Mother of Four

So. Now I'm a mother of four. Two boys and two girls. I love my life and all it's craziness. Yet I feel too young to be the mom of four kids. Just yesterday, I was a kid myself. Wow.

Now that I've had kids, I have to say that the fourth child feels like the ultimate adjustment.

No longer will we fit in a 5-seat pick up truck.

Or a normal sized restaurant booth.

Or be considered a small/normal sized family.

Or fit comfortably in a small house.

Or have ample room in our mini-van.

Or evenly sandwich ourselves, kid, parent, kid, parent, kid in family pictures.

Or all fit on a normal size couch.

But I love it. I love that our days, activities, life and vehicles are overflowing with these little people. From the robust hollers of morning breakfast to the tiny, sleeping cherub faces at night, each moment is an adventure and frequent reminder to the busy-ness and crazy-ness of life with little people.
It's been seven weeks since I took on my new title as Mother of Four. Seven exhausting yet blissful weeks. From 8lbs 5oz all the way up to almost 12lbs, this little person keeps changing our world. Korynne Elizabeth Nelson greeted our lives on a chilly, winter morning (12/28/10) after putting in her leave of absence notification 26 hours earlier. It was a long and exhausting journey but the bright eyes and bushy head of hair, complete with the fattest cheeks ever, soon peered up at our tired faces and made the whole process worth it a hundred times over. Since that moment, she hasn't stopped demanding food, accepting our kisses on her fat little cheeks, screaming night and day for all the things little babies scream for and filling our house with the heavenly scent of Baby.

The sleepless nights with our littlest person, are soon coming to an end. The bright eyes and alert attentiveness that happens on that precious little face in the dead of night, will soon be taken over by "normal" sleep patterns. And these newborn days will be over.

Earlier this week on the morning of our 8th Anniversary, little Korynne was in a deep conversation with her daddy. Of course, all the conversing was taking place on the daddy end of the conversation but suddenly, that little girl wrapped her daddy even tighter around her fat little finger and let out a cute little baby coo. And that daddy, while wrapped snuggly around that tiny finger, gushed and swooned despite his manly, athletic, six-foot, four-inch frame and in the most excitement I've ever seen that man in, said, "Honey! She said her first word!"
Yes, being mommy of four, really can't be better than this.

Happy Birthday Zack-Man!

It's not that hard to smile. Really, it isn't. It's not that hard to show a little concern. Or care. Or kindness. Or interest into an other's life. Really, it isn't.

And whenever I think it is, I think of my brother Zack.

Zack turns 19 today. He's a nice fellow to have around, always chatting and keeping you company. He shows great interest in everything you're doing and asks a million-and-one questions about things related to your life. He pretty much always has a smile on his face and a song in his heart and begs his siblings to just sit down at the piano and play lively little tunes so he can beat his African drum to the music.

And he never misses a beat either. He's like a living metronome and keeps us all in line.

By today's standards, Zack has many reasons to be unhappy. He had a rough start in life and spent the first 2 years of his life in and out of Children's hospitals. He struggled developmentally for years and actually still does. He will never have a successful job nor will he marry and have kids. He can't talk very clearly nor can he carry a tune. But, he loves to do his chores. He loves kids. He loves to talk. And he sings every chance he gets.

Zack has Down Syndrome.

Zack smiles at everyone. He's always friendly and remembers people's names. He thrives on people. He's taught me the value of smiling and being cheerful and showing friendliness to everyone. Not just to people I know.

Like yesterday when I rode a Ferris Wheel for the first time in my life. We were at the state fair together and it was a special occasion. Not to mention that Toby really wanted me to ride the Ferris Wheel with him. Ever since I was a child, I had always wondered what it would be like to ride one so to have the man of my dreams invite me on one, was special indeed.

While we waited in line, I anticipated our ride. I knew it would be special. Toby and I would sit on one side, our arms around each other. The kids would sit around us, enjoying the scenery. I just knew it had to be a spectacular and romantic moment.

Meanwhile, an older man stood ready and waiting at the gate. He had his tickets in hand and he stood in line for a long time. I didn't notice him until right when we got up to the gate ourselves; he was a little guy and almost appeared to be a child from behind.

I noticed his toe nails were over grown and cracked. He was severely wall-eyed and you couldn't tell where he was looking exactly. He walked slow, almost in a shuffling manner. He had a quiet voice but he was excited about the ride ahead of him.

When it came time for him to go through the gate, he started walking through but the ticket man stopped him and asked if he had someone to go with him. The older man smiled and pointed to his chest and nodded. He was obviously alone, even if he said he wasn't. With sympathy, the ticket guy told him he couldn't let him on by himself; he had to have someone to go with. The lady and daughter next in line were motioned to step forward.

The older man stepped back, looked around and didn't really know what to do. He seemed confused but really wanted that ride. So he kept waiting in line. He was excited about his ride and held the tickets in his hand expectantly, waiting for his turn to get on. He obviously hadn't understood that he was disqualified because he kept his handful of tickets ready. The bright look on his face showed he was undaunted. He was clueless as to the let down of what this meant.

This man had Down Syndrome.

When it came time for us to get on the Ferris Wheel, I glanced up at Toby, asked if he'd care (which I knew the answer to already), and then told the ticket guy the older man was welcomed to ride with us.

The ticket guy warmly thanked us and he and another staff arranged our gondola for us. They seemed to be taken back by our willingness to let a stranger go with us and made a pointed effort to thank us.

We climbed in and our guest ungracefully clamored into his seat. He landed with a bit of a thud. He was unhurt but his balance was unacceptable for a swaying fair-ride contraption and we realized later, he really did need assistance going over uneven surfaces. But he was excited about his ride and kept motioning with his hands what the Ferris Wheel was doing.

The wheel started turning and we tried to have a conversation with our friend. It was hard to decipher most of the things he said but I tried to translate -- his speech was similar to Zack's only worse because his tongue was almost lazy about pronunciation. But he never gave up trying to talk. If we asked him to repeat it again, he'd take a deep breath, kind of look away and then say it again. He was very patient.

We asked what his name was. First he said his name was Todd. Then it sounded like Tom. Then it sounded like he said Ty. He mumbled and didn't make much sense in his speech But, he did talk about the Marines and pointed to his army-print shorts and saluted.

He asked us what our names were and held out a limp hand to shake our hands in greeting (just like Zack). He told us he was 55 and wanted to find "an old lady to marry" and with a funny grin on his face, pointed at me. We laughed and enjoyed the scenery and listened to "Ty" talk about Milwaukee and Las Vegas and his brother and how he got to the fair by bus.

When we got off our ride, a lady was waiting with a smile at the end of the exit ramp. She was "Ty's" caretaker and told us his name was actually "John." She laughed when we told her he said he was from Milwaukee and she thanked us profusely for letting him ride with us. She gave us 2 extra ride tickets that she wasn't going to use and then tenderly took John by the hand back to the group they had come with.

And so concluded my first ever Ferris Wheel ride. I have to admit, it was memorable indeed. Probably even more so than I ever thought a first Ferris Wheel ride could be. In a way, it felt like I spent it with Zack. The mannerisms that John had were identical to Zack and I loved how natural and comfortable he felt with us. It was just like Zack.

Every time I see a Ferris Wheel from now on, I'll remember the importance of a smile and the special experience it is when you do the least expected to "one of the least of these."

"And the King shall answer and say to them, Truly I say to you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brothers, you have done it to me." Matthew 25:40

But really, if you ask me, people like Zack and John are almost pictures of what heaven will be like. They carry no grudges. No shame. No pretense. No guile. They don't worry about the stock market. Or their jobs. Or what they're going to do tomorrow. They just love unconditionally.

It's funny how we tend to look at "special" people and think they really miss out on life since they can't enjoy things "normal" people can. I have come to realize that people like Zack and John may not have the greatest physics. But their hearts are the biggest pumping muscle known to mankind. And it makes me wonder if really the ones missing out are maybe us "normal" people. Maybe in reality, those special folks are created so perfect that they have a perpetual tunnel of vision into heaven's glory which is proven in the the way they treat others. They understand us yet we at times never understand them.

And no matter how they're treated, they still smile. It's no wonder Landon's middle name is after my brother Zachary. Zack has always been my hero. His strength, his confidence, his happiness, his honesty and his unintimidated way of loving is absolutely phenomenal.

I hope he has the Happiest Birthday ever today because he deserves every bit of it.


Zack and my brothers Gabe (piano) and Levi (guitar) jamming it up for another round of "The Syndrome Brother's Band." Go here to listen... And then go here to hear another classic.

How Big Is Your God?

You know, it's hard sometimes to hit those points in life where it feels like every where you look, go and see, you are surrounded by leaves. And I'm not talking about Autumn or literally as in "tree leaves" but figuratively speaking, of course. (I am waxing quite poetic here... bear with me.)

The truth is, they are actually more real and more life impacting than the maple leaves laying in my backyard tonight that should be raked and stuffed into a scare crow sometime tomorrow since the weather is supposed to be nice.

Despite trying to ignore these leaves, I feel like each one is being turned over and a new side is showing. Some turn with grief. Others with practical change. Still others with joy.

Yet in the past few months, I have been so amazed at the ways God has answered prayers. Prayers I never thought could ever have answers. It's almost as if I hope to pray about something but don't know how to really ask God or tell God or convey to God any of what I'm thinking, and then He hears my heart and then answers... as in, literally answering an impossible prayer!

Even down to the exact words. Like tonight I was thinking about a situation Toby and I are facing. "Lord, I really want to get in touch with my husband," I prayed honestly in desperation. (If you think I'm honest and open on my blog, I'm even more honest and open with God. If you don't believe me, just ask God.) Not 20 minutes later, my husband came to me and through the course of conversation said, "Honey, we just really need to get in touch again." (deja vu anyone?) And not only did he say it but he laid out a practical way to actually make that idea more than just a "oh that's a nice thing to say to your spouse" kind of thing.

The first plan of action? We set a coffee date. And coffee dates always makes us both talk, not just the one of us.

Dealing with parenting 3 toddlers and running a business that often keeps Toby gone 14 hours a day and then feeling the need to have friends and socialize on top of the effort we as a couple make to keep our marriage strong, is a juggling act more complicated than any circus act you'll see.

(Even writing that is complicated: I just spent 10 minutes trying to figure out how to word the above paragraph so it wouldn't look entirely confusing and then I'd be admitted to a mental institution because of the concern of my dear readers here that you'd have to spend the next 10 minutes trying to figure out what I meant by describing a 4 piece juggling act called 'my life.')

Okay, if that doesn't make sense, you are now qualified expected to move on to the next paragraph, please.

Knowing that the God who ordained the universe in a set motion and plan that was meant to incorporate even the craziest of my days, is an awesome comprehension... especially when your prayers are answered, your storms are ceased and your anxiety melts to peace.

And that same God who controls the universe, sees fit to lay on your husband's heart a prayer you just prayed not an hour before, all makes you wonder if you really know how big your God is.

It could all end right there and I'd still be impressed. But it's just like God to compile the most ironic bonus package when I least expect it, and He followed the prayer up by an unexpected early morning coffee date all uninfluenced by me.

No wonder I can't sleep tonight.

A Matron Of Honor Recounts THE Wedding

It was a lovely day for a wedding. Perfect weather. Perfect sun. Perfect temperature. It honestly could not have been any better.

After a short night of sleep the night before, 3 of us girls piled out of the same bed and the 4 other room mates got up as well. The nice thing about going to bed at 2am and showering just before you crawl in your bed is the fact that you don’t need a shower a mere 5 hours later when the alarm goes off. It’s like a glorified nap. We saved water and time that way although we did lose sleep using this sleep vs. shower method.

A short hour and 45 minutes later found a whole passle of smiling, giggling girls spilling out of the same hotel room and bustling down to a waiting, shiny limo. A couple of us weighed our options and opted for coffee instead of a limo ride. Yeah, that's how important coffee can be to a person: instead of taking your first limo ride ever, you’d settle for coffee instead. I almost felt foolish mature watching the gawking hotel guests drool over the our limo while I slipped into a blue Corolla instead and went to a drive through coffee shop. But, my priorities were in order and that's all that mattered.

Arriving at the church we immediately plugged in irons, set up ironing boards, began fixing hair and spraying perfume. I personally became heavily intoxicated with the cloud of hair spray and perfume and nail polish that filled the room we were in but hey, at least we all looked nice and smelled good too.

After getting my hair done, I began to prepare for putting on my dress. The Dress. That bridesmaid dress I had slaved over along with my kind sister-in-law who had finished it up for me and made it fit perfect.

As I went to get my hand picked undergarments that I needed before putting the dress on, I found that they were no where. I looked everywhere I knew I had put them and they were entirely missing. I ran out to the limo that had just arrived with the male wedding attendants and interrogated the driver about the location of my clothing. The petrified driver kindly assured me my clothes were not in the luggage area as he nervously dodged my flailing arms and threatening jabs while preparing to step back in his limo. I searched the church foyer, the car I had come over to the church in and ransacked all the luggage and duffel bags that were not my own. But, nothing turned up. The clothes were missing.

I called a family member still at the hotel asking them to please check the room my clothes were last in. The clothes were gone. I just knew they were probably sitting in the corner of an elevator or laying strewn on a parking lot somewhere getting black tire marks on my much lacy necessary “clothing.”

I was desperate and really needed to be dressed and practicing the piano instead of running around like a chicken with my head cut off in search of lingerie. I finally decided to just go to the bathroom and think. While in my perfume intoxicated state of mind and feeling dizzy from all the smells and lack of fresh air, I found in that hazy bathroom that the clothes I needed were already where they were supposed to be: on me. I was so relieved that the embarrassment of the whole ordeal did nothing to keep me from relieving the worried bride and my fellow bridesmaids that this matron of honor had indeed accounted for everything she needed for this day. I was met with scoffing laughter instead of sighs of relief.

And I don't understand why.

Anyway, now the dress. The Moment had come. I put it on, stepped out of the bathroom for inspection. I was met with yeah-it’s-okay-but-are-you-sure-you-can’t-tighten-your-bra-straps type of reaction. Not the type of response a maiden of honor expects. Or appreciates.

I decided to try on a different dress. So, I grabbed another one laying over the back of a chair. That one was too tight.

I slipped out one last time, hoping I hadn’t lost/gained too much weight over the course of time that had lapsed since my dress was sewn and grabbed the next dress I could find. Finally, it fit. I am making a mental note to personalize matching dresses I make from now on in order to save on time and the embarrassment of trying on every pink dress I could lay my hands on. Bare in mind that this is moving closely to about an hour before the beginning of the wedding and I still needed to practice the piano –before guests arrived—and do the finishing touches on myself.

I zipped into the still empty sanctuary and ran to the piano, relieved I was alone to practice the song assigned to me by the bride for her special day. I began to play and suddenly out of no where, people dressed in black began flashing lights at me, zooming in on my playing and taking in the piano from different angles. That was an excellent practice set up because it made me feel like I was seriously performing and definitely on display. It was realistically intimidating which was what I needed to live in the moment of performance without actually performing.

My fingers glided perfectly and as the damper peddle faded the song at the end, the photographer began to tell me how much he liked that song and the arrangement he heard and how he had it on his Ipod and perhaps I could listen to it later on that day. It was the inspiration I needed and appreciated but didn’t expect.

Doing the finishing touches on myself, opening bridal attendant gifts and then racing to the kitchen to get a bite to eat in order to help eliminate a sure tendency of fainting, I realized this was it. The groom was visiting with his attendants and looked out-of-the-ordinarily sober and serious. I felt an advantage on my sister (the bride) because I got to talk to the groom and see him on HER wedding day before she did. HA! Wait! That was the point… duh.

Teetering on the gold, pointy heeled sandals strapped to my feet, I attempted to gracefully flit around and make sure everything was in line that I was in charge of: flower girl, ring bearers, husband-of-the-matron-of-honor, etc. I found myself happily accepting the steady strong arm of the brother-of-the-bride who also happened to be my brother too. Those darling sandals were for looks, not for wearing. But, if you had a handsome soldier to escort you around, you knew exactly how Cinderella must’ve felt.

Helping the bride put on her beautiful gown, I couldn't believe the miracle that takes place in a girl when she becomes a bride in that one single moment. It’s a transformation. The point in time when she enters that portal between single hood and marriage. The radiant beauty the dress inspires in the girl that is now The Bride is heavenly. It was HER day. And she looked every bit of it too.

The moment came for us to line up in the order of our attendant positions. And then the tears of happiness came. I have never in my life had obvious tears on my eyes because I was happy. I was petrified my make-up would run and began receiving directions from all kinds of friendly people on how to dab one's eyes when you wear the kind of make-up you are not used to wearing. The rest of the people I was with told me to just quit crying because if I cried, then they would cry too. I felt so responsible in my out of character state of my mind and quickly controlled my tears. And that make-up.

The music started. The Grandmothers were seated. It was too late now to do anything else. Everything had to be ready. The first attendants entered the church. And then the next. And then the next and so on and so forth until it was my turn.

I stepped out on the white runner with my sparkly, tipsy sandals while taking hold of the strong arm of the attendant I was attending with. Thankfully, he had a much more substantial base than I had and it allowed me to thrive in the moment of dainty heels, shimmering dress, climaxing processional music and the fact that my sister was getting married. Immediately, I felt all the excitement and emotion of such a special day and my smile felt like my face would break. I was so happy.

I remembered back a few years when I walked down the same aisle on the arm of my father to the smiling groom waiting for me at the front of the church. I looked over to where that groom sat watching me and saw that same smile and that darling wink. I was so happy.

This was Brittney's day. The day she had waited for. Her groom had a very pleased smile on his face when we met eyes and I could tell he partook of the same joy I had for Britt only his was deeper. He had so much love for her in his eyes. This man that had won my sister's heart was worthy of her affection. He was so happy and I could see in his eyes what a million words could never say: she's all mine now and I will cherish her forever.

In a shower of pink petals and bright, giggly smiles, the flower girl and ring bearer put on a delightful show of sprinkling flowers down the aisle runner. They were perfect. I had no idea those children could possess such perfection. Anyone could tell they delighted in the participation they had in their Aunt Beemoo's day and the joy they had was evident in the pink cloud of petals they were all the way down the aisle.

And then the bride. She was beautiful. Her hair was perfect. Her dress sparkled like a ray of sunshine. Her smile, her confidence, her happiness, her composure, her love... all were as evident as the sun was outside. She didn't take her eyes off her groom the whole way down the aisle. She was radiant. This was the moment of her life and she celebrated every minute of it. I was so happy.

The ceremony, special music and vows were all perfect. Nothing went wrong. The first kiss was beautiful and the smiles and peace the couple had together was so inspiring to watch. They were definitely on a good start to a great marriage.

I never knew a day could be so perfect. But it was. And I was so happy but even happier that the happiness didn't end when the last notes of the recessional died down. A good marriage is sure to follow this happy wedding and I look forward to at last having a married sibling and settling down to life as young married couples together.

As hard as it is to believe, I have an idea I'm not half as happy as Andy and Britt are though. And for some reason, that makes me real happy.

I would post a picture from the wedding but due to previously committed-to requests, I was unable to photograph any part of the wedding. I guess that's part of being IN the wedding: you can't take pictures OF the wedding yourself. So, I captured it the best I could in words although I do realize that a single picture is worth a thousand words.

Working It Up in the Corn Husker State

Nebraska continues to amaze me. Which is actually a good thing otherwise I'd be bored stiff after 5 years in this flat, corn field state.

Seriously though, 'corn field' is about all I can think of right now. Cobs and cobs of corn filling and overflowing pick up trucks. And about a quarter of that (okay, my figuring could be off... I stand corrected if so) mounding high in the back of my van.

It all magically transformed into a tractor bucket full of neatly shaved corn cobs and about 200 bags of sweet, yellow, juicy corn all ready for a hand full of freezers spread across this side of the state.

First the corn had to be picked. That was only for the strongest, the bravest and the smartest (I have to talk these people up because really, their job was a big one.) "The Slackers" stood in knee high grass with grass hoppers climbing our legs and large bee-like flies buzzing around our head while we husked.

Husking for several hours in the hot sun brought "close fellowship" and an array of topics to discuss. Grass hoppers and bugs added to the excitement as well as certain children that failed to remove all the hair from the naked cobs. Sharp knives hacked the ends of the cobs off and usually an aunt or two would shriek in horror when the child closest to them would start flailing and stabbing at a cob of corn. It was scary. Children with sharp knives should always be careful or better yet, they should just not have knives at all when their aunts are around. Or, the aunts should just stop shrieking in horror. (says an aunt who shrieked a time or two).

Then the corn was "cleaned" and stacked/piled/dumped into a place where it waited to be cleaned and cooked.

A double propane heater boiled the kettles of water which cooked the corn for either 3 minutes or 5 minutes, depending on who was cooking it and if they were getting their way with the timer or not.

Then the corn was quickly transported to cold water. Once the cobs began to float, they were moved to an even colder tub with ice in it. There it was cooled and carefully watched so it could be moved out ASAP in order to keep everyone busy (namely the cutters).

The Person moving the corn would shout an echoing "CUTTERS" as he carried the cold corn in colanders to the make shift, plywood-board-on-saw-horses table where about a dozen people stood ready with bowls and sharp knives. From there the corn was cut into sticky, kernelly bowls and then carefully measured into hundreds of bags (okay, just make that 2 hundred) and then counted, re-counted, counted, re-counted and then re-counted again before being stored in a cooler, freezer or box.

A home cooked meal spread itself throughout the processing part of our corn work and our hostess was amazing. She seemed to manage being at least 7 places at once and yet stayed unstressed, giddy and throwing her two cents around. I love people like that.

I would've taken pictures but I didn't bring my camera. Just envision big tables heaped with yellow corn. Huge rubbermaid bins piled high with a juicy mound of corn. And old wash tubs filled to the brim with waiting, yellow corn. And then picture lots of dirty, wet, sticky people yelling to be heard above the loud fans and noise while cleaning, cutting, packaging and tasting corn.

I learned some new phrases today and what they mean. Also, some new experiences were experienced today.

"Working it up." Three little words, but whoa, they mean a lot. WORKING must be emphasised (if you know what "work" means, you understand how to emphasis it) and use the word "up" to the fullest, highest amount you can fathom. 'Working it up' is a great way to call what we were doing with corn today.

"Shucks" is not always used as a euphemistic word to describe frustration, disappointment, etc.; it's also another word to describe the husks wrapping the corn before we strip it off.

"Shelly" is a cow. And she knows her name.

You don't have to have OCD in order to insist on counting all the cobs just so you can know how many cobs to pick/plant/plan on next year. Or wanting to throw the shaved cobs off the tractor bucket in the dark one at a time in order to count them... "one... two... three...." Is it even possible to count that high in the dark? What would happen if you accidentally threw an extra cob but didn't know if it was just one extra or two extra? Unanswered questions remain as the person wishing to intricately count each cob did not get their wish to come true. We will never know how many cobs of corn we effected on this green, growing earth. Or how many we should effect next year.

Bare feet on a cement slab sandwiching a green, gooey worm is a very impeccable experience. Don't try it. Just don't.

The R on your vehicle does not stand for "roll forward." It actually means 'Reverse' (or, backwards, if you use simple English) and if you don't intend to go that way, I suggest putting it in D for drive. Because we all know that the only way to go forward is to 'drive.' (You'd think you'd remember this stuff from your Driver's Ed book...)

And when the bowls are finally empty, the kettles have quit cooking and the knives are laying still, we all know what the corn is then: it's all; the term used when something is gone/finished/empty/over/etc. in Nebraska.

That sums it up for Nebraska Corn Season First Picking Of Season 2008: it's all. But, it all was very fun.

Better Than A Friendship; Deeper Than A Relationship

We all have people in our life that we're related to. We call them "family."

We all have people in our life that we hang out with. We call them "friends."

We all have people in our life that we share all our secrets with. We call them "good friends."

We all have people in our life that we go through hard times with. We call them "faithful friends."

We all have people in our life that love us despite what they know about us. We call them "true friends."

We all have people in our life that live nearby and are available at a moment's notice for anything. We call them "reliable friends."

But when we have people in our life that are all of the above, what do we call them?

The Kind Of Love To Know

Driving down the street the other day, reflecting on life and all it's aspects, I was thinking specifically about relationships. As you can tell from my blog, I've put a lot of thought into those lately.

Friendships mean a lot to me. I love all my friends and they each hold a special place in my heart. I seek to maintain relationships with them even if I'm out of reach, out of touch and out of state. But, I've learned that sometimes the people we love the most in life, are the ones we are most apt to hurt and to be hurt by.

As I drove along deep in thought, and all while missing a dear friend, I saw something that almost took my breath away. And when you're driving, it's not a good thing to stop breathing.

A young girl stood off the side walk. She was sad and crying. Something was really bothering her. But standing next to her, stood her friend. Holding her, comforting her, being there for her.

The most vivid thing I saw while I drove past was the arm of the friend around the girl's shoulders. Just a arm but yet how profound. It was a symbol of love. Of, "no matter what happens, I'm here." Of, getting so close to her hurting friend that she wanted to bear that burden. Hold her up. Keep her strong. And if that didn't work, just be there.

And then I realized that you don't always have to understand a friend in order to "be there" for them. That it doesn't matter what hurt them or how they're hurt, you can still "be there" for them. And that a strong arm on their shoulder, says a lot.

At that moment, I knew what I needed to do. The picture I saw in a flash as I drove past was one of love and care and faithfulness. I wanted to be that kind of friend to the friend I was missing. To show love. To show that I care. And to show that I'll be there, no matter what. I blinked the tears out of my eyes so I could see the road and I realized then what an impression that picture of love had made on my heart. And I knew what I needed to do.

If a friend can believe that you mean it when you say you love them and will be there through thick and thin, there is nothing more beautiful than having a token of their trust manifested through the same commitment they make to you. And a mutual trust, is a good thing to bank on.

God loved me first, unworthy though I am and so predictable of failure. And He loves me every single day. How can I except anything else from myself than giving my all when it comes to loving others? Who am I to think my love is special and must be rationed according to circumstances? If God loved me like that... I can't imagine where I'd be. How can I think I have a right to love others less than He loves me? Especially when I know He loves them too.

Love is stronger than death. And I have known that kind of love.

You Know You Miss A Good Friend...

when every time you see a vehicle like their's, you do a double take and hope that it's them. Or you wildly chase a white vehicle like their's, hoping that your eyes are seeing things and that the vehicle is really green.

All you can do is hope your friend misses you too and that they know, you really miss them.

The Ins and Outs of Interesting

Today looks like an interesting day. And I mean interesting as in fun, not boring, lots to do, happy, relaxing, productive, and sunny.

It started with Alex waking up at 4:30am for a bottle and then when I got back to bed, Toby was up. Though I do lose some sleep, it's fickle compared to the fun it is of waking up next to the one you love and enjoying the early morning alone, with no distractions, noise or kids. We had coffee and toast and devotions together before he headed off to work.

The interesting part of the day happened when I saw what Janae got dressed with. I wanted to get a picture of her but didn't get a chance. She had a purple night shirt on, backwards but buttoned correctly. Pink tights on her legs and bright pink Dora crocs on her feet and she was all set. She planned to go outside and play like that. (we are very thankful for our privacy fence.)

Then she decided to put Alex down for a nap and made a pallet of blankets on the floor with a pillow. She dragged him to his "bed," covered him up, turned on the sound maker and shut the light off before closing the door as she left. He wasn't too happy about it.

I have some landscaping and yard work to do today but not entirely motivated to do it since I need to get some supplies before the project can be finished. The sun is so inviting though and I would love to get the kids out in it.

Before the interesting conglomeration of kiddos sitting in the corner of the kitchen gets anymore interesting than it already is, I should quit being distracted and get back to work. "Interesting" can be fun but when out of hand, "interesting" is, well, just plain interesting...

A Few Profound And Some Not So Profound Thoughts

Storing all the diapers in one room is like keeping all your eggs in one basket: if a diaper is needed and for some reason you can't get into the room (especially if there is a sleeping child in there), you're sunk either way.

The best friends to have are people that know you better than you know yourself and love you despite what they know.

I don't understand why they say to "shake well before using" on pump bottles or spray bottles. Everything in the nozzle and tube leading up to the nozzle is usually all that's needed for one use and we all know that nothing can be mixed very well in a tube even if you do "shake well."

People that understand you even when they don't agree with you are the only kind of friends to have.

If you wear sunglasses on your face on a sunny day and end up with a "mask" from the glasses protecting your face around your eyes, would you get the same pattern on your hair if you tipped your glasses to your head?

If you can pick up with a friend right where you left off no matter how much time has gone by, THAT is a true friend. Any other person is just an acquaintance.

Marriage is the only relationship that must be maintained on a day-to-day basis. A good friend knows that.

All relationships are a two-way street: one-way street relationships get really old because you can never turn around and come back the way you came without breaking the law.

Life is complicated: some friends are enemies and some enemies are friends but not all enemies are enemies nor are all friends, friends.

If 2 kids is the All-American-family, what country is identified in a 3 kid family?

To love is a risk. To love never is a greater risk.

"I'm making sense; you just don't understand me."

If a friend calls you right before they board a plane for a dangerous country, you know they love you. If they planned their funeral before they left and decided to call you when they couldn't reach their own family, you know they really love.

When arguing with another person, you can change your mind instead of giving in and then you both win.

Changing your mind to agree with your spouse is the best way to win.

If you only use re-dial on your phone, you need to call somebody else for a change.

If your friend jumps out when the road gets bumpy, don't bother waiting for them when the road gets smooth again. They probably got stuck in the mud and nobody likes a stick in the mud.

Deep thoughts are like the deepest parts of the ocean; no one knows what's in them.

Facts That Until Now Were Unblogged

March 2 Was A Big Day For Landon. He turned 4, started Sunday School and shared a birthday party with 2 cousins who also share his birthday month. He even got a guitar that day.

Janae Hasn't Participated In Any Breaking News. At least for a few days now. And that in itself is worth commenting on. (Knocking really hard on wood right now...)

Alex Has His Own Room. Or, at least is the only one that sleeps in the living room. He gets a whole full corner to himself which is actually a big deal because our living room only really has 1 full corner. Best of all, he is sleeping so much better now... or should I just say that I am since I can't hear him everytime he cries or makes noise during the night.

Our Basement Will Soon Be Listed In The Guinness Book Of Records. Seriously, it has got to be the world's most challenging basement to waterproof. The Basement Professionals have been here going-on-three-times and it won't be until the middle of March before we know if the problem is fixed. I wouldn't be surprised if they just throw in the towel and give us our money back and advise us to just put a swimming pool down there.

Our Van Demanded A Replacement. If you are wondering why, I'll just say that it would take less time to tell you what was right/unbroke/safe about it than to tell you what was wrong/destroyed/damaged about it. The Lord blessed us with a perfect solution and we were glad to find just what we were looking for right away.

We Made Flubber. And I thought it was a good idea until I went out of the room to talk to Toby (I should've known better) and came back to find blue flubber all over the floor, the table, our bed, up and down and around Janae's pajamas and deep within the fibers of a few spots in the carpet. If you don't know what Flubber is, here's the recipe and a video. The kids spent *literally* hours playing with it.

Toby Is A Really Good Husband. But I bet you all knew that already? Even after 5 years of marriage, it still dawns on me during the few quiet spots in my day that I am married and live with a charming and good husband. I still can't believe it.

Last And Least I Have No Interesting News On Me. So, I guess that's all I have to say about that.

The Occupation You Can't Get A Degree For

I love that store in the mall, Motherhood Maternity. You walk in and the clerk greets you with, "Welcome to Motherhood." It always takes me back and makes me smile. How theatrical it would've been to hear someone say that the day I stepped into the real life of motherhood. But nobody needed to say anything; reality was screaming it and has been every since.

I thought I was ready to get married and start a family when Toby asked my dad if he could court me. I thought I was. In many ways I was. I was good at what I did and compared to a lot of girls my age, I was more than good: I was experienced.

I could cook. I could cook without a recipe. I could cook meals and put them in the freezer. I could plan menus. I could by food in bulk. I knew the best prices. I could can the food I cooked. I loved cooking and baking.

I could clean. I could clean fast. I could organize and clean. I could disinfect and clean. I could bleach without getting it on my clothes. I could clean charred ovens by hand. I could clean toilets and loved it. I could clean grimy sinks and loved it. My two favorite things to clean were (and still are) toilets and sinks.

I could do laundry. I could run a top loader with a sud saver. I could run a top loader without a sud saver. I could run a front loader. I could do 14 loads of laundry a week in a wringer wash machine and then hang it by hand in the basement. I could make laundry soap. I could be frugal about laundry.

I could babysit. I could babysit for days on end by myself with no adults around. I could take care of kids without flinching. I was a natural with small children.

I could change diapers. I could change disposable diapers and cloth diapers. I could make home made wet wipes and use them. I could change diapers for years on end without thinking twice about it.

I could give bottles. Take temperatures. Administer breathing treatments. Look for good color in a baby's skin. Feed children. Garden. Farm. Milk goats. Sew. Quilt. Organize. Run a household. etc.

And then I got married. And had a baby. And I found I was a novice. Completely unprepared. I had no idea motherhood was as heavy a load as it is. Not that it doesn't have it's joys and blessings (it has more than I thought possible) but it is the hardest occupation anyone can pursue.

I had this comment in my comment box recently from a reader who's daughter-in-law is in the throes of motherhood right now....

"She had a problematic day yesterday. All was going well, and in 5 minutes everything fell apart. Is there a high school class for this profession?"

I couldn't agree more. There should be a class for it. Or an entire school. Or at least some time in a boot camp. Seriously.

If a man is going to cut into your brain, he will first go to school for it. If a woman is going to draw blood from your arm, she will first go to school for it. If a man is going to fly to the moon, he will first go to school for it. If a woman is going to teach your kids their ABC's, she will first go to school for it. If a man joins the army, he will first spend weeks of intense training before going into battle. If a woman is going to decorate your house, she will first go to school for it. If a man cooks you a meal at a fancy restaurant, he will first go to school for it. All these occupations require training, learning and provide the student with much information. They also usually guarantee some type of retirement so that in the end, you're prepared to live off your past income.

But, if you decide to spend the next 25 years of your life working night and day, everyday of the week putting on band aids, enduring pregnancy and labor, explaining to your 3 year old why the moon can't sit in the back yard, cooking three meals a day, taking care of your house, saving the life of your 2 year old five times a day and staying up most of the night with your baby, you're on your own. There is no school for you honey. If you can't figure something out, sorry. Just keep trying; you'll get it at some point. Whether you succeed or fail, you won't be paid with money either.

Though motherhood is not a job you can get a degree for beforehand, it's definitely a school within itself; the School of Learning. And we all know we can never graduate from Learning. From what I've learned though, it's the most rewarding job a mom can have. I'd have to admit that though Motherhood is hard and can be unsuspecting at times, it's highly under rated. You have no idea the joy at the end of the day when you look at the day behind you and see what all it held. "Her works shall praise her," is enough of a reward for me.

What A Beautiful Morning...

I get up in the morning and the sound track begins to play. Actually, it usually starts to play before I get up...

"Waaa, Waaa, Waaaa, Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

Eventually, two wet-pull-up kids meander out to the land of the living. I direct them in the ways of proper hygiene: discard pull-up and put on underwear/clean pull-up. (depending on the child's personal bladder success.) When I step on a squishy, wet, gross peed-in-all-night-pull-up later that morning, I realize an act of disobedience was committed. I am considering taping a small trash can to my kid's bottom so that they will remember to THROW THE STINKIN' PULL-UP AWAY.

Yawn. Where's the coffee?

"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."

It's amazing to me that with most kids, any dislikes they may be experiencing when they wake up in the morning can be calmed by food. So, I usually nurse first thing in my day and then feed the other kids. Then the tune of my sound track changes...

"We were going to have hot cocoa! You said last night that when it's light out we could have hot cocoa! I want hot cocoaooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo."

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"I need a kleenex," said by a high-chair-confined-snot-nose-dripping kid.

"Waaa. Waaa. Waaa. Waaa. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..." etc.

Ring, ring, ring, ring.

"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom, can I go downstairs and ride my bike?"

(this repetitious Mom. Mom. Mom. stuff has got to stop.)

Said by Mom in about 2 seconds:

"Child number 1, get off the baby."

"Child number 2, get off the dishwasher. "

Sigh.

"Hey Mom, do babies fart?"

Yes.

"Hey Mom, do ducks fly?"

Yes.

"Mom, do ducks FLY?"

Yes.

"Mom, do ducks FFFLLLYYY?"

Um, yes.

"No Mom, do ducks FLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?"

Yes Landon, they fly.

"They do?"

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

Cat runs through house just then. Confiscate her quick before the leather recliner sports any new holes.

Baby bumps head. Pat his bottom for comfort.

Get Janae off dishwasher. Again. She is putting dishes away.

Duck flies past my head... "Hey Mom, he's flying!"

(it's about time.)

Blocks begin spilling all over living room floor: clean living room, may I add. House stinks like poop/dirty diaper. Cat runs through house again. Baby cries.

Child puts on sandals and heads out the back door to play in the barely-above-zero weather. The non-house dog walking in the kitchen alerts me to the fact that a door was open, a child probably left and the possibility that the dog already peed on the floor is pretty great.

"Mom, I'm going outside and I won't freeze that bad though."

Baby cries.

"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."

What?

"Can we have hot cocoa now? You said when it was light out, we could have hot cocoa."

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

Janae, keep the cat down stairs.

"Mom, dis my babeeee!" she tells me with the fur ball cradled in her arms.

"I'm really firsty!"

Get a drink.

I look up in time to see a kid precariously teetering on the edge of the sink, crawling from one side of the sink to the other.

MEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. (live sound effect of live cat being caught by live two year old.)

3 year old wrestles with baby. He tells me he did this when he was big and had his own kid. (Not sure where this reincarnation philosophy is coming from.)

"That's NICE!" I hear Janae saying from kitchen as he admires her cup of water. She needed a "rink" too.

3 year old attempts to steal cup from 2 year old.

"MINE!"

"Can we eat hot chocolate now?"

No, not yet.

"UH! that's what you said...."

Yes, I know... when it's light out we can have hot cocoa.

Children began digging in tool drawer. A paint brush flies across the living room. A screw driver attempts to take the door of a china cabinet off. A chisel scrapes across a piece of furniture. Baby blows bubbles on the kitchen floor and officially scoots himself for first time from one dirty spot on the floor to another dirty spot. Baby bumps head. Kids go down stairs to play.

"MOM! There's a boogy man in the basement so I need to get a gun!" (he heads for some of the vacuuming cleaner hoses.)

"MOM! Boogy man!" A wide eyed blue eyed girl explains with shock on her face.

Not the vacuum cleaner. Do not touch the vacuum cleaner.

"I'm going buh-bye," Janae informs me.

You're leaving?

"Yeah, she's going buh-bye," Landon explains.

I smirk.

Water spills. Landon wrestles the baby again. Baby cries. Cat tries to get upstairs. Again. Janae wants to get dressed. She's leaving, remember?

The sound track starts the next track. Kids play with toys nicely. Baby quits bumping his head. The phone isn't ringing. Cat stays down stairs. A lit candle takes care of that poop smell. What a picture perfect morning!

Is anybody ready for hot cocoa yet?

-------------
This account is based on a true story. All names, dates, places and occurrences are not author's imagination. Any link to persons known or unknown is not coincidental. Use discretion if under 3: asking your mom for hot cocoa a million times a day just because she said you could have it the night before, does not warrant a good enough reason to drink the stuff at the crack of dawn. And saying Mom. Mom. Mom. (rinse, lather, repeat...) is an unkind act in an attempt to destroy a loved one's sanity.

Trying to Describe the Indescribable

There is something indescribably glorious about living in your home while remodeling. It's not the transformation taking place before your eyes. Or the divine before and after pictures. Or the transforming beauty that can come of dirt, dust and debris. Nor is it the thrill of getting something new.

No. Those are not the indescribably glorious reasons. Those are obviously glorious reasons but that fact that I described them indicates they do not fall in the "indescribably" category.

The indescribably glorious thing about living in your home while remodeling is the feeling of "I can do this" that overtakes you at the end of everyday, and at the dawn of every morning. The feeling of "I am actually surviving" that you feel when you walk through a haze of thick dust just to get to the shower that night. The feeling of "If this doesn't pass soon, I will lose my mind" that you feel on a gloomy day only to have everything feel right that night when your husband comes home and completes the current phase of your project. And that horrible feeling you get in the midst of a long day when you think it all will never end.

The experience of living in a mess. The experience of eating dust. The experience of bathing your kids twice a day because of the dust cloud in your house. The experience of feeling dirty all the time. The experience of not getting enough sleep and working too hard. The experience of insanity.

But, the crux of this indescribably glorious reason about remodeling your home while living in it, is the experience of experiencing all of the above and actually thriving in your survival. I see now why people devote their entire blogs to their latest in home house remodel. It's like running a marathon and winning. The new kitchen, the new basement, the bigger floor plan, those are all secondary. The bliss of it all is looking back and saying, "I did it. I did it. I actually did it."

This is the way we do... Family Get Togethers

My title depicts such a peaceful and calm event. You are probably immediately thrust into a world of reflective nostalgia just by reading my title. You may even feel a bit cozy and warm inside. If so, come to a Nelson Family Get Together and experience something you may not experience with any other family. Peaceful and calm are the definition of what's not at our gatherings.

It ALWAYS goes like this...

After months and even years of not seeing each other, new babies being born, going for weeks of only poor mail communication, rarely experiencing the togetherness of your entire family walking on the same continent at once and enduring months of sickness and trial while separated from the rest of the family, you'd think we'd all be gushy, warm and tickled pink. Not so.

The guys delve into hefty church topics, sort the world's problems and figure out what's wrong with their jobs and the ladies jump into wild shopping trips and unimaginable sewing flings. The kind of sewing that produces a new dress for every female family member by the following Sunday.

The kids? They are here and there and everywhere. Considering the Nelson family is doing a fine job repopulating the earth, we are in our 8th year of reproduction and so far have 11 children 8 and under. That includes 2 new uncles as well. What noise future children lack in now, the current bunch more than compensates for.

We are a colorful family that has members of Haitian, Mexican and Wisconsin ancestry. Plus the usual German and Norwegian here and there.

Eventually during a typical evening, a dad or two will be sprawled on the floor or a couch sound asleep, a grandpa on the computer, another dad reading a book and another dad wondering when his wife is ready to go home. A baby or two will be screaming, the 8 year olds will be trying to stay away from the 4 and 3 year olds and the 2 year olds will by crying for the toys the 8 year olds have. The 6 year old will come up with a gotta-do-it-right-now art project involving lots of paper, a pair of scissors and a handful of crayons. The 4, 3 and 2 year olds will be climbing on, over, under and around the table the 6 year old is designing art. The 8 year olds will suddenly race through the entire maze of children and out the front door to go watch the noisy train and suddenly the whole flock of children will stampede out the room, tripping, falling and pinching themselves through the door. The said dads will remain sleeping, the said grandpa will continue the computer and the other dad will scratch his head and look for his wife.

The wives will be discussing the family reunion. While coming from all parts of the earth (or so it seems), the art of planning the annual, First Ever Family Reunion is a task that should really only be expected from those who have received a degree in such matters. Combine all the criteria with the fact that it is rare, almost entirely completely unexpected that we'll all be on the same continent again in the near future. So, this needs to be a well planned reunion filled with quality time.

Did anyone see the two year old come out of the bathroom yet? And who's kid stinks this time?

So, I get the box of popsicles out while assuring all the sugar concerned parents that these popsicles indeed are made with natural juice and contain no sugar or dyes. Suddenly, I am swarmed by children like a hive is swarmed with bees. I come to find later that in the haste of reading the ingredients label, I miss the fourth ingredient which is composed of a sugar defining ingredient. But, for now, I am only trying to stay standing in the swarm of children at my feet.

He wants his popsicle to match his. She wants a popsicle that's yellow. He wants a popsicle just like hers. And she can't have one tonight since she didn't finish supper. A child that is not mine is pulling on my skirt saying, "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy...." while his parents are yelling across the room that he is supposed to say please. 4 other kids are sitting around the table asking for their popsicle and a little 18mo. old is down by my feet signing "please" in an attempt to get his own popsicle. A dad is sitting across the room on a couch feeling dejected and wondering why I didn't give him one yet, as if I intentionally kept him from having one. "Can I have one please?" continues to circle around the table while I quickly rip open packages of popsicles before being completely stampeded by the flock of children. And bear in mind the box of popsicles has only been out of the freezer for 45 seconds.

Finally, all the children have their popsicles at last and as the noise dies down, a thoughtful aunt sitting in the living room offers to help me. She probably didn't offer to help until then because she knew I wouldn't be able to hear her anyway. That was so thoughtful of her but unfortunately, I had to turn her offer to help down considering the herd of kiddos was quietly and contentedly corralled with the popsicles.

When the rounds of "Can I have another one?" began, hails and shouts of "NO MORE!" came sailing from the living room back to the popsicle craving children. Being obedient children, they all rambunctiously jumped away from the table and dispersed to all ends of the house in a cloud of popsicle wrappers and sticks.

And so ended another Nelson Family Get Together night. The dads relaxed peacefully on couches until the time came to leave and the mothers despaired over another evening spent without concluding the plans for the upcoming family reunion.

I just remind myself in the hubbub of activity that 10 years from now, we'll have two 18 year olds, a 16 year old, a 14 year old, two 13 year olds, two 12 year olds, an 11 year old, two 10 year olds and a 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 year old and a baby or two, at least. And when we're on the same continent 10 years from now, it'll be a whole lot more interesting than an evening eating popsicles and figuring out family reunions; it'll be a busy evening spent conversing with children turned adults.

The innocence and simple excitement of youth is precious and one I hope none of the littles in our family grow out of. Then again, I think that the Nelson Family Get Togethers have enough excitement in them to keep even the oldest of us young.


If I do say so myself, we look like a normal and civilized family afterall! Even the little guy in the front knows how to do a picture in style.... or does he?

12 Reasons Why I Love My Mother-In-Law

She likes to talk.

She likes to listen.

She never leaves me wondering what she's thinking.

She is a firstborn just like me.

She always has time for people.

She lends a hand and helps every chance she gets.

She likes to take my baby to her house just for fun.

She did a ton of my laundry.

She cleaned our house when we had to leave on an unexpected trip.

She made us a good supper tonight and brought it over.

She loves the Lord.

She raised my husband and he's a good man.

On Rotten Bananas and Chipped Teeth

It was after 11 pm and I was starving. The quickest thing I could come up with was a bowl of cold cereal. I'm eating for two anyways (breastfeeding) so I figured since I hadn't had a second breakfast yet, cereal was a good idea. Then I caught myself putting the container of dry cereal in the fridge next to the milk and I wondered if I had had a long day or if it was just one of those "new normal" days that I've been having lately.

I've learned to constantly survey the kitchen before I leave it to make sure I haven't left the stove on or left food out or forgotten to shut the water off in the sink. It's one thing to leave a cupboard door left open but its quite another to leave the fridge open, believe me. Pulling soft butter out of your fridge is a scary thought.

I stuck the cereal back in the cupboard and made sure the milk was still in the fridge. I grimaced at the black bananas sitting next to the milk in my once sterile fridge. Those black, oozy mush tubes looked like a giant slug got stuck in my fridge and had three kids before he (I guess that would be 'she') succumbed to an anti oxygen environment. "Where is the poor mama slug?" I wondered in my sleep deprived brain. Wait! those are the bananas you were going to make banana bread out of 3 days ago! Oh yeah. Duh.

The baby was screaming and had been for most of the evening it seemed. He was starving but wouldn't take his milk. He needed to be burp but wouldn't burp. He wanted to lay on his stomach but only screamed louder when we put him there. He didn't like the lights glaring but he really didn't prefer the dim rooms either. And he needed his pacifier only to spit it out again. I felt like such a successful parent this evening. Especially as I ate my soggy cereal while the baby screamed ten inches behind me in his swing.

But at least the house was quiet. The other two kids were in bed, safe and sound and everyone was healthy, happy and safe. I just love that word, safe. Its funny how you like simple things like "safe" when you've experienced unsafe things which make for eventful experiences.

"Eventful" is another thing that happens a lot around here and I've learned that "eventful" and "unsafe" are not a good combo. Like the day Janae pulled the baby off the bed. Talk about eventful. And definitely unsafe, if you ask me. (In case you're wondering, the baby was fine and didn't even cry).

Or the time Landon locked the bathroom door shut and I had to take the doorknob off to get to the lock so I bit on the blunt end of a hairpin to jam in the lock and ended up with a chipped tooth that sent me to the dentist where I found out that they charge nothing to sand a chipped tooth down that wasn't chipped that bad but there's nothing like finding tooth dust floating in your mouth and rubbing your tongue against a rough corner that used to be smooth before you bit the hairpin that you were using to get the door opened that your son locked. The end.

Now you understand just how exciting eventful can be at our house and why it usually results in something unsafe. Which brings me to this evening.

Landon and Janae have this "game" they play where they run from one end of the house to the other and back again. And they do it over and over and over and over and... you get the idea. Usually they do it until somebody crashes or slams their body into a doorway or gouges into a protruding corner. The "winner" normally gets a band aide or ice pack and the "loser" is usually reprimanded for not being more careful with his sister. Its a very exciting game and takes lots of energy. That's why I never play it with them. Plus, if I had that kind of energy, I would use it on something useful like making banana bread before the bananas evolve into decomposing giant slugs.

So, as this game was in session, I told the kids they needed to stop running. And before I could say "before somebody gets hurt," Landon suggested setting the timer until the end of the game. I figured a 5 second timer wouldn't hurt so I said sure. He set out on a run again but then I got the bright idea that HE set the timer, to which he was thrilled with. Timers are the latest fad around here.

And with that, he whirled around in a flash and crashed headlong into his sister, resulting in a 90 mph front end collision.

"That's why you don't play this game anymore," I said to no one in particular, considering my voice was drowned out by the crying children burying their faces into my lap and shoulder.

As I counted teeth, checked for crooked noses and made sure the sobbing eyes hadn't been punctured, I could only find blood on Landon where he split his lip on Janae's hard head. At the sound of blood, Landon buried his head again in my lap and wept for all he was worth over the fact he was spilling precious drops of his own blood.

When Janae heard blood, her eyes perked up and her sobs subsided, until I told her she had no blood and was indeed fine. Believe me, its hard to explain to a bloody child that he was fine with blood and to turn around and say to one without blood that they were fine too.

By this point, there was no need to set the timer so we all split ways and the incident was forgotten until bedtime when Landon requested a band aide for his split and puffy lip. He knows that only bloody owies (versus bumps and bruises) get the bandages so I'm sure he thought I was using an excuse when I told him a band aide would not be in order for an owie on the lip.

As I headed out of his room and back to my fussy baby, I wondered how on earth my life ever exploded into so much excitement. With a shower that skimps on hot water, snakes living in our basement, a tired husband sleeping in our quiet room and a wailing baby on my hip, I feel like there's no reprieve. Not even a hot shower! Every busy mom needs a hot 10 minute shower once every few days. Not only does it regain your sanity but it also gives you a good opportunity to wash your hair and maybe get clean once in awhile.

So, to make the most of the eventful, new normal and unsafe day, I lit a blue berry muffin candle and made a mental note to remember to blow the flame out before I went to bed. I would hate to burn the house down tonight. Especially over a nostalgic candle. Then I sat up with a fussy baby who soon cuddled in and went to sleep in my arms while I enjoyed the flicker of the burning candle and basked in the aroma of fresh baked goodies while eating soggy shredded wheat.

And that was my reprieve.

Trust His Heart

It was 2:00 in the morning and my sleep had been rudely interrupted. A wide-awake baby boy lay kicking in my arms but I didn't care. I was happy to snuggle his warm, squirmy body as his bright eyes showed every intent of being up for awhile.

As he firmly gripped my finger while I fed him, my mind wandered back 10 years ago on July 26, 1997 at 2AM when another little boy had interrupted the night. Only this little guy had entered the night before his time; his lungs were way under developed.

I'll never forget that sleepless night while we hoped and prayed our little brother would somehow not be born. I had never prayed so hard in my life. And then in the morning when my mom called and told us the tragedy had happened, I'll never forget the feeling of "why God?" Hadn't I prayed enough? He was perfectly healthy; why did it have to be that he was born too early? If God needed another baby in heaven, why couldn't He just make His own? Why OUR baby?

Why?

I pulled Alex up to my shoulder to burp and was reminded of another heart ache. As I felt his warm breath against my neck, I thought of a friend of our family's who was sitting in a hospital room with a lifeless baby boy, perfect in every way but born dead. Why that baby? Why another heartache? Why that family?

Why?

None of those whys have been answered but that's okay; I can still trust God. Even if I could know the reasons why these things are allowed to happen, I wouldn't be able to contain the meaning of them in my futile human capacity. Job asked God why and was responded with a thunderous explanation. "Can you only expect good from the hand of God?" When you ask God why, be ready for a heavy talk.

As Alex drifted to sleep against my chest around 4 o’clock AM, I basked in his fresh baby scent. I didn't care about the 2 hours of precious sleep lost to the night. While feeling his little tummy rise and fall into my chest, another why slipped into my head. Why was I blessed with a healthy baby while other arms ached to cradle a newborn?

Why?

And then I remembered that God is good. All the time.

Why is He good? Because the Lord gives and the Lord takes away, Blessed be the name of the Lord.

God is too wise to be mistaken
God is too good to be unkind
When you don’t understand
When you can’t see His plan
When you can’t trace His hand
Trust His heart.

A Typical Morning

Landon is wandering around in his fireman's coat and hat, talking about snow and wishing for snow boots. Soon he stops by the baby sleeping on the recliner and enjoys a few soft moments with his little brother.

Janae is soaking in the tub threatening to get out... "I want out now..." keeps coming from the the bathroom. Finally, she just gets out and stands waiting for a towel, dripping bath water all over the floor.

Alex is perched on the recliner after only drinking an ounce of his full bottle. Not sure why he stopped at only an ounce after all the noise he made, making us think he was starving to death for sure.

Next, Landon bangs his hard fireman's hat on the guinea pig's cage, enjoying watching her run in fright. "A righteous man regards the life of his beast," I exhort across the house to him. Actually, I said it in three-year-old language: don't scare the guinea pig; it could make her die.

Janae is dry from her bath and now trying to give Alex his bottle. Her attempts at sticking it in his mouth are futile; his lips are sealed. Her soft voice is so motherly as she chatters sweet nothings to him.

And Alex, well, he just sits in his soft blue blanket looking for all the world like the picturesque newborn baby he really isn't... quiet, sleepy, content and not crying.

Yep, it's a typical morning. The events always changing, the kids always trying something new and the baby unpredictable. One of those days where I certainly feel like a mother of 3.

On Good Men and Good Bargains

Living in a 1930-ish house with a big open front porch, makes me think of one thing: wicker furniture.

Two houses ago, we were also living in a 1930-ish house and unfortunately, never got to actually put wicker on that front porch. So, I decided recently that this house would be different.

I was looking everywhere for this special furniture. Newspaper, craigslist, garage sales, etc. I wanted a small set (since the porch isn't huge) but it had to be in the right price range. I just didn't know where that range was though. Wicker is expensive and I didn't want to be expensive but I did want the wicker still. The lower the price range, the better. I knew brand new probably wouldn't be much of a deal so I took on the challenge of finding a good deal second hand.

The day we moved to this house, a yard sale in town advertised the perfect set. Not too big; not too little. I never did find out the price though: I had enough furniture to move that day, I wasn't looking for anymore to put in my van.

So, the wicker set was put off. Again.

And then I found out through the neighborhood gossip line that the particular resident of that home where the wicker furniture set had sold, was the guy that locked his wife up in her own house. I was really glad I didn't buy his wicker -- who knows what curses would've come upon my already snake infested yard.

While driving around this past weekend, we stumbled on a junky yard sale full of stuffed animals and fake wood furniture sitting in an overgrown yard. For some reason I got out. I never go to garage sales like that.

And then I saw it: a run down, over used set of wicker furniture spread haphazardly around the shabby yard. No price tag was on it so I wondered if it was even for sale.

The seller said she'd give it to me for $10. Can't get much lower in a price range than $10, I thought.

It was a small table, magazine rack and 2 cozy chairs. And all but the magazine holder were in great need of paint. Looking back, I probably could've offered her $5 for the entire set because she was moving out of state that evening and what didn't fit in her car wasn't going with her. But $10 to me still sounded good. So I gave it to her.

We squeezed the almost rotting furniture in the new vacuumed van and bemoaned all the white paint flecks peppering the once clean carpet. I shrugged my shoulders and slammed the hatch, knowing that another visit to the vacuum hose down the street would fix the problem. It was a small price to pay for wicker furniture anyway.

I called Toby on my way home and bragged about my good deal. He didn't seem to relate to my joys but I just chalked it up to the fact that he wasn't the one that had been looking for wicker furniture for the past 27 months. Nor had I ever told him how badly I wanted such furniture.

You see, Toby has this thing where when he hears that I want/need something, he'll get it for me the first time he sees it. He always has a good reason why what he got was a good deal, the perfect time to get it, etc. He's just too nice though and I did NOT want him doing that with this furniture. I wanted the pleasure of finding a good bargain. Of rescuing something that was neglected. Of proving beauty can come from ashes. I wanted the challenge of tranforming something of no worth into something of value. And I wanted a bargain. So, I never told him my dream.

I got home but left the furniture in the van. I was worried about one thing: what would my husband say? Even though I already told him about it, I still worried about what he'd say.

Being 9 months pregnant and having my hands full of a ton of important things right now and definitely not needing some unnecessary project to tackle, I knew he'd be thinking a little bit more on the logical side than I was. "You just don't have time for extra stuff, Dear," would be the tone in his reproving voice.

Later that afternoon, he helped me move the stuff from the van. When we got to the prized find of the day, I was surprised at his reaction. I knew he wouldn't be excited but I didn't think he'd take it this hard either. We began an important practice of communication: he told me what he thought and I didn't have to wonder what he was thinking.

"What are you doing with this junk, honey?" he asked with concern as he picked up a chair only to have it drop out old dirt and paint. "What were you thinking?" he asked me, his brow definitely depicting curiosity but also tinged with a where-am-I-going-to-store-this-rotting-trash look on his face.

I guess he doesn't like it, I concluded.

"I can't believe you'd spend $10 on junky pieces of furniture like this," he said as he casually inspected what used to be a nice chair. "This is junk," he said with finality in his voice and turned and hauled the furniture up on the porch.

Wow. I knew what he was thinking.

My heart sank. He could totally not see the future of these beautiful chairs. He could not feel the reason in my creative heart for why I rescued them. Still, I was wishing I had offered $5 instead of giving her $10.

He set the dusty, rough, grayish, once white chairs and table on the clean porch floor. I had to prove they were somewhat still nice so I arranged them attractively. Quickly the chairs were in place and the table tucked between them.

"See!" I pointed out, "We can have it just like this," I said as I put the final touch on the beautiful rotting pieces of junk. Clumps of dirt and paint dusted the floor, definitely not helping me make a good impression on my husband.

"Whatever," he said as he headed in the house. Obviously, I was going to have to do more to prove to myself and my dear husband that this was a good buy. I think by now he was wishing I would've just saved the $10 and put it towards a good set for $100.

A dozen cans of spray paint and a bristle brush waited to be used on these slowly fading pieces of beauty. I had to rescue them soon. If not for there sake, definitely for mine: Toby had to know I hadn't totally lost my mind.

I brushed the chairs and table down and realized that they really weren't as bad as they looked, once you shook the dirt loose and brushed off the gazillion paint flecks. Isn't weathered and rugged a unique style anyway? This set of furniture definitely fit that description.

A very talented angel of mercy painstakingly spray painted everything after I finished brushing the loose paint off. Since I couldn't inhale all those fumes for the sake of my baby, Britt offered to do the job. We were both sweetly surprised when extra help arrived and sprayed an entire can on one chair. Yes, Toby came around and showed that maybe there was a little faith left in his line of vision for these fading chairs.

In about an hour, the entire set was completed. And it was beautiful.

We rearranged them back on the porch, propping flower pots and blooming plants around the cheery wicker.

For $10, Toby agrees that it was a definite bargain. And I'm glad. I really do like wicker furniture and I'm glad he does too.


Before

After