30 weeks!

So here we are! Thirty weeks into the pregnancy! Woot woot!

This pregnancy has been really hard on my body and given me more weird symptoms and discomforts than I’ve ever had before. Nausea. Digestion issues. Spider veins. Varicose veins. Mood swings. Splitting fingernails. Insomnia. Curly curly hair. Unwanted weight gain. Extreme exhaustion. Hormone headaches. Irritability.

But this pregnancy has also been such a blessing and encouragement and sanctifying event for me. As always, I hope that I’m growing in grace and truth and strength every day, but as often seems the case during pregnancy or other challenging times of the month (eh hem), I put my spiritual walk on hold and say, “I’ll strive be more like Christ when I’m feeling better… or when I lose the extra weight, or when the children are out of the house, or when I’m not so busy and exhausted, or when my husband has made our fortune and we don’t have to work hard for every dollar. Then… then that’s when I’ll really grow in grace, that’s when I’ll put the effort in, but now, during this hard bit of hormones and physical discomfort, let me just give in to the moodiness, the cravings, the irritability, and the desire to NOT. DO. ANYTHING.”

And truth be told, I think many of my pregnancy’s (and monthly cycles!) have been that way. I’ve used them as an excuse to be lazy in both my spiritual and physical health, and to backslide just a weeeeeee bit.

So I’m thankful, truly truly thankful for the work that God is doing in me. He hasn’t given me an easy road of effortless pregnancy, or perfect children who sit angelically still and fold the laundry. He hasn’t given me buckets of money, or a husband that doesn’t have to work hard. He hasn’t given me extra hours in my day so that I can “easily” fit in my personal devotions. Instead, he’s given me this.

He’s given me challenges and heartaches and physical discomfort. He’s given me sinful children. He’s given me uncertainty. He’s given Nick 80 hours of work each week. He’s given me intense Southern summer heat. He’s given me friends who’ve failed and disappointed. He’s given me stress, burdens, and tears.

But He’s also given me joy.

True, deep, beautiful unspeakable joy in my life and circumstances. Its not a perfect life. Nor are my dealing and contentment in it. But still. I’m learning. I’m growing. And I’ve seen the Lord do a miraculous work in me, saving me and conforming me to His image—in circumstances that make taking a step back soooo much easier than a step forward.

He has forced deeper self examination than I ever wanted or thought I needed, and has helped me come to grips with many hidden sins of my heart. He has poured out grace and mercy and forgiven me when I’ve failed time and time again. He’s given me a husband who’s been incredibly patient, and children who forgive and forget perhaps a bit too quickly. He’s given me sweet baby kicks in utero to mingle with the stretch marks and weight gain. He has given me his sufficient grace.

And truly his grace is sufficient. It is all we need to resist, to stand firm on His word, to run the race. And so, I’m running. Running hard… but running on His strength that is made perfect in my weakness.

 

 

*a few thoughts on 30 weeks. I’m still gaining more weight that I would like, but because I’m also exercising 4 or 5 days a week, I think I’m staying toned and maybe I don’t look as heavy as the scale indicates?? Not sure, but I’m hopeful. wink wink. I’m measuring 2 weeks bigger (by fundal height) than I am by LMP, so this baby is looking to be another big guy just like his brothers. He is moving and kicking up a storm, making my stomach lurch and causing people to laugh. The boys love feeling him kick. Joshua kisses my tummy before bed each night. We still haven’t decided on a name, but received the advice that we should always name our children something that ends with a vowel, so that the name will carry when we yell. Haha.

Love My Hard Working Men

My kids are some of the hardest workers out there.

They see dirt and they know how to move it. They know how to transport it. They know how to dig it.

They don’t worry about getting their hands dirty. Or about the job being too tough. They just do it.

They know how to concentrate on the job. They stay focused and don’t get distracted.

They know about safety. And about hard hats. And about helmets are good substitutes. Even if they are much (much much) too small.

And they know how to work together. Most of the time.

Love my hard working men.

Natural. Born. Leader.

Oh I love my three sons.

And I love my Isaiah. My first born, my first son, my first little treasure of a child.

Isaiah is my natural born leader. Truly, a Natural. Born. Leader.

And I love him for it.

I love that he always knows what to do. Isaiah never hesitates. He has an inborn instinct for what to do at any given time.

He loves competition and his competition-loving mom, loves that about him. I love how he challenges himself, works towards a goal, and doesn’t give up.

I love how smart he is. Boy, this boy of mine can memorize anything. And absorb anything. He picks up on the smallest of hints, thinks the deepest thoughts and says the most profound things for a 5 year old.

I also love that he is confident in Christ. Confident that Jesus died for his sins. Confident that the Holy Spirit has changed his heart. And confident that he’ll go to heaven when he dies.

Oh boy, do I love this boy of mine.

Thank you, Lord, for my Isaiah.

Can’t. Kiss. Him. Enough.

As I said. I love each one of my precious little sons.

And while there are many reasons I love my youngest son, I’d be remiss if I didn’t start by mentioning his cheeks.

Oh his sweet, round cute chubby little angelic little cheeks. I can’t. kiss. them. enough.

I love Noah for his little personality. I love how he talks in his own special way, often making attempts at deep manly voices, and changing things up with his high cheery greetings.

I love how he says Hello. It sounds like “Hey, Yo!” and all he needs is a snapping slap kind of greeting to go with it and he’d be down with the homeys. Love that. Love love love that about him.

I love that I’m his world. That he runs to me and shouts, “Mommy!!!” even if we’ve only been separated for a few moments. I love that he loves his Daddy too. And that his parents are his favorite people.

I love how he loves to read his train books. And that there is no possible way for me to be sitting on the floor without him plopping down on my lap with a book in hand.

I love that he’s learning how to pray and that his heart is being trained while it’s tender.

Thank you, Lord, for my baby. For my almost big boy. Thanks for my Noah.

I’m dreaming of…

The other day the boys asked me what a “white” Christmas was. So I explained it meant SNOW. That everything was covered with beautiful, powdery melt-in-your-mouth, freezing cold, snow.

Even after my explanation they seemed confused.

But then I paused and looked around. We were sitting on our backyard porch in shorts and bare feet. We were eating a picnic lunch and reviewing our science lesson. We were warm and content in 69 degree weather… in the middle of December.

I guess it’s not a wonder that they didn’t understand.

What is up with this place called the South? And why don’t we have SNOW??!?!?!

Though I’ve only enjoyed a few truly white Christmases myself, I feel kind of bad for them. Most mornings Joshua peeks out the window and says, “Ahhhh!! No snow. It’s not Christmas.”

Little Sweetheart

 

Lost in the thought…

But always ready to say, cheese.

I love this kid.

December Photo Project, Day 10

Bedtime kisses

I was thinking last night, as I tucked the boys in bed, that bedtime kisses are such a precious way to end the day.

Often as we get ready for bed, I feel rushed and hurried, trying to get teeth brushed, clothes in the laundry and the last toys picked up before bowing our heads to pray together and sing a bedtime song.  I often feel an overwhelming desire to “just get them in bed already!!”

But you know, there is something about bedtime kisses that just makes the world stop.  The hurry, the rush, the fatigue… it stops.

And for a moment or two, or ten, we slow down. We breathe deep. And we enjoy those tender snuggles and kisses from our three little boys.

Isaiah likes to give 5 kisses and 5 hugs and likes to count them out as he gives them. It always makes me smile when I imagine him catching his breath and gasping for air in between kisses in order to shout: “One!” “Two!” “Three!” etc. My cheeks are always damp at the end… but its an endearing kind of dampness, the kind that fills me with happiness as I take in his warm breath and soft skin.

Joshua likes to give 2 kisses and 2 hugs. And he likes to divide the kisses between cheeks. He often grows distraught if he forgets to give each cheek an equal amount, and says things like, “Mommy!! I wanted to do two kisses on this side AND two kisses on that side so that they have the same ma‘mount.” And so we begin the kissing count down again, making sure each side receives the proper portion. I love being kissed so devotedly.

Noah is in on the act as well. He doesn’t count or measure his kisses, he just gives loud, wet smacks, and says “Mmmmmmah” as he does it. It’s so sweet it gives me shivers. Noah also makes sure to offer a few bedtime smackers to his brothers. He stands at the foot of the bunk-bed with arms stretched high, waiting to be lifted up to kiss his big brother on the top bunk. It melts my heart.

These bedtime kisses bring my day to such a precious close. I always leave the room, (as Nick sits down to read to them from a “chapter book” --currently the Chronicles of Narnia), with a smile on my kiss stained face.

Oh these boys and their sweet little kisses! Oh, may the day never come when they are too big to kiss their mama.

Or… too big for their mama to kiss them.

Because, I admit, I’m not the only one whose cheeks are covered in love. Truly, I cannot resist their round little cheeks, chubby little toes, and soft little hands and I smother my boys at least as many kisses as I receive.

Oh boy, I love it. And I’ll kiss them till the day I die.

God is good.

Soccer Mom

I didn’t mean for this post to be about me and my journey into soccer-momhood... but I couldn’t resist the title. Despite how everyone makes fun of soccer moms and minivans and bumper stickers and cheering like it’s the World Series… I think there is a part of me that hoped for this moment all my life.

And now, it’s official. My oldest son is on a Upward Soccer team this year (and I’m a soccer mom!!!!!!!!!!!! But back to my dear son…)

Isaiah is absolutely delighted to play soccer. He has always enjoyed kicking the ball around and is exceptionally fast. He’s also a very social kid, who loves playing with others.

When he’s playing soccer, I can’t chase that smile off his face. When he’s in uniform, he’s just beaming. Happy, carefree, and proud. You can tell he feels joy being part of a team and having this experience.

His soccer league is a Christian organization and they pray before each game, and have a short devotion during half time. Isaiah is very attentive to both the devotions and his coach, and sets a good example for his team mates. Way to go, Isaiah!

And even when it’s been pouring rain and windy; even when being on a team means attending practice and games at late and early hours… Isaiah never hesitates or complains about going to soccer.

He loves it. And I love it too. I’m so proud of my dear Isaiah.

Before my very eyes

My “little” Noah is growing up before my very eyes. Each day it seems, he comes up with a new trick, a new word, and some sign of deepening cognitive development.

It’s such an exciting stage. And I love it.

The other day, I mentioned I needed to throw something away. Noah walked over, picked up the object, ran across the living room, into the kitchen, found the trash can, opened the lid, and popped it in. This kid can think! And this is more than following commands, this is actual discernment. At a one year olds level of course, but still. Smart kid.

Noah also found a cup in the bathroom and said, “Dink! Dink!” (drink) and then, holding my hand in his and the cup in the other, he led me into the kitchen, took me to the water dispenser in the fridge and repeated his brilliance “Dink! Dink!

So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when he pulled a fast one in the back yard the other day.

The boys and I were playing outside on the swings together. The older two lost interest (or maybe I stopped pushing them?) and began playing on the slide and the climbing rope. Noah wanted to join in too so I took him out of the swing. And then left them playing together in a group in the yard to run inside to make a picnic lunch.

I came back out and saw Isaiah and Josh still playing by the slide. And Noah? I couldn’t find him!! I quickly scanned the yard, and didn’t see him. I knew the backyard was fully fenced, so I wasn’t quite panicked… but still. I couldn’t find him.

But then… he found me. He spotted his Mama and shouted out a “Hey-yo!!” and then went back to work.

In my garden. With his backhoe and front end loader. That had been on the other side of the yard. I’ll tell ya, boys know their machines and they know where to find dirt. It doesn’t matter how old they are!!

Oh man, I love this kid!! He amazes me every day.

A doozy of a day

Yep it’s been a doozy

It’s my birthday today. I’ve been blessed with twenty nine years of wonderful life. And it’s been a great and wonderful and beautiful day.

Only it didn’t start that way. In fact, it started quite the opposite. Let me go back to this early (early early) this morning.

It’s 5am and I’m awakened by a piercing yell of my dear little Noah. At first I roll over and try to ignore. Wrapped up in a happy dream of beaches and waves on the shore. Maybe Nick will get up with him, I think. But then I realize that Nick’s not home. And not going to be home again for quite awhile. I feel sadness as the realization of his absence hits me. And even sadder as the yelling doesn’t stop for the room next door. And sadder still when I remember today is supposed to be a special day. It’s my birthday.

I stumble out of bed to check on Noah, soothe him back to sleep, and tip toe out of his room, just hoping that I’ll be able to catch a few more minutes of shut eye before my alarm goes off at 6.

But I can’t sleep. I want to, but I’m stuck in the tossing turning almost awake, but almost asleep state of unrestful rest. My one year old keeps squawking now and then too, so each time I drift off, I’m awoken again. Finally I just get up.

As Noah smacks away on his morning bottle, I pull out my bible and try to get a few moments of quiet devotion in before the other boys wake up. But I’m cranky now too. And struggling to be grateful and focused in my prayer and reading time. And before I really get anywhere with my reading, I hear the other two boys wake up and not two pleasant words were exchanged between them before the fighting began.

Sigh oh sigh sigh sigh.

It’s my birthday. Can’t we all just get along? And be happy all day?

Josh woke up on the wrong side of bed. He realized a toy wasn’t in his bed, and worse, he found it in Isaiah’s hands. Whining and fighting, followed by more fighting and whining. Josh cannot get it together. Every word from his mouth is filled with rebellion and contrariness. My sweet and tenderhearted boy struck with a case of Mr Grumpy’s. And the hardest part? Disciplining consistently and training kids to obey regardless of how they feel, to follow God’s commands whether we feel like it or not. Whether we miss daddy or not. Whether we got enough sleep or not. Whether we have the prized toy or not.

So while I’m dishing out discipline right and left, Noah is playing with my cell phone and calls far and distant friends in far and distant time zones, and I begin receiving worried phone calls from elderly friends and formers pastors, “I got 3 calls from your number early this morning, is every thing okay?? We’ve been worried”

Meanwhile, Isaiah dumps out several board games and all their pieces in his bed, and then while trying to recover a lost cherry from Hi-Ho-Cheerio, he rips a page of his favorite book and dissolved into traumatized tears.

And what do I do? Oh competent accomplished sophisticated mother that I am?

I just sit down on the floor and laugh. I laughed and laughed and laughed. The boys said, “Mom!?!?!? What are you laughing for?” and between guffaws and giggles, I say, “It’s either laughing or crying, Guys!!”

And it was. Cause oh boy, I could have cried up a storm. It’s my birthday and my husband just left. It’s my birthday and there’s no birthday greetings whispered in my ear first thing this morning. There are no birthday kisses left on my lips. And it’s Labor day, and there’s no special packages or cards or boxes waiting to be delivered by a mailman on a National holiday. No mail at all. No Fed Ex or UPS either. It’s my birthday, and my kids aren’t old enough to bake me a cake, or buy and wrap gifts. It’s my birthday. My 29th birthday.  My last birthday in my 20’s. Oh boy, it really really was LAUGH. Or CRY.

But I was able to laugh. God gave me the grace, the joy, the love, the patience… to laugh. To laugh at my boys. And life. And my situation. Oh and a merry heart makes good like medicine.

It was just what I needed too, because as we headed to the breakfast table, the meltdowns continued. Josh had to be excused from the table 3 times because he couldn’t keep it together (literally crying over spilled milk). I found myself waiting and wishing for Nick to call, knowing that he would try so hard to call on my birthday. Only to go grab my phone and realize that he had called. Twice.

AND MY SILLY PHONE WAS ON VIBRATE so I didn’t hear it and didn’t get it and totally missed my one opportunity to talk with my hubby.

Sigh. Major big-time. I shed a few tears over this one, I admit. Nuts!!

We finish breakfast and devotions and I load the dishes into the dishwasher, with my trusty Noah helper (and dishwasher unloader) by my side. And then I hear it. Gail's of glee from the back of the house. I head back to check on my boys, who had literally been left alone for 5 minutes, and find my bedroom door closed. Sigh.

I open the door to see two little naked boys jumping on my bed. “Where are your clothes?,” I ask. “We took them off, and put them in a pile, and then peed on them!!!” is the cheerful response.

And I laugh. I laugh so hard, so long, so purely and blissfully, I almost had to add my clothes to the pile of peed on laundry.

Oh what a morning. Not the birthday morning, I’d anticipated, but as my mom suggested, a very very memorable birthday in birthday history.

The rest of the day went (relatively) smoothly from there, and was filled with phonecalls and texts and emails and Facebook posts that delighted my heart all day. And as I was going down the grocery store aisles this afternoon, I wished out loud that Nick would be able to call again. No sooner had the words left my lips, when my phone rang. And it was Nick. And were able to talk for a few minutes before we hurried off to soccer practice.

Then tonight, a handful of girlfriends came over and cheered my spirits so completely, I can’t even express. We fellowshipped long and freely and enjoyably. And we ate birthday cake like crazy. I was showered with love and gifts and made to feel so special.

And here at the end of the day, I’m truly able to look back on the days events and praise God for every moment of it. And even more so, to remember the past twenty nine years that I’ve enjoyed and to say, God is good. The ups and downs, the joys and trials, the good, the bad, the ugly. God is good.

Without a trace

It’s blueberry season down here in the South, so blueberry picking we’ve gone.

We made a wonderful family outing of it; picking and eating, and picking and eating. Thankfully, they only weigh the bucket before and after it’s been filled… and not the children (or the parents!!!) before and after they have (eaten) their fill.

Because we love blueberries. And we ate a lot.

(Yes, that is a Play-Doh bucket. It was all I could find that was Noah-size)

And then we came home from blueberry picking and ate a lot. Because we’d picked a lot.

On top of eating fresh blueberries by the handful, we had blueberry pancakes made my wonderful breakfast Chef husband. Then we had blueberry coffee cake. It didn’t last long. We concocted homemade blueberry smoothies (basically yogurt blended with frozen blueberries and strawberries) that would have done Jamba Juice proud. The following week, we made blueberry syrup to top plain made-from-scratch-pancakes.

And when we had the new First Sergeant over for dinner, I made the most amazing blueberry pie ever using my friend Rita’s recipe.

Best Ever Blueberry Pie

2 pints blueberries (4 cups), 1 unbaked pie crust, 1/4 cup butter, 1 cup sugar, 1 egg beaten, 3/4 cup flour, 1 tsp. vanilla. Wash blueberries and place in pie crust. Cream butter & sugar in bowl. Add remaining ingredients and mix well. Spread over blueberries (or use cookie scoop to dollop). Bake at 350 for about 50 minutes or until done. *I topped it with vanilla icecream and it was melt in your mouth, oh so perfect, blueberry pie. I’ve never tasted one this good.*

 

We also added fresh blueberries to every bowl of cut fruit; put them in salads and in our breakfast cereal. We brought them to church potluck in the form of blueberry cobbler. And munched on frozen blueberries as an afternoon snack.

Then my husband called while I was typing this blog post and said he’d like to bring his soldiers breakfast tomorrow. So I immediately responded, “6 dozen blueberry muffins, coming right up, Dear!!” (which means we’re both working late tonight. Haha! Such is life for a Commander and his Wife!)

So the huge bucket of blueberries we picked a few weeks ago?? It’s gone. It’s gone without a trace.

 

 

Well… almost without a trace.

There are few tell tale signs here and there.

 

 

We love our blueberries, can you tell?

The Aisle of No Return

The commissary (grocery store for service members) was PACKED today.

Just packed.

And not only had I forgotten my grocery list, but I'd also forgotten my Ergo baby carrier for Noah. (this is what happens when you sign your kids up for early morning swim lessons and then try to multitask by running errands afterwards).


Which means that instead of having all three boys contained while we shop (two in the "car" cart, and one in the carrier), I now had one son on the loose.

So Isaiah was on the loose today and was a great helper for me. He picked things up. He helped bag fruit. He ogled and goggled (and handled) in the candy row.


He also helped clear traffic.


We had just turned down the all-important-aisle-filled-with-everything-we need (or at least things I thought we needed. No list, remember?) when I realized the row looked like Seattle during rush hour. Major traffic jam. Not only were there multiple carts being pushed by their owners, but there were store employees stocking shelves, and old friends catching up.

Yep. It was the row of dread. The row of frustration. The row of "excuse me" and "no problem, I'll wait, while you load your cart with 84 cans of tomato paste." Yep, the row we all want to avoid after we've already expended all our energy keeping three boys from drowning at swim lessons.  (Okay, so I only kept the youngest one from drowning, the other two were under the swim teacher's charge).

I sighed, took a deep breath and just as I was about to begin making my way down the row, my 4 year old Isaiah exclaims bluntly (and in a LOUD voice):

"MOM?? All these people are BLOCKING the way!!!!"

And they were!! And he was right!! But I was still very close to being embarrassed at his comment-- especially when everyone stopped and looked at me with my three little ones and my extra long "car" cart.

But then... when half the crowd in the aisle started laughing and kindly stepped aside for us to pass, my embarrassment faded.

And I thought...

Honesty really is the best policy.

Safe and Sound

He’s home!!

My husband, that is.

As a military family, lengthy separations are part of life. Training, classes, field exercises, deployments— anything from 2 days to 15 months, it’s all part of the job description. It’s common and even expected.

But the one thing it’s not?

It’s not easy.

It might only have been two weeks, but because we couldn’t call or email, it felt like twice as long.

But you know what? After two weeks apart, that felt twice as long… I’m certain I love him twice as much.

If that makes any sense.

In fact, he arrived back on base in the early afternoon, but with all the equipment inventory and recovery that occurs when you arrive home from living in tents for 2 weeks, he needed to stay at work till the late hours of the evening directing traffic and getting things cleaned up.

So do you know what this silly school girl did? She just couldn’t wait until the o’dark thirty hour when he’d be home-home. So she woke her sons up from their naps, packed a picnic lunch, made a “welcome home” sign and drove onto base to see her soldier for a few brief moments before he got back to work.

I know, I’m such a silly school girl.

 But I really couldn’t resist; knowing that he was back, that I could see, hear, and touch him... I couldn’t wait a few more hours. And neither could the boys.

Our reunion was happy and filled with “Hi Daddy’s” and “Look how big I am’s.” (See! the boys felt like it was longer than 2 weeks too) and many many “I love you’s.”

This military life may not be easy, but boy oh boy, the homecoming’s are always so sweet.

Challenge

Last week, our Bible Study leader challenged the ladies' in our group to outwardly voice our love for our husbands. She urged us to guard our speech and to use our words to build up. Here's what she challenged us to:

1. For the next 30 days, purpose not to say anthing negative about your husband -- not to him, and not to anyone else about him.

2. Everyday for the next 30 days, express at least one thing you admire or appreciate about your husband. Say it to him and to someone else about him.

It has been a great challenge (especially now that my husband is away for an extended period without any way of contacting him--oh Army life, how I love you!!) but also a great encouragement to carry on.

I have a wonderful marriage. I have a husband who loves and supports me; who listens, counsels, and encourages; who cherishes me like Christ does the Church. And I love him back. I love him with my whole heart; he's my best friend, my right arm, my go-to guy, my knight in shining armor.  I am so very happy with him, and really, in every aspect of our relationship. I'm fulfilled and content. Complete. And it's a wonderful wonderful blessing from God alone.

But I know, that while my situation may not be that rare amongst my Christian friends, it is rare in the rest of the world. It's rare to have a happy committed relationship with your spouse. It's rare not to have any ongoing feuds or problem areas. It's rare not to argue and yell at each other. It's rare to have what I have. What we have.

But the truth is, it's easy to take it for granted.

Really? Is it?

But yes, yes it is. You get used to being this happy, this safe, this loved. And just think it's normal. But it's not.

It's not normal in this sinful world. And it's definitely not what sinful old Kathryn deserves.

But I have it. And oh boy, I have it in such a good and marvelous way, it makes me weep to think of taking it for granted. It cuts me down to my very core to think I have not daily thanked God for my spouse and our marriage. And to not have told my husband EVERY SINGLE DAY how much I love him and how wonderful he is.

So there you go. I'm taking on the challenge. And I urge you to pick it up too. Whether your relationship is in an upward spin or a downward spiral, whether it is just beginning, or hasn't yet begun, we all need challenges like this one.

Choose to build up your relationships. Choose kind words instead of negative ones. Choose to guard your tongue among others.  Choose to let your loves ones know how thankful you are.

Choose. Choose. Choose. Pray. Pray. Pray.


With faith in Christ, nothing will be impossible for you.

Home

I've been away for the last 3 weeks; traveling and vacationing to the best of my ability.

It's been great.

We headed cross country to the West Coast and enjoyed every minute of our much needed break. We saw grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and every other relative you can think of. We saw old friends, new friends, college friends, and church friends. We saw the sights. We saw the Pacific Ocean. We saw (and felt) rain, cooler weather, and a thermometer reading that was less than 70.

It was wonderful.

But I'm so very glad to be home.

From the very moment we walked in the front door, all the weight of saying goodbye and leaving loved ones, all the challenges of living in someone elses house or hotel, all the stress of travel and lack of sleep-- it lifted. It disappated. It was gone. We were home.

We relaxed. We let our hair down. We sighed long deep sighs of... well... of home.

The boys, while they loved every doting minute with our relatives, sighed long deep sighs too. They ran around collecting favorite toys and books that they had missed. Isaiah hugged his pillow. Joshua climbed in bed and sucked his thumb. Noah smooshed his little face into his bed sheets. And they all just smiled. And sighed. Wonderful deep sighs of home.

There's nothing quite like home.

While we breathed deep and took in our humble abode, I prayed that we would remember the reason home feels so good. It's not about our stuff. It's not about our beds or pillows, or about toys or swing sets... or even about having a spare set of clothes when everything you packed is dirty.

It's about the life that is lived here. About the memories that are made here. About family. About friendship. About love. And most importantly, about God and His love towards us. We love our home because our home is filled with His love.

Our beds are not just the places we sleep, they are the places we pray and give thanks to God for another day. The living room couch is not just a comfy place to sit, it's the spot where sweet little boys snuggle up for a story. The dinner table is not just where we eat, it's where we meet with God as a family, where we read, pray and sing to our Savior.

Home is where we really live. Where we are our real selves. Where, by God's grace, we can share our true emotions, where we can laugh and cry, display joy and sorry...where we can repent and forgive. Home is where we learn and grow. Where we train, discipline, nuture, and build relationships.

Home is not about the house, about the stuff, about the leather living room set I've been dreaming about, it's about God and His work in our family.

Thank you, Lord, for our home.

Playing hopscotch

Isaiah learned about playing hopscotch from a friend at church and asked me to help him draw one.

So I did.

And then I showed him how to do it.

He became a professional (just like me, of course) within a few tries.






Then he decided to just sit an color chalk on the driveway for a while. At which point we both noticed the
casualty’s of playing hopscotch in bare feet and with blue chalk.





Completely unaffected by the fact that his feet looked blue and un-oxygenated, he said, “Mom, can we make a hopscotch with green chalk next?”

Sure thing, Isaiah.

Judge me, if you must

I was doing a little car cleaning in prep for our upcoming trip.

I always keep my car clean, (cause I can’t stand a disaster) so this was just one of those quick tidy-up, empty the trash, dump out the crumbs, kind of car cleaning.

But after making 8 trips from the car to the kitchen with my hands full…


I discovered that this was more than a little problem. And required more than just a little car cleaning too.
Sigh.

I’m guessing that we eat a few too many snacks on the go. And that I give into the “Mom, can I bring a toy with me?” request a little too often.



Because somehow one toy attracts another… and another and another. And then those others toys invite their friends and Al-a-ca-ZAM!! One toy so very quickly leads to a few hundred.

Or at least it felt that way while unloading today.



And the rocks, you ask? How did those get in the car?

Well, let me tell you: I HAVE. NO. IDEA.

What I do know, is that boys love rocks, and I love boys, and so I’m sure I’ve been given a few hundred rocks as precious gifts from my boys. If I had girls, I’d probably receive flowers or stickers, as a token of appreciation. But boys, yep, boys love rocks. And really? So does their mom. So I keep them.

I guess that makes the rock pile in the car my fault.



Oh well. What can I say?

Judge me if you must.

But love me, if you will. It happens to be the best of us.

Crawling

I came across these older pictures on my camera and nearly wept about how fast things change.

These are the very last pictures I have of Noah crawling.







Oh dear me, the crawling phase is such a precious precious phase of life. And it passes so quickly. For my crawler is a walker.

Thank you, Lord for my little boy, for his sturdy knees for crawling.

And his wobbly legs for walking. How I love this not-so-babyish baby of mine.

Love

 

We went to the park multiple times this week. The weather is perhaps as perfect as it gets here in the South so we’re taking advantage before the blistering summer heat kicks in.

Though humid, it hasn’t been more than 85 degrees and during each park trip there has been a pleasant cooling breeze ruffling through a hair.

As I said, it’s been just about perfect.

On one particular trip to the park, I took my 3 year old Joshua up to the bathroom. He’d been doing his little potty dance on the playground equipment and I was afraid he was going to do the unmentionable next to a nearby tree… so I called him and he cheerfully obeyed

We walked together, down the path, to the park restrooms. Josh prancing along beside me, sliding his feet in the dust.

Then he reached up and slid his hand into mine. I gave it a squeeze and thought how much I love this little boy. And then Joshua looked up at me and said,

“Mom, you’re my best friend.”

Squeezing back a tear, I knelt down and circled my arms around him and said, “I love you, my Joshua”

As he hugged me back, he said

“And I love you, my Mommy”

 

It just made my heart melt.