needs some bunting. Also, this is the china cabinet that my dad painted with chalk paint. I heart it.

I saw this on Pinterest. Sadly, I ran out of ribbon before it could get really awesome.

Lemon cake with lemon curd filling. The stuff of dreams. Also, those are hydrangeas from my backyard. Just sayin'.

I saw this great idea for a party beverage in a magazine. Iced coffee with vanilla. Yum. We also served lemonade, which is obligatory at a southern bridal shower in the summer. You knew this, right?

The gift table before the guests showed up. That yellow puff at the top of the picture is of one of the poof balls I made out of tissue paper and twine. Turns out it's pretty easy to do, plus they're cute, which is why they're all still hanging up two weeks after the party.

Here are a few pictures of the soon-to-be bride and groom. The middle picture has a little sign above it that says "groom," in case you were squinting to see that and still thought it said, "gorp." That's my 33-year old brother, who I still think of as 10. The beard makes it a little hard to hold onto that image of him, however. Also, that basket below the table is going to be Baby Mae's laundry basket, but it was too cute to just leave in the nursery, so I brought it out for the party. It's a T.J. Maxx find for $15. High fives to me.

This photo is for those of you wondering what an 8 month pregnant woman looks like sitting down. Also, I'm taking notes here on who gave what. And, check out my super cute first cousin sitting to my left (your right) with the fancy coral shirt. She has three girls 5 and under, including twins, which feels relevant to tell you right now for some reason.

Here we are, the bride-to-be, the sister-in-law-to-be and the mother-in-law-to-be. Based on this picture, I've just decided that I look better sitting down while pregnant.

The happy couple. I realize this shot is a little washed out, but they just looked so darn cute, I couldn't help but include this one. Notice the lack of beard on the bro. It comes, it goes. Facial hair is a mysterious thing.

 

 

 

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I didn't include a shot of the food table, because for some reason, I never took a picture of it with all the food, so the picture I had just looked sad, like I was throwing a party for people on a diet.

But there is one thing about the party food you should probably know about so that you can use it at your next party, and that is the Chocolate Plate, as opposed to the usual cheese plate. I saw this in the same magazine as the iced coffee party idea and thought it was genius. Just go to Aldi's, pick up some dark, white and milk chocolate bars, break them into different-sized pieces and lay them indiscriminately on a fancy plate. Perfect. I just sang that word in my head as I typed it. Anyway, other than that, there were chicken salad croissant sandwiches, a fruit bowl, cheese straws, and lemon cake. Yum.

Next time I throw a shindig, I'll try to borrow a better camera than my little point and shoot and attempt to wow you with fancy pictures. That probably won't happen soon, since I won't be sleeping longer than 3 hours at a time for a while after this baby gets here. But, when the time comes for another party, I'll see what kind of photography magic I can conjure up for you.

Also, here's the link to the summer party idea that I used as a template for this one. It's Better Homes and Gardens: http://www.bhg.com/party/easy-summer-party/ You can see the chocolate plate in this picture, which is obviously the most important element in this party theme.

Party on.

Beauty for Ashes

There's not a lot of time to write these days. The laundry is piling up and the kitchen sink is full. The Samster has turned out to be a serious extrovert (courtesy of his daddy) and so there is a non-stop talking preschooler at my heels almost every minute of the day. There's always something else to do, somewhere else to be, another bill to pay, another phone call to be made, another chore to accomplish. Life is just busy and there's little time for quiet or reflection or thinking about anything beyond this single, current moment. And so, I don't write. I don't reflect. I don't sit down and consider much these days. Mostly I just do, and do, and do and then I go to sleep when it gets dark.

But, today I'm letting the laundry that needs to be done sit where it is as well as the toys on the floor and the dishes in the sink. I'm foregoing the nap that this eight and half month pregnant body is demanding and sitting down for a few minutes to set some things down.

I shared with a new friend this morning how I did not expect to be having a baby this year. Or really any year, for that matter, after the miscarriages we had over the last two years. Every now and then I realize that I'm taking for granted the fact that someone's tiny foot is poking into my ribcage. It's easy to forget where you've been when you're so caught up in the very present, very consuming now. I've been doing that lately. In the midst of all the stuff that comes with being pregnant (i.e. heartburn, morning sickness, ridiculous tiredness, loss of normal brain function, etc.), it's easy to forget the miracle that's been happening.

A few weeks ago we sang a song at church that I (obviously) can't remember the name of, but I keep thinking about one of the phrases that referenced Isaiah 61:3 where God gives his people a "crown of beauty for ashes." Basically every Sunday these days I get all teary during worship and end up mostly mouthing the words for fear that I'll croak out a sob. When we sang the song about God giving beauty in place of ashes, I felt the reality of that truth in my own life sink in and, of course, got all weepy.

There's still part of me that hasn't completely let go of the fear that those miscarriages left me with and I realize sometimes that I don't fully believe that God is really going to let us have this baby. I find myself looking at Sam and feeling so amazed that he is so perfect (Lest you protest, I'm not discounting the sin nature thing here). It's almost like I'm surprised that God allowed us something so good. I don't know why I can't just believe that God loves giving us good things and allowing us to experience joy.

But, five weeks from delivering this feisty baby girl who's already got Sam beat in the energetic unborn baby contest, I'm choosing to believe Isaiah 61:3, even though I don't always feel like I believe it. God does give beauty for ashes. He does bring joy in the morning. He does replace our fear with hope.

I'm typing this even as baby girl is pushing hard enough for me to see some part of her outlined against my midsection. When I think about the emptiness that was there last summer and the summer before, I'm a little overwhelmed with the beauty that this rather dis-proportioned figure is harboring. I'm so thankful to be trading in the ashes from the past two summers. I hope I can fully embrace what that means so that I can be sure not to take any second of this for granted.

T-36 days and counting.

Crafting with Cat Hair is a Real Thing

I'm 35. It pains me a small amount to type that. And yet, so it is. I wouldn't think about it a whole lot but for this baby I'm carrying around that keeps reminding me that I'm no spring chicken anymore. I'm like the spring chicken's great, great, great, great grandma's grandma. Another doctor visit this morning reminded me that having babies after 35 is less easy than having them at 25. (I realize this is common knowledge). Currently, I have pregnancy-related high cholesterol, low iron, high glucose levels and heartburn to rival the Colorado fire outbreak. Turns out that the labeling of my current season of life as "Advanced Maternal Age" is, in fact, a real thing and also a bummer.

But, all of this is only slightly more interesting than the terrible choice we made on Netflix the other night (Madea's Witness Protection Program, if you were wondering). So, I'll take my A.M.A. issues and move on. I just needed to overshare for a sec.

So, let's talk about Pinterest. I love Pinterest. I keep reading articles and blog posts about how Pinterest is giving us all inferiority complexes and driving us to break the tenth commandment by coveting each other's fondant cake sculptures and non-dairy, gluten-free, low-cal crockpot masterpieces. But, honestly, I don't suffer from these Pinterest-y problems so much. (Note: I have plenty of other coveting/comparison/inferiority problems, just not that one.) Pinterest is basically my virtual happy place.

However, I do find that, on occasion, pinners on Pinterest sometimes pin things that make me want to question their freedom to pin or use a toaster without supervision. You know what I'm talking about. Here are a couple examples:

Is this really happening out there?

These pants make my eyes burn.

And one more for good measure:

I'm curious what undergarments would be appropriate for this outfit.

In light of these sorts of pins, I came up with a list of boards and possible pins that I have yet to see on Pinterest but expect to see any day. Here you go:

Board #1

Crafts/DIY You Don't Have Time For:

-Make toothpick sculptures of your children (The new family heirloom).

-Handcarve your own scrabble pieces.

-Make a quilt out of your childhood Barbies' doll clothes. (Bonus points if you use Barbie hair for a fringe).

-Knit your own towels and washcloths. (Bonus points for harvesting your own wool from sheep you raised in your back yard).

-Learn to taxidermy (Seriously knocks out that Christmas list in no time. Stuffed squirrels for everyone!)

Board #2

Innovative/Out of the Box Recipes:

-Pumpkin bread with a coleslaw mix-in

-Healthy vegetable ice cream sundae - top with your favorite pureed veggie!

-Baked chicken stuffed with last night's leftovers - economical!

-Meatball pancakes with ketchup syrup

-Fried egg ice cream with bacon bits topping

Board #3

Good Ideas You Haven't Thought of Yet:

-Easiest Meal Ever- Place a roast, baking potatoes, green beans, a loaf of french bread and a gallon of sweet tea in a crockpot. Cook until dinner time.

-Substitute English peas for chocolate chips.

-Freeze apple sauce into sticks and use like you would butter.

-Make beef broth popsicles.

Honestly, I had a few more lists but realized that some of them aren't just figments of my imagination, but are actually happening out there. (i.e. bake your own goldfish, make your own dishwashing liquid, etc.)

Anyhoo, I pretty much just entertained myself for a half hour coming up with these. I'm curious what craziness you've seen on Pinterest recently. Do share.

Until next time, maybe you should try your hand at this recipe for milk pudding with Turkish fairy floss, or possibly actual floss:

 

It's a Forty Clorox Wipes Kind of Day

So, it's summer and I'm hot. Only not in the way that Jennifer Aniston or Ryan Gosling is hot. I'm currently the opposite of that kind of hot. Sadly, I'm just the old-fashioned, livin'-in-the-deep-south, big humid hair hot. Which means I'm eating a lot of popsicles and devising ways/excuses to stay inside air conditioned buildings at all times.

I feel the need to talk about what it's like to be seven months pregnant in the Deep South in the summer while pottytraining a three-year old. Does this sound like the beginning of a horror movie to you? If so, you might should visit another blog at the moment. But come back later when I have a sweet-smelling newborn and Starbucks is offering their fall-themed lattes (i.e. caramel apple, pumpkin spice, etc.).

I underestimated how different being pregnant the second time around would be. I forgot about one's center of gravity being compromised while pregnant until I fell on my rear end at Chic fil a this week whilst trying to tie my child's Converse sneakers. At this stage of the game, I'm not even phased by that sort of indignity. I mean, let's get real. I'm sporting maternity shorts these days and once you cross that line, there's really no point in being embarrassed by anything anymore.

My first babe was born in the last week of fall, so I was rocking my dark wash jeans and wearing colorful cardigans with serious panache while drinking tea, reading books, and occasionally taking leisurely walks in the golden air of autumn. It was gloriously awesome.

Fast forward 3.5 years. It's summer. I'm wearing whatever keeps me from overheating and falling over into a nearby bush. My three-year old is consistently showing up sans pants or underwear to inform me that he has compromised his clothing, and the bathroom, while trying to visit the potty. It's not pretty, people. Not at all.

Speaking of potty training. I know you've been wondering if I was ever actually going to do this, considering my child is able to do long division and drive motorized vehicles. I kid. He's only 3.5, but he's obviously old enough to not be wearing diapers. Anyhoo, I'd like to point out that he's my first child. I'll do better with the next one. Right? Basically, the update here is that he's wearing Lightning McQueen underwear like a champ these days. Number 1 is pretty much in the bag, while Number 2 is still a crapshoot (pardon my potty-themed pun). If anybody out there has any suggestions for how to make the magic happen with Number 2, I'd be eternally grateful. And if your idea works, I'll mail you cookies. For reals.

Meanwhile, if I survive the 95 degree, humid hair days of a Georgia summer, we'll be welcoming the new babe into our little family o' three sometime late August/early September. Despite my complaints regarding my resembling someone who swallowed a beach ball, I'm still rather in awe of this part of our family's story. I honestly didn't think I'd have the privilege of carrying another little one around for forty weeks. As hard as it is, it's also so miraculously good. It still feels surreal that we get to be parents for the second time.

Well, that's what's happening in our hot little corner of the world. Not a whole lot and yet enough to make me want to nap for three days straight. Got to go. Someone just walked in pant-less, which is never a good sign. And I just ran out of Clorox wipes. Fail.

Stay classy out there.

It's a good thing the little guy's so cute. 

Otherwise, the poop in the pants thing would seriously cause 

me to consider running away from home.

A Diaper Box Rant

I feel like I should give you a heads up here and let you know that it's possible this post could include a bit of political ranting that you may or may not feel up for if you're just sitting down with your granola this morning. Or it's possible this post might take an unexpected turn and become an emotional ode to the jar of Nutella in my pantry, you really just never know. I'm just saying, be prepared for anything.

Today was another monthly heartbeat check-up for Le Bebe and she passed with flying colors. (High fives all around). However, there was a bit of unpleasant information that I was made aware of while there. During my appointment, I, a bit nervously, let the midwife know that I'm pretty sure I'm going to want to schedule another c-section this time around. (I realize some of you out there might be shaking your heads in disapproval, so if you want to chat with me about my reasons for this decision, I'm totally up for that.) After hearing my explanation regarding my last c-section, she was totally understanding and awesome. Then (prepare yourselves, oh lovers of natural birthing methods), I brought up an issue we've recently discovered regarding our insurance. Turns out, our $3500 deductible starts over seven days before my due date. Well, la tee da, the midwife says, because they do c-sections a week early anyway, so it shouldn't be an issue. But, then, I counter with the fact that I need it done 1 day earlier so as to avoid having to pay a deductible we would have just met a mere 24 hours before. And here is where the story takes a dark turn and I began to consider moving to Canada (which wouldn't actually do me any good, other than to be nearer to the fictional home of Anne of Green Gables).

The midwife informs me that, come July, the new healthcare plan will begin to take its effect and the government will no longer allow healthcare providers to induce or, apparently, perform c-sections before the 39 week mark. This restriction is apparently in place regardless of the doctor's discretion regarding a patient's health issues, including diabetes and hypertension to name a couple, that might be complicated by waiting to deliver after 39 weeks (i.e. scary). Because this doctor's office schedules c-sections at 39 weeks anyway, I would only be asking to deliver my baby 24 hours earlier, which would have no effect on her health or mine. Plus, the added bonus of saving $3500 that we could put toward her college fund, or a new carseat, or to offset the cost of the 45,098 diapers we'll have purchased by the time she's 3.

So, obviously, I'm rather incensed at this news and the reality of a government official somewhere making a decision about my healthcare, trumping even my doctor's decision and judgment. But, to be honest, there's something else here that makes me even more likely to stand on a soap box (or diaper box, whatever's handy) and hold up a picket sign. Just before meeting with the midwife, I spent a little time waiting in the exam room reading in Marie Claire about all the actresses who've been making poor fashion choices involving mid-drifts lately. Suddenly, amidst the bizzare fashion ads, mid-magazine was an article listing all the states that have been making it more difficult lately to have an abortion after 20 weeks. The editors were up in arms about this injustice as well as the "totally unreasonable" requirement that some states have made insisting that a pregnant woman hear the heartbeat of her baby before she decides whether or not to abort it. Marie Claire editors wanted me to be aware of how my personal rights were being encroached upon and that I needed to write to my congressmen to demand that I be able to do what I want with my body and the fetus growing inside of it. I felt my baby girl jump and I immediately closed the magazine. I was tempted to burn it but didn't have a lighter on me.

To sum up, I think what I'm most bothered by after this morning's appointment is, not that I might lose a few thousand dollars because the government restricts when I can have my own baby, but that our government sanctions fully developed babies, with perfectly formed eyes and noses and hearts that beat at 140 beats a minute, to be disposed of like insignificant tissue. And yet, at the same time, it imposes restrictions on mothers who are choosing to have their babies, implying that those babies suddenly have human status and deserve to be protected by the beneficent government. Obviously, I don't believe that's the actual motivation behind this governmental restriction. I can only imagine the reasons behind this decision made by people totally removed from the realm of actual health care.

All of this only makes me more aware of how vulnerable the smallest ones in our society are and that our government has more and more say over their entry into the world, either as living, wanted babies or as aborted, inconvenient fetuses.

I find myself asking the question, what on earth can I do to make a difference? How can I be a part of the culture of abortion being upended and help rescue the more than a million little ones a year who are being aborted?

Right now, I'm going to keep loving this little one inside me as hard as I can and pray that, for all the other precious babes who aren't loved and who aren't wanted, that their mothers' hearts would be miraculously changed. I know there's more I can do. I'm just not sure what it is yet.

Pray with me for all those mothers who need hope and for the little ones who need rescuing.

 "Learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow's cause."- Isaiah 1:17

"A person's a person, no matter how small." - Horton Hears a Who"

Remember this guy? My first babe, the Samster.

Home

This past week had me feeling uneasy and sad as I watched the news and read the constant online updates about Boston. I also laid awake at night trying not to think about the abortion doctor on trial for killing babies after they'd been born and the Planned Parenthood representatives who are unbelievably defending him. The weight of the evil that human beings are capable of has been weighing heavy on my spirit and I've struggled to understand why God doesn't stop injustices like these. I want justice for Boston and for those babies and for the innocents around the world who are being abused and mistreated and exploited. All of that suffering together feels like it weighs a million pounds and lately I've felt its heaviness in my chest along with the frustration of my own limitations regarding what I can do to help ease any of that suffering.

But, a quote I read this week keeps coming to mind and I've been pondering it, wondering at its implications and feeling hope that perhaps there is something I can do, and am already doing.

"Peace in the world begins with peace at home."

I have no idea who said it, but the simplicity of that statement rings with so much truth. I can't help but think of those two brothers in Boston who orchestrated all that tragedy, and wonder what their experience was as boys growing up far from this country. I can't help but think that the homes and the families that so many children like them are growing up in are places without peace and without the sense of physical security, emotional safety and spiritual nurturing that a child desperately needs.

I'm mulling all this over as I consider Sam and the little one that we anticipate meeting this summer. What kind of home are we creating and how will it impact the spirits of our children? Rachel Jankovic, who blogs at desiringgod.com writes in one of her essays about the sacrifices of motherhood and the weight of the little things we do in the lives of our small ones. It struck me how all those little things given and sacrificed and sometimes even wrung out of us add up and shape the childhood that becomes the foundation of our children's stories. I needed her reminder:

"God loves the little offerings. Given in faith, that plate of PB&J’s will feed thousands. Given in faith, those presents on Christmas morning will bring delight to more children than you can count. Offered with thankfulness, your work at home is only the beginning. Your laundry pile, selflessly tackled daily, will be used in the hands of God to clothe many. Do not think that your work does not matter. In God’s hands, it will be broken, and broken, and broken again, until all who have need of it have eaten and are satisfied. And even then, there will be leftovers."

What I do at home as a mom matters. To my children and to the people whose stories will intersect with theirs.

And yet, peace in my home may come at a personal cost to me at times. It will affect what television shows and movies we watch, what music we listen to, who we allow into our home, the kind of conversations we have and the tone of our voices when we talk to each other, what media we allow and what books we read. All the little decisions we make to create a home that is a refuge where our children will become who they will be, all of this carries immense weight. It matters and the proof of that is all around us in the choices that are being made by so many who are unfamiliar with peace in their homes and in their hearts and their lives. 

Being a parent comes with what feels like an infinite number of responsibilities. But, I'm beginning to think that perhaps cultivating a home that shelters and nurtures and protects and radiates peace is one of the most important offerings we can make as parents.

Even as I say that, I know that I'm incapable of making that happen on my own. Matt and I are going to make mistakes, maybe even big ones, as we attempt this. But, I'm reminded of the scripture that says, "He is our peace," and there's relief in knowing that ultimately, Jesus is responsible for the peace that we so desperately need. If I'm welcoming him into my heart and my home, peace will follow.

I'm curious how you might be cultivating peace in your home. I'd love to hear your suggestions.

    And the effect of righteousness will be peace, and the result of righteousness, quietness and trust forever. 

- Isaiah 32:17 -

My people will abide in a peaceful habitation, in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places.

- Isaiah 32:18 -

Finger Mustache (obviously)

Le Bebe

So, I've been thinking about all these things I wanted to write about on this blog for, oh, the last three months. And yet, no posts. Every time I thought, "Hey! I'll write about Sam's current obsession with playing air guitar" or "I bet everyone wants to know how ridiculous our trip to Wal-Mart was today in minute by minute detail," I found myself realizing that I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to write about the minutia of my stay-at-home mama life right now because the thing I really wanted to write about here was all I could think about. But, I waited. And, so, no posts. I realize how emotionally draining the wait must have been for you, dear readers, and so I'm sending each and every one of you a jar of Nutella to make up for it. Ok, that's not true, but I would if I could.

If you've read anything on this blog in the last two years, you're probably aware of two things: 1. I am currently raising a small person named Sam, which is very much like raising a small monkey that can count to eleventeen and, 2. I had two miscarriages over the past two years, which has been a significant part of our family's story.

(If you're interested, you can read about that here: The Unexpected and here: Again.)

It goes without saying, this season hasn't been the easiest to walk through. And in the midst of what we've experienced regarding some intense grief, I've also become very aware of how many others there are like me whose hopes regarding growing their families have been disappointed. Realizing I'm not alone in this experience has been comforting, but it's also so hard to understand why God withholds children from families that would love them so well. I haven't quite made my peace with this, but I have reached a place where I can trust God in spite of those questions.

In light of all this, I've been hesitant to share our current family news in part because I've been uncertain about whether it was safe yet but also because I have so many dear friends whose hearts are hoping for what mine has been these last few years but are still in the difficult place of waiting and wondering.

And yet, I know that while shared grief is halved, shared joy is doubled (*thanks to my friend Lex for that little bit o' wisdom). And, so, with a full heart, I want to share with you that our family will be a family of four coming early September when we welcome this little one into our home:

Oh, and by the way, this one's a girl. Hello, tutus, princesses, and fairies.

This guy still isn't quite sure what to make of this whole deal:

But, so far, he's given us a few name suggestions for the babe. They are, in order of importance, Bob, Elizabeth, Joseph, and "Rescue Guy." Obviously, we're taking all these under consideration, but that last one really seems to pulling out in front. Baby Rescue Guy just has that certain je ne sais quois.

Sam's also requested to not have to carry his baby sister in his belly at any point in time. I'm letting him off the hook on that one and have agreed to carry the baby, but only if he promises to accept the pottytraining process and stop wearing diapers before September. Seriously, people. Pottytraining will be the end of me.

So, there's the update. Now, I can maybe get back on here and write about regular stuff like cookie recipes and Target trips and the neverending saga of, you guessed it, pottytraining. You're on the edge of your seat now, aren't you.

Let's meet back here soon, friends, same time (not really), same channel (or website), same curious tales of a small guy named Sam.

And, now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.