Hold Them Closer

"Mooooooommy!....mommy?....mooooommmmy!"

I was jolted out of sleep the other night with the cries of our eldest in her bed down the hall. Through the fog of the deep sleep that, mere seconds before, I had been in I asked her what was wrong. She had a bad dream and was afraid to close her eyes again. "That's OK sweetie, mommy will hold you tight and close, and so will your angels. Everything is OK now."

I lay there holding her as her breath became deeper and more steady, creeping out only to find that my spot on the pillow had been commandeered by a curly two year old in search of some middle of the night cuddles.

As I lay in the dark holding him close, I reflected on this beautiful constant self-forgetfulness that is so much part of parenthood.

There are some who seem to preach that if you just train a child right they will fall asleep on their own and be beautifully independent from the time they are merely weeks old and you will "have your life back." At least for me, that has not been the way it works.

Even if a baby does learn to sleep through the night then they get a cold and need love, or a new tooth and need comfort, or become a toddler whose brain is exploding with development and need to fall asleep in your arms, or a preschooler who is exploring boundaries and needs to know you are the safest place. We never get our "old life" back. Thank goodness, because in its glorious exhausting messiness, this new life is much more beautiful and meaningful.

I have learned that when a child is the hardest to love is usually when they need to be held closer. That screaming baby needs to hear your heart beat, the tantruming toddler needs to be enveloped in a hug, and the defiant 5 year old needs to be pulled on your lap and kissed over and over. I can only imagine how close one's child needs to be held through adolescence.

This is hard for me, because in those moments when I find my darlings to be behaving quite despicably I want to turn my back for the moment and shut them out. This choice to hold them closer and shut the rest of the world out is what demands the constant denial of self and opting for love.

But oh how I do not regret one moment of holding them closer. I don't regret that they didn't sleep through the night until they were weaned, or that we bought a toddler sized carrier and even our 5 year old likes to be worn in it. I don't regret one single sleepless night of comforting or plans changed because of little needs. I see the beautiful fruits of our sacrifice growing, flourishing, and learning healthy independence right before my eyes. I pray that as they grow my children learn to opt for love, even when it doesn't feel good. In the meantime I will continue to hold them closer.

Whether your day is rainy like ours or filled with sunshine, may it be especially full of hugs.

With love,

When Joy Evaporated

The memories are fragmented and disjointed, but certain nights - like tonight - they wash over me and I feel filled with grief. I am remembering that time when the joy evaporated.

I remember the joy. The immense overwhelming joy and relief of meeting our son and holding him in that warm water. "Hi baby hi baby I'm your mama I love you I love you." Of being tucked into our bed and snuggling our baby. Of laying awake most of the night in post-birth bliss missing my princess and waiting for when she'd meet her brother in the morning.

I remember snapping. The day that daddy was already back at work and we were alone. Baby brother's tummy hurt and sister was only 2 years and 4 months but I was annoyed, so annoyed that she wanted, needed, to be held and snuggled. No, I was annoyed because I wanted to snuggle her too and this baby wouldn't stop crying. I was filled with rage, all of a sudden, at this sweet 2 year old crying who wouldn't stop. I was filled with rage towards her. I was shocked at the monster of rage I felt.

I remember telling the midwives. "I'm very very tired." They told me they are supposed to ask me about feelings of depression. "No, I'm just tired," I said. I knew better.

I remember crying to my mom. Something felt wrong. But I didn't cry to her or anyone else again. I don't ask for help. There were meals being dropped at the door step and I already felt guilty. Apologizing to the midwives for our messy house, guilty for not writing thank you notes to friends, guilty for how I was mothering, when I could barely drag myself through the day.

I remember arriving to Maui. Baby was 6 weeks old and still had a sore tummy. I was up with him almost all night giving him gripe water and delirious after a long flight and no sleep. Big sister woke up with her daddy and I had already finished a pot of coffee (no wonder baby boy was so agitated!). "Good morning princess, we are at the beach look, look at the beautiful ocean, look at the palm trees, mommy loves you so much are you excited?" I said to her frantically, wanting to be a happy mommy for her, the tears rolling down my cheeks as my desire and my emotions in that moment clashed. I just wanted to take her to the waves and put her little feet in, but baby brother was so sad and I was so tired.

I remember introducing Judah to Nonna and Papa on that trip. I felt like I couldn't bring myself to leave the condo to bring him to them. How can I face the world? how can I smile and pretend it is ok? But I did, I did.

I was so confused. I loved...I LOVED....being a mama. But, somehow the joy had evaporated. I would see my friends pregnant with their second babies and want to yell at them, "don't have your baby, it's a cruel joke, everything changes, nothing is happy anymore." I would timidly express that I was finding it hard and people would say, "oh just wait until the third baby." I loved my babies fiercely and yet most days were hard days.

I remember...the memories last well past Judah's first birthday. They become less tragic in my memory but still feel heavy.

These memories came washing over me as I stood in the shower tonight because just recently I wondered if our 4th (one miscarried in heaven!) baby was on the way. He or she is not, but oh we dream about the next little love that will be ours, and oh the fear that grips me.

Finally when Judah was 16 months old, it was as though the fog lifted. Literally a physical weight came off of me and it felt easier to lift my head and smile. Laughter came spontaneously, the joy of mothering my children and being in this life returned. This life, this blessed blessed life. All along I knew it was blessed, I knew I was a lucky one, but I was stumbling through darkness trying to find something to hold onto that would bring those convictions back.

It sounds crazy to say because even with the deep dark sadness I LOVED my babies. Perhaps that is what made the sadness so deep and profound is that I could not understand it. It is hard not to let it haunt me. It is hard not to be very, very afraid that it will happen again.

And so, these are the moments in life when I cannot imagine living without our Faith. Without that act of surrender, of trust, of hope. It involves taking control of what we (my husband and I) can, and believing that grace will be sufficient to overcome any suffering we encounter.

"I have made you. I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." Isaiah 46:4

I look at my beautiful blond boy, his darling older sister. They have no recollection of mommy's struggles. They know only that they are loved without question and without measure. Would I do it again, to have these beautiful babies in my arms every? Absolutely. Does this take away from the reality of the pain? No.

I share this because it is my story, and because maybe it will help someone who has similar struggles. Ask for help! You are not weak, you are not helpless, you are not alone, and there is much hope to be had. The joy will not evaporate for good, very soon it will rain down on you in more abundance than you remember ever having before.

May you be blessed with peace,

Nothing's New

I tiptoe out of our children's bedroom, wincing as the ever squeaking doors break the silence,  I am half asleep thanks to the lulling effect of prayer time and snuggle time. I trip over a dump-truck in the hall way and sigh as I collect odds and sods from Liliana's creative play draped here there and everywhere. Depending on the night I settle next to Joe to watch the news or maybe The Voice and fold copious amounts of laundry, leaving it for the next day to put away. Chances are it will wait 2 or 3 days.

...

I stare out of our window as I watch our children shriek and play, my hands immersed in the soapy dishwater, a perfect vantage point. I wince as one of them falls or one of them screams at the other, pausing a moment to see if I have to make my way to them or if they can dust themselves off. My heart thrills to watch them, their sweet little bodies and blonde heads. My mind wanders to more babies and maybe a trampoline for the backyard if we can find an affordable one.

...

I find something new that is desperately in need of a clean. The inside of the microwave, the baseboards, the fridge, the bathroom. It never ends. I think how nice it would be if the day came that for just one hour everything was perfectly clean and I did not feel constant pressure for one more thing and one more thing. I know undoubtedly that if I prioritize an at-home workout the dust bunnies will taunt me from underneath the furniture.
...

Joe and I are busy and tired, we kiss each other softly as we wake to the quiet of the morning and sit beside each other as we say our prayers or do some reading. Each of our days has a rhythm and rhyme that is it's own and yet intertwined with the other, and every so often the day is capped off with a date. We love each other deeply and flirt through the day, and every so often we feel a little annoyed with each other. Yet we never ever go to bed angry, and I always find deep peace as we fall asleep, reaching over and putting my hand in his.

It was fun being the coaches wife! Busy, but truly fun!

...

I chip way at bad habits. Sometimes I stare at the ceiling in the middle of the night trying to make peace with the moments I lost my temper and berated a child, or gave Joe the cold shoulder, or should have denied myself that extra glass of wine and did not, or was lazy.

Truly, how could I ever be angry at these two goofs, right? I have no idea what game they were playing here!

...

We make lists, we dream, we scheme for simple family vacations. We peel back our layers and expose our wounds and faults, we work together for growth. Our children grow and thrive, 3/4 of the time we marvel at just how amazing they are and 1/4 of the time we wonder if our little blessings will send us to the loony bin and I feverishly seek out a parenting book for advice. 100 percent of the time, though, we cannot imagine our life without them. We pay bills, chip away at debt, do house repairs, pray cars last but a little longer, go to church, teach, clean, feed, kiss,  stress, learn, pray REPEAT.

Tender daily moments, sometimes a little one
just needs to be snuggled to sleep!

Daddy helping Liliana soar!

Important life lessons being learned every day :)

Nothing's new, the weeks and days blend into each other, each scenario I just described is a scenario on repeat in our house.

In the past I've felt odd when someone asks me , "how are things with you?" or "what's new?" and I have absolutely nothing to report other than, "things are really good, busy but happy, nothing new to report!"

Until it occurred to me that nothing new is a blessed reality. It seems we are conditioned to think that life is more meaningful when it is dramatic, so much so that we go out of our way to create drama for ourselves. At least for me, social media is a contributor to this because I see bits and pieces of everybody's charmed life without seeing any of the messy bits. I am guilty of this myself.

And yet, all around me there are families met by tragedy....sick children, sick mamas, daddy's with out work, deceased spouses, natural disaster, mental illness, marital problems....the list goes on and on. For these people there is lots of drama, and I'm sure they would give almost anything to have it turn back to the boring old of nothing new.

Mysteriously and beautifully, when I resign myself to the fact that nothing new is a blessed reality, my eyes opened to see the little miracles that make each day new and each moment fresh. Sure, we play in our back yard every day but my children's minds are growing and expanding so rapidly that they are always discovering something magical.  The mess is steady but seasons have changed and now instead of muddy bootprints we have dirty hand prints on the wall from digging in the garden in search of lady bugs.

Seeking little gratitudes and little miracles opens my eyes to the two little robins flirting in the yard, the books my husband is finishing that are contributing so greatly to his maturation and manly strength, a new workout conquered each day that helps me feel stronger and more confident, a new vocabulary word for one of our children. Each day, in all of its mundane, is filled with new miracles, little miracles, miracles entirely lacking drama yet contributing beautifully to our family's story.

And so nothing is new, and yet everything is.

May your day be full of little miracles,

xoxo