Surviving May 16, 2012

This week, the world celebrated its first annual Hyperemesis Awareness Day (May 15th).
I had never heard of such a thing until yesterday when I stumbled upon an oranization dedicated to furthering research and educating the public about this life threatening pregnancy related illness.

And suddenly, there were others who had suffered like I had;
others who had experienced the pain and torture of something so awful I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel so alone.

My first pregnancy was a surprise to begin with.
I was a sophomore in high school, had no job,
no money, and my boyfriend (who would someday become my husband) and I had broken up three weeks prior.
*Crap*
About three days after I saw those two pink lines, I woke up feeling the most intense nausea I had ever felt. It was like my entire stomach was trying to escape from my body. It would hit me in waves, one after another, smacking me in the face and knocking me flat on my back. I lay in bed for days with a bowl, trying to make sense of all of this. My brain was still attempting to grasp the fact that I was expecting, and my body had to decided to revolt.
Weeks went by, and at 5’6 I went from a slim 120 lbs to a sickly 107 lbs.
The doctor prescribed medicine to help with the nausea, and my body had a bad reaction to it.
One kind made me vomit worse. Another caused my throat to burn a horrendous, chemical kind of burning feeling that made me bawl. Uncontrollable muscle spasms and facial ticks. Horrendous intestinal cramps…just to name a few of the side effects.
I felt like I lived in the E.R. My mother would wheel me inside in a hospital wheelchair, so weak I couldn’t stand much less walk; barf bowl in my lap and head hanging because keeping it raised was more energy than I could muster. They would hook my frail, dehydrated body to IV’s to pump in fluids. Then they would give me an IV push of Zofran, a very expensive and relatively new medication at the time designed to help cancer patients nausea during chemotherapy. The Zofran and IV combination helped and I would start to feel slightly better. My eyes would be a little less foggy, and I could answer questions without feeling like each word was sucking life from my body.
But then they would send me home with a different brand of medicine because my insurance didn’t want to pay for Zofran. The cheaper stuff didn’t work, and actually made my symptoms worse. I would be right back in the E.R within a few days, literally on the verge of death from dehydration, malnourishment and exhaustion.
I was getting so thin I looked like one of those cocaine addicted models you see in magazines; I remember looking in the mirror as a I got dressed and being able to count each of the ribs that poked through my yellow, loose skin.

Eventually, my insurance decided to acknowledge the Zofran was less expensive than E.R visits every few days, and slowly but surely I began to feel better. Don’t get me wrong, nothing even close to my normal self, but better than I had in several months. It was a long road to the place where I could eat again. Applesauce, cereal, every now and then some soup. Without the medicine in my system the vomiting came right back, and even with it I still threw up frequently, but I wasn’t dying anymore. That was a plus.

Each pregnancy that followed was this way, although my first was definitely the worst.
A fight to stay alive.
To function.
To live.
The heartbreaking part was being too weak to play with my children; so exhausted and drained and sick that all I could do was lay in one place and exert every ounce of energy in my being into not throwing up. Having them stand outside the bathroom listening to me wretch, quietly asking me if I was okay.

The hardest part of all though, was food. I am not afraid to admit I am one of those women who tends to eat her feelings.
I love food.
Food adds so much spice and enjoyment to life. It was like some sort of sick torture to think of nothing but food and the aching and longing in my empty stomach, knowing that anything that touched my lips would resurface within the next five minutes.
I could not eat anything.
I threw up water, stomach bile, blood, and when none of that was left I would huddle over the toilet and dry heave until I wet my pants and was on the verge of passing out from exhausted and lack of air.
My esophagus red and bleeding from the acid corroding it. My gums bleeding from malnourishment and irritation.
Eat some crackers before getting out of bed (despite the fact some days I couldn’t even leave my bed).
Drink some ginger ale.
Peppermint tea.
I cant tell you how many times that I beat the crap out of people (in my mind of course) for saying things like that to me.
Gee, crackers you say? Because I never thought of that.
((Insert sarcastic Willy Wonka tone here)).
I would muster some sort of half smile and mumble
“Thanks, that didn’t work for me though.”
When all I was saying in my mind was “Shut up. I hate you. I hate you for thinking I am THAT stupid it would never occur to me to try crackers. Now go take a long walk off a tall building.”

Thats another thing, HG brings out emotions in you that you never thought you could have.
Something about literally starving, and being sleep deprived, and feeling so miserable that you have honestly wished you could die just so you never have to hug another toilet seat does a horrible thing to a persons psyche.
I have never been so depressed as I was while pregnant. Its dark, and lonely. No one can truly understand how you feel unless they have been through it. Being too sick to go anywhere or do anything or even really function makes it all so much worse, because you feel completely cut off from the world. Even phone calls require energy, energy I just didn’t have to give,
And so I lay there, in bed or on a couch or wherever, wishing it could just be over with.

It’s hard to admit the tremendous amount of effort it takes not to resent your growing little one. Once they are born, everything is fine, and you feel better, and you see them and instantly fall in love all over agan.
But especially in the early stages, before you can feel the baby kick, or have pictures from an ultrasound, it was so hard to get past the way that I felt, and remember that there is a little baby that needs me to stay strong. A baby whose whole world is me.

That first pregnancy was by far the hardest, although my third was also very traumatic.
But somehow I survived it all.
Here I am, 26 weeks and counting with my fourth and final child and I look at my family and am reminded that I fought, and I lived. It is nothing short of a miracle to me that my children are all healthy, each with normal birthweights and no lasting effects from my illness.
They are fighters too.

Some of the longest hours, and darkest days of my life were during my pregnancies, wondering if my child was going to make it, and wondering if I was going to make it. Nothing can compare. But when I look at what came from my sickness, it was all worth it. I did it three (and soon to be four) times, and something about knowing what I conquered to bring those boys into this world is so empowering. I am a fighter. I didn’t just have my children, I warred for them.
I fought my mind and my depression,
I fought my body and its constant sickness.
I went days without food and water,
vomiting almost constantly but pushing myself to eat anyway and praying that my body would be able to absorb at least some of the nutrients before my stomach rejected it.
I fought, and I won.
Not every woman or baby is so fortunate.
I cannot begin to explain to you how blessed I am to be typing this today, because the truth is I could so easily have died, as could any one of my little boys.
But they survived; we survived.
I wont ever stop being thankful that.

My prayer in all of this, is that some day my story will help encourage other women suffering from HG. That they will feel less alone, and forgotten, because someone else knows what they are going through and survived it, and so can they. Finding out about Help HER and all that they are doing to help raise awareness, and how many other women have gone through what I went through, made it all seem a little less awful. Suffering alone is something no one should ever have to do. And maybe, just maybe, someone may be encouraged by my story, and it could help inspire her to make it through.

This is dedicated to all those who have lost their life to Hyperemesis,
Mothers and babies.
We Wont Stop Fighting For Answers And A Cure.
May You Rest In Peace.

Real Moms May 13, 2012

As yet another Mothers Day comes to a close,
I am reminded again just how blessed I truly am.
Three (soon to be four) amazing little boys who are convinced I have hung the moon,
And a wonderful husband who gave them to me that adores me, for all my flaws and short comings.
The concept of motherhood and what makes a mother great is something I ponder frequently.
What makes a mother a “good” mother?
What makes a mother “great”?
I wonder if I meet the standard,
And whose standard it is anyway.
I wonder if I do enough,
If my kids have all that they could,
If I am being all I can be.
My husband tells me I am a great mother,
Still, I sometimes have my doubts.
After all, who is a great mother is open to interpretation.
And some might disagree with me,
And the things I feel makes a mother a real mom,
But everyone has their own beliefs,
And parenthood in general is no different.
The one thing that makes me crazy is I see far too many mothers with extreme double standards.
Women feel that because we birthed our children that means they owe us;
That because of our labor of love that excuses whatever indiscretions we may commit in the future.
Reality is, birthing a child may be more physically strenuous than pretty much anything else we might endure,
But that in and of itself does not make you a Mom anymore than a man simply inserting his sperm makes him a Dad.
Our children did not ask to be born, and it was not their choices that lead to their conception, or ultimate arrival on the planet;
Therefore, they owe us nothing.
What makes a Mother a Mom is a matter of the heart.
My Mom is far from perfect, but I have never once doubted her love for me.
She gives of herself, her time and her affections freely.
She has fallen short, who hasn’t?
But at the end of the day no matter what happens,
I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she loves me and that will never change.
Loving like that is the embodiment of my faith,
The concept that Jesus and God loves us unconditionally and forgives us no matter what or who we once were.
There is something so reassuring in knowing that exists,
And even more in seeing it lived out.
There is something so comforting in having love that you didn’t earn,
And don’t even deserve, but you have it anyway, always.

So here’s to the Real Mom’s out there:
The ones who set the standard for what Mothers should strive to be.
Here’s the Mom’s who pulled all nighters,
Wiping vomit from our mouths and nursing us back to health with soup and kisses.
Here’s to the Mom’s who cooked countless meals,
Washed endless dishes,
And cleaned mountains of laundry,
To make our homes feel welcoming and safe.
Here’s to the Mom’s who traded night clubs for nights in,
And alcohol for soft drinks.
Here’s to the Mom’s who went without,
So that we had everything we needed.
Here’s to the Mom’s who worked long and hard,
To give us a better future than her own.
Here’s to the Mom’s who put themselves last,
And us first, always.
Here’s to the Mom’s who dried our tears,
And chased away every nightmare.
Here’s to the Mom’s who taught us what grace is,
And how to live it through example.
Here’s to the Mom’s whose arms were always open,
Because forgiveness was more important than “I told you so.”
Here’s to the Mom’s who weren’t afraid to punish us,
Because without consequences we never would have learned to do good.
Here’s to the Mom’s who admired our sloppy artwork,
Our so so solo,
And cheered us on at every special event.
Here’s to the Mom’s who saw the silver lining,
And the beauty in every situation.
Here’s to the Mom’s who let us see their imperfections,
And helped us to learn from their mistakes.
Here’s to the Mom’s who challenged us to try harder,
Because she saw the potential hidden underneath.
Here’s to the Mom’s who never lost faith in us,
Even when we lost faith in ourselves.
Here’s to the Mom’s who taught us what love truly is,
And that unconditional is what it is meant to be.
Here’s to the Real Mom’s;
Whose love is never questioned,
Whose hearts are never closed,
Whose arms are always open.
From the depths of our souls
We Thank You.

From the Heart of a Child April 11, 2012

“Mommy?” My son Anthony’s voice is small as we approach our front door.
“Yes baby.”
“How do you think Treyvon is feeling in heaven right now?”
I turn from putting the key in the door and stare in my child’s big brown eyes.
The last few rays of sunlight are melting behind the horizon, dusk settling over the neighborhood.
We have just come from a prayer vigil at Valparaiso University, honoring Trayvon Martin and praying for peace and change in our nation, and for justice to be served.
I can see that the heart of my five year old is heavy. His face is somber and sincere.
“How do you think Treyvon feels right now Anthony?”
“I think he is sad.”
“What do you think made him sad?” I know what my answer is to this question, but I am curious what part of tonights events have struck a cord with my son.
“I think he is sad because he sees his mommy and daddy, and how much they miss him, and it makes him cry.”
I look at him, so young, and already so filled with the burdens of this world.
Tears begin to well, and I fight to swallow them back because the last thing I want is to make him even more sad.
“I’m sure you are right Anthony. But do you think that it made him happy that they found the man who hurt him, and that we all got to go and pray for him and his family tonight?”
He pauses for a moment and I can see his thoughts forming.
“Yes,” he finally says. “I think it helped that we got to pray. I hope it made him feel a little better.”
“I’m sure it did baby.”

I heard about the vigil through a family friend, and as soon as I read about it I knew I wanted to be there. This case has been on my heart and mind a great deal over the last 44 days, and with George Zimmerman finally being held accountable for his actions, it seemed such an appropriate closing to this waiting game nightmare the entire nation has been caught in.
My boys stood with me, Hoodies Up.
We stood together and prayed.
We heard students share poems they had written, and pastors and members of the community speak about race and stereotypes and how we can all be the change we wish to see.
Somehow in the dimly lit chapel, holding our candles and sharing together in the somber event,
I felt hopeful.
My children, so small and innocent, just the way Trayvon was to his mother once, are my hope.
If we all care enough to speak out, and refuse to accept the stereotypes and the hate and the racism, then we WILL see change in this nation.
My children could be part of the generation who sees a new kind of future, if my generation fights hard enough to change what our reality is.
We can be the difference.
From the eyes of my child, hating someone because of how they look is baffling.
Hating anyone that you don’t even know,
And taking the life of another human being is incomprehensible.
Why are people afraid of what is different?
Why do people hate what they do not know?
My son is only five, yet on some level he can understand that death takes sons from their mothers and fathers, and breaks families, and leaves holes in the hearts of those they loved.
I hope and pray it is a pain I never have to feel.
I can promise you one thing, I will live my life fighting for my children, and their children, and their children’s children.
Fighting every day for equality, and for an end to the madness that brings such pain and suffering and anguish.
Fighting against the hate and the stereotypes and the judgements without cause.
Fighting for justice in this great land of ours,
So that future generations have a chance to live their lives without fear of wearing their hoodies up.

**See me and my boys on the News Coverage from tonights prayer vigil.

#RIPTreyvon

Teardrops April 2, 2012

The darkness envelopes me as I lay here alone and unsure.
My heart aches from all the harsh words and frustration,
Is that really how you feel?
Where have the good times gone?
Where has your smile drifted off to?
Remember when we were happy,
When we were doing so much more than surviving?
When you sit five feet away from me,
It may as well be a million miles.
Your eyes are distant and lost,
Like you would rather be anywhere but here.
And some days I just feel like I’m drowning,
In my tears, and loneliness.
I feel like no matter how hard I fight,
This rip tide keeps pulling me under.
And I wonder who would miss me,
If my pain swallowed me up.
And I wonder if all those things you said,
Would still matter even then.
I wonder if thats how your heart feels,
Or if its just easier to aim anger towards me.
They say that God counts my tears,
I wonder where the tally lies.
They all feel so painful and pointless,
Every time that they multiply.
I feel empty,
Like the life has literally been drained from me.
So exhausted,
So unhappy,
So disappointed with myself.
I’m not the woman I thought I would be,
And every day just brings a new let down.
All the things I couldn’t do.
All the ways I let myself fall.
Where have the good times gone to?
The days when you looked at me,
And I could see it,
And feel it,
And just know,
How deep your love ran for me.
You don’t look at me that way anymore,
Sometimes its like you don’t even see me.
In a house full of people I find myself,
Overcome with loneliness.
It seems so hard to keep smiling,
When everyday leads to another disappointment.
It seems far too often I let you down,
And I don’t always know exactly why,
But it shows all over your demeanor.
Maybe what was said is the truth,
And I just didn’t want to see it.
Maybe I’m just too stupid to admit,
That I have failed,
And I don’t know how to fix it.

Decade March 31, 2012

I had a wonderful surprise when going to the mailbox this evening.
A letter from a dear friend.
Its funny how in this day and age of texting and email and facebook how rare an actual,
physical letter from someone really is.
As I read her words I felt instantly reconnected to her,
And an overwhelming wave of sadness hit me as I realized just how long it had been since she left.
Six years this October since her Dad got a promising new job that moved her family from their lifelong home in Crown Point Indiana all the way to Houston.
Just a few short weeks before Anthony was born,
He was seven months old before she ever actually got to meet him.
My life at that time was stormy at best,
And the Crowe family served as a surrogate home during my seasons of hardship.
Almost every weekend we spent in their pool,
Or hanging out watching movies and having giggly girl time.
Their leaving marked a change in my life in many other ways too.
A few short weeks later I went from being a sixteen year old girl to being a mother,
And my childhood,
And my best friend were all gone just like that.
I never have found another friend like her.
Another friend that I could share everything with,
Another friend who just understood everything about me,
Even if it wasn’t really even something she agreed with;
Understanding without a real explanation ever needed.
As the years have passed so much has happened;
My first job, my wedding, my first home, three (soon to be four) children;
A whole lifetime of milestones.
Still, there will always be this place in my heart that can never really be filled by other friendships.
A genuine love and connection that only a sister can feel (and I have four sisters so I know lol).
I have this box of pictures and mementos in my closet of times with alanna;
Maybe I am just a hoarder but I love things like that,
Tiny memories of all those moments that have faded.
I miss her so much.
I miss her as a person,
And who she was in my life.
And every year that passes feels like a lifetime.
Texas feels like a million miles away,
And may as well be as often as we don’t get to see each other.
But still, even as we have built these brand new lives and grown from girls to women,
I will always accredit so much of who I am today to our friendship and all that it did for me.
No matter what,
Whether we talked last week or six months ago,
I know that whatever I need, whenever I need it she is always there.
I know that we will always be friends regardless where life takes us,
Because our friendship has a foundation that proximity has no effect on.
We have history that gives us the strength to live our lives always knowing,
We have each other.
We are different people now, sure.
But a part of me, and of her, and a part of you,
Always has that child in it.
That innocent little girl that giggled until 3 am with her best friend,
Who played in the snow,
And played dress up.
Who painted nails and put on too much make up.
Who laughed about boys,
And cried about boys.
Who danced to cheesy pop songs,
And took hundreds of pictures of ourselves because for some reason it made us feel pretty.
The little girl is always there,
And that wont ever change.
And that best friend that we shared all those memories with,
That wont ever change either.
Its been a decade since Alanna and I first met.
Ten years of living our lives.
Ten years of growing and changing and laughing and learning,
A decade of memories to share.

And heres to many many more decades of friendship,
A friendship I know will never end,
And I am eternally grateful for.

No Justice, No Peace. March 21, 2012

In the world we live in today,
People love to dismiss accusations of racism with a roll of eyes and the assumption that its just an overly sensitive individual crying wolf.
If only.
Racial stereotypes are alive and well.
Racism brews beneath a barely concealed surface.
It is passed down from one generation filled with ignorance and hate,
On to the next.
People embrace what they have been taught,
And teaching hate is second nature for people around the world and yes, in America.

By now, virtually the entire country knows the name of Treyvon Martin;
A seventeen year old boy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time,
And was confronted by the wrong person.
He will never know his fame.
He will never graduate from high school.
He will never hug his parents again.
He will never get to grow up and have a family of his own.
He will never take another breathe.
He is dead.
His crime?
Being black, and wearing a hooded sweatshirt in a white neighborhood.
Walking home on the phone with a bag of skittles for his brother,
He was deemed “suspicious” by a man,
And so that man felt the need to take Treyvon’s life.
A bullet to the chest for walking down the street is legal?
How can this be?
How can it be legal to kill a young black man for no other reason than his presence makes you uncomfortable?
How can such hate be tolerated?
How can a person put a bullet in the chest of an unarmed child,
And walk away scot free with the simple claim of self-defense?
They cannot be allowed to.
We cannot let this happen.
Because once behavior like this is tolerated again,
All we have gained over the last half a century since the civil rights movement,
Is lost.

My husband is black,
And all four of my sons are bi-racial.
Although their blood is just as white as it is black,
They will be identified by the world as “black.”
I have no problem with that,
But many people do.
We live in a predominantly white community,
And so this scenario could very well happen in my own backyard.
The thought of my children walking down a street as young men,
And a man being able to shoot them dead for no other reason than the fact that my son being on his street makes the man feel threatened,
Makes my blood boil.
It does something inside of me that I cannot explain.
What kind of sick, twisted police officers responded to that 911 call?
How could they see that young man laying there,
With a bullet to the chest and a bag of skittles for his little brother,
And not feel the same rage that I do?
How can any of you hear about Treyvon’s story and not feel a righteous anger and a burning desire for justice?
How can Zimmerman be allowed to walk free,
While an innocent child that he slaughtered is laying in the ground?

As I read the details of that night in dozens of articles my rage only intensifies.
People say far too often that racism is no longer an issue and people need to stop being so sensitive.
Each time I hear those statements I have to fight with all my might to keep from smacking them.
The only person who can say that racism is dead is a person who is too blind to see it effecting others,
And has never in fact experienced it for themselves.
The fact that they have never been a victim does not make racism dead,
It simply makes them one of the few lucky ones;
Or simply too ignorant to be able to identify it.

One thing that has made me the most angry is that Zimmerman’s family actually have the audacity to say “Zimmerman has many black friends and family members,” as though that somehow means he cannot be a racist.
News flash: a black person marrying into your family, or being nice to a black neighbor, or ever being friends with a black person, does NOT mean that you are not guilty of ever stereotyping.
It does NOT mean that you are incapable of committing an act of racism,
And it certainly does NOT make Zimmerman anything but guilty of murder.

As the country erupts with a call for justice,
We must take a look at our own hearts.
If you feel that burning desire to help,
Do something and sign and share the petition to Florida authorities demanding justice.
If you feel nothing,
Then ask yourself what it is in your heart that does not wish for justice for an innocent life lost.
Our America is supposed to be a country of freedom,
A country of equality,
And a country of justice.
We have fought long and hard,
Countless lives have been lost defending this land,
And those lives need to be honored by us doing our part and making sure that people pay for their crimes.
WIthout justice,
Without honor,
What are we made of?
If we don’t stand up and fight this system,
And demand that a killer be tried for his crime,
It will never end.
More lives will be lost,
More families shattered,
More children murdered in cold blood.
We cannot allow future generations to grow up in a land where you can legally be executed for walking down a street at night.
We cannot let this happen.

I urge you to fight and band together and refuse to be silenced.
Without justice in this land,
We will never know peace.
Fight for our children,
For the America of tomorrow.
Fight for the peace we all so desperately desire.
Fight for what is right,
And do not stop until good has defeated evil.
The blood of the innocent cries from the ground,
Do not turn a deaf ear to its plea.
Do what is good and noble,
For if not you and I,
Who will?

Its A Boy March 20, 2012

For the last few weeks I have felt kind of like this cloud is hanging over me.
Our ultrasound was approaching,
And until I knew the sex of our baby,
I was more than determined not to get my hopes up either way.
I will admit it,
I am still a little girl at heart.
I love to play Barbies and dress-up and dolls with my niece,
And I love the thought even more of having my own little girl to play with.
Pink, sparkles, and nail polish and princess,
I love it.
And I have dreamed for many years about raising a little girl,
Learning to braid her hair,
And teaching her how to accessorize.
And playing dolls with her.
And watching her grow into a young woman.
First crushes,
And Prom,
And her wedding day.
Someone to giggle with,
And stay up late talking to,
And to truly be able to relate to.
Her name would have been Aaliyah Jean;
Jean, after Melvin’s grandmother.
A part of me was determined not to hope for a daughter,
Because what kind of mother is disappointed when she learns the sex of her child?
But deep down in my heart, I just couldn’t help it.
And so we went into the dark room and I laid on my back.
I took a deep breath and I watched the screen as a strange looking image of our little alien baby appeared.
Deep down I was expecting a boy,
In my heart I just kind of knew it was;
And sure enough,
I was right.
And so there it was,
No disputing that one.
His tiny little legs above his head,
And we saw it.
And as much as I tried to keep my composure and still be excited,
I felt my face fall,
And I fought back the tears.
You see, pregnancy is a very difficult thing for me,
And Melvin and I had both agreed that this would be our last baby.
We started when I was sixteen,
And I am ready to move on and see an end to the diaper and midnight feeding stage of my life.
We had both agreed that this would be our last baby,
And so it was official,
I will never have a daughter.
That realization hung in the air,
Echoing over and over again my mind.
It seemed so surreal,
Like a strange dream.
How could the hope of something I had wanted so badly,
Just be gone?
I was quiet as we drove home,
I was determined not to feel sad,
And especially not to let it show.
I felt so guilty for being upset,
And for fighting back the the tears.
I was just hoping no one would notice.
But my husband did,
Of course,
He can read me like a book.
And he did his best to comfort me,
And hold my hand and make me feel better.
But nothing seemed to help.
It almost frustrated me more he felt so badly,
Because it’s not like either of us had a choice,
Or it was anyones fault.
It just was.
But still,
I felt like a dream had died.
Lot’s of women don’t care either way,
Lot’s of women only want boys;
I wish so much I was like that.
I wish every time I see baby girl clothes,
Or walk past something pink, or princess or daisy,
That my heart didn’t hurt a little.
I wish I didn’t feel that way.

Maybe I wouldn’t have been a very good mother to a girl,
Maybe I would have messed her up.
I know that God has a plan for everything,
And I know that four boys is exactly what Melvin and I were supposed to have.
So maybe its a comfort to me,
To know that this worked out as planned,
But I can’t eliminate that underlining sadness,
And sense of loss.
Maybe its because we have had her name for so many years,
It made her seem real,
When she wasn’t.
She was a dream,
Something beautiful,
But she was simply never meant to be.

I love my boys.
I would not trade them for a million girls,
I would gladly die for any or all of them.
My life is so much richer and better because of them,
I cannot imagine a world where they did not exist.
My sons love me.
They tell me how beautiful I am.
If they think I am sad,
They gently place their hands on my cheeks and kiss me,
And tell me how much they love me.
They are helpful and kind,
And the sweetest, most wonderful children I have ever known.
I look at my kids,
And their sunshine filled smiles,
And I know this little man growing inside of me,
Will fill my life with just as much joy and wonder.
For some strange reason,
Knowing that doesn’t make me feel any differently.
Maybe I just need to get used to,
And accept this new realization.
I have five months to get ready to be the best mommy possible to this little angel,
And I know in that time I will be spending every moment falling in love with him.
So cheers to basketball games,
Soccer matches and friday night football.
To baseball games and wrestling in the mud,
And frogs and worms and sticks and dirt.
To cooking lots of food at meal times,
To always having someone to take out the trash,
And mow the lawn,
And do heavy lifting.
To never having to have that time of the month talk,
And to never having to share my clothes or jewelry.
After all, boys are much less expensive than girls,
At least until they get into video games.
Cheers to a lifetime exactly the way God intended it,
Because truth be told,
Thats the only life I want anyway.

New Directions March 20, 2012

Its been nine days since I last blogged,
Which basically means I have become a huge slacker in regards to this whole blogging everyday thing.
But lately, I just haven’t felt like writing.
Indiana has been experiencing some freakishly warm weather,
St. Patty’s day being 82 degrees just doesn’t happen,
Ever.
So with that my boys and I have enjoying as much of the great outdoors as we possibly can.
When I started this blog
It was meant to be an outlet for my thoughts and feelings,
Me uncensored, if you will.
But I feel like it has turned into more of a journal with me documenting the mundane,
Every day junk that comes with motherhood.
Let’s be honest,
Diaper duty isn’t exactly a page turner.
Anyway, at this stage of my life,
I feel like I just do not have the time and energy to give this blog my all on a daily basis.
I am still going to write,
But not everyday.
I’m going to write about things that strike a cord with me,
And things that mean something.
So with that being said,
Now that the pressure is off a little,
Please check for many more entries,
As often as I possibly can.
I still love to write,
But the demands of three (soon to be four) kiddos under six,
I’m going to take a more laid back approach,
For my own mental sanity,
I need my blog to be something I love and not just another thing on my daily to-do list that I have to feel guilty about if I am too tired to do.
As always,
Thank you so much for reading.

<3

Beast Mode March 10, 2012

Today was Anthony’s last soccer game,
And boy did he go out with a bang.
He ran as fast as his legs would carry him and played his little heart out,
And scored a whopping eleven goals!
So proud.
It surprised me a little how much I enjoyed being a “soccer mom,”
But it really was a great season and a wonderful time.
The chaos of the herd of little ones scrambling frantically after the ball,
The swell of enthusiasm from the sidelines as each players little cheering squad urges their child to get in the game.
The sound of shoes squeaking on the gym floor,
And their rosy cheeks and tiny beads of sweat of their foreheads.
The best part,
The part I don’t think I will ever forget,
Is the priceless look on Anthony’s face whenever he scored.
His brown eyes lit up and danced,
His smile was from ear to ear,
And every time he looked straight over at his daddy for affirmation he had done well.
And to see his daddy clap and smile,
That was all he needed to feel proud of himself.
It’s funny how we are like that;
No matter how excited we are about something,
We need someone we care about to reassure us,
Even with just a glance,
That we have a reason to feel great about ourselves.
“Beast Mode!”
Thats what my boys all say (which they learned from daddy) to describe someone kicking butt at anything really,
But especially sports.
Today our little guy was certainly a beast,
And I couldn’t be more proud.

#Blessings365

Blessing 67: Competition
-Being competitive isn’t always a great thing, but it sure is a great way to make a kid feel great about hard work and a job well done.

TGIF March 9, 2012

To say that I really really really look forward to the weekends,
Is an understatement.
Friday’s just can never seem to come soon enough,
And although Monday’s really stink,
It is never until about Thursday of each week that I truly remember just how much I love Friday’s.
Day care kids all week long,
The weekends are my time with my boys and hubby to just catch my breath.
And without that time to catch my breath,
I am truly afraid I would lose my mind.
Today was a different Friday for us but in a good way.
Mel was off work and so he was able to do what he does best and put the fear of God in the munchkins.
So every single one of them took a three hour nap today,
And every single one of them listened like God himself had come down and spoken to them.
It was heavenly.
My little sister Bekah is home from school for spring break,
So we got to have dinner with her and her boyfriend Alec.
I miss everyone hanging out as a family.
I actually cooked the last two nights as well,
Which I didn’t do for like the last two months because the smell of food was absolutely unbearable.
So happy to be slowly bouncing back to a semi-normal.
Every day gets a little easier.
Down side to today was that the diamond from my wedding ring fell out of its mound this morning.
Although Jared will replace it because we have a lifetime warranty,
They said it will be almost a month before I will get it back.
I feel so naked without it,
But I am soooooo glad it is getting fixed.
I can’t wait for the rest of this weekend,
It is way too easy lately for me to get depressed,
And I really think I need to focus on the positive and try to think about the many many good things in my life.

#Blessings365

Blessing 66: Chill time
-Whenever, however it comes; weekend or not, it is an absolute necessity to sanity.