Level

Illness has the ability to change perspectives.  Though it's another thing in life that is out of our control, it can deceive or provide clarity, depending on what we choose.  We decide the outcome of illness whether there is a cure or not; whether we live or die.  We decide our end even if we cannot control the circumstances or pain level.  Truthfully, we decide our end whether we are ill or not.

I've spent half my life in and out of gastroenterology offices.  Most of the doctors I saw were quick to give me a simple diagnosis, in spite of not truly listening to all of the symptoms. I never want to hear the term irritable bowel syndrome again.  I believe it does exist, but I think there is more to it than that.  Then, I met a doctor who listened.  Who cared.  Who truly, sincerely wanted to help.  He is nearly 80 and he's seen it all.  He's seen enough to know that he doesn't know everything, and that patients can offer more insight on their diagnosis than they're often given credit for.

Before my first visit, I was convinced that intolerances were behind it all, due to some kind of inflammatory issue.  A few tests suggested that my feelings weren't completely invalid.  I cannot tell you how close the doctor was to diagnosing me with crohn's disease and how close I was to believing it; we were both surprised to discover that my colonoscopy results were normal.  It was a blessing, but I was worried there wouldn't be any kind of treatment for whatever mystery issue was ailing me.

Despite having a fairly high deductible that I wasn't even close to reaching, the gastro ran every test under the sun.  He was the first doctor to test the function of my pancreas.  He was also the first gastro who didn't think I was crazy for thinking a missing gallbladder might be the other part of the problem.

It turns out, we were both right.  He was more right than all the other doctors combined.  I found out I have something kind of uncommon, exocrine pancreatic enzyme insufficiency, and something not quite as uncommon, bile salt malabsorption.  The names are complicated but, thankfully, the treatment is simple...but definitely not cheap!

I met my $5K deductible.  Health is priceless.  I would pay it again if I had to.  I feel like a different person.  When your digestive system isn't functioning the way it should be, and you're constantly aware of all the cramps, noises, and gurgles.  And constantly worrying about weight, how to respond to people's rude comments about your struggle to maintain it, or even how you'll explain to random friends or strangers that you cannot get together because your life revolves around your food choices and toilets...life can feel a lot like...no life at all.  What hit me hardest, though, was feeling like I couldn't be the mother to my children that I wanted to be, because I couldn't always keep my promises.  I feared missing out on more than just dinners with friends and church functions; I was afraid that I might miss out on some of my kid's greatest life events, from their college graduation to the birth of their children.

This all may sound dramatic, but these were real concerns.  I am at least 15 pounds lighter than I was in college.  I definitely didn't have healthy eating habits at that time in my life (not even close--who does?), but I was more sturdy.  Honestly, I believe it's somewhat of a miracle that I didn't miscarry my children, considering my body was not digesting food properly for so long.  

The topic of self-confidence can be a cheesy one.  We're told to believe in ourselves, to not care what others think, to focus on what's inside and not outside.  But is it really possible not to care about how others perceive us?  Humans were made for relationships and we want to feel loved and accepted...totally.  God created us with that desire so that we would seek him for our sense of wholeness, but while we are in these bodies we will be tempted to view ourselves as inferior, because we don't have his eyes.

Our eyes scrutinize the wrong things.  We can criticize someone's character or appearance, and who are we to do that?  We don't know their past, we don't know their struggles, we don't even know if they feel loved.  How would you feel if your judgment of someone caused you to completely avoid them, and then, after it was too late, you discovered they were dealing with loneliness?  How would you feel if someone told you that maybe you were lacking true friends because you couldn't even be honest enough with yourself to realize the way you looked at others, literally--that first glance, kept them away.

When you meet someone, do you look with bitterness and insecurity, or the love you deserve to see reflected right back at you?  Maybe you're too busy studying the way their jeans fit to notice the love they're willing to offer you in that very first glance which begins a friendship?

I can tell you who my true friends are.  They are the ones who have prayed for me, cried with me, called me, offered to help, and, in the end (or the beginning :) even celebrated with me...they are the ones who still saw me when I was struggling to see myself.  They are the ones who remind me of Christ in their sincere love that looks beyond me and, somehow, still right at me.

They are not the ones who criticized, gossiped, and only looked with judgmental eyes and hearts.  My friends are too full of true confidence to steal it from someone else.  That's because their confidence comes from a source outside themselves, not a job, an income bracket, a diet plan, or a mirror.

I have known what it's like to feel desperate for an answer and solution.  I have learned to see that same longing in the eyes of others, as a result of my own experiences.  I know those people need a friend the most, but they're also the most likely to receive judgment for their struggles.  I have felt that kind of judgement, but never from a true friend.

I saw the longing in someone's eyes yesterday.  I was talking to the pharmacist when a stranger overheard the name of the enzymes I was prescribed.  She quickly ran to my side as soon as I turned around, and in an almost excited tone she asked, "Does your daughter have cystic fibrosis?".  I could see her heart sink when I said no and explained that the medication was for me, and that I didn't have cystic fibrosis.  Pancreatic insufficiency is common among those with cystic fibrosis.  I do not have it though.  I have a faulty pancreas for one of two reasons 1) genetics or 2) the gallbladder surgery I had many years ago. I do not know what it is like to have a child with cystic fibrosis and, as a mom, I felt for this woman when she told me about her daughter. I wished that she could experience the same relief and peace I felt, knowing my condition was simple and treatable; everyone deserves good health.  I can only imagine how she has struggled.  This medication is not affordable.  At ALL.  In fact, without insurance, it is $2,000.  Yep, that is 3 zeros.  It is unjust and criminal. 

How have our judgements of others created a negative domino effect outside of our lives and hurt our society?  Those who need healthcare the most often struggle to afford it. From baby formula shortages in food banks to postpartum depression, so many stages in life are made worse by our own judgements and inabilities to empathize and love sincerely, the calling that unites us all.  

We are all vulnerable when we are ill.  And we are all ill.  Our illnesses can manifest themselves physically, mentally, and spiritually.  If we are honest enough to admit to these weakness that we share, we might become strong enough to see that we are all in need of the same thing, each other. And instead of being blinded by our projected insecurities that convey themselves as judgments, we might see each other, and our capacity and necessity for love.  Our ailments provide the opportunity for our greatest healing to happen.  It's no mistake that Christ called us to take up our cross and follow him.  The very cross that Christ carried paradoxically lifted him and us up; it became a symbol of the greatest victory of life over death.  We can be healed and united in love because of his sincere love for us to the point of death.

1 Peter 4:8

Above all, love each other deeply because love covers a multitude of sins.

Romans 12: 9-18

Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love; give preference to one another in honor; not lagging behind in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; rejoicing in hope, persevering in tribulation, devoted to prayer, contributing to the needs of the saints, practicing hospitality.  Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. Be of the same mind toward one another; do not be haughty in mind, but associate with the lowly. Do not be wise in your own estimation. Never pay back evil for evil to anyone. Respect what is right in the sight of all men. If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men.

Fairy Garden Contest

I really enjoy the whimsical blog The Magic Onions.  They've been holding a fairy garden contest these last few years; I knew I wanted to submit something this year.  I wanted to stick to using natural elements as much as possible, while still making it colorful and fun.  We went on a walk and gathered different materials from the greenbelt behind our house.

I'm happy to report that 98% of the materials are natural, aside from the paint and one or two store-bought decorative pieces.  The girls had a lot of fun picking up sticks, and Mirabel shared some of her ideas and even contributed to some of the painted pieces (the rocks).  The fairy is made out of sticks and other objects dropped from a tree in our greenbelt; her wings are made out of leaves.  The butterfly was made using similar materials.  My step dad actually carved that little toadstool house and gave it to us! We just painted it :). The paint isn't natural ;).  I used acrylic for that.

Here's our submission for this year's fairy contest sponsored by The Magic Onions.

Remembering Easter

One of the last things Jesus stated while he was vulnerable on the cross was an apology.  Not for him, but for us.  He had to show us how to apologize.  He forgave so that all wouldn't be lost.  Every miracle performed up to this point would have been in vain without forgiveness.

We stand in the way of our own freedom.  Our lips sealed tight with the fear of vulnerability.  Two of the most powerful phrases that make us vulnerable and free are "I'm sorry" and "I love you".  And both of those phrases allow for the other one to be true; the absence of either one makes the existence of the other impossible.  Theology aside, eventually, we all need to apologize.  You cannot love yourself or anyone else without forgiveness.

Bitterness is a fun house mirror at a carnival.  It distorts our perceptions and traps us in its maze. The exit is there, but we can't see it until we remember the way out. That requires thinking in reverse and using a compass. Retracing our steps and moving backward so we can move forward.  Reflecting on things we want to forget so we can understand how we got lost and where we got confused, and even empathizing.  Because, most of the time, bitterness is a result of someone else's misunderstanding.  Their own false perceptions that allowed love to get lost in translation, and this time, we were on the receiving end of the message.  Bitterness destroys our sense of direction.

In finding our way out of the maze, we can get stuck.  If we use the memories as our only navigational tools, they can serve as hindrances that leave us on repeat.  Reflecting alone can lead us to repeat what we are supposed to forgive. Bitterness and blame become impenetrable walls that impede our exit unless we follow the only true compass we have, and take responsibility.  It doesn't matter why they did what they did.  What matters is acknowledging we were wronged so that we have something tangible to forgive and let go of, that's what we are responsible for.

When we know better, we do better, says Maya Angelou.  What if we know the only one who is better than all of us?  Then his example is all we need to know to do better.  His apology made way for our freedom.

It is easy to point the finger at a victimizer, especially when it would seem you have every reason to feel victimized.  But when we look at the situation that involved the greatest injustice, where all the blame fell on the undeserved, words of forgiveness were still uttered in the greatest state of vulnerability.  Love and an apology were nailed down in one place, literally.  We can all be transformed by this freeing moment and the life that follows.

Jesus' mysterious parables are analyzed and dissected in an effort to understand his message.  But its his final moments that offer the greatest lesson.  Nearly lifeless and nailed down, he performed the most transforming miracle: in his greatest moment of weakness he revealed perfect strength by forgiving the unforgivable so that we could be free to do the same.

A humbling experience

Before becoming a mother, I was barely ever on time, sometimes a minute early (unless husband was coming along, then I'd be 15 minutes early).  Now, I'm usually at least 5 minutes late.  Sometimes plans change altogether, especially when three outfit changes happen within a span of the lost 5 minutes that would've landed me in the barely-on-time category.  And that's just with one kid.  Thankfully the other one still wears diapers and we don't have to stop and use the bathroom on the way out, but that can also backfire when 15 minutes are required to clean up a blow-out.  Basically, I've come to terms with the fact that my time is not my own.

It never really was, but I liked to think that it was before--when life seemed like it was under my control. Those were also the days when I imagined that rationalizing with a toddler was an easy two-step process; when, to be honest, I viewed motherhood as something that would be easy because I figured that if you love your kid enough, you'd have all the knowledge you need to get through any obstacle.

I have learned that love is enough, but only in the "love covers a multitude of sins" sense of the word. It's enough to keep you trying.

There is a new sense of awareness that motherhood awakens. Not only are we given a third eye in the back of our head; a heightened sense of instinct that tells us to turn around when our kid is about to jump off a table head first onto slate tile; an ability to wake up at the sound of a tiny whimper 3 rooms away in a well-insulated house.  Yes, those would all imply heightened senses, but there is also a wise fear that develops.  It's an awareness that YOU are responsible for who this person becomes, or does not become.  It would be easy to simply focus on outward achievements; being responsible for the condition of someone's heart requires you to reflect on the state of your own soul.

When they're little, they speak the words you speak.  They want to walk in your shoes (literally, at least my kids do).  When they see you put on lipstick, they want to do it too.  Then, if you do it every day, they probably start to wonder why.  You may even begin to hear them say, "I want to wear lipstick so I can be beautiful" and that statement in itself is enough to change your grooming routine.  So you wear lipstick less and opt for chapstick more.  You tell them they are beautiful without make-up, but you want to prove it to them by believing and behaving as if YOU are beautiful without make-up, too.  Suddenly, you don't want to talk about your insecurities around them, how you feel like you're not smart enough, brave enough, good enough, because you realize THEY will believe this about themselves, too.

Then you decide that simply not talking about it isn't enough. ("It" being everything that you struggle with internally.)  Changing what you believe would make it enough, though, because what you say and what you believe manifests itself in how you behave, and especially how you love.  And you know they deserve the best love so that they can be the best people, the kind that don't have to struggle with this as much as you do.  It doesn't even matter if the person before you made the mistake of not changing what they believe(d) (that person being the one who was responsible for you).  Your reality? You no longer have an excuse, and if you do, you'll have to eventually replace it with an apology 20 or so years from now when they look at you with a broken heart, or a broken marriage, or even worse, a broken spirit that believes it's unlovable.

Terrified, anyone?  I'm learning to see that this great responsibility is a gift that can only be opened when viewed as a daily adventure in trusting all that our Heavenly Father says is true: We are beautiful and capable simply because we are his.  When we deviate from that belief, we begin underestimating ourselves.  Our kids know when this happens and it leads them to do the same, and that can penetrate every area of their life, leading to the very heartache we wanted to keep them from.

This belief in our capacity for great things and great love as God's masterpieces is not a profound concept.  It's something that children know and understand; it's why they believe they can be doctors, astronauts, and presidents; they are born ready to accept and give love. This concrete belief becomes an uncertainty when they see brokenness.  We distract them from truth with our own fears and false beliefs.  Our job is to be their preservationists by filtering our flawed beliefs with the truth of who we are in our Creator's eyes.  Behind every hardened, angry, bitter, criminal heart is a child who is a victim of robbery, the truth was stolen from them by someone who struggled so much with their own loss that they had to destroy any reminders of its former existence.  This is the human tragedy that starts in the home and ends when we return to our first home, like the prodigal son who finally understands that his Father's healing love is unconditional and perfect.

I am working on fully believing with all my heart that "perfect love casts out fear."  In realizing the emotional responsibilities, motherhood can become scary.  But in embracing love's ability to cast out fear, we can understand that most of our fears and insecurities are rooted in a wound that, thankfully, perfect love can also heal.

And it took becoming a mother to finally start to get it.  Here is something I wrote out of a love for my own kids, what's been a source of instruction an inspiration.  I feel honored to call them mine.  I can understand why our own Father feels that way about us, I know I can't understand it completely since it is just a glimmer of how we are adored...

I stare at what I've created,

The smaller but better part of me,

for a glare, the evidence of light

proof that I am doing something right.

When I look long enough

I see what can go wrong,

the possibilities.

Turning away isn’t an option,

but I am allowed to blink.

I am allowed to sleep;

never uninterrupted.

And it’s ok to avert my eyes

but I have to look back

Or I will miss 

everything.

It’s a masterpiece:

a piece from the master,

on loan.

I can’t afford to make the

payments alone

and I can’t afford to give it back.

There’d be too much to lose,

but I can have it taken from me

at any time.

But I still lose

myself every day

in exchange for more of this,

what lasts

when we are gone;

what holds my gaze and holds me

close and

learns how to run and hide, 

in places I’ve never thought to look.

In finding it I find myself

hiding there too.

It’s the gift that begins a new sacrament,

What carries the heirloom of who we are in its expression.

It’s the treasure whose matchless value we tarnish 

when we misunderstand our own worth.

It’s what we were meant to love into existence,

The mistake is expecting it to fully exist on anything else.

It’s the smaller but better part of me (and you),

The only heart that ever beat beneath my own,

Whose life now rises above mine 

To teach me to love from the greatest heights, without fear.

A big block of wood

My hands are so dry and cut up, the skin on my fingertips is getting rough... Dry and rough from washing dishes after cooking dinner; changing countless diapers, then washing my hands right after; from playing outside in the cold, or hanging up Christmas lights while praying I don't die.  They're dry from wiping down tables covered in glitter or finger paint, and then washing my hands again.  Dry from picking up mysteriously moist pieces of old food hidden in the corners of our dining room, thrown from a chubby hand belonging to the high chair-eater in the family (on a long day, sometimes that's me, minus the chubby hand) and WASHING MY HANDS AGAIN.  Dry from putting dirty laundry in the washer then needing to prepare lunch, and washing my hands yet again.  I've never washed my hands so much.  I promise, I don't wash them unless I truly have to.  Ironically, they are also dry from drying so many tears.

As a mom, you get your hands dirty a lot; you deal with a lot of germs.  Your kids get sick a lot as it is, so you try to limit the germs that YOU can at least avoid spreading. (Because someone is going to lick the cart handles at the grocery store or pick at old gum under a restaurant dining table, so you want to set a good example of how to stay healthy.)

I still get mistaken for a middle schooler. I'm 29 but look about 16 when I'm actually trying to look older.  I'm finally at a point in my life where I can appreciate that.  But if you look at my hands, you'd think I was much older.

If you look at the hands of an artist or craftsman, they're usually pretty dirty and beat up.  Look at the hands of a soldier.  They're tough.  But they tell their own story.

Earlier today, I was telling a friend that one of the most challenging things about motherhood is that it doesn't reap instant rewards.  It doesn't matter how many child development books you read, you won't ace parenting with flying colors when you're put to the test.  There aren't raises or bonuses, though the sound of two toddling sisters giggling while chasing each other around a certain glitter-filled dining room is worth more to me than any of that, of course.  But you're the only one who knows when you've aced your test.  You come out smiling after a tough playdate with more meltdowns than you could keep track of--you aced it.  Heck, even if your teeth are just clenched and it looks like you're smiling, and you kept your cool, you still aced it. God is on your side, and you know it because you couldn't have come out of that scenario without a few prayers.  He knows more than you think, just look at his hands.


He is the potter and we are the clay.  He molds us with his scarred hands.  The only model we have to follow regarding child-rearing is the relationship documented between God and his people, one involving sleepless prayerful nights, throwing dinners involving hundreds of guests without worrying about having enough, knowing someone better than they know themselves and loving them anyway, stinky feet-washing, taking the time out to heal others, performing miracles without expecting anything in return, and even a willingness to lay down one's own life.

Performing miracles without expecting anything in return sounds a whole lot like getting thru 40 weeks of pregnancy and topping it off with hours upon hours of labor. Or it can be something as simple as asking your 3 year old to explain their painting and listening, or successfully getting thru a day that started off with zero sleep.  It's everything you do that leads up to the finished product--that is the miracle.  Pregnancy isn't hard; it's just the sampler plate and a beautiful symbol of the whole process from start to finish: a labor of love, pun intended.

Sometimes it feels like God handed me this block of wood and he's expecting me to carve a masterpiece, when the only tool I have is a toothpick that's been chewed on by a teething one year old.  It's like, I haven't even started and my hands already look like they belong to a grandma (no offense to the grandmas, your hands are the best).  I guess I'm missing the point, then.  These dry, rough, raw hands--they're part of my reward.  Everything that has contributed to how they look is contributing to the finished product, and is changing me in the process, too, from the inside out.  When they're moms asking me how I did it, I'll be looking at more than a block of wood (even if Mirabel still calls her sister blockhead, thanks to Charlie Brown), and they'll be looking at someone whose hands aren't the only things that have changed as a result of all that carving.

Thankful for Home

Up to this point, I never really owned anything other than student loan debt ;).  Though we don't fully own our house yet, it is in our name and we didn't need a co-signer to buy our home, unlike with student loans (Yay! We're growing up! :).  I don't remember the details of the papers we signed over a month ago, but I remember the feeling of relief I experienced when I unpacked the last box and actually got to throw it away.

The truth is, I've never really had a place to call home.  All the moving I did throughout my life probably contributed to that feeling.  I've lived in a lot of buildings, but this place we're living in now has become more than that in just a few weeks.

We got to pick out the lot that we wanted; we were here when there was just a cement block above a pile of dirt; we got to see the bones of this house go up, the framing and the windows.  At times it felt like it would never be completed.  I remember the anticipation I experienced before meeting my husband, before getting pregnant, before going to college... always waiting and waiting; it felt a lot like that.

Growing up, I knew what I wanted but I hadn't seen it in many places, and that's the other reason why I never had a place to call home.  I wanted to know what it felt like to feel secure, and to be able to exhale and just be.  I wanted that for myself and I wanted it for the children I wasn't even sure I'd be able to physically have.  I wanted to create that atmosphere with the kind of husband I wasn't even sure existed.  Home was an idea that felt distant and unrealistic.

There are a lot of things we do to interfere with our greatest hopes, consciously or not, because sometimes they are rooted in our deepest fears.  I have been blessed with a place where I can breathe easy and feel secure, a home, because of the people that live between these walls with me. But in the same way that a building wears over time if we don't invest in it, a home cannot be abandoned once it's been unpacked, figuratively speaking.  We made it here because we were brought here together, after overcoming obstacles apart, but to keep this house a home we need to overcome our daily obstacles together, so that we don't slowly grow apart.  My greatest fear is unoriginal: I don't want to lose the ones I love most.  God brought them to me, and he's the one I need to depend on daily to keep them here.

I hope my children stay close forever.  I know they will go their own way.  Maybe they'll go to school out of state, or study abroad, or travel, but I hope that they always feel at home where we are.  If we depend on ourselves alone, though, we will fail by default because it's human to repeat cycles.  A house only remains a home when the foundation is unconditional love, built on the one whose love for us never changes even when our lives and situations do.  That's the kind of place we all need to come home to.

Music Therapy

On days like this 

I AM SO THANKFUL FOR GOOD MUSIC LIKE THIS:

...and Spotify :).

Thankful for passion and intelligence

Last night, I met an answer to prayer.  She is so passionate about what she does that her work doesn't actually seem to reflect itself as work, at least not to me.  As cheesy as it sounds, her passion inspired me (or made me even more excited to start school some time soon).

This sounds a lot more serious than it really is.  For awhile now, I've wanted to talk to someone about my firstborn, the one who is the topic of many blog posts :).  From birth, she's been an interesting character.  She came out screaming and pretty much hasn't stopped.  If there's a loose thread on her clothing, she screams; if she has to get a haircut, she screams and shakes in terror; if her sock gets a drop of water on it, she'll scream about that.  She doesn't exactly bounce back the way I've observed that other children her age do (and I actually have observed kids her age.  One of my favorite classes in college.)

So with a lot of prayer and research, I found this amazing lady who is a quirky genius.  I walked into her office and everything was polkadot, even her glasses.  She had tea cup lamps and whimsical pens.  She actually said that when she purchased the home she transformed into an office, she told the contractor that she wanted it to look like a hobbit lived there.  No joke.  I found a kindred spirit.  I am just as weird, but she's got the mad skills I wish I had, that's for sure.  I've never seen more books on child development and related topics.  Her walls were covered with artwork from her patients.  She's a grandma who looks like the fairy godmother on Cinderella and has 40 years of experience in her field. And, more importantly, she doesn't stop learning.  I'm not ashamed to admit that I hope I'm that cool when I'm 60 something.  She's serious, too, but not in the uptight kind of way; she's so serious that she used to lecture at Stanford.

Let me tell you, in that hour visit I had with her, I think I learned more than I did in all the courses I've ever taken on the topic combined.  And there is so much more information out there.  Neurological diets, for instance (these things aren't fads, people).  Yes, there's a reason why there is a diet for Autism.  Did you know that Ritalin synthetically does what certain chemicals in food can do, but without the crazy side effects?  Did you know that people usually become alcoholics because their serotonin levels are low? Do you know about the brain-gut connection (I was familiar with it but not enough)?  Have you ever considered that maybe children are diagnosed with more behavioral disorders today than ever before because they don't get enough Vitamin D, and Vitamin D deficiencies can lead to a host of other problems, including autoimmune disorders (which are also on the rise).  I was flooded with information, this is just a taste of what was served up.  What I liked most was that she actually provided literature written by respectable neurological psychiatrists; this isn't something you just hear about in a city like Austin ;).

I am hopeful.  It turns out, my parenting skills aren't as awful as I thought they were, either!  Apparently, I am doing some things right.  The truth is, I don't really know what I'm doing.  I believe that when we ask God for wisdom, one of the ways he speaks his wisdom to us is thru our instincts.  There are some parenting approaches I'd never heard of but just applied because they felt right, and it turns out these are some of the approaches she suggested for my particular kid.  This isn't my doing.  This is what I like to call an obvious answer to prayer.

I am excited about applying some of these new techniques and learning more about them.  I think the worst thing anyone can do as a parent is stagnate, or lose the passion that they had when they first met their bundle for the first time.  Holding onto that passion requires having the intelligence to admit that you don't know as much as you think you do, and that maybe it's ok to ask for help.

And I'll end this with another note of thankfulness.  I'm thankful for the obvious, my husband.  Tonight, I'm thankful that he isn't just here, any dad can just stick around.  But he is equally as interested in learning about what it takes to give our kids our best.  Because I said I would include a song in every thankfulness post, I'll share one of my favorites of the year.  The words are the reason why I like Hard to Tell by Young Galaxy.  They don't make 'em like this anymore, and that's also how I feel about my husband :).

All I Want

I'm not very good at keeping up with themed posts.  But I like the idea that many of you have, so I'm going to join in on the thankfulness fun, with a weekly or biweekly tune to go with the theme.

One thing that never gets old is music.  Mirabel is such a fan; I love that she's a music critic at such a young age (ask me this again when she asks me to change the song on the radio for the millionth time in a row :).  Mirabel's untamable spirit is also very refreshing, and I am so thankful for it.  She is the most outgoing little person I know.  She also doesn't know a stranger which can terrify a mom.  Everyone is her friend, until they take her toy, of course.  If she says hi and you don't greet her in return, she will keep saying hi until you respond.  So all you people who don't like children, watch out when she comes around.  The most emotional kid around, maybe, but I already see how this is going to be a positive thing long-term.  She is empathetic and sensitive to the feelings of others around her (again, not necessarily when toys are involved), and she even cries when others cry.  She will not be the cowering kid in the corner afraid of the bully; chances are the bully will be afraid of her, and I'm sure she'd eventually scare them into being her friend, in the friendliest way possible ;).

I'm thankful for this spirited kid today.  Thankful for her love of music and her friendly, fiery spirit that sees potential in every person she meets.  I hope she never loses that.

I heard this song by Kate Earl many months ago.  I thought it was cookie-sweet and sentimental, but the better part of it reminded me of Mirabel so I added it to my Spotify playlist, anyway :).  Being a mom to this kid isn't always easy, but today I'm thankful for everything she is, because of her I don't stagnate.  Creativity parenting is a must with this character.  But her personality is as colorful as her sense of style :).

What's funny is that Mirabel asks me to skip this song when it comes on.  Not peppy enough for this tiny dancer, I guess.

All I Want by Kate Earl

Easy, it will never be...

There are a lot of moments that lead me to ask myself if I really know what I'm doing.  Not when it comes to life, but when it comes to being a mother (though motherhood is my life right now ;).  I often here that marriage requires a lot of work, but I don't think parenting ever gets as much emphasis, though I find it more challenging than anything I've ever done.  I've never prayed more in my life than after my children were born.  Being a mother doesn't bring instant gratification, because you aren't rewarded for your efforts right away (at least, not always), but I can say that having to depend on a source outside myself (God) has yielded a greater reward than anything else.  I've learned the definition of joy.

As a kid, I knew there was a difference between joy and happiness, but I couldn't quite explain it because I didn't understand it.  Happiness happens as a result of an experience, but joy is something that exists apart from experience.  It's intensity doesn't wane after a bad day, but it sustains us during our trials because it is rooted in our faith which is as invisible but alive as we allow it to be.  Trials are an inevitable and even necessary part of life.  They test our faith in our Creator and everything he claims to be.  He claims that he is good and all-knowing which can be confusing to us.  What is equally confusing is that Christ was fully aware of the suffering ahead of him (his heart was heavy in Gethsemane the night before his arrest and crucifixion) but he was also aware of the glorious end and the ultimate good that would result from his obedience to go to the cross, because he was God incarnate.  He knew sadness and betrayal.  Gethsemane was not a happy place, but joy was still there.  His obedience to follow God instead of fighting happened as a result of his joy.   He had a heavy heart, and he even cried, but his obedience instead of rebellion proved that he knew God was still good.  He drew near to God instead of running away, or avoiding his responsibility. He was able to have faith in God's goodness in spite of his situation, and that is true joy.

Now, going to the cross and being a mother aren't exactly on the same playing field ;).  Sometimes it feels like torture. (Hah!  Sorry, but it's true.)  Not quite as bad as being tortured emotionally, spiritually, and physically on a cross.  That in itself is a source of joy for us, though.  I think the hardest part of motherhood is wondering if your child understands.  If they really know that you want the best for them and that they need to trust that you want to help them make wise decisions (sounds familiar).  Sometimes I feel like I'm speaking a completely different language.   I pray for wisdom and words; the wisdom to find the words to communicate with my child so that she understands the reason for our rules, and the reason why I cannot give into her deafening screams, and give her what she wants.  It's overwhelming, and sometimes I just shut my mouth and let the moment happen (in slow motion, it seems) while I utter the simplest prayer that we've all probably prayed at some point, whether literally or sarcastically, "God, help me."

Funny how that can escape our mouths whether we believe in God or not.

And you know what?  He answers my prayers.  Not always right away.  But I'm supposed to be an example to my kids, right?  I can't have a tantrum when God doesn't give me what I want, when I want it.  Sometimes I do, though, and sometimes I just eat too many desserts, instead.

I often wonder if I'm capable, and I forget that I'm not supposed to be.  None of us were equipped to handle parenting or anything in life alone.  There is a reason why kids don't come with a handbook, so that we don't even try to go it alone.  We're supposed to depend on their Creator; he brings people into our lives.  He even speaks to us thru our children, of all people.

Just this weekend I told my husband that I was afraid I didn't have what it takes to be a "good" mother (whatever that means, right? ;).  Guess how the weekend ended?  Well, almost in tears.  There were a lot of frustrating moments.  But guess how one of the frustrating moments ended?

My strong-willed firstborn: "Mommy, let's pray [and this is going on randomly when I'm taking her to the bathroom, after a heated moment]. 'Thank you God for the lesson and thank you for Mommies.'  Mommy, I'm not gonna cry and scream in church, ok?"
Me: With a tear stained face, still recovering from the billionth tantrum that morning, now laughing.  I'm speechless, and just give her a hug again.  Then, I cry again, because I realize that this is God's way of showing me that my efforts are not fruitless.

It's easy for our hearts to become hardened during our struggles.  I speak from experience.  Sometimes, I don't pray for days.  It's not something I like to admit, but I get mad at God too.  I get angry and bitter.  But let me tell you something.  We've been trying so hard.  And this parenting thing requires a group effort; the more the better, seriously.  Jose and I are trying to make a habit of starting our mornings in unified prayer, and not just at dinner.  We don't always feel like it, sometimes we get frustrated when we don't receive an answer, but we've kept going.

I can say with confidence that I would've missed out on that moment with my 3 year old if I would've given in to bitterness instead of joy and stopped praying.  Why?  She isn't much of a sleeper and likes to wake up before the sunrise, sometimes she hears and sees us pray.  She asks a lot of questions; she wants to know what we're doing.  We've also been trying to pray with her more often.  Sometimes prayer isn't something I engage in very easily, and I've always wanted it to come naturally with my kids.  The only way is to introduce it to our kids at a young age.  But let me tell you something.  I didn't give her the words to pray that morning in the bathroom.  I've never even used the words, "thank you for this lesson" when praying with her one on one.  I've never heard her say, "thank you for mommies" in any other context.

I think her prayer is an answer to my prayers.  When I asked God to help me, he answered.  He didn't shout from the heavens, "I Am!" but he spoke thru the very person I'd been praying for.  He is helping us; he is moving in her heart.  It's not up to me to change her; I can only control my own actions.  I can choose to not harden my heart when I'm faced with the daily challenges of motherhood, or any other struggles.  When I choose to have joy by trusting in God in spite of my circumstances, I am also given opportunities to experience happiness in ways I couldn't have if I had chosen anger instead of joy.  Happiness and joy aren't the same thing, but there is a connection.

New house, new blog

I'm not sure where my other posts went but if someone can explain why they didn't import, please let me know how to change it :)!  New house, new blog.  Pausing to reflect on the positive.  Life isn't always perfect, and it's important to be honest, but at the end of the day there is still time to be grateful for the many things.  And THAT should be the focus when life is chaotic (as it usually is ;).

We're settled down.  All of the boxes are unpacked.  I think this has been our hardest move to date (mostly because there are two children under three involved).  So I did a few things, like not sleep or wake up at 3:30 AM, to ensure that this place looked like a home instead of a storage facility with weird smelling boxes (has anyone ever noticed how the UHaul boxes smell?).  I snapped a few pictures of the place before we cluttered it with my junk and a billion toys.  This house is a little smaller, so we got rid of about maybe one or two walk in closets worth of stuff.  How do I accumulate so much junk?  I am worried about the storage long-term, but let's be honest.  People like me who are addicted to buying holiday decorations are better off in homes with a one car garage, to save us from ourselves.  I am constantly in a battle with myself.  Now, before anything comes home, I ask myself where it's going to end up.  I like that!  Saves money and dusting!  Less stuff to accumulate dust, I really like that!

So here are a few pics of our home.  I tried to capture my favorite thing about this place.  The many trees, windows and nice bathrooms (weird?  Maybe a little).  26 total--windows not bathrooms.  Yes, that's a whole lotta windows.  And let me tell you, window treatments are not cheap.  But natural light is priceless, to us at least :).

Welcome to the new blog, and our new home! :)

 Kitchen

Back yard, missing some of the grass. 

 Windows in the stairway

Downstairs

Master bath

Finding Freedom In Dependence

The first mother had the opportunity to give her children the perfect life, even before they were born. She'd never heard of colic, food allergies, asthma, or leukemia.  She had everything she wanted, and then she wanted to be God... Her first and only mistake made her less like him, though, when sin entered the world and made her the enemy.  Her punishment and ours?  Pain.  The consequence of living in a fallen world.  The punishment mentioned specifically because of her mistake?  Labor pain. (And this is someone who dedicated every single day of her first pregnancy to Hypnobabies! ;)

I remember my first experience with labor; I remember all 26 hours of it.  From the feeling of defeat that came over me, 18 hours into the experience when the doctor broke my water and said I couldn't have an epidural just yet, to the unparalleled joy that was gifted to me on the 26th hour, when I saw the face of the blessing that made it all worth it.  The most unspeakable pain gave birth to one of the purest loves I have ever known. And it makes sense, because it fulfills God's promise.  Not the promise of pain, that was a consequence, but the promise that we would all be delivered from our pain.  It's the symbolic fulfillment of hope that God works all things for our good when we follow him, in spite of and during our inevitable human pain. 

But this pure love is so hard to keep, and the thought of it being taken from me in an instant brings a wave of sickness over me like nothing else can; the loss of a child is one of the worst pains, I imagine.  In those 26 hours I experienced what I would know for the rest of my life: the constant struggle of how to move forward when I'm not sure how to, the determination to have faith in God's divine strength in my most vulnerable moments, the constant reminder of my human limitations.  All of these provide me with the opportunity to restore what Eve destroyed, the possibility of being as close to my God as humanly possible.  

Success arises out of these opportunities when I learn to do the very thing she failed to do: Depend on Him for my identity.  To not allow sin to define me, whether it's the fear of losing my child, the fear of failing that child, or the fear of not being enough.  

I don't believe it was a mistake that the angel Gabriel first appeared to Mary before Joseph, when he announced they would be Christ's earthly parents.  I also don't believe it was a coincidence that Jesus first appeared to women when he resurrected.  Eve was the first person to bring suffering into the world, and God sent his own son born of a human woman to provide the sacrifice that would end spiritual suffering by enduring and overcoming more physical and spiritual pain than any of us would ever know.  The pinnacle was when he announced the end of spiritual pain by first appearing to a woman, Mary Magdalene.

We know that Jesus himself cried out to his father at the crucifixion, much like we do when we feel alone in our struggles.  We are also told, in that very moment God turned his face away because Jesus made himself the ultimate offering in our place by representing all the sin of the world.  This is something we will never have to know.  

As mothers, we would trade places with our children in their moments of suffering if we could, but we cannot.  Daily, we lay our lives down for them in various ways, though.  We function on little sleep and still love them the best we can, even when we are not at our best.  We make financial sacrifices for them.  Directly and indirectly, our time becomes their time.  Our meals are cold while theirs are warm.  We exchange a sneeze in the face for a kiss.  And the best part?  As it's been said before, only they know what our heartbeat sounds like from the inside.  They turn toward our familiar voice when they are just newborns.  Even our smell comforts them.  We share all of these things and more with our Heavenly Father.  He delights in our joy in the same way, too.  

We often forget these things, as our children do when they are angry at us.  But our Father's voice manifests itself in various ways throughout our day; he whispers to us and we are comforted by his promises.  Metaphorically, we know the sound of his heartbeat because we were made in his image.

So, yes, Eve may be the one to blame for our labor pains.  But God used that situation to our advantage, and he's made it known in so many obvious ways, these are just a few of them.  May 14, 2010 is Mirabel's birthday, but it also marks the day that I began the journey of discovering and depending on God more than ever before. 

Christianity is often criticized as being an enemy of feminism. But let me tell you, the most vocal and fair feminist I know is Christ himself.  There is greatness in manhood, too, of course--just look at that man's life!  But femininity itself is depicted as weakness, and motherhood is sometimes viewed as second-rate, or settling. I believe we all have our calling, but I know I have found mine because everyday I find myself in situations, both unbelievably difficult and wonderful, that allow for a greater understanding of love, or my Creator.  Isn't that the reason for our existence, anyway?

God doesn't promise the absence of pain in any situation, but he promises his presence.  We decide his proximity, though.  I believe that God uses motherhood as a unique vehicle to draw us near.  It's an on-going job that offers unending challenges with blessings that only reveal themselves when we allow God to reveal himself during those challenges by depending on him.  Eve missed the point.  God didn't want her to be him, he wanted her to know him by drawing near so that she would realize she wasn't lacking anything, after all.  

Another First Birthday

I love how her little belly hangs over her tutu skirt :)

I'm not very organized.  Clean, yes, but not organized.  So it's no surprise that I have a really hard time keeping track of photos.  I take most of my pictures with my phone, because it's usually easily accessible, and most of our photos end up on our external hard drive because I have ZERO room on my computer.  We (actually Jose, he's the organized one) try to organize photos every so often.  Thankfully, the program we use to do this categorizes photos based on date (and I'm so happy this is the case).  

I haven't even created a post for Mirabel's third birthday.  I've been meaning to do it, but I think those photos are now on our external hard drive, since I cannot find them on my computer :P.  To make things fair, though, I did want to make a post about Juju's first birthday (since we made one for her sister's first birthday a few years ago).

So...here's our cupcake's first birthday....

Hanging out by the water table.  Juliette loves being outside, and she really, really loves the water.  August is the hottest month in Texas, so it only made sense to throw her a water party.

...And cupcakes were the theme because my mom bought this cupcake tablecloth a few months ago :P. I wanted to keep things pretty low key, and I didn't want to spend too much (we're closing on our house September 30th, so we're trying to keep expenses down!).  I used what I had or what I could print, buy at the dollar store, or buy on Craig's list for $12 (someone just had a cupcake party for their daughter :).

Those inflatable cupcakes in the background were part of my Craig's List cupcake decor score!

I have a mini pie pan.  I really wanted to buy a cake pan shaped like the #1, but it made more sense to just use the mini pie pan to make Juju her very own tiny cake.  It was an orange cake with maple orange frosting, some of the other cupcakes were orange cranberry (because I had leftover cranberry chevre from the farmer's market that I had to use, of course ;).

All the cupcakes, again!  That one in the middle took the longest to bake, but I'd say she came out the tastiest and was made with the most love ;).  

This has been a very interesting year for us as parents.  Difficult at times, not gonna lie, many times, but Juju's brought a sparkle into our lives.  She is usually all-smiles and is already trying to give us kisses as she grabs our faces with her little chubby hands and puts her open mouth against our cheek--a good effort for a one year old, I'd say :).  To be honest, I actually expected things to be a lot harder with the second kiddo (tough experience the first time around, wanted to prepare myself).  But from the early morning she was born, she's surprised us with her easy going spirit.  I still can't believe she slept 8 hours after she came out and greeted us with her tiny cry.  Nowadays, she wakes up for a midnight snack or two from Momma's free 24 hour Diner...but I'm enjoying having her so close still at this age, literally right next to me in bed :). 

Mirabel brings much more than a sparkle ;).  She is the girl we don't have to worry about, she is strong and very spirited, and knows how to express herself.  Lately, it's been so sweet seeing them interact and start playing together. 

 Mirabel loves to rough house and, surprisingly, Juju (Juliette) doesn't mind much.  She may be tinier than her sister was at this age, but she's equally as fun.  

Together, they make life delicious.  They each bring their own spice to the mix, making for the perfect batch of cupcakes.

If I wrote a book...

I'd have no problem coming up with the title.  It'd be something like: I Am That Mom (It Seemed Like A Good Idea At the Time! Don't Judge).  
I see it and hear about it all the time: moms judging other moms.  The truth is, whether you're a mom or not, you don't know the whole side of the story.  This, really, applies to everything/everyone in life, but I think motherhood has influenced my perspective on this issue the most.Mirabel loves watching Disney princess movies right now.  Though she will always be my little princess, I'm not going to lie...of all the Disney characters I know of, she resembles Mowgli from the Jungle Book the most.  This kid is something else.  When she gets home, she likes to strip off all her clothing, except her underwear (but she usually requests a new pair about 3 times a day).  Then she begins to scream about her hair.  If the pigtails aren't snugly glued to her head (not literally, but she hates when they start to slip), the screaming begins.  I'm not exaggerating.  In fact, I believe saying she screams puts it lightly.  It's an ear piercing cry that sounds a whole lot like what you'd hear out in the wild: it's the sound of a suffering animal giving its final cry, after it's been ripped apart by a ruthless beast.  Yes, this happens on the daily, multiple times.
So, of course, when it's too hot to go to the park (triple digits out), I try to find something fun to do indoors.  Fun is probably not the word I should use.  Entertaining and fun aren't the same thing, I've learned, at least not for all parties involved.  A clever idea of mine: I know, why don't I take my kids to the LIBRARY?!  Yes, because, given the fact that even my youngest prefers to spend time playing/rolling/bathing in the dirt (or eating it) buck naked (or with just a diaper on), I can't imagine why the kiddos wouldn't want to quietly cuddle up and read a beautifully illustrated book with more words than a Charles Dickens novel (why are all children's books so lengthy!!!!  Ok, maybe getting thru one page doesn't really take an eternity...) 
Sometimes we actually go to the library to check out a book.  I've given that a break.  For some reason or another, these books usually get trapped/lost in random places, like between the bed and the wall (proof that my kid enjoys "reading" during her naptime, when I'm not in the room--of course she's quiet and still when I'm not around).  Then, when due date comes around, I can't find it... and chances are, despite the fact that I've had the book in my possession for a month, we've only gotten thru half (or the Cliff's notes version: I read two lines and silently read the rest to myself, then quickly summarize it in the most dramatic way possible, to keep them engaged for 5 seconds, or less.)
So keep this in mind when reading the following:A few young boys enter the library around the same time we do.  Then, we pass by another kid who kindly asks his mother if he can borrow a movie, the mother responds by saying, "No, we're getting books, we have plenty of movies at home."  I walk by holding not just 1, but 3 movies, because we don't own any Disney movies (and when I need a break from the screaming, I put on a movie...but why do I need to explain myself.  Oh wait!  I don't.)  Mirabel approaches this family with her beloved Ariel movie en tow.  She's the most outgoing kid in the bunch, and, thankfully, doesn't care what anyone thinks of her movie-watching (I could stand to learn a thing or two from this kid).  
After introducing herself to the family, she makes her way to the pile of giant stuffed animals in the children's section, where the boys we entered the library with are jumping/rolling around.  Mirabel joins in on the fun, and why not?  Man, I should've too.  Instead, I scurry around the early readers section, trying to quickly find a book with a theme Mirabel will appreciate, realizing this book is more for me than my kids.  Meanwhile, Juliette is climbing chairs in an effort to reach the tabletop, since that's the most dangerously exciting thing she can do in that part of the library at the moment.  Two minutes pass, and I decide it's time to leave (we're heading to the Toybrary after this, because going to one library wasn't enough. ;)  Thankfully, we get out of there without any tears.  Success!  (It's the little things that make you smile, really.)  Leaving without tears is progress, yesssss!!!!
So, we head to the Toybrary for a Teddy Bear Tea Party!  Mirabel decides she wants to bring her naked barbie along instead of her bear (I think Mirabel would prefer to attend without clothing, too, but I convince her that we aren't attending a tea party at a commune.  I can't blame her, I want to strip down when it's 1,000 degrees too.)  Before the tea party begins, kids from various ages gather around to play in this colorful indoor space which is really set up to test their sharing skills.  We have a few frustrating moments, involving a certain broom (yes, a broom, I've trained my kid well; she loves being domestic already!  Heck yeah!).  A certain toddler about a year younger than Mirabel is convinced he needs this broom to survive.  A tantrum begins, and this time it's not my kid, though I empathize with the mother because it looks like that mom has a Mowgli of her own.  I pull Mirabel aside and explain to her that the little boy is younger than her, and that she should share the broom with him because he is sad.  She walks over to the boy and hands him the broom!  Holy smokes, a miracle!!!!  Suddenly, my hearing returns in spite of all the screaming fits that took place that week, and I feel like a rockstar!  Heck yes.  Mom walks over to me, and gives me props, saying, "Your daughter is so sweet!".  I ignore her for a few seconds while I dust the dirt off my shoulders, and then I say, "It took us awhile to get here, but thank you."  I hope she's encouraged, too, because it takes time...  And a lot of tears, from everyone.
Then, not long after that, when the story begins, one of my kids climbs onto the stage while the other one pulls up a chair and begins climbing onto the shop owner's desk, while very loudly begging her to open the door to the other playroom.  Of course, both of the moms I'm next to (actually, all the mothers in the room) have these quiet little girls sitting peacefully beside them with these elaborate lunches before them (the crusty ends of a smashed peanut butter and honey sandwich, what I whipped together while one kid was crying and the other was asking a million questions, are hiding in the lunch bag I brought along).  They don't speak above a whisper, I think, or maybe my hearing is going again because all I hear are my oldest's deafening screams?  This time, leaving is a struggle.  I try to use my superhero mom multitasking skills to find a way to fly out the door while carrying two flailing, fussy children.  But somehow, thankfully, the tantrum only lasts 15 seconds.  Then, the battle is over and we head to the grocery store, our other favorite hangout.  It's air conditioned, right?! 
 A few more dramatic moments and then we begin slowing down for the afternoon.  Somehow, we end up outside without much clothing on again (I still have mine on, because it's a good day).  My children are angels outdoors.  I cannot tell you what peace they have about them when they're covered in dirt and sunshine.  I text Jose and tell him that we need to start saving up to move to a farm with acres of land, because that would easily solve all our problems, right? :)  Then, we watch Mulan.  
It's a good day; I've learned to get over it, or I'm learning.  And it's not just about learning to get over the tantrums, those are inevitably going to happen at this age.  So are the judgey looks and the "words of advice" from random people who think they've got it figured out--the folks who are convinced their children behave in all circumstances because they are stellar parents--as if they really have something to do with it at their children's tender age of 2 or 3.  But what they don't have figured out is the obvious: we are all born with certain strengths and weaknesses.  We all come out screaming.  Hopefully, if we're lucky, we're tossed into the loving arms of the clueless creatures we call parents.  Hopefully, they love us and want the best for us, because everyone deserves that much.  Just because my children watch Disney movies doesn't mean they will amount to nothing but Cheeto-eating (or sponge-chewing, if your name is Juju) couch poatoes with an IQ of 5, or that they will never appreciate a good book.  Somehow, her parents came out ok ;).
The truth is, there's something we can all learn from each other.  I learn something from my little Mowgli's every day.  In the wise words of another beloved Disney character, Pinocchio, "Always let your conscience be your guide."  As a parent, instead of worrying about what other parents think of you, ask yourself what influences your conscience, or rather, who.  I seek to follow in the footsteps of the ultimate Father.  I've lost my way many times, but He still helps me out even when I'm kicking and screaming.  I owe my children that much.  I'm still learning, too, because it never stops.  

Amazing Moms

Last week, I came across a blogger who has had to deal with so much more than most mom bloggers, I'd say.  She's an inspiration because of her unwavering faith and trust in God during a time that most of us might even doubt his existence.  Her love for her children and family shines thru in every post, and you should go check out her blog here.

Then, today, a friend shared another lovely lady's blog.  Just read about her on her bio page and you'll be amazed...read THIS STORY and your heart will melt; more love and strength pouring out.  

And...her kids are hilarious.  Read this if you don't believe me ;).

Yes!

YES yes yes!!!  I'm so dang excited, I could hardly shut up last night and fall asleep because I kept talking to Jose about what we were researching all day... online graduate degree programs!!!!  I can't wait to be a student again!!!
My heart is about to burst from the excitement.  Let me begin by saying that in undergrad, I changed my major 5 times.  Yes, FIVE!  I feel like I didn't quite fit anywhere.  I wanted to be an elementary school teacher, but I also loved to write.  So I did English and minored in Applied Learning and Development, and figured I could become a teacher later.  
Then... I had kids.  That was not a setback or an inferior choice.  In fact, I'm glad I had them because I don't think I would've really figured things out without them.  After having Mirabel, I tossed around the idea of going on to study child development a bit more.  Maybe become a school counselor.  I really loved all of my child development classes/labs.  I've also wanted to open up a bakery, a gluten-free one.  But at the end of the day, I wouldn't feel right just baking cakes and cookies all day.  Yes, baking desserts for people can make the world a happier place, temporarily... still wasn't feeling it all the way, though.  And, hey, I may do it later on in life, but...
HB2 happened.  Not only that, but I've always been very passionate about many of the issues behind it.  In middle school/high school, I would visit care pregnancy centers with my mom, sometimes we'd volunteer.  I've wanted to counsel there for years.  In college, I looked into becoming a counselor there...but then other things came up.  The desire to help has always been there, and lately that desire has become more of an, "I need to do this, no excuses!" type of thing.  After HB2, I knew I couldn't make anymore excuses.
There are going to be a lot more babies born into a variety of difficult circumstances.  My favorite quote comes to mind,  "It is easier to build strong children than repair broken men" (Frederick Douglas).  What else comes to mind?  So many other horrific events that have happened lately, all related to the break down of family and insecure parental attachments, maybe not in obvious ways but definitely related.  From the heartbroken mothers on "I'm Having Their Baby," who can't keep their babies because they have no familial support system, and who find themselves struggling because their own parental relationships were likely not where they should be... to boys brainwashed by terrorism, whose mothers are not who they should be, or where she should be.  (I read that Rolling Stone article, and it has break down of family written all over it, definitely among other things.)  
All of this, yes all of it, coupled with the convictions stirred up after reading the book I mentioned in my last post... Not to mention, a study that Jose discussed with me that was brought up in a different book he is reading.  It's a study that mentions how children can grow up psychologically stable in spite of difficult extenuating circumstances if the attachments with their mothers are secure (a mothers role is so much more important that society thinks!).
And I won't get over the fact that I have been blessed and spared myself--can't ignore the motivating force behind a personal testimony.    
Have you ever felt like everything was pointing you in a certain direction?  Or I should say that God was just showing you so many things, all related to the one thing you just can't ignore anymore?  That's how I feel right now.  And I'm not scared anymore, that's how I know it's the right thing to do.There will be Math (ahhh, yikes!  My brain was not made for it).  There will be tears; late nights; tests.  There will be situations that I cannot improve--all of these situations I will have to leave in God's hands.  I will say, though, he has made a way and will make a way.  
We've done research over the weekend, and I think we've found the right program.  To sum up future plans, basically I will get my MA in Marriage and Family therapy, then I will find a way to get an internship that specializes in child-parent psychotherapy (CPP).  I will be doing this over the course of the next four years (because I will be going at a snail's pace, still taking care of my kiddos ;)... and one day, I hope to do a few other things, but for now I'm just embarking on the first step of this adventure by enrolling in a statistics class. (Please keep me in your prayers!!!  Thankfully my hubby is a math wiz, so I've got a great tutor that I can pay in cookies. ;)  (I know stats may not be a big deal to some, but, seriously, if you know me...you KNOW this is a big step for a math weenie like me. ;)

"I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always..."

 Mirabel outside of Savenor's in Cambridge, MA.  May 2011.  And that's Julia Child's writing in the pavement!

This past weekend was a rainy one.  Very refreshing for July.  I can't remember the last time it rained in July, in Austin.  We stayed home on Sunday and spent naptime organizing photos.  I think we have more than 21K now (I've got a great camera on my phone that I love to use!).  
Looking at photos is bittersweet.  Jose used to insist that it was impossible to enjoy a moment if I was hiding behind a camera the whole time.  But now that our kids are growing up (well, Mirabel is 3 and time's flying by to me), he doesn't complain much about it anymore ;).  I don't want to forget these moments.  I've already forgotten how squishy Mirabel's rolly legs used to feel like.  I'm glad I at least have those pictures.  One thing I can't forget: How tough it was being a mom the first time around.
I remember waiting for the day she could walk, somehow thinking it would get easier (Ha! Amateur!).  But Mirabel didn't walk, she ran...and she didn't stop, until she was almost 3.  I savor these last few pre-walking days with Juliette, even though she is quite squirmy in my arms.  At 11 months, she's already trying to take off at the store, even though she doesn't get very far doing the army crawl and the sideways moonwalk.  You should've seen me today at Mirabel's ballet class.  There were a few other pre-walkers there, but Juju was the only one squirming until I put her down, and wiggling across the floor in search of a goldfish crumb or two, or maybe even a leaf.  She's so curious and energetic, but still squishy.  
Before Juliette was born, I managed to finish a scrapbook with a few favorite pictures from Mirabel's first year.  I haven't even started on Juliette's.  2 years ago, I bought a first year picture collage frame for Mirabel.  I tried buying one for Juliette yesterday, at the same store, and they no longer sell it.  I was more sad about it than I should've been.  Mom guilt, anyone?  But looking at those pictures over the weekend made me feel like I'd already lost my first baby and I was beginning to lose my second.  I mentioned it to Jose, and in that same conversation I realized that we're also gaining something more than what we had before.  Little did I know 3 years ago that Mirabel would someday love to dance, would befriend any passer-by with a friendly hello (followed by a hug), would want to watch Beauty and the Beast 3 times in one week, and would love to make robots from empty cartons... These moments are just as priceless as the ones before, and I'm slowly learning to live in and appreciate right now, and not yesterday or tomorrow, whether the babies are squishy or not.

Strawberry picking in Fredericksburg, TX.
As lovely as it all sounds, I've also had the opportunity to witness a few less pleasant traits blossom in this child whose personality is as curly as her ringlets.  Yes, she was the one expressing her frustration quite loudly today in class, as she struggled to put on her tap shoes all by herself.  And I admit, this is another moment that I wish I could press rewind or fast forward.  (Then I realize I don't really want to press fast forward, because if she's like this now, how will she be at 16 ;)?)  I see the little hairs on her head curl even tighter with every impatient scream... and I remember that God has a sense of humor.
Even though it wasn't fun to watch, I didn't take it too personally today.  Because, like everything else, that moment passed.  And I also remembered what I'd read just a few days prior, in a book that has been incredibly encouraging, and has given me a new perspective on moments like these that make up the beauty of motherhood... Drum roll, please.  That book is called: The Mission of Motherhood by Sally Clarkson.
It's like a refreshing slap in the face.  It's honest and so right on.  I think I've highlighted 98.9% of the book so far, but here are my favorite quotes,  the ones that are setting me straight:

"...servant leadership is the model that Jesus gave to us for all areas of our lives, including our roles as mothers.  He reached the minds, hearts and lives of his disciples not just by telling them what to do but by serving them in love--an example the contrasts starkly to the common view of what leadership is all about." (p. 63)
"Choosing to be a servant-mother means willingly giving up myself, my expectations, and my time to the task of mothering--and choosing to believe that doing so is the best use of my time at that moment.  It means that, by faith, I have already made a decision to make myself available in the routine tasks and myriad interruptions of daily life because I believe it is God's will for me to serve my family through them.  Making this choice ahead of time means I will expect problems and needs to arise and be ready to deal with them in peace instead of impatience and resentment." (p. 67)
"...the future is not where real life began.  Each day was God's perfect will for me.  There would be no wasted years of 'just taking care of the needs of my young children.' On the contrary, these years would be the most important of my life." (p. 68)

Juju almost a year ago!  She'll be a year next month!