it doesn't have to be taboo

Have you seen the article about the Duggar kids floating around... The one talking about how they announced their pregnancy before the standard 12 weeks, and that they chose to do so because they would acknowledge their baby if they did miscarry?  This kind of hit home with me, and made me feel guilty.  

See, right after I came home from Silver retreat I found out I was pregnant.  Yes.  Pregnant.  #4.  Huge surprise and not planned.  At.  All.  I spent a good week feeling awful.... Thinking about the things that a 4th child would screw up.  Like drinking wine in France, or vacationing as a family in one hotel room or only having 3 cubby baskets in my foyer.   And then I started to realize how great it would be... One more child to love (or drive me crazy), one more chance to savor those little baby moments, one more gummy faced smile, one more first step.  I got excited about watching our 3 kiddos with a new baby, and seeing Porter and Hudson dote on another little baby.  I started to get excited.  

We have never really announced our pregnancies until I think close to 10 weeks.  Usually after we get a chance to have an ultrasound and hear the heartbeat.  Before we left for France we told a few family members, and I'd told a couple close friends. But while we were in France, Ryan talked freely about it.  My getting knocked up was kind of the butt of our jokes because, well, it's kind of funny when your friend asks if you have a tampon bc they need one in the middle of a castle tour and you're like "Hello, me? Did you forget I got knocked up?"  

We got home from France and I was looking forward to LeeAnn scanning me and hopefully becoming "Facebook official" as I was close to 9 weeks along.  

And then I miscarried.  And it kind of became this taboo, awkward thing.  Thank GOD I was home when this began because it was a painful few days, physically and emotionally.  I wanted to hole up in my room for the week and just be done with it.  It was an awful last week of summer.  I felt like I was in labor for half of the week and unable to do anything productive with the kids.  I was grumpy and sad and nonexistent as a mother.  I felt like a failure.  I let a few people know what happened but all the "acquaintances" that had been told?  What do you do then?  Ugh.  And then this article came out.  And I realized.... This doesn't have to be a big secret.  This happened.  This baby had a heartbeat and little arms that moved and it shouldn't be taboo.   It's part of our story.  I can write about it.  And document this as part of our life.
I am no stranger to miscarriage.  Before we had Porter I miscarried very early- at 5 weeks.  It was awful-  when the only thing you want is a baby and you lose a pregnancy you're so excited about and you don't have other children to keep you preoccupied and all you can think about is the waiting and wishing and hoping.  This miscarriage hasn't been as emotionally difficult- it was unexpected, both the pregnancy and the miscarriage, but I do feel sad when I realize I should be 12 weeks along now, and that other friends are announcing pregnancies and I would have been pregnant with them. 

I'm not sure where we will go from here. We hadn't planned on a 4th child but now that we welcomed the idea I feel like it feels right.  But then I worry that maybe the miscarriage was a sign that we aren't supposed to have a 4th.  That we don't need anymore craziness in our lives (who does?).  And, well, we all know the Ry and I never produce any calm, complacent, docile children so surely a 4th would be another wild, strong willed, independent kiddo.  I guess time will tell, and we'll have to see what direction prayers and fate point us in.  But for now, I rest easy knowing I don't have to feel like this is/was something to hide.  Thank you, Duggars, for opening my eyes.  

24

24 hours. 

Night and day. 

Fresh beginnings. 

New outlooks. 

I am thankful for the rising sun, bringing a new day to start over fresh again.  

Sunday was rough.  As a matter of fact, the whole weekend was rough.  I have been in a terrible mood lately and this weekend Porter was in a completely ridiculous mood.   The past few days he has done nothing but whine and moan and complain and argue and rage and cry over everything.  Mood swings galore.   The littlest things set him off.  If something isn't his way he either whines or pouts or stomps or yells.  It felt like I was living with a 2 year old Jekyll and Hyde in the body of an 8 year old boy.  I spent my whole weekend breaking up arguments, typically started or instigated by Porter.   I'm going to be honest.  By Sunday, I really didn't like my kids.  At. All.  I was exhausted.  And angry at myself for blowing up at them so much but also angry at them for their attitudes.  I wanted to leave and go find a hotel to stay in for a few nights alone and in silence because I was sure my head couldn't take anymore noise and whining and arguing.   I ended the weekend feeling so defeated. 

Monday came, and when I picked the boys up from school I ran a few errands before picking Amelia up from daycare.  The two boys that got in the van after school were complete opposites of the boys I'd spent the weekend with.   They were kind to each other.  They were talking to each other- without picking and irritating.  I stopped at the gas station and let them pick out a snack since we weren't heading straight home.  The entire way to JoAnn Fabrics they shared snacks, trading Cheez-Its for Bugles.  Porter bartered, "I'll give you 4 Cheez-Its for 2 Bugles!" And they laughed with each other at the trades.  We stopped at JoAnn to pick up my sewing machine and they were fascinated by the monogram sewing machine that was sewing cars and frogs and trains.  Hudson gladly shared the rest of his Bugles with Porter, Porter thanked him in a kind voice.  They shared each others excitement as they watched the machine stitch a car.  I stood and watched them... in awe.  These boys.  AHHHh.  This is how I want to feel about my boys.  Pride.  Joy.  Love.  The lady at the sewing station told me to go ahead and look at fabric while they watched the machine.  I hesitated, thinking... I don't want to miss these moments of kindness and getting along.  Surely they'll start fighting and I wont' be here to break it up.   But, I walked away so proud of them... I couldn't believe what a change it was from the day before.  In 24 hours I went from wanting to run away from them to not wanting to leave their side because I wanted to marvel in their relationship with each other.  

I am thankful for new days, new beginnings, and new outlooks.  24 hours.  

Mothers Day 2014

I am incredibly blessed.   I've had good mothers days.  And terrible mothers days.  This year, however, was incredibly perfect.

Ry let me sleep in, and I was woken only by Porter, who brought me breakfast in bed.... A bowl of Trix cereal in a kids' Ikea bowl, meticulously layered on top of a small kids Ike's plate and then a larger adult plate.  I like this boys' presentation. ;-). He also brought me Oj in a cup with a top.  I love him.  I are my cereal half asleep (partially thinking.... Strain the milk... I'm almost positive he doesn't know to use 1% milk and there's a chance he used Amelia's whole milk).  He came upstairs and snuggled with me for a bit, and then later Hudson and Amelia came up to snuggle with me too.  I love snuggling with my kiddos.

I got up and was presented with one of the best Mother's Day presents ever... A journal from the kids. Ry had found an old scrapbook of mine I never completed.... It had one page in it titled "pieces of me" and was about myself in 2005, pre-kids.   He had the kids each draw me a picture and write a note.  It was adorable.  Then I took the kids outside for a few minutes.... The weather was beautiful.

We decided to go out for lunch.  Ry had outback in mind and I knew it would have a long wait.  I figured mcdonalds was in our future.  I called outback and sure enough, 2 hour wait.  No way.   We went to Wendy's.  A little classier than mcD's.  It didn't matter to me.  I was with my family.  It was perfect.

Amelia and Hudson took a nap and Ry made me some raised garden beds for the yard.  We spent all afternoon planting flowers, building garden beds, digging holes and planting veggies.  The kids helped, and played and were filthy by the end of the day.  My mom came over as well and took the kids to the park for a little bit.  We ordered pizza for dinner and finished the evening off with baths/showers all around.  You know you had a good day when you require two showers and your feet are black from soil!  

It was the perfect end to the weekend.  

The (real life) dictionary definition of Mother | by Lisa Jo Baker

I couldn't help but feel like every word of her post could have been written by me.  So I'm copy/pasting it here for safekeeping.  I want these words to light up my memories like fireworks when I'm an old lady, reading back on my blog book.  Lisa Jo's post is here.   You really should read her blog.   Amazing stuff.  I tear up reading most of her posts.

I am stretched and tired and fearful.

I am wild and brave and broken.
My closet has a sense of humor and clothes in every size.

I’ve worn these hips three times around the labor and delivery dance and they are not ashamed. I speak three languages and that doesn’t include my ability to translate my middle son’s moods.

I have danced circles into the midnight carpet on two continents.

I have rocked restless babes, cut baby curls, snipped fingernails and served a thousand thousand bowls of Cheerios.

I can build a blanket fort, pry splinters out of fingers, and sharp words out of young hearts.

I have lost it, yelled it, fought it, cried it and apologized it all before 9am.

I have fingerpainted, caffeinated, and run out of explanations for a line of why questions that stretches around the living room, out the front door and around the block.

I have tripped on Legos, stepped on scooters, slept on bottom bunks, and strung yards of white, twinkling lights above the heads of two brothers afraid of the dark and their bad dreams.

I have been woken up, shaken up, thrown up, loved up, and shut up. I have never quite, completely, ever given up.

Love sleeps in my bed. Curiosity eats at my table. Delight runs laps around my back yard. Exhaustion is a faithful friend. But so is grace.

If I started tonight and counted backwards all the gifts of the past seven years of two boys and this still-smells-new baby girl I would still be counting when their grandchildren were standing tippy toes with noses pressed against these smudged windows.

So I count dimples instead.

And piles of stray socks and jeans with knees missing and shoes that only fit for a few months and hair cuts and loose teeth and how many times I look at them and say with the disbelief of the proud, “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown!”

I am overwhelmed, infatuated, love struck and completely unhinged. Especially on the nights they bring in wild flowers and all the ever-loving mud in the world.

I am full and fulfilled.
I am older and comfortable in my skin.
I am about the work of raising tiny humans.
I am out of my mind and in my calling and desperate for five minutes alone and a lifetime together.

I see cherry blossom fireworks when two brothers enter school and friendship and new worlds together. Right there, just an outdoor, black top, basketball court away from me.

I want to stop time, tame my fears, bottle their dreams, live a hundred summers of dripping, sticky, caramel ice cream. And in between I hang onto my faith, my temper, and my sense of humor with my fingernails.

These are the good days, the glory days, the slow-as-molasses days. These are the fast years, the wonder years, the how-do-I-find-words years.

But we do. They usually start with “help” and end with “thank you” and the middle?

The middle is a thick layer of one syllable wonder sometimes whispered, often shouted, always answered.

The middle is me. The middle is you. The middle is just, “mom.”

The Tired Mother's Creed

by Lisa Jo Baker (read her post here- with a free printable)

Repeat after me:

1. I shall not judge my house, my kid’s summer activities or my crafting skills by Pinterest’s standards.
2. I shall not measure what I’ve accomplished today by the loads of unfolded laundry but by the assurance of deep love I’ve tickled into my kids
3. I shall say “yes” to blanket forts and see past the chaos to the memories we’re building.
4. I shall surprise my kids with trips to get ice cream when they’re already in their pajamas.
5. I shall not compare myself to other mothers, but find my identity in the God who trusted me with these kids in the first place.
6. I shall remember that a messy house at peace is better than an immaculate house tied up in knots.
7. I shall play music loudly and teach my kids the joy of wildly uncoordinated dance.
8. I shall remind myself that perfect is simply a street sign at the intersection of impossible and frustration in Never Never land.
9. I shall embrace the fact that in becoming a mom I traded perfect for a house full of real.
10. I shall promise to love this body that bore these three children – out loud, especially in front of my daughter.
11. I shall give my other mother friends the gift of guilt-free friendship.
12. I shall do my best to admit to my people my “unfine” moments.
13. I shall say “sorry” when sorry is necessary.
14. I pray God I shall never be too proud, angry or stubborn to ask for my children’s forgiveness.
15. I shall make space in my grown up world for goofball moments with my kids.
16. I shall love their father and make sure they know I love him.
17. I shall model kind words – to kids and grown-ups alike.
18. I shall not be intimidated by the inside of my minivan – this season of chip bags, goldfish crackers and discarded socks too shall pass.
19. I shall always make time to encourage new moms.
20. I shall not resent that last call for kisses and cups of water but remember instead that when I blink they’ll all be in college.

~ with love from one tired mother to another.