Pitocin and Answered Prayers

Whoever said, “There’s no use crying over spilled milk” obviously never used a breast pump.

 In reality, I hadn’t truly been a breast pump person either. I had 3 kids in my first marriage, and all of those kiddos were formula fed babies. I struggled with each child for reasons of their own uniqueness; Mikey wanted immediate results and gave up the latch if he didn’t get the satisfaction, Chara was aggressive but was completely averse to the metallic taste that resulted from her ravenous hunger, and Analeigh was unfortunate that I simply had no supply due to a medicinal side effect. Then came Joshua… and his story begins long before the breast pump arrived.

I found out about Joshua in November of last year, shortly after Jimmy and I got married, and it reduced me to nothing but smiles and tears. I figured my time for having kids was over; there was too much to do with Mikey’s autism and therapies, Chara’s behavioral problems, then adding in work and graduate school. I was just plain exhausted. I really didn’t think that God would be blessing my family with any more kiddos…. And I wasn’t sure up until that time that I was ready for any more of those blessings either… there wasn’t enough coffee for another blessing from heaven. And still, to borrow a quote from a favorite movie, “Remember, remember the 5^th of November…” because that was the day that God surprised us and said, “Guess what?” with a positive sign on the pregnancy test.

I have heard it said: no pain, no gain. That could have been my pregnancy motto for months. I was probably so much of a complainer that I was virtually colicky to people who heard me at first. Trying to cope with the morning sickness, migraines, dizziness, and all the early aches and pains, only to end up with even more fun down the line that involved me leaving my job early and spending the better part of 2 months off my feet—it was a lot. I wasn’t enjoying being pregnant for the most part, aside from the solitary moments where Jimmy and I would watch my tummy move with excitement as we counted flutter kicks, or when we found out with no doubt that we were having a boy. I kept envying those women who had so much energy during pregnancy, those who were giggly and glowing and adorable in the latest trend of maternity clothes, as I rotated through maternity jeans and big t-shirts and struggled to roll over in bed, feeling like a defective walrus. Each night, I would cry out to God, either in exhaustion or despair, sometimes in joy, wondering why this was the way my journey was going. I couldn’t understand what He had in store for me; after all, me being on modified bedrest was not exactly a financial benefit for the family. It made for a lot more complications than we expected, and it caused some strain in our marriage and many unnecessary fights. Each time, we would get through it, but the stress of it all drove me to my knees…. Well, actually, it would drive me to a phone call to a best friend first, but eventually, it drove me to hardcore prayer, and very often.

Sunday, June 25^th, during our church service, the contractions started. The bags had been packed for weeks, and we were more than ready to get this show on the road. The kids had been joking about Mommy the Penguin for long enough that I was beyond ready and excited to get this baby boy out of my belly and into my arms. It took over 5 hours of intense contractions, 3-7 minute apart, walking the halls, bouncing on a yoga ball, and struggling to breathe as they got more intense, only to find out that with each contraction and each moment of pain, we had made no progress. We had come in at 4 cm and 80% effacement, and 5 hours later, were given the same exact numbers to our own detriment. With the laws of Ohio being what they are, and despite the contractions continuing, we were sent home to labor more until my water broke or until we reached our 39 week date. At that time, the doctor would be willing to induce, if we wished it so. It went without saying that at my next appointment, I virtually begged the doctor to schedule the induction. The contractions were still happening, though less frequent, but any hope of sleep and pain free movement of any kind were out of the question for the next few days. I counted the moments and attempted to sleep as often as I could to make the time pass. I took hot baths and listened to worship music, filling the air in my home with lavender and my heart and mind with prayer and faith that everything would be okay and go swiftly. I didn’t truly want to be induced—I had wanted to labor naturally, without any intervention, and enjoy the experience that I had desperately desired for my other three children as well…. I continued to pray that our son would come naturally and before the date of induction. God had other plans.

Friday morning at 4 am, I woke up before the alarm. I took my shower, straightened my hair, got dressed and ate something for breakfast—something small, as I had already been told I would be given Pitocin, and I anticipated getting sick during labor. Still noting that I would need the energy to birth my son, I insisted on a small peanut butter sandwich on wheat and a glass of soy milk so I would have something to work with and hopefully offset the side effects of the medicine. I woke Jimmy up at 4:50, slightly before the alarm, and he got up and immediately began documenting our big day. I was so grateful that I had looked a bit less haggard than I did the previous Sunday, because he snapped and clicked as I ate and waddled through the house, getting everything ready for the hospital. 

 

Eventually, we hit the road and arrived shortly after 6am. We didn’t expect to get sent up to the room right away, as we weren’t scheduled for induction until 7:30. However, labor and delivery was ready for us, and we went up to the third floor, both with excitement and, in my case, relief that it would be over soon. We took the bags and organized where everything should be. Then I got changed and the nurse got my IV fluids started, knowing I would need it before the Pitocin. Sure enough, 7:30 came around, and the Pitocin began. The nurses started everything slow; not knowing exactly what it meant, I noticed the number 2 on the scanner for the Pitocin, and then got hooked up to monitors, the blood pressure cuff, and waited for the contractions to begin.

 

And begin they did. The Pitocin kicked in within 45 minutes, and with each few contractions showing up on the monitor, the need for ice chips and Jimmy’s hand to squeeze was immense. Each time the nurses checked in, the number on the monitor went higher—first 4, then 6. It was around the 6 that I asked to be checked, as I was sure there was some progress being made, and I had a new concern. My back had begun to throb an intense amount of pressure, and the Pitocin was making me shaky; my entire body would twitch uncontrollably for short intervals of time, only to be met with the room spinning on top of it. The back pain was what threw me over the edge. When the nurse told me that I was between 5-6 cm and about 90% effaced, I released any plan of having a natural birth. I asked for the epidural to help me with the pain in my back. It wasn’t 10 minutes before the anesthesiologist made his way to the room and hoisted the bed, curled me into a ball, and I squeezed Jimmy’s hand for dear life as the medicine stung in the lower back and began to make me go numb. Chris, the amazing man he was, asked for specific information with the test dose, which made me thankful that he was so thorough in his job. Once I began to go numb, the bed was lowered back to the floor, and the lights were dimmed so I could rest a bit. The numbers on the Pitocin continued to rise in between contractions; now it was around 10, and it was officially time for me to lose my cookies. I told Jimmy to turn away so he wouldn’t get sick, and I lost whatever I had in my stomach from the until there was literally nothing left. There was a few more times that I couldn’t hold it back, and the only relief was that the ice chips had at least given me something to bring up, or it would have been horrific dry heaves and even more stomach pain. The twitching continued as well…. With nothing but exhaustion and fear that my body would never regain control, I turned on my spotify to a worship station, held my hands out, and begged God for relief. I knew that it was only a matter of time before my son would be born, but I was blessed that God allowed me to get some sleep in between the nurses checking on me. 

Around 1pm, my OB arrived in my room and broke my water. She told me that as soon as I finished dilating, which I was around 8 at the time, she would be back to deliver our son. Again, with anticipation, desire to stop twitching and sheer exhaustion, I turned my head to my pillow and allowed the music to enwrap me in peace. Around 3:30, she returned and told me that it was time.

It felt like it would be forever. The prep table was brought in, Jimmy and his mom were getting ready to take pictures and for the first glimpses of Joshua. I just laid waiting, hoping that the epidural wouldn’t wear off any more than it already had (as I was now feeling a lot of pressure) and that I would be able to push him out with ease; I dreaded hearing that he would get stuck or be too big and that I would need a C-section, so I continued to pray silently that the final step would go well. I can say that God answered my prayer with a resounding Yes. The nurse counted, my husband squeezed my hand, and my doctor told me “Breathe, and again.” It was on the 4^th big push that I could tell his head was almost completely out; the 5^th was the one where we heard him cry. It was only when my OB told me “On the next push, reach down and pull him up to you,” that I realized he was really here. I had never experienced such exhilaration as I reached my hands down to catch my son and pulled him up onto my chest. I heard his cry, and I sighed deep relief, with big tears and humongous smiles, as Jimmy kissed my head and got ready to cut the cord. He made it! He was here! And in that moment, we were informed of the incredible miracle that God had given us….

As Jimmy reached down to cut the cord, my OB held one of the biggest knots I had ever seen. She gawked at it, in shock that my son was alive in my arms instead of malnourished and in the NICU or stillborn and with us in complete despair. She was able to place about 2-3 fingers through the knot in the cord…. 

And there it was. Everything came into place: we hadn’t seen our son in ultrasound since our 32 week appointment, and the knot in his cord was never there at that time. Somewhere, in the 7 weeks that we waited for him to be born from that last time we saw him on screen, the knot developed. Me being put on bedrest, the sudden contractions with no progress, the intense pains that made me beg for the epidural—it all was part of God keeping my son alive. The monitor during labor told us that he wasn’t in distress, and would have indicated if something had gone wrong quickly enough to save his life. If I had the labor experience I had wanted, we may have never known that anything could have cost us his life. And still, God’s grace was big enough that our amazing son not only overcame the odds of such a horrific potential fate, but he amazed us even more with Joshua having perfect APGAR scores, and a very ravenous appetite, and a peaceful nature. 

 

With everything looking incredible through the night and into the next day, we were able to take our son home Saturday night. And Sunday morning, we walked into our church with our amazing miracle baby, having pastor pray over him and praising God that he had given us such an incredible miracle. It was incredible; when Pastor mentioned that the congregation was about to take communion, Joshua folded his hands and lay quiet in my arms. What was simply a reflex to any other observer was just confirmation to Jimmy and me: our son is a true blessing, one we could never have anticipated, and he has a definite purpose for being alive.

 
 

It has been only 5 days since I gave birth to my son. and I make the joke about spilled milk-- mostly because breastfeeding was a struggle; but I made the resolve to not give up on what is best for Joshua. Regardless of any obstacles, we decided that it was important to be obedient in providing for him and staying faithful, as God was faithful in our time of need. The best way I know to honor what God has done for our family is to continue to fight; each day, when the postpartum hormones get unbearable, and the kids are running around the house being disruptive to the type of quiet that a newborn would need, I see Joshua with open eyes, or the dimply smile, maintaining his peace and not being affected by it. I never knew that a newborn would be an example for me to learn and remember God’s peace. And yet, each time I look at him, when a storm hits our home, all I can think is “Peace, be still.” Something about this boy has changed the dynamic in our home. Jimmy and I have completely reconnected and begun becoming more dedicated to our prayers for each other, filling our home with worship, and trusting God completely, despite our crazy circumstances. I have taken to a whole new level of dedication that I never had with the other kiddos—my resolve to provide the best for Joshua, as well as learning to re-evaluate how to be the best mom I can be for my kids has filled my mind and my prayer life. I have begun to question things about my life and where God is directing my path; and with each question, I continue to hear “Peace, be still.” I no longer question why the storm is occurring. After going through the biggest storm that we could have ever imagined, watching how easily our son could have slipped from us, I don’t have to wonder if God is there. And even that, that assurance in a dark place, is a blessing. He chose to reveal his power and grace to us both, and give us something incredible. It speaks to my heart every time I look at my son, that I am blessed to be adopted into the kingdom by a father who has willingly sacrificed his own son and in the same amazing grace saved the life of mine. 

Beauty and the Beets

a beautiful day in ohio, with a gentle springtime zephyr and enough sunshine to brighten the day of any grumpy person, and I chose to buy beets.

It seemed like the perfect thing to do this morning, given the most recent circumstances in our home. Yesterday we spent cleaning, as a means of getting frustration out about fluctuating work hours and lack of movement thanks to the amazing giant bundle of baby lodged in my pelvis, causing me to look like a duck in ballet class as I walk from room to room. Jimmy and me had experienced a bit of a scare this weekend, which ended us up at the ER, only to be sent up to the maternity ward to monitor my contractions and baby Joshua's heartbeat. thankfully, labor wasn't progressing and I was able to go home. however, it didn't come without stipulations. I had already been put on afternoon rest by my doctor a few weeks back due to increasing stress levels (that was showing up in my vitals during each visit), and monitoring my gestational diabetes. knowing that another doctor appointment was coming up, it made me nervous about the most evil words that no mother of 3 (soon to be 4) wants to hear-- bed rest. I'm still hoping NOT to hear them, but again, in a day of panic, I opted to clean.

with the house smelling of fabuloso floor cleaner and fresh air from opened windows and drawn up curtains, I woke up this morning craving coffee. sadly, with no creamer in the house, I knew that shopping was going to be inevitable. still, it hadn't left my mind that I was not going to be able to return to work for another week, and that was drastically cutting into our monthly income. while I hate to admit that the system helps (primarily because I HATE being on the system), the cut to the food stamps a month ago hurt our budget for our growing family big time, especially with mikey needing such specific dietary assistance to decrease his aggression levels. even still, with the april month coming to a close, and both WIC and food stamps being exhausted for the moment (mind you, between the two, that's only about $100 a month), all I could think about was what I was going to make for dinner.

last night, post cleaning spree, and Himalayan salt bath to reduce stress and induce sleep, I did something else that I haven't in a while-- I picked up a book called Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and flipped to where I had left off, probably about 6 months ago, before graduate school returned to my calendar of chaos and my life revolved around doctors appointments, clients, and the intimate sound of 3 children fighting over the limited toys in the house. why this book? truthfully, i'm not sure. most of the books that I read are in research or sheer intrigue, with maybe 3 on my shelf being favorites that I will never get tired of, no matter how many times I read them-- The Time Traveler's Wife is one such example, that I will pick it up and flip to a random chapter just to smell the pages and remember the summer I first read it, as a previous military wife in Virginia suffering the big deployment. But I digress. I picked up this New York Times best seller a few years ago, intrigued by this family's journey to eat food that was home grown, considering that I am definitely not one with a green thumb, but also because I was going through a time when I felt that going green would truly be beneficial to my family. while I still believe that, it has been a very slow transition to get to where I would ultimately like to see us-- in a small but efficient house with a garden and a greenhouse, solar panels and rainwater collecting system, composting in the backyard and plants in the house to keep the air fresh and clean... it is taking more time than I anticipated, but then again, most things that are worth it end up being waited for.

chapter 3 of this book had me enamored, partially because of this woman's luscious descriptions of her family's journey into the love of asparagus (the entire chapter was about asparagus!), and the fact that my husband is a hardcore connoisseur of asparagus. his passion for this vegetable, green beans, and many others of his family's Kentucky tradition, is absolutely adorable as we go shopping together and I make a meek attempt to pick out a good batch, only to get a chuckle in response, as he says "i got this", picking the best batch in the entire store. regardless, reading all about asparagus gave me an idea for grocery shopping this week, making me think about only food that was native to ohio at this time of year, what was in season, and what would keep the budget down while still filling our refrigerator and pantry and stomachs with flavor and freshness.

With a starbucks java chip light to sip on-- now don't think I blew the budget for this indulgence. I only was able to abide in this extra because of points on a card that I had forgotten about-- I searched the vegetable section of the store, looking at prices, and also comparing to a list I had saved on my phone, giving me information as to what was native to ohio in the month of april. I knew that fruits would pretty much be off the list for another month or so, so aside from some bananas for the kids, I didn't bother with that. but it wasn't long before I had collected a giant bag of russet potatoes, carrots, green onions, then stopping at the root vegetables, only to find the delightful burgundy beets sitting on the shelf, calling out to my artist's eye for the bright color. I can't even begin to lie on this one-- I have never eaten a beat (up until that moment anyway), and I had heard mixed commentaries from friends about the taste of beets, either being too much of an earthy taste, or having a succulent sweetness when they are in season and perfectly ripe, bringing color and flavor to the table unlike any other root veggie. looking at the price, and noting that this wasn't to be the staple for the entire week, I decided to give it a shot, grabbing about 1 lb of fresh beets, tossing them into a plastic bag, and preparing a recipe in my mind that would make dinner wonderful.

I decided on a crock pot chicken, with potatoes, carrots, and of course, the beets. I also reasoned in my own head that the kids would complain about it (ana in particular), unless I managed to make them believe that the beets were purple potatoes. this is, of course, one of those lies that almost every parent and grandparent has told their kids in order to attempt to expand their palette... I can still hear the voice of my great-grandma Zu telling me that bananas were just white carrots, which I resented her for at the time, but now I can laugh as I think back on that memory. while I still cannot eat bananas in some circumstances, it was her tenacity for me to be healthy and happy about fresh fruit and amazing home cooked food that makes me willing to try the same on my own kids.

as I was sitting with jimmy in the living room with peeler and knife in hand, preparing my cookie sheet of one inch cut winter vegetables, I was completely thrown aback in enjoyment with the crimson stain on my hands of this burgundy root, smiling in anticipation as to how it would taste roasted when combined with the others, but also in the sheer fact that I was once again finding enjoyment in cooking. and it is this thought that changed my mood. for months, we had access to the extra-- we ordered pizzas, we made tacos, we had coffee in abundance in the cabinets, and offered the kids cheap processed foods simply to avoid a fight at mealtime. we did 30 minute meals, but getting the "best" at Kroger and taking little care to leftovers in the frig. I had processed cereals and snacks for breakfasts and lunches, and the only requirement for morning time was my coffee brewing quickly in the Keurig.  but as I sat here with my crimson stained hands and this delectable tray of veggies sitting in front of me, I couldn't help but be grateful for the simplicity in what was happening. I was cooking again for my family, excited about family dinner tonight, knowing that jimmy would have an amazing lunch for his exhausting day tomorrow; I was looking forward to the smell of the garlic butter and rosemary chicken filling the entire kitchen and wafting through the house, filling it with warmth that didn't involve my heater in the basement; I was looking forward to the taste of the earthy beets, and the joy that would come from the labor of making them.

the last few months have been hectic and a range of amazing to unbearable, with life's unexpected twists and shocking moments, or seconds of laughter that make you wonder if you have Depends in the house. but there is something to be said about my family-- we always seem to find a way through it. my husband is amazingly dedicated and has offered on countless days to pick up overtime to make sure that we have enough to get by, while still providing laughter and comforting hugs when they are desperately needed. my kids are of course still growing up, and will never lack for moments of immaturity, but even they have found ways to show that they can be flexible and take the tough days as they come, still finding ways to make each other happy, with tickles or a picture, or cheering each other on during a community activity. and then me.... I have found that my moments of innovation and creativity come when I am forced into them. if everything was simple and we never had to struggle for what we have, we wouldn't appreciate it, but it also wouldn't challenge me to make the best of what we have and truly know what it means to find joy in life. i'm grateful for my husband, more than I have ever realized since the day we said "I do"-- he has become even more of a rock than I ever anticipated, mostly because I'm typically prone to doing things myself. but his strength and his ability to help me learn to accept vulnerability and let him lead has helped me to be a better wife for him, and this in and of itself is an amazing gift. my kids, though challenging, continue to push me to pray hard and find peace when there doesn't seem to be any; they remind me every day to get out of my OCD clean ways, finding ways to tell me that the dirtier the feet, the happier the person. and it just so happens that they are right. as I look at the pink on my hands from a vegetable that is grown in dirt and darkness, I can't help but be grateful for the way that God provides us the opportunity to find faith and joy and beauty.... even if it is found in a pound of beets.

don't choose... cherish

this morning was the first of many that begins very early-- before the sun, before the children, before i'm ready to come out of the hibernation I created in my blankets kind of early. most definitely a before coffee early. possibly even before I have an appetite for coffee kind of early. i'm not sure why this morning had any particular significance to me, aside from how early I was pulled out of my happy dreams, but for some reason, it struck me as different. mikey was on spring break last week, so if there was ANY morning that should have had me questioning the difference of a particular Monday, that should have been it. maybe the temperature this morning set me off, but regardless of what it was that made me notice today was different, I noticed.

I noticed because I was anxious to give my husband that extra close hug this morning when he woke to his alarm, take in that last breath of night and just enjoy my head on his chest and his arm around me, feeling the world is perfect. I noticed because I took a bigger joy in creating a special breakfast for the kids this morning, and surprisingly took no offense when none of them were partaking in the blueberry bagel-- apparently I missed the part where none of them actually enjoy blueberries. I noticed as they were singing to each other, laughing, and enjoying their fellowship time over scrambled eggs with cheese and some fruit and a short glass of either milk or water. and a wave of sadness fell over me.

it is virtually shameful for any mother to admit that she has been busy-- too busy to read that chapter book at bedtime, too busy to piece together a costume for 50's Day of spirit week at the elementary school; too busy for bending down to give a big hug when I am typing a paper or attempting to vacuum the house, or do the dishes, or taking a moment to recover and breathe through the MMA sucker punches their newest little brother is giving my diaphragm from inside the womb. I am a very organized person-- at least, I am on the inside. it is getting that organization to the rest of the house and having the inability to do it on some days that completely drives me crazy. I like papers and bottles and post-its and markers, shoes and coats and accessories to all have a place-- and keys. WHY can I never find my keys?! but all of this-- the housework, the classes for grad school, the days that I spend primarily in the kitchen doing frozen meal prep, or out in the community doing 5 loads of laundry, grocery shopping, paying bills, and taking care of other errands that I would love to avoid-- it has kept me busy.

but this morning, she was watching strawberry shortcake in my lap, and her belly laugh made me laugh. her eyes were all lit up as she watched her favorite character dance, and she jumped off the couch to twirl around and imitate the grace and beauty she saw in each and every movement... and it made me want to cry at the captivating beauty of my youngest girl. it hit me harder when she gave me a pretty please when she asked me for a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich for lunch, so hard in fact that when she was finished, I offered her a cherry pineapple popsicle, just to watch her jaw hit the floor and to get that extra adorable squeezy hug she gives, with her foot up in a modern attitude, like she was going to jump on me, but settled to look like a ballerina instead.

and even now, as she is playing with her barbies in the toy room, and I can hear her voice speaking the different characters and I see her imagination come out in conversation... all I can think about it how much i'm going to miss her. My baby girl, my little Analeigh, my brunette and my brown eyed girl.... I missed out o so much of her special moments. I had no choice but to return to work when she was barely a month old; it tore my heart out to head out to work and watch my infant daughter in the arms of a friend or another sitter as I drove away... and now, almost 5 years later, i'm preparing for the moment that my bebelita is going to be walking into the double doors of school, skipping her way into a kindergarten classroom and lighting up the rest of the world with her Broadway personality.

I saw a post on facebook this morning, asking a red or blue pill question-- either choose to be 25 years younger and get a complete do-over, or be 5 years older and get $20 million dollars tax free.  and the truth of the matter is I could choose neither. I wouldn't give up a moment with my kids, watching them grow up; having days where I want to pull my own hair out are still moments that I do not want to forget, because it is the tough moments that are the glue between the happy photos in our photo albums. but I could not go back and have a chance to do it all over because there is no guarantee that I would ever end up with the same amazing children again, the ones who challenge me to grow and fight and pray and learn and take the energy out of me only to blast it back to me with little giggles and pig piles and at home movie nights snuggled on the couch with way too much popcorn. and to choose the other-- to be 5 years older and gain all that money-- not on your life! it kills me to see my baby girl getting ready to grace the halls of kindergarten-- to wake up one day and see her in 4th or 5th grade?? that kind of time is not worth all the money in the world.

I don't speak for all moms-- heck, I can't speak for any but me. but I do know that time is a gift. I don't have much time left before another baby blesses my home, and the sleepless nights and diaper changes and breast-or-bottle dilemma begins all over again and keeps me up at night, both to nurture my infant, and to sacrifice sleep just to watch him breathe. each and every day that I have been a mom, I have felt like God chose me for my kids. there are days I have asked God WHY he trusts me with so much (as some days are completely overwhelming)-- insert laugh here-- but each moment that I am blessed to hold them in my arms and read with them, snuggle with them, kiss their boo-boos, take them to church, eat sweets with them, drive them to the park and chase them around.... these moments are far too fleeting, and there are far too many that have been missed. I can't speak for everyone, but I can say that the choice between more money and my family is not something to choose.

I wish I could be home with my kids every single day, and have enough of an income to be blessed to do it. I wish there wasn't a complication between their dad and me (not my husband Jimmy), and that more time didn't have to be sacrificed between households. I wish I had the ability to cherish every single moment, without missing a single missing tooth, Christmas present, tummy bug, painted toe nails, giggle, soccer game, or even the dirty looks when they don't get their way. I have missed too much, and if there was a choice for anything, it would be to cherish what God has blessed me with, and never miss another moment.

that being said, my itty bitty pretty one and I are going to take our Monday siesta. THAT is definitely something I will miss!

nail polish and tuna casserole

I am enamored with this time of year!

truly-- and I know that many people will ultimately tell me that I am completely insane for my absolute and devout love of the month of December. I can't even say it's a winter transition so much as when the pumpkin spice lattes are out and peppermint mocha is in! there is something about the chill of the breeze and a tune of hope and joy floating in the air that makes my house that much warmer and smiley. and it is even better this year because I have my amazing husband to enjoy it with :-) my husband, oh how I love him...although he is a bit of a Grinch during the holidays. he teases me when I turn on the classical Christmas tunes and belt out Charlotte Church "Ding Dong Merrily on High", and says "How can you actually LIKE this stuff???" I am making it my lifelong goal to eventually turn him on to the sounds of Frank Sinatra and Michael Buble. It will happen.....

this season filled with hot cocoa and candy canes sprinkled with a bit of love also has the tendency to come with tons of cranky people who are filled with malice, disdain, and rudeness, schlepping around to spend money that they don't have for gifts they don't want to give. A friend posted this photo on facebook, and I found it completely appropriate for what I have seen both in person and online in the last few weeks...

EVERYTHING about this makes me want to cry. I cannot fathom the type of culture that I am raising my kids in and questioning if anything I teach them about togetherness, family, and helping others will stick when there is so much immense pressure around to keep up with the Jones's and maintain more and more things-- the newest, the best, and always more.

Growing up, we weren't exactly the Rockafeller family. We were fortunate and blessed enough to have a home to grow up in, regardless of living above my great grandmother or moving into our own home when I was 10. We did not have thousands of toys, games, or accessories; there were not annual vacations taken, let alone tons of money for excessive birthdays or holiday extravaganzas. We often joke about how we can remember the weekly menu that was consistent for about a decade, and my sister and I often laughing even harder about how we have REFUSED to make the epic tuna casserole for our kids because we hated it so much.

But aside from what we didn't have, there are things that are unforgettable from my childhood: my mother is by far the master of monopoly, and I cannot count the number of nights that she was able to whip my tail and make a deal look like it was served on a golden platter wrapped in a satin red bow; my Dad has begun my love of Star Trek, scrabble, chess, and Othello (although I know he wishes he hadn't introduced me to that last once, as he hasn't been able to beat me at it in over 10 years!); he tells the best stories, ones that I still remember and have had the pleasure of telling my children several times over, only to see their faces brighten and giggle each time they hear them; the summers were filled with my sister and I playing outside in the backyard, eventually swimming in the pool, riding our bikes around the neighborhood, reading books, and painting our nails on the deck; and my brother is a sucker for a water balloon fight, a trouble match, and he lights up my world when he sings and plays his guitar. board games were the catalyst for our family's closeness. not having a lot of money and being resourceful forced us to stay close and depend on each other. it never ceases to amaze me that none of my memories involve "that time on the yacht" or "remember that trip to Europe?", and yet each of the moments that are forever engrained in my mind involve my family in one way or another.

this year has not been one of financial prosperity. there has been many nights of hot dogs and mac n cheese, spaghetti with canned sauce, and popcorn as a treat (since there were no others). I never thought that scrambled eggs and oatmeal would be the staples at breakfast, and I truly believed I would die before ever exposing my children to ANY type of tuna casserole.... ironically, my son, probably the pickiest eater of us all, devoured it! I often hear my kids telling me they are bored and want to go to the mall, to the store, to the movies, to the zoo-- you name it, and I'm sure they have said it. And each time, I have to look back at the checkbook and wonder if I am able to provide it for them.... sadly, 9 times out of 10, I cannot. and as guilty as it makes me feel in the moment, I think back to the countless hours that my parents spent playing games with me, the mornings that my mom would teach us to make French Toast, or the nights when we had time to make peanut butter cookies with hersheys kisses on the top. I think about my mom and me stealing a moment to go to Bee Bee Dairy, the best (and sadly, long since closed) ice cream shop in Connecticut, to get a cup of Witches Brew icecream (the October favorite!), or a cherry soda over some lunch. I think of my Dad and me dancing in a snowfall in front of Olive Garden while we waited for them to open the doors, and everyone looking at us like we had lost our minds, but our laughter drowning it all out. I think about mornings like this one, when my husband finally fell asleep for the first time in 3 days, my kids did their chores, and everyone remained quiet while we watched the Jimmy Neutron movie, the girls got their nails painted, and their makeup done, and then we made grilled cheese on Hawaiian rolls.

I know there won't be much for my kids under the tree this year, just like there wasn't last year. my first Christmas with my amazing husband will not be filled with jewelry, silk pajamas, Egyptian cotton sheets, or gourmet coffee in the morning followed by a lobster dinner in the evening. but we are blessed with the Lord of the Rings marathons we get to have (courtesy of the library rentals); when the cupboards get bare, I know he will laugh over our lentil salad and tuna casserole and take it like a champ with me. and while he can't stand my love of classic and jazz holiday music, and though there are some grinchy moments in December, I can't help but be grateful for the little things; nail polish and library rentals, tuna casserole and popcorn, dollar store puzzles and duct tape crafts. it's the little things, always the little things, and so many little blessings that remind how blessed I am to have family-- the greatest gift (next to being saved) that God has ever given me. And it truly makes December merry and bright.

laughing over lobster

I will give my husband a lot of credit-- he is such a good sport.

tonight was date night, not because we have a particular weeknight set aside for this (yet), but because this was the first night in weeks that I was not a walking coma patient with a debilitating migraine or three children running around screaming and tearing up the living room. So, this seemed like the opportune night to have a quiet at-home date. And to top it off, there was an incredible and well timed sale on lobster at Kroger-- yes, I said lobster. So, of course, I could not help but channel my inner Julia Child, turning my kitchen into a delightful haven of melted buttery bliss, with a hint of pepper being baked over asparagus and a warm pasta salad with crispy bacon pieces. the only sound that filled the air was Bethel church bursting out worship from my laptop, and the vigorous laugh of my darling husband in the other room as he was online with a few friends. the laughter stopped as I announced proudly that our dinner was ready, and he came anxiously to the table, awaiting the masterpiece with a smile and an open mind.

I say open mind because this was admittedly Jimmy's first time ever trying lobster, and my first time ever making whole lobsters, as I'm primarily used to eating the tail. regardless, with no crab crackers, breaking into this delicious dinner was due to be a challenge. So, I did what any good wife would do..... I pulled out the cookbook and flipped open to the page that visually described the steps of cracking and cleaning a whole lobster.

I tried to show him that the easiest way to attack this was to start with the claws, clearly forgetting this he has greater strength than me, and as he attempted to separate the claws, he ripped it off the body. Considering the lobster was boiled, it was soaked in melted butter and garlic, and water that soaked from under the shell spilled out everywhere, making my husband yell "Oh my God! It's peeing on me!" I couldn't stop laughing as this continued through each part of the lobster, him asking about which parts were edible and why there was so much water, and how it looked alive (because the eyes were still attached). Eventually, he completed de-shelling the lobster, only to determine that it was an acquired taste and that he wanted pizza. ☺

none of this is meant to make fun of him, of course. I love my hubby to death, and he has taught me so many things about love and life in such a short time frame. it never ceases to amaze me how much faith he has in situations, no matter how dark they are or how difficult. sometimes it can be tough to crack through the shell and deal with the root of a problem, a memory, or circumstance. I think one of my biggest troubles is the need for things to be perfect. too often, I become overwhelmed by the expectations of the world, the "keeping up with the joneses" mentality that forces everyone into constantly working, not taking time to relax, renew, or refresh.

this past week forced me to slow down and think about the blessings in my life and how I have often overlooked them. Jimmy was working for a home/community center in which he was a direct support professional to adult disabled individuals. he worked third shift, and I basically never saw him, except to drive him to work, to make his lunch, or the occasional day off that he had to stay up 24 hours in order to stay on his third shift schedule. every day, I could see a bit more joy draining from his eyes, and I could tell that the lack of time together was beginning to hurt his spirit. we prayed over this constantly, obviously apart due to scheduling. but one thing was consistent- we prayed for a solution, that we could be together, that we could go to church together, as a family, that we could keep our priorities straight. and it wasn't long after that he left that position.... and in the same day, God granted me a job working with another special needs individual at a local school system.

it is so easy to get burned out when you are putting everything you have into someone else. it is easy because it takes more energy to give than to receive, regardless of what you are giving. in my case, using my strength to physically help a child out of a meltdown, or having to come up with motivating reasons to complete work at the desk within seconds to prevent a negative behavior-- these are the daily tasks that make my mind race. but every time I feel drained, there is a moment of clarity, when the child is able to complete a task independently or speaks in a full sentence, and it is like getting attached to an espresso machine through an IV. the energy is suddenly full and new, everything seems possible, and new goals are collaborated to make more progress.

nothing in my profession demands perfection. neither does my marriage. whether I am counting behaviors or laughing hysterically over streaming lobster juice, it is the moment when I realize that perfection isn't the goal. it never has been. Jesus knew this when he went to the cross-- if perfection was the goal, we wouldn't need him in the first place. the journey depends on us meeting people where they are and going forward. it is a lifelong journey.

how often can we look back on our lives and say hindsight is 20/20? thinking of things that we shouldn't have said, moments that we wish we could take back..... I know that ice cream without lactaid can make a mess of my stomach for days, but sometimes, it doesn't stop me from devouring a mug of mint chocolate chip ice cream. we indulge in these moments because we aren't perfect. we don't always think about the consequences or the future that can come out of our mistakes. but isn't it amazing that we have people in our lives who meet us where we are? even as my poor husband was sitting across from me at the table, munching on crunchy onion strips and waiting for his pizza to bake, he still held me hand and complimented me, telling me that I made an amazing dinner for date night, and how amazing I was. he thanked me for letting him game with his friends, and for taking care of him when his back hurts. he apologizes after we fight and I ask forgiveness when i'm wrong.
we aren't perfect. we will never be anything close to perfect. but just like a date night gone hysterical, we know where to meet each other in our flaws and laugh about them.

to anyone who reads this, whoever you are, I encourage you to adopt this outlook. it isn't important to find perfection in every circumstance, situation, person or relationship. what is vital is to be accepting, loving, patient with each other and to be open to growth. it can take some gut-wrenching moments to make you look in the mirror and realize that you aren't perfect, and openly admit where you went wrong in life. sometimes, it takes a bit of tearing through the hard walls we put up around ourselves to let people in, to see the damage, to love us anyway. it takes just as much effort to be that same person for others, especially if they have hurt you before. there is treasure in the trash and there is light in the darkness; there is always hope that things can get better, even if you can't see anything except brokenness. when things are unexpected, there is always something to be learned, a silver lining in the cloud.

and even if there is not, and it's just a bad day, there is always pizza.

becoming family

I am a native east coaster, enjoying the ocean waves from the beautiful shores of Watch Hill and walking around Westerly, Rhode Island, and of course, falling in love over and over again with the perfection and picturesque town of Mystic, CT. but there is something about living in Ohio this year, something that has changed. The last few months, there has been so much comradery surrounding the sports in the town of Cleveland, and with heads held high and eyes twinkling with joy, everyone has been sporting the colors, posting the highlights, and cheering the teams on to victory. it isn't so much about the Cavaliers or the Indians that has had me in awe, but moreso of the joining of the people of the city. Despite anything bleek that has come, the people rallied and stood tall as a team.

it didn't take me very long after meeting jimmy to know that he would be my teammate for life. there was something about his spirit as he chuckled at my chess attempts, and the gentleness of his teaching me how to make better and more offensive moves, the way he held my hand as if he would never let go, and the security of our very first hug that drew me to that conclusion. there wasn't flowers or candy or romance that Danielle Steele would write about, but there was absolutely a connection that could not be denied.

I remember the phone call, when he reached out to me in panic, telling me he was calling out of work to go see his dad in the hospital. he was terrified, having no idea what was wrong, and in the desperation of his voice, I knew I needed to be at his side. we had only been dating a few days when I showed up at the hospital with as much compassion and confidence as I could muster, witnessing the look of surprise in his eyes as I whispered to him "i would never let you go through this alone."

there was something about the way we began that showed us that love could be different than we had ever known. there was heavy metal blasting on a portable speaker as we hoisted my car, crawled underneath, and he showed me the anatomy of my car. it was in the way that I literally carried him on my back into the ER when he suffered a back injury from work, and I helped him get to every doctor's appointment, chiropractic adjustment, and how I was the medication monitor as I prayed and hoped for the best, watching him take his time to heal. it was being concerned about whether or not we had eaten, how we had slept, and praying together through the difficulties that demonstrated what a team can really look like-- quite literally looking at each other and saying "I have your back, you can depend on me" with every action we took. when he lost his job and lay on my couch, depressed and questioning what to do next, it was our prayer and dedication to God that kept us strong and united; we praised together in the tough stuff, and we praised when he was rewarded for diligence and got a new job, and began to walk again with less pain.

while all of this was truly amazing, humbling, and more real than anything I have ever felt in my life, we couldn't help but look at the calendar and know that over a month had gone by, and there had not been a night that we had not spent together in the same house. Some of those nights, we fell asleep on the couch watching silly movies, and other nights, he walked me to my room, tucked me in, prayed over me, and then returned to the couch himself. there was respect and honor, but there was still conviction to both of us. With our faith as strong as it is, we knew that living together was not how we wanted to begin out lives, especially at this stage of the game. and the night came that we discussed our future..... the same night that we got engaged.

we decided that we wanted to get married right away. for starters, we could not contain our joy for finding each other when we had both reached a point that we weren't sure love would exist for us. that, and quite honestly, neither one of us wanted jimmy to leave.... and neither did my kids. we had grown into a routine, one that consisted of playing together at the park or chasing mikey around the house to get back jimmy's hat, all the while mikey was squealing in delight; we alternated the time with the car so we could each get to work, we alternated the bedroom as he returned to third shift work, and with such comfort having each other so close, neither one of us wanted to return to a life without each other. we prayed again, and when we were in agreement, we talked to my parents, getting my father's blessing and best wishes from both of them, and we set the date to have a small intimate ceremony with a few friends, with the intention of having a big celebration on our one year anniversary.

the drive to the bridge was the absolute longest drive of my life, which is saying something as I have driven 12-15 hours to see family on both ends of the country. yet sitting with him in the car, holding my hand and listening to music as his hand shook and he counted the minutes, appeared to be completely agonizing. I joked about how I was going to give him wool socks so he wouldn't get cold feet, and he laughed and said that he wasn't going to walk away. he squeezed my hand and smiled, then said, "I just can't believe I get to marry you... today."

it was November 4th, 11:30 in the morning, we drove out to a historical covered bridge in Fremont that resembled a restored farmhouse just above a small creek. it was surrounded with so many trees that it felt like we were wrapped up in swirls of electric orange and fire engine red, with a brisk breeze and the sound of bubbling water beneath our feet. we chose the bridge for the location, specifically, because something about it spoke to me. and as we held hands and exchanged our vows, with a shaky voice and tears in my eyes, I began to explain why...

             "It is no mistake that we are here today. Just as I believe that God chose us for each other, I believe this place was destined to be part of our journey. It speaks about us as much as it fortells the challenges we will face.
             This bridge-- it is country, a reminder of natural beauty and simple joys. This is you- when I am off my rocker or just "off of coffee", your incredible laugh and sense of humor reminds me not to sweat the small stuff and to enjoy life's little moments that are far too fleeting.
             This bridge- it demonstrates connection. It is connection to each other and our dependence on God that will push us forward in difficult times and praising together in the good times.
             This bridge- it has history, meaning that the foundation is strong and protected. I believe that as we honor the foundation of truth and love and protect our marriage from drama and deceipt, we, like this bridge, will stand strong.
             Now, I know that promises are like pie crusts-- easily made, and easily broken-- vows are for God, and we will never be perfect. But, here are some truths I can offer you. As confidently as I offer you my heart and hand today: I will make mistakes, and I will fall short.... shorter than I physically am....(snicker), and in that, I will spend each day reminding myself that you will do the same, that we can extend grace, and that I will continue to grow and maturity and humility.
            I will have moments of weakness, moments when I don't feel good enough, or as though everything I touch turns to ash. And in that, I will seek God's face, as He can turn ashes into beauty and His grace is made sufficient in our weakness.
           There will be days that we have to work to like each other, and days we joke about "divorce court on Monday". But this is one promise that I can make:
           False promises of love will not sway me, and pursuit in my direction from others will be met with firm resistance. I promise not to get stuck in ideologies such as telling you that you complete me, because you don't. I am complete only in Christ; and just as our Father never leaves us, I will never leave nor forsake you.
           For everything else, I'll keep it simple.
           I'll let my yes be yes, my no be no, and my I do be my I do.
           I say yes to forever with you, a life of dedication and encouragement, prayer and growth, and always forgiveness. I do not give up, and I do give to you this heart for safekeeping, this hand so we stay side by side, and all the peace I can.
           May these words always bring you comfort and love, as I speak them to you and to God.
           It is no mistake that we are here today.... because this is where our forever begins."

living here has changed me this year. I suddenly have more appreciation for the small things, the little subtle beauties that lie in front of me that typically go unnoticed, the moments that would pass me by, and the simplicities of living a life of faith. I am blessed beyond blessed to have found a teammate to walk this life with me, reminding me to stop and smell the flowers, who has demonstrated that he will be soft and allow me to be strong, and be my strength when I am falling apart. this walk together, each moment, is a blessing. to quote Shauna Niequist, my favorite author from my very favorite book:
  
        "That's how families get made. Not by ceremonies or certificates, and not by parties and celebrations. Family gets made when you decide to hold hands and sit shoulder to shoulder when it seems like the sky is falling. Family gets made when the world becomes strange and disorienting and the only face you recognize is his."

November 4th, I became his wife. but everyday for the rest of our lives, we will become family.

the to-do list

"help. I need a towel."

that's all I needed to hear to know that today would be challenging. That, of course, came from mikey--straight forward and matter of fact-- shortly after the gurgling of his little sister projectile puking all over the breakfast table. naturally, poor ana started crying her eyes out, and mikey just wanted to get the little bit of soured almond milk off of the portion of his chair. so the epic scrubbing of my kitchen began, sanitizing and doublebagging the waste, so much so that the fragrance of bleach in the kitchen burned my nostrils on the inhale. oh well, I figured. at least it's clean in here, for now.

post breakfast blowout, chara and mikey were ready for church, and ana was laid up on the couch, snuggling her carebear and watching the movie Home, which I have to admit was adorable and cast perfectly. I couldn't believe that anyone other than Jim Parson could manage the roll of a literal and anal retentive alien. it was the only the sound of Sheldon Cooper on the big screen that distracted me from each and every time ana moved her body or coughed a little bit. I was so worried that she was going to get sick again that I put her in a pullup (in case she had a multiple blowout) and practically swaddled her into the couch cushions. thankfully, she didn't give me too much of a hard time on that.... at least until the movie was over.

after church, mikey returned with a scream and an inability to calm himself down, which turned into a battle over getting his coat and shoes off without him banging his head into a wall or attempting to step on the cat or punch one of his sisters, then repeatedly insist that he needed to go potty (a phrase he often scripts as an attempt to get out of trouble), only to stand there and wait for me to tell him to go. it didn't take much for me to figure out that he was overwhelmed today, although I truthfully, for the first time in a long time, had absolutely no idea why. and not knowing why reduced me to tears. why do I have the ability to analyze situations and different kiddos in those scenarios and come up with multiple solutions and ideas for parents and families, and yet when it comes to my first born, the snuggly little love bug that he is, I feel completely inept at times to help him cope with his struggles?

we all have this tendency to resist the good, insistent in our own ways until we literally collapse from exhaustion... at least in my house. I am probably the most guilty of this. there is not a day that I do not run around with a to-do list, happily checking off the items as they get accomplished, feeling as though I made a dent in this yellow brick road of never-ending tasks; that if I just get them done fast enough, I can reach the emerald city and get rejuvenated just in time to see the wizard and have him grant me all the deepest desires of my heart. of course, with children running around like elephants stomping on snare drums, shrieking in delight at an ungodly decibel, and me playing Russian roulette with each step I take around my house, as to not break a toe or step on a lego, and I am rarely clicking my heels as much as wishing for those poppy fields to give me a deep sleep.

sleep is a gift that is all too often missed out on lately, at least for me. jimmy works third shift, and many days, he returns exhausted, flips on some background noise on the ipad, and begins the choir of the rusty chainsaw...also known as his snore. meanwhile, I return to the way of chores, budgeting, research and homework, meal prepping, errands, and of course my kids. I have to wonder as I look around every afternoon at what has been accomplished if it is a bit like brushing my teeth with oreos- in all seriousness, what would be the point of it?

now of course, the answer is obvious. these are every day necessities, right? I mean, the kids need to eat when they're at school, so lunches need to be made, and the same with dinner in the evening. clothes need to be worn, and while there is no law about having clean clothes, anyone with a keen sense of smell and pride in one's appearance would prefer to have clean clothes to wear on a daily basis. I can continue to justify the to-do list, going down the different bullets, specifically telling myself why each one is needed and how me feeling exhausted at the end of the day is a good thing because of what has been accomplished.

and yet, there is something not on the list that hasn't been included for a long time, something that resonates within us all but often goes overlooked. there is a need to be fulfilled; and this is very different than being accomplished. Accomplished is a high five at the end of the day, a compliment from the boss, the right to kick your feet up and watch another episode on the latest Netflix obsession... but fulfilled-- that is to be satisfied with your abilities and your character, not just your daily task sheet. somewhere, in the midst of growing up, life becomes an order of expectations that fit a societal mold, turning us into what we all eventually become: adults. we hear the parents speaking wisdom to their children, trying to save them from their own hideous mistakes, warning them to "do things right"-- graduate school, focus on the future, save your money, get a good job, get married, then worry about a family, and so on. we see ads everywhere encouraging women to choose their own future by taking birth control, or for parents to vaccinate their children, to wash the carrots before you eat them to avoid the chemicals from the "dirty dozen"... literally, almost everything we see and hear guides us into the world of adults-- how to live, who to be, what to say. but where is the passion? where is the guidance counselor telling us to ask for help, and watch Disney movies?

it may not seem like much, but it is. having ana cuddled on the couch with me and watching this goofy little alien try to fulfill a promise to his one true friend gave me a glimpse at what I never see on the to-do list. it reminded me that even in the chaos, there must be pause. despite the difficulty, there are moments that are built for laughter. they can be puke covered moments, or bedtime story moments, or listening to your 6 year old learn to deliver a punchline-- correctly, and with vigor!-- or even an exhausted chuckle to yourself that you made it through the day. laughter is good-- it is passionate and alleviating and uplifting. it is a reminder that life is more than checking off the day's chores or paying bills and  collecting kids from daycare. it is a reminder to go off the beaten path every day, to find a moment that is not bland and mundane, or even think of one that is and make it into something better.

there is way too much yelling here every day. between chara's mini-woman attitude and mikey's sensory overloads and meltdowns, or ana screaming about how me making her eat her meal isn't fair, and I can't help but wish for a soundproof retreat filled with down blankets and Egyptian cotton sheets with a high thread count and a waterfall of coffee like the river in Charlie and the Chocolate factory. despite the fantasy that I dream to get away from it, especially when the moments are really trying, the noise eventually fades, the kids fall asleep in their warm cozy beds, and I can think about what the day has brought us. and ultimately-- I'm so blessed that I do not have blind obedience from my children.

I love when they listen, follow directions, as me if mommy needs any help with chores or cooking. those days are absolutely amazing, and it makes me feel like i'm doing something right. but in their deviation, I can see a spirit, not of rebelliousness, but of passion. yes, I want them to clean their toys now, and I get upset when they don't do it. but this is just a mere glimpse of how God looks at me throughout my day. i can say with a lowered nod and a slight smirk that i have been a proud toddler one too many times with God, stomping my feet over what isn't fair or banging my own head when i get frustrated (metaphorically of course)... and yet he is quick to show me grace. although it takes reflection and rewinding, I am able to see it from their standpoint. That instant is important to them. whatever they were thinking, imagining, believing, building-- it had great significance to them, and telling them to shut it down stirred up a passionate response. they still have a strong desire to stay in their own little world and tune out the world of adults and responsibilities and to-do lists and passionless work.

it doesn't matter what it is; passion is not limited by pages written, paint on a canvas, or people helped. driving down a country road with the music up and the windows down or climbing a mountain or learning to play the guitar, going to the beach just to run in the surf and listen to the sound of the waves and the seagulls-- there are so many ways that we can express passion, that we can extend grace to others, allow our character to develop by finding the joy from a place buried deep under all the mundane requirements and arduous and ample assignments that face us every day. but it takes a boldness, a strength to ask for help, to know when you're burned out and to have the ability to put the list and the pen down, take a breath of fresh air, and remind yourself that there is more to life than plaques on the wall, trophies on a shelf, or a paper filled with check marks. it is the heartbeat of a sick 4 year old girl as she snuggles under your Mexican knit blanket; it is the full sentence of the autistic boy who asks you to sing to him before he drifts to sleep; it is the comfort in knowing that you are exhausted at the end of the day because your heart and soul were put into every step taken and word spoken that day. it is sitting down at the end of the night, with only the whirring of the gas heat from the vents, words pouring out of your veins with each strike of the keyboard, knowing that this is a revelation to be shared, to find the passion that ignites your soul and make time for it every single day.

and i am blessed because i can check that off today. it is good.

melted popcorn

let me just say this: not all sweeteners are equal.

I can only say that I figured this out because I made an unfortunate mistake when attempting to make homemade popcorn balls with the kids. considering it is Halloween weekend, and I am truthfully not much for the celebratory activities of meeting strangers for sugar highs, it was my idea to make a delicious casserole, then make popcorn balls, and pumpkin banana bread.

I ALMOST pulled out a childhood common dinner that is for certain NOT a favorite..... tuna casserole. Literally canned tuna fish, egg noodles, and cream of celery soup. Not the most incredible culinary creation, but healthy and filling nonetheless. Well, I was able to get around that and make a chicken casserole instead, adding some veggies, fresh herbs, and topping it with cheddar cheese, and it was absolutely delightful.

shortly after, the kids got in line to get their showers done so that we could all enjoy a homemade dessert and watch a fun movie. This is our weekend ritual, if you can consider it that. But when you're broke and have multiples to entertain, Netflix is an amazing luxury, and popcorn seems like a dream. regardless, I was able to find a popcorn ball recipe in one of the kid friendly cookbooks that I managed to find in the bargain section of Books A Million months ago-- one of my favorite places to be as I love the smell of new books and freshly brewed coffee in the same place. truthfully, the cookbook is adorable! but I digress.

we were out of molasses. so of course, google a substitute and I was informed that one could switch out maple syrup for molasses. unfortunately, this must only be when it is utilized for baking (as a sweetener). the mix of vinegar, maple syrup, sugar, baking soda, and water did not create a thick gooey candy-like coating to make the popcorn balls, but this sweet soda-water that lacked viscosity and completely melted the popcorn down to the kernels. it made me laugh a bit at the complete lack of candy-making skill combined with the fact that I have never taken chemistry and didn't realize that adding baking soda too early to the mixture containing vinegar would cause it to bubble and nearly explode on the stove.

despite the smell of melted popcorn in a caramelized soup, i couldn't help but smile. for once, i wasn't getting upset over the fact that i hadn't mastered something this simple. i just dumped the bowl into the trash and told the kids i would make a new batch. the difference was this time, mikey wanted a kettle corn sprinkle on top of it, and chara, like her mom, requested melted peanut butter poured on hers. instead of a Halloween special, the kids saw that Kung Fu Panda 3 was on Netflix and immediately jumped in glee, agreeing that was the one they wished to watch. (*Yes, I said only Mikey and Chara because Ana was still having a 4-year-old stubborn fit in the kitchen over eating her dinner, and therefore was missing out on the fun.*)

i'm not sure what it was that made this time different. many times, it can be something absolutely tiny and miniscule in the grand scheme of things-- i can't find a matching set of socks for chara, i run out of lucky charms and the kids are forced to play rock paper scissors in order to determine who gets them for breakfast, i get exhausted throughout the day and resort to spaghetti instead of the amazing pinterest worthy meal that i looked up and bought ingredients for hours prior.... it didn't matter that i literally watched the popcorn melt into a giant bowl of gooey kernel soup. i laughed it off. but i'm not sure what made it different.

this image of perfection is an ideal that too many Christian women live by. we believe that we have to do it all-- be perfect chef's, perfectly calm parents with an abundance of patience, always put God first while still giving time to our homes, our communities, our families, missions, and ourselves without getting tired or overwhelmed or neglecting ourselves. what i am learning, even in the midst of melting popcorn, is that the pressure of perfection only concludes with the feeling of failure. and it isn't necessary.

we are not called to perfection. the perfect body, the perfect family, the perfect husband, the perfect life-- none of it exists. there are moments that we all fail, that we all fall short and don't measure up. my house was a disaster today; the kids were rowdy and running around, oblivious to the fact that i had given the direction to clean up their toys over 70 times, and ana must have resisted every meal like she was allergic to food. there were dishes in the sink, dirty cat litter, and i was only able to wake up by reheating yesterday's coffee (so it wouldn't go to waste). my hair was a wreck and i walked around in pajamas all day, with the ever lovely accessory of cat hair all over me. and the day was filled with tears, messes, spills, and moments of chaos.... and still, it was blessed.

it isn't in perfection that joy is found. it is the moments when the popcorn is melted, and Pixar is on the big screen, the kids smell of shampoo and melted peanut butter, and we are all snuggled together on the couch laughing together.... it is when they ask for a bedtime story and hold the cat and tell me how much they love school.... it is when chara dances with delight and ana imagines new characters and parties, and mikey is singing church songs and dancing around the house with jimmy's hat.... it is the moments that are found in photo albums, the ones that everyone is smiling and enjoying life-- these are the moments we remember. but it is all the sticky moments, the mistakes, the failures, the moments when we are brought to the edge that go unnoticed and unremembered.... but it is those sticky moments that make the good stuff matter.

i'm blessed to have those moments, to have lots of them, and to be in a place of my life when i can begin to appreciate them for what they are. i am glad for the lack of supply and the newfound creativity in the kitchen. i am grateful for quiet Saturday nights and bedtime stories and chicken casserole and crowded couch snuggles. and when the kids are tucked in and falling asleep, the dishes are done and the house is quiet again, i will be thankful for another chaotic day that i could be called mommy.

A bit about us :-)

It has been a long time since I desired to start a blog. In fact, for a while, I forgot that I had them to begin with. Facebook has been a bit of a superpower in this house, and while I'm thankful for the connection it has brought me to those far away from me, it has also been a lot of drama. I remember hearing from several dear friends who left facebook and returned to blogging, friends who became much happier and had more time for their families and the good moments in life. While I don't believe that I will be giving up facebook altogether, I think the time has come to sign off and enjoy telling my story. Well, our story.

First, there's me-- I'm Jodi, a 30 year old mommy of 3 amazing kiddos (Mikey, Chara, and Ana), a native New Englander, but adopted by the beautiful country living that is Ohio. I suppose you could say that I am a renegade baker and chef-- although, I have to admit that my creativity comes primarily when I'm not consumed with work, homework, or an abundance of cashflow. I am zealous about photography, and this is the year that I plan to pursue it with a fresh perspective and the belief that I am my own style. The color orange and old movies make me happy-- the ones that are in black and white, everyone is well spoken and dressed to the 9's-- those are the ones that I will curl up with my favorite hoodie and a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and enjoy watching. Oh-- shakespeare movies are included in that list, preferably the Kenneth Branaugh versions. I absolutely LOVE Shakespeare! I love God with everything I have in me. I am only beginning to learn what that kind of love and dedication means, but I love the journey it puts me on.

Then there is Mikey-- my 8 year old little man, silly and compassionate as they come. He is so unbelieveably charming, and I doubt he will ever get more handsome than he is! Yes, he has autism, and many of my posts will mention this. However, I believe that God gave him challenges for a reason, and I wouldn't change him for anything. Chara is my spunky sassy little 6 year old-- she is famous in her own mind, always right, and quite the fierce protectress. She has her moments when her mouth gets her in trouble, but her heart is usually in the right place. She has ADHD, so some moments with her bring me to the brink.... but it also brings me to my knees, and God knows I need that. Finally, there is Ana. Ana just turned 4 in September, and she is my priceless little party planner. Her imagination is completely unmatched by any other child I have ever met! All of my little ones bring such blessing to my life-- I couldn't thank God enough for them. Then there are Jimmy and Madison. Jimmy is my amazing husband-to-be, and I couldn't be more thrilled that God brought us together! I have seen so many blessings and millions of little moments where God has spoken to me, indicating that there will be challenged and joys alike in our upcoming life together. I can't wait to write about them all and share the journey. Madison is his 10 year old daughter, and as far as I'm concerned, my girl too. :-)

This is our life-- the good, the bad, the nitty gritty. :-)