Wordless Wednesday: Signs Of Spring

Fresh veggies for munching.

In Aiden's wildflower garden, the very first bloom.

A bright yellow cupcake and its gooey deliciousness.

That look of knowing your mom caught you eating candy out of not-yet-hidden eggs.

A baby girl's first.

The thrill of the hunt.

The surprises to be found.

Special cards for special people.

And of course special treats...

Yum.

Beautiful spring dresses.

And honoring those we love.

But, most importantly, the promise of new life.

Happy Easter friends!

All Things Bright and Beautiful

I hate to tell you that I have been really resisting writing this post because to say it out loud, much less to write it here for the world to see may make it not so real... or maybe just beckon trouble to find us. But, let me tell you, dear friends, that inside I'm jumping in circles and clapping and singing and feeling JOY!

This kind of joy

Or maybe this kind...

Well, anyway, we're happy.

It's been almost 12 weeks since Evie's last seizure. 

Dave got a long awaited promotion.

My sweet friend had a beautiful baby boy in a home birth that would make any pregnant woman run as far from the hospital as possible... fast.

Another sweet friend discovered her gift for capturing special moments.

I am surrounded by so many beautiful, strong, intelligent, and fun women and I am continuously in awe that they don't mind sharing a little bit of their time with me.

Aiden learned to skip.

Evie learned to crawl.

The sun is shining, the flowers are growing, and so are we.

Thank you, dear friends, for caring enough about us to drop by here and check on us. I hope you find yourself as generously and unabashedly blessed as we are this season.

All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small, all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.

  James 1:17

Earth Mama

How beautiful is this sweet earth mama? 

Did I mention she's one of my best friends?

And that I made her that crown so she'd feel like a queen?

And that she let me paint her belly?

And that one of my other best friends took the picture?

On Pufferfish and Sweaters in July

If you didn't know, for a while when I was little, my dad was a stay at home dad. When my sister was born two months premature, my dad stayed home with us and my mom went back to work.

Being a stay at home dad in the 80s was not nearly as glamorous as it is today. There were no diaper bags for dads, or fancy baby carriers with slick manly colors, or even stay at home dad groups. There weren't really any other stay at home dads. Were there? As of yet, I have never met another person my age to have had one.

Here are some of my favorite memories of growing up at home with my dad and why I think having a stay at home dad is probably the coolest thing ever.

My dad always let me wear whatever I wanted. Most of the time I ran around our neighborhood with a bib tied around my waist and bowling shoes on...and that was all. I kid you not my friends. That was all.

One time, we were leaving the neighborhood, so I had to actually get dressed. I picked out a really thick, puffy sweatshirt with Care Bears dancing around a rainbow printed on it. It was so beautiful, I just had to wear it and after some pestering, my dad relented. It was July. We lived in a suburb just outside of Cocoa Beach, FL. Yes, yes, I was wearing the bowling shoes.

When my dad wasn't busy with all his dadliness, he was a grad student. This meant for many of our hours together, he was half watching me, half working on his Masters of Divinity. This also meant that there would be times when I thought he knew a magical language that allowed him to communicate with ordinary inanimate objects but, really he just zoned out while taking the trash out and was now standing on the side of the road practicing Hebrew while staring at dumpster... as I stood nearby and watched in awe.

After my sister was born, we spent a lot of time in the hospital visiting her and my mom. I was ok with it because the cafeteria had the best grilled cheese I have ever had in my life. I have spent many lunch hours trying grilled cheeses from various delis and grills in an attempt to recreate the melty goodness of that hospital's. That is, until my mom revealed to me that it probably only tasted that good because my dad had not been feeding me. My dad protests, but until I find a grilled cheese of equal deliciousness, he's guilty.

On that note, my dad and I kept an organic garden and I got to eat tomatoes right out of it without washing them. And oranges, because we had an orange tree, too. That was probably all I ate some days.

Here is a list of other things that I remember eating:

- crayons

- construction paper

- play-doh

- sand

- fingerpaint

- chalk (my favorite)

- Elmer's paste (2nd favorite)

- rubber art erasers

- highlighters

We liked walking around our neighborhood looking for Beatrix Potter characters. My favorite was Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle... which is what I called one woman in our neighborhood... to her face. My dad was cool with it. Also, I ate her roses.

My dad often tried to bring me fishing. He did not want me growing up to be all prissy and girly. I needed to learn to do non- gender specific activities and get a little dirty. We got some cane poles and went down to our local pier. The first time we went, I caught a pufferfish and my dad yelled to me not to touch it so I wouldn't get hurt. Another time we went, I caught a sting ray and my dad yelled to me not to touch it so I wouldn't get hurt. I didn't like fishing much after that. So, we went to the beach. One time, a  Portuguese man o' war washed up onto the beach and it was so pretty and pink and blue and shiny. I ran up to it to get a better look and it washed onto my foot. I was rushed to the emergency room... I have an intense fear of fish touching my feet. I wore aqua socks for years, but I've upgraded to Chaco's now that I'm an adult.

You know, all in all, my dad did a pretty good job. I think I had the coolest childhood out of all of my friends. I had so many awesome opportunities to explore and enjoy nature and my love for the outdoors and the earth has followed me throughout my life. My only concern is that I seriously cannot remember my sister being a part of any of these memories. Why is that? Dad?

Thanks dad! You didn't mess me up too much!

The Dangers of Holding Your Baby

Beware of holding your babies my friends. For thousands of years, mothers and fathers have been struggling with the grim reality that succumbing to their natural inclination to hold their babies would ultimately result in their precious infants' suffocation and death.

It is in these dark times that we exalt you, oh woman of Los Amigos, champion of babies, for rescuing these precious lives from the dangers of their fathers' shoulders. Thank you, dear lady, for not only noticing that my baby was at risk, but for heroically heralding the news to my husband and also all others who were waiting for their take out last night so that he may be made an example of and no other would tread the dangerous terrain of allowing their daughters to sleep on their shoulders for any extended period of time, not even ten minutes.

For we all have been made aware of the severe consequences of attempting to wear your baby in a dreadful and dangerous wrap, sling, or carrier and few dare to do so, but there are still those of us who are cavalier enough to actually hold our children in our arms.

It is true that modern advancements have lowered the risk of infant suffocation by presenting to us bucket car seats and pacifiers. Luckily for us, as you most noble Los Amigos woman pointed out,  my husband had at least remembered to use the latter, which allowed our daughter to evade a certain death. As for bucket car seats, plagiocephaly is a small price to pay in exchange for your child's life.

Please do not risk it my friends, put your babies down. It's for their own good. Your child does not NEED to be held. It is selfish and dangerous to assume so.

Thank you, kind woman. I exalt you. My daughter owes you her life.






On a serious note, I sincerely apologize to anyone who may stumble upon this and is offended or hurt by the mention of infant suffocation. My heart truly aches for any person who has experienced such a loss. 

Be Still and Know

Be still and know that I am God, I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted among men. Psalm 47:10

I walked alone that evening as the sun dripped purple and pink and orange behind the blackened silhouettes of the lush late summer oaks. I walked heavy and swollen and ripe with you, slowly, slowly, as I felt you yearning to be born. My body clung to you; it would not let you go. And I walked. And I heard it then, while we walked that long trail, the trail that was only beginning that night before you were born. It whispered to me.

Be still and know.

That first night I held you. I struggled to lift my head to see you, to look into your squinting, screaming eyes. My body tingled and shivered as the anesthesia numbed out the struggle of your birth. The nurses flitted around you and the doctors around me. Who in the operating room acknowledged the precious something taking place? Who in the operating room recognized a mother gazing upon her most precious reward for the very first time?

Be still and know.

Those nights we sat in bed and you sweetly suckled while the cicadas chirped outside our midnight window, the leaves rustling gently with the late July breeze. The house rested silently; dark and cool with only us to witness it. I gently crooned to you. And we fell asleep together, your tiny hand in mine.

Be still and know.

Those days you first trembled. The times I lifted you from where you dreamt only seconds before, shuddering, shivering in my own shaking arms. Those first times I held your buttery cheek to mine and sang to you those worn out lullabies, voice cracking, all alone.

Be still and know.

While we first sat on the bed in that tiny dark room, two dozen sensors glued to your head. You nursed and dozed in my arms and I sat rigid, almost afraid to breathe, staring the wall. A TV remote sat beside us, a magazine, a book, and I sat clammily clutching the red alert button and stared blankly at those ridiculous translucent bear wall stickers stuck over that icky green paint. For an hour.

Be still and know.

As the doctor’s words crashed over us in that chilly, fluorescent exam room; tuberous sclerosis, brain problems, delays, disfiguration, tiny tumor. We smiled actually, said thank you, shook hands with the doctor as he left. And there, as the universe culminated and somehow we kept moving…

Be still and know.

When you screamed, tiny and helpless and thrashing and I listened to you feeling tiny and helpless, my heart thrashing as an IV was inserted into your delicate, three month old arm.

Be still and know.

That night in the hospital when the seizures took you from my arms hour after hour after hour and not knowing if you would ever come back to me...

Be still and know.

With every test; your brain, your heart, your kidneys, your lungs, your blood, your urine, your spinal fluid, your blood, your blood, your blood. Every time I held you down and stroked your face while you screeched and flailed, confused, your eyes locked on mine just pleading. Every time my voice broke a little while cooing to you; you’re brave, you’re so strong and beautiful, it won’t last long, this will all be over soon baby, oh sweetie, I love you… I’m so sorry.

Be still and know.

The hours and days and months we’ve waited. For results, and more tests, and information, and seizures… and for the world to crumble, or not, we’ve waited.

Be still and know.

With every test that comes back clear and my heart jumps a little and a little piece of that big ominous boulder of losing you is chipped away. And I rejoice.

Be still and know.

Now, as we wait. Now, at this moment, in this place where, like anyone else, we wait. We do not know what tomorrow will bring us, or today, or this hour, or this very next minute. I sit here in this second of tranquility and hold you sleeping in my arms and I do not know if, in an instant, you will awake, slowly gaze away and succumb to the tremors that constantly beckon you.

But now when I anticipate what might be next for us, a surreal feeling of relief washes over me. And it is not because I believe that it won’t be painful, because I don't.

It is because I’ve been still.

And I know.

And that makes all the difference.

Wordless Wednesday: Lambie-wearing

Aiden loves "Lambie-wearing"