Eleanor

Dear Ellie,

Yesterday we were getting things packed up to leave Grandma Sandy and Papa Tim's house, and I asked you to get on your pink summer shoes. You hate your pink summer shoes. Your feet grew about two sizes a week after a I bought them for you, and now your little toes hang off the edge. A few minutes later I asked you again if you had your shoes on, to which you replied, "Not today old friend, not today."

You love watering our plants with me, and you hold them so delicately as you carry their pots to the waiting sink for a drink. You remember all of their names. And every now and then you will come to me and say "Mom, Flopsy looks thirsty, maybe we should give her a drink!" Looking back, I remember you sitting on our back patio in Indiana, digging in the dirt and playing with the herbs in our garden pots for hours. You have always loved to be outside.  I love that about you.

A few days ago you were drinking a glass of chocolate milk. Dad was sitting next to you and asked if it was yummy. With only a few sips left, you exclaimed, "Oh yes!" and then asked if he would like the rest. I'm always so moved by your willingness to share and give all that you have, even if, especially if it's something you really love. You have such a giving, generous heart. I love that about you.

You never stop talking, ever. You always want to be close. If I'm cooking, you're right next to me. You want to chop and mix and scramble and pour and slather.  If I'm showering, your'e right on the other side of the door. You want to make slime and play dough and sand castles. You want to be big like Liam and Gwyn. You make us laugh. You push our buttons. You change your clothes at least five times a day. You leave a path of toys and stuffies and pillows and blankets and bits of clothing in your wake, and somehow manage to get everyone else to clean it up for you. Every day you ask me to tell you about the day you were born, and plead to watch videos of you when you were a baby. I love that about you.

We talk a lot about babies. You have a lot of questions. The other day you were trying to convince dad to let you watch just one more cartoon. With all the conviction and credibility possible for your tiny four year old frame you exclaimed,  "Dad I know where babies come from, you gotta listen to me!"

When we asked ahout having a little brother or sister you replied, "If it's a girl I will adore it. If it's a boy, I will despise it."

When dad lays down for a nap, you bring him a stuffy to snuggle with. If I fall asleep on the sofa, I usually wake up covered in your blankets. If someone is sad, you are ready with hugs. If we're eating breakfast, much of the time you rush off to gather everyone's water bottles for them. I see you always looking for ways to take care of us. I love that about you.

You wanted to play with the magnets sitting on the top shelf of the playroom closet. You marched into the laundry room, picked up the giant step stool, and lugged it all the way across the house. You were so triumphant when you managed to open it up and grab those magnets by the tips of your fingers. You make things happen, Ellie. You don't wait around for life (or mom) to give things to you. If you want something, you find a way. I love that about you.

Ellie, you are always dancing, always singing, always climbing and leaping off the furniture, and always trying to make us laugh. Every animal is your favorite animal. You yell and shout and stomp and tear though the house when you're mad. You have always had a voice. You've always had conviction. You've always been powerful and lovely and brave. I love that about you. 

Homeschool Lesson - Don't Wish This Time Away

My littles need me constantly. They want me to be right beside them every moment of the day. In the bathroom, while they fall asleep, as they unload the dishwasher and pick up their toys, when they've said something hilarious, during their baths, while they eat. And sometimes, a lot of times, I feel like butter scraped over too much bread. I often feel overwhelmed, and too little do complete the big work of building this cathedral.

But amidst all of that, I've had moments this week when the fleeting nature of this season rests on my heart, and I realize that my time with them is so very short. Really, I only have them this close for a few short years, and then they'll be off on adventures of their own. I don't want to wish this time away. Soon they won't want me as close, need me as often, and I just know I'm going to ache then for the closeness we have now. Instead of checking out, I want to retrain my heart to breath them in, to slow down, to look into their eyes more often, to be silly, to be a soft place to land, to lean into the chaos, to let them be little, to see things as they really are, to leave the dishes and read to them a little longer.  

Tornados

As a little girl, I remember trees blown to the ground, barely missing our house. I remember a tornado picking up our wooden swing set, and finding it twisted in the corner of our neighbor's yard a few houses over. I remember hearing the sirens go off during a stay at my friend's house, and wondering if I would ever see my family again. I remember rushing to the bathroom while shopping with my mom in the mall because a tornado was coming.  I remember hearing the grown ups talk around the table of what they'd heard and seen on the news. I always imagined the worst.

Last Sunday afternoon tornado sirens blared intermittently for two hours.  Sean was on an airplane. Dad was at the plant in Montgomery. The littles and I were huddled up in my closet, reading books with all of our blankets and stuffed animals. I felt like I was going to throw up. My stomach twisted and my heart seemed to be trying to claw it's way out of my chest. Gwyn looked up at me and asked the question that was taking up all the space in my own head, "Is a tornado going to come to our house?" "Pshhh no way!" I replied, "This is just good practice for if there is ever a real emergency!" But my heart continued to burn and my stomach continued to twist. All I could think about was the roof being ripped off of our house. Being swept up and away. The looks in their little eyes. I totally know the probability of us dying in a car accident is way higher than being swept up in a twister, but wether my heart is 5 or 35, I just can't handle it. We could hear the rain pounding the side of our house, but that was the worst of it. By 2:30pm the sirens stopped blaring, and we went back to making chocolate chip cookies. The next morning though, I read that at 3:30pm that Sunday afternoon, an F3 tornado, half a mile wide, touched down 60 miles north of us, and 24 people of all ages died. I couldn't breath. 60 miles. That's a hop, skip, and a jump for a tornado. Little ones woke up that morning, had their last bowl of cereal, not knowing what would be coming. Last kisses. Last words. I cried for them all. I cried for their families. I cried for their community. I cried for fear. I cried because when we were pulling chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, people just sixty miles up the road from us were facing my worst fears and twenty four of them died.

It's been a week, but it's still with me. Especially as the prospect of more tornadoes and severe thunderstorms are coming our way this weekend. I was sitting with dad on his air mattress last night before bed, crying to him about the weather, Alabama, fear and loss and worry. He patted my back and talked about Heavenly Father's plan, and peace, and bravery. And as he was talking, and while I was wiping away tears and trying to be brave, I looked up at our board where I'd written our scripture for this month.

John 14:27 Peace I leave with you. My peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.

Gasping For Air

A few Sundays ago the last speaker of Sacrament Meeting was the first counsel in the Stake Presidency. President Hernandez. This guy is intense. He is focused. He hasn't watched television since becoming a missionary because it's a waste of time. He's a principle of an elementary school on Maxwell airfare base, and he has a punching bag in his garage that he uses daily. He's an adventuror. He's got his eyes on the prize, is incredibly, and a powerful speaker.

He talked about how he makes dinner for his family and has a heck of a time getting them to come to the table. He called out for them two or three times before they eventually make their way to their plates. The experience is very different when dessert is served. When it's dessert, they run.

He talked about free diving, holding his breath, and sweeping his arms through the water, deeper and deeper. He talked about coming back up from the depths, still far from the surface, his lungs burning, and fighting his body's instinct to breath. He talked about gasping for air, and never wanting something so much in that moment as he wanted to breath.

Then he quoted our dear Prophet,

"When you reach up for the Lord’s power in your life with the same intensity that a drowning person has when grasping and gasping for air, power from Jesus Christ will be yours. When the Savior knows you truly want to reach up to Him—when He can feel that the greatest desire of your heart is to draw His power into your life—you will be led by the Holy Ghost to know exactly what you should do.When you spiritually stretch beyond anything you have ever done before, then His power will flow into you."  (Drawing the Power of Jesus Christ Into Our Lives.)

We run for dessert. We run to our television show, to our hobby, to our comfort, to be entertained, to the path of least resistance, to our heart's desires. But are we running to the Lord? Do we run towards those opportunities that will help us grow and become more like Him? Do we desire His power and influence and peace in our lives as much as we desire air in our lungs? I don't.

As I heard President Hernandez say those words, my heard burned, and my thoughts flowed through impressions I'd received, some consciously, some unconsciously. It all added up to one question ... What am I holding onto that is keeping me from giving my entire heart to the Lord? What distractions, what temptations, what in the world am I holding onto so tightly? I need to let go of the world. Completely. I want to need the Lord as much as I need the air he grants me to freely.

Less is more and a smattering of scattered thoughts

The Boy in Velveteen Rabbit had a nursery full of toys, but he slept with Velveteen, he played and adventured and survived scarlet fever with Velveteen, and that beautiful, loved up rabbit became real! We have a basket overflowing with stuffed bears and baby dolls, very few of which are ever played with, and far from every becoming real.

Gwyn has a drawer full of adorable tops and stretchy, stripey, sparkly leggings. She rotates through her three favorite shirts, and whatever pants feel the coziest at the moment. The rest remain tucked away in a lonely, forgotten basket.

We made magic potion bottles the other day. We filled Voss bottles with glitter glue and sparkly stars. Well I made them while they watched ... because fine glitter. Because super glue. Because I'm completely outnumbered. (But, like, aren't crafts supposed to be for the kids? If they're not doing it from start to finish, if they're simply spectators, then why in the world?!) Once the bottles were filled with glittery swirly goodness, the littles played with them for about an hour. It's two days later and they've forgotten all about them.

Hobby Lobby. I shouldn't  even be allowed to go in there. Suddenly my children need a fall sensory bin. Seasonal sensory bins for every holiday! So I gather leaves and tiny cobs of corn, acorns and cinnamon sticks. I dig out a tiny magnifying glass, some spoons and beads and bells. I grandly lay the fancy fun filled exploratory autumnal magic bin, which will make their childhood filled with wonder and curiosity, before my two year old. She pokes around, scoops and pours, and investigates for about twenty minutes, and then moves on with her life. I try to pull it out every now and again to see if it'll spark interest. Nope. Nada.

I spend a lot of time and money and energy buying junk at the store to fill up my little's lives with magic and exploration and learning and fun. I'm finally being honest with myself. They really don't care about any of it. Are they going to remember the six dollars worth of Christmas glitter scattered around Santa's letter on Christmas morning? Do they need another adorable dress or those darling dollar spot alphabet magnets? Will those magnets teach them to read? To love books?  Do they need glitter and paper crafts and endless outfit options and potion bottles to make childhood magical or worthwhile? Will they remember any of it!? I don't think it's what they'll remember.


When there are toys scattered across the floor, nobody picks them up and starts playing with them. They are sidestepped, or stepped on. They're right under our feet and completely forgotten. There's too many of them. But when we pick everything up and tuck it all away ... when only the wooden blocks are sitting in the middle of a tidy room, suddenly they're playing with those blocks in ways i've never seen before. When there are fewer options, it seems like there's more engagement and enjoyment. First they get bored. Then they get creative.

A few Christmas's ago Sean and I noticed something interesting when the littles pulled down their stockings. The first three treasures (peppermint tic tacs, candy cane pop rocks, sugar cookie bubble bath paints) where each loved in turn. They took their time. They tasted. They played. They rejoiced! After the third treasure, something shifted. The magic was no longer about the gift itself. It morphed into a type of exhilaration about and anticipation of what's next. It happened again when they unwrapped their gifts. The first two or three were loved and played with before the next ones were even considered. But after the third time shredding wrapping paper to reveal the surprise, the focus shifted on what came next, instead of what was right in their hands... what everyone else got instead of all they had ... the worry that someone had more. I don't know what it's like in other homes on Christmas morning, but it seems like there's a magic number that holds the magic in place and keeps gratitude close. When our living room floor is scattered with countless new toys and treasures, it becomes more about the having and acquiring than playing and engaging and experiencing.

When I say less is more, I'm not talking about ice cream, or love notes, or toilet paper, or Julie Andrew's movies. I'm talking about options. Possessions. Thiiiiings. Glitter and bricka bracka cluttering up our lives.

Over the course of a few days, Heavenly Father has been bringing all of these things to my mind, and teaching me about what matters, and what doesn't. And I felt Him encouraging me to not set my heart on beautiful things. If I hold onto such treasures too tightly, and forget their real source and their real purpose, it could hold me to the ground when I could be flying. It could keep us from adventure and goodness and progression. Spending money on throw pillows, and clean white dishes, and crimson, lacy Christmas dresses instead of work boots, and food storage, and savings could stand in the way of us being able to help our neighbors with hurricane relief, giving a Thanksgiving feast to someone who might not appear to have much to be thankful for.

I feel like there's been an earthquake inside of me everything has shifted and changed. I'm feeling an urgency to get our home in order, to decide very carefully how to spend time, energy, money, to hold onto what matters the most, and let everything else go.

Homeschool Lessons: Gwynie

Gwyn,

You are so bright and lovely. So soft and cozy, and still one of the strongest, bravest girls there ever was. You keep things close: the people you love, your treasures, your mistakes, you secrets, the things you know and the things you don't. It's hard for you to not know things, and even harder if others know it too. Sometimes this makes learning hard for you. In the first few weeks of school you dug in your heels, you snatched pencils out of my hand and you wanted to be the teacher. You were silly and uninterested. So we held hands and we took small steps together. I showed you things, and then you showed me things. You like being the teacher, and it's so fun for me to listen to you teach ideas in your own words. We're finding our way together, and there's no one I'd rather learn with than you. Learning feels overwhelming for Liam right now, and you've become such a peacemaker. You say things like, I can work with that, and let's do it! You bring stuffies when there are tears, and fetch water bottles, pick up toys, clean messes, and toothpaste toothbrushes without a peep or complaint. Gwyn, you work so hard, and I want you to know that I see you. I'm grateful for the light you are in our lives. I thank Heavenly Father every day for giving us such a gift as you, for your love, your passion, strength, courage, your soft heart, and your willingness to do hard things and put your trust in me. 

I love you forever, 

Mom   

Fighting For It

Painting by Jorge Cocco Santangelo

When President Nelson encouraged all the women within the sound of his voice to take a ten day fast from social media, I jumped in head first. I didn't give myself time to think about it, or to feel nervous, or to miss it at all. I think if I'd hesitated, it might have a lot harder for me to let go of all posts and people and habits and silly rituals I'd been holding onto so tightly.

Since that fast, I haven't had a desire to spend much time on social media, but when I crack open that door and take a peek inside, I always look for Kelly Jensen. She is such a light. A stranger, a sharer, a gorgeous soul who fights and loves and lives with her whole heart. She inspires me in every way. Last night I watched a string of videos she posted. She talked about fighting for it. In her video she mentioned an early morning exercise class that she was struggling to get into. She wanted to wake up and feel less lethargic, less critical, less heavy. So she slipped out of the room for a moment, and in the midst of self defeating thoughts, from the very back of the studio, she glimpsed a room full of women, from different walks of life, awake long before the sun, sweating, struggling, working so hard, giving it all they had. They were fighting for it. For whatever it was, for their health, for strength, for companionship, for whatever. They were working, sweating, pushing, persisting, fighting for it. Kelly, then talked about how she saw people fighting for it all throughout her day. A women dressed in her best, thirty minutes after school let out, running in heels across the school parking lot to pick up her little one, apologizing profusely to the teacher waiting with him outside. She was fighting for it. An elderly man, standing a little straighter and stronger than he might have, if his wife, with whom he was walking, had not had a curved spine and could only shuffle. her sweet face unable to look from the ground. He was fighting for it. Since that moment, she's seen it in herself, in her children, in strangers, and friends. We are all working so hard. We are all doing our best. We are all fighting for it.

So I'm taking a shower this morning, feeling the weight of the beautiful load of my life, feeling a little alone, a little weary, and just really tired. I'm playing my playlist, Give Me Peace, because along with the heaviness, I'm feeling frustration and a little anger and I don't want any of it. I want peace. I want more strength than I have to fight for the life I want for our family today. And as I'm washing my hair, and crying, and rinsing, the Primary song Gethsemane begins to play. 

Jesus climbed the hill, to the garden still, His steps were heavy and slow.

Love and a prayer, took Him there, to the place only He could go.

Gethsemane. Jesus loves me. So He went willingly, to Gethsemane.

He felt all that was sad, wicked, or bad, all the pain we would ever know.

While His friends were asleep, He fought to keep His promise made long ago. 

Gethsemane. Jesus loves me. So He went willingly, to Gethsemane. 

The hardest thing that ever was done, the greatest pain that ever was known, the biggest battle that ever was won, this was done by Jesus. The fight was won by Jesus. 

Gethsaemane. Jesus Loves me. So He gave His gift to me, in Gethsemane 

As I listened to the words, I thought about our Savior, in all of His perfection, glory, and strength. I knew His Atonement must have been difficult, but he was the Christ! Of course he had the strength to become our Savior. In His perfect strength, I imagined Him enduring and overcoming. But I'd never thought of the fight it may have took to endure all that was required.  I never imagined Him fighting for us, fighting to overcome our sins, to feel of our pain, to carry the weight of the whole world (all while His friends were asleep and in the midst of betraying him). Jesus Christ knows all about pain. He knows all about being alone, about carrying a weight too heavy to bear. He knows all about losing loved ones, about broken hearts, about depression, and anxiety, and anger, and the effort and work it takes to do something you think you can't do. He fought for it. And He won. 

Through the tears and the suds, the beautiful music, and the three little loves running in and out of the bathroom, I felt Christ's love. My mind's eye saw His fight and victory in Gethsemane with a little more clarity. That desire to overcome, to persist, to become, to fight for it, comes from our Heavenly Father, our ability to do so comes from and through our Savior.

Come Follow Me

The Call by Jorge Cocco Santangelo

The littles and I just finished reading the New Testament together. It was so wonderful to watch them swirling their paint brushes in watercolors, and fill their scripture journals with pictures from the Savior's life. The account of how Peter came to join the Savior has been on my heart. He and his friends had been fishing all night long. They caught nothing.  Jesus told Peter to take his boat into deep water and then cast out his fishing nets. They caught so many fish that their nets began to break. Peter called to his friends in another boat to come and help. Both of their boats were filled with so many fish that they began to sink. I could only imagine what this meant for Peter and his friends. I wonder how long they would be able to feed their families with the profit from so much fish. What luxuries would they now be able to afford? Would one of them be able to buy medicine for a sick child? Or finally be able to purchase some beautiful cloth for their wife to make a new dress that wasn't tattered or worn? Peter and his friends were amazed. They knew Jesus had preformed this mighty miracle. Peter knelt at Christ's feet. Jesus then asked Peter and his friends, James and John, to follow Him and become "fishers of men." Then the children's scriptures say, "The men left everything they had and went with Jesus." Peter, James, and John did not walk away from empty boats to follow the Savior. They walked away from boats filled with fish. They let go of wealth and comfort to learn from and serve with the Savior. They walked away from from everything, into the unknown.

Before President Nelson asked us to read the Book of Mormon by the new year, I was reading about Alma and Amulek preaching among the people in Ammonihah. I love Alma and Amulek so much. Alma walked away from public office to serve the Lord and teach people who hated and rejected him. Amulek opened his heart and his home to Alma. This one choice set events in motion that changed his whole life.  He lost friends and family, his reputation and the respect of his community, because of his testimony and association with Alma.  He walked away from it all, into the unknown.

The Sons of Mosiah turned away from being King to live among their enemies, and try to teach them about a Savior they had rejected for generations. They walked away from everything, into the unknown.

This morning I began the Book of Mormon from the beginning. All of these thoughts began flooding through me as I read about Lehi's family leaving the land of their inheritance, their comfortable home, their treasures and possessions. I thought about Sariah leaving her lovely kitchen, her favorite market stands, her dearest friends, the home she put her whole heart into creating, to cook over a fire, eat raw meat, and dwell in a tent. I wonder if she'd ever been camping before? I thought about the prospect of camping for eight years, of my children wanting to murder each other, almost being swallowed up in the sea, delivering two sons in the woods, and sunk deeper into my warm, comfortable sofa. Lehi's family followed the Lord. They walked away from everything, into the unknown.

The Lord has always asked His children to choose Him, and that seems to require sacrifice. He's asked them to let go of the things that feel important to them, their possessions, their power, their comfort and security, their plans and priorities, their desires, to whatever they are holding onto, and to follow Him. Peter, James, and John couldn't keep their boats full of fish and do what the Savior needed them to do. Alma couldn't stay put when in his heart he knew he needed to bring his people back to Christ. Amulek couldn't keep his current life and teach his neighbors about the Savior. The Son's of Mosiah couldn't bring thousands of Lamenites to the knowledge of their Redeemer and hold onto the comfort of their kingdom. We wouldn't have the scriptures today without the Lehi and Sariah's obedience and faith.

We are cozy in Alabama. The Lord is blessing us with full bellies, strong bodies, freedom, safety, and music and cool breezes and beautiful rainstorms. He's given us soft pillows when we're weary and cold water when we're thirsty. He's blessed us with people we adore, a big table to gather around, answers to prayers, a living Prophet, scriptures at our fingertips, and more abundance than any family deserves. Everything we have and everything we are is because of His goodness. I feel so grateful for the time we have here, but to our eyes, the Lord has only given us Alabama until the Spring. He knows what lies beyond, but all we can see is the vast unknown. It's unsettling. 

But I read these scriptures, and the Holy Ghost brings all of these thoughts to my remembrance. And I'm filled with the truth that THIS is the life the Lord has given us. These are the opportunities He's provided us.  These are the trials he's blessed us with, the strengths he's given us to serve with, the people he's given us to love. THIS is the life we've been given. And He's asking us to let go of our plans, our desires, our priorities, and to trust Him, to follow Him, into the unknown.

The glory and joy of creation

God left the world unfinished for man to work his skill upon. 

He left the electricity in the cloud, the oil in the earth. 

He left the rivers unbridged and the cities unbuilt.

God gives to us the challenge of raw materials, 

not the ease of finished things. 

He leaves the pictures unpainted 

and the music unsung and the problems unsolved, 

that we might know the joys and glories of creation.

President Thomas S. Monson

15 Month Eleanor

Dear Sweet Eleanor,

So much of you has bloomed and blossomed since winter turned to spring. It was so fun to celebrate your first year in December, but since then you've become even brighter and more beautiful. Your tiny tendrils are always in your face because any clip or bow we use to hold them back ends up in your mouth. We love your dimples and your eight little, pearly teeth. We love your deep voice, all of the intonations you make when you're trying to talk, the way you mimic dad's villainous laugh, and even the way your tiny chin quivers before you start to cry. We love your sweet tooth, the way you hand us things you find on the floor, how you ball up your tiny fists when you're frustrated. We love your dark eyes that change expression a thousand times a day, your tight lipped grin, and the way you scrunch your nose and throw back your head when you're trying to be funny. 

You are so expressive and are able to communicate exactly what you want without saying a word. You shake your head yes and no, point your perfect pudgy little finger, sign more and eat and thank you. You pucker your lips and give the best kisses, which you initiate all throughout the day. It's our absolute favorite. You are so bright and observant and keen to communicate.

Some of your favorite past times are opening up the dishwasher and chucking all of the utensils on the floor, throwing things in the garbage, taking your diapers out of their packaging and flinging them across the floor, pulling the leaves off of our plants, shredding toilet paper, and snatching any stuffed animal Gwyn leaves lying about and running in the opposite direction as fast as your legs can carry you.

You love to be close. You could have a skinned knee, a full diaper, a hungry belly, a sleepy look and you are as happy and as cuddly as can be when you're in our arms. You adore balloons, music (especially Moana), dancing (twirling!), being outside, taking bubble baths, playing patty-cake, peek a boo, eating off of my plate, dumping and pouring everything in to anything, swinging, going down slides, bubbles, dirt, and being barefoot. You wake up from your naps with the tiniest curly tendrils, clutching your Lamby, wide eyed and rosy cheeked. Sometimes while you're nursing you'll glance up at me and smile, and my heart feels like it's going to burst. You're not content unless you are a part of all the action. You want to be bigger than your little body can handle. You climb on chairs, stand on the table, insist on feeding yourself with a fork and spoon, hold a banana with a peel on (no more cutting things into little pieces), put on your shoes, wash your body in the bath, and are completely distraught unless you are doing what you see Gwyn and Liam do. When strangers smile at your, your little eyebrows become storm clouds, your chin tucked into your chest, and you glare back or bury your face in my arms. 

You are curious, cautiously adventurous, and become really engaged in exploring your surroundings and completing little tasks -  like transferring fistfuls of dirt from one pot to another, or stacking cups. You know exactly when you begin tinkering with something you aren't supposed to because the second before you do it, you look over at me with this tight lipped grin and a glint in your eye. 

You are such a little love, and one of the brightest lights in our lives. Thank you for being ours, for loving us so fiercely, for trusting us so completely, for making us laugh every day. You are a dream. We adore you, Ellie.

Mom and Dad

kicking the third wheel to the curb

Written two Decembers ago (2014) -

we had a babysitter all lined up for this afternoon so sean and i could sneak away to the middle earth to watch smaug burn down lake town and thorin defend the lonely mountain.  then i got four broken hours of sleep, and decided it would be a good idea to take the wee ones to a couple different grocery stores after breakfast.  you know, because it's christmas week and we need oranges and chocolate milk and 32 different types of cheese.  by the time we got home, my well was completely dry.  read: stephanie is a hot mess, looking for an entire chocolate cake or taco stand to eat, and has a pin drop of patience.  the babes were spent too.  they were darlings while being lugged from aisle to aisle, but liam had been up since 5am and gwyn is fighting off a bug, so they were just as spent as i was, and by the time their coats hit the carpet all of their composure did too.  in the midst of lunchtime madness, sean and i got caught up in the whirlwind and i didn't have the energy to be compassionate, or understanding, or even care about communicating.  yet, somehow there was enough left in the well to keep me from ripping the refrigerator door off.  you know that icy, achy feeling in your head when you eat ice cream too fast?  the inside of my whole chest felt like that.

i contamplated canceling the babysitter, then felt panicky.  i thought about sitting on opposite ends of the theatre so i could still get out of the house but not have to share popcorn, then i felt prideful and foolish. my heart still frozen solid, but an afternoon out was too appealing to resist.

the dark movie theatre seemed to wipe our memories of the previous hour.  it felt like a relief.  we shared popcorn, held hands, whispered between scenes.  maybe all of the tension was left in the car, because once the smell of popcorn had cleared and our eyes adjusted to the light outside,  i felt heavier than ever.  $60 for an afternoon out at the movies.  expensive christmas potluck dinner debacles.  being introverted.  being sorry.  being angry.   the fear and stress of being starving students for the rest of our lives.  we allowed despair to be our third wheel, and suddenly ten years worth of worry and tension and sadness was suffocating us.  happy date night.

then the lock clicks in our front door and we walk into the warm light of our living room.  liam and gwyn's faces are beaming. they both  bolt in our direction and then we are all wrapped up together.  our home is safe and warm, twinkling with lights, decked with snowflakes and paper chains.  gifts from loved ones cover the carpet under our tree.  fresh fruits and vegetables, cold milk and cider, holiday treats delivered by a faithful home teacher fill the cupboards and cabinets in our kitchen.  liam and gwyn have bright eyes and healthy, pink cheeks.  they scarf down dinner, chatting a million miles an hour the whole time.  they are the most precious treasures, and i can't seem to remember what felt so hard during lunchtime, or why i felt so eager to escape, or sit across the theatre from sean.  he wraps his arms around me, and i feel myself begin to thaw, my heart yearning for hope and compassion, optimism, and gratitude.  i feel my strength gathering and the crushing thoughts that felt so heavy on the way home in the car begin to dissolve.  i look at the thankful tree sitting on our book stand, each leaf a memory of something we felt grateful for every day in november, and i feel like we could fill forests with all of the blessings we've been giving.  in a life so richly blessed, there is room for only hope and love and gratitude. 

the day we met gwyn

my fingertips grazed across velvet, silk, wool, and froze over the tweed.  one minute later, i went back to admiring stacks of hats adorned with ribbons, pendants, lace, and feathers.  i put a plum colored cap on my head, pulled the lace over my eyes, and looked in the mirror.  i was born in the wrong era.  twenties ragtime filled the little shop.  it sounded like it was playing through a gramophone, and i asked the gentleman behind the counter if he knew who was singing.  before he could reply, my body froze again and my feet grew roots.  he looked young, chill, and happy to have two people perusing his little shop.  i slowly let out a deep breath.  al jolson, he casually answered, adding that he created the station on pandora, but that i'd have to watch out because they like to sneak in michael buble every now and then.  we both scrunched our noses at that, and i made a mental note.  al jolson, good.  michael buble, bad.  sean and i worked our way through the tiny shop.  hats lined the walls, teetered in towers piled high to the ceiling, and spilled over the counter tops.  it was artfully chaotic.  sean was looking at the flat caps by the time i reached his side.  he immediately turned his attention from the tweed to me when he felt my fingers dig into his arm.  i held on tight while breathing my way through another minute.  we should probably go, i suggested.  he smiled and nodded.  well, thanks for all your help, he called over to the lad straightening a stack of hats.  we're gonna go have a baby now.  i looked up at sean in surprise just in time to catch his subtle crooked grin.  our new friend's parting smile vanished, and the color drained from his face.  as his alarmed gaze zeroed in on my belly, i could see the cartoon-ish thought bubble appear over his head.  wait, what?! please don't tell me you're going to have a baby in my store! (horrific scenes from movies flashing past like a flip book).  he readjusted his features when he saw us smiling (and not in the act of delivering a baby).  sean gave a parting nod, well, see ya later!  as we made our exit, the hat chap exclaimed uh, good luck, and thanks for letting me be a part of this! 

an hour earlier around 6pm, sean, mom, liam, and i were sitting around the table, tucking into lemon chicken and talking about our evening plans, when i felt my belly harden in a familiar way.  it was subtle, but unmistakable.  an inkling of pain, growing pressure, ebbing pressure, and then nothing.  it appeared and vanished right in the middle of our conversation, in between breaths, unnoticeable to everyone but me and baby b.  i soaked in the surprise, reveled in the feeling for a moment, and then let mum and sean in on the secret.  their excitement added to mine, and made it feel more real.

the sun hung low in the sky and lined the trees with gold.  it made our little apartment feel warm and the colors deep and rich.  toys and books were scattered on the floor, the dishwasher sloshed and hummed, and liam and mum were getting ready to run his bath.  sean and i had a date night planned and were taking full advantage of liam's obsession with grandma.  somewhere in between loading plates into the dishwasher and brushing my teeth, another baby bear hug wrapped around my middle. we deliberated if we should stay put because of baby girl's dinner development, but ultimately decided to go.  besides, moving would be better than sitting, and liam took nine hours to arrive.  i had plenty of time.

wondering what the night would bring, i slipped on my shoes and ran a brush through my hair, waiting for more inklings.  i planned everything out.  we'd walk, explore, grab a treat, and be home in time to take a lavender bath and settle in for the night.  mom suggested we bring along the hospital bags on our date, just in case.  i shrugged my shoulders, we'll be home in a couple of hours.  sean grabbed the bag.

i kissed liam good night and wrapped my arms around my mom.  she whispered in my hair, good luck, and a feeling of love and gratitude enveloped me.  i felt so grateful she was with us, so thankful liam was used to having her there, that he never wanted to leave her side, that she knew every bedtime song, all of his favorite snacks, and where to find his preschool and the library for story time.  i didn't have to spend any energy worrying about his happiness, because i knew his world would carry on without a blip ... until we got home.

i was in my 38th week, and approaching the very day in my pregnancy that i'd delivered liam two years earlier.   during our appointment the day before, dr. brewster flashed a smile and encouraged me to have the baby that weekend since she would be on call.  you know, you're so little and liam was so big, it's probably a good idea to have her sooner than later.  wink wink.  i smiled back.  oh yeah, i'll see what i can do.  as if i had any control.  i'd never felt more out of control, and never more okay with that.  the angst and element of surprise, the waiting for your story to unfold, the anticipation of finally meeting the tiny stranger that's been hiding inside for almost a year, makes bringing brand new life into the world feel like one of the most daring adventures filling up the pages of my life.

contractions came and went on our way to carmel.  the sky was clear and blue but for a few wispy clouds hanging low above the hills.  6 o'clock made monterey look even more beautiful.  buttery sunshine sparkled on the ocean, and i looked forward to walking the evening away with sean.  in our three years in monterey, we'd never explored carmel by the sea, and tonight felt as good a night as any.  we were searching for the hat shop, a little place tucked away in between bistros and boutiques.  after nestling into a parking spot on the street, our fingers intertwined and we made our way past ivy covered buildings, lamp lit restaurants, toy shops with wooden horses and bright window dressings, but no hat shop.  it felt so good to move, and i welcomed the meandering needed to find our elusive destination.  the familiar pressure continued to come and go every ten minutes, seven minutes, five minutes.  i walked my way through contractions from dolores street to 6th.  by the time we were on san carlos street i was swaying on the sidewalk, breathing deeply, holding tight to sean's arm while he bent over the stopwatch on his phone and the world bustled on around us.

we stumbled upon the hat shop a few footsteps up san carlos street.  i told sean i wouldn't be a moment, and would meet him by the flat caps.  holding my belly, i walked with purpose around an ivy covered wall, past the sound of clinking glasses and jumbled conversations, and into the neighboring restaurant's restroom.  i clutched the sink, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply while building pressure and scorching flames wrapped around my stomach and gripped my legs.  my body wanted to stiffen, to resist, to fight against the pain.  with every exhale i willed my muscles to relax, and tried to remind them that this pain was good and productive.  i invited it, embraced it, and imagined it opening up my body to make way for baby girl.  my baby girl!  she was on her way!  it was almost 7:30, just an hour and a half since that first little inkling at dinner.  my phone showed only three minutes since my last contraction.  the seconds ticked by, and a minute later the pain vanished, leaving me a little winded.  i emptied my bladder and slipped out the door, joining sean just in time to fall in love with a few hats and thoroughly alarm the shop owner.

i hooked my arm around sean's and updated him that our contractions had been three minutes apart and one minute long for a half an hour.  the pace we'd set to meander to the hat shop had shifted to a long synchronized stride back to the car.  we stopped a handful of times before reaching the meter, breathing, swaying, timing, kissing.   as soon as i sat down and clicked my seat belt, contractions slowed to seven minutes!  we were bewildered.  by the time we pulled out onto ocean avenue and made our way to the highway, we had no idea what to do.  three, four, five minutes ticked by without any inklings.  should we still go to the hospital?  should we go home?  i desperately wanted to soak in a bath.  should we grab a milkshake and see what the next hour would bring?  trees and exits and bits of ocean whizzed by outside the window.  we were leaning towards my waiting bath when my stopwatch said seven minutes twenty three seconds, and a swift and sudden pressure wrapped around my abdomen and bore down on my pelvis.  my breath caught in my chest.  i wanted to push.  go to the hospital! i shouted.  sean jerked the steering wheel hard right, and we flew across the pavement, making the exit just in time.

another powerful contraction enveloped my lower half just as sean was pulling into a parking spot, and i fought the urge to become rigid.  once the pressure vanished, i hopped out of the car and waddled to sean's side.  woo! that was a doozy!  sean smiled nervously and grabbed my hand. the sky was fading from creamy orange and cotton candy pink to a pale purple.  our hospital was cradled in emerald pine.  it felt secluded and cozy.  baby girl was going to be born here,  and a thrill of excitement shot up my spine.  i rested my arms on the high counter at the nurse's station and let my belly hang while sean relayed the evening's events.   i couldn't help but think of the last time we'd been here.  same belly.  different baby.  i was in a wheel chair, unable to walk, excited, terrified, curious, worried that we'd come all that way and they'd send us back home.  so much of it felt familiar as i breathed through another contraction by the counter, except this time i wasn't terrified.  we'd done this before.  we could do it again.

our nurse had short red hair, dark eyeliner, and a gorgeous smile.  she was kind and casual as she sent me to the bathroom with a gray hospital gown and instructions to strip down and meet her by the bed so she could measure me and monitor baby girl.  i sat on crisp white sheets and looked at all of the beeping machines, half happy to be at the birthing center, half wishing we were home.  it was eight o'clock.  had my first contraction really only been two hours ago?  surely we still had hours left.  would they send us back home?  our consistent, close contractions felt like real progress... but then they slowed down ... but the pressure was building.  my jumbled thoughts started spilling out, and i mused aloud, will we be going home after all?  i would give anything for a bath... and a bobby pin for my bangs!  if we stay i think we should keep walking ... yeah, i wanna walk.  maybe i'd have time to at least take a shower?  our nurse cleared up all of the confusion when she exclaimed with a smile, you're at an 8!  you're staying.  sean and i beamed ... and then i asked him to go to the car to search for a bobby pin.

five heartbeats later, i felt like i was going to be sick.  nausea twisted my stomach and made the room swim.  sean flew from the bedside to my side, and we swayed on the cold tile floor as another contraction overtook me.  the pressure intensified, my breathing staggered, my legs shook.  i couldn't stand anymore.  i sat on the edge of the bed, opened up, wiggled my toes on the tile, and let out a deep breath, waiting for the next wave.  it came faster than i'd anticipated, and i didn't feel ready.  i needed more time to catch my breath and gather my bearings.  does anyone have a bobby pin!?!   i was vaguely aware of nurses coming in and out of the room, and i sent each one on a hunt for something to hold back my blooming' hair!  moments later the nausea subsided and the pressure escalated.  it felt like all the gravity in the world gathered in my abdomen and threatened to crush me.  my legs trembled.  as with liam, during contractions, i didn't want distraction or touches or talking.  i just wanted to go inward and be still.   sean kept asking, what can i do? i wish i could have expressed that he was all i needed, and he was doing that perfectly.

each contraction began to feel like a rushing wave.  swelling.  building.  peaking.  crushing.  subsiding.  each more powerful than the one before.   at home, they lapped at my feet.  in carmel, they washed over me.  on the edge of the hospital bed, they pummeled me.  i was enveloped, immersed alone under the water until the wave receded and i could break the surface, and ready myself for the next.  there was no time to talk, or think, or scream.  there was only breathing, and swimming, and holding onto sean for dear life.  he was my life raft out there in the deep, and i knew he wouldn't let me drown.

the tide turned in the middle of my next contraction.  in a heartbeat i was no longer at the mercy of each wave.  my body became the wave.  i felt a great power gather in my lower abdomen and surge down to my toes.  it pushed and pulled like the tide, and in between moans i heard myself say, i'm pushing.  sean squeezed my hand.  suddenly the nurse was there.  stephanie, dr.  brewster is on her way.  just keep breathing.  her voice faded as another contraction began to swell and peak.  it rushed down me with the force of a terrible tsunami.  my body bore down.  stephanie, we need to get you in the bed.  i tried to move my legs, and shook my head.  i can't move.  two nurses scooped me up and set me on the bed.  i held tight to sean's hand and looked to the door to see my doctor in a green silk top and gold necklaces, tying on a baby blue surgical mask and pulling shoe covers over her jeans.  i could see her eyes smiling at me as she hopped on one leg trying to get on the last shoe cover.  just as my belly began to harden and the pressure began to swell, the nurses dimmed the lights and dr. brewster ran to her stool in front of me.  i kept waiting for the contraction to peak, but it just continued to build until it was so intense i felt i was standing on the crest of a wave powerful enough to engulf the whole world.  it was excruciating.  it was exhilarating.  it was terrifying.  then my water broke, and i felt fire.  a force rushed through my entire body, propelling very drop of my energy forward.  the contraction didn't relent.  the wave kept pounding and my body pushed and pushed and pushed through the contraction.  i roared.  voices in the room yelled, keep going, stephanie! keep pushing! she's here!  i felt her move through me.  i opened my eyes and there she was.  she was here.  she was tiny.  she had so much hair!  shock. elation. relief. exhaustion. joy. disbelief. more relief.  sean kissed my head.  we looked at the other with that wonder filled stare that comes after living through the unthinkable.  we've only done it once before.  i was his.  he was mine.  we just delivered our daughter.  and then we burst into laughter.  mine might have been mingled with sobs.  what just happened!?  everything unfolded so quickly, it was difficult to wrap my head around the details, and really feel like any of this was more than a dream.  we went out for a date and are coming home with a baby! 

the moment dr. brewster placed gwyn on my chest, i couldn't take my eyes off of her.  she was so soft and squishy and dark pink.  i gently kissed her silky cheek and breathed her in.  there is nothing in the world like that brand new baby smell.  i whispered, hello.  she opened her eyes and looked right into mine.  her gaze felt searching.  sean came close and told her he loved her.  she slowly moved her gaze from mine, tilted her chin up, and looked right at sean.  it was as if she knew us already.

we were wrapped in blankets.  the thick scratchy hospital kind with blue and pink stripes at the ends.  her skin felt so warm against mine.  she melted into me as i melted into the bed, letting relief and calm wash over me.  i was surprised all over again at how one moment you're pregnant and the next you're not.  how terrible, relentless pain can suddenly vanish.  every few moments i was doused with a little disbelief.  two and a half hours ago i was eating dinner, totally clueless that before going to bed that night my arms would be wrapped around the tiny, precious little being bumping around in my belly.  moments after we were wrapped up, dr. brewster starting working on repairs and gwyn started nursing.  i was a little startled when she initiated it, and pleasantly surprised at how naturally she nursed (a huge relief after the work of blazing that trail with liam).  after about forty five minutes, the nurses placed her under the heating lamps to cook her a little more because she couldn't keep her body temperature up.  every now and then we'd get a glimpse of her tiny toes in the air.  my arms ached for her.  i thought dr. brewster would never finish.  sean clutched my hand, kissed me, and wiped tears away as the slow work kept me wincing and gasping.

evening settled into night and the hospital seemed calm but for the occasional nurse walking past the door, and distant chatter from the nurses station.  the lights were dimmed.  a little patch of florescent hallway light spilled onto the ground from the crack in the door.  i was armed with a giant pink mug of fruit juice and pebble ice.  after warming up a bit, our baby girl made her way into sean's arms.  a familiar fire scorched my chest seeing that man hold our bundled baby for the first time.  babies fit so perfectly in those arms, and i was reminded how naturally fatherhood comes to him, and how lucky i am to have him.  baby girl literally gave a happy sigh when our nurse lowered her little body into the tub of warm water for her first bath.  we laughed and wondered if she'd go on loving bath time (she totally does). after an eventful entrance, everything was calm and the peace in the room felt potent.  i didn't' realize it at the time, but sean and i were more at ease this time around, and felt a little extra dose of confidence having already had a first night at the hospital with our brand new baby under our belt.  without any worry or wonder of the unknown, it freed up so much energy to just rest and celebrate and enjoy the little miracle snoozing by our bedside.

as midnight stretched on, our little bundle was wrapped up like a little caterpillar in a cocoon of blankets, sleeping soundly.  sean curled up on the pull out bed.  the room became still.  it was time to get cleaned up.  i'll never forget that shower,  it became a sanctuary, and my prayers rose with the steam.  thank you for my precious baby girl.  thank you for my miraculous body.  thank you for keeping us alive.  thank you for my seanee.  thank you for letting me be a mama.  thank you for this hot water, for lavender, for helping me remember to pack chocolate covered almonds.  thank you for hospital showers with benches and multiple faucets and warm towels.  thank you for my mom and for liam, tucked away happily at home.  they went on and on while scalding water soaked my hair and danced in puddles between my toes.  i could have sat there for years, praying, breathing, healing.

all of my adrenaline washed down the drain, and i became enveloped in heaviness.  everything felt so familiar.  the deep fatigue, the taste in my mouth, my raw throat, the smells, the blood, the swelling, my empty stomach stretched and scarred, the chalky skin and dark circles under my eyes, feeling like all of the life had drained out of me.  full and hallow all at once.  i recognized the girl in the mirror and gave her a weak smile.  i had seen her two years before.  it's a look i only have after giving birth.  it's subtle.  it's the look of brand new motherhood.  i felt as fierce as a warrior and as fragile as flower petals standing there in front of the mirror.  brushing my teeth drained the last little bit of reserves i had left.  my fingertips weighed a thousand pounds, my arms filled with lead, my legs still shaky.  sean came to the door and looked at me with happy, sleepy eyes.  i smiled back.  he picked up my brush on the counter, stood behind me, and began running it gently through my hair until the tangles gave way to smooth wet strands dripping down my back.  there was no conceivable way i could possibly love him more than in that moment.

sean and i slept on and off through the night, finely tuned to every squeak and grunt coming from our dozing daughter's direction.  she was the noisiest sleeper ever! i felt exhausted, but not sleepy, so i munched on chocolate almonds and held her close, watching her sleep, kissing her cheeks, breathing her in, wondering what liam would think of her in the morning, what this next week would look like, imagining all of the ways she would transform our family.  when she wasn't asleep, she was so alert.  i kept anticipating that first outburst of cries, but she was perfectly peaceful.  that peace permeated the whole room and made my heart feel so full i didn't think i could contain it.  we still hadn't chosen her name, but as i continued to pour out prayers over her,  gwyn kept creeping into the conversation.  i finally just asked, heavenly father, is she gwyn?  it felt so obvious after asking out loud.  she was not ivy or penelope or amellia or any of the other names sean and i had tucked away months before.  this was gwyneth.