tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72636426297068139252024-03-12T20:24:24.153-04:00Shiny Happy CatholicsMarthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.comBlogger270125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-63323698914984670462023-04-21T23:19:00.004-04:002023-04-21T23:19:44.780-04:00Welcome to our dear JonThe story of your birth can't really be told without saying that we never anticipated having you at all. As time went on and Beatrice got older, your father and I realized that maybe the window for having more children was closing - or had already closed. There were many tears and many prayers, many questions and calls to doctors. Should we pursue another baby, with help, or leave it alone and leave it to God? These were not easy questions for us. We were still very unsure. <div><br /><div>And in that space of being unsure we realized you were already there, and we were shocked. So, so happy and so, so shocked. It wasn't long before I became very ill, which usually happens around 6 weeks for me, but this time, it lasted and lasted. I needed to sleep a great deal and eating was difficult. I had very little energy. But as I had tasted the possibility of no more babies, I could not be too distraught! I remained focused and grateful...another baby, another soul to mother. The privilege was keenly felt. </div><div>So time went by. I'm not sure I bore my infirmities very well, but time did pass and I began to feel better. At least a little bit. And then we got a scan that told us that you were a boy! A boy? This felt shocking. I had basically decided that we only made one boy. The joy of telling David was so intense - he cried, we all cried. The girls were very magnanimous and decided it was only fair that David get a brother since they all had one another. (Except Beatrice, who insisted it was a girl anyway) </div><div><br /></div><div>I knew this time around that I could not return to the hospital, because I had been so unimpressed with the care there with Beatrice. In the wake of Covid, many doctors and hospitals turned their backs on patients and their need for care. I never even received any postpartum care from the doctor I saw with Beatrice, and stories of women separated from their newborns or forced to birth without their husbands and wearing a mask convinced me that I would never go there again if I didn't have to. I searched, and found a midwife via social media whose beliefs aligned with ours and who respected and valued bodily autonomy. She was an hour drive away, but we decided this time around to have our first home birth. Although your siblings had been born outside of a hospital, this would be our first home birth and it seemed fitting. I finally was at peace with the idea and so was your dad. We also knew there was a high likelihood that our midwife would miss your birth, because of the distance and faster births I tend to have. But that didn't deter us; we were confident that we could handle the birth ourselves and that the midwife probably wouldn't be too far behind. </div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately, during my pregnancy with you, we had several friends who suffered a great deal due to miscarriage, still birth, or premature babies. There was a great deal of sorrow surrounding many that weighed on my heart. So my goal became to hold you: it was all I could think about was holding you, looking at you myself, and knowing that you were okay. I held my breath at every appointment, worried that it would reveal a shadow to pass over us as well...but it did not come. So I kept thinking about the joyful moment when labor would be over and you'd be in my arms. </div><div><br /></div><div>The last part of my pregnancy passed by so quickly. Too quickly! I had many, many projects I was trying to finish: wallpaper, putting up shelves, Easter outfits. Not everything got done, but I got a lot done and I'm proud of that. Yet as time passed, and I got closer to term, I felt more tired than I had before. Due to the unexpected nature of your existence, we really were very unsure about your due date. Even ultrasounds had given us a rather wide range of possibilities. Yet we settled on February 26th (the day after Ash Wednesday) as the most likely date, and stuck with it. But as I hit 36 weeks, I just felt very tired and worn out. Physical movement at the end was extraordinarily difficult. I had never before felt as physically cumbersome as I did this pregnancy. Am I just getting older? I wondered. But I think now I may have been further along than I thought originally. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had a lot of anxiety about when labor would start. I felt unsettled about it for some reason. So I talked to you and I said, wouldn't it be nice if you came by having my water break like your oldest sister? That way I wouldn't make the midwife make the hour drive out here for nothing? I hate guessing if it's labor - so baby, if you could, would you start your journey with my water breaking? </div><div><br /></div><div>And then...well then the power went out, when I was 40 weeks pregnant. Yes, the power went out in the dead of winter. And that, well, that made me panic a bit. What if I went into labor and I was in a house with no lights, no running water? We had some friends reach out to us and offer us a place to stay. It was nerve-wracking to pack up and go stay somewhere at 40 weeks pregnant, but they were so incredibly kind and made us feel so at home. Then our power came back...so we went back...and we waited. </div><div><br /></div><div>That Saturday morning (40+2) we went to confession. Hearing my confession, the priest offered to anoint me afterwards if I wanted to wait. So I did and he prayed over me for a safe labor/delivery, and anointed me with oil. It was very moving and gave me a great deal of peace! Another Sunday came and went. I tried to help with organizational projects that mom was involved in...Tuesday I went to bed, thinking I had until at least Saturday. I laid there listening to the rain, and thought to myself, a baby born at night in the rain sounds so peaceful. I love the rain.</div><div>But in the middle of the night, I felt you give two VERY strong movements - so strong they hurt! - and I felt a little pop. Oh. My water broke? My water broke! 2:30am. How funny - my two prayers about labor were answered. It was during a rainy night, and it began with my water breaking. The Lord truly hears our prayers. </div><div>I immediately called the midwife and she told me to call back when I was having contractions. Well, okay...so I laid down and I thought something was starting, but I wasn't really sure I was just tired...but the time I realized they were contractions, walking was difficult. I got your dad and we headed downstairs to the basement, our own little "birthing suite." </div><div>At some point, we realized it was getting serious so your dad called the midwife to tell her to head this way. I walked into the shower and enjoyed laboring in there. I managed to ask Tom to get Auntie Jen...I managed to ask for water..and at some point, I spoke to the Lord from the depths and said "I need to push now. I need for this to be over." Labor felt more difficult than I had anticipated. The midwife wasn't there yet, but that didn't concern me very much. So I started to push...and push...and push. It felt so very hard, so much harder than I thought it would with a fifth baby! Unbeknownst to me, your dad recognized that you were coming imminently and moved into position: he was ready and you were born into his waiting arms. The midwife was just five minutes away! I managed to sit down and your dad put you on my chest, and I was at peace. The moment I had waited for - I could hold you, look at you, and know you were okay. We had done it: we made it through pregnancy, and labor and delivery, safely, together. </div><div><br /></div><div>When Jenny the midwife arrived, and entered calmly into the bathroom, she didn't change the mood at all. She was completely at peace with your arrival and declared "he looks like he weighs 9 pounds!" We waited some time to weigh you, but she was spot on - you were nine pounds even, our biggest baby yet. Your head and your chest had the same circumference, by the way - that might account for a pushing phase that felt more arduous than expected. </div><div><br /></div><div>Humorously enough, after you were born, the power went out again! But I found this even less humorous than the first time, because I was so worried about you. Our friends kindly welcomed us again! And the power came back! So we went back home...and the power went out again a couple days later. This time, only for about 6 hours. It came back on at a very dramatic moment when Zuzu yelled "I just wish the power would come on!" BOOM. On it came! Everyone wanted to still sleep in the living room, by the wood stove, like we told them they could when the power went out - so all of your siblings had a sleepover. You and I stayed cozy upstairs in a real bed! </div><div><br /></div><div>It was quite an eventful winter between all the power outages and your arrival. But now you are here, and so loved by every single one of us, doted on by everyone. You have many nicknames, normal ones like Jon Jon or Little Jon, but also including "Pubbity" which then became "Pubby" or "Pubbs." I don't know why! It's just a nonsense name we invented when we were all being silly. We love you silly. You are so dear, our darling Jonathan. Named for your paternal grandfather, and also for the dear friend of King David in the Old Testament. 1 Samuel 18:1 tells us that "the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." That is certainly our prayer for your relationship with your brother, who waited for you for so long! And of course your middle name was given to you to symbolize the title of Mary that we have dedicated you to: <i>Domus aurea</i>, House of Gold. In the Old Testament, the Inner Sanctum of Solomon's temple was very dwelling place of God, called the Holiest of Holies. It was entirely made of gold. So Our Lady, as the dwelling place of God Incarnate, is a House of Gold: filled with all the riches of virtue and grace which she possesses in fullness. Our prayer for you is that the Incarnate God would find a worthy dwelling in your soul and that you will imitate the Blessed Mother all the days of your life. </div><div><br /></div><div>May God forever bless you, my darling boy. He has certainly blessed me by sending me you. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="nopin">
<img alt="photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div></div></div>Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-81701238925813647262020-03-24T22:50:00.002-04:002020-03-24T23:27:47.823-04:00One Candle for Joy (Beatrice) For nine wonderful months I was pregnant with you.<br />
<br />
I was so happy and so eager to meet you the entire time, my little one. Whether waking or sleeping I carried within me a lovely glowing light: you were going to be in my arms and I couldn't wait. In all honesty, this is the first time I have felt that way in a pregnancy. I usually feel comfortable but rarely do I focus on the person who is Going To Be. It's so hard to even conceptualize it - a new person! in my belly! But maybe by the fourth go around I finally got it and it made me so deeply joyful.<br />
<br />
Early in my pregnancy with you, I felt the Holy Spirit direct me to seek out hospital care for you and I, instead of the traditional midwife and birth center. I could not tell you why, but it was a very strong message. So I did. It was a big change, but I trusted God that the still small voice was His and despite leading me into unknown waters, I had to follow. Very early on, there were some concerns...that you maybe had something wrong with you. You didn't - we would've loved you if you had. The day of your ultrasound was very shocking! We all had decided you were a boy. Poor David was deeply disappointed and cried. I think the ultrasound tech was worried that we were ALL that sad, but I certainly wasn't - and Zuzu certainly wasn't! I am glad that we gave David a long time to prepare for the reality of three sisters...(though truth be told, he adores you deeply now and never mentions wanting a brother instead of you).<br />
<br />
That is what informed the nine not-so-wonderful months of arguing over your name with your dad! I knew above all that your name had to be connected to two things: the Blessed Mother and the word joy. Delightfully, there is a title for that - Mary, Cause of Our Joy! So any name connected to the words joy or happiness - and there are so many options. Felicity. Beatrice. Joy itself.<br />
<br />
Around Christmastime, your father took me out on a date night to see a movie (something we haven't done, I kid you not, since 2012). He took me to see the movie <i>A Hidden Life</i>, about the life and death of an Austrian man named Franz Jagerstätter. Safe to say, rarely has a movie made such an impact on me. The beautiful vistas of the farmlands and villages of southern Austria, nestled up against the imposing mountains, were stunning. But more amazing by far was the story of one man, and his family, who quietly decided that giving God his due mattered more than his own life. Franz refused to take the oath of allegiance to Hitler and for that he was killed by the Nazis, leaving behind his wife Franziska (Fani) and his three young daughters. He was the only man in his village to refuse - he was not given support by his priest or even his bishop. When he was imprisoned, his family was ostracized from their village: spat on, stolen from, refused aid, and cast out from local celebrations of Corpus Christi and the like. Franz gave his life, but his family bravely suffered for his choice for decades after. We have not stopped talking about that movie since.<br />
<br />
Towards the end of my pregnancy with you, I certainly got uncomfortable! In fact around 37 weeks I started to have prodromal labor, which was VERY uncomfortable and rather panic-inducing. Luckily, I quickly realized it was caused by dehydration and it was solved. The discomfort didn't really go away...those are the last days of pregnancy, I suppose, but truth be told I didn't handle it very well. I would vacillate between zen moments of peace and then total basket case. I wasn't upset though, that you were taking your sweet time in coming...once I passed 40 weeks, I knew you'd come when it was right. My prayer was that you would come during the daytime, so that we didn't have to leave your siblings at night.<br />
<br />
Time passed...the day before 41 weeks. We set an induction date (March 2nd, when I'd be 41+6). The next day was Ash Wednesday and they predicted a snowstorm - which made me think we might not go to Mass, because I didn't want to drive in bad snow while overdue. That turned out to be a moot point, because on Fat Tuesday (Feb 21), Rosie threw up in the diner where we were enjoying pancakes and we hustled home to hunker down for a stomach bug. That night, your dad got it too. Oh well, I thought, better she stays put. Your dad was so sick he missed 6am, 9:30am, and noon Mass - on Ash Wednesday! He wasn't so so bad, but rather queasy and luckily had subs lined up. I went to lie down for a nap that afternoon, sad about missing Mass.<br />
<br />
At 2:30pm, I woke up with bad pain. I thought it was the stomach bug or you were in a bad position...nope. I went to the bathroom, then tried to go back to sleep. No - more pain. I'm embarrassed to admit it took me a few tries before I recognized it as contractions, maybe because I was groggy from sleep. I texted our friends who would care for your siblings and started timing them, but they were fierce from the start and I'm not great at communicating through pain. But - snow storm! It took our friends a while to get to our house because they had to shovel the drive and of course be careful driving! We set off at 3:44pm.<br />
<br />
The drive was slow - we passed several big accidents - and the snow was bad. When we pulled into the hospital complex, I managed to tell your dad to use valet. Ever the frugal man, he wanted to question me...but I growled again "VALET." (It took us 30 minutes to get there - it normally takes 10) The line was several cars deep, so we left the car, and your dad grabbed a wheelchair and off we went - to registration! The lady there was none too bright, chatting away as I was clearly laboring. Luckily we were soon on our way to the elevator to the third floor...there were three labor & delivery nurses on the elevator with us, joking with your dad. I was completely silent with my eyes closed. They wheeled me onto the floor, into the room. The kind nurse directed me to the bathroom, and asked me to put the gown on then they'd check me. I stood up, walked into the bathroom assisted by your father, and they closed the door. I got my pants off, looked at your dad and said "okay, she's coming!" Your dad was a bit panicked and said "what?" Then your head was born! "You gotta catch her!" I cried and then your body was born and your dad did catch you, luckily, with nary a nurse nor a doctor in sight. He was yelling for help, but that bathroom might as well have been a vault and no one could hear. So I finally opened my eyes and spied the emergency pull cord, and yanked on that. The nurse came in calmly, then panicked and suddenly it felt like every nurse in the hospital was in our room and bathroom!<br />
<br />
They got the cord cut, and me into bed, and checked you out. I didn't get to hold you right away because they were making sure we were both okay, but soon you were on my chest and I was so very happy. You were born at 4:31, 17 minutes after arriving at the hospital and less than two minutes after we got in the room.<br />
<br />
After that, I spent 2 glorious days in "hotel hospital" as I called it, by myself with you. Your saintly father needed to be at home, with all of your siblings who had all gotten the tummy bug, and I needed to be with you, while they made sure you were GBS negative (I had the bacteria during pregnancy). It was this odd and wonderful time, where we just relaxed together - I held and nursed you nearly constantly for the first 48 hours of your life, while I watched Downton Abbey, texted pictures of you to everyone, and marveled at how precious you were.<br />
<br />
Your name ended up being an easy decision: Beatrice Franziska. 8 pounds, 5 ounces. Absolute joy, from the start.<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="https://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-23452869141776198332020-03-24T22:08:00.002-04:002020-03-24T22:08:17.484-04:00Thoughts In Corona Time (early days)I don't think I ever thought I'd be here - blogging in the time of a pandemic in America, in 2020, after having had my fourth child in a hospital, 4 weeks earlier.<br />
<br />
Weird times.<br />
<br />
It turns out I fell victim to a very sneaky kind of pride: pride in thinking we were so advanced that really bad things (like plagues) were only the stuff of the past. Oh we only have new advanced really bad things like terrorism to go with our new advanced stuff everywhere else. I'm glad to take a new dose of humility, but it seems a bit much that it takes a worldwide crisis and global economic collapse to make it happen.<br />
<br />
Gallows humor aside, my new state of Michigan is now on what I affectionately refer to as "lockdown." We're not supposed to go anywhere but the grocery store, the doctor, or maybe a walk outside. No gatherings at all with anyone outside your household. When all this talk started about 10 days ago, I was pretty sanguine about it - honestly, as a homeschooling mom with a newborn, I figured it wouldn't feel that different to me. We have lots of weeks where we barely leave the house! Except...it turns out that wasn't true. We just leave the house a lot less than most other people. But both of my older kids have weekly music lessons, we had a weekly playdate, religious education, Mass on Sunday with accompanying coffee + donuts, weekly dinner with our next door neighbor. It turns out - it's very hard to lose your entire routine during the midst of a global health crisis in the information age. It is very easy to make news updates an idol...an idol that I stare at, waiting for my cues of how to live my life.<br />
<br />
That is deeply sad, because I have been Catholic now for 14 years, and I thought I had taken to heart what Jean Valjean said - "my soul belongs to God I know/I made that bargain long ago." But, like the apostle I identify with the most, I took my eyes off Jesus and began my descent to a watery grave.<br />
<br />
I don't know what this whole experience would be like as a single person, without other people directly in my care. I am confident in saying that situation has its own crosses. In my life, I have to manage my own maelstrom of emotions (anxiety - grumpiness - stir crazy - sad - frightened) while managing the emotions of several other people (emotions which may or may not be related to the current crisis). All while making sure that they eat, have fresh underwear/diapers, aren't wacking each other with bricks, or living in abject filth. I would love to binge watch movies and day drink until this passes. But little people are watching me, and sloth plus drunkenness aren't the best choices during a pandemic.<br />
<br />
My kids are going to be affected and formed, in some way, by this crisis. Susannah more than everyone else, clearly. But it's up to us, the parents, to decide what that formation looks like. How do we - as Americans, as Catholics, as Orams - behave in a crisis? A crisis where we cannot leave our homes? What does my behavior tell them about how we are to act when a situation of this magnitude is before us?<br />
<br />
God help me, up until now my behavior has set an example that has not been good. Yes, I'm just barely 4 weeks postpartum - yes, I'm getting little sleep and have hormones going crazy - but God knew that when he put me here. I have to quit making excuses and respond to the gently whispered invitation: to mother them, to be the warm heart of this home, to draw them close to his Sacred Heart and show them the light in this gloomy time. This is the strength of women, of so many generations who came before us and faced war, famine, plague, and death - on a scale we cannot imagine, with none of our modern comforts, with far less food. My weakness is proof of the relative constant comfort and entertainment to which I have thus far been accustomed; to the prosperity of the time and place in which I live. Can I shirk my burden, when it is so small?<br />
<br />
When I first converted, I loved the stories of the early martyrs and the great saints that did so many amazing things. I wanted to do Great Things for God - to die, to join a convent where they wore no shoes in winter time, to be one of the ones who gave it all! But when he asks me to hold my temper with a small unreasonable child, I want to hold onto my anger instead; when he asks me to get up and tidy a room instead of scrolling Twitter, I clutch my phone tighter. When he whispers to me to bring order to my home, I turn my back and ignore my family's need for structure. It turns out I wanted to give everything, except the sins I'm currently indulging in.<br />
<br />
May this Lent where I have so little distractions, where I am truly cloistered in my domestic church, give me the courage to abandon <i>my</i> sins, and truly repent.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="https://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-207705882858745632018-11-28T22:29:00.001-05:002018-11-28T22:29:59.937-05:00Mary Rose CeciliaFor all nine months of my pregnancy, I didn't feel like writing. Didn't feel like writing, talking, cleaning, getting up - most everything that required consciousness, really. Never have I dreamed that I could be so uncomfortable while pregnant for the whole time - not truly sick, like those with hyperemesis gavardium, but just constant discomfort and irritation.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to write this either, but Tom insisted. You've done it for the other kids, he said, so don't leave her out. It's taken me so long - life is much busier with you!<br />
<br />
Your due date, Rosie-girl, was November 20th - the Monday of Thanksgiving week. Grand and Grandad drove up the Saturday before to be with us all that week in case you made your entrance on time, which is, as we all know, a statistical unlikelihood. I tried to be at peace with God's timing, but the fear that stalked me, that made me feel hunted and frightened, was that you would come and we would be alone - my little family would be on an island with no help. Being in a state far away from family had already made my pregnancy feel lonely and sad - I hoped to salvage it by at least bringing you home to a house filled with relatives who'd coo over you and make me drink water. By your due date, my desire for you to arrive while your Grand was here increased to a fever-pitch. I felt like wailing every day you didn't come. I was also incredibly uncomfortable, like you were just not positioned correctly, so I went to see a chiropractor - and that adjustment gave me near immediate relief (that was Saturday, the 18th).<br />
<br />
<i>Originally, we had had tickets to attend the Beatification of (now) Blessed Solanus Casey that Saturday. But I called it, and we gave away our tickets, because I was so uncomfortable and so worried that you would be born in Ford Field during the Mass! (wishful thinking, really, in retrospect)</i><br />
<br />
On Monday, my due date appointment, I voiced my frustration, sadness, and general upset. Wendy and Jamie, my midwives listened empathetically and did a check - 4cm along already. I asked them to strip my membranes, because I really really really want to be in labor. After a thorough strip, we went to Somerset Mall and walked around - I was contracting, off and on. Nothing consistent, nothing great.<br />
<br />
Tuesday passed and I was so sad - the chiropractor had said that women usually go into labor 24 hours post-adjustment! The midwives said the stripping could really get things going! Where oh WHERE was this baby?? (a silly and sad thing to ask, when I was only 40+1) Wednesday morning, I woke up contracting...and gave it an hour...and soon I knew, it was going to be time for you. It was the day. We packed up our things and went downstairs, told Grand and Grandad, kissed Zuzu and David goodbye and started the 45 min drive to Nine Short Months Birthing Center. In contrast to the last few weeks, I felt such peace on the drive...such peace as a I breathed through my contractions.<br />
<br />
We arrived, and they were filling up the tub (your brother and sister were both born in a tub). It was snowing, softly. I climbed into the tub...but immediately wanted to get out. The water felt too cold and I could feel the hard wood beneath the vinyl surface of the tub (it was a blow up tub, not a fixed one). I got out and climbed into bed...where I dozed, off and on, through contractions for the next hour or so. Your dad held me, and pretty much resigned himself to spending Thanksgiving at the birth center, since he thought me sleeping was a sign things were slowing down - he underestimates my ability to sleep through literally anything.<br />
<br />
Once matters got more intense, I got out and crouched on the floor for a while, breathing and vocalizing through contractions. I was wedged between the edge of the bed and the hot tub, not a very convenient place! Wendy and Jamie encouraged me to move - I thought I'd try the birthing stool, but as soon as my posterior touched it's surface I jumped up with an emphatic "NOPE." I ended up kneeling on the floor, holding onto the birthing stool and pushed there. In one, long, fierce contraction, you were born. As you were crowning, the midwives said "okay, lean back so you can catch your baby!" but I couldn't even say I couldn't - I just couldn't move at that moment in time (I was concentrating!) so I shook my head . Wendy said to Tom, "okay then it's up to you Dad - get in there!" Your father is a rather decorious person and was concerned with lack of gloves, so he hesitated but she hustled him down there. So your Daddy caught you!<br />
<br />
Then came that near maniacal desire to hold you, so I was helped into bed and held you and marveled at your beauty. The first hour after you were born, the midwives try to give privacy to the new family for bonding - I'm not sure how bonding it was for us since you cried the entire first hour! Also, I am not entirely sure why I, a seasoned mother, didn't realize you needed to nurse? We spend most of your first two hours deciding on your name. You were very nearly Bernadette, with the nickname Birdie, and also nearly Rosemary. But in the end - you are Mary Rose Cecilia. You are Mary in honor of Our Lady of Fatima, Rose for St. Rose of Lima and Our Lady's title of Mystical Rose, and of course, Cecilia because you were born on her feast day!<br />
<br />
But you were suddenly with us and it was all so very, very good.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="https://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-40517558333956029022017-07-08T16:58:00.003-04:002017-07-08T16:58:44.524-04:00I'll Take Mercy for 500, AlexI try to go to confession every Saturday. For two months, over the various parishes and priests I have visited, every single one has said a variation of the same message. "You need to focus on God's mercy."<br />
<br />
My mind revolts at that message.<br />
<br />
It seems such a screen to make excuses: excuses for my sinfulness, excuses for my committing the same sins again and again - and dammit, again. Like a smoke screen for moral laxity or a touchy-feely code word that wants to make everybody feel okay for <u>daily</u> <i>refusing</i> to take on the challenge to be a saint.<br />
<br />
I want a priest to throw the book at me: I want to hear about hell, fear of the Lord, heroic virtue. I want confession to feel like purgatory - a burning away of the dross that prevents me from being pure gold.<br />
<br />
Yet those men that God has put in my life to be Christ to me - these men have stood with one foot in Heaven and one on earth and the message they give me is different, again and again - and dammit, again.<br />
<br />
They beg me to take up Christ's yoke of <i>mercy</i>.<br />
<br />
Yet it seems so heavy, such a hard burden to bear, this mercy. My soul recoils, "what could mercy have to do with <i>me</i>?" Part of it is a misunderstanding of mercy - mercy does not excuse sin. Mercy does not say that sin is not sin; mercy is "love reaching down to lift people out of their physical and spiritual miseries." (see <a href="http://www.thedivinemercy.org/news/What-Does-Divine-Mercy-Actually-Mean-2985">here</a>) Mercy is God loving us so much, he provides us with a way out of our own sinfulness - through confession, through the life of virtue, through Christ's sacrifice on the cross.<br />
<br />
The crux here is that, to receive God's mercy, I have to admit that I cannot make a path on my own. I cannot, by any amount of willpower, mental tricks, or new routine, make myself virtuous. I cannot save myself. For me, an American millennial young woman, that's so hard to accept. I pay lip service to this concept, but my actions do not bear it out. Every day, I wake up and instead of begging for the grace needed to be virtuous <i>just for today</i> - I resolve to just be better! My new self begins today! Today will be Day One of Martha 2.0, no mistakes, no more being my same crappy self. Haha, I will just resolve that and I'll be fine, I will power through, just like I have powered through hard things before. Hey, I graduated law school, okay. I'm smart and capable! I'll make a chart, buy a new planner, look up routines on Pinterest, get some inspiration from some peeps who seem to have it all together, and get going!<br />
<br />
It lasts for two hours, if I'm lucky. Sometimes the jig is up in 30 minutes if my kids are really on point.<br />
<br />
Mercy demands that I be humbled, that I come to Christ as what I truly am - a sinner in need of a savior. I cannot save myself - I'm such a mess, I can't even successfully <i>pretend</i> to save myself. I have to sit at his feet and say, "how do I do this?" I have to listen to him - in prayer, in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, in the words of the Church Fathers (and Mothers), in his saints and holy ones. When I listen to myself, to the messages of of this world, I'm just listening to an echo of nothingness - just 'sounding gongs' and 'clanging cymbals.' There is a path, an ancient path, to peace and joy, to Oneness with God. It is not an easy path! But it is the way of mercy and Jesus walked it before me, and walks it with me now. In fact, we are not even alone - there is a multitude, a great cloud of witnesses, that every moment cheers me and calls out how to go, warns of pitfalls, points back to the Way.<br />
<br />
Dear Jesus, help me to accept your mercy every day: it will be enough, you will be enough, and united with you, even what little I am will be enough.<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="https://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-29793396689661862872017-02-05T19:53:00.002-05:002017-02-11T21:03:35.501-05:00Beyond the South, Beyond HomeThe second day we were here, my mom and I ran errands to the nearest Target. I was overwhelmed and shocked, and felt like I had a rock in my stomach every time I went outside. Everything was so unfamiliar, and it frightened me - like a refrain, I kept wondering "how can I raise a family in a place I don't know? What is true, when I don't even know the earth beneath my feet?"<br />
<br />
It got better. Slowly. Summer helped.<br />
<br />
The week we moved into our new house, Tom sat me on the couch after we got the kids in bed and said "I've been saving this song for you for when we had our house." I cried through the whole thing and I cry every time I listen to it.<br />
<br />
This video gives me hope. It still doesn't feel like home here yet - it still feels so strange, and often lonely and hard. It's so easy to lose my moorings when I am living in a place where I have no history. I put my hands out to catch the wisdom of my ancestors and my hands grab nothing but empty air. No one that is kin to me has put their bones in this ground, or watched the seasons come and go for generations so that it is a rhythm that echoes in their blood. Southerners are so fiercely loyal - to place, to memory, to tradition, to our families. To be in a place with none of those things is like having amnesia and being homeless both at once.<br />
<br />
But this song gives me great hope that it won't be like this forever - that after we put our work and our hearts into this new place, we'll look up and find it's become home.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/byHSQoemFvI/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/byHSQoemFvI?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
Lyrics:<br />
<i>We will call this place our home,<br />The dirt in which our roots may grow.<br />Though the storms will push and pull,<br />We will call this place our home.<br /><br />We’ll tell our stories on these walls.<br />Every year, measure how tall.<br />And just like a work of art,<br />We’ll tell our stories on these walls.<br /><br />Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind.<br />Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide.<br />Settle our bones like wood over time, over time.<br />Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.<br /><br />A little broken, a little new.<br />We are the impact and the glue.<br />Capable of more than we know,<br />We call this fixer upper home.<br /><br />With each year, our color fades.<br />Slowly, our paint chips away.<br />But we will find the strength<br />And the nerve it takes<br />To repaint and repaint and repaint every day.<br /><br />Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind.<br />Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide.<br />Settle our bones like wood over time, over time.<br />Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.<br /></i><br />
<i>Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind.<br />Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide.<br />Settle our bones like wood over time, over time.<br />Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.<br />Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine.<br /><br />Smaller than dust on this map<br />Lies the greatest thing we have:<br />The dirt in which our roots may grow<br />And the right to call it home.</i><br />
<br />
When I listen to this song, I'm reminded that my family did not always live in the South. We left our generational homes hundreds of years ago and came to this country. We clung to the family with brought with us and over the years, our English and Irish traditions changed and our homes became old and familiar. I recall that what makes home are the people we call into it to share the love we pour out. The song is part prayer, part mantra, part battlecry - moving me beyond the South and beyond my clinging thoughts of home.<br />
<br />
Someday, by God's grace, and a great deal of hard work, we might have the right to call Michigan home.<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="https://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-3816923560340736022017-01-24T16:53:00.002-05:002017-01-24T16:53:37.754-05:00Bird Feeders & Winter GraceIt's not freezing, but it's cold and rainy - cold enough to need jackets, but not cold enough for snow! Zuzu keeps asking, "where's the snow mom?"<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ipPTKLR8PB0/WIfIkMs8voI/AAAAAAAAEks/yonVX95ej20hGpTNFJqTkWkw-XmN9i0zQCLcB/s1600/IMG_8840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ipPTKLR8PB0/WIfIkMs8voI/AAAAAAAAEks/yonVX95ej20hGpTNFJqTkWkw-XmN9i0zQCLcB/s320/IMG_8840.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Using Sarah MacKenzie's January booklist as a guide, we picked up The Big Snow (among others) to read aloud this month. We read it today, to ease Davey from grumpy post-nap to the land of the living. It talks about feeding the animals who can't find food after the big snow.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51UjUFVtv4L._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51UjUFVtv4L._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Who could live with the idea of animals without food? Susannah certainly couldn't, so we got to work...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zqMxB5X9D8c/WIfIaNq4TOI/AAAAAAAAEkY/zDK-zGGFeRglu_SHJYBD0BkjU2ikeDs0QCLcB/s1600/IMG_8832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zqMxB5X9D8c/WIfIaNq4TOI/AAAAAAAAEkY/zDK-zGGFeRglu_SHJYBD0BkjU2ikeDs0QCLcB/s320/IMG_8832.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ds3-Vo02v1k/WIfIaQhHOkI/AAAAAAAAEkc/lA1dqdc6Y0QfVOas_9ixf5VCmjc_oL2ngCLcB/s1600/IMG_8831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ds3-Vo02v1k/WIfIaQhHOkI/AAAAAAAAEkc/lA1dqdc6Y0QfVOas_9ixf5VCmjc_oL2ngCLcB/s320/IMG_8831.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I remember making these as a child - do you? Luckily we're allergy-free in our house, so the old standards worked just fine. I've been asking my husband to save the cardboard tubes we use, so I was glad to have that stash for such a gloomy craft day as this. David was a non-participant, but he was glad to cheer us on from his perch in the highchair. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m1oKB8rE8Oc/WIfIeyAvpDI/AAAAAAAAEkg/1CsuTdF9AQQ705TDRpZeyp4F7Ig4C0dWgCLcB/s1600/IMG_8836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m1oKB8rE8Oc/WIfIeyAvpDI/AAAAAAAAEkg/1CsuTdF9AQQ705TDRpZeyp4F7Ig4C0dWgCLcB/s320/IMG_8836.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This is also, as an aside, a great sensory activity. Zuzu really loves the big corn box (think sand box, but filled with dried corn) at our favorite farm, so I think this was reminiscent, on a small scale, of that. If I had thought ahead more (read: at all), I think I would have poured the bird seed into a big bin and let her pat it onto the peanut butter that way. Even our curved plates made this...a bit messy. Definitely glad I did this before floor cleaning day tomorrow! </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GbvH6-pFyuY/WIfIiqMd4QI/AAAAAAAAEko/Asd_ODOG0GA8qVPKRmcWEd_rBOT39l-EwCLcB/s1600/IMG_8838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GbvH6-pFyuY/WIfIiqMd4QI/AAAAAAAAEko/Asd_ODOG0GA8qVPKRmcWEd_rBOT39l-EwCLcB/s320/IMG_8838.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sZPL6BIOSXg/WIfIieovU9I/AAAAAAAAEkk/CyksMq0badgqgSVHiB65Bzoo_4Iqa1YhACLcB/s1600/IMG_8839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sZPL6BIOSXg/WIfIieovU9I/AAAAAAAAEkk/CyksMq0badgqgSVHiB65Bzoo_4Iqa1YhACLcB/s320/IMG_8839.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
We had two bird feeders to fill in addition to our tubes, but I faced the question: with no low-hanging branches, how will we make the tubes stand up? Well, after rustling around in the garage for a bit, I found a broken undersink organizer that had been destined for Goodwill. Turn it upside down...voila. That's called upcycling, right? Very trendy I'm sure!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--1p51icnoug/WIfIqQvftyI/AAAAAAAAEk0/IhHiKkc23t4g3WElDJQ48wt-F15z2865gCLcB/s1600/IMG_8842.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--1p51icnoug/WIfIqQvftyI/AAAAAAAAEk0/IhHiKkc23t4g3WElDJQ48wt-F15z2865gCLcB/s320/IMG_8842.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
End result: happy girl, and hopefully happy birds once they realize we have much to offer. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZHf71Q26-8E/WIfIYEmxNeI/AAAAAAAAEkU/TA74btCsmTQA7uqI2Znr-zrplhzyguGZgCLcB/s1600/IMG_8828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZHf71Q26-8E/WIfIYEmxNeI/AAAAAAAAEkU/TA74btCsmTQA7uqI2Znr-zrplhzyguGZgCLcB/s320/IMG_8828.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L4kv4h2znDY/WIfIqJPJV4I/AAAAAAAAEkw/RcKqKqMR30cx1ieQ4YtSMCJRIZTZxlB_gCLcB/s1600/IMG_8843.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L4kv4h2znDY/WIfIqJPJV4I/AAAAAAAAEkw/RcKqKqMR30cx1ieQ4YtSMCJRIZTZxlB_gCLcB/s320/IMG_8843.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LpzH_7w0IWs/WIfIrZbuH4I/AAAAAAAAEk4/WOx6FapvTl8yXfSJ5hgR35_LAz70jJM5ACLcB/s1600/IMG_8844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LpzH_7w0IWs/WIfIrZbuH4I/AAAAAAAAEk4/WOx6FapvTl8yXfSJ5hgR35_LAz70jJM5ACLcB/s320/IMG_8844.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
It was easy, before we moved here, to romanticize the cold. Hot chocolate! Cozy days reading by the fire! Making bird feeders for winter animals! But the truth is, just like my labor-intensive drives to the beach and the messy-side of summer popsicle eating, making a winter that is cozy and enjoyable is work. I make hot chocolate that my children instantly reject as too hot or not tasting enough like tea - they want to read the same d-u-m-b board book that I agreed to bring home from the library in a moment of weakness. Making bird feeders is very messy! I'm pretty sure I'll be finding peanut butter and/or bird seed in my kitchen for weeks.<br />
<br />
That life is work is a universal condition, either in the land of perpetual summer or that of ice and snow. To enjoy this work and let it sanctify me is my choice, prompted by grace. Little by little, I work my way to holiness, one book, one bird feeder, one child at a time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="https://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-7729453268927659512016-10-26T17:22:00.003-04:002016-10-26T17:22:36.679-04:00A Little Longer, Be My BabyI get the comments every week, when I'm out toting my golden haired boy.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Are you going to cut his hair? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Are you tired of him being called a girl? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Long hair - isn't that, y'know, girly? </i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EJPG40p3tAM/WBEUvajsbBI/AAAAAAAAEig/Yc61KCD0b1ctu63rKHGSWzZ5Kh8s81_bgCLcB/s1600/IMG_6326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EJPG40p3tAM/WBEUvajsbBI/AAAAAAAAEig/Yc61KCD0b1ctu63rKHGSWzZ5Kh8s81_bgCLcB/s320/IMG_6326.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I know I have a different perspective. What can I say, it's those three years I spent at law school with all those cute boys with <a href="http://bamabangs.tumblr.com/">Bama bangs</a>. I just love a man with a good head of hair and now I have the most darling little man with the most darling curls (and very impressive bangs too).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I really didn't face this question with Zuzu since she didn't even have any hair until she was 2. David had more hair when he was born than Zuzu did until 2.5! Now I admit, sometimes his mane gets a bit unruly...</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gB85UyRordM/WBEUvmAsabI/AAAAAAAAEik/fEiG3_lBJ8ESwK26HfAVxNTxzx4CmTKbACLcB/s1600/IMG_7359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gB85UyRordM/WBEUvmAsabI/AAAAAAAAEik/fEiG3_lBJ8ESwK26HfAVxNTxzx4CmTKbACLcB/s320/IMG_7359.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
...but I'm trying hard to wait until he is two to cut it. I know, I know that as soon as it's cut, the baby curls will be gone - and suddenly he will look much more like a little boy than a little baby. But he still feels like my baby - especially now that I have a big girl to compare him to, and I can fully appreciate the swift and fleeting nature of time. I don't want to let that go. If my tendency with Zuzu is to push her to be more mature because she is the oldest child I have, then perhaps I do have a tendency to baby David, as he is the youngest child I have. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zoIU2M8Zq5o/WBEU0G80IoI/AAAAAAAAEis/RJ2nMJNXX5ALYsZzPWIIWXb0RAyktN5qACLcB/s1600/IMG_7483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zoIU2M8Zq5o/WBEU0G80IoI/AAAAAAAAEis/RJ2nMJNXX5ALYsZzPWIIWXb0RAyktN5qACLcB/s320/IMG_7483.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UdttKld91ek/WBEUy_WlbfI/AAAAAAAAEio/tBWt5x-C1YQ2cmkB1S3h3ywTfAuyv_hLgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UdttKld91ek/WBEUy_WlbfI/AAAAAAAAEio/tBWt5x-C1YQ2cmkB1S3h3ywTfAuyv_hLgCLcB/s320/IMG_7462.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And perhaps many other moms with subfertility can relate to this: I'm constantly wondering if he's the last baby. Now, we've been deeply blessed to have two children - certainly we are far ahead of where my OB said we would be, six months before we were engaged. <i>You'll never have children without serious help, and even then we can't count on anything</i>. In fact, we've been so blessed to have gotten pregnant four times and be holding two healthy children in our arms, that at this point, we <i>count</i> on having more. We have started to think <i>when</i>, and not <i>if</i>. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But in the back of my mother's mind is always that worry - what if he's our last? What if he never gets to have a brother, or Zuzu a sister? What if this is the last baby I get to hold at 18 months, the last one to nurse to sleep? There's a thought that all those "whens" might be wishful "ifs" instead and that years from now, I'll wish I had those damp post-nap curls to run my fingers through. That nagging thought means I'll be keeping him my baby, for just a little longer. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jaM2Lg-drMs/WBEUuAtKTlI/AAAAAAAAEic/rzCvaE8EYSI4-JDcih9rlqih8gWzbL-twCLcB/s1600/IMG_7362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jaM2Lg-drMs/WBEUuAtKTlI/AAAAAAAAEic/rzCvaE8EYSI4-JDcih9rlqih8gWzbL-twCLcB/s320/IMG_7362.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-80172887882464965922016-10-11T23:06:00.002-04:002016-10-11T23:06:47.610-04:00The Beginning of the BestSusannah is less 24 hours away from being four years old.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yc15k3-irDc/V_2lx-ghIaI/AAAAAAAAEg4/9tcn3MuMwSkuBt_mJFRcudp03Mo3HmGfwCLcB/s1600/IMG_5499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yc15k3-irDc/V_2lx-ghIaI/AAAAAAAAEg4/9tcn3MuMwSkuBt_mJFRcudp03Mo3HmGfwCLcB/s320/IMG_5499.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I don't think I ever imagined what it would be like to have a four year old. I was so focused on getting through my pregnancy, keeping her alive, nursing, figuring it all out. Oh I was so focused on that day-to-day, I couldn't look up - I couldn't imagine what was coming.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XiWMs0f8kUY/V_2mMP7x19I/AAAAAAAAEhk/OuUTRorcS_MyOuXmqA9il9DPOU5YF8fIwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XiWMs0f8kUY/V_2mMP7x19I/AAAAAAAAEhk/OuUTRorcS_MyOuXmqA9il9DPOU5YF8fIwCLcB/s320/IMG_7370.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JS0lpYLDxQc/V_2mLlWZiUI/AAAAAAAAEhg/vIfIcBE08eAx2am3rz3ehGE-3XYyHM5VQCLcB/s1600/IMG_7382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JS0lpYLDxQc/V_2mLlWZiUI/AAAAAAAAEhg/vIfIcBE08eAx2am3rz3ehGE-3XYyHM5VQCLcB/s320/IMG_7382.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-azrVIzQXrg8/V_2mMOdvPiI/AAAAAAAAEho/r_PiOISZdc4ua6Z4U7R54pg8RSYt-79dgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-azrVIzQXrg8/V_2mMOdvPiI/AAAAAAAAEho/r_PiOISZdc4ua6Z4U7R54pg8RSYt-79dgCLcB/s320/IMG_7405.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I remember her being born like it was yesterday. That labor was like a dream - my 6:30am wakeup call on a Friday, the long silence of Hypnobirthing labor, the hour and fifteen minutes of <i>hard</i> work pushing her out - pushing her out to Brandi Carlile's <i>The Story </i>(which I found from <a href="http://www.nestinggypsy.com/blog/2009/10/11/the-homebirth-of-lucia-mae">this birth video and story</a>).<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BRwUZq3xe-M/V_2l20mz31I/AAAAAAAAEg8/vJadPe8COc45uF-DzIbLvpYONDhiPmAFgCLcB/s1600/IMG_6113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BRwUZq3xe-M/V_2l20mz31I/AAAAAAAAEg8/vJadPe8COc45uF-DzIbLvpYONDhiPmAFgCLcB/s320/IMG_6113.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XXFIDe0_jVs/V_2mGZeB9NI/AAAAAAAAEhc/V5jhEx0dbMYC-1HhkPa7OSeEuf83PUdEwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XXFIDe0_jVs/V_2mGZeB9NI/AAAAAAAAEhc/V5jhEx0dbMYC-1HhkPa7OSeEuf83PUdEwCLcB/s320/IMG_7300.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
That first six weeks of her life is burned into my mind too. Such clarity of focus, such intense love and joy and praising: oh finally, <i>finally! </i>I had waited my whole life to become a mother and she christened me so kindly. I remember it all: the chocolate cake every day at 2:12pm, episodes of LOST always on, the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clHpyRzb1PI">sound of the chimes of my new washer/dryer</a> as they ran ran ran constantly with new baby laundry, the cool air blowing in over Grandma Mary's vintage couch.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WzgWFWTO2XQ/V_2l4TccVoI/AAAAAAAAEhE/JpodByGp9u8C6WKGt7A_OtTXU_rvzj29gCLcB/s1600/IMG_6388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WzgWFWTO2XQ/V_2l4TccVoI/AAAAAAAAEhE/JpodByGp9u8C6WKGt7A_OtTXU_rvzj29gCLcB/s320/IMG_6388.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bWcT-6QU1vw/V_2l9tGXRXI/AAAAAAAAEhI/6P24VrwGInouwH3vBiXm-PLQRAEs0Zq0wCLcB/s1600/IMG_6532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bWcT-6QU1vw/V_2l9tGXRXI/AAAAAAAAEhI/6P24VrwGInouwH3vBiXm-PLQRAEs0Zq0wCLcB/s320/IMG_6532.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aHaZIkIOWj8/V_2l_DTYMjI/AAAAAAAAEhQ/FvWl5eENU28T02vbb0CxZ69ATg1tXuV2wCLcB/s1600/IMG_6696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aHaZIkIOWj8/V_2l_DTYMjI/AAAAAAAAEhQ/FvWl5eENU28T02vbb0CxZ69ATg1tXuV2wCLcB/s320/IMG_6696.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0kRdUA2luns/V_2l-paR4MI/AAAAAAAAEhM/yyjFTV63wHw7pfF12IhVliS-C5B2Yg26QCLcB/s1600/IMG_6898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0kRdUA2luns/V_2l-paR4MI/AAAAAAAAEhM/yyjFTV63wHw7pfF12IhVliS-C5B2Yg26QCLcB/s320/IMG_6898.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4GcRC6VIVrA/V_2mF3GdqkI/AAAAAAAAEhY/6lg3gkd2Vd85sr8XOISBzYBJwfDKgI32ACLcB/s1600/IMG_6916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4GcRC6VIVrA/V_2mF3GdqkI/AAAAAAAAEhY/6lg3gkd2Vd85sr8XOISBzYBJwfDKgI32ACLcB/s320/IMG_6916.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d8bDRdD7dNk/V_2mFxElvbI/AAAAAAAAEhU/nk08Xx9cTZkisI18_MyS5iibj4gv_WjuwCLcB/s1600/IMG_6942.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d8bDRdD7dNk/V_2mFxElvbI/AAAAAAAAEhU/nk08Xx9cTZkisI18_MyS5iibj4gv_WjuwCLcB/s320/IMG_6942.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's only gotten harder from there - and sometimes I get really scared when I think how much higher the stakes are going to get, how much more complicated the issues. I am afraid that I fail a great deal in being the mother I should be; I am, in fact, often stunned by the depths of my own failings. I am often shocked at you too - you, Susannah, natural heir to my occasional writings here. You are suddenly...you. You are yourself. You are <i>not</i> me - although for so long you were, you were just an extension, as natural as my arm or nose. You are now yourself and claiming that <u>boldly</u>. I'd be more proud if I could stop being so hurt by the growing pains.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--IFg1hPptQE/V_2l35VWwYI/AAAAAAAAEhA/dsedNIADdugPBOvWId2qTV70WPglHkpzACLcB/s1600/IMG_6219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--IFg1hPptQE/V_2l35VWwYI/AAAAAAAAEhA/dsedNIADdugPBOvWId2qTV70WPglHkpzACLcB/s320/IMG_6219.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's hard. You're the oldest child I have on this earth, so naturally I expect so much of you - sometimes, too much. I often fumble, I am reaching out a hand to find my bearings, and before I catch myself I'm trampling on you in the process. I worry, oh I worry, and your dad and I spend so much time talking, praying, talking, praying - for you, for help, for guidance, for the ability to give you whatever you need, for you to be shielded from our foibles.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QYUaIY20TXo/V_2mXG-C5UI/AAAAAAAAEh8/ZXifMZE9VdIPLcQwsqLccRbi5c-BnyanQCLcB/s1600/IMG_7815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QYUaIY20TXo/V_2mXG-C5UI/AAAAAAAAEh8/ZXifMZE9VdIPLcQwsqLccRbi5c-BnyanQCLcB/s320/IMG_7815.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's good too. I love getting to know you, I love showing you the parts of the world that I love, I love that you get as excited about books as you do about toys. I love seeing your imagination develop, seeing how you crave stories, make up worlds, live in them and believe in them deeply. I know these stories, this newfound independence, this self I am helping you discover will lead you into the deepest and greatest mystery: union with the Triune God, who is all that is Good and Beautiful and True.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SvFvTBsYwrU/V_2mVIUKmuI/AAAAAAAAEh0/mJIA5N3rhp84Oxlfn5r9rcHTVXQXmzNZgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SvFvTBsYwrU/V_2mVIUKmuI/AAAAAAAAEh0/mJIA5N3rhp84Oxlfn5r9rcHTVXQXmzNZgCLcB/s320/IMG_7698.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Susannah, your birth was the beginning of the best part of my life and every day, even when I am frustrated, I am beyond thrilled to be your mother. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d78NBp9SLxs/V_2mXIMqNZI/AAAAAAAAEh4/IQ13TNYC90QoxjYF5PZ7lT_AqzbN30_vgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d78NBp9SLxs/V_2mXIMqNZI/AAAAAAAAEh4/IQ13TNYC90QoxjYF5PZ7lT_AqzbN30_vgCLcB/s320/IMG_7816.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-25960574756490024382016-09-15T12:38:00.000-04:002016-09-15T12:38:48.174-04:00My Mother's HouseThe kids and I have returned to the home state for a couple weeks.<br />
<br />
There's a great comfort walking into the house I've grown up in since I was 8 years old. At this point, I've been leaving and coming back to this house for 13 years - longer than I actually lived there. But it's still home, despite how many times my mom rearranges the furniture (read: quarterly). And now it's something even more special for my children - <i>Grand's house</i>.<br />
<br />
Of course, my children are grandchildren numbers ten and eleven to come to this house - to try to avoid upsetting Linka the canktankerous German Shepherd, take walks on the golf course, and love the twizzler jar (but whatever happened to the M & M jar that was ever present during the potty training years? I miss that!). My parents are no strangers to welcoming little people to their home and like centuries of grandparents before them, have delighted in that special bond between the very young and the old.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-130bsEk1Am4/V9q9ztwbyJI/AAAAAAAAEeE/xpKcoMgoMZYx7ioIJdTbRc3wgI8buLmVACLcB/s1600/IMG_7550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-130bsEk1Am4/V9q9ztwbyJI/AAAAAAAAEeE/xpKcoMgoMZYx7ioIJdTbRc3wgI8buLmVACLcB/s320/IMG_7550.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But my mother has a special quality for welcoming children to her house. She is no ordinary grandmother. There is a warmth to her house that makes everyone want to be here. I want to try to remember it forever, especially since they'll be moving soon. My parents bought a new piece of property out on a beautiful lake and they're building a house on it, a house to retire in. I don't blame them, and I know that any house that my mom makes into a home will have that same quality. But this house holds so many memories for us, and for Susannah already.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BFXI1-nvBb4/V9q_BTLtvPI/AAAAAAAAEeU/yahiR4AUtCcRAb8LhgzCxzXS2sIMR2iQACLcB/s1600/IMG_7562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BFXI1-nvBb4/V9q_BTLtvPI/AAAAAAAAEeU/yahiR4AUtCcRAb8LhgzCxzXS2sIMR2iQACLcB/s320/IMG_7562.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tCKz7KXtfSE/V9q_BSu-o8I/AAAAAAAAEeQ/SStB537Iag8-y-aWouweQ_PjEnvDVvLtwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tCKz7KXtfSE/V9q_BSu-o8I/AAAAAAAAEeQ/SStB537Iag8-y-aWouweQ_PjEnvDVvLtwCLcB/s320/IMG_7566.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gYYVO2-rQKg/V9q_Bfb4ujI/AAAAAAAAEeM/fmXTu3g0Aw0srULLkkZK1FKGHDFsZsLkQCLcB/s1600/IMG_7567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gYYVO2-rQKg/V9q_Bfb4ujI/AAAAAAAAEeM/fmXTu3g0Aw0srULLkkZK1FKGHDFsZsLkQCLcB/s320/IMG_7567.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's true that both my parent's live here and my father's presence is no less. But it's my mother that's the homemaker and makes it a home, a fact I'm sure my father wouldn't dispute. Their styles are easily merged as neither of them is afraid of color and both have a distinct aesthetic sense. Yet it's true the home wouldn't be what it is without Dad: his bouts of "company is coming so I need to build a trellis on the back patio" are legendary. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fDVOK664-DU/V9q_HWh8hKI/AAAAAAAAEec/K45xukGHbBwgXDVVBKN-c8fqViVV62JBQCLcB/s1600/IMG_7569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fDVOK664-DU/V9q_HWh8hKI/AAAAAAAAEec/K45xukGHbBwgXDVVBKN-c8fqViVV62JBQCLcB/s320/IMG_7569.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-apBdY7QsWAE/V9q_G5RCxzI/AAAAAAAAEeY/dduiAkapYuQYOjljQPGHkZSADhEDdOLvQCLcB/s1600/IMG_7571.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-apBdY7QsWAE/V9q_G5RCxzI/AAAAAAAAEeY/dduiAkapYuQYOjljQPGHkZSADhEDdOLvQCLcB/s320/IMG_7571.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CIS1jkHRb9o/V9q_Il4MklI/AAAAAAAAEeg/x3rgUl2MO9kzDGqViCToe96qc2bQoIE5ACLcB/s1600/IMG_7573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CIS1jkHRb9o/V9q_Il4MklI/AAAAAAAAEeg/x3rgUl2MO9kzDGqViCToe96qc2bQoIE5ACLcB/s320/IMG_7573.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LeoIDDdoe5U/V9q_OIxIHHI/AAAAAAAAEek/yOjfCCiZrXUi84RPeoPMClaoN6dUVW4TwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LeoIDDdoe5U/V9q_OIxIHHI/AAAAAAAAEek/yOjfCCiZrXUi84RPeoPMClaoN6dUVW4TwCLcB/s320/IMG_7576.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When we moved in, there was wall-to-wall shag carpet and horrible wall paper all over ever surface that would stand still. By the time we were done with it, it wasn't recognizable and I've never seen another house quite like it. For one thing, when I tell people I grew up in a house with orange walls and a yellow ceiling, I'm not sure anyone believes me that the affect was not circus-like. It sounds even more doubtful when I say the floor is painted concrete: terra cotta red and forrest green. But so it is. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DRc2v4vnhcw/V9q_O59ED4I/AAAAAAAAEeo/bgWFnFXjJREk-ORZiGuTdAsd5ONQLppcgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DRc2v4vnhcw/V9q_O59ED4I/AAAAAAAAEeo/bgWFnFXjJREk-ORZiGuTdAsd5ONQLppcgCLcB/s320/IMG_7577.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SeERBzibWrI/V9q_QXt9jwI/AAAAAAAAEes/qMKXwUGmglUTK06ndzAA_ihRY73v_JiGQCLcB/s1600/IMG_7582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SeERBzibWrI/V9q_QXt9jwI/AAAAAAAAEes/qMKXwUGmglUTK06ndzAA_ihRY73v_JiGQCLcB/s320/IMG_7582.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uG8Cd7t0cXQ/V9q_TfYzK2I/AAAAAAAAEew/HvJsPl9wJ2EcZvRz3kiaFpKANVCNLfXEwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uG8Cd7t0cXQ/V9q_TfYzK2I/AAAAAAAAEew/HvJsPl9wJ2EcZvRz3kiaFpKANVCNLfXEwCLcB/s320/IMG_7587.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZsTiFtvQhd0/V9q_U6qjRJI/AAAAAAAAEe0/MlOjKVuMhA0RlWTC0irn0i9sQL5UG77ngCLcB/s1600/IMG_7590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZsTiFtvQhd0/V9q_U6qjRJI/AAAAAAAAEe0/MlOjKVuMhA0RlWTC0irn0i9sQL5UG77ngCLcB/s320/IMG_7590.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wcaoPlZeYb8/V9q_Wzu3H_I/AAAAAAAAEe4/uc1PYqGDiSYZImbdkvLEPtOCVS4HP0GLgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wcaoPlZeYb8/V9q_Wzu3H_I/AAAAAAAAEe4/uc1PYqGDiSYZImbdkvLEPtOCVS4HP0GLgCLcB/s320/IMG_7593.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
One of the best parts of my mother's house is that every chair has a lamp for reading and every table is actually a little vignette all its own. It's always been this way, but now it takes on a magical quality for my children. When they come in the door, there are any number of surprises - not laid out right in front of them, but tucked in around the house. On a window sill, a procession of elephants - a family of unicorns frolicking on their own table - a velvet rocking chair with two new books. My children discover these things over the days, as they explore the house, as they settle in to a routine of hearty meals and unlimited hours of imaginative play punctuated with long bouts of read aloud books. When they get a drink, the cups are orange with glitter and pumpkins floating about in them. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EWlx8_R5_Ts/V9q_nNk-MII/AAAAAAAAEfU/DOeqCsZhNckOv30jwN9Y5mr4TJzIaZUyACLcB/s1600/IMG_7609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EWlx8_R5_Ts/V9q_nNk-MII/AAAAAAAAEfU/DOeqCsZhNckOv30jwN9Y5mr4TJzIaZUyACLcB/s320/IMG_7609.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sxDD09Oc1uQ/V9rHykT-HGI/AAAAAAAAEfs/3XgAe-rRFm8ncUVZ7VC-Di_VgBCOE6YgQCLcB/s1600/IMG_7584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sxDD09Oc1uQ/V9rHykT-HGI/AAAAAAAAEfs/3XgAe-rRFm8ncUVZ7VC-Di_VgBCOE6YgQCLcB/s320/IMG_7584.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30e9JnwOgI4/V9rHxQdAnkI/AAAAAAAAEfo/Os7ZEag62hEPsZ4tphm-U8YRVd7xRDY7QCLcB/s1600/IMG_7591.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30e9JnwOgI4/V9rHxQdAnkI/AAAAAAAAEfo/Os7ZEag62hEPsZ4tphm-U8YRVd7xRDY7QCLcB/s320/IMG_7591.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2cWcbMm7mG0/V9q_gpEXx4I/AAAAAAAAEfI/nkjLukYmYY0LQFhCFu-IWtUZJEPl0w6-gCLcB/s1600/IMG_7599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2cWcbMm7mG0/V9q_gpEXx4I/AAAAAAAAEfI/nkjLukYmYY0LQFhCFu-IWtUZJEPl0w6-gCLcB/s320/IMG_7599.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Now as an adult, I know many of these objects personally - I buy items I know would appeal on my travels. I recognize that making a home is a <i>life's work</i>: there is no instant, no store to buy all a home needs. There's a tile from a great museum in Austin from the Edel Conference, a slightly rusted tin plate that was my father's as a boy, a print of a home Mass that they acquired from their Thanksgiving trip to Ireland a few years ago. Two of my favorites are the citrus crate made for them by my godfather and the didgeridoo my brother brought back from Australia when he was in the Marines. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TxzZHUj9pjM/V9q_ivlBdUI/AAAAAAAAEfM/fll6s5lo5mQkt4eXeOZV_Uo8SR5h6JuzgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TxzZHUj9pjM/V9q_ivlBdUI/AAAAAAAAEfM/fll6s5lo5mQkt4eXeOZV_Uo8SR5h6JuzgCLcB/s320/IMG_7605.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YVS30st0ixk/V9q_loni1wI/AAAAAAAAEfQ/m2-fVnqwI94JR_Aoe_xMHUGyNG4QkR-kwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YVS30st0ixk/V9q_loni1wI/AAAAAAAAEfQ/m2-fVnqwI94JR_Aoe_xMHUGyNG4QkR-kwCLcB/s320/IMG_7606.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0xZUglz5c94/V9q_a32z8CI/AAAAAAAAEe8/Yp_aSYyKeFcSOVRy_CAhs4jbzCI3EdzkACLcB/s1600/IMG_7596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0xZUglz5c94/V9q_a32z8CI/AAAAAAAAEe8/Yp_aSYyKeFcSOVRy_CAhs4jbzCI3EdzkACLcB/s320/IMG_7596.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ET9qLLHZniY/V9q_cG1wxrI/AAAAAAAAEfA/TywKt0BFR_kz_py8gk6IQ4g4IM2itYbHwCLcB/s1600/IMG_7597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ET9qLLHZniY/V9q_cG1wxrI/AAAAAAAAEfA/TywKt0BFR_kz_py8gk6IQ4g4IM2itYbHwCLcB/s320/IMG_7597.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--gpgPEmSiKc/V9q_eRQZQZI/AAAAAAAAEfE/q0KzUbX6zY4kSZBkAwlsHr1R3oKmY51mgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--gpgPEmSiKc/V9q_eRQZQZI/AAAAAAAAEfE/q0KzUbX6zY4kSZBkAwlsHr1R3oKmY51mgCLcB/s320/IMG_7598.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k9xxqlRo-zk/V9q_oeeAatI/AAAAAAAAEfY/uv48dNxmgxcsL68M8238gIjGd_AeFlpwgCLcB/s1600/IMG_7614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k9xxqlRo-zk/V9q_oeeAatI/AAAAAAAAEfY/uv48dNxmgxcsL68M8238gIjGd_AeFlpwgCLcB/s320/IMG_7614.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Much has changed over the years, there's no doubting that. When my uncle was still alive, I remember our Christmas's being much more Victorian with rich jewel tone ribbons. That gave way to an embrace of my mother's southern California roots, a great deal more of Mexican inspired art and elements, coinciding easily with half the household taking Spanish classes. After us kids left the house, Americana has crept in slowly to be a more dominant influence, though still coexisting kindly with the earlier vestiges of her evolving style. My parent's conversion to Catholicism has woven perhaps the brightest new thread into the home, a distinct theme - but perhaps the most interesting, in that far from alienating any of other, older elements, it has suddenly provided the unifying note to all that's gone before. Grace builds upon nature, in homemaking no less than in living. My mother's house is a beautiful testimony to the richness of a life that has come into full bloom, handsome and full in the light of grace.<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="https://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-20734070771390828852016-08-22T11:48:00.000-04:002016-09-07T16:21:44.651-04:00Life When House HuntingSo it's been nearly six months in Michigan and...no house.<br />
<br />
I thought, in a simplistic way, that it would all be so simple. We'd sell our house (by the way - if you want to buy our house- check it out <a href="http://www.1342westlanenaples.com/">here</a>) Buy a house here. Boom. It's quite sad how hopeful I really was.<br />
<br />
Instead, my days look like this.<br />
<br />
<i>Lay in bed until 11 or so, scouring <a href="http://www.zillow.com/">Zillow</a> or the MLS, looking for a magic house I haven't yet found that is 1) within our budget, 2) big enough to suite our needs, 3) cute/close to being finished. Find nothing new or, find something new that is 40 minutes away and save it even though I know Tom will veto, or find something new that isn't big enough or is too expensive or needs a ton of work and try to convince myself we could make it work (save it, even though it'll just cause a terse exchange tomorrow). </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Go to sleep. Dream of unpacking my things in a house - any house. Dream of Zuzu's birthday party being in a house she can get comfortable in since she'll know we're not going anywhere. Wake up a lot and go to the bathroom, banging the bathroom door into the awkward wall that protrudes into the 'master' bath. Curse the designer of our apartment. Chide myself for my ungratefulness. Go back to bed. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Wake up. Love my children's wake up faces, think how lucky I am to have them and my husband. Go to the bathroom - begin to curse the apartment again. Feel bad again because it's such a #firstworldproblem. Go to the kitchen - miss my things again, try to avoid thinkings about my hatred of formica and beige cabinets. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Get everyone breakfast. Step on the carpet in bare feet and cringe that it's crunchy feeling - think how dumb it is to put carpet in the dining area. Resolve to vacuum today somehow, even though it makes Davey scream. Go to pray - regain a sense of peace. Afterwards, do some morning chores while kids play; have Fixer Upper playing on my computer in the background. Wonder at the home prices in Waco and Joanna's use of bronzer. Consider, again, begging the Gaines to come help - remember that they don't do work outside Waco - wonder if I could do what they do. Wonder how the money aspect of the show works and how hard it is for the family's to get rid of all the designer stuff after the show is over and move in their old ratty stuff instead. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Peruse Zillow before/after lunch. Analyze saved houses again - wonder which one would be the best pick. Think if it's worth it to go see the beautiful reasonably priced one that's 30 minutes away, or the shabby-needs-serious work one that's only 15 minutes away and whose price probably indicates it's located next to a drug den. Wonder why there is plethora of Catholic bloggers with chickens and if the homesteading life is inherently more holy, or if their Instagram filters just make it seem that way. Wonder where are the suburban mom blogs that showcase holiness without all the chicken poop and homeschooling. Remember Kathryn Whitaker. Feel better about looking at homes in neighborhoods - spent 30 minutes looking at houses that all look the same and getting irritated about the state of current home building. Change filters and instead look only at houses built before 1949; remember that although they're packed with charm, they're all really small and the laundry rooms are in creepy basements. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>While putting Davey down for a nap, wonder why this area has to be so darn expensive. Look at houses in my hometown and realize I seem to only enjoy really expensive areas of the country. Fantasize about living in the middle of nowhere in a redone Victorian mansion that has land but also good neighbors and is close to a thriving Catholic parish. Remind yourself that holiness consists in living in the present. Sniff Davey's head and think, happily, how good and clean baby sweat smells and how darling his curly hair is. Feel bad that he has so much sun in his eyes, get mad at the apartment again, then reproach myself for not hanging curtains when we moved in 3 months ago. Remember that 3 months ago, I didn't think we'd still be here and thought there was no point. Mourn for all the things I didn't do because I thought there was no way we'd still be here - wonder if there's a point in doing them now. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Come out and read with Zuzu while Davey naps. Answer her questions about all the things she wants that are still packed "in the big container." Entertain her fantasies about what the "new house" will have: she wants a pegasus farm close to her Grand, GG, and Auntie Jen (who live in Orlando, Indiana, and Washington DC, respectively). Try not to encourage it, but secretly think my own desires are about just as probable. Crabbily respond to my husband's texts because I've gotten into the habit of thinking that this situation is harder on me than him and that he really doesn't care and is being really flippant about the whole thing. Feel bad and remind myself how great a husband I have; repentantly clean our room. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Davey wakes up, and I start dinner prep. Go to use a kitchen utencil/instrument I don't have and get mega-annoyed; think longingly of my crockpot. Pull up Amazon and swiftly, vengefully! fill my cart with all the things I don't have with me, but would really like. Cackle with the powerful feeling that gives me...but take it all out, because it just feels wasteful to buy things I already have even if I don't have access to them. Stare at water boiling and feel sorry for myself. Children screaming jolts me back to reality, snap at them. Realize they're probably just hungry and get everyone settled at the table with big glasses of milk and before-dinner fruit and biscuits with butter. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Tom comes home. Try to be cheerful, although I've been stewing over unhelpful things all day. Start the crazy dinner-walk-bath-prayers-bed whirlwind where we are corralling chaos. Finally wrestle crazy kids in bed. Sit on the couch next to each other pouring over spreadsheets and house stats till way too late. Crunch numbers again - and again. Bicker. Feel stressed. Late night text my realtor (thank God she ignores me past 9pm and that we're friends). Apologize to one another (Tom and I, not me and my realtor) for not being our best; resolve to be better, offer each other comforting thoughts about it all being over soon. Crawl into bed saying oh yeah should've gone to bed hours ago but -</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Start the cycle again.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /><br />
<span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span><span style="background-color: #bd081c; background-position: 3px 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; background-size: 14px; border-bottom-left-radius: 2px; border-bottom-right-radius: 2px; border-top-left-radius: 2px; border-top-right-radius: 2px; border: none; color: white; cursor: pointer; display: none; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; opacity: 1; padding: 0px 4px 0px 0px; position: absolute; text-align: center; text-indent: 20px; width: auto; z-index: 8675309;">Save</span>Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-50339010364361267222016-06-24T21:53:00.001-04:002016-06-24T21:53:41.948-04:00Open to the Life I Have Now"Open to life."<br />
<br />
If you're part of the circles I am, you hear that phrase a lot. It's what we promise at the start of our marriages, it's what we pray about most every month of our married life until our child-bearing years come to an end, it can sometimes be the guilt that hangs over us if we choose to abstain for whatever reason, or the sorrow that plagues us if our openness is not fulfilled with a child.<br />
<br />
In my own married life, openness has largely meant waiting. Whenever I have felt ready for a baby, I have waited...sometimes as short as seven months, or as long as fourteen months - still just small bumps in the road compared to those I know who are still waiting, years after they gave their "yes." Five years in and two babies later, I often feel we're on the "slow train" of openness to life...that if we had been given a child every time we said yes, we'd be one of those Catholic families with stair-step children in a row: we'd be in the trenches with those moms of large families, talking about all the awful things people say to us and pricing out 15 passenger vans. <br />
<br />
But I'm in a different place right now. I have two small children that I endeavor to love and support through this cross-country move; two little beings that I try to be rock and soft place to, while we all mourn the loss of our home and find a new one in this place that is so different and so beautiful. It is requiring a great deal of me - sacrifices that I am reluctant to give. I am having to make peace with being temporary, when my role in this family is to provide a sense of permanence. I miss Florida and the surety I had raising my children in my home state. There was a strength I drew from its very soil, knowing that I was chasing diapered babies in the same land that my mother, grandmother, and so on did.<br />
<br />
In my desperate attempts to find permanence, I sometimes cling to rigidity and mistake it for strength. God help me, it is making me more closed to my children - and here is where it comes in, again, that openness to life. Openness to the lives I have under my care, right now - that's a calling too, that's a promise I made too, when I invited God to give us life. Openness to teaching the same lesson, day after day, because learning takes time. Openness to a child's strong emotions and push back, without letting it ruin my peace and calm. Openness to silliness without mistaking it as defiance, to bluster without seeing it as rudeness, to a certain amount of chaos that I must be able to oversee and overlook with calm compassion.<br />
<br />
In this season, the thought of another life is a bit intimidating - sitting here, in my 900 sqft apartment, with most of my things still in deep storage, and my heart still raw - but that doesn't negate my calling that already exists. I can be open to the life I have now and surely God can make this season one of fruitful waiting.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"The soul of woman must be expansive and open to all human beings, it must be quiet so that no small weak flame will be extinguished by stormy winds; warm so as not to benumb fragile buds; empty of itself, so that in order that extraneous life may have room in it; finally, mistress of itself and also of its body, so that the entire person is readily at the disposal of every call." </i></div>
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="https://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-7802883106038008012016-05-07T21:32:00.000-04:002016-05-07T21:32:09.801-04:00David: One Year<div style="text-align: center;">
"Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither has it entered into the heart of man, what God has ready for those who love Him."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
1 Corinthians 2:9</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0vZrWC3BXiA/Vw0jyRAdFtI/AAAAAAAAEXI/zSpmOSDxfSQ8X4PKMJIprdrRqmHSPl1AQCLcB/s1600/IMG_1997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0vZrWC3BXiA/Vw0jyRAdFtI/AAAAAAAAEXI/zSpmOSDxfSQ8X4PKMJIprdrRqmHSPl1AQCLcB/s320/IMG_1997.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ECZFqD9KtPI/Vw0r2fepDlI/AAAAAAAAEZw/YFXDyX6wjRY6rK51hbfOYZenuo7MhFIIgCLcB/s1600/IMG_5096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ECZFqD9KtPI/Vw0r2fepDlI/AAAAAAAAEZw/YFXDyX6wjRY6rK51hbfOYZenuo7MhFIIgCLcB/s320/IMG_5096.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zkTFHeoxbVI/Vw0r8hhJ_tI/AAAAAAAAEZ4/lE-nj1NRddgZGod4EnGhqEW_wV6Ws7OjQCLcB/s1600/IMG_5112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zkTFHeoxbVI/Vw0r8hhJ_tI/AAAAAAAAEZ4/lE-nj1NRddgZGod4EnGhqEW_wV6Ws7OjQCLcB/s320/IMG_5112.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4tjWlLQ7BnE/Vw0sAjo2HZI/AAAAAAAAEZ8/uTKZ5CkExXsJyyji4Ysz5LLy8S46D6GxgCLcB/s1600/IMG_5126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4tjWlLQ7BnE/Vw0sAjo2HZI/AAAAAAAAEZ8/uTKZ5CkExXsJyyji4Ysz5LLy8S46D6GxgCLcB/s320/IMG_5126.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Dearest David,<br />
Over a month ago, you turned a year old. I had wanted to write you a long tribute, but time got away from me! That is a good motto for your entire first year - <i>it got away from me</i>.<br />
<br />
Unlike <a href="http://shinyhappycatholics.blogspot.com/2013/10/one-whole-year.html">Zuzu's first year</a>, I didn't have all the time in the world to sit and hold and rock you, but you wouldn't have tolerated it anyway. From the first, you have loved your crib and your space. No cosleeping for you, no lingering in my arms - I have so many pictures of you sleeping! in a crib! or a pack n play! or the floor! Because you'll sleep anywhere so long as you have your space.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ZQc9tgQZO8/Vw0rdDHb2wI/AAAAAAAAEZc/8CuFeMsYUYwVCDPepaQeFeJO1BP-H1MVQCLcB/s1600/IMG_4835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ZQc9tgQZO8/Vw0rdDHb2wI/AAAAAAAAEZc/8CuFeMsYUYwVCDPepaQeFeJO1BP-H1MVQCLcB/s320/IMG_4835.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4qeIIC0jMjc/Vw0q4U7kn8I/AAAAAAAAEY0/Gm8Idop5DV4yvilYN-kbeQWIBKP15Sm9wCLcB/s1600/IMG_4322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4qeIIC0jMjc/Vw0q4U7kn8I/AAAAAAAAEY0/Gm8Idop5DV4yvilYN-kbeQWIBKP15Sm9wCLcB/s320/IMG_4322.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
You really did love your sleep from the first, a fact that has made me sob with joy. That combined with Zuzu getting older means I got some pretty decent sleep in your first year (until you started teething in earnest, but lets not dwell on the negatives).</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DGWyiZifB7w/Vw0kEqb4lyI/AAAAAAAAEXU/swv_Fn5vvdI4IbVgncBqXpSuXSYUteIzQCLcB/s1600/IMG_2299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DGWyiZifB7w/Vw0kEqb4lyI/AAAAAAAAEXU/swv_Fn5vvdI4IbVgncBqXpSuXSYUteIzQCLcB/s320/IMG_2299.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E3Wza3dW7_Y/Vw0kZpO8QbI/AAAAAAAAEXo/pp6GrYkDXlEbVn6VBpunFK6PkwpC124bgCLcB/s1600/IMG_3152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E3Wza3dW7_Y/Vw0kZpO8QbI/AAAAAAAAEXo/pp6GrYkDXlEbVn6VBpunFK6PkwpC124bgCLcB/s320/IMG_3152.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tcxEfodV_aA/Vw0kdHwL-jI/AAAAAAAAEXs/MLzLKeMrMcESxGXywuXQgk-nDvD-mRQNACLcB/s1600/IMG_3511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tcxEfodV_aA/Vw0kdHwL-jI/AAAAAAAAEXs/MLzLKeMrMcESxGXywuXQgk-nDvD-mRQNACLcB/s320/IMG_3511.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4JkdQQRSQLE/Vw0qUJjqDBI/AAAAAAAAEYA/Vsn55qIwXUYZtzAEQ2NeNKvMs-Bl-Ec8wCLcB/s1600/IMG_3632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4JkdQQRSQLE/Vw0qUJjqDBI/AAAAAAAAEYA/Vsn55qIwXUYZtzAEQ2NeNKvMs-Bl-Ec8wCLcB/s320/IMG_3632.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember when we had thrush and you were a newborn and I was a total mess? No, thank goodness, you do not.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Also unlike Zuzu's peaceful first year, you have been dragged all over in service to the family good: big sister's swim lessons -<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xwkyPRX-T4U/Vw0rUJTljFI/AAAAAAAAEZM/dEsXZ_K-mGYPNi7iBKDQUAFi80QYHKHjgCLcB/s1600/IMG_4638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xwkyPRX-T4U/Vw0rUJTljFI/AAAAAAAAEZM/dEsXZ_K-mGYPNi7iBKDQUAFi80QYHKHjgCLcB/s320/IMG_4638.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Disney water parks - </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--fszFTL7o7k/Vw0kIYoFg2I/AAAAAAAAEXc/vgcXdnnpzW0LDYY2wr4tl5QjE1yNqbZAQCLcB/s1600/IMG_2868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--fszFTL7o7k/Vw0kIYoFg2I/AAAAAAAAEXc/vgcXdnnpzW0LDYY2wr4tl5QjE1yNqbZAQCLcB/s320/IMG_2868.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The Naples Zoo - </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vrJp__U_8hA/Vw0kV3uSYJI/AAAAAAAAEXk/3h83aNmdNGgCacGoHPCRsw7HbLhxhtXUACLcB/s1600/IMG_3288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vrJp__U_8hA/Vw0kV3uSYJI/AAAAAAAAEXk/3h83aNmdNGgCacGoHPCRsw7HbLhxhtXUACLcB/s320/IMG_3288.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The beach or pool - </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k2IdUEgbxpY/Vw0qkbctNRI/AAAAAAAAEYU/gVB6TIUkB9otXSfCKXugU7-aIyqOZjuogCLcB/s1600/IMG_4037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k2IdUEgbxpY/Vw0qkbctNRI/AAAAAAAAEYU/gVB6TIUkB9otXSfCKXugU7-aIyqOZjuogCLcB/s320/IMG_4037.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c10wIdChhtk/Vw0qUVJ9geI/AAAAAAAAEYE/aawrTMcWnfQWj-ZEjhYEqntjORowOqrpQCLcB/s1600/IMG_3453.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c10wIdChhtk/Vw0qUVJ9geI/AAAAAAAAEYE/aawrTMcWnfQWj-ZEjhYEqntjORowOqrpQCLcB/s320/IMG_3453.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lLwh3gLnhlg/Vw0kddBm35I/AAAAAAAAEXw/QleiR-u6oYYlEg9JKq_kYRWVJHmk-uRXQCLcB/s1600/IMG_3341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lLwh3gLnhlg/Vw0kddBm35I/AAAAAAAAEXw/QleiR-u6oYYlEg9JKq_kYRWVJHmk-uRXQCLcB/s320/IMG_3341.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Even the cold and snow! (that was for the Christmas card photos, I admit) </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-70bMKbByv_8/Vw0rMDexZBI/AAAAAAAAEZA/5UOXBqtbooMi27usVYgizKytxUyCWydKgCLcB/s1600/IMG_4586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-70bMKbByv_8/Vw0rMDexZBI/AAAAAAAAEZA/5UOXBqtbooMi27usVYgizKytxUyCWydKgCLcB/s320/IMG_4586.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vc3E4jrFMBI/Vw0rMdo9qKI/AAAAAAAAEZE/xu2n-bcr61U_2g4MXK3oAbM7h_K5TqENQCLcB/s1600/IMG_4589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vc3E4jrFMBI/Vw0rMdo9qKI/AAAAAAAAEZE/xu2n-bcr61U_2g4MXK3oAbM7h_K5TqENQCLcB/s320/IMG_4589.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aQvlFuhQJyU/Vw0rYnY49mI/AAAAAAAAEZY/9Wu4AHj9w1AT1VmuXY7WbWWzVSsLvaMYQCLcB/s1600/IMG_4605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aQvlFuhQJyU/Vw0rYnY49mI/AAAAAAAAEZY/9Wu4AHj9w1AT1VmuXY7WbWWzVSsLvaMYQCLcB/s320/IMG_4605.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In truth, you are very difficult to get a laugh out of! You're sort of a taciturn fellow, not that the pictures I have of you reflect it. Oh it's easy enough to get a halfhearted smile, but a true belly laugh? That IS a feat! </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SG0tS9fLV1E/Vw0rKofbocI/AAAAAAAAEY8/I9TIaeQTbv0pbEWnxLjF6JafsCbhAq5LgCLcB/s1600/IMG_4491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SG0tS9fLV1E/Vw0rKofbocI/AAAAAAAAEY8/I9TIaeQTbv0pbEWnxLjF6JafsCbhAq5LgCLcB/s320/IMG_4491.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ojCrMNHvtF0/Vw0sKsZ5ADI/AAAAAAAAEaA/Pf2JP4E-R84Sb34YvkYKsb1K8hMZOiInACLcB/s1600/IMG_5174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ojCrMNHvtF0/Vw0sKsZ5ADI/AAAAAAAAEaA/Pf2JP4E-R84Sb34YvkYKsb1K8hMZOiInACLcB/s320/IMG_5174.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DwJ8D0IQ5b4/Vw0rrKBDMJI/AAAAAAAAEZk/aiQtRP7XN0k0k7VebWDa1KCU-Z3o4hmtwCLcB/s1600/IMG_4933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DwJ8D0IQ5b4/Vw0rrKBDMJI/AAAAAAAAEZk/aiQtRP7XN0k0k7VebWDa1KCU-Z3o4hmtwCLcB/s320/IMG_4933.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The three nephews on the Rogers side! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JW0GL6iDuQs/Vw0qtAIdP3I/AAAAAAAAEYc/fyWHyYGvy0o9etHevFBEwm7xu0Ew-oVHwCLcB/s1600/IMG_3954.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JW0GL6iDuQs/Vw0qtAIdP3I/AAAAAAAAEYc/fyWHyYGvy0o9etHevFBEwm7xu0Ew-oVHwCLcB/s320/IMG_3954.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three generations of Orams...with a photobomb </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bYVz4Zu1yAU/Vw0rTPqltWI/AAAAAAAAEZI/tureATqztTIdaRAfxOxi8RJR8MuurrlWQCLcB/s1600/IMG_4646.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bYVz4Zu1yAU/Vw0rTPqltWI/AAAAAAAAEZI/tureATqztTIdaRAfxOxi8RJR8MuurrlWQCLcB/s320/IMG_4646.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Oh, but you do smile. And your even-temperament is a refreshing change from your sister's steep learning curve on controlling her emotions.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-57GSBvy5fmo/Vw0sMtDb_GI/AAAAAAAAEaI/b5kv47UaP3YmnK2fAkSj6f9AITabisy3QCLcB/s1600/IMG_5315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-57GSBvy5fmo/Vw0sMtDb_GI/AAAAAAAAEaI/b5kv47UaP3YmnK2fAkSj6f9AITabisy3QCLcB/s320/IMG_5315.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OqNm6iqEW7c/Vw0rX0UNKDI/AAAAAAAAEZU/GLgcgIG-GrsgSAZLnWQM1AudcevUBfnuwCLcB/s1600/IMG_4754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OqNm6iqEW7c/Vw0rX0UNKDI/AAAAAAAAEZU/GLgcgIG-GrsgSAZLnWQM1AudcevUBfnuwCLcB/s320/IMG_4754.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Your unabashed sweetness has brought a tenderness to my mothering that was missing before. I can easily be firm, maybe too firm and a bit dismissive, in my dealings with you precious children and your worries (no doubt your sister can attest to that). You, however, give me a gentleness - you remind me to be merciful. Without you, this aspect of my parenting would perhaps be latent, slower to develop. There would truly be something missing in me without you.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bLBb8nf5Lrc/Vw0qYWjDT4I/AAAAAAAAEYI/Rk489ROvwnAkdrTvs1P4akY7IXah-EbtwCLcB/s1600/IMG_3718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bLBb8nf5Lrc/Vw0qYWjDT4I/AAAAAAAAEYI/Rk489ROvwnAkdrTvs1P4akY7IXah-EbtwCLcB/s320/IMG_3718.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
You are such a gift not only because you have expanded my heart as a mother, but simply because of who you are. Maybe because I know now how fast it all goes, I marvel so much more at each step. I worry a little more though - I've seen so much more now, seen the heart ache and pains that can befall parents in their vocation to love and rear small children. Now that I see the fleeting nature of your childhood and the constant possible calamities, I am more worried, more watchful than when it was just Zuzu and I thought nothing would ever happen to us.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YC0u2-FzmLM/Vw0qv0sHJiI/AAAAAAAAEYg/JV2806DLp607BSTkT8zqTyIdOn9lQfXvgCLcB/s1600/IMG_3969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YC0u2-FzmLM/Vw0qv0sHJiI/AAAAAAAAEYg/JV2806DLp607BSTkT8zqTyIdOn9lQfXvgCLcB/s320/IMG_3969.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z1rtlXVjsxA/Vw0rwd3HqtI/AAAAAAAAEZs/RfiuPutY2RA0uPa607WnZ_ASSknlm4LzgCLcB/s1600/IMG_4990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z1rtlXVjsxA/Vw0rwd3HqtI/AAAAAAAAEZs/RfiuPutY2RA0uPa607WnZ_ASSknlm4LzgCLcB/s320/IMG_4990.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You were Jesus in the Christmas play, just like your sister! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And yet your cheerful demeanor and darling face so often chases clouds of worry far from my mind. Instead, I relish being the witness to your life. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Now, at just over thirteen months, you are walking all over - just working on your speed and stability. You try to say "all done!", you can wave and clap and drink from a straw. Your dark hair curls around the nape of your neck and around your ears, which when combined with your sleepy wake up face, makes my heart skip a beat. You have kept your deep dimples and the small indent on your right ear, both of which you had from birth. Your nicknames include: Dimple Dave, Davey Baby, Davey Dreamboat, Davey Bubblefish, Bubby Chubs, Davey Pavey, Dave-Dave-Woo-hoo, and Davey Doodle Dot. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I cannot wait to see you grow up - and yet I can. I know one day, God willing, you'll be as old as your sister - you'll be doing things for yourself and we'll be talking about preschool. That will be so wonderful in its own way! But right now you're little and I get to be the one who rocks you in the wee hours of the night, keeping our own little vigil in those still small hours. In those quiet moments, that are more often now than they usually are for you, I try to pray (when I'm not dozing myself). I pray for many things, but I always pray for you. (That's why God gives children mothers, you know, so that they always have someone to pray for them.) Please don't ever forget that David: no matter how big you get, I will always be loving and praying for you. </div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-35859262450463170712016-04-10T11:07:00.002-04:002016-04-13T19:51:45.846-04:00So Long, FarewellIf you thought this was me saying goodbye to my little corner of the internet...<br />
you're wrong.<br />
<br />
Instead, I'm saying goodbye to my little corner of my home state -<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.naples-fl-real-estate.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/Naples.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.naples-fl-real-estate.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/Naples.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And saying hello to new adventures in a new state.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0b/Map_of_USA_MI.svg/2000px-Map_of_USA_MI.svg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0b/Map_of_USA_MI.svg/2000px-Map_of_USA_MI.svg.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
As we were looking at the map of our new home, Zuzu strolled up casually and said "Michigan? Isn't that a blue state?" Tom and I stared at her with mouth-gaping awe, until she pointed to Lake Michigan and then we were much relieved.<br />
<br />
I am filled with such great excitement. Tom and I have felt pulled by God in a different direction for some time; we just weren't sure what he was really asking. We kept exploring different avenues and coming up with nothing, and then the way this opportunity fell into our lap was really miraculous. We feel truly led to this place and this work, despite our shortcomings and haphazard process of discernment.<br />
<br />
It's been over a year since we started praying about what God was asking of us and here we are - oh here we are. Yesterday I closed my front door for the last time, walked down the driveway that we had redone, climbed into my mom's car, and drove away. It is surreal. The memories in that house! In this town! Has it really been almost five years for our family, nearly seven for Tom?<br />
<br />
So, without further ado, here is my walk down memory lane - that I have been working on for about six weeks, which is what happens when I try to blog and move and raise a family all at the same time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9k7tDA8ejM4/Vt13orCdixI/AAAAAAAAEMU/tMYMmnfL9yc/s1600/IMG_0353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9k7tDA8ejM4/Vt13orCdixI/AAAAAAAAEMU/tMYMmnfL9yc/s320/IMG_0353.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On our way to a football game...this wasn't in Naples, but Tom was just about to move to Naples! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">We got hitched at the parish that took a chance and hired Tom after three years in seminary and then about a year kicking around Tuscaloosa. I moved to a new town, had all the wedding events, and then was married and moved into Tom's house. I had never lived in any other part of Florida, had no friends in town, and was a bit overwhelmed! </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fyXSrPAYuRQ/Vt13lcS8F9I/AAAAAAAAEMM/DEOlA29RMj4/s1600/1904-rogers-oram-WED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fyXSrPAYuRQ/Vt13lcS8F9I/AAAAAAAAEMM/DEOlA29RMj4/s320/1904-rogers-oram-WED.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cDPHp5Hj62I/Vt13lsTgROI/AAAAAAAAEMQ/IqQZyRL66Sw/s1600/2341-rogers-oram-WED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cDPHp5Hj62I/Vt13lsTgROI/AAAAAAAAEMQ/IqQZyRL66Sw/s320/2341-rogers-oram-WED.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cZbgX4EkanA/Vt13gIKmQYI/AAAAAAAAEMA/bROq1P49vRE/s1600/2687-rogers-oram-WED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cZbgX4EkanA/Vt13gIKmQYI/AAAAAAAAEMA/bROq1P49vRE/s320/2687-rogers-oram-WED.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So Tom and I hung out a lot - we went to the Botanical Gardens (below), explored the surrounding area, and just generally enjoyed being in love. My mom would come down and help me take on projects like cleaning up the porch and painting. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LUhXN14NeAo/Vt13pdN4rzI/AAAAAAAAEMY/xDiQPjNgx5Y/s1600/DSCN0230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LUhXN14NeAo/Vt13pdN4rzI/AAAAAAAAEMY/xDiQPjNgx5Y/s320/DSCN0230.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a3K5RnAFYk0/Vt13tbvLn3I/AAAAAAAAEMc/39YigsLY-7g/s1600/DSCN0346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a3K5RnAFYk0/Vt13tbvLn3I/AAAAAAAAEMc/39YigsLY-7g/s320/DSCN0346.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And then...baby makes three. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9bJdj6xbzsE/Vt14f6xddAI/AAAAAAAAENU/tIO0uEtTY6U/s1600/IMG_1668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9bJdj6xbzsE/Vt14f6xddAI/AAAAAAAAENU/tIO0uEtTY6U/s320/IMG_1668.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YP8yFStpmm8/Vt13hoNCrSI/AAAAAAAAEME/ybjYuR_MK8k/s1600/3b0e8d0231df11e2ab6722000a1e8bb3_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YP8yFStpmm8/Vt13hoNCrSI/AAAAAAAAEME/ybjYuR_MK8k/s1600/3b0e8d0231df11e2ab6722000a1e8bb3_6.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H5Z9ivBU-U4/Vt13i0ntUSI/AAAAAAAAEMI/jC4OxL-sOCk/s1600/42a78738207f11e2ace922000a1f90f6_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H5Z9ivBU-U4/Vt13i0ntUSI/AAAAAAAAEMI/jC4OxL-sOCk/s1600/42a78738207f11e2ace922000a1f90f6_6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jen was living with us! The good old days! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
A baby means a baptism! </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--nOdL7HPc2I/Vt131prPupI/AAAAAAAAEMk/1WRMu0pzW0I/s1600/IMG_0785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--nOdL7HPc2I/Vt131prPupI/AAAAAAAAEMk/1WRMu0pzW0I/s320/IMG_0785.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We had so much fun when Zuzu was our only little love. Since we knew that we could not take it for granted that we'd have more, we soaked up every moment of her babyhood - what if it was the only one we got to witness up close? We loved it. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FtzAQqaN_D8/Vt13wZbo0yI/AAAAAAAAEMg/C5byrDBa5GU/s1600/IMG_1212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FtzAQqaN_D8/Vt13wZbo0yI/AAAAAAAAEMg/C5byrDBa5GU/s320/IMG_1212.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xQUP5wQ7uTU/Vt14N5JJbSI/AAAAAAAAENE/gMyuXBerKdA/s1600/IMG_1648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xQUP5wQ7uTU/Vt14N5JJbSI/AAAAAAAAENE/gMyuXBerKdA/s320/IMG_1648.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-ajnl0OYus/Vt132hShwKI/AAAAAAAAEMo/uY4dgxHs73s/s1600/IMG_1482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-ajnl0OYus/Vt132hShwKI/AAAAAAAAEMo/uY4dgxHs73s/s320/IMG_1482.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HvECaiROrHY/Vt138VzH1uI/AAAAAAAAEMw/xF8M_DFPjCE/s1600/IMG_1486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HvECaiROrHY/Vt138VzH1uI/AAAAAAAAEMw/xF8M_DFPjCE/s320/IMG_1486.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mXD7HZlTEZw/Vt16tY9UXmI/AAAAAAAAEPw/zoab0znnWEE/s1600/IMG_3225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mXD7HZlTEZw/Vt16tY9UXmI/AAAAAAAAEPw/zoab0znnWEE/s320/IMG_3225.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-poHQrEVW3b4/Vt17C_B7DSI/AAAAAAAAEQQ/-HmAfe6eWs4/s1600/IMG_3342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-poHQrEVW3b4/Vt17C_B7DSI/AAAAAAAAEQQ/-HmAfe6eWs4/s320/IMG_3342.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-e8YGgqnIk/Vt16e-7PXpI/AAAAAAAAEPg/d-nM7gHWU4c/s1600/IMG_3074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-e8YGgqnIk/Vt16e-7PXpI/AAAAAAAAEPg/d-nM7gHWU4c/s320/IMG_3074.JPG" width="316" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Many birthdays were had in our sweet little house...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
One:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eJvd0C5u0RI/Vt16CWEpUSI/AAAAAAAAEOw/ZftLEZpyTBg/s1600/IMG_2475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eJvd0C5u0RI/Vt16CWEpUSI/AAAAAAAAEOw/ZftLEZpyTBg/s320/IMG_2475.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XPg3YnumCPI/Vt18JdGTX2I/AAAAAAAAERw/UK4OsWtvCLw/s1600/IMG_4089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XPg3YnumCPI/Vt18JdGTX2I/AAAAAAAAERw/UK4OsWtvCLw/s320/IMG_4089.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WuJbc_4pejU/Vt18HnadiPI/AAAAAAAAERs/oXIr9dgmWmA/s1600/IMG_4124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WuJbc_4pejU/Vt18HnadiPI/AAAAAAAAERs/oXIr9dgmWmA/s320/IMG_4124.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Two:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YC6kyFSrIFA/Vt16XoCMEhI/AAAAAAAAEPQ/dzhbD158BII/s1600/IMG_2780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YC6kyFSrIFA/Vt16XoCMEhI/AAAAAAAAEPQ/dzhbD158BII/s320/IMG_2780.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x3PiyGnp5cU/Vt16YguH2EI/AAAAAAAAEPY/PuBPUKVcY3o/s1600/IMG_2783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-x3PiyGnp5cU/Vt16YguH2EI/AAAAAAAAEPY/PuBPUKVcY3o/s320/IMG_2783.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b1VY8JtwHTU/Vt16QrZ14YI/AAAAAAAAEPA/DP6UJzMAHTg/s1600/IMG_2736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b1VY8JtwHTU/Vt16QrZ14YI/AAAAAAAAEPA/DP6UJzMAHTg/s320/IMG_2736.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AhVmqhzoheI/Vt16TXIrK2I/AAAAAAAAEPI/azko9op-r-Y/s1600/IMG_2749.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AhVmqhzoheI/Vt16TXIrK2I/AAAAAAAAEPI/azko9op-r-Y/s320/IMG_2749.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Three:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B7nlWM8NkW8/Vt18ZVdSGDI/AAAAAAAAESA/M40UhMsR4Xg/s1600/IMG_4275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B7nlWM8NkW8/Vt18ZVdSGDI/AAAAAAAAESA/M40UhMsR4Xg/s320/IMG_4275.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-URPtGFX9Mdw/Vt18g6Ecb8I/AAAAAAAAESE/sgqCOveLh28/s1600/IMG_4300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-URPtGFX9Mdw/Vt18g6Ecb8I/AAAAAAAAESE/sgqCOveLh28/s320/IMG_4300.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_UMBZrUeMBM/Vt19BN7b1GI/AAAAAAAAESw/OASjY9Z1hcs/s1600/IMG_4647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_UMBZrUeMBM/Vt19BN7b1GI/AAAAAAAAESw/OASjY9Z1hcs/s320/IMG_4647.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HVLm-p-b5uA/Vt18TIHZfLI/AAAAAAAAER4/9dqDRjz65zw/s1600/IMG_4210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HVLm-p-b5uA/Vt18TIHZfLI/AAAAAAAAER4/9dqDRjz65zw/s320/IMG_4210.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W3yxRKUBWS0/Vt18YsvlEhI/AAAAAAAAER8/_mEc-G_MnTY/s1600/IMG_4211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W3yxRKUBWS0/Vt18YsvlEhI/AAAAAAAAER8/_mEc-G_MnTY/s320/IMG_4211.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And we discovered the news that we were welcoming another baby! </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uX2FdIsyUBQ/Vt14HhCjALI/AAAAAAAAEM4/UXXJNuwdfUY/s1600/IMG_1586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uX2FdIsyUBQ/Vt14HhCjALI/AAAAAAAAEM4/UXXJNuwdfUY/s320/IMG_1586.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1DQFQSxSZS4/Vt14LdvC_HI/AAAAAAAAEM8/FrrTwgH7bu0/s1600/IMG_1613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1DQFQSxSZS4/Vt14LdvC_HI/AAAAAAAAEM8/FrrTwgH7bu0/s320/IMG_1613.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And David Gregory was born! The Monday of Holy Week 2015. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4Za_8nKyBXk/Vt14xiTW0OI/AAAAAAAAENg/LHG0asIkmuI/s1600/IMG_1892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4Za_8nKyBXk/Vt14xiTW0OI/AAAAAAAAENg/LHG0asIkmuI/s320/IMG_1892.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ncpdnKTRTVY/Vt152zAJ87I/AAAAAAAAEOk/HhJHYPzXBoY/s1600/IMG_2457.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ncpdnKTRTVY/Vt152zAJ87I/AAAAAAAAEOk/HhJHYPzXBoY/s320/IMG_2457.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dBZjuz8g8TA/Vt14x-93iqI/AAAAAAAAENk/ERNc3jdvGiY/s1600/IMG_1897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dBZjuz8g8TA/Vt14x-93iqI/AAAAAAAAENk/ERNc3jdvGiY/s320/IMG_1897.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2PeQCdKWZZI/Vt15DK_xJjI/AAAAAAAAENs/vCgLP44lsTI/s1600/IMG_1907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2PeQCdKWZZI/Vt15DK_xJjI/AAAAAAAAENs/vCgLP44lsTI/s320/IMG_1907.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wWS7Ne8aSuw/Vt15jOjTROI/AAAAAAAAEOM/_H6dVD9G9io/s1600/IMG_2081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wWS7Ne8aSuw/Vt15jOjTROI/AAAAAAAAEOM/_H6dVD9G9io/s320/IMG_2081.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SsC3TbH6Zss/Vt15juO8ubI/AAAAAAAAEOQ/N65UEBIyhbo/s1600/IMG_2085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SsC3TbH6Zss/Vt15juO8ubI/AAAAAAAAEOQ/N65UEBIyhbo/s320/IMG_2085.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ELEr1Un7tuY/Vt15BZLq5jI/AAAAAAAAENo/hazc9wEb_M0/s1600/IMG_1930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ELEr1Un7tuY/Vt15BZLq5jI/AAAAAAAAENo/hazc9wEb_M0/s320/IMG_1930.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hqrWOBL3_QI/Vt15RYLFMUI/AAAAAAAAEN8/icL4nJ0-SPA/s1600/IMG_1931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hqrWOBL3_QI/Vt15RYLFMUI/AAAAAAAAEN8/icL4nJ0-SPA/s320/IMG_1931.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
What a full Easter! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And life with him was so, so great - and so, so much harder! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Another baptism...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GPK5YEVcIcs/Vt15R8wM6lI/AAAAAAAAEOA/GdCsdy3STP0/s1600/IMG_2031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GPK5YEVcIcs/Vt15R8wM6lI/AAAAAAAAEOA/GdCsdy3STP0/s320/IMG_2031.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-psj5YT1ikJY/Vt17-I-mDZI/AAAAAAAAERY/uI35B6Y40GM/s1600/IMG_3881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-psj5YT1ikJY/Vt17-I-mDZI/AAAAAAAAERY/uI35B6Y40GM/s320/IMG_3881.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DSydAFHhfAA/Vt18BXidznI/AAAAAAAAERo/inEt9gVXrBM/s1600/IMG_3882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DSydAFHhfAA/Vt18BXidznI/AAAAAAAAERo/inEt9gVXrBM/s320/IMG_3882.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jm3Jpy2HdNs/Vt1-LQhZCWI/AAAAAAAAEUI/zUiD9cELneE/s1600/IMG_5121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jm3Jpy2HdNs/Vt1-LQhZCWI/AAAAAAAAEUI/zUiD9cELneE/s320/IMG_5121.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Lots of sibling love! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bk92WUkR-S8/Vt150d8BrFI/AAAAAAAAEOg/egHUbSyi4IU/s1600/IMG_2206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bk92WUkR-S8/Vt150d8BrFI/AAAAAAAAEOg/egHUbSyi4IU/s320/IMG_2206.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Au2mvNzqfns/Vt15xd0SEAI/AAAAAAAAEOc/AIvLO0EMVrQ/s1600/IMG_2228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Au2mvNzqfns/Vt15xd0SEAI/AAAAAAAAEOc/AIvLO0EMVrQ/s320/IMG_2228.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rE-EpGnLY7A/Vt1564K0S6I/AAAAAAAAEOo/r-0ZBPPijdU/s1600/IMG_2238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rE-EpGnLY7A/Vt1564K0S6I/AAAAAAAAEOo/r-0ZBPPijdU/s320/IMG_2238.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But then, shortly afterwards, we had to say goodbye to our Auntie Jen...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bSE3C0VwWE8/Vt136MjBVFI/AAAAAAAAEMs/fcX4_LCF1_k/s1600/IMG_1256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bSE3C0VwWE8/Vt136MjBVFI/AAAAAAAAEMs/fcX4_LCF1_k/s320/IMG_1256.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FjG8zzjaVRI/Vt14MpnFXvI/AAAAAAAAENA/d8BxntIeEik/s1600/IMG_1644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FjG8zzjaVRI/Vt14MpnFXvI/AAAAAAAAENA/d8BxntIeEik/s320/IMG_1644.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0H9qqEx92tk/Vt17PBc39wI/AAAAAAAAEQc/00JFYxY0pH4/s1600/IMG_3469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0H9qqEx92tk/Vt17PBc39wI/AAAAAAAAEQc/00JFYxY0pH4/s320/IMG_3469.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OANkZf2rQ9k/Vt17PIjxtbI/AAAAAAAAEQg/F-8DZSMdy20/s1600/IMG_3433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OANkZf2rQ9k/Vt17PIjxtbI/AAAAAAAAEQg/F-8DZSMdy20/s320/IMG_3433.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F0i6Kowqgbk/Vt17XUCvSgI/AAAAAAAAEQs/9zdSKOBn9oE/s1600/IMG_3489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F0i6Kowqgbk/Vt17XUCvSgI/AAAAAAAAEQs/9zdSKOBn9oE/s320/IMG_3489.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wbhyU8OkbZ0/Vt17j3rwVQI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/TxjhlUUeJQQ/s1600/IMG_3518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wbhyU8OkbZ0/Vt17j3rwVQI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/TxjhlUUeJQQ/s320/IMG_3518.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OXcG8oNM9NQ/Vt17j1o2eJI/AAAAAAAAEQ4/m4s0efYuyjM/s1600/IMG_3523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OXcG8oNM9NQ/Vt17j1o2eJI/AAAAAAAAEQ4/m4s0efYuyjM/s320/IMG_3523.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gbVuLNbYuzQ/Vt17jynJ1TI/AAAAAAAAEQ8/fqKuAMdYluU/s1600/IMG_3544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gbVuLNbYuzQ/Vt17jynJ1TI/AAAAAAAAEQ8/fqKuAMdYluU/s320/IMG_3544.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7SadSihvF68/Vt170hVMAJI/AAAAAAAAERA/W5D4GPiSa6M/s1600/IMG_3549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7SadSihvF68/Vt170hVMAJI/AAAAAAAAERA/W5D4GPiSa6M/s320/IMG_3549.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And just a short time later...it was time for us to leave too. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Though I often complained about Naples - the relentless heat, the skewed demographics, my house without a sewing room - I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with love for this place where we became a family. For Decembers that still allowed diaper-clad babies to eat popsicles outside, for neighbors that were always willing to come over and talk about home improvement projects or sewing ideas. Beach sunsets year round and Panera right across the road, not to mention Royal Scoop ice cream just a bit away! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So deeply sad to say goodbye, so exciting to see what God has planned for us here...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2aoD8IBVUAA/Vt1_GptyRWI/AAAAAAAAEVI/KNP4Op1l2v0/s1600/IMG_5462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2aoD8IBVUAA/Vt1_GptyRWI/AAAAAAAAEVI/KNP4Op1l2v0/s320/IMG_5462.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JxdQ4Sr9Hs8/Vt1_MlSliSI/AAAAAAAAEVM/E0MP_77WhLc/s1600/IMG_5467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JxdQ4Sr9Hs8/Vt1_MlSliSI/AAAAAAAAEVM/E0MP_77WhLc/s320/IMG_5467.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PYL8ci89xMs/Vt1_SDcOCgI/AAAAAAAAEVU/_HRVOWXhZ7c/s1600/IMG_5469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PYL8ci89xMs/Vt1_SDcOCgI/AAAAAAAAEVU/_HRVOWXhZ7c/s320/IMG_5469.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dO2nzRMy8CE/Vt1_cpWzd1I/AAAAAAAAEVg/A3VlkD8lks4/s1600/IMG_5478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dO2nzRMy8CE/Vt1_cpWzd1I/AAAAAAAAEVg/A3VlkD8lks4/s320/IMG_5478.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YWHAy3yIsy8/Vt1_ruvzgNI/AAAAAAAAEVo/HDT8d-hWiOM/s1600/IMG_5513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YWHAy3yIsy8/Vt1_ruvzgNI/AAAAAAAAEVo/HDT8d-hWiOM/s320/IMG_5513.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Coming soon - updates from the land where is snows in April! </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-58749663416601481512016-01-11T22:20:00.001-05:002016-01-11T22:20:15.035-05:00The Sign Around My Neck Says WelcomeI realized the other day that it had been five years since I really bought make-up. Y'know, went into a nice store, got a lady to help me, et cetera. Thanks to Tom, I had a gift card burning a hole in my pocket and on Saturday got the chance to head to ye olde Sephora shoppe and see what damage I could do.<br />
<br />
<i>(As a side note, man, has </i>that<i> place changed. Granted, I don't think I've been in a Sephora since...2007...but still, wow. Also everyone there was fourteen. How can fourteen-year-olds afford $60 foundation and $45 blush brushes?) </i><br />
<br />
I had a list of things I was looking for and asked for help. The lady I asked was only a floor manager, who then assigned me a makeup artist - like I said, very different from the last time I was there. The guy who came over to greet me was a very sassy, immaculately-coifed gay man. I explained what I wanted and he was very helpful, showing me a few options, explaining the pros and cons while being conscientious about price points. Suddenly, in the midst of our consult, he stopped me and said "Oh, I <i>love</i> your medal. That's the Blessed Mother, isn't it?" Yes, of course, it was - he recognized Mother Mary on my royal blue medal I bought in Sacré-Coeur, years ago, while on pilgrimage. I explained where I got it, how long ago. He pulled out from his black button down a lovely medal of St. Jude - "he's my guy!" he said emphatically, patting his heart. We went back to the point at hand, connection made.<br />
<br />
As I was dallying around the brushes, I was offered a free facial. I agreed, despite <i>not really knowing what a facial was</i>. "Just 30 more minutes, OK?", I fired off to Tom, occupied a few storefronts down at the playground with the kiddos. The lady doing my facial was very kind and we got along great. She was chatting to me about her six children and her grandkids, life, Filipino food, and her boyfriend - who she hates calling her boyfriend because she's a mature lady and it sounded like a teeny-bopper term. Tom walked down as we were finishing up, whereupon Zuzu clambered up into my lap to tell me she was 'a queen!' To which I replied (as is standard in our house), "But who is Queen of Heaven and Earth?" She grinned big and cried "Mother <i>Ma</i>ry!" My facial lady laughed and said, "hmmm...guess you guys are Catholic!" Turns out she was too, and we chatted about our love for our faith and its firm rules. I had to run, everyone was hungry, so I said goodbye and rushed back.<br />
<br />
Back to my real life.<br />
<br />
I was struck by the fact that both of these people had a connection to the Church, a connection that was real and living. I don't know whether they would call themselves Catholic, but I do know that despite both of them having an situation that we would not call 'normal' within the Church (a gay man who had a boyfriend, a mother of six with a live-in boyfriend), they were holding onto their faith in some way. The truth is that when someone has a true experience of Love within the Catholic Church, it stays with them - it stays with them and often they hold onto it, no matter what else changes or sways - and I believe it stays with them because they know the Church is home. The Church is home for everyone - the Church holds herself out to be the place we can all come, every single soul on earth, and find refuge and love and hope. You do not have to know the protocol; you do not have to be perfect; you do not even have to be Catholic. The Church is your mother and she will love you as you are - even when her love looks like rules about not leaving your socks on the floor.<br />
<br />
I was so glad to be reminded of these truths by these encounters that were sparked by my medal. The truth is, I don't wear my medal every day like I used to - I like to switch it up, wear different items and oftentimes, no jewelry at all, since lots of little hands do lots of grabbing at me all day long. But I should wear it everyday: wear it as a sign that we, the Catholic Church, are waiting to welcome you, people of the world. Every day, in every country on earth, we are still here and we are waiting, and we always will.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XjThktNVXUc/VpRwzcUsLlI/AAAAAAAAEKY/99S61wrvIOM/s1600/IMG_5062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XjThktNVXUc/VpRwzcUsLlI/AAAAAAAAEKY/99S61wrvIOM/s320/IMG_5062.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-48957031598621434552015-12-03T16:07:00.002-05:002015-12-03T16:07:54.857-05:00My St. Joseph<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b_ZuyFvf0yU/VmCupwHU2II/AAAAAAAAEJo/lNI64s-Bm-g/s1600/IMG_4676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b_ZuyFvf0yU/VmCupwHU2II/AAAAAAAAEJo/lNI64s-Bm-g/s320/IMG_4676.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
After over a week of illness, I think we are starting to get better. Certainly not out of the woods yet, but at least clawing our way to something better. Over Thanksgiving we had two emergicare visits, lots of interrupted sleep, and nearly a whole family of sickies. Coming home was not what I wanted it to be: I realized the very first night that I could not jump right back in to the routine. I had a whole list of things to do the next day: grocery shop, take down the fall things, pull out the Advent wreath, wrap all the books, fold the piles of clean laundry we had left. But faced with this wall of still-persisting sickness, I did for once what everyone beseeches moms to do: rested.<br />
<br />
I not only rested - I let my husband take care of me. Which, I'm really rubbish at generally. I can't stand being sick and not being able to care for all the needs of my family. But too often, when in my full strength, I push Tom away - I think maybe sometimes I make him feel like we don't need him. But oh, we do.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-goQQ1gxqs60/VmCuZRaY5bI/AAAAAAAAEJc/lIujRvf87UU/s1600/IMG_4708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-goQQ1gxqs60/VmCuZRaY5bI/AAAAAAAAEJc/lIujRvf87UU/s320/IMG_4708.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Over this last week, while we have been caring for our family in the midst of illness, he has been my rock. He has been up with me at 1am - 3am - 5am - with little people burning with fevers or sobbing with ear pain. Nary a grumble has escaped his lips when I explain the need for yet another child to join us for yet another night in bed, or when the baby wants to play at 4:30 when we only just went to bed at 3. He held our son in the a steamy bathroom while I sat with our restless toddler, and then swapped when I needed to.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z_bpRZ3hXZA/VmCuZCFUvRI/AAAAAAAAEJU/f_Bf_4LgUQU/s1600/IMG_4718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-z_bpRZ3hXZA/VmCuZCFUvRI/AAAAAAAAEJU/f_Bf_4LgUQU/s320/IMG_4718.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Traveling home, he was our protector: getting us food and drinks, grabbing a blankie that had fallen, given snark to a gate agent whose rude attitude threatened to put me over my emotional edge. And now we're home and he's soldiering on, despite having to dive back into his busiest work season. The first morning home, I got a nap while he took care of the children's many needs. He then came home in the afternoon with roses and needed items for dinner. He got up with the children this morning at 4:30am, and let me sleep for as long as I wanted. When I awoke, everyone was down for a nap after having had breakfast. He cleaned the kitchen before he left.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2sVY63yWzY/VmCup5DyphI/AAAAAAAAEJk/iTxw_kwGyVQ/s1600/IMG_4729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N2sVY63yWzY/VmCup5DyphI/AAAAAAAAEJk/iTxw_kwGyVQ/s320/IMG_4729.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zRzZhcnuy9k/VmCuqBUf22I/AAAAAAAAEJs/In3BQQOmdpE/s1600/IMG_4733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zRzZhcnuy9k/VmCuqBUf22I/AAAAAAAAEJs/In3BQQOmdpE/s320/IMG_4733.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
This exhaustive laundry list is the smallest glimpse into just this week's offering of love. This is what my husband, Tom, does for me, week in and week out. He is tireless, cheerful, and loving. Just as the Blessed Virgin needed St. Joseph for the long walk to Bethlehem, to bear witness to the miracle of the birth of God's son, and then for the flight to Egypt, God has seen fit to start my Advent by showing me my need for my husband.<br />
<br />
Maybe I don't even mind.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-68278136595451630782015-11-18T14:48:00.002-05:002015-11-18T14:48:44.063-05:00To a Good Dog<i>"Mama, can you hold me?" </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"No, dear, not right now." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Why not?" </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Because there's a great sadness inside me, and I have to write it down." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rrXHJM0FOP4/VkzPACsJ-UI/AAAAAAAAEGY/KZaVLenKfgA/s1600/1918891_528379680991_7360801_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rrXHJM0FOP4/VkzPACsJ-UI/AAAAAAAAEGY/KZaVLenKfgA/s320/1918891_528379680991_7360801_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ei8Qm2sPzFQ/VkzTx3xvATI/AAAAAAAAEHk/wf0jZoEJyc0/s1600/IMG_1924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ei8Qm2sPzFQ/VkzTx3xvATI/AAAAAAAAEHk/wf0jZoEJyc0/s320/IMG_1924.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I took my dog, Blackacre, to be put down this past Monday, while in Orlando visiting my parents. He was sick and pain medication wasn't able to give him enough relief to walk. X-rays revealed advanced degenerative arthritis and a mass surrounding an enlarged spleen and liver. The vet and I figured his indignities would only get worse, so I put him down before it got too bad.<br />
<br />
It was a decision I made with my brain, and clung to with robotic clarity after having made the appropriate moral calculations. Yet in the moment the wonderfully kind vet asked me if I was ready, a sudden great loneliness seized me and I wanted to knock the syringe out of her hand. This dog - this good dog - had been my dog since I was a much younger woman, and suddenly I could not fathom my dear black shadow passing out of this world. I let that moment pass, because I couldn't make a choice based on my comfort at the expense of his.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kxtBBIQEZb8/VkzPElNQmYI/AAAAAAAAEGs/2jN5g6JQ9eo/s1600/4635_520479023971_2883573_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kxtBBIQEZb8/VkzPElNQmYI/AAAAAAAAEGs/2jN5g6JQ9eo/s320/4635_520479023971_2883573_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Since that moment, I have been mourning that big black dog. Oh I know - he was a dog, not a person, and I don't attribute to him any qualities that he didn't have. And it's true, there are far greater sorrows in this world than mine and I have no corner market on grief right now. But it is good, and right, to mourn a creature whose care was mine for over six years, that God gave to me and I returned. Animals are part of Creation, and they reflect something of their Creator, and I'm grateful for that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lowplD-Y5XA/VkzVs3X7tjI/AAAAAAAAEHw/Zax6qkVOWrc/s1600/DSCN0230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lowplD-Y5XA/VkzVs3X7tjI/AAAAAAAAEHw/Zax6qkVOWrc/s320/DSCN0230.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I bought him because he was too big and cheerful and out of control for anyone else. I changed his name from Lenny to Blackacre, and learned to run with him by my side. We went all over in my silver Honda Accord, to state parks, on road trips to Florida, to wherever we wanted to go. My last year in law school, I sent him to live with Tom since my new place didn't allow dogs. He bore this separation patiently and thrilled to see me on my breaks. Tom let him lay on the furniture, so I guess he didn't have it too bad.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VGFfec1CIs0/VkzPAJP28nI/AAAAAAAAEGc/k5TyJdV0DCk/s1600/1918891_528379875601_984817_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VGFfec1CIs0/VkzPAJP28nI/AAAAAAAAEGc/k5TyJdV0DCk/s320/1918891_528379875601_984817_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
But Blacks' true nature didn't really shine until after Tom and I were married. After my first miscarriage, I was distraught - I laid in bed and sobbed all day. He laid right by my bed, staring up at me with his deep black eyes, and knitting his eyebrows into a funny face of concern. Then, when we got pregnant with Zuzu, he was even more worried - because all I did was sleep. I'd wake to his face, resting on the bed, staring at me with that same concerned intensity. He was always worried about me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dNzgP5WtPfc/VkzTwT-SfOI/AAAAAAAAEHU/17wx8NFnQK8/s1600/IMG_3819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dNzgP5WtPfc/VkzTwT-SfOI/AAAAAAAAEHU/17wx8NFnQK8/s320/IMG_3819.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Now that we're home in Naples, his absence is even more marked. Last night, I rose to nurse David and there was no click of nails following behind me. After nursing, I did my rounds of the house - checking on all the sleeping occupants, double-checking locked doors, peering out windows to make sure all is well on my sleepy street. As I did all this, I had no shadow to double-check my eyes, no alert ears to hear what I missed. There was not the familiar dark shape laying in the door while I nursed the baby, as there always has been, every day since I became a mother. I went into the bathroom and the mats in the bathroom were cold, which was odd because they're always warm since he liked to lay in there instead of on his bed. My floor has more food on it than before, since my floor cleaner is likewise retired. No dog to let out in the morning, no one to hush when UPS drives up, no letting the dog out as the last chore of the night. It's Wednesday, but I don't get to check "wash dog" off my chore chart list. There's no dog to wash, no sweet face pushed into the towel to get dried off. The last time I saw him, he was still and heavy, laying on the floor with his soft head in my lap. That picture comes back to me again and again throughout the day, and I want to break in two because it seems wrong that something so beautiful should end.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R3Tf1l5QFoo/VkzTtMK-EgI/AAAAAAAAEG8/31CASRdX1Wk/s1600/DSCN0279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R3Tf1l5QFoo/VkzTtMK-EgI/AAAAAAAAEG8/31CASRdX1Wk/s320/DSCN0279.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oJk3HAw9MVI/VkzTwzieaKI/AAAAAAAAEHY/yRf8NnCTrqs/s1600/IMG_1164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oJk3HAw9MVI/VkzTwzieaKI/AAAAAAAAEHY/yRf8NnCTrqs/s320/IMG_1164.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
My Blackacre Valentine was a good dog and that's why I mourn him. Good things deserve to be marveled at, loved, and then missed - and a good dog no less than any other thing, far greater than some things in fact. In a world where so much seems to shift and move, it is grounding to know - there are still good dogs, and they are true to their nature to the very end.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A0U4HsuaJgo/VkzTtDrJYcI/AAAAAAAAEHE/Cp-VPNgGiKk/s1600/IMG_1140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A0U4HsuaJgo/VkzTtDrJYcI/AAAAAAAAEHE/Cp-VPNgGiKk/s320/IMG_1140.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-88062615312749829622015-11-09T22:34:00.003-05:002015-11-09T22:34:47.375-05:00Postpartum Thoughts<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"When her mother reproached her for caring for the poor and sick at home, St. Rose of Lima said to her 'When we serve the poor and sick, we serve Jesus. We must now fail to help our neighbors, because in them we serve Jesus.' "</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
- Quoted in the Catechism, at number 2449 </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8r8IfsxrycU/VkFhm7Wx0QI/AAAAAAAAEFY/CXTt7ARRfhc/s1600/IMG_2575.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8r8IfsxrycU/VkFhm7Wx0QI/AAAAAAAAEFY/CXTt7ARRfhc/s320/IMG_2575.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Teeny tiny David, relaxing while I frantically guilt-sew a doll blanket for Zuzu, which she then promptly threw on the floor sobbing "it's not a dress! I wanted a DRESS for my dolly!" </i></span></div>
<br />
Consensus has it that something is majorly wrong with the West's postpartum practices. On various parenting or breastfeeding forums that I'm a part of, I regularly see women asking about getting back down to pre-pregnancy weights or fitting back in old clothes at a month - or a week! - postpartum. Blythe Fike wrote a much hailed <a href="http://www.thefikelife.com/2015/07/how-to-postpartum-like-boss.html">post</a> about how to do the postpartum period differently, and it's also been written about notably <a href="http://www.thedailybeast.com/witw/articles/2013/08/15/america-s-postpartum-practices.html">here</a> and <a href="http://modernalternativepregnancy.com/2015/10/12/the-lost-cultural-art-of-lying-in/#.VkFVvmSrQy4">here</a>.<br />
<br />
My postpartum experiences have been so incredibly different from others that it's hard to relate, but honestly, my time after David was so much harder. Jen wasn't living with us, so I didn't have on-going help; my mom had to go back home relatively soon, and David was born during Holy Week, so Tom was basically gone for those first tender, difficult moments. And of course, we had Zuzu. I forgot how very emotional I am postpartum - how sensitive and frightened I become. I need more emotional support than I realize - I need people to force me to relax and to speak truth to me that will calm my heart. But this time, I sprung back physically very quickly, and I think this gave many people false reassurances of my well-being.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ko3WKpLo2QU/VkFh7cZO1xI/AAAAAAAAEFg/PvWFG64_pTo/s1600/IMG_1935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ko3WKpLo2QU/VkFh7cZO1xI/AAAAAAAAEFg/PvWFG64_pTo/s320/IMG_1935.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Zuzu had a lovely Easter this year, which I'm sure she would've had anyway, even if I had stayed in bed and let other people cook. Instead, I cooked a leg of lamb and arranged an egg hunt, less than a week postpartum, because I am dumb.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
So the problem is well documented. What is the solution? What can we, as people who value women, children, and birth, supposed to do to create a better culture of postpartum care?<br />
<br />
First of all, <b>care for the pregnant women in your life</b>. If you have a friend who is pregnant, inquire about her postpartum plans and needs, who will help her, what her fears are. Then offer to help where you can: organize her meal train, collect money to hire her a housekeeper, or a postpartum doula. Maybe find her a mother's helper, a teenager or older child to come over and play with her other children, or do light house keeping.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RG7Zmd9mfOU/VkFj9dKBM6I/AAAAAAAAEFs/df70bArhchs/s1600/IMG_3310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RG7Zmd9mfOU/VkFj9dKBM6I/AAAAAAAAEFs/df70bArhchs/s320/IMG_3310.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">As Kendra Tierney says, few things make having a baby easier than also having a ten year old girl. My nieces come to visit and more than earn their keep by entertaining Zuzu in all her toddler shenanigans.</span></i></div>
<br />
<b>Affirm keeping the postpartum time sacred</b>. It is so easy to see what we value by what we compliment. "You look great - so skinny!" or "She's wonder woman, just had a baby and she's out here coaching the soccer team." Compliment women differently, and honestly - "we haven't seen you much since you had the baby - good for you for making time to adjust." Text these things to your new postpartum friend, write them in an email or better yet, a lovely hand written card she can tuck in the new one's baby book (that maybe you can buy for her, if she forgot!).<br />
<br />
<b>Fight the isolation with visits - and don't be a guest that makes work!</b> So often I think women get out so quickly afterwards because they are lonely. They are at home with at least one small child, their husbands or other help must get back to work, their neighborhoods may be empty of any other mothers. After the flurry of activity that surrounds the new arrival, ask if she would like a visit. Yes, this can be hard - maybe you have to arrange childcare for your kids because they're sick or she's not comfortable with them around yet; your own life is busy with many demands. But make the sacrifice, show how important this new little soul is to the community, let this be a corporal work of mercy. Bring food, drink, and little comforts for her and baby. While you talk, be mindful of her - does she seem comfortable? does she have a drink? when did she last eat? does she need a shower? The visit will not do as much good if you do not use it to gauge her needs and either attend to them, or make arrangements for them to be tended to. You will not be a helpful guest if you are making her take care of you!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n90GrY7wfUU/VkFkdcQxYqI/AAAAAAAAEF0/4uxNWjb4UW4/s1600/IMG_0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n90GrY7wfUU/VkFkdcQxYqI/AAAAAAAAEF0/4uxNWjb4UW4/s320/IMG_0072.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Jen's strategy when I was postpartum with Zuzu was just to always hold the baby so I could shower, sleep, eat, and cry unassisted. It was amazing.</i></span></div>
<br />
Lastly, if you are a woman of child-bearing age, <b>make room to allow care for yourself</b>. That is, unlike what I did with David, ask for help and accept it graciously. It is good to make freezer meals, lovingly craft quiet books for the toddler to play with while you nurse, and all the rest. But let your community take care of you as well. It is a blessing to others, as well as for you.<br />
<br />
When David's godmother had her third baby this past June, it was such a great blessing for me to care for her. The first few weeks she was well attended by her parents and in-laws, but after that calmed down, I arranged her meal train. In the interim period, I made her new daughter a name blanket and texted her at regular intervals (not too much!) to keep in touch. When we got the green light to visit, I made sure Zuzu knew not to touch the new baby, and brought them several dinners over a few weeks. I would come earlier in the day, and sit and talk with her, watching our babies stretch on their blankets, while the older kids played in another room or outside. I hope it was good for her, because it did such a great deal for me - to see her adjust to life with three kids, to hear her incredible birth story, to revel again in the gift of new life.<br />
<br />
I truly believe that respect for the postpartum period will help women be the mothers that God is calling them to be. And that could not be more vital for our society since, as the old adage says, "the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IQxpptvz5N8/VkFlT-YxuQI/AAAAAAAAEGA/2HVywSTS_Ms/s1600/IMG_4367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IQxpptvz5N8/VkFlT-YxuQI/AAAAAAAAEGA/2HVywSTS_Ms/s320/IMG_4367.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
At least this little world. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-23813540606367767422015-10-12T00:05:00.000-04:002015-10-12T00:05:53.763-04:00The Zee is ThreeThree years ago, I was seven hours from my water breaking, and just fifteen hours away from laying my eyes on my firstborn child. Birth story <a href="http://shinyhappycatholics.blogspot.com/2012/10/susannahs-birth-story.html">here</a>.<br />
<br />
Three years.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TluJ1VFSugg/VhsjbnGbhYI/AAAAAAAAEDs/yF9SCD23WHc/s1600/IMG_0271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TluJ1VFSugg/VhsjbnGbhYI/AAAAAAAAEDs/yF9SCD23WHc/s320/IMG_0271.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I remember so much about my pregnant, so many moments, so much anticipation. I nostalgically look back on her <a href="http://shinyhappycatholics.blogspot.com/2012/10/10-lessons-in-5-days.html">newborn days</a> - six weeks of watching LOST with Tom and Jen, eating amazing food delivered by my fantastic community, <a href="http://shinyhappycatholics.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-wonder.html">staring at her for hours</a>. I remember so much about her first year (<a href="http://shinyhappycatholics.blogspot.com/2012/11/zuzu-one-month.html">first month</a>!), every single first etched in my mind forever: <a href="http://shinyhappycatholics.blogspot.com/2013/02/happy-four-months-susannah.html">first time she rolled over</a>, waved, the sound she made when she sneezed, her funny pirate crawl, sitting up, walking, saying Dada. I remember the first flower she picked for me - a Don Juan rose from the bush that grows by my parent's mailbox in the house that I spent a good deal of my growing up life in.<br />
<br />
And now, somehow, we're here. This past year flew by - between my pregnancy and David's arrival, house projects, travel - it feels like just yesterday was her second birthday. Here we are, and she's changed so much. She's potty-trained, takes swim lessons, hangs out in the YMCA daycare, goes to her little faith formation preschool.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0y4YTXkoh_E/VhsnzHZBScI/AAAAAAAAED8/KOpUtRsBZh0/s1600/IMG_2581.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0y4YTXkoh_E/VhsnzHZBScI/AAAAAAAAED8/KOpUtRsBZh0/s320/IMG_2581.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Yet she's the same. Oh, she's the same. As <a href="http://shinyhappycatholics.blogspot.com/2013/10/one-whole-year.html">one</a>. As <a href="http://shinyhappycatholics.blogspot.com/2014/10/zuzu-is-two-zu.html">two</a>.<br />
<br />
From the day she was born, she was special. Doesn't every mother say that about each child? Oh, I don't care - I'll say it about her. She's <i>different</i>. She is bright, and sensitive, and funny. Her memory is stunning and her sense of comedic timing truly impressive - I'm thinking of her kicking back in her brother's baby bathtub and cheerily declaring, "I'm in a holiday mood!" As Grandma Jean said of her, "she dazzles me." She is still watchful, a bit guarded with newcomers, relentlessly affectionate with her intimate friends, and happiest relaxing near water with me, her mother. I remember being able to work in the garden with her from the time she was little - 14 months - and she'd stay right by me, listen when I told her to stay, ever watchful and careful and wise.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xohcvVV8bsU/VhsqxBmhr3I/AAAAAAAAEEg/IK2bv_v7MUQ/s1600/DSCN1017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xohcvVV8bsU/VhsqxBmhr3I/AAAAAAAAEEg/IK2bv_v7MUQ/s320/DSCN1017.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Although, it isn't <i>that</i> easy being her mother anymore. Toddlerhood hit her with a vengeance about two months before David was born, and it's been very hard on all of us to adjust to her growing pains, to learn anew how to care for her best. Even harder still, I feel my responsibilities keenly where she is concerned: to help her mold and train her talents into virtues, and to work to acquire that which doesn't come easily. I feel so much responsibility because I see her as so very amazing - I want to lay the foundations for virtue so that she will be ready to do whatever great work God asks of her. Some days I overly complicate this; on my best days, I realize this comes naturally when I love her deeply for just who she is and work to communicate that love in all we do day by day, side by side. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a9B5MSaDXb0/VhsqT2JfntI/AAAAAAAAEEI/RTUp80ij8OE/s1600/IMG_3591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a9B5MSaDXb0/VhsqT2JfntI/AAAAAAAAEEI/RTUp80ij8OE/s320/IMG_3591.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q6dz-DB3Lf8/VhsqYy3bGnI/AAAAAAAAEEQ/dSU8Wp6922I/s1600/IMG_3588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q6dz-DB3Lf8/VhsqYy3bGnI/AAAAAAAAEEQ/dSU8Wp6922I/s320/IMG_3588.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q0LP0naIY_g/VhsqecFsklI/AAAAAAAAEEY/lCuUkTQ29d8/s1600/IMG_3586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q0LP0naIY_g/VhsqecFsklI/AAAAAAAAEEY/lCuUkTQ29d8/s320/IMG_3586.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It's hard for me to say what I really think when I look her, which quite honestly is: <i>you are my dream come true, you are what I've always wanted, my greatest work in this life is to care for you, and your siblings, until God calls me home</i>. Susannah's entrance into the world ushered in the start of my great adventure, what I am doing to make the world more beautiful. I am humbled to be the recipient of such a gift; each day, I endeavor to deserve the honor of being a mother, and having so precious a child.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, Susannah Marshall. May this year bring you great joy, grand adventures, and lots of strawberry donuts with sprinkles (your favorite).<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-26631666459329517612015-09-24T22:20:00.004-04:002015-09-24T22:20:37.541-04:00Where's the Pope Love? These days, all I see all over Facebook - from Catholics and non-Catholics alike - is talk about Pope Francis. Yet, amongst my actual Catholic friends, it's radio silence. None of my favorite blogs have written about him either. Only my politico-Catholic friends are covering his visit.<br />
<br />
I've seen some non-Catholics insisting, <i>why is that? Isn't this your leader? What - you don't like him cause he's liberal?</i><br />
<br />
So I thought I'd answer the question: <b>where's the orthodox Catholic pope love? </b><br />
<br />
I fully admit I struggle with Pope Francis. I struggle with him because it seems that he's constantly misspeaking about our teachings, saying things that make the Western world go wild with speculation about us changing our beliefs - which seems to many to be inevitable. I struggle with him because I think he often acts/speaks first without thinking - a trait that is usually problematic, but is catastrophically so when you are the world leader of a much-hated religion. I get angry that he gives fodder to people who insist that Catholicism is shades of grey, that I can choose to live my Catholicism one way and they can live theirs another way because the Pope said so. It grieves me that his papacy is so often hailed as the complete opposite of Pope Emeritus Benedict's - because I saw Benedict three times in person and fell in love with him more each time.<br />
<br />
But he also endears himself to me regularly. Some of his most oft-repeated quotes are seared in my brain: "a shepherd should smell like his sheep" has been something I have reflected upon repeatedly since I read it; and "the Church is a hospital for sinners" has stopped me in my tracks more than once, especially during Mass. I <i>love</i> the fact that he so clearly loves people, I love that he has such a big heart that sometimes he trips over it. I love that he makes Catholics who have mistaken their religion for a political party uncomfortable - I am so glad that he makes the West uncomfortable when he talks about the poor and the marginalized, especially immigrants. To my delight, he defies categorization as left or right and seems to annoy everyone. I think that is a good thing, because we all run the risk of making our Catholicism small - making it about our pet issues when really it's so much bigger and holistic than that.<br />
<br />
The thing about Pope Frances is that when you talk of him, you can never really be sure what to say. There's so much to love and so much to confound; much to celebrate and to mourn. When he speaks, we always want to believe the best - but it's so rarely clear that's what he means. Perhaps that's why we're silent - because, just like the rest of the world, he's simply giving us a lot to think about.<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-28836315307376803402015-09-23T06:57:00.002-04:002015-09-23T07:17:38.997-04:00Waking Up<i>Sometimes I look at my life, and my behavior, and my choices and I wonder: who have I become?</i><br />
<br />
What shocks me most about myself post-marriage and babies is that I haven't changed in what I would perceive to be big ways: what I believe, how I behave, what's important. What has changed are aspects of myself I would have always classified as minor: my organization, drive for self-perfection, type-A tendencies. I didn't think that could go away - I thought it was a (huge) part of who I was.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X2_zLRUcv44/VgIDMhZuU5I/AAAAAAAAECQ/pWYw8KyI8ug/s1600/1923470_505234758601_4529_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X2_zLRUcv44/VgIDMhZuU5I/AAAAAAAAECQ/pWYw8KyI8ug/s320/1923470_505234758601_4529_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Enjoying real seasons while in grad school</i></div>
<br />
If I'm being honest, it was eroded slowly before I got to where I am now, even if it's taken me until now to really put my finger on what has been 'off.' First I didn't do as well as I thought I would in law school. I wasn't at the bottom of my class, by any means! But I hadn't ever not been in the top - not when I tried, anyway. But I wasn't, and I blew it, and it's not the kind of thing you can get back. I navigated that okay, but then I had the tornado which made me feel so out of control and <i>it made me feel like law school never happened</i>. So then I got married and I thought, well....what now. I tried to just throw myself into making a home and a baby, but it turned out both were harder than they looked on paper. I took the Bar (and failed).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EitFx5xS0nE/VgID2YL2pFI/AAAAAAAAECY/3z1gkXyGWUo/s1600/210340_560389892271_6441826_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EitFx5xS0nE/VgID2YL2pFI/AAAAAAAAECY/3z1gkXyGWUo/s320/210340_560389892271_6441826_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Former house</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tEnC5TADvlo/VgID2RiNNoI/AAAAAAAAECc/CwX2IwV53DQ/s1600/253539_563876410261_7213089_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tEnC5TADvlo/VgID2RiNNoI/AAAAAAAAECc/CwX2IwV53DQ/s320/253539_563876410261_7213089_n.jpg" width="315" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Law school graduation</i></div>
<br />
All this time, these successive failures and struggles with these huge issues that felt so out of control, I didn't realize they were changing me. But here I am now, seven years later, and I realize I am really not who I was. So much of my personality was taken, molded, changed, adapted, or maybe just buried by all of that <i>stuff</i>.<br />
<br />
But I know those parts of me are still there, because I get furiously angry if I get out of bed later than 8am. A day where I get very little 'done' leaves me feeling defeated and resentful. And yet now my entire life feels out of control - feels unorganized - feels not <i>me</i>. It feels like I've taken a nap from life and I'm waking up thinking, how the hell did I get here? I'm angry. I'm angry a lot. I'm mad at the condition of my house, the lack of systems to run it efficiently, and my general flakiness. I'm mad and hurt that I am no longer known as a powerhouse of efficiency and planning.<br />
<br />
I get the sense that many friends or family think I should be working, or that my frustration lies in my education going unused. It's not true - I love my work. I love to be at home and with my children. I just want to do it <i>as me</i>, instead of whoever I've been acting like.<br />
<br />
I know I can't envy who I was - I know I can't hold myself to the same levels of efficiency now that kids are here - I know that I should "waste time" with my children - but I have to find some way to regain a sense of myself before I end up blaming everything that I love for taking it from me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qy29hRhs-oU/VgKEqF7eBXI/AAAAAAAAECw/pBPSDlBQpjE/s1600/IMG_2642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qy29hRhs-oU/VgKEqF7eBXI/AAAAAAAAECw/pBPSDlBQpjE/s320/IMG_2642.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6QCZ2ndujhY/VgKFYHqRo8I/AAAAAAAAEDI/1lw1XXmj5J0/s1600/IMG_3969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6QCZ2ndujhY/VgKFYHqRo8I/AAAAAAAAEDI/1lw1XXmj5J0/s320/IMG_3969.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
So I've started going to the gym. It's a weird microcosm of a habit: I'm trying to make myself do this one thing every day. If I do this one thing, then I will have the schedule the rest of my day in order to get it done. I am making myself go - even on days when Zuzu is whiny or David hasn't napped. Even though right now, it feels like this habit is causing MORE chaos in my home as I get used to having more being required of me. I am trying to relearn my favorite virtue of self-control and hope that it carries over into the rest of my life, because it seems the alternative is being out of control and I'm not sure how much longer I could live like that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-6720392522710746222015-09-03T12:39:00.000-04:002015-09-03T12:39:28.268-04:00According to ZYesterday, as I was trying to get her ready to head to the babysitter's so that Tom and I could have a much needed date night...<br />
<br />
Zuzu: FLEEEK<br />Me: Oookay, please go grab your shorts so we can go. <br />Zuzu: FLEEEK. <br />Me: Uh huh. Please go grab your shorts. <br />Zuzu: FLEEK.<br />Me: ZUZU that word doesn't mean anything! Please listen to me! <br />Zuzu: It DOES mean something! It means I'm very hungry and I need to eat right away! <br />Me: ...well. Ok. I will get you food. First please get your shorts. <br />Zuzu: Oh-KAY!<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xj2aR7LxTvI/Veh3PMn6xEI/AAAAAAAAEBM/fvScwSXK7-U/s1600/IMG_1727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xj2aR7LxTvI/Veh3PMn6xEI/AAAAAAAAEBM/fvScwSXK7-U/s320/IMG_1727.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /> </div>
<div>
<br /> <div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
</div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-37348382540945715372015-09-01T14:47:00.000-04:002015-09-01T14:47:20.004-04:00Making Room for ChangeWhen we had Zuzu, I was pretty firmly in the 'crunchy' mom camp. I don't know how it happened - I'm really not a hippy. But since I knew I wanted to have a natural birth outside of a hospital, everything else came rushing in - like it was a package deal.<br />
<br />
<i>Natural birth -> breastfeeding -> bedsharing -> attachment parenting -> cloth diapering -> amber teething necklaces -> baby wearing</i><br />
<br />
Happily, it really worked for us. That first year of Zuzu's life was great! Breastfeeding went well, she was a happy baby in adorable cloth diapers, and I loved wearing her. Great. Good.<br />
<br />
But...after a year, some things started to wear on me. On our family. Overnight, she'd always leak out of her cloth diapers, so I was changing the sheets a lot. I had a ton of women telling me how to fix the diapers so it would work better, but...we just switched to disposables for overnight. Then, she was having some issues with diaper rash. When I went into my local crunchy mama store to ask for diaper creams that were ok to use with cloth diapers, the store's clerk first response was "oh wow, we really don't carry anything because babies who wear cloth diapers don't get diaper rash."<br />
<br />
<i>Oh wow, really - want to see my baby's bum?</i><br />
<br />
It went on from there. We weren't getting a lot of sleep at night because my daughter liked to nurse all. night. long. I didn't get out a whole lot without her because I was the one who nursed her down for naps and bedtime, and she woke frequently to nurse. Sometimes it felt like she was a little TOO attached - it was hard leaving her with Tom, or my mom, or anyone. It was hard to parent her without using nursing as the main parenting tool. To be fair, I didn't want to get out much - I loved being with her all of the time. But I'm not sure it was really good for me - I wasn't taking care of my health, cultivating a spiritual life, or investing in my friendships. My world was Zuzu and you know what the Bible says about idols.<br />
<br />
All of this information about nursing, but I had no idea how to go about weaning, what age was okay to do so, or how to do without just doing it cold turkey.<br />
<br />
It started to feel like attachment parenting or crunchy-ness or whatever - was this train that once you got on, you couldn't get off. It worked great when she was a tiny squish, but as she was getting to be an older toddler, I wasn't happy. The advice I got from that community was, <i>try harder, override your gut feeling, ignore your own needs, don't be selfish</i>.<br />
<br />
I felt lost about how to run my family or my household sometimes, like I couldn't make certain decisions because it would hurt my child. I was so worried about hurting her by: weaning too soon, not letting her bedshare anymore, spanking, setting nursing limits, doing pretty much anything that made her cry (because letting/making your children cry makes you a monster, in some communities). I felt powerless.<br />
<br />
And that's bollocks.<br />
<br />
Parenting shouldn't feel like that. And if there's a parenting philosophy that is making you feel that way, it's probably not a good fit for you right now. If something worked when your child was young, but doesn't work now - you can stop. Right now! I'm giving you permission. If it worked for number one, but not number two? Cool, change it. Worked for numbers 1-4, but not 5? Change that too. I realized that I had put all these rules in place in my parenting, but hadn't made room for me to change my mind with experience. That's crazy! Experience will be the best teacher, always. I couldn't ignore the lessons I was learning and more frighteningly, if I stayed rigid, I realized I'd break.<br />
<br />
I have another baby now. He hasn't ever slept a night in my bed. Sometimes I let him fuss in his pack and play, when I know he's really tired and not really hungry. He's 5 months old and we just started cloth diapering. I weaned Zuzu from night-nursing nine months ago and it's been GREAT. We've started talking about weaning after her third birthday and she seems cool with it, but even if she's not...I'm ready. And that can be a good reason to make a parenting choice too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="nopin">
<img alt=" photo signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png" border="0" src="http://i1212.photobucket.com/albums/cc454/pianoprincessdesigns/signature_zpsyzdaji8e.png~original" /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-68018209545887574622015-08-22T09:10:00.002-04:002015-08-22T09:10:49.315-04:00Brand New. If you're reading this in any kind of blog reader I'm begging - no really, begging! - you to click through to my blog. Even better if it's on a computer, not a phone.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That way you can see my fancy new blog design, courtesy of the incredibly patient, incredibly talented <a href="http://www.rebekahlouisedesigns.com/">Rebekah Louise</a>. We have been working on this since, oh, the end of May and she has put up with every delay, every quibble, every search for the perfect font. Turns out, I'm kind of picky about how I want things to look in this virtual space, if I'm given the option. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, make yourself at home here. I'm still working on updating all the tabs and re-labeling posts to show up correctly, etc. etc. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But it's nice to have someplace tidy and neat - even if it is only my <i>virtual</i> home.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7263642629706813925.post-78780466478603912942015-07-31T23:48:00.000-04:002015-07-31T23:48:01.317-04:00End of an EraTwo years, nine months, and five days ago, I gave birth to my first child.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0fDzfmcEePo/VbunU_Iyk7I/AAAAAAAAD50/EGPDvvlHI_Y/s1600/dadstagram.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0fDzfmcEePo/VbunU_Iyk7I/AAAAAAAAD50/EGPDvvlHI_Y/s320/dadstagram.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I had been waiting to become a mother my entire life: I have always been very maternal and couldn't wait to have children of my own. Unlike many of the narratives of first-time moms that I read these days, Susannah's early months were delightful. I loved each new stage, and treasured my days with her in our little home. Yet I'd be dishonest if I didn't admit that a huge reason that I had such an easy transition into motherhood was...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y4GB_r88aSA/VbunbJDO18I/AAAAAAAAD58/WCyFLPwyQXY/s1600/c4395006303811e29f5522000a9f14ae_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y4GB_r88aSA/VbunbJDO18I/AAAAAAAAD58/WCyFLPwyQXY/s320/c4395006303811e29f5522000a9f14ae_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Jen</span></b>.</div>
<br />
She lived with us for the first five months of Zuzu's life - what a help that was! I had a pediatric nurse just steps away from my bedroom door, someone to ask about fevers or hiccups, a second set of hands at dinnertime, another set of arms to hold my baby while I took a shower or a nap or a walk. I'm no fool; I know that I had what very few women have today - real and constant support from another woman while I learned to be a mom.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VZ6tnVb3qt0/VbunxCGgYrI/AAAAAAAAD6E/Ru2MH8mc24Q/s1600/Jen%2Band%2BBabykakes%2B-%2Bwinter%2Bhat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VZ6tnVb3qt0/VbunxCGgYrI/AAAAAAAAD6E/Ru2MH8mc24Q/s1600/Jen%2Band%2BBabykakes%2B-%2Bwinter%2Bhat.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Her friendship fundamentally changed my motherhood, because she was present to me even beyond those five months. For almost two years, nine months, and four days, she has been a near-constant presence in my household. We have shared meals, late nights, heartache, vacations, clothes, cars, and burdens. We were one another's ride to the airport and "I've landed!" text. We have cleaned each other's bathrooms, done one another's laundry, and advised one another on everything from hair color to spiritual struggles. We have fought - with one another and for one another and against the powers of Hell.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qzGaHWIAKcI/VbuoHHtSg5I/AAAAAAAAD6M/Pqvb8l3J_KQ/s1600/IMG_1186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qzGaHWIAKcI/VbuoHHtSg5I/AAAAAAAAD6M/Pqvb8l3J_KQ/s320/IMG_1186.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
From one baby in Italy...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gwUpvYj8pPg/VbupV2LIA5I/AAAAAAAAD7A/7rCcqm7ILJs/s1600/IMG_3486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gwUpvYj8pPg/VbupV2LIA5I/AAAAAAAAD7A/7rCcqm7ILJs/s320/IMG_3486.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
To two babies in my living room...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NxwxI3l8xtg/Vbupczmb7qI/AAAAAAAAD7M/pzNxdYenjb8/s1600/IMG_2557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NxwxI3l8xtg/Vbupczmb7qI/AAAAAAAAD7M/pzNxdYenjb8/s320/IMG_2557.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
No one is better at snuggles than Auntie Jen.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>And now she's moving</b>.<br />
<br />
She's moving to pursue her dream job in our favorite city, Washington DC, and I'm so proud. I am so <i>damn</i> proud of the woman she has become over these two years, nine months, and four days. These years have been transformative for us both - we have, in so many vital ways, started to fully embrace the women we are called to be. She is strong, beautiful, and full of joy. I am in awe of the way she carries Christ to the world and, to be honest, a little envious of her fire right now. I was hoping she'd stick around a little longer so my tiny little ember of zeal that's barely hanging on could catch some of her heat...but she goes where she's called, and I know I'll still be able to see that flame even from here, even from one thousand forty nine miles away.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hD86vf2A5L0/VbuoX9Jmi0I/AAAAAAAAD6Y/0w40QU-JSA0/s1600/IMG_2089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hD86vf2A5L0/VbuoX9Jmi0I/AAAAAAAAD6Y/0w40QU-JSA0/s320/IMG_2089.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Easter</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ys5dygyvd9A/VbuowtomwxI/AAAAAAAAD6g/np2Nq9BqS2E/s1600/IMG_3894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ys5dygyvd9A/VbuowtomwxI/AAAAAAAAD6g/np2Nq9BqS2E/s320/IMG_3894.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Aruba</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5lTapjes7ro/VbupUog4IfI/AAAAAAAAD6w/_IwVuPP66f4/s1600/IMG_2487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5lTapjes7ro/VbupUog4IfI/AAAAAAAAD6w/_IwVuPP66f4/s320/IMG_2487.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Steubenville Orlando!</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KjXxEBjv1qY/VbupsYwJ1fI/AAAAAAAAD8I/EBy7a4qkBKY/s1600/IMG_3241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KjXxEBjv1qY/VbupsYwJ1fI/AAAAAAAAD8I/EBy7a4qkBKY/s320/IMG_3241.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ro70CVBfRCg/VbupsMATkkI/AAAAAAAAD8E/VkG0NObM2zA/s1600/IMG_3232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ro70CVBfRCg/VbupsMATkkI/AAAAAAAAD8E/VkG0NObM2zA/s320/IMG_3232.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Naples zoo....<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm saying goodbye - goodbye to the woman who has had the greatest impact on my mothering that isn't related to me or the actual embodiment of supernatural grace (that'd be Mary, obviously). I'm saying goodbye to Zuzu's godmother, my children's second mother, the always-set third place at my table, my afternoon visitor, my best friend. Oh, I know, it's not really goodbye - but it's goodbye to this time that has been so savored, so sweet, so precious.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NQXnfRgNwqU/Vbup5XWiB4I/AAAAAAAAD88/MObOkjcSJb8/s1600/IMG_3470.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NQXnfRgNwqU/Vbup5XWiB4I/AAAAAAAAD88/MObOkjcSJb8/s320/IMG_3470.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="213" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zQECETCTcAU/Vbup8_kf5CI/AAAAAAAAD9M/-VPas6bIISw/s1600/IMG_3517.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zQECETCTcAU/Vbup8_kf5CI/AAAAAAAAD9M/-VPas6bIISw/s320/IMG_3517.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HJ6Ww6dgoBg/Vbup3fk2gVI/AAAAAAAAD8s/3MMaHX9Opfg/s1600/IMG_3458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HJ6Ww6dgoBg/Vbup3fk2gVI/AAAAAAAAD8s/3MMaHX9Opfg/s320/IMG_3458.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
So raise your virtual glass with me to toast this time - this woman - our friendship: here's to the memories that will never fade and new ones yet to be forged, to new adventures yet to be known, to friendship that endures beyond distance and time.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bwVUeIbLZEY/Vbupipqcs-I/AAAAAAAAD7o/H6Sg9SOCfhc/s1600/IMG_3165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bwVUeIbLZEY/Vbupipqcs-I/AAAAAAAAD7o/H6Sg9SOCfhc/s320/IMG_3165.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1_wiCGrPreA/VbuplOe2EFI/AAAAAAAAD74/eiWcPENx6Y4/s1600/IMG_3187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1_wiCGrPreA/VbuplOe2EFI/AAAAAAAAD74/eiWcPENx6Y4/s320/IMG_3187.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wEEOE6tb7Dc/VbuqBZh0fDI/AAAAAAAAD9g/zIBJnMhDD68/s1600/IMG_3554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wEEOE6tb7Dc/VbuqBZh0fDI/AAAAAAAAD9g/zIBJnMhDD68/s320/IMG_3554.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GdolmlUVDww/VbuqA_NmzxI/AAAAAAAAD9Y/lJL4ogxyZJE/s1600/IMG_3550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GdolmlUVDww/VbuqA_NmzxI/AAAAAAAAD9Y/lJL4ogxyZJE/s320/IMG_3550.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P6J78VZaCSU/VbuqCRs1v0I/AAAAAAAAD9o/w1GzcisT8qI/s1600/IMG_3559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P6J78VZaCSU/VbuqCRs1v0I/AAAAAAAAD9o/w1GzcisT8qI/s320/IMG_3559.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Marthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08714449213406057138noreply@blogger.com1