This is happening.

I have so much to say and so much to keep to myself. I have a ton of blog drafts with words I tapped out with passion then shied away from sharing with all of you, My 5 Kind Blog Followers. But today it's happening. It might not be too passionate or revealing, but it's getting posted. Tonight my house is quiet. My littlest man is asleep in my bed, the next two had an early bedtime due to behavior that screamed "I'm tired," the oldest two are reading in bed, and Dave is on his monthly gym visit. So it's just me and when it's just me, and it's quiet, I find I have a lot to share.

Mandatory Baby Update 

(because he's growing so fast!)

In just a couple of days Zander will be 6 month old! We are all in love with this guy. He looks just like baby Haven did, except his ears stick out just slightly, just enough to be endearing but not enough that he'll need to grow into them. The kids are constantly in motion to entertain, distract and perform circus tricks for him. He rewards his brother's and sister's shenanigans with easy smiles and laughs.

Family Life Update

Just before the escalation of back-to-school we took a family vacation. From the moment we walked into our digs for the week and everyone was super impressed with my find -- which looked better in real life than in the pictures! -- to the end, it felt like a sweet end to a challenge of a summer. Some highlights were evenings on the beach with the kids, delicious food, and late night talks on the balcony with Dave. Now, I'm telling you it was sweet and it truly was. But don't believe for a second that our kids behaved like angels or we didn't have an argument about something menial or that one night at dinner I just wanted to be there without 4 little mouths asking 4,000 questions and I muttered to Dave, "These kids are really cramping our style." because they were, as kids have a tendency to do. So it was us and it was togetherness and it was near the ocean, so even with hiccups it was fantastic.

Well, Dave is home, distracting me with questions. I will leave you with a request. I hope to spend more time writing: I've always loved it and it soothes me. So, if you are so inspired, give me a writing topic. There are no wrong suggestions!

Baby Z. A little post cause I'm a little tired.

We are four weeks into life with baby Zander. He is hairy and tiny and beloved. He looks like a kitten when he's just waking and when he's tired he curls into a heap on my chest. Here is an interesting tid bit: transitioning a fifth child in = easiest transition. So far. But as I said, we are only 4 weeks in and he sleeps about 20 hours a day. Also, his four waking hours are mostly during the darkest part of the night so my judgment could be suffering from sleep deprivation.

I remember when my oldest son, Haven, was born how long those early weeks were. I remember dreading the night because I knew I would be tired but would not sleep enough. It isn't that now I love to be woken a thousand times per night, but I know for sure that this phase is short. It is only a matter of months until he will sleep for longer periods and then start to eat solid foods. I know this because this is my fourth time doing this. But you know, when I was a new mom to infant Haven if somebody told me, "Oh it goes fast. And PS, you'll do this with 3 more infants" I might have flipped out a little bit. Because when my mom told me "it'll get a little easier once he is 6 weeks old" I was 95% sure I would not survive the first 6 weeks of parenthood.

Everybody's Hungry Every Day

Today I want to talk about food, because I am a food person. I just finished a lunch of spicy corn chowder and spinach quiche, really enjoyed it and just want to share my excitement. I have some ideas, so here you go.

I find everybody has their homemakery thing that they really enjoy and are good at. I love to shop for, prepare and eat food, food and more food. Even when I'm not pregnant. Food is the thing I mostly keep up with on a consistent basis. It could be because we literally have to eat to survive that this has become such a priority. Or it could be that Dave and I both enjoy it and were raised by parents who love cooking and eating. Either way, it's central.

Here is what I do:

1. Plan. I am not naturally a detail person, but motherhood has forced me to hone this skill. I much prefer to go with the flow and hope for the best. Unfortunately this leads to a lot more stress than planning does, so I've tried to plan things more. If I get myself to 4:45 PM without a pre-established plan for dinner I can promise one of two things will happen: everyone will eat plain pasta or we will drop fifty bucks on take out. Either are fine occasionally, but terrible night after night. My plan includes a list of 7-10 dinners for which we have all of the ingredients. Then it takes about 20 seconds to decide what to make when it is time to start cooking.

2. Shop online. I just have to force myself to sit down and do this every 7-10 days. I use Shoprite but there are different regional options. For $6 I can select my groceries online then pick them up at the grocery store door. I guarantee I save that $6 and more by not wandering around the store and throwing all kinds of random, junky crap into my cart.

I save additionally by checking out what is on sale, then creating dinners based on that. Which brings me to the next step.

3. Use the interwebs and your kids for inspiration!! Most people have several go-to recipes that are tasty and quick and they make over and over and over. Wonderful. We have those too. I like to try new things or even just a new take on the same old thing, so I often use online recipes.

So, maybe your favorite fish is on sale this week. Google a recipe, add all of the ingredients to your virtual cart, and boom. Done. I usually email myself a list of links to the recipes I decide to try. This saves me from running to the store and spending $85 on something for dinner and then a "couple" other things we could use.

For a shortcut on the menu plan, sometimes I ask the kids or Dave what they'd like to have for dinner that week. It takes some of the thinking work off of my plate and the kids love when it's time for the dinner they chose. I can get 5 ideas out them in no time.

In all it might take me an hour or 90 minutes to plan and order our groceries for a week or so. It alleviates a ton of weeknight stress, so to me it's worth it.

I guess it's really pretty simple but it makes the craziest time of my day (4-6 PM) a little, tiny bit more sane. Plus, for all my hard work, I get to eat food I like.

Have any tips to add?

When I was pregnant with Haven I kept a weekly blog. It's so cute! Maiya also got her own blog, but with fewer entries. Probably because while she was no less amazing, pregnancy was less surprising and new. My pregnancy with Tristan got a few entries on the blog I already had (this one) and Baby #4 has had only a few references. So. This one is for me and him. Because in years to come, I'll be so glad it's here.

It is 5:00 AM and I'm awake because there are so many heartbeats in this house and one of them loves to wake me up at least once per night. Usually it's our cat. Tonight it was first Tristan and then our cat. After putting Tristan on the potty, in my bed, I fed the dang cat, put him outside and was then wide awake. So I lay in bed awake, pressed between two snoring dudes who both seemed to think the whole king size bed was for them, for an hour. I finally gave up and let Tristan and Dave enjoy their rest while I found something else to do.

Tonight Dave and I are going to a party which starts at 7:00 PM, which is exactly my typical wind down time. So this early wake up call might turn out to be even more of a bummer. But maybe I'll get a nap. I can't even type that with a straight face. I will not get a nap.

This pregnancy has been the easiest and the hardest. With every pregnancy I experience new weird things, all of which I decline to list. This time, however, it is the itchiest skin you ever did feel. I am covered in scratches. However, I have not had sciatic pain and I did not get that linea nigra (yes, I had to google that, no I'm not that technical - it is the dark line down the belly). I am generally uncomfortable and whining is my main mode of communication. As the doctor flatly told me: "everything has been stretched out multiple times, so it's going to be less comfortable. Stop getting pregnant if you don't want pregnancy symptoms." Okay, okay, he didn't say those exact words.

This pregnancy is similar to my pregnancy with Maiya because sitting for long stretches of the day is not an option. Energetic toddlers are not big fans of sitting mothers. This time around we have 2-year-old O with us (our precocious, I meant to say precious, foster daughter) and there is no slowing her down. She thinks it's hysterical when I call her and she runs in the opposite direction and the term "quiet hands" turns her hands manic. She loves to find the markers the older kids leave out and she can climb better than this guy:

So, I should probably thank her that I've only gained 30 pounds. Because the way I've been eating, I deserve a whole lot more. Fortunately she doles out a whole lot of energy and needs to refuel for 2 hours every afternoon, so I have a built-in rest time for myself and Tristan. We sit on the couch together. I read and like all of your posts on Facebook while he watches shows I would have NEVER let 3-year-old Haven watch (like Phineas and Ferb).

Another thing that has made this pregnancy easier is that I have help. I have three little servants who do whatever I ask them to without complaining and they do it impeccably. Okay. What, nobody believes me?! Okay, fine, they complain and make faces and do it halfway, but they are WAY more helpful than they were when I was pregnant with Tristan four years ago. For example, they vacuum and clean the bathrooms. Which is exactly why my bathrooms and floors are not clean an ideal way, but more of a theoretical way.

All of this to say that this pregnancy went real fast. Every time I complain that I have so much longer to go, a week or two fly by. The last time we had a sonogram the tech guessed that this is a big baby. Each of mine have been gradually bigger, so we'll see! More to come...

a really chill update because it's the chill time of day

As I put away size 3T clothes, it's hard to imagine Tristan is too big for them! It's fun to think about another little guy wearing some of them in a few years. I still don't think it all goes fast, per se, but it does go. Crazy days lead to beautiful memories. Our minds are kind to us in that way.

As we get ready for a fifth (!!!) child to join our family I realize we are moving away from Regular Size family to Big Family. I notice this most at dinner time and laundry time. We've grown out of meals like one pizza or one box of pasta (we heart gluten). Some of my recipes just don't cut it without the addition of toast at the last minute. As for laundry, well. Come on over, and we can work on it together. I'll make coffee.

Recently Maiya told me, "You're not the kind of person who likes to work." I believe she was referring to the fact that I am no longer working for pay (or so I hope). I left my counseling job when the office moved to a different town. I've been away from that wonderful place of solitude and productivity job for almost a whole year. I miss it, I thought I was good at it but it just does not fit into our life right now. Someday I'll go back and I'll have all this experience and wisdom and real-life knowledge and I'll be a lot more effective than I was before. (These are the kind promises I make to myself.) The truth is, that is one job I loved to work. I shall show my daughter just that at a later date.

Right now life is about pacing myself. Finally, as I prepare to bring a fourth baby into the world I realize the importance of rest. Yesterday I recited the events of my day to Dave, including, "Then I sat on the couch." He said, "You sat on the couch!?" I could not tell if he was incredulous or if it was mock-judgement. Our 2-year-old foster daughter naps religiously and Tristan's afternoons are often filled with his own nap or afternoon preschool, so this time of day is prize time. It is quiet. I barely answer the phone. I mostly eat and watch TV and GROW A PERSON. The girl who went to grad school, worked full time and grew a baby in her twenties is all grown up and she's learned the importance of rest and solitude. As the weather of the family, taking good care of myself is important. It's only taken me almost 9 years of motherhood to realize that one freak out from mom can turn a perfectly good day into a zone of tension and misery. So I rest. I catch up on Madame Secretary. I drink molasses milk and eat Halloween candy all by myself and I love it.

I recently heard a quote by Chuck Swindoll about the holiness of rest and recuperation. I don't mean to misquote him but that is the part I filed away. Whether that's what he meant or not, it is definitely holy when I can handle the drama and the intensity my family can provide without totally losing my you-know-what. I've tried losing my you-know-what and it kind of freaks everybody out, and that's not my goal.

Anyway, this is how I have decided to transition to Big Family. By chilling out. Taking everything but the family down a notch. As Dave Ramsey says, "Learn to say no. It's liberating." So if I say no to you or I don't volunteer it isn't because I'm so busy and crazy I can't get myself together to do it. Okay, that could totally be the case. But it is ALSO because I'm making this gang of six-almost-seven my priority. These days are filled with real beauty and I have to assume someday I will think it went too fast.

We did that hard thing and we survived

Most people don't do foster care because of the whole "good bye" thing. Nobody wants to give parent-level investment and then say good bye. I can tell you from first hand experience, moving a child out of your home is simply unnatural.

But we did it. Our girls left and now they've been gone five whole months; almost as long as they were with us! The other day we completed our re-certification, an annual meeting during which our home was rechecked for safety -- yes, smoke detectors still working, we still have empty beds, we have not adopted an exotic animal. We said, yes, it was crazy but we'll do it again!

"How was your first year as foster parents?" Our home finder asked me. It was a kind and open question and I just unloaded all of the good things that happened to us. It was our privilege. That's not pious BS; months after their departure I see what a mark they've left. I see that we were changed. We gained so much.

For example, when I was in the car alone today actual tears came to my eyes as Meghan Trainor came through the radio singing, "I'm all about that bass, bout that bass, no treble." I can remember when our girls first sang that song together, out of nowhere but in unison as sisters sometimes do, and my anxiety spiked. My babies are hearing a song about big butts and boys liking a little more bootie. How do I handle this? Shut it down? What will that say to the girls? But if I allow it...? Ohlordhavemercymakeitstop.

I was intense. I really like to do things exactly right; sometimes gray is a hard place for me. (I can hear my husband saying, "sometimes?") Fast forward a bunch of ups and downs and lessons learned and last week All About that Bass came on the radio. The kids and I sang that chorus loud and proud and giggling. Not because we are all about that bass, per se, but because it reminds us of two little girls who came into our family, messed us up, changed us, and then left.

Not only did I loosen up about songs regarding butts, but our kids' eyes were opened to people who are just different than us. One of our kids said, "When I first saw her, I wasn't sure if I could like her because she looked so different than me. Then I learned she's just like me." You know what, people? That's an invaluable lesson. That is a lesson about race that I couldn't teach. That was our benefit. That is a clear and definitive gain for our family.

Less definitive are the ways that we grew relationally. I'd like to say I have more patience, but I'm not sure it's that. It is more like when your skin is really, super stretched out and then just never quite holds onto things like it did pre-stretch. I was really stretched emotionally and the aftermath is that I just can't bother to get quite so worked up about every little thing. It's a little easier to let my family be people, it's a little easier to see where I should tune in and when to let it go. A little, I still have a long way to go and everyone I live with can vouch for that. But I consider moving in the right direction progress.

"It was so hard, it was really intense and someday when I look at a picture of all 5 kids together, I know I'll think they are all so little! That was crazy!" They were 2, 3, 4, 6 and 7! By the way, I happen to know lots of moms who could handle that many at those ages forever like it ain't no thing, and my hat is off to you and I'll bring you dinner sometime. So, I laughed during our meeting this week. You know, 5 months later, now that I know that they are doing okay with their family and so are we, I can laugh. I can see clearly it was more of a who-helped-who situation than it was us rescuing them.

Really good things come from really hard places. It's easy to let difficult things harden you, but if you lean in and let them soften you instead, goodness can happen. This is not where I pitch foster parenting to you, unless your one and only reason to say no is cause you "just couldn't" say goodbye. You could - you've said goodbye to people before and you will again. We did it and you totally can too!

This is where I pitch life to you. There will be times when you struggle, but down the pike you will check out your rear view mirror and I bet your heart will swell with gratitude for the journey. You will see how far you've come, you will see your muscles are stronger and your heart is softer and you are more flexible. You survived that hard thing and you are better because of it.

Helpful Mother's Day

A year ago I wrote about the woman whose children I might foster or adopt. Now I can match that imaginary woman with a face, a story and voice. I think of her often. I pray for her. It only takes a little to bring tears to my eyes when I think of her.

The ability to be the mom you want to be is a blessing. Some days it is a choice, but we make choices based on the strength inside of ourselves, the support around us, or a combination of both. We need one another.

This weekend I heard a birth mother speak about her experience with an unplanned pregnancy. She gave her child up for adoption not because she had several options and chose adoption as the best. She gave him up for adoption because an adoption agency was the only place where she felt support and acceptance during a crisis. 

(Insert long essay about the job of God's people to spend more time helping and less time picketing.)

Still with me? Nice! I propose that we take some time to support one another and to cheer for one another. High five to you if you've let your heart envelop a child, if you've given selflessly of time, energy and quiet. If you can feel what they mean when they say "your heart walks outside of your body" then I applaud you.

Now, we are real good at applauding people. That's why there is a Like button on Facebook! It's fun! Here's my Mother's Day challenge to all of the moms and like-moms: fetch yourself some help and support. Keep looking until you find it. Don't let it go. Find somebody or lots of some bodies you can call when you're not okay, when you're less than your best and when you (wait for it) need help.

Recently one of the social workers we work with mentioned to me, "you don't have to do everything yourself, but you try to. That's what you do." Aghast, I asked Dave how she could know this about me. He said, "she did our home study, she knows you." Dang it. They really got in my head.

So, if you happen to be like me and try to do everything yourself (and, ps, like, all the moms I know do) why don't you make it a point to ask for some help. I bet somebody will enjoy offering the support as much as you appreciate it.

Grace for the journey

There are so many reasons you should not become a foster parent, but they are not the reasons you first tell yourself. If you have a propensity for violence, if you are single and work 80 hours a week, if you are a non-recovering addict, if you are in jail or if you just don't like kids then please, do not become a foster parent (actually, if I may, do not become any kind of parent).

The reason I did not want to become a foster parent is probably the same as anybody else. I don't want to love then lose. I don't want instability. I don't want unpredictability. I don't want to get all that involved in somebody else's mess. I don't want to lose control at that level.

But then I realized we lived in home with plenty of space for more than 5 people. We had 3 open seats in the car. Becoming a foster parent was a relatively simple process of training and screening and paperwork. Foster children have their own health insurance and social services covers some of their expenses. After a series of events and conversations my mind changed. Suddenly it became as simple as: we can help so we will help.

Big changes often start with simple intentions. The desire to be helpful has forced me toward grace like never before. After six months as a foster parent I see my failures and limitations with alarming clarity. At first it consumed me with self doubt but since then has dragged me to the feet God, I am so aware of my need for grace. I pray way more than I ever have. I pray because I have to, not just because it feels good.

Big neon signs are pointing toward our two girls moving. It is very likely that I will experience what it is to move preschoolers out of my home. It will be unnatural and it will be unnerving. I think of the control I am about to lose. I think of the influence I want to have. I think about getting them tattooed with all of the things I want to make sure they know in years to come, but I assume social services would frown on that.

These next few weeks are the reason many people do not choose to be foster parents. To love and lose that love is the greatest fear we have, isn't it?  Foster care reminds me of the reality that we do not control how long we will have anyone we love. In foster care, this reality is just impossible to ignore. It is in conversations with social workers, it is in conversations with bio parents, it is in vacation planning and it is in little moments in between. Even though nothing is certain, we do not filter plans with our biological or adopted kids with, "If they're still here, then we will..." We just make plans with the beautiful abandon that we will be together as long as we live.

Whenever I think about the act of packing up two children so they can move out of my house, hugging them, smiling like everything will be okay and saying goodbye I kind of want to lay in my bed and sob. Visions of the next 15 years of their childhoods shoot through my mind and I wonder how their first day of kindergarten will go, and who will help them navigate middle school and their periods and shaving and mean girls and sports and difficult school projects. Will somebody comb their hair even when they hate it? Will somebody teach them that their worth is woven into their being and there isn't anything they can do to be worthless? Will somebody look into their tearful eyes and quivering lips and speak confidence into their little hearts? All I can hope is that something we have done will stick with them and that we might continue a relationship after they're gone. And all I can do is pray. Pray like never before.

In all of my anxiety and turmoil I know that these children, just like Haven, Maiya and Tristan, are God's children. When they go and if they go, they will literally go with God. In that there is the peace that "passes understanding."

So, here's the thing, I'm not sure how you could be a foster parents without God's help. People do it, but I don't know how. There are plenty of reasons to avoid it and to stick with the seemingly predictable lives we have. But grace is there for every journey, even the ones we just don't think we could ever do.

Growing

This won't be long, but I want to put a bookmark in the now. I just realized Haven's size 6 pajamas are too small for him and that he will turn 8 in a couple of weeks. He finally, at long last, has a couple of loose teeth. But, you see, I just gave birth to him. He was just as tiny as my brand new nephew Judah, like, a minute or two ago.  I just made a few dinners, gave a few baths, decorated some Christmas trees and went on a couple of play dates and now he is no longer an infant but halfway through second grade. So I want to just grab him and kiss him and hold his hand in public until he absolutely will not go for it any longer.

Since we became a foster family our life has been a little dr-a-ma-tic. But I notice bio kids are really good at foster care. And not just my kids. Two of my friends are foster moms and their kids are pretty awesome foster siblings too. They are so literal and in the here-and-now that they can embrace their new buddies relatively easily.

I offer ginger conversations about the unknown part of our future as a family of 7. We could revert to a family of 5 at some point. Or not. We won't know until we know. "What if they stay? What do you think that will be like? What if they can't go home?" I pose these open questions hoping to keep the reality of foster care on my children's radars. They are so less swayed by feelings than me. After one litany of questions Maiya looked at me like I'm nuts and said, "If they can't go home we'll adopt them and they'll stay forever." Like it was just that simple. Like that involved nothing intense at all.

At this moment we are a family of 7 and I will make some more dinners, bathe some kids, and schedule some more play dates and look up and we might be a family of 5 again. Or a family of 8. Or some larger number I am not prepared to think about. Just the picture of us invites stares and questions. We have some questionable behavior in public. We see the absolute best and worsts parts of ourselves on a pretty much daily basis. We are always behind on laundry, but there is always somebody to play with. Hide and seek is way better than it used to be. We have a little girl who laughs so loud it sounds like an emergency. We have another little girl who chirps, "I love ya, Dave!" every time anyone but she is in trouble. We have children who are growing in awareness and stretching their little hearts into big, deep spaces.

Most days I look like Haven does in this picture. I'm kind of covered in the day. But he didn't go to bed looking like that and he didn't wake the next morning covered in finger paint. Because things change. We take baths. Holidays come and go. Children grow. Situations change.

So today I place a bookmark in the messy pages of our life. I will probably never again have three preschoolers (many days I promise myself I won't). But there won't be better Christmases than there are during these young-children years. Someday there won't be so many kisses on my face or little hands reaching out to "help" me in the kitchen. So I will embrace it for what it is, because in the fog of my rear view mirror I will someday only remember the cuddles and not the sleepless nights.

On trust and love and God. Mostly God.

Here is what I cannot stop thinking about: the love of God. I grew up in church so the idea that God gave his son for my salvation is as ingrained in my memory as is the color of my eyes. But life lessons have a way of awakening the rote.

A main reason that young families do not do foster care is because they worry how their biological children will fare. This is a legitimate concern. In Another Place at the Table Kathy Harrison explains that it does not make sense to improve the welfare of one child to sacrifice another (paraphrased). Foster care only works if everyone in the home can be well cared for, protected, loved and attended to.

After a training class discussion about the impact of fostering on our biological kids Dave and I drove home saying, "We don't have to go through with it. We can still change our minds." It was the only time we had that discussion. Our only pause was to protect the three children we already had. It was only natural.

We decided what we were willing to handle and what issues we were unwilling to welcome in our home. We agreed it would be terribly hard to send a child away, but the safety of our kids was priority. They are young and they trust us to create a safe home for them. Even with these boundaries and expectations in place, I prayed and prayed about how Haven, Maiya and Tristan would manage. As I've mentioned I cannot describe the inner peace I had about becoming a foster family. I simply chose to have faith that we all, the five of us, were doing the right thing. We would manage details as best we could and the rest was in God's hands.

It has been a struggle, as I mentioned in my last post and in probably every conversation I've had since the end of September. Our standards are met in terms of the physical safety of everybody. However, when there are more children in the home, no matter how they got there, there is less one to one time with each. I usually believe this is so good for them. It is a fantastic life skill to know that the world is not all about you. I vacillate between confidence and anxiety. I remind myself of Peter dipping his toe into the water and having a little difficulty keeping his eyes on Jesus.

So, back to the love of God. What makes my eyes well up and brings a lump to my throat is the reality of John 3:16. I could quote it in my sleep: "For God so loved the world that he gave his only son...." I mean, who were we that God would love us, compared to his own son? We, as humans, did not even know what was good for us. We repeatedly chose self destruction. But for our sake God gave (to quote our pastor) his first and best. He did not hold back.

This kind of love is profound and beyond what is rational. It becomes more profound to me when I think of the knots in my stomach as I watched my biological children struggle during those early weeks. I felt their tension deep, deep in my body. It was different than the tears running down my face during the first phone call the girls had with a family member. It is almost like the difference between empathy and sympathy.

How revolutionary is the love of God. I mean, it isn't like God just took us in along with Jesus and raised us together. He literally sacrificed Jesus to save us. Sheesh.

I am not suggesting that we should sacrifice our children for other children. I'm with Kathy Harrison on that point--and probably the rest of the sane world. What I do know is that God sees a bigger picture than we do. God knew Jesus would live again and he knows our future too. As my children trust Dave and me to keep our home a safe place, I'm glad that we can trust God with the same confidence.

Maybe this realization was just for me and sounds super weird to anybody else. If you don't believe in Jesus I will just say this: the love of God is The Thing which has held me together throughout my life. It's as real as my heart beat and my lungs. And if you do believe, well, you probably already knew everything you just read. But here's to God meeting us where we are and speaking in ways we understand.

parenting, faith and the ymca

This morning I had some quiet time at the YMCA. (If you ask me about the YMCA you might get more information than you care for. So for the sake of brevity I'll just say I understand why the Village People wrote a song about it.) But this is not about the YMCA, except that I was there and I ran.

I am not a good runner, but I appreciate the single-mindedness of it. Lately there are so many things to think about all the time. My mind is busy from the moment I wake up until I tuck five little people into bed at night. Laundry. Food.Cleaning. Marriage. Appointments. Repairs. Bills. Social services. Activities. Play with kids. Discipline kids. Bathe kids. The future. Vacations. On the treadmill there is only one thing: one step in front of another.

There is a seasoned foster mom who goes to our church. I barely know her but I've latched onto her and plagued her with questions. She's given me support and tips and I lap it up like a hungry kitten. She recently responded to my tears and self doubt with a smile and "It's like you have a huge mirror shoved in your face." So ... no solutions this time, huh? Oookayyyy.

She's right. The mirror she speaks of is more like a full size mirror in a public bathroom with bad lighting. Suddenly I can see the ugliest parts of myself with alarming clarity. It makes me want to run. Fast.

We signed up to be foster parents because we have so much and we felt we had so much to give. Turns out we were wrong. Whatever reservoir of patience, grace and kindness we had got slurped up in the first, oh, 24 hours. So, we have had to ask God for help like never before. We cannot do this on our own. We cannot even do this with a little help from our friends. We can only move forward because of God's own patience, grace and kindness toward us. It is a reality we have to connect to constantly. It is hard to explain but some of you know what I mean.

I don't mean to turn this back into a commercial for the Y, but exercise has been an avenue of grace for me. I joined about a month into fostering. My children have a happy place to play while I focus on one thing for a little while. I run, if I may, in the right direction. It is therapeutic and calming and brings me closer to the person I am not but the person I hope to be.

My faith and heart are stretching, and it doesn't always feel good. On the treadmill it hurts a little but as my heart rate rises so does my confidence that I can keep going just a little bit longer.

Nothing Worth Doing is Ever Easy

Well, we got the phone call from the Department of Social Services and we said yes. I have so many things on my mind about our first week as a foster family. However, most of the stories are not my stories; they are our foster daughters' stories, and they are not mine to share.

I will share my own story. It took a shorter amount of time than I care to share for me to think, "What have I gotten myself into?" It wasn't anything about the two cherubs that were brought to my house last Friday; one feverish and both wary. It was the system. It was the fact that I now had two little girls whom I did not know and did not know me at my house. Indefinitely.  I was not given a lot of information. I kind of just had to trust that social services made the right call. I had to trust that my house was safer than their house right now and that was all that mattered.

So we went to the doctor for the fever, bathed, went clothes shopping, played outside, tried to make drinking water fun, styled hair, taught the difference between a cow and an elephant, read bedtime stories, said no, set their favorite show to tape on the DVR, watched Haven and Maiya's soccer games, went to church and went on play dates. By day 2 they decided to call me Titi (Spanish for Auntie) and by day 3 they said, "I love you Titi."

If that all sounds sunny, please do not go sign up to be a foster parent and yell at me when your house is turned upside down. Lots of moments of the week were sweet, but the air is thick with transition and uncertainty. Everybody needs time to talk (me especially). Everybody needs to know they are special, valuable and important. I have spent most of the week thinking, "Who doesn't feel special right now?" and racking my brain for ways to fix that.

I asked one of our (bio) kids how he/she felt and he/she said, "Mom, we just talked about it!" I guess I've been a little intense myself.

I need a neon flashing sign on a t-shirt that says, "You're super special and I'm so glad you're in this family." For my own peace of mind.

I am not a fan of uncertainty, lack of control, or transition. Given that, one might wonder why we became foster parents. We couldn't not. I cannot explain it another way. I believe in God calling us to do certain things and, for Dave and me, this was one of those things. I love the quote, "Nothing worth doing is ever easy."

At the end of one day this week I felt so empty. I needed a sign, even post-it size, to show me this was the right thing. As I cared for one of the little girls we talked. I can't share her story, but she gave me shred of information that brought tears to my eyes. I was so glad she was there with me. For however long we can offer a shelter, we will.

We named our first son Haven because we wanted to create just that for ourselves and our children. We felt the strength of comfort and safety was a great place to spend our lives. As we move forward we continue to work toward that environment. If you pray, pray for us. This is a journey and some days have worse weather than others. It is not easy; it's just worth it.

5 reasons to stop comparing your life to your Facebook friend’s life

I don't know about you - no wait, I do know about you: you’re on Facebook.  Anyway, my Facebook feed is filled with so many stories that scare me and lure me in: Nine reasons why your water is making you sick! The fifteen most disgusting places to vacation! Seven signs you have cancer and don’t even know it! The three foods that will ensure your child does not grow up to be self- indulgent, fast-food eating, lazy, cruel person! I exaggerate, but still. You get it because on Facebook you get it too.

I don’t really have a list of 5 things for you to read. But I thought the title might get you to click. I guess it did. Know why? Because it sounds like every other title in your feed and it popped up right below a picture of your ex-boyfriend’s 12-month old who is already potty trained. Dare I say there is too much information at our fingertips?

When we are bored we scroll through the newest updates from our 271 “friends.” While Facebook provides a connection it also provides a window. It’s a window that was covered with curtains a decade ago, a window in which only a handful of close friends were invited to look.

I was happy to have it when I saw my 30-some cousins at my Grandma’s 90^th birthday party. Most of them I had not seen in a decade, but I recognized them and even their children, thanks to Facebook.

We used to exclusively write about our feelings in journals and greeting cards. Now we can see the beautiful things couples write to each other on birthdays and anniversaries; we see children grow with each birthday and read the moving sentiment their parent writes. You see the homes purchased, vacations experienced, the growing pregnant bellies. You see a lot and you and I can start to think it is reality. Not just a piece of reality.

We are created to learn from one another. The danger comes when we do not filter what we are “learning.” In addition to all that fun stuff your college roommate’s neighbor is doing this summer, she’s also taking out the trash, fighting with her husband and treating a yeast infection.  So keep in mind, while you are privy to So Much More of the beautiful moments of your acquaintance’s lives, they still have drudgery, just like you.

My life is beautiful, difficult, exciting, boring and just plain life. I bet yours it too. So next time you scroll through that feed while you’re cooking dinner and pouring milk for your toddler – oh that was me, you’re probably doing it from a private island while pool boys respond to your every whim, but anyway, chin up. Your life is beautiful, difficult, exciting and boring too. None of our lives are as fantastic as they appear on Facebook. Go enjoy yours!

Happy Mother's Day, Moms!

Lately I am struck by the privilege it is to be on the journey of motherhood. With Mother's Day just three sleeps away, I feel it apropos to share my stricken state with you - my 3 remaining readers.

With five foster classes done, we've learned the importance of a child's connection with the biological family. We've learned skills to keep that connection even when a child enters foster care. I am reminded again of the great power of motherhood. It is power we are not entitled to, it just exists with the birth of a child. It is our privilege to be a parent and we fill a gap our child will always feel without us.

Motherhood is many things. It is work and exhaustion and too many days without a shower. Sometimes it is a gift someone dropped in the mud or forgot to wrap, but it is still, truly, a gift. I've had hard, add-a-wrinkle-to-my-forehead days but recently I've had beautiful moments with each of my children. These are the moments I think of when I say that I love being a mom.


Haven: When I tucked him in bed last night he talked to me about his book, he kissed my face many times, then as I left he watched me leave. I turned around and he was smiling at me.

Maiya: Yesterday she belted out: "our mom is an awesome mom" complete with hand motions.

Tristan: He had to "beep" (poop, for any non-Tristanese speakers among us). I asked if he wanted to sit on the toilet and when I perched his tiny hienie on the seat he threw his arms around my neck. We sat like that for a while, his arms clinging to me as he tried something new.

These little moments are set between the bickering about who got a larger scoop of ice cream. They are interspersed around the frustration I feel when I hear my 2-year-old yell, "You mean!" when he does not get what he wants. They insulate me in the mayhem of dinner prep and late-afternoon meltdowns.

My life as a mom is a privilege. It is not simple or easy or laughing all day in the sunshine. The responsibility is profound but the ability to shoulder that responsibility even more so.  There is so much that goes into my ability to sustain as a mom, and some of those things are outside of my control. The ability to enjoy the good moments and tolerate the bad ones takes an inner strength cultivated by the support of family and friends. My husband is loving and helpful and more than I could have predicted when I picked him out thirteen years ago. The education I chose prepared me cognitively for the task. I have an ongoing sense of hope because of my faith in God. I am blessed to (most days) have the physical and emotional resources to be the kind of mom I want to be.

I think of biological mothers who will some day know me as the woman who has custody of her child. I think of the support they might not have. I think of the deep loss of losing their child, even if only for a time.

Happy mother's day to the moms who have the resources to be the moms they want to be, and happy mother's day to the ones who don't. May we embrace our task. May we see these wild, beautiful creatures for the gifts they are and treat them as such.

Expecting Love

We are expecting, but not the way we did three times before. We are choosing the unknown to extend love outside of our biological family. I am excited and scared and hopeful and confident about the choice.

A new person or people will join our family sometime in the next several months. It could be a boy, a girl, two boys, two girls. It could be an infant, or it could be a preschooler. Or both. They could stay with us for days, or forever. In short, we are moving toward foster care/adoption.

Yesterday I taught Haven and Maiya the definitions of adopted, foster and biological children. I asked them why children go into foster care and their answers were clear and concise. We brainstormed about why fostering children might be fun and why it might be hard. One is more excited than the other, which is interesting. It was just that way when I was pregnant with Tristan. Once he was born, they swapped and one was more excited and the other more cautious until we adjusted to the change.

Part of our foster/adopt application included a family drawing by each of the kids. They were asked to include the foster child or children in the drawing and write something if they wanted to. Maiya drew a picture of Dave and Tristan in the house, me outside, and prominently, in the middle of the page, Haven, another little girl and herself walking on a huge rainbow. The little girl was jumping rope and smiling. Haven's drawing included 7 of us lined up, smiling. Tristan was tucked between Dave and me and Haven, Maiya and 2 foster children were lined up next to us. His caption read, "I will love to have a new part of the family." Tristan's picture was just as heartfelt, I'm sure, but more difficult to decipher.

So far Dave and I attended 2 foster parent classes. These classes are meant to educate and scare us. They are meant to bring the reality of foster care into focus. This week a class member asked the insightful question, "How do we love these children like they are our own with the knowledge they may not always be with us?" There is only one answer to this: prepare to be hurt.

Who would do this?! Who opts for pain? I see lots of people in history who gave up their comfort for the benefit of another, and our family is honored to learn from their remarkable legacies. When we lived in New Jersey we went to a church where the pastor reminded us over and over again, "If you are blessed, it is so that you can be a blessing." We now go to a church in New York and the pastor uses a long piece of rope as the church "mascot." In the center of the rope is about an inch of black electrical tape. This tape represents our life and the rope represents eternity. We spend so much time focusing on the life we have and spend little time thinking about what will happen after it ends.

Whether you believe in God and a spiritual eternity or not, we all know that how we live now impacts others after we are gone. I want to get to the end of my black tape and know that I was more than just happy, more than just comfortable.

This Easter I am thinking about sacrificial love. Love which stays and looks at a broken and selfish person (newsflash: that's all of us) and says, "I see you completely and I love you." That is the kind of love that revolutionizes. This is the way God loves us all. It is the kind of love that is worth sowing into a person, even if we don't get to see what it grows. So, we are expecting. We do not know who to expect, but know we can expect to learn a lot, we can expect to grow. Most of all, we can expect to love.

a note from the trenches

Children have a way of pushing you to the very edge of yourself then watching with bated breath to see if you hang on or fall. Lately I've been dangling, hoping my fingernails will hang on while I figure out how to throw myself back to the ledge. Not all time or every day, but more often than usual.

Each of our children has their beautiful moments, the memories of which I dig for while I'm hanging on the edge of myself. One of our children has been a little challenging lately. And to save him/her future embarrassment, I will leave it at that.

We had a hanging-off-the-edge morning, all of us tired and cranky and unhappy to eat any of the food in the refrigerator. We had one colossal meltdown and a few smaller, easy-to-squelch ones. I started making a list of all the things we need to change to avoid this kind of situation in the future. Dave reeled me in with a, "This is the kind of day we need to get through without any major damage, not the kind of day to make plans for the future." 

For some reason, my children behave better outside of the house than inside. Kids vary on this, but this happens to be how mine roll. So we set out to the Apple Fest, our town's annual celebration of the harvest of (drum roll please) apples. It is celebrated with local bands, $7 amusement park rides, and a smorgasbord of craft and food vendors and barely an apple in sight. We laid out clear expectations for behavior, snagged a sweet parking spot in Rebecca and Phil's driveway and headed toward the action.

We lasted several hours and found ourselves in line for a Jamaican dinner. The anticipated meltdown happened and Dave took the Melted Child to the car. When I got to the front of the line, I placed my order and asked if they'd been busy all day.

"Yes, all day." He paused, "It's a blessin'. The good Lord heard my prayer and let the rain hold."

He was so pleasant for a man standing on his feet, serving food to a constant line of people. So not entitled. After I gathered my food and settled myself and two remaining kids on the curb I wondered when when the last time was that I considered my long, hard days of work a blessing. I am one to count my blessings. I cry when I focus on the weight of the goodness that God put in my life. But the work that goes along with it? There is so much more to parenting than taking pictures and fun trips with my children. So much more to marriage than date night and sharing a home. So much more to living in a house I love than relaxing in it. Life is work; it is effort and commitment and doing what needs to be done.

According to the Jamaican man at the Apple Fest (the one who makes incredible fried plantains and beef patties), work is a blessin'. It is God keeping the rain from falling so that we can work all day. I would love to have this attitude. I would love to look at my responsibilities as a blessing, a gift. Especially the ones that involve the guidance of a child who will not behave well. And maybe the ones that involve cleaning it all again and again. And even the ones that are gross or rote or difficult. Can I just thank God that I have the opportunity to do this work? This reminds me of the verse in Colosians 3:23 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters."

Tomorrow I start a new week. I have a lot to do, I imagine that you do too. Let's put on the sunglasses which allow us to see it all as a blessing. I imagine that will make for a more pleasant Monday.

Waves

     We spent a week by the ocean. We had a view of the sea from the fifth floor balcony of our hotel room. Most days the sea and sky matched in a grayish cloudy hue and the white crest of the waves defined the shore. The sun poked through the clouds enough to warm us and send us into the water for cool relief.

        Dave took a picture of me at the ocean a couple of years ago. My hands are on my hips, my back is toward him and I am looking out at the expanse of ocean. I remember that moment when I felt so small standing in a space so large. My concerns shrunk, my appreciation deepened.

        I love the ocean but I was terrified of waves as a child. And as an adult. I went out too far but not far enough. I was turned and choked by the crashing waves. It made me afraid and avoidant. I clung to the sand and the ankle-deep water. This fear dampened me as I watched my six-year-old enjoy the ocean last week.

     Haven was insatiably fearless with his boogie board. I watched him whirl inside a surprisingly big wave, sure he would come out crying and spitting. Instead, he pulled his body upright and screamed, in the highest- and loudest-pitched voice possible, "That was totally wicked!" and tugged his boogie board out to "catch" another wave. What makes one child terrified by waves and another empowered? I really didn't feel like encroaching on the depths of myself, but I decided it was time to quell my terror.

    That afternoon I spotted a gray-haired woman floated further than most of the swimmers. I pushed myself out into the water where she was. "Are you getting hit a lot out here?"

     "No, my hair isn't even wet."

     I nodded and floated on the swelling water. I watched the people with boogie boards and bravery allow the waves to crash them, turn them, rock them. Most of them squealed and laughed and return for more, as Haven had. I stayed in the calm.

     "I'm only staying out this far because you are." I told the woman who didn't realize she'd become my new friend. "I'm terrified of waves." 

     "Ok!" She wasn't much for conversation so I shut it until I saw the water begin to rise higher, higher, higher right near us. Higher than I was brave or knowledgeable enough to handle. Higher and higher. "Oh boy." I called out. A note of fear. A statement of helplessness. I thought to run to the shore.

     "Just turn your back to it and jump." Her voice was calm and confident and I clung to it like I would have clung to her arm had we actually been friends. I turned, I jumped, I was pulled up and let down. And it was over. Had I run to the shore, I would have gotten just far enough to be hit. 

     Isn't this what friendships are made of? I think of the many friends who have stood by me, promising they've done this, they can relate, and it actually turns out to be okay. I have made it through my life because of friends like this. I think of names that will always be blazoned on my heart for the beautiful souls they represent. Those voices which held me up in my weak moments and smiled gleefully in my triumphs. The promises that I was strong enough, beautiful enough, patient enough elevated me to meet my life without running. Just turn your back to it and jump. You totally got this. Or, if nothing else, I am here. 

    So now I can do the waves with my son. I will laugh and scream and love it. 

Grace.

Some days I look for grace and other days it is everywhere, like crumbs on the kitchen floor. Today, I had to look. But not too far and not too hard.

The weather lately is mid 70's and sunny. This is hardly typical for the East coast in August, but most of us  take it without comment and hope it doesn't change. This is the kind of weather that beckons me into it then riddles me with guilt if I have to stay inside.

Today began with a smear of diarrhea across my forearm before I had my first cup of coffee. Quickly I scrubbed my arm and then tackled my baby with half a container of wipes and new diaper. Maiya begged me to download another game to my iPhone while Haven asked to take a turn with the phone as I stumbled into the kitchen toward my coffee. Once again I stayed up too late last night, clinging to those precious quiet hours as long as I could keep my eyes open. When my alarm sounded, through the static of the baby monitor, I rethought that choice for about the millionth time.

I sipped my coffee on the front porch, my favorite place in the morning. Tristan usually runs around barefooted, back and forth. Haven and Maiya sometimes join us, rocking in the chair opposite me, asking when they can watch TV or see their friends. Tristan climbed down the steps into the wet grass this morning. I expected him to recoil at the dampness, but he trotted through with a big smile. He stumbled and soaked his pants, but stood up and carried on toward whatever discovery lie ahead. For Tristan, discomfort is not deterrent to adventure.

Grace. That glimmer of beauty in a toddler's determination. That moment I can see past the inconvenience of changing his clothes (again) and the miracle that he is moving forward toward improvement and growth. 

I spent almost two hours waiting in the department of motor vehicle today. I visited the one in New Jersey and the one in New York. With three children. Somehow I have managed to come up short with documentation or my husband's presence on my two prior visits to the DMV.

"It's his car too. He has to be here." She said it like I was a scam artist, trying to sneak something past my husband by way of getting a copy of the car title.

"I live an hour away. And this is my second time here."

"There's nothing I can do."

I took the quickest deep breath I could, thanked her for the smidge of help she'd provided and corralled my gang back to the car.

All I would be able to do today is change my NJ license to a NY license. I hoped to switch the car registrations too. I thought of the harried mess I was that morning, trying to gather my documents. I could not find my license anywhere. I had lost it previously, replaced it and the replacement was gone. My husband helped me search. I became more and more irate with myself and sent the kids to the car to wait. This is a practice my mother used to do. I hated it then but I get it now. She'd send us to the car and after a ten minute wait, we would see her finally emerge with her arms full of the gear she would need to get us through the next several hours.

My frustration with myself became paramount but as I drove between the DMVs later that day, I thought of my husband's gentle help. We never found the license and this was truly a silly mistake on my part. But he didn't criticize, he didn't ask how I could be so absentminded. He just helped me look then wished me luck when I set out to the DMV. I felt so bad, but he didn't push me down further. He accepted my error and helped me.

Grace. That moment my limitations frustrate me but don't define me.

Our final stop: motor vehicle in Middletown, NY. Heavenhelpus. The parking lot was full and guilt dripped down my back as we walked through the beautiful day into the dank, crowded state building. I took a number. They have a tricky number system, and I thought I was only fifth in line, but it turned out I was probably fiftieth. I compulsively fed Cheerios to Tristan and bit my nails, hoping the battery on my cell phone would hold out as long this line. Haven and Maiya sat quietly, passing my phone between them, trying to beat the Candy Crush level I've been stuck on for weeks. I followed Tristan around the room for a while, he was thrilled, walking up to strangers, tapping them higher on the thigh than they might like then bolting off to another new face. I said a lot of sorrys and offered tiny laughs. I got a few dirty looks, but not more than I could handle. Eventually I saw that the clock was closing in on an hour of wait time. My phone battery died and I became wary of walking around apologizing to every grumpy person in the waiting room. I scooped Tristan into my arms and tried to console him with water. Haven was suddenly intensely bored and I tried to amuse him with alphabet I Spy. We got to G and then he stopped responding. Tristan began to scream, maniacal screams like a person who is confined against their will. Which he was. I decided to let him scream. Interestingly, it was our turn in five minutes.

As I hurried through a vision test and photo -- in which I did not look as awful as I felt, I might add -- the kids ambled around me and Tristan continued to moan.

"Mom! Can I go say goodbye to my new friend?" Maiya asked. I nodded and she ran to the blonde four-year-old she was chatting with during the time I had worked to keep Tristan's voice and my blood pressure down. The girls had learned they live in the same town. They laughed when the other little girl said Maiya could drive to her house and Maiya said she couldn't drive yet. They discussed the designs on their shirts.

Grace. That moment I see my little girl created fun in the chaos of waiting. My little girl who is often shy made a "new friend" at the ugly, boring DMV. 

This was not the best day of our summer vacation. But I now have a New York driver's license. (Actually, I have a temporary license and the new one will come in the mail. What in the world?!) More than the state of my driver's license, I was reminded of the grace that is present in the humdrum moments of life. There is beauty and hope and perseverance. If there weren't, I'd consider finding a babysitter next time I have to go to the DMV.

Aftermath of Goodness.

I was not sure how to follow up that last post, so that is why it took a while. All I will say is that we have moved on from where we were in March. And by moved on I mean that we literally moved out of the little house in the big woods into a big house in a small town. I will share the details of our move with you if you would like, but in short, the whole process was a miracle to me. It was one of those things I will always reference when I am thinking of times in my life when I knew God helped us. And that just is what it is.

So here we are. Happy as busy little clams. Haven finished Kindergarten and can now read much better than I anticipated. He sounds out my texts messages and lists and mail. It's really ... wonderful. The most wonderful part, really, is seeing him read to Maiya or Tristan. And what tops that is when he writes notes with his developing spelling skills and 6-year-old imagination. We have so many written declaration of love for Dave and me, his dreams of what he will do as an adult and he has started a journal. I try not to ask what he writes in it. But sometimes I ask. Points because I always end my question with a quick, "youdon'thavetotellme." But he does anyway. For now.

Maiya will begin Kindergarten in the Fall. She carries a confidence I hope she can both maintain and manage. Every day this week, while leaving Vacation Bible School, a boy twice her age said goodbye to her and they high-fived. I arch my eye brow at him and Maiya can't ever remember his name, but I hope this isn't a sign of what's to come. She is the sweetest big sister, bias admitted and owned. Just the other day I caught her reaching out to catch Tristan, sing-songing to him, "Don't worry T-T, Mai-Mai is here." He was fully comforted by her presence. She is an artist and I am scrambling to give her little projects and ongoing encouragement, even in the wake of the shreds of art that scatter all corners of the house. Yesterday she set herself up with water colors and painted what I think are lovely pictures for her dear friends, Emily and Adrienne.

Tristan seems thrilled with his lot in life. Most days. The days in which he plays the roll of a big kid, laughing at Haven's jokes and walking around while gripping one of our hands, he is happy and proud. There are days he just wants to live on my hip. On those days, if I put him down he lays prostrate on the floor, screaming loud enough to shock the distant neighbors. So far, he says a few words: Dada, hot, this and Iya (Maiya). He called for Dave first. It is what it is. Yesterday, as I put him in the car he breathed out the word "hhhoootttt" like it was an experience and not a word. Which, in that case, it was. Typically he saves that word for steam rising from a boiling pot. Everything is "this," punctuated by an outstretched arm and chubby pointer finger. He uses the word instead of every other word in the English language (save for the all important Dada, Iya and hot). He yells for Maiya like they are both in a gang and he's got something major to discuss with her. His voice gets husky and serious and authoritative when he says, "Iya!" Haven and I are waiting to hear our names on his lips. He did crawl toward me crying, "Nonnie" and he looked at Haven and said "Iya" so we like to think he's reaching out to us with words as well.

That is my little update on my adorables. Life is great on a lot of days and super crazy on others. No matter what is happening, once everyone is tucked in bed and I have two seconds to reflect on the wonder that is my life, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. Miracles are all around me. They're all around you too.

the thing.

I am sick with anticipation and gratitude. In turn my heart pounds with fear and rests in gratitude for unspeakable blessings. This dichotomy renders me a little moody and in need of lots of grace from my sweet and stable husband.

I am not a master at handling the unknown or what is otherwise outside of my control. The illusion of control entices me like a fabulous pair of shoes I would know not how to wear. Should these shoes show up in my closet I would surely wear them with everything I own and ruin them post haste. I want control, but I recognize that it just isn't something that suits my wardrobe. Unfortunately.

"Dave, are you stressed out?" I ask him about the Thing that has caffeinated my nights and monopolized my thoughts. He shrugs, "It's going as we thought." He's sleeping well, I can tell. He's not eyeing shoes that can't be his. I am immediately furious at his calm and also soothed by it. "I guess." I can only mutter, furrowing my worried eyebrows back into place.

At once I am consumed with the Thing and I am growing in gratitude, patience, hope. I feel my chest intake a deeper breath and I feel my teeth close over my tongue when it wants to snap something unhelpful. I worry and I stress. I take in the beauty of my son's smile even when sick with the flu. Then I am distracted by anxiety. I inhale the scent of my daughter when she and her little-pink-blanks cuddle to me. I make hollow plans. I memorize the way my baby's eyebrows briefly lift when he catches my eye, mid-crawl-race and he smiles. I pace. I let my heart flood with gratitude for the consistent and unrelenting love of my husband. I worry. These moments are yoga; they are resting in an uncomfortable position and learning to embrace it.

You want to know what the Thing is. You are scanning the words until I get to some kind of big reveal. It doesn't matter here. You have a Thing too. There is something that could weigh you down so low that you can't see the majesty in your life. I think of the beautiful promise Jesus made, "Come to me, all you who are weary ... and I will give you rest." I can think of this and I can loosen my grip on elusive control. What I need more than certainty, really, is rest. I need calm. I need this moment now. I need teething and tantrums and phone calls and sweeping the floor again and rewashing laundry that sat in the washer too long. I need my life here and now. This beautiful, messy, sticky, unnerving gift is all mine. A fabulous pair of shoes would be much easier.