Someone recently said the following to me, "I sure wish you could just have your own baby so that you can stop trying to raise everyone elses." As shocking as this statement seems, I wasn't really hurt by it. Through my years of infertility struggles, I would have given ANYTHING to have a baby. Anything. Really. I yearned for it. Prayed for it. Obssessed over it. In our 10-year journey to have a family, I was blessed to become pregnant once. We wanted more kids and were never blessed again with a biological child. One would have to do. About two years ago my feelings about being a mother underwent a transformation. It was unexpected after spending so many years wanting to be pregnant. I'm not really sure what happened, but I know that I suddenly felt no desire to ever be pregnant again. Something inside me realized that I wanted to be a mother, not just pregnant. So, we sought another option and became foster parents. In nearly two years, we've had 7 kids in our home, including the two we have right now. And through this process, I don't really think I'm trying to raise everyone elses kids. I think my husband and I are trying to find the children that God intends for our family. If that means giving a loving home to children who aren't going to stay here, then so be it.

Hallowed

I've prayed the Lord's Prayer at nearly every church service I've attended my whole life. As we've changed churches throughout the years, the lingo has changed, debts, sins, trespasses etc. However, the meter and meaning have always been the same. It's easy to let it roll out without thinking. I've had it memorized since I was a child.
Recently though, each time I recite the beginning I am struck by something. This something gives me chills to my core. Hallowed. His name is hallowed. It makes me want to whisper the name of God because I am not worthy to say it. Hallowed means sacred, holy, revered and consecrated. God is so holy and wonderful and powerful and amazing that even His name is sacred. Think about that. We toss God around as if He were our friend or our neighbor. While I know these things to be true, I think there is merit in stepping back and thinking about the magnitude of His holiness once in a while. If we are to truly come before him in a humble way, we must first recognize what He is. Hallowed. Even His name.

Blessed

I know Thanksgiving has passed, but lately I have been reflecting on how blessed I am. I have an amazing husband who has really figured out how important he is to our family and how important we are to him. I have a brilliant little boy who thinks and considers and analyzes constantly, but will also help his sister up when she falls and isn't too big to snuggle with his mommy. I have an independent, vivacious daughter who is learning to say "I love you" and loves to be pretty. And last but not least, I have a serene, sweet baby girl who loves to smile and be made to feel special. I am so grateful to God for these four blessings. When I watch them in action, especially with each other, I am left speechless by the love I feel for each of them.

The Act of Hubicide

I've recently begun to toss around the word "hubicide." It's a term I coined a few weeks ago when I found myself saturated in pure frustration with my hubs. I guess the official definition, should Merriam-Webster ever allow it to be included in the dictionary, would be something along the lines of this: the killing of one husband by one wife. While I know I would NEVER commit such a terrible act, I think most wives have been able to relate to this thought process at one point in their marriage or another. They may have even fantasized about it. Flashes of hubicidal thoughts come and go as we wonder how he can't hear the baby crying or why the trash hasn't been carried to the curb for two weeks. Mostly, I speak figuratively about this and not truly about the reality of killing my husband. Well, maybe just killing off the annoying parts of his behavior!
The truth is though, God made men and women to be different. I'm not always sure why. But I'm sure they want to kill us sometimes too. I'll leave them to come up with their own word for that!

An ADD SAHM

I'm making my to-do list for this morning. I've meal planned for the next 7 days. I've listed all of the other tasks I need to accomplish. And as I sit here and type this blog entry, I realize that as more and more minutes tick by, my chances of getting these prioritized things accomplished are dwindling. I seem to suffer from SAHM ADD at times. For the lay-person, this is Stay-At-Home-Mom Attention Deficit Disorder. This is a unique strand of ADD that only affects those of us moms who are trying to substitute Maxwell House for sleep, can't seem to stay on top of the laundry, and have snot spots on our shoulders. I start the day with the noblest of intentions. I have my own agenda of tasks and seem to get distracted by, well for one, the internet. This diversion is most certainly followed by something as pressing as a bodily function of one or more children or pets. Before I know it, dirty dishes, snacks, the Directv bill, and assorted phone calls have snowballed into a mess of disorganized productivity. I am, in fact, usually getting something done. However, my organized plan for the day flies out the window, and I begin a process similar to crisis management.
One would think that this chosen affliction (I say chosen because I did, in fact, choose it.) would be enough to send moms running back to the work force. Instead, I feel blessed to be able to be with my children and bond with them. I am honored that when they wake up from their naps, I get to be the first face they see. It is my privilege to provide that consistency for them. Hopefully, these moments create an unbreakable bond. It's either that, or we are bonding due to surviving the chaos together like soldiers in battle. Either way, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

A Happy Place

This morning, I find myself reflecting on the trials and tribulations of the last year. This is something I have done often over the last several months. When I look back, however, I don't think about the pain and stress. I am grateful. I look at the life of my family now compared to then and see such blessing. God has poured out on us over the last several months. It was unexpected and came out of a terrible situation. Nevertheless, I rejoice at our new closeness, daughter, financial peace and look forward to what is in store for us next.

How Fragile We Are!

Over the last few weeks, our home has been full of struggle. There are always struggles when raising children. There is no owners manual, no plan to follow. However, nothing has prepared my husband and I for the challenges of parenting foster children who have been hurt so deeply that there is virtually nothing left to them but anger. It is literally as if the pain has eaten a hollowness into their very beings and left nothing behind at all, no personality, no feelings, no self.

Where Am I Going?

Throughout my life, I have often wished there to be a map of my life. I've wanted to know who I would marry, the children I would have, and the jobs I would hold. The most agonizing times have been those times that were filled with uncertainty and lack of direction. Particularly during those struggles, I have desired to know what will happen next. I have pleaded with God to just tell me or show me a sign. At those times I have been foolish in thinking that if I just "know" something, it will change the situation or make it better. Several months ago, I read a quote that a friend posted on their Facebook status. It is simplistic and yet speaks volumns to me. "The fact that God has a plan, not your knowledge of the plan, is the basis of your peace and hope." For most of my life, I have been kidding myself by thinking that knowing is important. It simply isn't. That's a really hard pill to swallow in a society where knowledge is power. The desire to know makes us as humans feel confident in ourselves and our own capabilities, when really we should just know God and rely on Him.
I've been chastised many times over the last few months in a tough situation for not being worried enough. Basically, my lack of worry and abundance of peace was very disconcerting for people in my family. I can't explain it any other way that to say that I was blessed with some of the first real peace I've ever experienced in my life. I chose to accept that peace and wear it proudly instead of casting it off for the selfish desire to know. All I really need to know of God, is how much He loves me, and that He does have a plan for my life. As long as I seek His wisdom and follow His will, that peace is all I need to KNOW!

I’ve been thinking about summer a lot. I’ve been plotting and planning ways to keep my kids busy, or if I’m really honest with myself, from killing each other! I’ve combed the internet and our community for classes, camps, ideas, and suggestions. I’ve tried to carefully balance the activities for each month and find things that don’t drain our checking account. Part of me dreads summer and its lack of structure. The thought of summer has even caused some anxiety for me. Since this will be my first summer with two new children, I’m not sure what to expect.
But today I had an alarming thought. I was listening to the radio and heard Kris Allen’s new song entitled Live Like We’re Dying. The chorus struck a nerve with me.
Yeah, we gotta startLooking at the hands of the time we've been givenIf this is all we got and we gotta start thinkingIf every second counts on a clock that's tickingGotta live like we're dying
We only got 86,400 seconds in a day toTurn it all around or to throw it all awayWe gotta tell them that we love themWhile we got the chance to sayGotta live like we're dying
Now I was kind of excited, and not just because I voted for him last year on American Idol! I was excited because I realized I was going about summer all wrong. My anticipation has been on all the negative possibilities for the summer. I wasn’t looking at the days at home with my kids as an opportunity. In those 86,400 seconds each day, the opportunities are endless. I have the chance to bond, heal, love, play, nurture, teach, and laugh. As a mom, I say often that the time goes by SO fast! If I am really taking that to heart, I need to soak up the summer and the extra moments with my children and saturate myself in my kids. Not to the point of wanting to strangle them, but enough to create lasting memories and moments that will make me smile!

Wind-up Toys

Today as I was driving my son to school, I started thinking about how children are like wind-up toys. As the parents, we spend their whole childhood making sure their feet are positioned correctly underneath them. We diligently try to remove all obstacles that may make them stumble or fall. We tweak the knob in the back ever-so-slightly each day to build them up and get them ready for the long journey that lies ahead. We pray that they are wound tightly with the roots from which they've grown. And then finally, the day arrives to let them go. We set them out on their own, ready to walk. It is our hope that as they walk away, those roots don't unravel too much.

The Evaporation of Brain Cells

In my youth I could remember everything. I remembered conversations I had with people verbatim. I could remember what I wore on certain monumental occasions or how something smelled or felt during numerous random moments of my childhood. This is only interesting to me now at the ripe, old age of thirty-four because I suddenly feel like I can't remember anything. It is with great sadness that I admit the loss of my steel-trap memory. I've thought long and hard about this loss too. I've examined the problem from many different angles and listed all possible causes.
The most obvious cause is motherhood. When you have conversations with children all day and your biggest problems to solve involve determining who didn't flush the toilet, I think brain cells flee the monotony as quickly as they can. In short, becoming a mom has caused some of my memory to turn to mush.
A second possible cause for this lapse in memory is related to motherhood as well. As our family has grown, so has the number of people I am responsible for. And the number of shoes. And the number of backpacks. And the number of clean pairs of underwear. And the number of schedules. And the number of.... What was I saying? In my prior life, I was only responsible for myself. Life was simplistic. Then I added a spouse. It took time, but I adjusted to telling him where his things were because he has obviously been incapable of remembering things his whole life. As life became more complicated and the number of charges began multiplying, my memory began to fail me more and more. My old tricks were no longer working. I had never been one to really use a calendar or make to-do lists. I had always been able to file that data in my mind and recall it easily later when needed. As is obvious by the multitude of conflicting scheduled events recently, I most certainly need a calendar and possibly a personal assistant!
And just to illustrate my point further, I've quite literally forgotten the point to this little ramble in just the time it has taken me to write it!

Zzzzz.....

There are few things more intimate than falling asleep with another person. The rise and fall of your chest slows as your breathing synchronizes with that of the other person. The breath of each circles and mingles until it is one in the same. Recently while holding my foster daughter as she fell asleep, I thought about how lovely it is for a child to experience such an intimate moment with a parent. When we sleep, we are in our most vulnerable state. We must trust someone entirely to give up consciousness in their arms. That moment must embody the epitome of the parent/child relationship, total and complete trust. I can't help but think how sad it is for the countless children in the world, including the two new ones I have been given to love, who haven't had this luxury from their very start. For them the ability to trust implicitly doesn't exist. And we wonder why there is so much wrong with our world.

It's My Turn

I've been a follower of blogs for years. I read them. I stalk them. About people I know. About people I don't know. It's a sickness really. I find the glimpse into another person's life fascinating. For months now, I've been thinking that I need to create my own. It's highly possible that not another human being on this planet will ever read it, but I feel inclined to write it anyway. So here goes...