little feet in my house

the mountains melt like wax.

2012-03-02T01:37:00.001-08:00

our adoption story.

Goodness gracious. I just typed that title and promptly the thoughts popped into my head what if we never qualify? what if they turn us down? what if this doesn't go anywhere? what if our adoption story only. goes. this. far?

And to those thoughts, I say have faith. God knows what He wants for us, for a child out there. If our story only goes as far as tear-filled prayers and sobs for waiting children, then so be it.

If it goes farther, Father - we are ready.

Ah, here are the tears, arriving as if on cue. And now I am about to tell you an amazing story.

I posted my last blog post just before we received the news that my last remaining grandparent had passed away. My Granny Rutherford, my dad's mother. I wish I had known her heart better in this life. It was such a blessing to make the drive across the mountains, the prairies, back to my homeland, her homeland.

To be with my family as we said goodbye to her ashes in a vase, to embrace and be embraced by one another and a community--it was beautiful. The funeral was swift and not overly emotional, much like Grandma. I shed my own tears over her life, her legacy, the loss--but looking through her impeccably kept photo albums... well. Whoosh. I fell in love with this little lady, and saw sides of her I never ever knew existed.

Grandma made all of these sweaters for the boys. My Dad is the littlest guy.

She was a pioneer. She was a teacher. She was a wife, and a mother. She made things with her hands. She created many, many things. She lived her entire years of schooling as the only girl in her class. She was a tough lady, a stubborn lady, in so many ways.

She is part of me, part of where I come from. She and my Grandpa Chip raised my Dad, and his brothers. She buried all of her siblings and her husband before she ~~left~~ got to go on. I am tough and stubborn, too. And a teacher, a wife, a mother, and a pioneer of sorts.

So many memories. I had a flood of memories as I walked into the hall for the lunch following the funeral--it was the place in our hometown where nearly every event takes place. Weddings, graduations, fashion shows, anniversary parties, you name it--it happens at the Kinsmen Hall. I was holding my babe, clutching Jacob's hand, following my husband and Isaac and Egan as we filed into this building that seemed so much larger (and dare I say fancier) when I was a child.

Then I heard someone call my name. Laura. Laura. I turned my head, and there was a woman very familiar and very dear to my heart. (I don't have her permission to publish her personal information yet so for now it will all be very mysterious and romantic). We embraced, I felt her genuine care for me in the circle of her arms. She spoke of how sorry she was for our loss, and how she was helping with the lunch. I was genuinely so grateful to see her, as special as she is to me. She whispered as she clutched my arm I'm so glad I caught you, I have a gift for you to which I had to say no no no, of course that's not necessary, thinking it had something to do with Christmas or a child's birthday or something, my mind was scrambling and my heart was touched. She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hand, and with tears in her eyes, gasped a tiny gasp, and poured out the words

I always wanted to adopt a child. But I didn't, and so I want to help you.

Whoosh.

My heart exploded. My eyes brimmed over with tears. What did you just say? I gasped, my mouth fell open, and I was flabbergasted. All I could think was but we're not even asking for money yet and we know God will provide and oh my goodness the tears and the throat tightening and oh my goodness is this what a miracle feels like? We had only just mentioned it online; on my blog, on facebook, and in twitter conversations. She squeezed my arm again, and said God bless you - and I collapsed into her arms, hugging her more tightly, again. I thanked her profusely, but feel it just wasn't enough. How could it ever be enough?

I made a beeline straight for my Man--I had to share this news with him. I couldn't bring myself to open the folded piece of paper, still warm from her hand. I didn't want to be rude, didn't want to draw attention. I asked Joel if he would. I wanted to thank her again and again. He turned his back to me and opened it. When he turned his face in my direction, his eyes were filled with tears. He could barely choke out the words you're going to cry, babe. you're going to cry.

It was $1000. A thousand dollars. From a quiet, compassionate and incredibly hard-working little farm woman, a woman who does not come from great wealth.

Dear God in heaven--I am sobbing in front of my computer as I type out this story. Shamelessly and joyfully sobbing and tears spilling and heart aching with the beauty and the gift and the knowledge that

The mountains melt like wax before the LORD, before the Lord of all the earth. Psalm 97:5

Bless you, sweet lady--bless you bless you bless you. I sobbed, Joel sniffed, we held each other so tightly. I am still furrowing my brow and shaking my head in disbelief, and in complete awe of how God works. We were and still are completely blown away. (I will update this story if this dear woman is comfortable, and if not, she will remain to you, dear Readers, our generous and brave and blessed initial benefactor. But we know who she is, and Jesus knows who she is. Treasure in heaven, baby. You're buildin' it. Love to you, my friend, my fellow mama, you know who you are. Tears. Joy. Love.)

And as if that wasn't enough, the very next day I recieved an email from a girl Joel knows from Ontario.

Hi Laura,

You don't know me, I went to youth group with your sweet hubby. I am in a Bible Study called 40 days in the Word and we are doing a project called the Micah 6:8 project. Since I am a blog reader of yours, our group project is (wait for it).......

We want to help you and your sweet hubby fund your adoption.

With that note, I know you knit are you willing to send me something we can auction of at our "Girl's Night out for the Luyts"....let me know what you think.

Blessings,

Pammy

He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God? Micah 6:8

And these beautiful women, women I have never met, came together for our benefit, without us asking, and were able to raise $1460 in one evening. Whoosh--and there come the tears, again.

This is just the beginning, just the scratching the surface of what God can do, and imagine what kinds of things can be done when we actually begin asking? So shall I? Even though it feels so incredibly weird, and even rude, I know scripture says

Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. Matthew 7:7

If you feel it in you to give, now you can. Rest assured I will be asking with much more urgency once we are more deeply into the process.

I have installed a ChipIn widget on our Fundraising for Our Adoption tab (at the top of the page) where you can click, donate through Paypal, and know that if for any reason anything causes our adoption to not go all the way through as I spoke of in the beginning? Then with a simple click, I can and will return all donations directly to whomever sent them. Just so you know. We begin our homestudy this month, and the long list of things that adoption entails.

And now? We meet with an agency this month, and we keep praying for the children out there waiting for families, and who and where God is calling us to find. And the more I learn about special-needs orphans in other countries, the more I cannot pretend I am not aware, and the more I know I have to do something. I. Have. To. Do. Something.

God, I trust You. I have faith.

Please continue to lift us in prayer as we are bold in faith, trusting in God and stepping out of our comfort zones and being stretched in many ways. Thank you for your prayers. Bless you--as your faith helps move mountains, too.

--------------

And what the heck, I think I'll do another giveaway. I have had such an amazing response about my infinity scarves (one is even being shipped to Ontario to the lucky winner of the door prize at our first adoption fundraiser--how cool is it to even be able to say that? aaahhhhh!) I am going to give another one away, and I'm fairly certain I am going to start selling them as an ongoing fundraiser as well--and I might even make them to order. And for you patient Readers, I will have the stories on my blog tabs up as soon as possible. Bless you for your patience.

So... the scarf. To enter, leave a comment, share this link on facebook, on twitter, on email, and come back and leave comments that you've done these things and each one will give you an extra chance to enter--and pray your head off. Please, pray.

The winner will be announced on my next post which will be coming shortly as we have all kinds of good news to share. God is so good--all the time, He is good.

Those mountains? Do you see them, baby? They be movin'.

and so it begins.

2012-01-26T02:06:00.001-08:00

I remember the days, the moments, the hours after learning our son was built with an extra chromosome. I remember the fear, the uncertainty, the anger, the sorrow. The tears. The sobbing. The unknown.

I remember searching, scouring the internet, googling every time the pain would become too unbearable - what were our lives going to look like? What was he going to look like?

In one of my internet searches, I came across a blurb, I believe? on a site that I barely glanced at, as I don't think my eyes were not able to see it fully at that time. It mentioned something about organizations that specialize exclusively in adopting out children with Down syndrome; that there were families seeking children with Down syndrome specifically.

Truth be told, my exact thoughts were who would choose this? well, those people are just trying to be all goody-two-shoes and all fancy christians and pretending they're all la-de-da and look at us we're so fancy because we love babies nobody wants and we're building treasure in heaven because we are choosing children with special needs; and so on and so forth.

And I remember instead thinking our lives are ruined.

We are not ready to be the parents of a special needs child.

Let's just give him up for adoption and tell everyone he died.

I remember saying to my sweet cousin - no little girl ever sits around dreaming and praying and hoping for a special needs child when she grows up.

She said, very matter-of-factly I did.

What?

She replied - I went to school with two people with Down syndrome, and I loved them both, and they accepted everyone. Everyone. I have always dreamed of having a child with Down syndrome.

Whoosh.

For weeks following his birth, his time in the hospital and recovery from surgery - for weeks and weeks I ached with a terrible ache - because I loved him relentlessly, I loved him with abandon - but I ached so deep in my guts, a deep, ugly, unrelenting, painfully inflamed ache - wishing I could take the extra chromosome away.

My eyes burned, my heart ached, my soul was weary. I felt torn, cracked, broken.

I remember night after night, rocking him, his fuzzy little head settled in the crook of my left arm, and my eyes brimming over with tears, then tears spilling out and over, down my cheeks, soaking my face, his immeasurably perfect, precious face. So many nights, so. many. tears.

I would think of my cousin's words so many times, now all those months stretching into years ago - and I began to understand. I loved him. I loved him with that nearly undefinable mother bear love regardless of what a doctor said he did or didn't have -- because he was my baby. I began to see with such clarity what a gift Down syndrome was. I remember telling our fantastic family doctor here I could have a hundred children like Amos.

I knew what my cousin meant. I completely understood what the families seeking children specifically with Down syndrome meant. I got it. I got it! I GOT IT!

Whoosh. Again.

And so I began to feel a whispering in my heart.

I was reminded of the sad nights while rocking him to sleep again and again now as nights, and weeks, and months pass by. It is pure contentment and a feeling of being blessed to look down onto my precious baby boy's face - knowing my other three children are nestled in their beds, and I can just relax with him, rock and soak, rock and soak, rock and soak in the delightful joy of being this boy's mama.

And one night, I felt a deja vu - a strong sense of ooh, I remember this...

I looked down onto his face, his beautiful eyes with Brushfield's spots - a characteristic he wouldn't have were it not for the extra chromosome...

And I felt my eyes fill up again, spill over onto my cheeks, and sobs come out of nowhere. From deep inside of my guts, these beautiful, soul-cleansing and joy-filled sobs poured out of me as I rocked my babe. And I started to smile as I cried.

Even now as I type this I feel a grin creeping across my lips - because the sobs, the tears, the choking, the gasping for breaths - I realized how now? they are completely, fully, unabashedly FULL. OF. JOY. It turns into laughter, crying, sniffling, smiling through wet cheeks and salty tears spilling into my mouth - and doing my best to not disturb my littlest cherub as he drifts beautifully, peacefully and gently into dreamland.

Ah, it's a happy, happy cry.

I know I have written of this many times, yet it somehow never feels like enough, because it runs so damn deep. Because I fell so hard, so completely, utterly, helplessly and deliciously in love with him. All of him - and not just accepting the fact that he had an extra chromosome. I sit, rock my perfect son, my baby love, my Bubby, my boogaloo, my wee little man whom I love with all my heart - and I rejoice and thank Jesus for him especially because he has an extra chromosome. And I realize how truthfully, how completely and wholly I would never, ever want to change it.

I adore this child - I am so in love with him, so overtaken with my delight in him, my joy in his face, such joy in seeing my older children, and I, and his daddy, and all who cross his path being touched and blessed and changed for the better because of his presence... he is a gift from God. Pure and simple.

Yet there are hundreds of children, beautiful, precious, just like him - whose parents or societies or countries are not able to see past the pain, past the fear, past the unknown.

And so they give them away.

Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.

-Luke 23:34

Once these little children turn 4 or 5, they are sent to adult mental institutions where they live for the rest of their lives, which may be a year or two, or five, or ten. Maybe more. Maybe.

How can I sit and rock my precious baby, my perfect son with an extra chromosome, warm and safe in my arms in our rocking chair, and turn my back on another one? Or more? Simply because they have the same extra chromosome?

And goodness gracious, that whisper in my heart just about turns into a scream.

Once our eyes are opened, we can’t pretend we don’t know what to do.

I felt the calling to adopt another child with Down syndrome long ago, but felt words not of myself pour from my lips in saying I cannot do it alone - if God wills it then He'll put the calling on my husband's heart, as well. And I left it at that, and prayer. Lots of prayer.

And wouldn't you know, days, weeks, months later - my beautiful Man came to me, quiet in the dark of our room, and whispered, tearfully - I thought about it. I prayed about it. And I feel it, babe. And I love you so much more because you love these children without knowing them - so I am on board.

Whoosh. My heart melted, and jumped out of my chest with excitement. I swear I felt the angels dancing, and my eyes were filled with tears, joyful tears - again.

And so our story begins. Please pray for us. Please pray for the heartachingly beautiful children waiting for their mama's soft skin and their daddy's arms and warmth and rocking chairs and full bellies and love. Waiting for their own forever family.

We know it is incredibly costly to adopt. We are not wealthy people. We also know the high costs will not be the only mountain in our path.

But I have this unshakeable faith that God will provide.

For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.

- Matthew 17:20

And whoosh - there goes my heart, again and again. Baby? We're comin'.

Father God, keep these children safe in Your arms.

We're comin'. We hear You. We hear you. And we're comin'.

Mountain? Move.

strive.

2012-01-19T02:02:00.007-08:00

I sat down a couple ~~days~~ ~~nights~~ weeks ago to write this post. Sometimes got a half decent train of thought going, but it was short-lived thanks to not a whole heckuva lot of opportunity with all I have crammed on my overflowing to-do list. Over and over I would attempt to tap and peck out a few words, delete delete delete, tap tap tap, delete delete. I would try to feel more focused by scrolling through old posts, new pictures, old pictures, plug the headphones into my ears and punch up some tunes to get the creative juices flowin'. And... nothin'.

I have this overarching list of things to be doing, getting done, or organizing and following through with right now, and I feel as though I am once again stretching myself a tad too thin. Still, my list is full of good things, but a good many things, nonetheless. Through it all I just need to surrender, lay it down, and be filled.

When I am exhausted. Depleted. Empty. Then there is more room for Him. More space in me filled with Him who is incapable of being depleted. Incapable of exhaustion.

Then there is only Him.

-- so eloquently written by Loxlia Robb over at lovelycrumbs.

So really, I can't complain. God is good.

Winter Wonderland.

It is winter time. At last, for us prairie folk. We only had one half-day of snow on the ground last winter, so it being day #3 of winter wonderland outside? Well, since we don't really have to go anywhere, we're lovin' it. Feels like home. It's darn cold, but it feels like home.

And once their fingers are stiff and their cheeks are rosy and cold and they have had enough? They come in to warm up in the bath, snuggle up by the fire with mama, snuggle up on the sofa with a game, jump on the bed. I have been finding myself soaking in these moments, knowing they won't last forever.

these photos of a jumping Jacob were taken by the lovely big sister Egan.

Cabin Fever.

A few days cooped up indoors, though, and we all start to go a little batty. Thankfully, I have a Man who loves to play games, and who loves to teach children games.

He pulls out sjoelbak, a Dutch shuffle board game, at least a century old, and a true family winter game. Joel found this board at our Bibles for Missions thrift store - and he sets us all up to play. As we play, we all are blessed with numerous small glimpses of perfect family unity that spontaneously happen during the time when we unwind together.

Playing games and enjoying the evenings as a family - it feels so incredibly special, like we were with family. You know? When you get together with everyone and you catch up and feel loved and loving and connected and vital and ever so grateful?

We nailed it. With just us.

Hot coffee, children's laughter, the daddy teaching the little ones a game from his childhood. Choruses of I love you were sang and repeated - all simply because we took the time to RELAX. Together.

Look at the way he looks up to his da da.

*********************

The Giveaway.

The winner of the fantastic, hand knitted infinity scarf, courtesy of www.random.org - commenter #7.

None other than my dear friend, Leanna who writes over at Poot & Boogie - who said:

I love it when you have a new blog post :) always makes me smile. I love seeing how Amos is

doing, Ola is practicing her standing now too...before we know it they will be off and running!

I am re-learning how to knit too, but I don't have anything to show for it yet!

and I am with K... anything we can do, you just let me know!

...

Congratulations, Poot & Boogie! I love when you have a new blog post, too.

Email (or text, or tweet) me at lauraluyt@gmail.com with your preference of color - red & white, cream, charcoal grey, or teal. or just pop over for a visit, or I'll come visit you and I'll hook you up with your beautiful scarf. :)

...

Strive.

So why did I call this post strive, you may ask? Well, it fit for me. It suited the realization that in my exhaustion, I don't need to strive to be stronger, or more organized, or any number of things that are about me. What I do need to strive for is to leave that room for Him - and to make the time to RELAX. Together.

Strive. Stretch. And be fulfilled.

What are you striving for?

today I love a new year.

2012-01-08T13:25:00.000-08:00

First month of the year. There is always such a blank slate feel to the new year that gives me such hope, such excitement, such desire for all an entire new year can possibly contain.

The Papa lit off some fireworks for us all on the last eve of the old year.

A quick video clip of more fireworks.

Olliebollen. Deep fried balls of deliciousness, dusted with sugar. A Dutch New Year's tradition.

And my lovely man has been busy, late into the night each night, recording the songs of his heart and uploading to YouTube to share with the world. I love the songs he sings. Check him out here.

Today I loved the idea of posting a list of things I loved today that I saw here. I have no shame in borrowing such a lovely idea, even if all the things I love and loved technically didn't happen today.

One day when I get more caught up to snuff I will post the things I actually loved that actual day.

For now? I will say today I loved...

Morning sunshine in my bedroom, this sweet boy scampering up into bed and snuggling his little self in between us, patiently waiting for us to wake up, and then launching a pillow fight once we were awake. Sunshine shining onto my bedding and sweet faces and downstairs? Spilling onto the kitchen floor.

Today I loved the littlest fingers in the house peeking beneath the bathroom door.

Today I loved being witness to the strength in this boy's persistence. Smiling all the while he learns to master standing at that bottom stair.

Today I loved this face, this boy, this cherub. He blesses me so.

Today I loved a drive with my loves, and enjoying the scenery inside the car even more than the scenery outside the car.

Today I loved the view from the back seat.

Today I loved watching this little man play peek-a-boo.

Today I loved wearing the hand-painted-by-yours-truly-red-Toms-shoes on this beautiful drive.

Today I loved snapping pictures of a picturesque city from the passenger's seat.

Today I loved seeing both ends of the rainbow that followed the rain - and realizing a few moments later that one end of the rainbow was attached to our car. We were the pot of gold. I like them apples.

This day I loved my children, even more than I did the day before.

Jacob is really into licking everyone and everything right now. Any advice on how to curb this? My Egan did the same thing when she was but a wee thing but I forget if I played any part in her growing out of this... sigh. This too shall pass. The little guy doesn't look like he minds too much.

Today I loved seeing the pictures my sweet girl took of Amos practising standing using my leg as support.

Today I loved and yet ached browsing photos of sweet, beautiful, precious orphans blessed with an extra chromosome that their birth parents weren't able to see past. And today I loved basking in the joy that fills my heart knowing that my sweet Man and I are beginning the process of bringing one of these little ones home. Forever. (please pray for us). More on this later.

Today I loved learning a family has committed to adopting sweet Katelyn, the little girl with the brown eyes who jumped out of the computer and into my heart nearly a year ago. She had already been transferred to an adult mental institution that without being adopted she would have spent the rest of her achingly short life. So many of these precious children die far too young, barely living in conditions that are heartbreaking, to say the least. God has placed a calling on my heart, and it is louder than anything I have ever heard before.

I want to shout

Mama's coming, little one! Mama & Daddy are coming to get you, whoever and wherever you are.

All in God's time.

These are just a sample of the sweet faces you see when you browse Reece's Rainbow. There are so, so very many beautiful little children waiting for families.

Until then? What strength the Scriptures give me.

"I will go before you and will level the mountains; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron. I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name." Isaiah 45:2-3

Today I love announcing (finally!) another giveaway! Because today, I love knitting. I only recently re-learned how to do the basic knit stitch and I have a growing collection of knitted things. I have been knitting nearly every evening after the little ones are all tucked in...

Sporting my bicolour hand knitted infinity scarf on our little jaunt. Not my most flattering picture, by any means.

One commenter will receive one of my handmade infinity scarves. In a color of their choice (from my available colours).

Now, go check out Reece's Rainbow. Donate if you can. Pray for these children, this ministry.

And be sure to leave a comment and follow my blog so you can stay updated on our continuing story... and you can win a lovely scarf.

Stay cosy, until next time.

a Christmas post.

2011-12-16T17:45:00.002-08:00

Sometimes in the hustle and bustle of life (not just of this season), I fall prey to lacking spending that real, honest, I am so feeling this right now quality time with my Man, my children - the times where they get to see the real me. the real Laura - the one who I am when I let go of life's stresses - the one I am at my core, in my heart, the one who loves deeply and cares tenderly, the Laura who can be really funny, the one who makes friends easily, the one who is relaxed and fun and silly and such. Sadly, this Laura doesn't come out to play nearly often enough as she gets wrapped up in sweeping floors and washing diapers and naptimes and laundry piles and unwashed hair. And floors. And all that jazz.

Even my Hubs doesn't get to see her all that often. And this is really a shame.

However, sometimes I am she. I am present, I am relaxed, I am funny, I am me. Fortunately, this little man encourages that me out of ~~her~~ my shell more often than not. That is good. But it's not good enough.

Today started much as any other day - we awoke, Daddy went off to work, I put on a strong pot of coffee (to ward off the sleepiness from the toll the impenetrable cold season is taking on our household), and I began the balancing act of making nine sunny-side up eggies and toast and blueberry applesauce for the four hungry tummies requesting such fare. Yes, between my four children, it is not unusual to go through nine eggs for one simple breakfast. (Hence the reason the sweet Papa provided us with six dozen in the fridge at one time).

Said breakfasts were hungrily consumed before this Mama could even sit down to drink said coffee, so there is no photographic evidence of neither eggies nor toasties. Nor coffee.

Shortly after breakfast, the biggest boy very reluctantly began his final final final work for this term's school work - he has one research report to complete, a process that is badgering, haunting, consuming and eluding him all at the same time. Needless to say, he sat down to commence this treacherous ordeal. And somehow, between his researching Terry Fox and his Marathon of Hope, this mama realized she is just as highly distractible as these fine children God has entrusted in her care.

Somehow, research reports be damned, we ended up in a full-scale knock-off-ichiban-no-name noodle war... noodle packages whizzing through the air to the sound of squeals and laughter and "get her!" and packages pelting flesh (mostly mine) - a war complete with semi-uniformed soldiers, hand-built barricades blocking the kitchen, four children against just me (only three as soldiers, really, as the watchful babe was an innocent spectator... whom I'm proud to say suffered no bystander injuries in this war). Don't ask me how we went from researching at the computer and breakfast dishes and wishful cups of coffee to fully throwing packages of uncooked noodles at each other. But it sure was fun.

There is also no photographic evidence of this war. But amidst the giggles, squeals, running-running-running, more squeals, breathlessness, sliding around corners in stockinged feet, and the ninja-star throwing tactics of the biggest boy, we. had. a. blast.

An absolute blast. My children got to play with me.
And it was good.

The only evidence left is the sad, crushed-to-bits and wilted packages of noodles, and the swept up remains of millions of broken noodle pieces from the one package that exploded upon impact after several (and I mean several) attempts at it being flung directly at this mama, strewn into the remains of yuck on my kitchen floor (and this is even after I had swept multiple times today, thank you very much).

Then they rested. And that was our morning. Amen.

And Isaac finished his report. *so proud*.

In eight days my biggest boy turns twelve. Twelve. ohmygoodness. I can't actually fathom this, and then again it feels like the most natural transition in the world.

A month to the day before his twelfth birthday, my middlest boy turned three.

Yes, Jacob is three.
We had a simple, lovely little party with only a few people over. Auntie BettyAnn gave Jacob the flying butterfly catching game Elefun. It was a hit. Jacob, the one who is wildly passionate about all things musical, also received a guitar from us and a ukulele from Grandma and Grandpa Rutherford. So far besides this interesting fake 'rocking out' as a lefty on them, his favourite thing to do is tune them himself. Needless to say they don't sound well when anyone else tries to play them. One day, one day.

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When the simple birthday decorations came down, bit by bit, the days get shorter and the evenings become drawn out and warm - it is then that some of our favourite decorations began to emerge and adorn our walls again. Our home has become festive. cozy. Filled with the wonderfulness that is this season. And it is good. What a treat to watch the children's faces as they get all excited and giggly and full of memories as we pull strings from boxes and speak of years gone by. For all of us to be witness to these two small boys be utterly thrilled over something as simple as coloured lights on a string is just such a sweet gift in and of itself. Then again, we all are excited over them - because the lights on a string are sparkly, beautiful, and somehow even a bit magical.

Somehow more than any other season of the year, I simply love bringing beautiful, simple and rustic things indoors. They make my heart happy.

Papa languishing in a delicious midday nap with the littlest pumpkin.

We saw some of these pretty, feathery Christmas-tree decorations in a store for over $20 each. As I have several times before, decided I could do that myself... thinking they would be inexpensive and simple to make. Funny thing is - they were. My girl and I sat one afternoon, glue-guns in hand, music a-playin', and stuck feathers to curled and curved bristol-board taped into cone shapes and voila! Feathery, dreamy, white homemade Christmas trees to adorn our mantle. Not bad for ~~supplies we had on hand at home~~ free!

The sunshine has been a frequent visitor these days, a presence for which I feel extremely blessed. The littlest bubby has been discovering his shadow, and sparkles, and sunbeams.

This hand rolled book-page paper wreath was both a interest idea and an idea borrowed from my friend Angie's home... hers looks much more fabulous above her mantle than mine does here.

One night's all-of-a-sudden snowfall was an unexpected white Christmas surprise... there were many children's faces peering out blackened windows into the glow of streetlights, hoping the flakes would last until morning.

Last they did, out the children went, small snowmen were made, large snowballs were rolled, and three children got very muddy and very, very wet. This mama forgot to take out the camera. *sigh*

Thank you, Opa and Grandma Luyt! Here are some shots of the kids enjoying part of their birthday presents!

My girl and I have been busy in the kitchen. She is in love with all that is helping and pouring and mixing and creating... and many new treats have come from our oven and our hands this season. Jacob is in love with helping, too. His favourite is measuring flour.

Christmas 2011.

And now we are sending the biggest boy off to his youth group Christmas party at church, and the rest of our clan are off to see the drive-through living Nativity.

family. warm. happy. home. fabulous.

Have a fantastic weekend. May you enjoy decking your halls as much as we do.

let it roll.

2011-11-11T11:31:00.001-08:00

When I began this post back in early November, my computer was not even functioning. I had been trying for several weeks to even sign in here to my blog - and this is a miracle that it worked that day.

It keeps telling me how the startup disk is too full for applications to open... so I can't transfer photos from my camera to the macbook, I can't open any files or programs the kids need for their homeschooling activities, I can't even delete excess photos to free up space because I get an error message that says something about the hard disk being too full to access the photo program so any changes I attempt to make are lost. Sigh. I guess I was forced to take an even longer hiatus from blogging than I had intended. And now we have a new computer. I am thrilled. So I sign in tonight and find I have had over twenty thousand visits to my blog. Wow. I am more than thrilled - I am honored.

I find I get a little mixed up about what time of year it is here, with all seasons kind of blending into one at times. In this perpetual autumn we are basking in out here, we have had so many opportunities to soak it up outside.

No. Big. Deal. He's just elastic boy.

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Here are my much belated Halloween pictures. And here is Amos as a sweet little monkey and his much enjoyed (really?) mad face.

Isaac was a Secret Agent, Egan was a fairy, Jacob was a pirate, and Amos was the wee monkey that both big brothers have dressed up as at his age, too. Sigh. Feel kinda silly putting these pictures up here while listening to Christmas music and munching on Christmas baking (I participated in my first ever baking exchange! So fun!). But I can't say I haven't been busy in my absence, and I can't say I haven't enjoyed the time I've had being present with my family.

All in all, my extended absence has been fitting for the extended season in our lives. Out here in beautiful British Columbia, we are blessed with this long, luxurious, extended autumn.

More than once, this stretching and patient changing of one season slowly and carefully into another has reminded me of the extended babyhood we are blessed with in all that is this precious boy.

Even though he is now past 18 months old, he seems to be this perpetual, slowed down, carefully and tenderly growing flower blossom of a babe similar to a typical child about half his calendar age. I've had more than one mama bless me with her tender exclamation of wonderment and joy at his extended baby-ness, and what a treat that must be. It really is. There was a period of time when he was much younger that I was bothered by the sloooooow motion developmental path, but now? I wouldn't change it for anything. I've said it before and I'll say it again: he was everything I ever wanted and never knew I needed. So blessed.

Blessed. Gifts. Presents. Presence.

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I have all these grand ideas.

Especially after becoming enthusiastically inspired by tips on pinterest and stumbleupon... I have a number of files on my computer's burstingattheseams hard drive labelled crafts, decorating, girls' clothes, bedrooms, and all these simple, ecclectic, thrifty, oh-so-cool ideas to enrich our lives, save the dent in our pocketbooks, and outfit our bodies, our home, and our lives with fun, funky and fresh handmade things.

And then I never get to them. Well, sometimes I do. One day I will more. Maybe later today. Or tomorrow. Maybe. Or maybe I'll pull a day where I accomplish a whole pile of things... and then blog and share pictures. Maybe.

But now?

We are decking our halls, baby. Jingle bells and Nativity scenes commemorating the awaiting for the arrival of our precious Savior. And I adore the simultaneous turning inward and outward that this season musters out of us. I am filled with such gratitude at His presence. His gift.

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Somewhat recently Joel facilitated a getaway in celebration of our anniversary, and of my birthday at the end of October. The big three-six. Eep.

A night away.

Almost.

Amos joined us as my beautiful man knew I wouldn't fare well if my littlest sheep was away from me allnight, so he orchestrated a private afternoon & dinner for just us, and had his brother Aaron and my sister in law to be, the lovely Kaiti, bring Amos to us. Delish.

It was such a gift, for Joel and I to be in each others' presence in a way we hadn't been for far too long. My handsome man. Such a gift, when we are truly present with one another. It was also such a blessing to have this beautiful little designer kitten all to ourselves for the evening. What a sweet gift.

Gifts. Presents. Presence.

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Also in October we took part in the Surprise 25th Anniversary celebration of Scott and BettyAnn - their five children planned and worked together to give them the gift of this day of recognition. They are Joel's aunt & uncle, yes - but have become such an important and wonderful part of our lives and our family. Family, here. Presence.

Jacob loves hanging out with Liam. He also loves juiceboxes at Aunt BettyAnn's house.

All of the above Anniversary photos were taken by the lovely and talented Sadie Ball.

Austin, their youngest, recorded a number of people giving video wishes to the couple - and time after time their friends and family would say they are just so relaxed. They are so easy-going.

When they were asked what the secret was to 25 years of happiness? (Because they really are happy.)

"Just let it roll."

That's what they both said. Just let things roll off your back, forgive and forget. Like the magnet on our fridge says A happy marriage is the union of two good forgivers. That kind of love is such a gift.

They are honest when they say let it be, and let it roll. Good words to live by. It's been such a gift, such a series of gifts getting to know them and their (our) family more.

Gifts. Presents. Presence.

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But I digress... after this first term of homeschooling, I am feeling I am in serious need of a vacation. Amos does not even come close to sleeping through the night. Jacob is up several times a night. Joel snores sometimes and other times hogs the covers. With all four children home I no longer am afforded the luxury of a nap when the little ones nap - also because Jacob no longer naps. And if I leave the room for even a washroom break, Isaac and Egan take that to mean it's time to giggle and interact and knock their chairs over and other tomfoolery ... sometimes having one single page of writing take nearly 7 hours... Seriously. I am worn out. A friend of ours had her baby go away with his daddy for an entire weekend... I'm not even sure that that's what I want or what I need - fairly certain I'd just about die leaving my littlest bub... but the break and the rest and the ceasing myheadisspinningduetotoomuchtodo would be ever so lovely.

But either way I just need to let it roll, right? Because this too shall pass. And one day we will all look back on this time of being in each others' presence and feel so blessed, so gifted.

Gifts. Presents. Presence.

And a very special time of year is upon us.

There is much struggle in my family with this season, who, what and where God is calling us - and I can't get into that for a variety of reasons. We all are learning as we go, as my sister says. We all are.

As for us in our house, our little ones are trembling with excitement to deck our halls and gingerly and tenderly wrap thoughtfully chosen gifts for one another and place them under the tree in anticipation of how their faces will light up when they see what they've blessed one another with.

Gifts. Presents. Presence.

And relax. Christmas post coming soon. Be present with one another. It is such a gift.

I have a finally-home hubby, a warm sofa, and a hot mug of tea and something sweet calling my name. I'm off to have a glorious evening. Have a glorious week.

shift. a celebration.

2011-10-21T01:45:00.005-07:00

Phew.

It has been awhile. Struggling to find words. The right words, that pour from my spirit with ease. Peace be with you - as the summer is winding down, the autumn leaves are bursting out in their mellifluousness of lustrous, rich, and warm fall colors. How I love this time of year! Crisp air, a brisk wind to pass the crunchy leaves into your path and under your feet, a chill from that same wind to move you closer to the ones you love.

Aah, autumn - the real time of rebirth and new beginnings and boots and jeans and sweaters! Does it get any better than this? Homeschool is a new start, Isaac began grade six, Egan grade four, and we are awash in the symphony of newness and excitement and fear and trepidation and anticipation. I want to run and stretch my arms out to the autumn sun and thank my Creator for this lush beauty that I live in, for my beautiful children realizing little bits of their potential day by day - in the words of Master Yoda: Do or do not. There is no try.

This child never ceases to hurl me into an infinite whirlwind of love and adoration and an overflowing sense of all is well with the world when I drink in his brown eyes, full of meaning and acceptance and joy and contentment.

He does so much good for me. For all of us.

I hang diapers on the line while thinking about continuing to write my own story - because it is my own story, but struggle with what to actually say. All the while, I am tossing words and thoughts and ideas around in my head, in my notebook, thinking, juggling, tossing some more, and the words continue to elude me. Why? I'm not sure. Maybe because I am experiencing this underlying itch.

...the itch to have another baby, or perhaps it's the itch wondering why hasn't it happened yet? The itch to get the house ready for fall, for winter, for the new season upon us; an itch to snap bedsheets freshly washed into the sky like sails unfurled, snap them crisp and breathe in their heady, clean, smooth scent... the itch to get things in order, yet again, and again, and again... and again.

The itch to continue to tell my story, because that's what it is. That's all it is.

my story.

And that's all it needs to be. In the meantime, I'll still tell little stories within my story. And in the meantime, we'll have tea parties. With boys. And girl. And hats.

While wanting to blog about my life, our lives, a feeling of no one probably cares is sometimes pervasive... should I bother writing? But I remind myself I don't write for anyone else, really - although I adore comments and knowing that something I've said resonates with a kindred spirit somewhere else... and sometimes I feel a letdown in myself for not being more diligent here, sometimes I'm left wondering if life is supposed to feel more difficult with four children, and then some days I end up feeling like I am way too maxed out... I need to be easier on them, on him, on myself - those days where I need to chill.the.heck.out. Factor in heavy, heavy duty budget constraints, my Mr.'s new job, homeschooling two children, caring for two more littles - and any lingering creativity and energy to pour into writing is sapped away. Some days there is no-such-thing-as-chill under this hot mama's hot collar. And yet, in the midst of it all, I continue to fall unequivocally in love with each of these precious people God has blessed me with.

For that I am eternally grateful.

There are so many of these tender brother moments these days... Jacob is taking this new found delight in his baby brother that is just so heartwarming. He can make Amos laugh like no one else can... much to the delight of Amos, and much to the delight of the rest of us.

And when the day shifts into evening, and night shifts into morning, you can find me again and again attached to my pump... yes, I'm still pumping.

I become mesmerized each morning, each evening with the hypnotizing, rhythmic singsong, whiz-whir, whiz-whir, whiz-whir of this pump - it does it's job, and I sit alone, no longer so awkwardly associated with this machine that pumps milk from my body for my youngest sapling to be nourished with the food God knows is best for him. (We tried cow's milk. That went over very, very badly. Back to the boob it is, figuratively.)

But in all honesty, I am getting a little tired of it. Not sure how or why this is relevant. But it's just part of my story. Amen.

Then factor in the baby having ear surgery, this mama crying as she sang her sweet baby to sleep under the power of the anesthesia, trying with all my might to not weep loudly and from my guts at his side and be brave until he was asleep... goodness that is difficult. To feel your own child's hand go limp in yours is not something I would ever want to experience again. Oosh. Then our children have been auditioning for show business (huh? yes!), driving into Vancouver repeatedly for auditions... husband's ONE business trip (only one! praise the Lord!) and my dying iPhone, a dying MacBook, and a pooched camera make for a less than normal everyday life in a busy household, and it all equates to one very tired, worn-a-tad-thin blogless, wordless mama. With the itch and a hot collar no less. And with being a bit worn, I just feel... well... worn.

Nervous, on her way to a callback.

But still, I celebrate. Even if I feel nervous. Or overwhelmed. I choose to celebrate, because perhaps if I didn't, I might just come undone. So we all celebrate. It's a shift from one foot to the next, one choice to the next, one moment to the next, one day, one experience, and through it all - we soak as much of the goodness out of everything as we can.

On one of our trips for an audition. Beautiful, picturesque, Vancouver, BC.

In celebration, I recall with much fondness the time we had with my family this summer, nearly an entire year after we moved west, making the trek over and through the Rockies, a mad-dash-across-three-provinces-in-one-day to see my family on the prairies where I grew up, to show my children where they come from. And to have the journey be part of the destination.

Soak it in, baby. Celebrate the journey. You only get one chance, one life. Soak, soak, soak.

And then soar.

And then we arrived. Saskatchewan, from British Columbia. Across Alberta. Over 1000 km away. And it was grand.

I celebrate the time we spent with my sister and her family, beautiful Sarah, who never stops feeding us. And who didn't want me to take this picture until she had her bread dough looking prettier. I was more interested in the dough getting into her wedding rings... and imagining the legacy left by the dough in those rings. Bless you, sweet sister. You are a Godly woman, and an inspiration for me to look up to, for so many reasons.

And her wonderful husband, Gabe. And their sweet fair-haired boys. Gabe and Sarah have blessed us beyond measure both in our family and in our marriage. But one thing I especially love about their little family? I really, really love how a short time after settling in, her littlest guy who really, really loves his mama... he becomes my little friend, he befriends and trusts me so that he'll even come to Auntie when he's sad... what an honor. What a gift. Such a blessing. And then the way they all love on us, and on all of my babies does such good things for my spirit.

The way my parents love on my babies does such good things for my spirit. And for theirs, too.

Grandma brought the vacation for real right into her yard, in the form of a paddling pool filled with warm water. My mom always helps the kids get all excited about little things, and has this joy in her that is much like a child. Oh, what, they want the paddling pool? Done. You want it superfull? You want it warm like a bath? You want lunch served in there? You want drinks with that? She even offered soap to make it into a giant bubble bath. Hours of floating in liquid bliss. Jacob still says this was the best time of his life. I love that she does those things, because they are things I wouldn't necessarily do. And children need those things. They need that kind of permission. They need to be allowed to shift, and to celebrate, child-style.

And for me, the time spent just lounging on the ground with my children, the sun shining down on us, warm breezes kissing our cheeks and watching hummingbirds flit by... this is the stuff I need. Relaxation. Really being present; for them, and for myself. In love and celebrating with these little people, celebrating my life, my history, and all that God has brought me through and blessed me with.

And oh, those glorious Saskatchewan skies.

And time at the lake.

Some of the best summers of my life were spent at a lake.

I celebrate the glorious soaking in of sunshine. And the wonderful time where Joel and I are present to each other; where we shift out of our roles and look at one another with celebration, again. That is really worth celebrating.

I celebrate the glorious soaking in of family we got to bask in brought to us by my brother's generosity. It allowed our entire Rutherford family to all stay for a extended visit together, highlighted by the much anticipated marriage of a wonderful, beautiful woman to my brother. I am beyond thrilled to call Adele my sister, officially.

And oh, the glorious time spent lounging late coffee walking mountains water swimming diving ziplining cousins babies laughing laughing laughing crying as they made their vows feeling so incredibly blessed sharing food, sharing love, sharing laughter, and sharing lives. It was simply glorious. And the kicker? I get to call these beautiful, beautiful people my family.

I.Am.So.Blessed.

My sister. My best friend.

My older brother's four, missing the littlest, sweetest Theo.

My sister's boys on top, my brother's girls on bottom.

Most of The Rutherford grandchildren, not including my four, and Theo. And the three new babes on the way for two of my brothers and their wives, and my sister and her hubs. So many beautiful, beautiful people. Let it be known I would adopt any of these children in a heartbeat if the need ever arose. I l.o.v.e. each of these precious people. So much.

I celebrate the departure of summer, the changing of the seasons.

I celebrate the shift to teaching my children at home.

(Some days more than others.)

Homeschool.

I celebrate this changing of the seasons, this shift that I see with more clarity now that we have been this far west for an entire year, for an entire cycle of seasons. The seasons change very subtly here; days filled with the brighter hues of summer shift and fade ever so slowly and surreptitiously into days melded of deep oranges, golden shades, burnished coppers and reds. You sense a subtle shift into wanting to wear long pants, full sweaters and boots. The shift of colors, of temperatures, of the season is so much more introspective than anywhere I've called home before, but now that it IS home, I can see the quiet trembling as the trees fold into themselves, and the deep breaths as plants fall aslumber for another long, cool and damp, gray, mossy and misty season. This is a glorious and wondrously peaceful shift, a rejuvenation into quiet. Warm. Cozy. Home.

He gave me a caramel apple. My favorite. He knows it, and tries to treat me with it whenever he finds them. So delicious. So sweet.

And the headline at our house right now?

Amos can crawl.

I celebrate the triumphant eve of my littlest man's dawn of mobility.

It's an army crawl, I'll give you that, but he can move. He can motor. And he does it fearlessly, without an ounce of hesitation. And when he first shimmied across the floor? I cried. I tried several times to get it on video... and finally got a few moments here and there because I was distracted and interrupted by the little-bit-bigger brother competing for attention. He would yell and run into Amos who then would cry, and then Amos would exact his revenge and scootch over onto Jacob and pull his hair with such fierce glee - and then Jacob would howl.

Over and over, these two boys making each other cry. I have four or five videos, all containing some baby crawling, some mama squealing and sobbing, and one or both little boys wailing at the end.

But when Amos actually moved across the floor on his own power, I bawled and squealed and clapped and cheered and cried. Really hard ugly cried. I cried so hard I hurt my neck. Such hard work for this precious little man! And goodness - celebrating each milestone, I cry at everything this little man does. Somehow it's so meaningful because he has to wait so patiently and work so hard for things to happen. It is so meaningful.

Tonight he sat framed by the open front door, having crawled all the way over there, repeatedly... and he watched while the older three played with friends in the grass, on the sidewalk, in the street, and he yelled. He yelled to them with excitement, he yelled warnings to them... he just yelled and shrieked and squealed with his newfound independence. Kinda like he's got his own pumped up kicks. And when we play this song dubstep style, his crawl can kinda look like he's dubsteppin'. Cool.


He can crawl all the way into the bathroom - then he lies on the floor and listens to himself yell. It makes him laugh. It makes me laugh.

Phew. And now, I guess I found a few things to say.

And it's all part of my story. It is. I celebrate it all. I soak it all up, and feel so blessed.

Happy Autumn.

Happy Day.

Happy Baby.

Happy Life.
Happy Shift.

What do you celebrate?

Hope you had a fantastic week.

back to school, away from the world.

2011-08-22T12:33:00.000-07:00

I have been away again, and because I have been away I fear I have suffered a drop in interest as I search to find my purpose in the blog world again.

This year I am (gulp) beginning to homeschool my children. This is not to say I have a problem with the school 'system', I think teachers are wonderful, amazing people - it has just been placed on my heart by the Holy Spirit that I have been called to do this.

This decision does not come easily - as I, like many others, value and treasure the quiet mornings and time I have had as each child grows and goes off to school. This last year with my two littlest guys while my bigger two are away at school was filled with many beautiful moments of just quiet. That, and the excitement of a fresh new start every fall is just... well, it's just so refreshing. Fresh organization, everything matches and is perfect and pristine and so full of potential.

Fresh new colored pencils, clothes, fresh new books, paper, pens, backpack, shoes, everything. Fresh new classes, a whole fresh new start. A rebirth of sorts.

I have to remind myself sometimes that this is also a rebirth of sorts.

I do not, however, treasure the lunch making, the scouring aisle after aisle for that specific half-lined half plain paper soft-covered half-size notebook in six different colors when a tired mama can only find three - and they're all pink. And on and on it goes. Sigh. I am treasuring not being stuck in those lineups this year.

Be certain, though, that I do have a healthy dose of fear about the whole thing. Yup. I sure do. (but this has me greatly and deeply inspired.)

So, I'm not missing the school supply specifics list shopping, but I am missing the back to school clothes shopping. The budget over here doesn't allow for that this fall, and that's okay, because we do have what we need, and I am earnestly itching to get my hands back into sewing again, especially for myself and my girl. No competing with the Jones's for the cute jeans or the name-brand shirts and hoodies and no sense of urgency and spending exorbitant amounts of money just to teach my children to CONSUME EVERYTHING YOU CAN. This doesn't just apply to school, or fall, or clothes. It applies All. The. Time. And certainly I don't want to teach my children that their value lies in external things. Because it most certainly does not.

But with back to school shopping in mind, the following is a draft I was working on last year when I had squirreled away some money and budgeted for shopping for some fall and back to school clothes for my brood. I was reluctant to post it because I didn't want to offend some of my close friends, or family even. This year, however, I've let go of that - in lieu of honoring what is right, what is of God, and what I am called to be in this world - a light, a vessel, an instrument of my Father in heaven.

Here goes.

I've noticed a trend in patterns on children's clothing and other items. This pattern is made to look attractive, intriguing, colorful, and even fun.

I even found myself attracted to these particular patterns as they seem to be like me, (or like you. And you. And you.) a little edgy, a little bit funkified, and even a bit daring.

I'm talking about the skull and crossbones that seems to be adorning items at nearly every children's store you may shop at.

They look kinda like all those things I mentioned - a little edgy, a little bit funkified, and even a bit daring. Some even have hearts for eyes, or guitars for the crossbones saying something like hey, you're tough AND you like music? now THAT'S cool!

and then the thought occurred to me

when did it become okay to place a symbol of death on our children?

when did the symbol for danger, poison, or beware - don't-touch

become a fashion icon

for wee, precious, soft and innocent babies?

We put skulls and crossbones on our beautiful children?

The sad part is that unconsciously, images placed in front of your eyes will make your mind start to associate (without even being aware of it) death, danger, poison, beware - do-not-touch

and it is on your child.

Satan walks around like a roaring lion, seeking to devour. Sometimes it's subtle, and sometimes it's blatant. Your perfect and lovely child, wearing a skull and crossbones. Oh my aching heart.

And hearts for eyes? What, just softening it up for a precious innocent little girl? Or guitars for the crossbones for our boys? And for our wee babies? Oh my aching heart. My aching, aching heart.

As a Christian woman, wife and mother, I won't put such things on my children or on myself. Period. I know I am called to be different than the world, to look different, to act different, and to be filled with the light and love of Christ. And as I try to fumble through this with the grace of God and my human failings, I too will stumble and have stumbled and am so very, very far from being perfect and perfectly different. This also means I will not judge anyone who stumbles or falters and who does put things like these on themselves or their children, knowingly or not. I just trust that as Jesus speaks to each mother or father or person in His time that their eyes are opened to His love and there would be a turning away of the things of the this world.

"You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people’s feet.

You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." - Matthew 5:13-16 ESV

As Christians, we are called to be different, to love those who hate us, to pray for those who despise us, to bless those who curse us. If the world looks at me and sees a difference, then they will give glory to the Father who is in heaven.

I pray that you have peace while planning for this fall's fresh new beginnings, be they in the hallways at school, the hallways at home, or in the hallways in your heart. They are all good places to start.

Love to you and yours.

summertime rolls.

2011-07-16T01:15:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time comin'... but here it is.

Summer is upon us. That means relaxing, meandering warm days, basking in the sun's warm embrace, children in and out, in and out, in and out, schedules thrown with haste into the wind where they free our spirits from their vice-like grip that does not come naturally to me.

Summer means impromptu evening trips to the park, complete with Daddy.

To me, summer means time to slow down, be curious, discover, explore, relax, enjoy - rest.

All things that are much needed. I am so grateful for them.

And as we all know, even late into summer evenings means ice cream trucks and treats...

when mom and dad haven't left their wallets at home.

this is the concentrated face. we love this face.

Summer means lazy evenings left for lounging amidst cool breezes that bring promises of rest, and a daily moment of renewal and a constant reminder of being born again; a continual reprieve from life's toils. We don't have many blazing hot sunny summer day photos because

a) we haven't had that many blazing hot sunny summer days yet, and...

b) as I have said before, I often neglect to pack my camera. (shameful, I know)

Our children were graciously invited to be in a wedding party for my cousin-in-law, the graceful and elegant Andrea as she wed the dashing Liam - the day was perfect, she was stunning and full of joy, he was ecstatic and so warm and heartfelt... the kids all looked so great... and I left my camera at home in my mad dash out the door. I do, however, have iPhone Instagram photos of the littlest guys - from us choosing outfits several days prior.

In news at home, Amos started sitting independently! I thought it would be a grand occasion because of the working-up-to-it of sorts, and then one day, shortly after his birthday... he could just sit. Unassisted. And it's glorious.

And trumpets blast... the next-to-littlest boy has graduated from the Academy A La Diaper! Yes, that's right, Jacob is completely out of diapers. It's funny, this motherhood thing. Once he successfully got onto the toilet and did number 1, I cried. I actually was sitting on the bathroom floor with tears in my eyes and a sob pawing from the inside of my chest, I was so proud. I was so proud of this little boy who has just blessed me in so many ways. This sweet boy who has such a circle of influence and friends and admirers and his genuine affection for them all. I cried and clapped and cheered and he hugged me because he thought I was sad, "you done cryin' mom?' And from there, it happened so quickly once this lady buckled down and got 'er done. (Nevermind that he's actually singing Lady Gaga tunes and about how 'I love poo in my heart' through a funnel in this picture...)

We even went camping with friends, with a potty training little guy, this mama still pumping for the baby, and the two big ones that only requested fun and good food and campfire for hot dogs and marshmallows. Done and done.

Laesa loved Amos. Like, really loved.

We celebrated Canada Day, July 1st. Everyone except the Man wore red. Silly man.

I look so much like my mom in this picture, it scares me a little.

That day was one of the hot days we've had so far. And walking around the place where the festivities were happening, Joel was cranky, I was hot and cranky, the kids were all cranky, and we were scrapping as a family. All of us, even though in this picture we were smiling and friendly-like. We were in the shade here. We headed home, feeling like the day was ruined - and then my Man has an excellent idea, and kept it a surprise until we got there. Summer means fruit. Berries. Strawberries. How about you-pick a box full for $5.00? Done. Sign us up.

It was so much fun, and such a successful and satisfying haul. Dirty, sweaty boys got a fun bath in the kitchen sink, the big kids and the parents relaxed as the day wound down and the cool, calming evening breezes greeted us with just the way they do.


He's way into saying 'cheeeeeeeeese' right now. No idea who taught it to him.

New skill! Reach and grab... and come back up again.

And this wee boy, well. He is just the cherry on top. The weird sadness or pain or sorrow or whatever-you-may-call-it about having a baby you didn't necessarily expect has been popping up here and there again, as I know now that it will - perhaps on and off forever. But goodness. When I stay focused on this face, this sweet face perched above the sweet soft arms and his little leggies - well, I'm smitten all over again, again and again, moment after moment, day after day. Forever.

Thank you for being so patient with me, friends - as I sorted through my stuff that most (if not all) of you weren't even aware of. I'm still acclimatizing to living in another province, I go through waves of missing my familiar city, my friends, my family, my area code (yes, I mistakenly dial the wrong area code from time to time)... but I'm working darn hard on focusing on the now, the blessing of today, the strengths this is growing in me, and in us... and the hope for tomorrow. And for now?

Summertime rolls, baby. Summertime rolls.

storytelling.

2011-07-06T00:34:00.001-07:00

I don't have to tell you how much I've been struggling with writing as of late. And it's not that there aren't stories there. They just don't feel as connected to my guts. So to appease my own lack of presence in this space, I will pull a few old tales out of the memory banks.

When I was in grade school, I wore the badge of troublemaker with a small amount of sadness, but mostly with pride. I was tough. I was little, but I was darn tough. And I was fearless, in many ways. At least I thought so. Or at least that's how I remember things through my rose-tinted glasses.

I remember starting out nearly every school year with each student being able to choose their own desk among the rows of desks. Friends would choose to be amongst friends, and I was no different than any others. However, without fail, every year (and not too long after the year had started), my desk would be moved from wherever in the room I had chosen it to be to be right up closer to the front, away from my girl friends, and right smack in the middle of the boys. Yuck. The boys.

This move every year (and even sometimes multiple times a year) shaped me in many ways - it affirmed that:
- yes, Laura, you are such a troublemaker that you cannot be outside of a supervisor's watchful eye (a belief that hurts and has crippled me in many ways), and
- yes, Laura, you are not allowed to be with your friends because even though you are able to get the work done quickly, you distract them too much and they cannot finish.

I know from my years of university as an adult that the second statement is absolutely and unequivocally true. Most if not all of my university friends could attest to that.

But that first statement - it became so ingrained in me that it was a part of my identity. And it was so much a part of my identity that I wore it as I said with pride, and I nurtured and fostered that troublemaker-ness in many ways.

Here is where it gets dangerous.

I learned years and years and years later that yes, although I was a distraction to the other girls that sat around me, the main reason teacher after teacher after teacher moved me to the spot amongst the dreaded boys?

Because I had a profound ability to create and maintain peace around me. Many teachers placed me amongst the troubled boys who needed assistance, and they found that I was gifted in that area, and would help the four sitting around me - in front, in back, and on each side. And all of this was in elementary school. Several teachers recognized this in me and utilized it to make the best of their classroom situation.

Imagine if someone had told me that.

"Laura - you have a profound ability to create peace amongst chaos wherever you go, and you are a vital member of the classroom." And here all along I thought it was because I was only annoying and only bad.

Imagine of the truth was the message I stitched onto my heart and soul rather than the sense that I was no good for nobody. Where would I have gone instead? Words and actions are powerful, powerful things.

----------

My Grandpa Harris died when I was quite newly pregnant with my firstborn. It's hard to believe we've just passed 12 years ago that he's been gone last month. When he was first gone I dreamed of him so often. He would be in his big coat, standing in the little entrance to their home in Lloydminster - he would open his arms big and wide, and envelope me in such love, such acceptance, such comfort and joy in those dreams. He came to visit me in dreams so often when I was at a place where major things were going down in my life, big decisions being made... and he always brought me such comfort. I miss him greatly.

At his memorial service all in attendance were invited to come up and share. Several of his own children went up to speak - I'm sure some of my uncles made some of us laugh. My mom probably went up and prayed and said something that embarrassed us kids as is often the case with mamas and their growing teenage and young adult children...

For me, I knew I had to go, I felt compelled to go - and my cousin Katrina really wanted to go up and speak as well. We seemed to both be lacking the courage to go alone so we accompanied one another up to the microphoned podium and said our piece to this man who meant so much to us. I remember she spoke about her fondness for Grandpa playing the piano with her. I remember Grandpa playing the piano, too. And the harmonica. Those memories make me smile.

When it was my turn to speak, the memory I wanted to recall and share was so crystal clear that any fear I had in speaking was quickly abated by the fondness the memory invoked. It is still clear as day today. Grandpa was a tinkerer. He always had all kinds of interesting things in his garage, in his office, and he was always keen to share his excitement over new things, or he was unable to contain his curiosity over a perplexing or new item, or problem, and in my memory, he was always willing to drop whatever project he was working on to satisfy the curious hunger for knowledge and understanding of a little child.

Even now, rewriting this story, I remember what I said at the memorial service then and I will say it again now. Grandpa didn't make an effort to show that he was all fancy-like I'm going to drop what I'm doing to show this precious child how important they are to me, to the world, to God, that this little person's childhood is so fleeting that I must maximize on it and show them how wonderful they are, bless this little one for their curiosity... in truth he was plain and simple and just as curious as I was. So when I came to him with what I now know was a simple, plain, castoff piece of copper pipe - I was all of seven years old, and completely enthralled with this commonplace item that to me looked like it was a part of pirate treasure - or formed from something as exotic as squashed money - or was so unbelievably important that it was so very special that I discovered it in my Grandpa's yard and was seeking his knowledge and help to return it to its owner.

Only thing was, whether he acted this way on purpose to appease and delight me I do not know... but he acted like I had found something like pirate treasure - or something as valuable as if it were formed from squashed money - or something so unbelievably important that it was so very special... he began, under my watchful eye, to perform a series of tests on it - he had all of his electrical testing equipment in his garage and various other cool things (like a photocopier? that was the coolest thing eva when I was 7 8 11 14... oh, the good times we had with that photocopier!). But Grandpa sat there and humored me for what seemed like the better part of an afternoon, helping me figure out what this item could possibly be, and what could we use it for? and where did it come from? and my question do you think someone misses it? and once we had figured out that it was pipe, he asked me the most important question of all what do you want to do with it?

I remember that afternoon with Grandpa so fondly. I still miss him. But he taught me an important lesson that day. It's a lesson that I have sadly forgotten at many times during my days and months and years as a mother.

There are many days where I have gotten so wrapped in a fog in my head that I am forgetting to remain curious with my children. I feel so tired and fatigued by the questions and the curiosity that it feels that loneliness and depression and something as menial but menacing as a lack of finances is the boss... and if one of my brood found something along the lines of this pipe, tragically they would be simply told it's just a copper pipe, it's not a toy, a plumber threw it away, it's garbage. leave it alone.

And for that I mourn. But I can change it. And I am making my very best efforts to do just that. I am so grateful for these days again where the sunshine can spill into my spirit and wash me and my children in its warmth, and when browned well enough, all of us retreat into the cool of the house with pink cheeks and sun-kissed shoulders. I wish my Grandpa could give me that big hug in my dreams again that reaffirms to me see? you are complete. you are good enough. you are loved. you can do this. you are so special. you are vital.

Lots of things can add up to a big heavy monster of an oppressive sadness that falls over a woman, a wife, a mama, a family - they can add up exponentially for a long, long time. And just sit, heavy. And then the light and more of the Light helps me to see they are also waiting to be dispersed, and then put away. Every time.

Oh, but how we love the sunshine. I'm hoping to come out and play, because I can, I love to, and I am. I've missed you all. I hope I've been missed, too. (shameless plug.)

Photos and new posts are a comin'. It's summer. Time to shine and tell some more stories.

if you call, I will answer.

2011-06-13T23:04:00.000-07:00

I have been consciously absent. And even though this is my space, I feel obliged to explain why. I have had a lot on my heart and on my mind, but I am just not sure how much I should share. I say that I'm an open book, but some parts of what's smokescreening all over my insides right now are just not ready to be aired yet, and I'm just not sure they are meant to be aired. Just for tonight, there are no photos. I have words to spill. Forgive me if they don't flow well.

As a child, I loved to tell stories. I am told I am a decent storyteller.

Somehow now that I have written Amos's story (in four parts here, here, here and here),

I am not sure where to go next,
and I am feeling a great many things.

... that I am in a state of growth in my life, where my old skin is drawing tight and itchy, straining and begging to be burst open, again revealing something new, the glorious, refreshed and changed, shiny fresh life within,

that I am mourning a loss, that someone very close to my heart had his freshly knotted young wife walk away -

- and into the arms of another man. sigh. it hurts. like hell.

that I am struggling with that in my heart and my mind, and in finding a balance

as a mother, a woman, a wife, a writer, a follower of Jesus, a Whatever Else I Am (not necessarily in that order),

that our marriage at times is some of the hardest work I have been called to do,

and that people in happy, easy-from-the-outside marriages cause me to furrow my brow in astonishment, dig my heels in at the same time as restoring my faith,

that I need to focus on the positive things, hence the start of my gratitude list,

that I fail - often.

and that I need to seek help.

I knew I needed to come clean about this list of weights holding me down, keeping me from writing.

I was feeling guilty. The mess of emotion inside my heart and mind has been keeping me somewhat swamped, when what I really want to be able to say is:

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

- Mary Oliver

I have always felt called to do something. Maybe a great many of us feel that, and I am not any different than anyone else. If there's anything I've learned, it's that we are all more alike than different, so I guess we all feel called in some way.

I had thought that one big purpose in my wild and precious life was to wrap my arms around other women, other mamas, other people who are struggling with an unexpected diagnosis using my words here. I have spoken of this before, here, and here. I hope I can help even one person. I feel this so strongly, and still believe it to be true.

Perhaps because I felt so strongly compelled to do something, I had thought another calling way was I could get in touch with the Canadian Down Syndrome Society and begin a fundraiser in honor of my precious boy's first birthday.

... but honestly? I was terribly uninspired.

Perhaps because I have had no contact from this organization, ever.

Perhaps because I heard the words to thine own self be true resonating in my head... and in coming clean, I know truthfully that I was trying to copycat this idea, and it would not be from mine own self.

Yes. And most important of all, I didn't feel that this was where God was asking me to direct my energy.

I take those words to heart. I spent time in prayer, and contemplation. I searched for inspiration. For this precious baby man's birthday, we had a peaceful, joyful, celebratory day amongst people who love us and our Amos that was not punctuated by a smashingly successful (or smashingly unsuccesful!) fundraiser for awareness, but what we most certainly felt was a heartfelt and joyful acceptance of these special and wonderful, beautiful and precious little people with their designer genes.

Maybe one day, I will still do a fundraiser.
What I'm sure of now is that when God means for me to do it - He will clear the path for me and light the way.

Sigh. Feels a bit like since the birthday party decorations are still up (I like them.) that maybe I'm hosting a pity party again, but I just wanted to get a load of this off my chest. Come clean, so to speak.

Once I had done, brushed aside and completed, that perhaps then I would have the energy and the focus to draw word pictures of positive things and share them with you (you know the saying? you can attract more flies with honey). I thought this is what I am called to do, this is what people want to read, and this is what makes people feel good.

But it doesn't just come easily to me when I am sitting within the four walls of my house, as I've said before, to write of skipping down lollipop lane twirling in sunshine and bluebird happiness and such. Was this more of me just being negative? Where I needed to work harder to only write of my gratitudes and of consciously seeking out my blessings in order to fix what is broken in me? Yes. A large part, yes. But In times of little boys tag team nap times so a tired mama spends the better part of an afternoon trudging up and down stairs once, twice, thrice in but a moment to settle little heavy headed sleepy boys in dire need of restful time to grow... where a moment is so longed for to simply sit, clear my mind and reconnect with Jesus and start the day anew, and many times this just does not get to happen, so intimate time with my Father in heaven is spliced in between the every day toil and labor so through gritted teeth and a heavy heart that I would hide away to regale you with stories of cotton candy afternoons and handspun yarn delicious overflowing moments of bliss in our house of love? Sigh. No.

But somehow, when I go outside these four walls, it all seems so much less heavy, less impending, gloomy, sleepless and stressful. Sigh.

Don't get me wrong, many days in this house are joy filled, beams of sunshine spilling in and laughter and happy hearts prevail.

And many days are not.

... and then I read this, and it blessed me.

And I think I have found a more truthful and soul filled piece of what God has called me to do. Tell my stories. All of them, when and where He prompts me to tell them.

In my life, I have not walked down as many lollipop lanes sprinkled with fairy dust and sunshiney lilypad tiptoeing moments where pixies flit about and daydreams are reality as the times where I have been smacked in the jaw, stars in my eyes as I struggle to get my wits about me, senses reeling and heart pounding. In truth, the soles of my feet are cracking because of the weight of where my feet have trod, and my soul is bare bones in places where not many can see because I keep them covered. My tears burn my cheeks with threadbare stains and yet, all of this is who I am.

All of it.

Not just the pretty, the joyful, the easy, the beautiful.

There is much joy amidst the pain, good days and bad days. And through it all there are stories. Ann Voskamp from A Holy Experience coined it so well:

I come to you tonight with nothing but a string of stories… for that is all I have, all we all have, really – the Word God making our lives into lines that we throw to each other.

The lines of our stories become literal life-lines that we throw to each other when the storms come and beat hard on our lives.

When you sit down to your keyboard, and you write a blogpost — you are writing for me. You are writing for messed up me, and the messed up woman next door, and the messed up woman sitting beside you in church and messed up You. We need your messy stories. And you need your messy stories.

Why do I need your story and why do you need your story?

Because story is a way that the Spirit of God can bind our wounds.

It is in story, we meet the Spirit of God. The reader meets the Spirit of God in the reading of story — the word made flesh in your life. The writer, you, meets the Spirit of God in the writing your story – the word made flesh in your own life.

The Word God wastes nothing and He heals two broken hearts with one story – the reader and the writer.

Us who are fighting for joy from behind the laundry heap and in the trenches with the crying kids and with the bruised marriages and the crushing debts and the battered, frayed dreams, and We. Don’t. Want. To. Get. Out. Of. Bed — we need your messy, real, authentic, unmasked stories. And you who are fallen and broken and scraped– you need your messy, real, ugly stories. Because in the hands of the Spirit, story becomes a salve to the skinned souls.
- Ann Voskamp

Whoosh.

So it's not just me?

Did you feel that as strongly as I did?

I knew what I was trying to do here was not about attracting more flies with honey. And somehow I knew it was for my own healing, too.

God has called me to be who I am, a vessel to be filled by Him to pour out to others, to show His grace and His goodness and His overflowing mercy, and by doing so, hopefully helping you heal in some way, and receiving healing of my own.

I don't know if what I speak of is what you are struggling with. Things I do know are that Down Syndrome is not what defines our family, but it sure is a significant part of our family because we are so in love with our sweet and brilliant babe - but there is still pain there from time to time.

... and I also know that the multitude of ground where my path has traveled amongst thorns thrashing my skin, causing me suffering and torment -

these are not things unique only to me, or to our family -

and therefore it's not fair for me to hide them away and pretend they aren't happening, especially here, where this is my space to share and be most myself, and perhaps be of some use.

Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.

- again, Mary Oliver

This is what I (need to) blog. Because this is who I am. I am a mess – who often doesn’t want to get out of bed. Who struggles and preaches ugly self-sermons to herself and some days just really doesn’t know how to go on. I don’t have it all together. I blog about not having it all together. And you know what? I’m almost willing to hazard a guess that there a whole lot of other women out there like me who are a bit of a mess and who don’t know how to get out of bed some mornings and who have to fight. Hard. For. Joy.

- Ann Voskamp

This is what I am called to do. And where it goes it not up to me, and not for my glory.

For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.

Hello, sun in my face. Hello you who made the morning and spread it over the fields...Watch, now, how I start the day in happiness, in kindness.

- there she is again, Mary Oliver

And now, I fight, Hard. For. Joy. and start the day in happiness, in kindness. For both of us. You and I. And for my family. My man, my children.

I had to come clean about it. I have been carrying it awhile and it has only made me stronger. It now holds a little less weight over me, but leaves me with some mighty strong shoulders to help carry yours.

Let me help you.

satisfaction.

2011-05-31T20:31:00.001-07:00

today is a new day.

for that I am ever so satisfied.

the symbol of his commitment to me; the symbol of His commitment to us.

my blogging creativity has abated for the present.

but a good song, a cup o' hot coffee, and handmade-by-my-Egan colorful bunting banners strewn about my house since the great birthday party on Sunday make up for the lack of... flow. of... mojo. of... ideas.

they'll be back, I know. and in the meantime? I am satisfied. many moments that is a choice, because we all know how dissatisfaction creeps in, lurking around every corner, telling me how I'm not good enough, my house isn't pretty or clean or perfect or classy or cool or interesting enough, or my clothes are shabby, or I'm too fat, or too unstylish, or have bad skin or bad hair... and even now typing out these dissatisfying words... is... not nice. they break my heart.

so I choose satisfaction. today. right now. I have to, or else I'll lose my mind to the other stuff.

here's a sneak peak at what we've been up to. these photos are just a few that bring me a pleasant sense of satisfaction.

jumping children in the rain. sigh. {contentment.}

enjoy. I know I will. be satisfied, because you deserve to be.

leftover birthday cake makes for amazing mid-afternoon snacks among bros.

satisfaction. right there.

surprise - hillbilly teeth! jacob has been having a blast creeping me out with these fake teeth.

have a great hump-day. keep that dissatisfaction at bay. I will too. be back soon. I... will... too.

88. homemade cake with homemade icing
89. people smiling at babies
90. people smiling at babies with down syndrome
91. those darn sweet designer babies
92. party hats
93. watching Egan make crafts
94. tacos
95. cool, crisp air
96. the first raindrops
97. walking hand in hand with my man in the grocery store, like we're dating again
98. gettin' 'er done. (checking things off my to-do list)
99. the smell of blue sugar cologne
100. nectarines!

Our Eyes Opened: Kirill's Miracle Story

2011-05-29T02:51:00.000-07:00

Our Eyes Opened: Kirill's Miracle Story

thankfulness.

2011-05-25T15:56:00.000-07:00

yesterday was a day to remember.

a very very special little blessing burst forth into our lives and even deeper into our hearts one year ago yesterday, early that morning.

what a glorious, empowering, blessed moment - when that warm, tiny, beautiful and brand new little body was ushered into this world, took his first breath, and this mama was filled with the glory of the Lord. thank you Jesus for our Amos, in every way. He is a perfect gift.

we are celebrating with a little party for our wee, special, precious little one year old who will celebrate even though he can't quite sit independently yet. but that will come, just as my thankfulness has blossomed, and grown, and came full circle this year.

a very sleepy Amos trying watermelon for the first time on his birthday. It was a much-loved hit.

being thankful.

in being thankful, I want to begin a list that's been unraveling in my mind for several years; I want to write down every thing I can think of that I am thankful for. the list is in no particular order, and it will be an ever expanding, and ever evolving list. there is so much I am thankful for. feel free to begin and share your own list with me - I for one am excited to see what it might do in my heart to focus on all these wonderful blessings, and it's fun and enlightening to see what other people are thankful for.

1. my husband providing for our family

2. children laughing

3. when my feet are cold getting into bed and my man lets me snuggle them up under his warm legs

4. being a mother

5. my sweet children's beautiful faces

6. my five siblings

7. being a woman

8. Jesus' saving grace

9. fresh cut grass

10. that Amos did not perish

11. working in the soil

12. children mastering something new

13. the smell of coffee

14. the taste of coffee

15. my grandmother's love

16. down syndrome - my changed and enriched heart

17. having the privilege of being present at someone's birth

18. having the privilege of being present at someone's death

19. good music

20. singing in the shower

21. warm water to shower in

22. food in my children's bellies

23. food in my belly

24. feeding my husband food he loves

25. laughter

26. friendships, old and new

27. soft singing

28. my man's shy face, when he is shy with me

29. the smell of rain

30. the sound of rain

31. warm raindrops on bare feet

32. swimming

33. family

34. the honor of giving birth

35. being breathless with my daughter's beauty

36. helping someone overcome a fear

37. feather blankets

38. protection from the elements

39. the way my Mr. smells after a shower

40. bonfires

41. roasting marshmallows

42. melted cheese

43. fresh fruit

44. baby's sweet breath

45. the smell between puppy toes

46. orchids, tulips, roses, bells of ireland

47. growing food to eat

48. staying up late talking to my sister

49. laughing with my sister

50. crying with my sister

51. listening - really listening to my children

52. my childhood memories

53. lady - our english springer spaniel that we grew up with.

54. dogs. I admit I have a soft spot for most critters, dogs especially.

55. listening to my children giggle and squeal while they jump on the trampoline

"Mama! Come on the trampoline, please?"

My man captured these images of me jumping with Jacob - believe me, these are by far the most flattering of the lot. The others will never see the light of day. And we will not speak of them again.

my three oldest with our neighbor boy in the evening. you could hear their laughter from the front yard. this. is. perfection. When Jacob saw the photos of me jumping on the trampoline? 'Who is that? You look scary. Your hair is in your face. That's a monster. Yah, it's scary." perfection? not. so. much.

56. sitting around in the evening, sharing conversation and coffee

57. wool mittens

58. scarves and mittens and hats

59. rubber boots

60. slippers

61. sweaters

62. blue jeans

63. boots

64. pajama clad tiny bodies

65. freshly washed hair

66. fresh bread

67. floating in the water

68. sitting in the sun

69. surprise flowers from anyone

70. planting flowers, growing flowers

71. a hot cup of coffee

72. knitting

73. knitted things

74. the sound of trains

75. a home to live in

76. safety

77. baby's feet

78. baby's bums

79. children's hands

80. a little child's fascination with water, and their ability to play with running water for hours on end

81. restful slumber

82. rosy cheeks

83. babies, babies, babies

84. not a big dessert person, but there is something about following a meal with a dessert and a coffee. and conversation that is absolute *perfection*. mmmm.

85. getting a bothersome sliver out

86. forgiveness

87. homemade macaroni and cheese

Jacob is also thankful for homemade macaroni and cheese; a lunchtime favorite. This is his Stevie Wonder style prayer where he talks to Jesus between every bite and sways with his eyes closed when he is thankful for food he loves. He is so funny.

ah, the list goes on and on. so many things to be thankful for! I plan to keep adding things to my thankfulness list here and there on upcoming blog posts. these 87 were just off the top of my head.

amen.

idle hands.

never one to go too long without creating something with my hands, I am feeling the urge to start sewing again. I have long wanted to make skirts for both myself and my little miss E., but have never gotten around to it. I have found some adorable patterns online and I will post how they turn out. Recently, I was able to get together at a new friend's house who is the mama to sweet, angelic baby Maya. Oh Maya - I again got to stare into her dreamy eyes, and got to snuggle with the one-who-is-too-sweet-for-words Chiara Bella, and was also privileged to meet the amazing and beautiful little sunny miss Ola - all of these sweet girls are designer babies like my Amos and oh. my. goodness. If any of them were mine, I would never, ever get anything done. They are honestly each and every one just too sweet to even fathom. Even though I can make conversation with each of their amazing and beautiful and wonderful mamas, it is a struggle to pull my eyes away from their dreamy, beautiful, enticing and entrancing gazes. Ah, such sweet babes!

back to idle hands... or more accurately their counterparts, busy hands... Ola's mama Leanna briefly mentioned she has a blog, she makes dolls. I thought to myself ooh I'll have to check it out when I get home, her daughter's names are Poppy and Ola and I adore both of those names, especially together and I think their mama is all-around pretty cool - and when I popped over to visit it I was left dumbfounded. Her opening sentence was 'I had my second roller derby practice tonight'. Roller Derby? how cool is this? How cool is she? I was hooked. I told her I am in awe of any woman on that roller track and secretly wish I were you. It's true.

But not only does she blog, have two adorable girls with super great names, she also makes these adorable rag dolls, all herself, all by hand - and she sells them! You must go see. She is selling them this weekend at the Old School Market in Clayburn Village - and she also sells them in her Etsy shop, Poot and Boogie. (Hope you don't mind me giving you a shout out, Leanna!) I am so thankful to have met her, and Aman, and Sandra. What a blessing each of them have already been in my life, and in my heart. Such amazingly wonderful women, and each the mother of amazingly beautiful children.

meandering.

I really felt like this post started somewhere strong and is kind of meandering off into nothingness - but rest assured, I will tie it up to the best of my ability and be back again. I am ever so thankful for anyone and everyone who reads, and I gobble up your comments as nourishment for my parched spirit many a day. God is so good, and I am so thankful to have been blessed by each person who stops by and by each who leaves a kind word. If I touch even one person's heart who is going through something difficult, than I am again ever so thankful to have been blessed to speak, to write, to share, and to be present, and have you join me on my journey, and that I can join you on yours, however that may look.

A pretty bowl of lemons on my table. Just crushin'.

Love the way he looks up at his brother with complete and udder adoration.

wrapping it up?

yesterday: remember it.

be thankful.

idle hands are the devil's plaything.

take time to meander, and come on back. you never know who's waiting for you.

love to you all, this fine spring day.

don't sweat the small stuff.

2011-05-23T14:11:00.000-07:00

When I was young, my mom had a book called Don't Sweat the Small Stuff.

That title would come back to me many times in the years since I last saw it.

Indeed it has.

What I didn't remember about the title of the book until I looked it up today was what followed in parentheses.

(it's all small stuff).

In my lack of sleep and coming down from the most-stressful-year-of-my-life-haze, I have been sweating a lot of small stuff. (oh, who am I kidding, I've been a race horse in many ways for the last five years of my life. But I shouldn't be counting. That's silly).

Even today, I felt like my mind was spinning and my head was going berserk with the multitude of little things lying around, the crumbs on the floor, the baby needing a nap, the fact that I haven't put my bra on yet today. Yup.

By God's grace, the older three children came running in, faces flushed with excitement, limbs flailing and mouths flapping and chirping, all abuzz with the words that mark the arrival of summer:

the ice cream truck is here!

I remember when I was a mama of only one, and then two - when we heard the ice cream truck, I taught them to leap into action. You hear that cheesy music? Yell for money, get out there, get a treat! It won't be here long! Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

Run like the wind, child - run!

What fun. But - it's almost lunchtime, then nap time, and I need that time to get things in order for friends coming over for coffee this evening - and the return of the man of the house later this evening. (hooray!) Hm. Ice cream truck equals lots of money (lots of little mouths want expensive sweet treats), and if they get them my daytime schedule is thrown off and then what?

I tell you, it didn't take me long to decide what I needed to do. It didn't even take looking at their faces. I told you it was by the grace of God - He settled my heart, my mind, my schedule - and told me I was the Mama. And they are children. It's okay. I need to relax.

I knew what I had to do. I had to tell them where money was so they could go blow it quickly, and enjoy slurping up every last cent of sugar laden frozen deliciousness.

(thank goodness the daddy's not here. he goes a lot less for the ice cream truck than this mama does.)

But the ice cream truck is not the point I need to make today. The excitement is.

Or more truthfully, the lack of excitement these past months is what is begging to be talked about.

At church yesterday, our pastor spoke of Elijah suffering after years of running on adrenaline. He spoke of how a person can only do that so long. After years of adrenaline induced go go go go go

... it leads to a shut down, compassion fatigue, depression, exhaustion.

And when you feel that fatigue - you need to rest. You need to take your peace, and lean on Him.

I cried.

guess where I am?

it's my precious boy's first birthday tomorrow.

and I have yet to even dress myself today.

I am fatigued.

I am tired.

I am sweating so much small stuff I don't even know where to begin.

So I started with the ice cream truck.

Next I will get dressed.

My little sweet can't-believe-you're-one-tomorrow baby still needs a nap, but I will be ready this evening when our friends come for coffee. And it will be okay. Because like I talked about here, when people see that other people live in their homes, too* - it makes things feel normal for everyone else.

*note - 'live in their homes, too' means 'you mean your house gets crazy, too?'

I thought for a moment for illustration's sake, I'll take a picture of Egan's mess at the desk where she set up her homework... and when I saw the photo, I literally gasped with the realization of how not crazy it was.

two brothers wearing their sister's hand-me-down sun hats in the backyard. nobody's sweatin' a single thing.

It really is all small stuff. Naps, crumbs, schedules, whether or not your kids, your house, your dishes or your hair are clean and impeccably presentable - it's all small stuff.

Don't sweat it. But even in that, don't sweat not sweating it. To me, this means don't let it get too crazy (like I do) or else it takes up permanent residence in my brain where it becomes the boss and imprisons me behind a wall of it's just too much I don't even know where to begin...

Just relax. Breathe. Snuggle a sweet faced child or two, and do one thing. Lean into Him, your heavenly Father, the One who knows you and feels your pain above everyone else. The One who loves you so much more than you know, more than you deserve, more than you can even comprehend.

My biggest boy just walked in and informed me that this afternoon, the consumption of his frozen treat was one of the 8th greatest moments of his life. He told me 'did you know as soon as I finished that Mega Missile that the world got a little bit brighter?'

Ah, I need to remember that. Frozen treats, summer, sugary goodness, excitement, fun on a holiday, lean on the everlasting arms. I need to remember my own words. And remember I am never alone in my fatigue, my adrenaline let-down. And neither are you.

Run like the wind, child. Run.

Don't sweat the small stuff. (and it's all small stuff).

Happy Monday.

the ebb and flow.

2011-05-20T23:51:00.001-07:00

sigh. these last several weeks. where have they gone?

where has my mojo gone? I fear in the ebb and flow of good days and bad days, restful sleep and sleepless nights - with nearly every night being a sleepless night and the days become all tangled into playing an impossible, dizzying maze of catch-up... and in that I fear that I lose not only my time to restore - but that I lose so much more.

I know through talking to other women, other mothers, other wives, other don't remember-the-last-time-I-slept-through-the-night-it's-been-so-long mamas... I know from talking with them that it's not just me. Phew.

Still, that realization doesn't make it any easier. My body feels sluggish and tired and worn. As does my mind, my heart.

Days begin with me being dragged unwillingly out of bed, being dragged by only my sense of responsibility to my children, as is any other mother with little ones rising too soon. Exhaustion seeps in, overtakes everything and my only solace is the next time I can crawl back into bed with one or more little ones by my side. One day this week I kept a small running commentary of what took place all day. I was astounded by the sheer lack of productivity due to little ones refusing to sleep, too excited to lay down and close those eyes, in case they miss something. Sounds much more precious than it is after the umpteenth time of a terribly underslept mama running up and down the stairs while little ones won't sleep and cry and whine and refuse any good and helpful assistance, preferring to whine loudly and long and lonely and so very skin crawlingly annoyingly. Think I could be a bit short on sleep? Yes.

Ah. Sleep. It is delicious. Elusive. Revitalizing.

Precious children, when they sleep - for me, the phrase all things become new is on the forefront of my mind when little ones eyes grow heavy and heads droop with the disappearing sun. It is a beautiful, simple but consistent reminder of how we are given a new chance every day. A new birth, a renewal and another opportunity to try again. Us and them. A chance to gain a literally fresh perspective on just about anything.

And for the days where sleep continues to elude me? I drink one heck of a lot of coffee for one person. I listen to music that makes me feel like I'm dancing on the inside. I get to look at some of the most beautiful faces in the world - shining faces as they cheer on the Canucks. Or eyes all ablaze with excitement at the realization of nothingness underfoot while bouncing into the air on the trampoline. Sweethearts shining through sweet faces as they enjoy each other. Bliss for a tired mama.

I had all these high hopes for Amos' first birthday coming up right after this long weekend. Now I don't even know where any of that desire went. I had high hopes to do something huge, something grand, something so special - because I just feel so darn grateful for him, for our family, for everything that we are. And these days I just don't know how or where to tap into any of that desire. I wouldn't even know where to begin, my eyelids are so heavy.

But right now, just for tonight, my little ones are all a-sleepin' in their beds. Nearly. They are all asleep, and I only have one baby in my bed right now, at this moment. Sleep will return one day, I know it will - and with it, my mojo, my energy, my sunny disposition and my creativity and all that entails will flow right back in from where it ebbed before.

This too shall pass.

For now, the house is cooling off with mild evening breezes like how the children drift off one by one. A warm bath and a late cup of coffee are calling my name. It really is so peaceful when the children are resting. Tomorrow is another beautiful, gloriously new day. And who could be cranky with this little face to look at every morning? His big day is coming, and as a friend pointed out, I'm sure it will be wonderful, whatever we choose to do.

little feet in my house

the mountains melt like wax.

and so it begins.

strive.

today I love a new year.

a Christmas post.

let it roll.

shift. a celebration.

back to school, away from the world.

summertime rolls.

storytelling.

if you call, I will answer.

The Word God wastes nothing and He heals two broken hearts with one story – the reader and the writer.

satisfaction.

Our Eyes Opened: Kirill's Miracle Story

thankfulness.

don't sweat the small stuff.

the ebb and flow.

Good night. Sweet dreams. I choose to feel something wonderful. Oh, and with the ebb, it flows.

Happy Weekend.