....and pink cake.

My Lillie Belle turned 7. My baby girl is 7. I am not really sure why 7 made me stop to think, but it has. 7 years with a girl. I still remember the day I found out we were having a girl. Pink. Bows. Baby dolls. It feels like yesterday. Patrick and I had two precious boys and I, as surprised as I was having two little boys first, enjoyed each moment being a boy mom. Not growing up with a brother in my house, I still remember the shock of seeing Logan for the first time and hearing the Doctor exclaim, "It's a BOY!" What do you do with a boy? I thought it was a girl! I was supposed to be having a girl!?! As time went on though, I discovered you do much of the same thing with a boy baby that you do with a girl baby...or so I thought. I enjoyed every minute of having boys. I still do. I loved their little chubby legs running through my halls, their sticky kisses, and dirty fingers. I loved hearing their truck noises and their gun sounds. They would build and knock down, run and fall, jump off things and climb up everything. They were the spitting images of their Daddy and oh! How the three of them could wrestle. And I never could've doubted their love for me. When we discovered we were having another baby, I truly assumed it would be another boy. I remember kind of thinking it would be neat to have a girl, but that thought was quickly pushed aside almost with the same questions I had before having a boy; what would I do with a girl? We had all these boy things and boy clothes...and I knew boys. I loved boys. At that point, I really couldn't picture myself with a girl...until the day we found out the baby I was carrying was a girl!

Fast forward to last Friday, I was decorating Lillie-Belle's Hello Kitty cupcakes, pink cake with pink icing, and Logan walked into the kitchen to just hang out for a minute. "Is that Lillie's cake?" I told him it was. Watching me for a minute, we talked about Lillie's birthday. After a few questions and a few comments from him, he looks at me very seriously and said, "Mom you know the best part of having sisters?"

I could have guessed a million things. Hello Kitty birthday parties for one. Meeting Princesses at Disney World after so many years of meeting Buzz Lightyear and Captain Hook. The movies Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, and Princess and the Frog. Pink rooms and dance classes. Hugs for brothers and quiet moments when a big brother reads to them. Watching big brothers hold little sister hands. Fashion shows. Helpers in the kitchen. Fingernail polish. Bows and French braiding again. My house softening for the addition of a little girl. Doors being held open and Barbie toothbrushes. Feet "dancing" on big Daddy feet. Screams, louder than I ever thought possible, at the sound of a Daddy's "scary" growl. Pink Zinka on noses at the beach and mermaid sandcastles. Promises to marry an older brother and lots of pictures to hang up. Pink bicycles with white baskets and little streamers from the handlebars. A daughter for my sweet man to walk down an aisle one day. Sweet smells and gentle hugs. Polly Pockets and Bitty Babies. The list in my mind goes on forever; as it does with my guesses for the reasons it is so great to have boys.

At that moment, I was so thankful for the gift of having both, but my mind was focused on my Lillie. She changed the dynamic of our home in one simple moment and the very dynamic of our family. She came in like a tornado, loving life and taking it by the horns. She has a strong personality and knows what "life" should look like. She loves everyday moments that we often miss and often retreats to "Lillie~land" as we lovingly call the place where only she is invited in her mind, where fairies are, and creation talks. She is strong, determined, and independent, but has a heart of gold. She doesn't like people to see her cry and doesn't like to see me cry. She can, at times, be painfully honest. She sings to herself, dances up the stairs, and loves, LOVES to push her Cole's buttons. She sword fights and plays a mean game of hide~n~go seek. She can catch a lizard with the best of her brothers, but has the prettiest pointed toes in ballet. She is wonderfully made and a perfect fit for our family. We couldn't have known it at the time when the ultrasound tech announced, "That's girl country right there!" (Can you tell our tech was from the deep South?) but our lives would forever be better because of Lillie Grace.

"I don't know, Logan. What's the best part of having sisters?"

"We get to have pink cake. It's so good." And he walked away licking icing off of his growing fingers.

I almost forgot...and pink cake.

All That's Left

I recently spent some time visiting my elderly grandmother in the nursing home. It was so hard to see her there, that way. To me, she was always a fun grandmother and as I got older she seemed to never age. Not so much anymore. Although she looks alot older, she is doing well. Talking to her though is completely different. She seems to be in a different time. She has gone back to a memory and it seems as if that is where she is. The people she remembers or is looking for, have long been gone from this earth. But not to her. I sat there for most of the visits, bringing myself back to those times with her. For me, it was memories stored away, for her, it's where she is, it is what's left.

This seems to be the norm. My mom's mom is much the same way. The last visit I had with her she was a high school senior going to a dance at City Hall. By the time our conversation was over, I wanted to go too. It sounded wonderful. She was happy. What was left in her mind, made her happy.

While visiting my grandmother, I was drawn to the older men. As they sat there, hunched over in their wheelchairs, sitting by themselves, or just staring at the space in front of them, I imagined those same men, only 30 years earlier. Tall, lean, strong, confident; somebodies. Presidents of companies, doctors, Marines, lawyers, construction workers, Daddies, husbands. My eyes still fill with tears at my picture of them on that day. There was one in particular that I was drawn to most. Even hunched over with a walker, I could tell he was tall. He steps were slow but purposeful and he stopped at every doorway and peeked in. There were two halls connected by a nurses station and in my hour visit with my Maw-Maw, he made it down one side and only a few doors up the other. Every door, peeking. Every step slow. He had a very determined look to him and I wanted to go and help him. Do what? I wasn't sure but he had a purpose in his day. Right before I left there was a shift change and lots of busy-ness with the nurses and caregivers. One nurse walked past me to take her place with a handful of charts and asked the nurse leaving, "Is he looking for her again?" "Everyday. I wish he would stop. It makes me sad." As she was leaving, the nurse caught my eye and I couldn't help myself. "Who is he looking for? Is he ok?" "No, he's fine, just looking for his dead wife." Her harshness startled me, but her statement broke my heart. She went on, "Evidently she was some kind of woman because he is always looking for her, always." She picked up her things and left. My eyes drifted back to his husband searching for his wife. Never to be found but in his mind, she was there. He didn't look sad, or worried, just purposeful. There really isn't any other way to describe him.

As I walked my Maw-Maw down the hall, we passed his room. I saw his biography on the doorway and read what I could. What stuck out most was, "Husband, father of 4, retired military." It could be any man, but it could very easily be mine. As we passed him, his hands were shaky, his steps were too, but he smiled a sweet smile at me and melted my heart. He shuffled and pushed his walker. Stopped at the door. Shuffle, push, stop. Shuffle, push, stop. I couldn't help but picture the man 40 or 50 years earlier. Working to provide for his family, coming home for dinner every night, fighting bravely for his country, kissing his children goodnight, cooking eggs on Saturday mornings so his wife could sleep in, giving piggyback rides, throwing the football with his boys, his giant man hands dressing tiny dolls for his girls, holding his wife's hand on a date, drinking coffee in the mornings, playfully slapping his wife's rear passing through the kitchen, laughing through family dinners, taking his kids to the beach, pushing his girls on the circle swing. Where he was at that moment, gave him peace and he was looking for her. All the memories he could be living through~ his work, his early days~ but he was looking for her. All that made him that man, what was left was his wife. And he was looking for her. To him, she would complete him. He could stop looking. That was his purpose.

My thoughts drifted to my man. With him gone, I have so much time to reflect about me, as his wife. When Patrick is that age, will he be looking for me? Will his time with me be that happy place he goes back to? Will he think that I completed him on this earth? Will he know I loved him? Will I have showed him that enough? Did I take care of him? Did I listen to him? Did he feel respected? Did he know I adored him everyday I knew him? Will he remember us laughing? Will he want to hold my hand again? Will he miss my cooking? Will he want to tell me a private joke? Will he be looking for me? Will he be looking for me to rub his feet? Will he be looking for me to give him a hug? Can he picture my face? Will he want me? Will he need me for something? Did he have a question? A comment? A laugh? A quote from a goofy movie? What will be left? For this man, he was looking for her. He wanted her. He needed her. That was what was left. That was the place his mind brought him back to. She was his comfort and he wanted her. Will Patrick?

It's easy to see changes that I want to make when I step back. When he is gone. And for such a long time. I want him home. I want to love him. I want to listen to him. I want to show him how very much I respect the man I fell in love with. I want to hold his hand and make our home a soft place for him to come home to. I want to be his retreat. I want to listen to him, to laugh with him, and share our goofy quotes. I want to cook for him, sit beside him at night and kiss his cheek. I want to talk to him, rub his back and watch him kiss the kids goodnight. I want to go camping, share a secret, and have a movie night. I want to hold him and tell him how very much I still love him. I want to give him memories to hold on to...so that when that's all that's left, he's looking for me.

My Moment

(Lillie talking to Daddy)

I got in the car this morning to run a few last minute errands. My mind was focused on my list of things to do and the order of the stops in which they were to come. The kids were with my in-laws and the car was empty. This song came on the radio complete with dub-ins of little children's voices. I could barely listen to the first few lines before I had to change it. I know the people who put it together did it to honor our troops, but for those of us walking through this season of military life, it is the most painful thing to listen to. I found the words and could barely read them without crying.

I'm Already There

by Lonestar

He called her on the road from a lonely cold hotel room
Just to hear her say, "I love you one" more time
But when he heard the sound
Of the kids laughin' in the background
He had to wipe away a tear from his eye
A little voice came on the phone
Said, "Daddy when you comin' home?"
He said the first thing that came to his mind

I'm already there
Take a look around
I'm the sunshine in your hair
I'm the shadow on the ground
I'm the whisper in the wind
I'm your imaginary friend
And I know, I'm in your prayers
Oh I'm already there

She got back on the phone
Said, "I really miss you darlin'"
"Don't worry about the kids they'll be alright
Wish I was in your arms, lyin' right there beside you
But I know that I'll be in your dreams tonight
And I'll gently kiss your lips
Touch you with my fingertips
So turn out the light and close your eyes

I'm already there
Don't make a sound
I'm the beat in your heart
I'm the moonlight shinin' down
I'm the whisper in the wind
And I'll be there 'til the end
Can you feel the love that we share?
Oh I'm already there

We may be a thousand miles apart
But I'll be with you wherever you are

I'm already there
Take a look around
I'm the sunshine in your hair
I'm the shadow on the ground
I'm the whisper in the wind
And I'll be there 'til the end
Can you feel the love that we share?
Oh I'm already there
Oh I'm already there

I pulled over and cried. I miss my husband. I am in the midst of this joyous season and I AM joyful. I truly am. I wasn't at the beginning of December. I was carrying around a burden on my own. Two very good friends walked me gently through my moment. Listening and leading but also speaking the Truth that God was trying to use. Through that moment, I still have my minutes of "sad" but I am walking in God's Peace this Christmas.

"For a child will be born to us, a Son will be given to us: and the government will rest on His Shoulders, and His Name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace." ~Isaiah 9:6

This Christmas it is the Prince of Peace I will worship, not the tiny baby but the God man. I needed that name so much this month and believe it or not, it has allowed me to find joy in this season, even with Patrick gone. I know my Savior and this Christmas His Peace runs deep.

God has walked me through this holiday season and I am growing so much, but I have still have my moments of missing the very one God so richly blessed my life with.

Today I had one. I am sad he is missing all of this. I am sad for him. He is the one alone. I complained to him this week about being alone, but I am surrounded by people and family. I was kicking myself for that pity party. He is alone. He is missing his fudge. He is missing opening presents, looking at Christmas lights, reading Christmas stories and watching Charlie Brown's Christmas. He loves the cold and the warm fire. He loves Christmas smells, decorating, and going for walks. He is missing his grandmother's cornbread dressing, poo-poos on Christmas Eve. He is missing kissing his little girls goodnight and wrestling with his boys. He is missing quiet nights on the couch and having people who love him near. He is missing a Christmas tree, presents, and "Christmas in the Stars." I would love to close my hands on his sweet face and tell him how much he is missed. I hope he knows that his family, even though swimming in holiday "stuff," think of him at every turn. A mention of him as we eat his favorite meal, his name when we are looking at lights, commenting how much Daddy would love the weather being cold, and even the tears as we pray for him at night before bed.

I thought of all of this sitting in my car in a random parking lot. I am thankful though. I am peaceful. I am joyful. He and I serve the same great God and I know He is celebrating Christmas, even though thousands of miles apart, in the same way I am. Thankful, so very thankful, for that Baby who became our Savior. The tears stopped, I prayed for the moment, the song was over, and I again focused on my list before me.

And I'm missing him. It was my moment.

I run...to rest...

I entered into the church, already, what I thought, was two steps ahead of what our pastor's wife would be speaking on. I was heading for the Woman's Life Bible study and that day's topic was on rest. "I know I don't get enough sleep," I was already saying to myself, "I know I am burning my candle from both ends." I had already planned to take a nap when we got home, fold my clothes early and get the little things done so I could go to bed an hour earlier, and made a vow to try to do this on a regular basis. I was armed and ready for her teaching this morning and very satisfied that I had it all together. Until she began to speak.

Last study, we had looked at laziness. Through that teaching, I knew I wasn't lazy. I came to the opposite conclusion. I tend to err on the side of move, move, move. Sometimes it is not good busy, but for the most part I am knee deep in the work God has called me to do. I left that topic thankful that I wasn't fighting laziness but looking forward to the topic to come. So as this topic approached, I thought I knew what she would say. I thought she would be giving me the thumbs up to sleep more, to nap in the afternoons, and to put my feet up. I thought I knew what I needed to do to slow my ball from rolling so quickly. Miss Audrey began to look at Biblical rest and what God's design of it was. It was to be a time of recharging, renewing, and reflecting. Her comment that struck me the most was that "empty rest" leads you to dread getting back to what God has called you to do. Such a simple statement, but stopped me in my tracks. I began to think about all my plans to find "rest" that day. When I do take naps, usually I am annoyed when I wake up especially if one of my little ones wakes me up with a startling noise. I am mad at the world and want everyone to stay away until I can regroup. That's not coming back ready and recharged to do what God has called me to do. Even getting more sleep at night rarely leaves me feeling completely ready to get on with my jobs. The more she described activities that bring you true "rest" the more I realized that my running in the early morning hours ARE my rest. I would never have thought that with my frame of mind when the alarm goes off at 5:30...and it's cold...and my bed is so warm...

You see, it's during that hour each morning, once I am underway, that it is quiet, no one needs me, no one is calling my name, and nothing is competing for my attention.

Running for me has not always been that "rest" and maybe that is why I missed what it had become over the past year. I have been running for the better part of 20 years. I have been running for many different reasons over the years and the actual activity has gone through many different seasons of what it looks like. I began running in college with a guy I dated for a very short time my freshman year. I didn't bring much away from that short relationship except the knowledge that I actually could run, I was pretty good at it, and I enjoyed it. My running continued through my years at A&M and I ran in my first road race with my then boyfriend, Patrick. It was a couple race, The Sweetheart Run, and we came in second. In my early marriage, I ran to stay in shape and to keep up with my young, handsome Marine husband (who could run laps around me!). I ran through all of my pregnancies because I truly believed it was good for both myself and the sweet little life in me. I ran after delieveries to lose that extra weight pregnancy always left behind. I ran with different partners. My first was my oldest son in a jog stroller along with another young Marine wife and her little girl. She became my best friend through those many hours and days of running and the months and months of not having our men home. I transitioned to a double jogger with two little boys and lots of pointing things out like fire trucks, dogs, balls, cars, etc. Life changed again, many moves later, different running partners. I now had a double jogger with a boy and a girl and a young boy keeping up on his little black bike. Again life moving forward, more moves, and I now had two little girls in a jogger, a herder-type dog who needed to run, and two rambunctious boys jumping curbs, challenging me to races, and "beating me" on their bikes. Eventually, life changes, as it always does, my boys began to stay home to work on school, I traded back down to a single with a little girl, a faithful dog, and a young lady on a hot pink bike stopping more than riding. With a husband home, my runs became earlier and earlier because I enjoyed the freedom of my morning knowing that my run was behind me and my day was free. A few more running partners scattered over the years, other mothers who felt the same way I did about life and getting exercise out of the way. Thankful for those ladies, they always became my good friends through the hours of being alone and "all ears." We could talk ourselves through an hour run and still not run out of things to say. Through all of those years, there was lots of talking. Lots of people, kids, extra things beside me or for me to push. Slowly they all went away. One by one, I lost running partners through Marine moves, different seasons of life, and children getting older, too old for joggers. My running slowly changed. It became quiet over the past year. I now only have my still very faithful dog but she is a very quiet running partner. In fact she might be the best one yet. She never wants to talk but will always listen to my sometimes whispered words or prayers or songs that escape from my lips, she is always ready even on the coldest days, and doesn't mind my need to be up before the sun. She never misses a day. I don't run with music anymore, my thoughts alone keep me company. I run and it is quiet. I ponder life, I think about my husband (doing that much more these days!), I pray for my children, I organize my day, I reflect on past days, good and bad, I treasure moments I have had that seem to always be remembered on my early morning runs, I enjoy sun rises, I think of things I am thankful for, I admire the creation and praise the Creator, I take my thoughts captive, and it is quiet. Always quiet.

As I sat listening to Miss Audrey, it became so crystal clear. I run to rest. When I have completed my route, and I am standing on my front porch looking in, it is peaceful and I feel ready to open that door. I feel ready to face the children on the other side, the schoolwork, the toilets that demand a scrubbing, the laundry calling from the hampers scattered all throughout the house, the pets begging for loving, the phone that never seems to stop, the errands and groceries that need to be bought, and the life that I cherish. My mind is on the good things and I am not dreading unlocking that door and stepping in. I don't dread the sounds coming from the top floor nor the kitchen that stands ready for the battle ahead. My thoughts are right. My brain is clear. I am ready to do what God has called me to do.

I sat in our sanctuary that Woman's Life in a new understanding. It was all so clear. Some run to train for a race, some to lose weight, some to maintain weight, some for general health, and some for the love of running. I have been through all of those seasons of running, but right now, in this season, I run to rest. Now I do know that I can not go without my physical rest, but it is the "good" rest that I crave and gets me ready and recharged to do all God has called me to do. That's running for me. As crazy as that sounds. My run is my rest. I run to rest.

Lil' Fitz Fingerprints

These very little fingerprints on my door brought me to my knees, literally, spiritually, and emotionally. To completely understand, I must first give you some background.

I know you might not be able to tell by looking at me, but I am a really clean and tidy person. I have been all of my life and I climaxed shortly after college when I married Patrick. I liked cleaning our home all at once, in one big whirlwind on Friday and would sit back when it was all done and enjoy that clean. Not only did I need everything picked up and put away, but I needed it CLEAN, clean. I became something of a germ-a-phobe. I can admit it now and I have come a long way since that vicious climax. Ask the very man who lives with me; if he could he would concur. The turn came after the birth of my second son when I was outnumbered and I did not have the luxury of alone time at nap intervals throughout the day. I was picking up more than I was "enjoying" and was cleaning the very things I had just cleaned because of two very busy little boys. I wish I could say I was one of those moms who could just let it go, but at times it consumed every inch of my brain. My crumbling point came shortly after the birth of my fourth at a VBS drop off. I was seriously overwhelmed with four under the age of 7, not in being their Mom but in being the homemaker part of being the Mom. I can remember seeing the face of a fellow four-child mom a little further in her season of four, and the tears came tumbling down. She hugged me, let me sob, heard my every last whank, and then gently pushed away and gave me some of the greatest encouragement, support, and validation that I needed. In my hands later that day she placed the book, Sink Reflections, and my meltdown-homemaker-eyes saw hope. It gave me a starting place for getting my home back in order in a way that would not overwhelm me and in the process, helped me to put that part of my life in perspective. I won't say that I still don't struggle with wanting the blue water in my clean toilets to stay a little longer than the usual 3 mins my children allow, but it rarely brings me to my knees. There, it's out, that's my confession of an obsessed recovering homemaker. That's the background, here's the story.

It was a Monday and Mondays inevitably are long and involved. Mondays we are getting back into our groove, we are learning new concepts in subjects, and coming off the freedom of our weekends. Monday is an early morning running day for me and we have violin and piano on Mondays and dance to boot. I also use that as my mopping my floors day and general pick up day. Just typing that causes me to ponder my Mondays and wonder what can be moved, but for whatever reason, this particular Monday, I was going about my day. I had not had my quiet time for whatever reason and as the day moved forward, I felt the old Amy enter. She's usually not bad to have around at times for she makes me more organized and productive, but on Mondays, she can provoke me to discontent and downright agitation. Today was that day. We had struggled all morning with getting our day started, with school, and a trip to our first violin lesson. Later, when I came home and needed to start lunch, I found air soft bbs under the couch, Wii games not put away, crayons on the stairwell, dirty dishes left at breakfast spots, crumbs on the floor, books on the chair, hairbows on the counter, and kitty litter on the laundry room floor. As I am slowly burning from that old overwhelmed feeling, I feel the tears coming. The pity party was going to happen with or without my consent. As the tears flowed, my discontented mind rested on the wrong things. Why did I have to have children who left things about? Why four of them? Why am I the only one who picks up? Where is my husband in all of this? I am so lonely. I can't do this anymore. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do school. I don't want to teach decimals or diagraphs or make my bed. I don't want to be the mom today. The tears of pity flowed even steadier and I stopped. I saw them. The fingerprints on the door caught my eye and I was done. I walked out that very door with the prints, left my burdens and lot in life inside, and sat in a heap on the top step on our porch and sobbed. I sobbed for my loneliness, for my workload ahead of me that day, for the stuff I wanted to do but would not be able to. I sat and cried. I had not cried that hard in months and truth be told, it felt good. I cried until I really felt like I had not a tear left in me. And then it was still. The noises from inside were faded and muffled. As I looked out on the park, it was good. The birds were singing, the sun was bright and promising of the day to come, a breeze was blowing, and it was still. My thoughts had calmed and it was still. It was the first time in a long time I was still and nothing was going through my head. It was still. No one knew where I was, no one was calling my name, no one was looking for me. Slowly, God's Word showed up. My first thought was Jesus washing the feet of His disciples. My second thought was Jesus going to be alone and crowds following him. I thought of His compassion for those same people at a time in His day He too wanted to be alone, needed to be alone. I thought of Him calming the sea with just His words. That's how my heart felt. He had calmed me. The thoughts came flooding in and it felt good. My mind was resting on good things, right things. God then brought a verse to my head that I held so dear in that stillness of my moment, "Where no oxen are, the manger is clean, but much revenue comes by the strength of the ox." Proverbs 14:4. I could be in a place where there were no children, no pets, no one making a mess, demanding my time, needing me. It would be clean, still, and Southern Living-ish. Everything would be where I last put it, everything would be picked up. But that is not the manger God has placed me in. My manger has children, four of them, pets, friends of those four children, dirt from shoes, Lego pieces underfoot, Polly Pocket shoes in couch cushions, and yes, fingerprints on my front door. This is my ministry right now, my manger. "...much revenue comes by the strength of the ox." Revenue: Yield from investment. I get so much from my "oxen," much yield, much revenue. I get to be in their moments, share in their thoughts, teach them to read and divide fractions, I get to snuggle up at night and share bedtime. I get syrup-y kisses, and flowers picked for my vase. I get handmade colored pictures and giggles from upstairs. I am learning to let go of self and serve my family. I am learning to put others first and treat them as more important then myself. I am investing in their lives and they are sharing their thoughts and struggles with me. As a peace flowed through me and I stood up to face my manger and my oxen, I see those faces from that second picture. And I smiled. I may not always love the fingerprints, but I love the children who make them.

The First Last

October 2, 2010



Today was a perfect day outside. The weather couldn't have been more inviting and my children were so content to be outside. We spent the better part of the day riding bikes, having a picnic, chit chatting with neighbors, walking, riding scooters, and playing with friends. In the course of today, Caley practiced riding her two-wheeled bike. (Now what made me decide to do this now, take off her training wheels I mean, I am not quite sure but that is quite possibly a whole 'nother blog post!) She rode up North Eastover and down South Eastover, she swerved back and forth, took short "breathing breaks," waved cheerfully to every passerby, and chattered nonstop up and down those roads. All the while I am bent over running, tripping on my own feet, telling her to keep pedaling, catching her near misses, sweating, shushing her chatter, reminding her to keep her eyes forward, and watching out for oncoming obstacles. My thighs were burning, my fingers were cramping and yet all the while she is as confident as a queen and excited to be "riding a two wheeled bike!" As all this was going on, my mind was in a complete reverse remembering this little girl who once was my sweet K-Bear Baby. I remember so much of her babyhood, I think because we were in flight school and Patrick was home much more. I had time to savor her. I remember her first steps, I remember her waving for the first time, I remember her coming home from the hospital, and I remember watching her crawl. She had a whole cheering section being the baby of four. I think each sibling can remember a first for Caley about something. As those firsts were flashing through my mind, I had a sad thought too. Since she is my last "baby," how many "lasts" had I missed of hers and of her older brothers and sister? A thought occurred to me, I have celebrated every first, but when you don't know it's a last, the moment passes without so much as a glance. When was the last time Logan reached out to grab my hand or ask me to read a picture book at bed, when was the last time Cole sat on my lap or needed me to buckle him getting in the car, when was the last time I had to lift Lillie on a swing or catch her coming down a slide , when was the last time Caley took a bottle or fell asleep in my arms, when was the last time the boys played with their Hot Wheels, or the girls with that soft pink doll? When was the last time I folded a little sleeper sack or burp cloths, pushed each one in a baby jogger, or fixed a sippy cup? When did I buy my last jar of baby food and when did I stop needing a diaper bag? All of those lasts went by unnoticed, not celebrated, or even documented, not because they weren't important, but I didn't take the time to step back and take notice. How much more would we savor a moment if we knew it was a last? Oh, the firsts, those are so much easier to recognize, but those of us with bigger children, how many lasts have we missed? And if we knew it was a last, how much more would we slow down, ponder, treasure that moment? Mary did the same as Jesus entered her life. God made her aware of her Son, who He was, and in a sense, gave her a glimpse of the first lasts to take notice of. She treasured and pondered (Luke 2:19). As I am running hunched over around the park, suddenly my back didn't seem to hurt as much and I was less concerned about her keeping her eyes on the road and waving to all of our neighbors instead of pedaling. God gave me a first last to savor, to document, to anticipate, and to remember. I know it is coming, there will be a last here soon. My last child to teach to ride a two wheeled bike, to run hunched over shouting encouragement, and to cheer on as she pedals away from me for the first time. Just like I saw her first steps coming, so I anticipated them, I watched for them, I carried around my camera to be certain to catch the moment, I will do in the upcoming days with my first last to take notice of. I will continue running around the park but I will be watching, I will be anticipating, and I will be remembering. I will take little snapshots in my mind and I will try to remember small details like her cute ballerina bike helmet and her sparkle shoes she is wearing. I will treasure this moment when it comes, I will carefully let go and watch her ride away, I will ponder the "bigness" of the moment and I won't miss it this time. Hopefully, this is the first of many lasts for me to treasure. I am so thankful that I get to have a first last with my Caley.



*October 5, 2010...She learned to ride. In one big moment, I let go and off she went. As you can see from the picture above, I didn't miss it.

All Rolled into One

In the busy-ness of my day, I caught myself retreating to my own thoughts. The happy "noise" around me stemming from the excitement of a birthday party just a few hours away, makes me smile,... for the most part. How could it not be happy? There are Oreo cupcakes (that alone can make my day), friends from the neighborhood and church plus their families (I love to invite whole families still instead of a "drop off."), presents arriving daily in the mail, cards to boot, the hustle and bustle of picking up last minute items, and just the sheer look of joy on the birthday boy's face. All of it, should make me smile all day. It is the birthdays though, during a deployment, that leave me happy, exhausted, thankful, and sad, all rolled into one.

The happy is the overwhelming feeling. I am happy to be this little boy's momma. I love that he is our exclamation point. I love that he needs love from me; he is my cuddle bug. I love his attention to detail even to the point that it can drive you mad. I love his slowness (at times) and his ability to savor the moment. I love that God placed him perfectly in this family and even through our challenges, at the end of everyday I still think he is the sweetest, most bighearted 9 year old I know.

The exhausted feeling, exhausted with the planning, the organizing, and the logistics. I was always made to feel so special on my birthdays and that is something I so badly want to pass on to my little ones. But with that need to make everything special and "perfect" for that one little person, and with my expectations sometimes a little lofty, it can leave me feeling like I have run a race especially when it's just me...flying solo.

I am thankful on these days for what I have been given and what I have been blessed with. I wouldn't take a "do over" for anything because where I am is exactly where God has me. Everything up to this point has become the life I know and live for today. I am thankful for my husband, for the specialness of this day for the two of us. I still say my most cherished memories with the man I have been given are in the moments just before we deliver a baby. It's just the two of us, how we first started our life together and how we will end our life together. It's our moment, meant for no one else. And in the preciousness of that moment, we welcome a life together. A life we are responsible for, a life that out of God's Grace, we get to keep...for awhile. I am thankful for each one, each precious one has added a dimension to my life that makes me a better wife, mom, and person.

And at the end, there is sadness. Not much, but it's there. Birthdays, when Patrick is away, are the hardest days of all. It is a picture in general of how much he sacrifices for a country we so dearly love. He misses birthdays. Not by choice but because of the obligation he has, because of the honor he carries. People tell me all of the time, "I don't know how you do it," but really I don't know how HE does it, and in such a way of not making us feel second best even when he misses the birthdays. On these days, I am sad for him and for all that he misses, for the two of us as a couple, and for my little ones. But I'm not looking for people to feel sorry for us; it's our life, it's what we know, and it's our "normal."

Birthdays are celebrations of all the little things: little league games, school days, bike rides, camping trips, talks that make up the everday life of this child. It is being happy for what has been and what is to come. It's being able to smile at the future. With him not there, I can amazingly feel so very alone in the midst of 35 people moving about me, through the chorus of voices singing "Happy Birthday," and the laughs and smiles. But I know I am not. I have a God Who has promised to never leave me nor forsake me, and I stand on that. My feelings are what they are, just feelings. I don't make it a habit of letting my train run on feelings, thankfully. But they're there nonetheless. So today you will have to excuse me if when you ask, "How are you doing?" I answer happy, exhausted, thankful, and just a little bit sad...all rolled into one.