January To Me

Cheers, friends! Today starts a 365-day journey into the unknown and I, for one, am here for it.

Today's first act of business was to shake off sleep and greet the morning... then get slapped by the bracing cold. This year is apparently taking winter seriously. Once the car was warmed to bun-toasting levels, the kids and I headed down the work commute {the McDonald's business waits for no one}. I was the solo car on the highway this morning, weaving around the familiar turns, carefully navigating them for the first time this year. Thoughts danced in my head as the hum of the road put the kids back to sleep.

In recent years, I have used this blog to write a letter to every month. There have been a few times I've dreaded impending days, but mostly I've used those posts to detail my highlights of each season. I think we're going to flip it a bit for 2018. Today I'm starting my personal prompt of treating each month as if it were a place. Read on for my quickly jotted first try. Cheers to new beginnings!

January, to me, is a door beside which my size pales in comparison. It is the threshold to a year of experiences I can in no way predict. On the other side is a place I've only seen in my dreams. I have thought long and hard about where I want the New Year to take me, and from this side of things it's incredible. It's a place where I can smash goals, have a more relaxed and lighter attitude, and live a beautiful life with my family.

I know it's cold and bleak on the other side of the door, and the grey skies match the sad living rooms now missing Christmas trees and holly berries. I know the colors are drained at the start of the year. The trees show no sign of life and animals hold still to huddle together in warmth. I know I'll curse the wind when its chill is in the single digits, and I know beyond January's door is a lifeless garden, not willing to be turned.

While I know what the other side of the door looks like, it's still a place that holds hope. The empty fields and empty calendars lie waiting to be filled. I can either dwell on the emptiness or set into motion a course of planning.

I look up at the door, standing so small beneath it. I know what it looks like on the other side, yet I still don't know what I'll be inspired to do with it.

All I can do now is turn the handle and push it open.

---

I'm not always a fan of resolving change each January. I believe in the constant slow-burn kind of change, pushing forward while giving myself grace to step back, too. I suppose if I type them into the universe it probably makes them resolutions, but following are a few of my plans for the year:

1. I want to write more often.
2. I want to take better care of myself.
3. I want to devote more time to adventures with our family of five.
4. I want to let go of anxiety and be present in my life.
5. I want to keep sacred my time alone with Jonathan.

Those are the focuses I'd like to keep for 2018, and they all have a similar theme of ME. That may sound a little selfish, but it actually feels perfect. Let's take care of ourselves so we can take care of each other this year.

Here's to the start of 2018, friends! Make it a good one.

Tales from Timehop

Every morning my phone whisks me through space and time, drumming up memories I cherish {and others that elicit eye rolls}.

The Timehop app shows me two things: 1) my kids are growing fast and 2) I'm ancient by social media standards. I'll see a post from an entire decade ago of a friend chatting me up on my Facebook wall. This is likely a foreign concept to most these days. I'll see photos of myself that remind me how old I am and how far I've come. Just last week I saw a status along the lines of: "Does anybody else have a Twitter yet??" I was too cool. In reading through my past online habits, one thing sticks out: vague posting.

Forgive me, y'all. I didn't really know how to act on social media, as it had literally just been invented. However, one secretive post I made 11 years ago recently caught my eye and jogged my memory.

Anytime someone is "VERY happy" but they don't share why, my first thought is pregnancy. It has to be pregnancy or an engagement or some other milestone that has them on a detail-less Cloud Nine. Walk with me through time, won't you? Because that one sentence brought me back:

---

Jonathan and I had been married a solid five months when we decided we could be parents. We were of legal drinking age and we knew the physical mechanics, so what more did we need? I bought a how-to manual {seriously} and we jumped in. While that part was easy, I wasn't ready for the scene that quickly followed.

Starting on this journey created some of the longest days of my life. I had to wait two weeks before I could know if anything happened. Ludicrous. I remember asking my husband to buy a pregnancy test, then carefully reading the instructions because "pee on it" couldn't have been all there was to it. Spoiler Alert: It was.

At this point we lived in a cozy rental outside of Conway. It was nestled against the pines and had a white picket fence that made it easy for us newlyweds to play house. I stood in our small bathroom and waited. The wallpaper was a stark contrast of black and white stripes, and I counted them as the fancy digital test patiently blinked.

Then the room started to spin.

The black lines and white lines engaged in an awkward dance as they bent and swirled around me. The room was tilting, but my feet were glued to the floor. My cheeks began to overheat and my stomach dropped. The word pregnant stared at me. The word seemed to appear so casually, as if it didn't comprehend how its readout just changed my life. I sat down to focus, but my thoughts ran wild.

Can we afford it? Is it going to hurt? What will the nursery look like? Is it a boy or a girl? Am I allowed to be someone's mom? Do I need to go to the doctor right now? What's going to happen to my body? How can I be responsible for another human being? How can I grow a human being inside of me? Why does it feel so different now that it's real?

Even though I prayed for this to happen, I was grossly unprepared. I know some women have elaborate plans of revealing this news to their husbands, but I hadn't gotten there yet. The words spilled out with hot tears and together we sank onto the floor in bliss. I had no idea what I was doing, but he was going to do it with me.

I had never been more in love with him, and I had never felt such a strong connection to someone I didn't know.

And apparently my next move was to post on Facebook?

Seeing what I had for lunch in 2012 or that I was "bored at work" in 2009 makes me cringe, but I love that the highlights of my life, no matter how vague, are recorded.

Y'all already know the rest of the story. Nathan was born the following July to two clueless parents who have been navigating parenthood ever since. Add three more positive tests, one miscarriage, two births, and a million lessons and I still feel just as clueless. While I now know the answers to some of the questions that flooded my brain in the bathroom that morning, they've been replaced with more.

Still, Jonathan and I are in this together. And we can do anything.

So tell me, do you remember? Can you picture the scene from when you found out you were someone's parent?
Does Timehop remind you of your annoying Facebook nuances?
Let me know in the comments and have a great Thursday!

Dear December

Maybe it's just me and my anxiety, but the homestretch of anything is a bit intimidating.

Did I do everything I was supposed to do? Did I grow enough? Change enough? Learn enough? Did I leave a big enough mark to let it lie and move forward? Basically, is this project ready to turn in?

This year is just a handful of weeks from being due to the teacher and at this point {as always} I'm wondering what happened to the rest of it. While it's not over yet, I already find myself going back to check my work. Although the shocking realization of unpreparedness is part of all my Decembers, I am glad the year ends with such hope. Advent is a beautiful time {you know, after the Christmas decorating's done} and I love that we spend time remembering we're waiting for more than a simple calendar flip. It's a huge reminder/reality check for my stress levels.

While today is the beginning of the end, I'd rather not fret over making most of what's left. So I shall turn this post into a wish list. 'Tis the season, after all. Following are a few things I have written to the month of December to help make this a both holly and jolly season:


Dear December,

I wish you would bring snow! But, you know, just enough to where it looks pretty for exactly one day and then melts completely the next. Thanks in advance.

I wish the magic you put into my children's eyes could never fade. Interest in Santa and Rudolph and maybe even Buddy will wane over time, but I pray the magic stays.

I wish for the ability to help my kids realize where that magic comes from. This holiday season is not just one of merriment, but one of patience. Help us prepare as we wait for the greatest gift of all.

I wish for a little extra time, December. It's a jam-packed month, but I'd like to spend some of those frosty nights in the hot tub with my love.

I wish for long quiet mornings lit by the Christmas tree and warmed by a coffee cup.

I wish for willpower when it comes to all those holiday Ghiradelli squares. You know the ones.

I wish to actually, truly surprise my husband with a birthday gift this year. Or at least spend some QT with him if I can't keep a secret.

I wish to not be home when the UPS man comes to my house every single day this month. Amazon Prime, you and your free shipping are killing the game.

I wish to sleep until at least 6:00 on December 25. Can we this year, kids? Please?

I wish to soak in every last drop of the holidays this year. Time is doing nothing but moving and it's taking my babies with it. I want to live through their joy and hold on to the magic.


What are you wishing for this December?
Have a wonderful weekend, y'all.

Seriously!? Seriously.

{Optional Title: that one emoji with the line eyes and line mouth.}

My weekend started in the back of a law enforcement vehicle in Middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma.

You know if that is how today's story begins, you'd better buckle up. It's the law, after all.

Allow me to step back in time to paint the whole picture of our weekend debacle. Jonathan and I do whatever it takes to make room for breaks in the monotony and our parental pseudonyms. That's why we circled the weekend after Thanksgiving to spend some time in a luxurious cabin in eastern Oklahoma. It's just two hours from home, but completely hidden. The rental we chose this time was high-class, with a hot tub on the river, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and gorgeous decor that I pray magically transports to my living room.

Excitement brimmed as we made tracks west. Relaxation was so close we could taste it, but there was one more stop we needed to make. Our corner of the state does not believe in selling a fine wine to take on vacation, so we took the long way 'round to grab a couple of bottles. We made our purchase in Broken Bow and pressed forward. Shortly after that we arrived in an area of pure darkness between two towns I'd never heard of, and there was a situation.

It sounded like something exploded outside of the truck. But it also sounded like something exploded inside of the truck.

BOTH OF THESE THINGS WERE ACCURATE.

After realizing we were both intact, I quietly asked my husband what happened. A deer. A deer ran into us in the middle of nowhere. This was a much different scenario when that one deer ran me over in front of my house. Yes, friends, a buck took himself horns first into my husband's truck door as we were going 65 toward a dream weekend. It was my first experience with air bags. It turns out they produce a cloud that makes you think something's on fire. Neat.

When trying to locate help, we learned the counties in Oklahoma are enormous and the solo trooper was 60 miles away. Since we didn't need an ambulance, we simply waited for a wrecker. We weren't standing roadside looking dumbfounded too long before a game warden pulled up to check on us. Not only did he stay until the wrecker arrived, he offered a ride back into Broken Bow, where my parents came to pick us up. Hence the ride I alluded to at the beginning. I wasn't arrested, but I sure was seated beside a collection of seized materials.

Defeated and deflated, we were back home at 10:30, a smooth six hours after we left. It took all of sixty seconds for us to rally. We paid for this weekend. We deserved this weekend. We needed this weekend. We loaded up in our one vehicle that was not in a wrecker yard in Oklahoma, and pointed it back toward the state line. I'll be honest here, I'm not sure I blinked on that drive. I was on official high alert.

Nothing was going to stop us, and nothing did! We arrived after midnight and spent the next two days in total relaxation. Jonathan cooked gourmet meals, we talked for hours, we got our money's worth of the riverside hot tub, and we simply enjoyed each other. I promise you it was worth the trouble.

Sunday afternoon I was sad to close the door on luxury as we carried our bags down the front steps. We reloaded for the last time and climbed into our one working vehicle... and nothing happened when the key turned. Not a sputter, not a rumble, not even an old college try.

My battery was dead. Seriously.

We called the rental office, which was closed, and the call forwarded to the owner. Thankfully he had friends who lived close and they came and jumped it. We bought a new battery on the way home and arrived safe and sound. /End Story

The reason I've spun this tale of weekend woes is two-fold: you may be bored this morning and needed a little something to hold your attention, and there are approximately four lessons to be learned.

1) Thank God for the kindness of strangers.
2) Air bags smell weird.
3) Oklahoma deer are just as stupid as Arkansas deer.
4) I will make it through anything to relax.

Despite my moaning and groaning in this series of unfortunate events, I spent many post-wreck moments counting my blessings that we were safe, unharmed, and still able to get away. However, I once again hope your weekend was a little less eventful than ours.

Happy Tuesday, y'all!

Early Birds

Today I'm going to give a crash course in the apologetics of premature Christmas decorating.

After all, the Early Bird puts up the tree, right? Since Halloween wrapped and many went straight for the red and green, I have read some strong Facebook opinions. There are those who decked the halls on November 1, not thinking twice about what other people thought. Good on you, Christmas lovers. I've also seen many striving to maintain the sanctity of Thanksgiving. Stockings and garlands are for the day after the bird, and not a minute sooner. I can see this point, too.

I am typically a Grinch when it comes to most things, but last year I joined the early bandwagon. If you happen to stop by and peek in our windows, you'll see I'm still on it. The bunch spent Monday afternoon decking the halls and jamming to Christmas pop from the '80s, '90s, and today. Does that make you angry?

This jumping of the gun does not involve the reasons many are shouting from social media rooftops, however. I didn't decorate because I am on the same holly-jolly level as Buddy the Elf. That could not be further from the truth {ask Jonathan}. Therefore, in the effort of both explanation and perpetuating arguments, I am listing ten reasons it was wise for me to break out the Christmas lights before Thanksgiving.

Let the debate begin.

1. Decorating for Christmas is an awful, cluttered, glittery, and chaotic event. Future Jessica is always thankful when Past Jessica takes care of business.
   
   
2. Coming home from a Thanksgiving feast and seeing the new holiday ready to roll is a gift in itself.
   
   
3. We do not have a ton of Christmas decor because my brain won't allow it, but it still packs many more items into my small house. Early decorating allows my OCD extra time to adjust.
   
   
4. The closer it gets to December 25, the less I want to do it.
   
   
5. I don't have babies anymore. No one is going to dangle from a tree nor rearrange the ornaments in a way that makes my eye twitch.
   
   
6. The earlier Christmas cheer arrives, the more likely I am to make a list and check it twice. This is going to be the year I don't scramble last minute! Just, you know, putting it out there...
   
   
7. There's something cozy about a living room lit by Christmas glow and knowing I can keep it for an entire month.
   
   
8. It takes a solid week or so to vacuum and sweep the microscopic pieces of dropped ornaments.
   
   
9. Having it up early gives us more time to look at the ornaments and remember the memories that go with them. Even the one from 2008 that Nathan hung on the tree and recalled a time he called "the good ol' days." {I was thinking that when I grabbed 2006's Our First Christmas ornament, but don't tell him that.}
   
   
10. My kids love it. And they have much more of a propensity toward candy, candy canes, candy corns, and syrup.
    
    

Also, as hardcore as I am in the belief that Epiphany is on January 6, our tree will be boxed on Boxing Day. {Hey, maybe the British have this figured out...} January starts a clean slate for me, and that is as figurative as it is literal. I shall celebrate those twelve days religiously, but not decoratively. For the record, I understand there are plenty of reasons to wait to decorate until after Thanksgiving. If I hosted the November feast at my house it would render the above points moot. But this year I am not, and you better believe that Christmas tree is already center stage.

Now, what about you?? Have I greatly offended you with this post, or are you reading it with your feet propped up on the couch, basking in the glow of Christmas? Be sure to claim your side in the comments and have a lovely Wednesday!

Dear November

Last week October quietly rolled into November... when we stashed the leftover candy and started eyeing the Christmas decor.

I'm not one of the many who put their Christmas trees up the second they tossed their jack-o-lanterns, but I'm sure this month will see the Bauer halls decked. I love the holiday spirit that comes with the start of November. I'm not just talking about the commercials jam-packed with the latest and greatest toys, either. {Thanks a lot, Nick Jr.} I mean the feeling that the holidays bring. November marks a date that could easily be my favorite holiday, so we're going to kick this week off in style. Today I am going to tell the eleventh month of the year exactly how I feel about it.

Dear November,

I am thankful for you because you transform my commute. Our part of the world is at peak fall color and the splashes of orange and yellow hidden among the green is good for my soul.

I am thankful for the way your leaves show me it's good to let things go.

I am thankful for the way you bring people together, over turkey and football and memories and tradition.

I am thankful for the way you give pause to the year's end. The calendar is so close to winding down and starting over, but November asks us to stop and see the good.

I am thankful for the way you encourage us to consider the things we take for granted. There is so much I forget to count as blessings.

I am thankful for your days of cardigans, boots, and wind-swept hair.

I am thankful for your hot tub nights beneath the stars that remind us we are a tiny part of something incredible.

I am thankful for the fact that your air is often a cross between crackling fire and the crisp early signs of wintertime.

I am thankful for your early sunsets because it's a lot easier to trick kids into early bedtimes.

I am thankful for your call to appreciate what we have. While human nature is longing for what we miss, a good life is lived truly thankful for what we have. I know I have more than enough, and this month I want to steer all my focus into pouring out thanks.

To a season of both thanks and giving, here's to you, November.

May your month be filled with good food, good family, and a good focus on gratitude.
Happy Monday!

Halloween This or That?

I've been in a bit of a funk this week.

It has nothing to do with Friday the 13th or the fact that I don't look nearly as cool as I did in 1992. No, it's a much whinier reason. Remember my upcoming trip to wine country? Remember that a lot of California is on fire? The resort we booked remains unaffected, but many of the areas around it have been evacuated and the air quality is poor. We have officially cancelled and I've rewritten it on my bucket list. I absolutely know this is trivial compared to the lives and homes and livelihoods lost, but in the interest of being honest, I'm bummed.

However, my husband made a smaller scale Plan B, and we're celebrating some fantastic work news that came out of our last trip {when I went to the ER}. Things are looking up. Therefore, in celebration of Halloween creeping up, I've answered 13 spooky questions for your entertainment. Happy Weekend!

---

1. Chocolate candy or fruity?
The fact that all the bite-sized Snickers and Milky Ways are missing from the work bowl should answer that.

2. Witches or Vampires?
You may think I'll say vampires since I watched all the Twilight movies on their release weekends {let's keep that between us}, but I'm going to go with witches on this one. I spent many hours of my youth cackling.

3. Trick or Treat?
Treat. I'm not the biggest fan of tricks, unless the trick is something like: "Just kidding, California isn't really on fire."

4. Halloween Party or Scary Movie?
This is an odd post for me to write, because I'm not the biggest fan of scary things. I love the cutesy ghosts and goblins and the fun aspects of the holiday, but you'll never catch me watching a movie character get disemboweled. That's a long way of answering Halloween party, hands down.

5. Skeletons or Zombies?
All I can think of here is Minecraft, which tells you something about my home life. I like the fact that Skeletons can be attacked by dogs because they are made of bones. And when Nora notices a pixelated skeleton wandering in the dark, she yells "Ahh!! A skele-TONE!" Thus, my answer is skele-tones.

6. Trick-or-Treat or Hand Out Candy?
After my brother and cousin and I collected buckets of candy from grandma's neighborhood, we raced back to her house. We would dump our candy onto the big wooden table and start sorting as the parents tried to sneak their share. When the doorbell rang, though, we sprang into action. Now I prefer the actual trick-or-treating. I'd rather leave the door answering to my kids.

7. Hay Ride or Corn Maze?
Never been to a corn maze, but I once face-kicked a person dressed as Jason while on a hay ride. That doesn't really answer the question, does it?

8. Scary Costume or Funny Costume?
While my oldest is set on being someone dead or someone who leaves others that way, I'm steadily trying to get Owen to dress up as a stabbed box of Fruit Loops {serial killer's victim}.

9. Pumpkin Seeds or Pumpkin Pie?
I don't know that I've ever met another person whose family roasted pumpkin seeds after carving. Tell me I'm not alone here! My husband had never heard of this, so in recent years we've just given them to the chickens. So, seeds. Pumpkin pie is smelly orange goop.

10. Bottle Feed A Baby Zombie or Walk Alone Through A Dark Forest?
What even is this question? I don't want to see a baby zombie. I'll take on the dark forest at my full-force mall walk.

11. Bats or Black Cats?
While I only lay claim to one cat, there are four who pretty much live on our property full-time. Two of them are black and if Louis likes them, so do I.

12. Pumpkin Spice or Hot Chocolate?
The most basic of all questions! Hot chocolate, for sure, it reminds me that Christmas and Polar Express are right around the corner.

13. Celebrate in Your Neighborhood or at the Mall?
We did the neighborhood thing when I was young, but my kids have options. We either go to the trick-or-treat trail at our local city park or travel to Hope to hit up the grandparents' neighborhood. We live in the middle of nowhere and don't have a neighborhood to speak of, so that's our best bet. Last year we did the trail and the kids had a blast seeing friends from school all dressed up, but there's something special about ringing a doorbell, not knowing what's on the other side. We'll see where Halloween night takes us...

Dear October

Dear October,

Welcome! Your thirty-one days bring a crisp freshness not found in the month before you {at least not around these parts}. Sure, I might have changed into a tank top after church on the day you showed up, but I know you'll make things more comfortable before too long.

October, you are the follow-up to one of my least-favorite months. Personally, I believe September ranks second, only after the dreary, grey January days that drag winter long past Christmas. September, with its summer-ending tendencies, but still soaring temperatures... If you're going to to use one of your calendar squares to replace summer with fall, at least let us wear pants?! But, I digress.

My dear October, I am glad you are here. The deep orange and burgundy and golden accents set against a forest green backdrop will soon usher in revival to my soul. My summer skin will fade to its natural shade and my senses will no longer be smothered beneath the oppressive heat. While September brings summer in and out {and in and out again}, October replaces it with something new. I may not be of the PSL, scarf-slinging, furry boot variety, but change is good.

Change is inevitable, so why not let it come in the form of leaf-hidden highways and pumpkins on the porch?

October, you bring about a time of year that forces my attention. I sit up a little straighter than in the lazy days of summer and I notice all that whirls around me. October is a personal reminder that life is so much faster than we realize. As the colors change and humanity {re: Hobby Lobby} starts hurdling through the holidays at lightning speed, sometimes you feel rushed. But in this quick descent toward a new year, I'd like to take a second look.

Each year I've lived has been faster than the one before, but I intend to stretch your days, October.
I want to be awake as the seasons change.

As for this particular round, you are going to show me some new things, October. Soon I will board an airplane for the first time since Owen was board and fly to California for the first time in my life. I'm going to see the hills covered in grapevines and I'm going to soak in a new piece of God's creation. {I may drink more than enough wine for the both of us, so bear with me.}

Adventures await, October, and I'm looking forward to it. I have a feeling that when the cool breezes start blowing and you urge me to grab the flannel shirts from the back of my closet, we're going to get along just fine.

Staying present is the name of the game this October, and from the early days when we're still sweating at soccer games to the last day filled with tricks and treats, I hope to reconnect in a new way. With nature, with time, and with myself.

Happy October, y'all. Let's open our eyes and enjoy it!

Get to Know Me

{Yes, this photo was snapped pre-accident...}
Remember scrambling to be the first to answer the latest MySpace survey?

If you actually do, there's a good chance you're old like me and you haven't thought about your Top 8 in a while. Today we're going to do some reminiscing with a random questionnaire designed to let readers know about the blogger behind the screen. Plus it's Friday afternoon and there is literally no one else in my house, what else am I to do? {There are lots of answers to that actually, but I'm burying them under the pile of laundry I'm ignoring}. So get comfy and read on, you might just learn something about me you did not know:

1. Are you named after anyone?
   Yes! My great-grandfather. His name was Jess Queen {also maybe a Days of Our Lives character}.
   
   
2. When was the last time you cried?
   It was a painful Tuesday night with my swollen forehead and pitiful stitches. Also I told Jonathan I looked more Beast than Beauty and that probably added to it.
   
   
3. If you were another person, would you be a friend of yourself?
   Sure! We have so many of the same interests...
   
   
4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?
   Never. {did that translate?}
   
   
5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?
   I'm pretty sure it's the smile. Noticing someone else's happiness can really change my tune.
   
   
6. Favorite smells?
   The ocean, tomato plants, crisp morning air, clean baby hair, the grass after it rains, and fire.
   
   
7. What’s the furthest you’ve ever been from home?
   I went on a cruise to the Bahamas right after high school graduation. We traveled to Nassau and Freeport and I only got a little seasick. I also won $200 playing slot machines under open-water laws. I've also been to Alberta, Canada during trips to visit my family in Montana. You Google which is further. I'll give you a cookie.
   
   
8. Where were you born?
   At the hospital in Blytheville, but my parents drove me in my '80s edition car seat to our home in Osceola.
   
   
9. How tall are you?
   My brain and my license say 5'6" but I have no idea when I measured last. I could've grown, you never know.
   
   
10. What was your favorite/worst subject in High School?
    I am not lying when I say I really enjoyed high school and the learning that went with it. I don't know if band counts as a subject, so I will say English was my favorite and I'll down-vote geometry. I don't mind math, but I'm better at algebra. Ask Nathan, he would probably pick geometry for me, too.
    
    
11. What's your favorite restaurant?
    My husband would call me out if I didn't say Subway, because I love sandwiches and I eat there 2-3 times a week. I also love Chick-Fil-A, McAlister's Deli, Outback, Longhorn, and Park Place in Texarkana.
    
    
12. What sports do you play/have you played?
    You wouldn't know it by my photo albums filled with me holding a flute or twirling a flag or posing with the band, but I dabbled in other extracurricular activities. I did play and enjoy softball for several years before high school. I was the catcher and my favorite part was dramatically throwing my helmet to catch {or miss} pop-up hits.
    
    
13. What did you want to be when you grow up?
    I was torn between professional cheerleader and princess in my early years, then my aspirations changed when Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles came on the scene. I wanted more than anything to be a television broadcaster like that jumpsuit-wearing April O'Neil. I stuck with that idea so long that my degree is, in fact, in television broadcasting. However, I found journalism a more attractive {and slightly less anxiety-inducing} career, so outside of the UCA campus no one has seen my on-screen skills.
    
    
14. Are you a morning or night person?
    Morning. It's hard for me to wake up sometimes, but once I get going in the early hours, I'm glad I did.
    
    
15. Which do you prefer, sweet or salty foods?
    Obviously cravings dictate this one, but I'm much more salty than sweet.
    
    
16. What is the last thing you bought?
    Other than food {which is a boring answer}, it was a few packages of bulletin board borders from Oriental Trading Company {also still kind of boring}.
    
    
17. What's your go-to drink at a bar?
    Depends on where I am, but it's usually Pinot Noir or Pinot Grigio or Riesling if I'm feeling fancy. And all the other times it's a margarita.
    
    
18. What are you afraid of?
    Frogs, toads, and any other related amphibious creature. I do not play.
    
    
19. Can you cook?
    Not really, no. #Blessed to have a husband who can, though!
    
    
20. What's one thing you'll never eat or drink?
    For some reason this is a hard question for me. I don't know, bugs? The idea of oysters grosses me out, but I bet you a dollar I'll at least try it one day.
    
    

Friends, I hope that satisfied whatever end-of-work-week curiosity you may be feeling, and I wish you a wonderful weekend. Get out and enjoy that incredible weather!

Walkin' in Memphis

fol·ly
/ˈfälē/
noun
1.lack of good sense; foolishness.

Jonathan and I were dressed to the nines Friday as we cruised into a fancy joint called Folk's Folly.

It wasn't until much, much later that night that I Googled the second half of that odd Memphis eatery name to reveal perfect irony. This makes no sense right now, but bear with me, I have suffered head trauma. This post was supposed to be a review of an amazing dining experience, so I'll start there.

Dressed in one of my favorite LBDs with a face full of makeup that took more focus than normal, I waltzed in beside my husband like we owned the place. We had a 6:30 reservation and our bellies were empty. The restaurant was a fascinating place: full of cozy little rooms that separated groups of diners and white cloths on every table. We ordered wine and heard the specials, and understand me when I say we went for it. The actual reason for our weekend in Memphis was a business meeting Jonathan had nailed earlier that afternoon. This was a sort of celebration, after all, so I went for both the surf and the turf.

I've had lobster in lobster dip. I've had lobster on lobster pizza. I've had lobster in seafood bisque. And probably all of those dishes were from Red Lobster. That's it. Jonathan could see the relief on my face when our waiter Kevin asked if he could remove it from the shell for me. Lord yes, Kevin. It was absolutely delicious. The petite filet that accompanied it was topped with parsley butter and cooked to perfection. Every bite melted in my mouth and it's a contender for best steak of my life. Jonathan was much more certain that his steak was hands down the best he's ever had. It was a Frenched prime rib-eye that had been aged for no more and no less than 60 days.

We also shared a blueberry cheesecake that would top our best desserts list. It was not cloyingly sweet and it almost had a salty kick. I'm no food critic, but it was yummy. We left an amount of money at the table that matched our experience {read: a lot of dollars}, and we sauntered hand-in-hand into the parking lot, making more than enough "walking in Memphis" jokes. Too bad the best one was yet to come...

---

Now this story is going to take an interesting turn, so hold on to your hats. I could tell you about the bar fight I got into on Beale Street, a brawl that landed me in the ER {you should see the other guy and all that jazz}, but that would be a lie. At least the bar part. Because we didn't make it to the bar. We did make it to the emergency room, though.

I'm not going to paint a picture of what happened, because it's gross. I fell in the hotel room when we stopped by after dinner and my forehead caught the nightstand on my way down. What followed was an impressive reaction on my husband's part, and the destruction of about three hotel towels. We raced to the nearest hospital where I got the all-clear on brain damage and two stitches.

I don't want to take away from the image above, but I will say I look a little different. I have a lovely cut and swelling that has found its way to my eyes. It doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it did a few days ago, but I'm already counting down to stitch-removal Friday. Perhaps I'll look a little less like Frankenstein at that point.

As it turns out, the folly from Folk's did not come until after the meal. I will now kick back with another round of Advil and try not to make too many facial expressions. Maybe the next time we make the trek to Tennessee, I'll do a better job of walkin' in Memphis...

Happy Tuesday, my friends. I sure hope your long weekend was well-spent!

Dear September

Hello, September! Bring on the breathable air, cool breeze, and fresh pace.

The calendar page turned, Arkansas already won a football game, and hallways are brimming with school colors and spirit. Heck, last night Jonathan and I traveled to Memphis and when we arrived at the hotel, it was 64 degrees. My husband thought I was crazy for asking if sleet was mixed with the rain, but anything other than summer weather is frigid to me. I know it's not fall yet, but it's in the air.

We are three weeks into the school year and minutes from the first three-day weekend. The kids have all settled into new routines with ease. They're getting their homework done when we walk through the door and they've even aced a few tests already. I know things will start to drag when the novelty wears off, but you can color me impressed today.

Enough about those kids, though, today I'm here to answer a few questions about my current state of life now that September has arrived. Read on to see what's up:

1. Favorite Thing: I love the routine that comes with school. I don't know if I would call myself a trademarked "Morning Person" but there's something magical about waking up early enough to enjoy coffee while your older kids dress themselves.
   
   
2. Planning: Right now I'm deep in planning for our first full year of teaching high school religious education. Class doesn't start until September 17, but I'm lesson planning and vision making and Googling nonstop.
   
   
3. Eating: It's not often I use the phrase fine dining, but I sure enjoy it. Tonight my husband and I will try famed Memphis restaurant Folk's Folly. There are white tablecloths and foods I've never seen. I can't wait!
   
   
4. Drinking: A large unsweetened tea with lemon from McAlister's. I know this doesn't count as "what I'm drinking in September" but it's what I'm drinking right now and it's amazing. The actual answer is probably wine, to be frank.
   
   
5. Wearing: Most of you know my wardrobe is jeans and/or gym shorts and t-shirts, so I'm the last person to give fashion advice. I will say one makeup item I've been enjoying is the Morphe 9N Blush Palette. I've never been a pink blush girl because I have a lot of redness, but the colors in this are lovely. There are great neutral peach and mauve tones, and they blend beautifully with my go-to bronzer.
   
   
6. Listening to: Nothing! I have enjoyed two of those all-by-myself Fridays I told you about a month ago, and it was weird at first. What am I supposed to do when I'm completely alone? The answer has been a little cleaning, a little writing, and spontaneous naps. I ain't mad at it.
   
   
7. Enjoying: My little corner of Arkansas. Our September calendar is full of local events, including the county fair and a movie in the park {would you believe they chose Nora's beloved Beauty and the Beast!?}. I love the feeling that comes with small-town football season.
   
   
8. Current Project: Our classroom! This year we'll be teaching in the same room we hold youth events, so we get to make it ours. I have bulletin board supplies, laminated letters, and a head full of ideas. We've decided the theme of the year is becoming a saint {anyone can do it!} and we're starting on the room this Sunday.
   
   
9. Hoping for: Health and happiness? If we can keep those on lock, we're golden.
   
   
10. Doing: Tearing out the summer garden. There are a few plants still clinging to life, as I wrote about last week, but soon we will demolish and get the soil ready for next year. I also have plans to renovate two raised beds and fill them with strawberry plants and I have my eye on adding berry bushes, too. Maybe we'll get into the jam and jelly business!
    
    

That's a good sample of our to-do list for September. What are you looking forward to this month?

Flashback Friday: School Stories

The first week of school brings up a lot of anxious feelings in my little students.

There's that initial worry of making it through the car line on time {which was not helped by this morning's forgotten backpack}. Once you make it over that hurdle, there's focusing on all your teacher's words, staying calm during tests, and trying to navigate a schedule that looks like HTML. Recent discussions about these worries have drummed up many memories for me. Today's post is a Flashback Friday, because I'm about to spin three different tales of my own school-time stress. Gather 'round and cringe, friends:


Story One: College
Let's start with the most recent story {a mere 13 years ago}. I was starting my third year at the University of Central Arkansas and at that point, my minor was Spanish. As my OCD led me to do, I made a dry run before the start of every semester. I needed to know building locations, floor layouts, and the quickest walking paths. I was usually the first person in class and I usually sat on the front row.

On this particular new year, I remember walking into my lower-level Spanish course and planting my backpack beside that coveted center seat. Once the other students filled in around me and the professor took his place, something weird happened. I understood his welcome and directions to speak no English at all, but everything after sounded like a foreign language... literally. I realized this was no cruel trick to ruin my GPA when my name was absent from the class list. I was red as a beet when I raised my hand to own my mistake and slid into a back-row seat next door ten minutes late. Oops.

Side Note: Even though my actual class was much easier, I switched my minor to creative writing that year.

Story Two: High School
I turned 16 in the summer of 2000 and I was fully licensed, ready to roll. My electric blue Mustang was clean as a whistle when I drove toward the first day of my junior year. I parked in the #35 spot on the Hope High School campus and walked in like I owned the place.

Back then the campus was open for lunch, so my best friend and I headed to Dairy Queen. It wasn't far from the school and we knew we could get back in time {my first-day anxiety took McDonald's out of the equation}. After we finished our meals with time to spare, I paused at the stop sign beside our school and cruised on. Notice I said paused? Yes, my friends, I got pulled over for the first time ever... during lunch period... on my first day driving to school... directly in front of campus. I can't recall the shade of red my face wore all afternoon or how many smirking classmates stopped me in the hallway, and I'd really rather not.

Side Note: I only got a verbal warning, but I didn't pull over for a solid minute because I didn't notice the flashing lights.

Story Three: Primary
Let's take it on back to 1992. I was in third grade at the brand-new Hope Primary School, later to be renamed after our 42nd president. I was in Mrs. Hesse's class and I sat on the front row right beside her desk {sensing a theme here?}. One morning she had to step out, and as teachers do, she asked a student to stand up front and take names.

I pulled a book from my backpack {I can only assume Sweet Valley Twins or Baby-Sitters Club} and started reading until I felt eyes. I looked around to find my instinct was right. Everyone was watching me until I turned to the blackboard and saw Jessica in powdery white letters. Rude, right?? My heart sank, my palms puddled up, and I burst into tears. Thankfully many of my allies were in that class with me and rectified the situation when the teacher walked in. Vindication! I don't know why that moment has stuck with me for so long, but there it is, folks.

Side Note: That was not the first time my name made it onto the board. The other times were, however, warranted.


I know these stories aren't super embarrassing, but a lot of the moments that may be deemed mortifying to others {dressing in a kangaroo costume for an entire fifth-grade day or performing a square dance routine at a junior high assembly} were things I chose to do. I think this post has revealed a bit of my character.

Maybe too much?

Did these memories bring up any of your own? If anything, you can share these tales with your kids in the effort of solidarity. Happy Friday, y'all!

Dear August... {thank you}

The calendar flipped on Tuesday morning and the groans began.

"It's August already?!" I do my best to spice up the idea of back-to-school with exciting backpack options and the return of recess, but it's not a positive topic around here. But while the boys dread the return of alarms, I just sip my tea and grin. If you have read here before, you know I love summer. The hot thick air, the garden chores, the pool days, and the blue skies sustain me in the cold. However. Though August means fewer opportunities for fun in the sun for my kids, it's a little different for me. Let me tell you why.

Last weekend Jonathan and I spent a glorious 48 hours in the Spa-ahhh City. We sat at restaurant tables for hours and spent afternoons in bed. We didn't turn the TV on once. I napped. I got an 85-minute massage. There were hot stones. I might have cried a little at the sheer relaxation of it all. While this was an incredible and much-needed escape, it was right back to reality. But now that August is here, my dream of frequent quiet is about to be realized.

In my last post I talked about how strange it feels for Nora to be starting preschool. The flip side of that is all three kids will have places to go on Fridays. And I will not. I don't work on Fridays, but for the past eight years we have lived here, I've spent the last weekday with whatever collection of children I had who were not in a full-time school situation. I cherish Fridays for catching up on laundry and cleaning and not technically having to get dressed, but I've never counted it as a true day off.

My ship has come in.

Beginning the week of August 14, I will be the only person in my house every Friday until 3:00. I'm going to just take a second and let that fully sink in. Especially since I've been trying to write this post since Wednesday afternoon. I haven't had guaranteed weekly alone time in 10 years. I am ready.

Other than reveling in the quiet of my home this month, we have some fun planned, too. Tonight we're going to see Clint Black in Hope. I love good country music and Something That We Do was the first song Jonathan and I danced to after our wedding. Next weekend we'll hit up the annual Watermelon Festival. Nothing makes me feel like a kid, as well as an official resident of South Arkansas, quite like this festival. My dollars are counted for crafts, corn dogs, and a hunk of melon. August will also bring a familiar sense of routine. While the return of normalcy does mean things like homework and soccer practice and youth group activities galore, there will {hopefully} be a rhythm to the madness not present during summer.

No matter what the busyness of the school year throws my way, though, I know I'll always have Fridays.
{insert sigh of utter bliss} Have a lovely weekend!

Each of My Kids

Each of my kids can ride a bike.

One has a hot pink flower helmet and training wheels, but she can match her brothers' pace. All of my kids can open the refrigerator door, grab a juice box, and poke in the straw without help. All of my kids can write their names and identify numbers and sit still for a whole feature film.

Each of my kids can pretend to steer a pirate ship being tossed on a stormy sea while I sit and focus on my writing. They can take medicine without incident. They can eat lunch unassisted. None of my kids need diapers or strollers or carriers or formula. All of my kids can take care of themselves.

Yesterday I dropped Nora off at her day care for the last time. Her preschool is opening before the school district starts, so she'll be in a different environment next week. Although Nora will miss her day care teacher {whom she aspires to become}, she is okay with moving on. She is eager and looking forward to doing all the big girl stuff that comes with the territory, but this is a hard spot for me.

I have gone to day care drop-off for ten years. It wasn't always this particular house, but both Owen and Nora called it home for years. I have forgotten to bring diapers or shoes. I've stood on the door frame while giving my child a "last kiss" for the twelfth time. I've pried screaming kids from my leg and turned my face quickly to hide tears of my own.

I brought in sweet-smelling, round little babies and now I've left without any.

A lump rose in my throat as I watched Nora reverse course to run back inside and give one last hug goodbye. Reality hit while my daughter turned the last page on our family's plot-thickening chapter.

But Nora starts preschool next week. She's going to learn all of her letters, she's going to practice raising her hand and standing in line and navigating new experiences. She will prepare for the school years that lie ahead and she'll face it without fear. Because, as she tells me daily: "I'm four and I'm brave."

Each of my kids is old enough to be prepared for what's written next. Each of my kids is able to make a little more sense of the world without my influence. All of my kids can make decisions and choose right from wrong and allow me to take a step back from the hovering parts of parenthood.

---

On sunny summer afternoons, when the oppressive heat is balanced just right by the cool breeze that whips up from the pasture, I can pour myself a glass of tea and find a spot on the front porch. I watch the three babies I once dropped off at day care race around the yard, marking their course and dodging curious cats. I lean back in my chair, and I let them be.

Because, after all, each of my kids can ride a bike.

Dear July

July started with a bang around here, and we haven't even made our fireworks purchase yet.

Early yesterday we loaded a playlist with all the country songs that reference lakes, boats, and/or the sweetness of summer. We gathered as much sandwich fixings and snacks as our SUV allowed and headed for the Iron Mountain Marina at DeGray Lake. This was the first lake day for Owen and Nora and Nathan hadn't been in six years, so we didn't know what they'd do. However, as soon as these kids got their sea legs on our pontoon rental, they became card-carrying members of the redneck yacht club.

Not one of them thought twice as they wiggled into the water for a swim. They were jumping off the side in no time, and once they learned the official lake rule of "Never open your mouth underwater," they were hooked. We also decided to try some tubing this time, and would you believe all three did it? The boys took a tumble on their first ride, but were brave enough to keep going. I even took a turn on the tube with my three-year-old baby, whose tiny thumb stayed up the whole time to signal an a-okay ride.

From lounging in the shade, munching Doritos to ramping waves across the lake, my children were initiated as lake kids. Growing up I had several friends whose parents fit the "lake people" description and I had my fill of weekends on the water. I love that these kids got a taste of it this weekend.

As of today, the kids are convinced we need to go every weekend and I'm finding boat shopping searches in my browser history. We'll see just how far this rides out...

The day was perfect and such a lovely slice of summertime. Sure, getting the boat loaded with supplies and every kid took a little work, but lying on the deck of the boat and letting the sunshine carry me was 100% worth it. I really hope our start to July 2017 is a prime example of the rest of it. We have big plans this month: celebrating the birth of our nation, throwing two birthday parties, reaping the harvest of an incredible garden season, and enjoying plenty of pool days. All of these things take work, but all of these things will be worth it.

We'll end July smelling like chlorine, bug spray, and tomato plants and I, for one, am first in line.

The Crib: Part II

{The Crib: Part I was written when Owen had to make room for Nora. Times, they are a-changing.}
A few nights ago I was rocking in the puffy white chair in Nora's nursery.

The letters that spell her name hang right where I placed them four years ago, and she lay in the crib that's been part of our family for a decade. Her body has yet to outgrow its length, but she's getting there. She tossed around behind the tall white bars and I peered at her blue eyes until they finally closed for good.

Three different sets of eyes have watched me through those bars during the start of a thousand bedtimes. I've scrambled to reach over the side when one of my babies was sick or afraid. I have removed, and washed, and cursed the reapplication of crib sheets countless times. And I still don't quite know how to lower the front of it.

A few nights ago, as I was rocking and watching, I pulled out my phone to the one page that can ease my worried mind when questions paw at my brain. Google. I blinked rapidly while typing "When should child get out of a crib?" My crazy was quickly affirmed by Internet strangers.

People on various baby forums scoffed at toddlers who had yet to make the move. Nora has never attempted a crib escape. Nora's never even balked at the idea that she sleeps in one. She's always seemed pretty cozy, honestly. However, when I closed that screen, I texted Jonathan to ask if we could change Nora's crib into a toddler bed. My daughter will turn four a week from Saturday. She's enrolled in preschool, she takes piano lessons and she knows her right hand from her left. She can open Capri Suns by herself and unload the dishwasher like a champ. She is not a baby.

I told him I wasn't sad about her growing up and I'm not overly attached to an outdated piece of furniture, I'm just a bit anchored to this "baby stage" of parenting.

I've been here a while, you know.

We removed the front panel of the crib to turn it into the big girl bed Nora never knew she wanted. I set up her quilt and all of her stuffed animals to look like a cute daybed, and she was obsessed. She loves the freedom it brings, and as she looked at me sitting in that white rocking chair across from her, she smiled and said "I can see you now, Mom!"

She's only had a few nights of independence in her new setup, but she is sleeping all night and doing great. Perhaps we held out on this change too long, but everybody fared through it well. I really am enjoying this stage of parenting older kids {think of the fortune I'm saving without diapers and formula}, but it's always a little hard for me to close a book. Especially such a classic.

Now to try to sell the changing table... and the swing and the bounce seat and the highchair, etc. Any takers?

After Eleven Years

The night of our eleventh wedding anniversary was spent together beside the ocean.

My husband and I drew long breaths of salty air and reminisced about our fresh start. As we stared into the distant shades of blue, not knowing where sky dissolved into water, our concentration was broken by a splash on the shore. It was our six-year-old son with his siblings close behind, scrambling to catch a sand crab before it buried into hiding.

This was followed by an inspired performance of Moana songs from Nora, who stood on a self-made sand stage, and keeping up with Nathan, who was schooling strangers on crab-catching techniques.

The waves continued to lap onto the shore, always moving, but never the same.

Last Friday, June 9, Jonathan treated me to a romantic date during our family Florida vacation. First, we cruised into the sunset on a catamaran. We spotted dolphins and sat as close as is allowed in public while the red sun sank beneath the horizon. Then it was on to a night of fine dining {we’re talking white tablecloths and French words}. I ate the best meal of my life while the breeze whipped my hair and the love of my life winked at me. It was heaven on the beach, and I treasured every minute.

The night of June 10, our actual anniversary, was the last of our trip. Deciding we needed one last look at the waves, we took the kids crabbing. We walked behind them as they darted in and out of the water, filling buckets and making memories. While date nights are vital to my soul and our relationship, this look at what our wedding made was surreal.

We’ve come a long way in eleven years, and the five of us standing on the beach while Saturday night fireworks boomed overhead made it clear. This is the result of our marriage.

Beneath the greens and purples flashing above the water, Nora danced around us. She crooned a sweet anniversary song, and one of my favorite lines was “Good job, Mom and Dad!”

Eleven years ago, my sister-in-law read from the New Testament during our wedding ceremony. This reading included the age-old words lining out exactly what love is. Love is patient and kind, it doesn’t boast or anger. It protects and trusts and hopes. In closing, I’d like to tack onto that page in Corinthians.

Love is hard. Love is scary. Love requires insurmountable bravery and the ability to step without looking. Love can come as natural as breathing, but love takes white-knuckled work. Love can bend and break, heal and save, lead and follow. Love is two people clueless as to how the universe will treat them, but going forward anyway. Love is building and growing, changing and moving, adjusting and readjusting. Love is going where the wind blows. Together.

Today and always I thank my lucky stars that the wind blew me his way. We have built a beautiful life together and like the tide, it’s always changing. No day is ever the same, and I love it.

Happy Anniversary, Jonathan. You make life an adventure and I love being along for the ride.
Good job. 😊

Dear June

Ahh, June. The garden is growing, the temps are rising, and the kids are asking for lunch at 10:00.

This month is my favorite month, for reasons that include but are not limited to: my birthday. However, I already wrote a post on why I loved June enough to make it Nora's middle name. Today, I want to wish you and yours a happy month of sunshine and happiness and give you insight as to why I'm glad the 2017 edition is here. I even tossed in a thumbs-down just to make things interesting. Read on to see what this month holds for me, and let me know what you're planning with your own June bugs.

BEACH: The main reason a smile has been plastered on my face since I ripped off the May page and tossed it in the trash is the word "vacation" that's brightly highlighted. My family is headed to the Emerald Coast of Florida real soon and I am real overdue for a break. I've had a hectic few weeks ticking off my to-do list to wrap up the school year, and I think I have it covered. I'm ready for a week of no worries and the Moana soundtrack on loop.

BIRTHDAY: You may have remembered there's a special day coming up. Aren't you sweet?! I turn 33 on June 22 and I honestly don't mind at all. I don't know how we'll celebrate, but I'm not ready to stop counting candles yet. I have made the formal decision that living out these 30s is going to be fantastic. I know who I am, I know what I want, and I know my priorities. Being an adult isn't too awful, really.

BETROTHED: For the sake of alliteration, the first word I chose for this paragraph was bae. Aren't you glad I kept thinking? This Saturday will mark 11 years that Jonathan and I have been married. Marriage is not for the faint of heart. It's not for the weak, and it's not for the cowardly. Marriage takes strength, and that's what we have. That's the thing that makes me proudest about our love - its strength.

BONKERS: I can't tell you all the delightful activities my kids and I have lined up to fill our summer free time. I also can't tell you that in our first full day together I didn't scream "STOP SAYING 'BUTT' TO YOUR SISTER!" and "DON'T TATTLE WHILE I'M ON THE TOILET!" However, the kids and I have paid close attention to our garden {which is flourishing, by the way}, we've snagged pool time, and they've been big help with household chores. There will never be a picture-perfect summer schedule here, but I think I can tolerate them for a few months... What does your June look like?

The Seedling

Since the moment I ripped open this year's seed packets, I have watched.

On a warm day when timing was right, we began. The seeds were put into place and watered, and our patience was tested. In the few weeks between that moment and today, I have noticed beauty in the waiting. I've also seen an incredible alignment between parenting and gardening. While I have about the same amount of experience in both areas, today's post will flesh out that metaphor a bit.

---

The life cycle of a plant begins in the dark depths of the Earth.

It's comforted by warm soil on every side and waits until the conditions are right to make the first move. Above the soil we stand, wondering when the seeds will become seedlings, whether they'll be successful, or if they'll even emerge at all.

After several days, I notice a shift. Something small and green is proving mighty enough to literally move earth. Everything around the tiny plant is disrupted as the soil continues to break and settle... and break and settle. As the small plant pulls itself into the sunshine, other things are pushed out of the way. Small rocks and grass and weeds that don't seem nearly as important make way for the star of the garden.

In the weeks following what I think is the most delicate part of my plant's life, reality strikes. The seedling is no longer the most important plant in the garden. Although it needs my attention, it becomes clear I need to also focus on weeding and watering in other areas.

Sometimes the best thing for this little plant is to let it be.

As the plant thrives on its own and practically doubles in size overnight, I come to realize it never is truly still. The leaves move and stretch daily and the stem shows strength with age. As soon as I think it's good where it is, it turns into something else I love even more. I love the way its foliage contrasts against the bright blue sky. I love the way its smell floats in my yard like a perfume. I love this sign of life in a once empty plot.

Flowers dot the vibrant plant and the seed I scraped from the bottom of the packet is a memory I struggle to remember.

When the scorching summer sun fades behind the trees in the hours after dinner, I pull on my gloves and wander outside. At this stage my plant is unruly. Heavy fruit weigh it down and I try to retrain the branches going the wrong way. However, that trick doesn't always work. This plant grows where it wants to, and I do my best to prune it and give as much direction as I can. It doesn't need as much care from me anymore, as it's becoming what it was born to be. Nature and nurture push and pull, and I pray my plant grows as tall as possible.

The plant bears the most beautiful fruit as a sign of my care and the outside forces that cooperated in harmony. I cherish the summer it was mine and I care for it as long as it lets me.

Until the plant itself goes to seed.

Celebrating Mama

{Takes a mother's love for those three, am I right??}
My Mother's Day began with 400 teens screaming praise music, and ended with just my three... negotiating an exit from the pool.

Not sure which wore me out more, but what a fine way to revel in my motherhood.

The annual Catholic State Convention for our youth group is typically held the second weekend in May, and although I have to spend half of my day of honor away from my kids, I really do enjoy it. Honest. It's been a joy to spend it with the kids I didn't birth, but still claim.

Once we made it back to my parents' house for Mother's Day festivities, I was rewarded for doing the one job I always prayed I'd get to do. Owen and Nora gave me herbs in pots they colored, and Nathan handed me a perfectly decorated mug full of Dove chocolate. I also got the treat of reading the infamous kindergarten "My Mommy is..." interview.

I giggled when Owen said I weigh 50 pounds and nodded in agreement when he said my favorite color was "all of the colors," but I spit my tea when I saw he told his teacher that "Move That Body" was my favorite song. For some reason Owen is heavily into early '90s jock jams and "Move This" by Technotronic tops the list. We can't help but dance like maniacs the entire time it plays. Yes, he nailed that question.

---

I enjoyed my day of traveling home with tired teens then chasing my not-so-tired kids, but I kept thinking about others I know who celebrated this weekend. I know moms who had babies on their hips yesterday, with cheesy grins from finally being counted among the many. I know moms who have held the title for decades, including one who smiled just as big when opening a card from her thirty-year-old son. I also know moms whose hearts break on this particular day. As flowers and personalized gifts flow on Facebook, they grieve for the children they barely got to know.

Moms are amazing creatures, and children both here and in heaven know that. I know we don't do it for the potted plants and funny questionnaires. We all, every single one of us, do it for the love. The love between me and my kids is unlike anything else I have ever felt, and even though I do have one child already waiting for me, I feel that love, too. I feel it coursing through my veins every day.

While Mother's Day has never been my favorite horn-tooting holiday, I do acknowledge the fact that being a mother is hard, dirty work. Being the mother to a child who left before you is probably one of the hardest things any woman ever has to do. To all in that boat: I am so sorry for your loss; however, you are one unbelievably strong mother.

And to every single mom out there: Happy {day after} Mother's Day!