Christmas 2013

Christmas came and went so fast (which has made us all a little sad!). We drove to Smithfield on Christmas Eve and spent the rest of the week with the Kellers. The boys had so much fun and were so very blessed (spoiled!) with more toys than they knew what to do with. We had our traditional Christmas Eve dinner and Morg was sure to leave cookies and milk for Santa Claus. Both boys slept terribly and Morg was up and awake by 540. We delayed him as long as we could (about 730) and then we woke Danny up. Danny kept saying, "It's Micris! It's Micris!". They were so excited but so hesitant at first. They were both walking so slow down the hall, holding onto eachother and giggling. It was so so cute! Then when they peaked around the corner and saw the Star Wars tent, Danny said: Mimi! Look! Star Wars! Then Morgan peaked and they they both turned to each other and Morg put his hands on Danny's face and kissed him! It was so so so cute! I got it on camcorder too! Absolutely priceless! It makes me cry just thinking about that sweet little moment they shared.

Santa went overboard again this year. It's Mrs. Claus' fault. It's just so fun! The boys got snow shovels, a play kitchen, a star wars tent, a barn with animals and lots of Baby Einstein things for Danny and lots of Star wars things for Morg. Morg asked Santa for Star Wars Angry Birds and a Star Wars calendar. He was so happy that Santa got his letter and brought him just what he wanted. He hugged me four times and kept saying, "Thank you!" and kept saying he couldn't forget to write Santa a thank-you letter.

Morg made a reindeer made out of his handprint at preschool. He wrapped it at preschool and kept it a secret the whole time! He also picked out a sweet little picture frame for me when he went shopping with Mr. Keller. It made me cry when I opened it. It was so sweet!

Mr. Keller always spoils me rotten every single year. I got a fireproof safe for my external hard drive, a record player (yay!), Mad Men on dvd (yay! yay!), a cute coat, a gorgeous, thick blanket, a cd, perfume, and the list goes on. It's embarassing!

I ordered Mr. Keller an elk antler mount for his elk antlers and had an engraving made with his name on it and the date he shot his elk. He also got a coat, Men Who Built America, the original Star Wars trilogy, some sweaters, Cabelas stuff and a cd.

As always, Stacy baked away. We ate so much! The boys didn't nap while we were there, so they went to bed extra early, which made it quite nice for game-playing. We played Marbles and Rummy for hours every night. And ate. And ate more! I think I gained at least five pounds. Yum! (And yikes!).

After Christmas day, the boys played and played and played with their new toys. It literally took us three hours to pack everything to come home because everything was strewn all over the house! I'm sure Papa and Grandma were happy to see us clean up and leave after all of that! We are so thankful for their hospitality and for the wonderful, memorable time we had there this Christmas. One for the books, that's for sure!

{Santa goodies}

{waiting patiently to go out to see all the presents!}

This is so sweet.

Mr. Keller brought me my Kindle yesterday while I was in the middle of making dinner and told me I had to watch this. As exhausting as parenthood may be, this is such a sweet reminder that these experiences are what's intended for us, as Children of God. Nothing compares in difficulty or in joy. I'm so thankful for the little family and the little life we've worked so hard to create.  

"No, these are."

On the weekend, Morg and daddy dress the same. It's darn near the cutest thing I get see all week long. They wear blue hats and t-shirts, and Morgan goes around pointing to himself saying, "Dad. Dad!"

I say, "Yes, Morgan. Just like Dad."

(He has no idea.)

We go to thrifting and to Cal Ranch, and if there are no melt-downs, we let someone else cook for us.

Weekends are grand.

In the car on Saturday, we played 'Remember when?' and traveled back to when we were younger and childless. We slept when we wanted, ate what we wanted. We were skinnier, hotter. We stayed up later. We spent more money. We did our own thing. And it was nice, it was.

But this is better.

We both agreed.

When I caught myself saying, "Those were the days", I stopped.

Jared said, "No, these are."

And they are. We realize it when we see there's nothing warmer or more sunny than the face of our child. When he plops his little knees to the floor for family prayer each night. When I bend down for our long 'night-night' hug and he sighs and melts in my arms. When he tells all the babies in his books 'No, no! Pee pee! Potty!', or like this morning when I actually got dressed for the day and he pointed to me, smiled and said 'Pitty!' (pretty).



My life is pretty.







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"There is a holiness to the heart's affections"

John Keats

Once, when I was much younger, (when I was high schooled and teenaged), I sat barefoot on the kitchen counter at my home in the country and I read a picture book to my mom. I had checked it out from the library one summer afternoon. I'm so glad I did.  

It was called 'What Love Is' by Carol Lynn Pearson. As I read it to her, I began to cry. Then she began to cry. And we both cried. And hugged. And I hoped in my heart (and she hoped too) that one day I would find just who I needed. Just the right one.    

You see, the book was a love story of sorts - sappy, but sweet - and it told of both significant and small events in the lives of a man and woman - starting out when they first fell in love. 

"Their first touch was at seventeen when the moon was high and her hair was soft and her skin was warm and her lips were full and her heart beat fast against his chest. As he looked at her looking at him, he had never seen anything so beautiful - and he thought, 'now I know what love is.'"

And then, when they marry, their feelings deepen. And then when they fight, they make up, and their feelings deepen more. And they have have a child. And then two. And then life is full of stress and one child is sick and the other writes with magic marker on the walls and flushes earrings down the toilet. And he comes home from work and saves the day (and the mommy). And as she's resting, she hears him singing to the children down the hall and says to herself "now I know what love is". 

And the book continues on throughout their lives. And as the years pass, they feel deeper, and much more. One anniversary, money is tight and he lost his job, so instead of a fancy dinner, they eat cheese sandwitches at home by candlelight. One year, she gets 'employee of the year'. And one year there's an accident. And pretty soon they have grandchildren. 

"Thousands of touches through the following years - in celebration, and in grief."  

"Their final touch was at eigthy-nine and her heartbeat rose on the monitor beside her bed as it always did when she heard his walker in the hall. Her hair was thin and her skin was cold and her lips were dry, but she blew him just a hint of a kiss, which he caught with a hand that shook and pressed it to his cheek where the tear was. As he looked at her looking at him, silent and smiling, he had never seen anything so beautiful - and they knew that they knew what love is."

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As cliche and routine as this little book may be, there is such sweetness in imagining your life lived long and full, with a suitcase of memories, and a heart aged with a lifetime's worth of emotions. If I fast-forward sixty years, I so desire that. And it feels peaceful and comforting to know that I am married to someone who envisions the same.   

There is something divine in the relationship between a husband and wife. I'm learning this. As the days go by, the more I can see how the very essence of marriage shows Heavenly Father's perfect love for His children. And it would be marvelous and wonderful if our lives were completely and entirely perfect and there was no fear and no pain and nothing ever went wrong. Or that we were never stubborn or impatient, and never spoke unkindly. We work towards that, and someday we just may get things entirely right. But for now, the thought of companionship through life (and forever) is perfect enough. To know that we've promised our faith and loyalty to each other and to God fills my heart with such a peaceful feeling. Such a promise binds us. It truly does. It helps us to look forward together, it helps us forgive one another. It brings us comfort and reminds us of promise. And it sustains us. It always will.   

PS: Click here to read the entire book 'What Love Is'.

Perfect Morning.

This morning, the house was quiet. Morgan slept in. Jared and I woke up next to each other for once, as opposed to one of us on the couch sleepily entertaining our normally early-bird of a child (it is so necessary to take turns).

Forward an hour. Morgan was awake. And pleasant. And snuggly in his pajamas. Jared was dressed and ready for work, standing in the kitchen. Morgan was in my arms. Our morning prayer was said and I opened my eyes to catch a sweet sparkle of morning sun kissing Morgan's face. We hugged each other and said goodbye for the day.

And there was a moment of absolute, pure perfection. It felt and looked so beautiful to me.

I know Heavenly Father loves us and is mindful of our personal needs. Those needs are always met. He has never left us, and He never will. For this, I am thankful.

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{PS}

I got these fresh tulips from Walmart yesterday. $2.50. I call it January therapy. It was so needed. I'd highly recommend doing something of the likes for your home. Believe me, it helps.

Last year, as I waited for our baby to arrive, I found myself wandering - waddling really - around our home. I was great with child and it took much energy to move. You know how it goes.

It was the first time that I had actually been home during the day – and I mean really home – free from school, free from other duties. I had left my dears at American Family, and nesting had become part of my daily routine. I had traded in my dress pants and collared shirts for sweats (months later, I realized the emotional importance of actually dressing like a normal person every now and then, but that is another story).

I began anew.

Began an adjustment, of sorts. A new chapter, however cliché that may sound.

With anxiousness, I would frequent Morgan’s little room often. One of the very last purchases we made was a plush rocking chair and it gave the room the perfect, final touch. The ‘icing’, as it were.

The room had everything. It just needed a baby.

I needed my baby.

The last few days before he arrived, I arranged, and rearranged every little thing. Our bags were packed. The carseat was set neatly to the side of his room. Among other snacks, I had bought Milano’s for Jared and Tostitos for Tracy (my midwife). Diapers and wipes were stacked neatly on the dresser, the changing pad positioned just right. Morgan’s ‘going home’ outfit was folded neatly in his brown leather diaper bag I had bought earlier in the summer. It was all there, all carefully, contemplatively purchased and prepared.

How I longed to put those things to use. But all I could do was wait.

So, we did.

We waited. And waited.

I had planned Halloween 2008 to be Morgan’s first. He missed it. Spent it snug as an oversized bug in a little rug (or a womb).

And there wasn’t a thing I could do.

You see, babies come when they come. And we wait with tears, or with laughter. With sanity (rare) or with craziness overtaking us. We wait nonetheless.
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And then the moment arrives. Ours did. And our darling came much later and much bigger than we imagined. But he came!

I’m so glad he came.
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The other day, while passing by the baby section at the store, I found the exact little pumpkin shirt I had bought last year, only in a much bigger size. A perfect size for a growing boy nearing one year of age.

Today, he wore it.

And I spent some time pondering about the day he was born and the time that has passed inbetween.

I gently unfolded the tiny matching shirt that I had bought twelve months ago. The one that I had laundered and set out on the dresser last year to help remind the 'pregnant me' that my baby was coming and that patience was virtuous and ever-so necessary. In all things.

This year, I set it out to remind me again. Only now, to remind me of where we've been, what I have learned, and how far we've come since this time last year.

Seeing that little shirt brought such butterflies.

{Six Months Along - July 2008}

The first "emotional breakdown" I had when I was pregnant came when I was nearly six months along and it happened in the parking lot of the grocery store. I had been fairly even-tempered until then (Jared agrees). I only remember tearing up a few times here and there, until that evening.

I had been standing in line for nearly thirty minutes while the cashier battled with a woman’s WIC check. The woman was using it towards her purchase of baby food and formula, diapers and a few other items and her little bundle was in hysterics by the time she was finally pushing the cart away from the checkout counter, her form of payment settled and her goods bagged.

On a normal, un-pregnant day, I may have tapped my foot (or something like that). I am not that patient. I am not that kind. And when it comes to welfare and financial assistance, it frustrates me that it’s abused way too often, way too much.

While I stood there behind the woman, my baby moved within me and caused me to ponder about her situation. Was she a single mother? Was she a student? Did she have a husband? The baby had a father. Where was he? What were her circumstances?

What were her sacrifices?

I questioned.

Then, somehow, in place of any form of judgmental assessment, my heart warmed for this woman. And even more so, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that within my purse, I had the means to make my purchase. And not just gratitude for that alone. Because money is money. We may have it in fortune, we may not.

And it can only buy so much. What I felt in my heart that day was gratitude for two goodly parents, gratitude for their prudence and wisdom, and for the things I had been taught in my younger years.

I paid the cashier with tears in my eyes (a truly sappy, pregnant moment), then I walked quickly to my car and sobbed there in my seat, alone. When I could breathe enough, I called my mother and cried more. I cried and cried, and mumbled for her not to worry, and that I was okay. And when I could talk more, I told her my whole heart.

I told her what I had just seen there in the store, and that it wasn’t anything special, or particular, but that instead of feeling judgmental, there was gratitude in my heart. Gratitude for the gospel, for its teachings, and for the fact that all of my needs were (and always had been) met. I was grateful that our baby would be born within the bonds of our eternal marriage and that because we had been taught to do so, we had prayed and saved and waited until the perfect moment.

I was grateful that when that perfect moment arrived, we were prepared.

I told my mom that I loved her (and my dad) so much more now that this tiny baby had deepened my heart and changed my perspective and helped open my eyes to all things real and all things important.

Since then, I have tried to change my heart and teach myself to leave judgment behind, and replace it with understanding. The fundamentals of our country are built in such a way that we have the means to take care of those in need. Thankfully, it is not up to me to decide who is in need, and who isn’t. I only know that because I have been given much, I too must give. And work. And save. Continually prepare.

Being prepared brings about more blessings than could ever be counted. Being prepared brings about the blessings of obedience. And by being obedient, we find happiness.

Happy, I am.

birth.

On the morning of february fourteenth, 2008, I waited in the hallway next to a closed bathroom door. I waited for Jared. In the middle of the night, for a 'sweetheart' surprise, I set a positive pregnancy test on the bathroom counter and wrote “Happy Valentine’s Day” on the cardboard box.

Minutes passed. I waited. When he finally came out, he was smiling. Our hearts skipped beats, felt a range of emotions, then we hugged and kissed the entire rest of the day.

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Our lives were forever changed.

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As the months passed, we believed in our hearts a little girl was growing within me. One Sunday afternoon, we snuggled on the couch in our pajamas and picked out girl names.

A few days before our much anticipated ultrasound, I sat awake in bed and somehow knew our baby was not the girl we were planning for. He was Morgan Scott.

As we giggled over breakfast, we kept gazing at the fuzzy black and white snapshot - the very first picture of our darling little boy.

I could tell from Jared's face that inside, his heart was warm. I was carrying a boy!

Jared’s little boy. And mine.

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As our ‘day’ grew closer, we prepared our hearts and our home for our child. I was gifted many things of blue, and other gifts, too, that were so very, very ‘boy’. Because our dear friends know what a fine sportsman Jared is, I was given many things camouflaged. And upon seeing them, Jared’s excitement could hardly be contained.

However silly it sounds, small things help us to know that all things are meant to be.

And that baby inside of me, he was meant to be, too. Little boy, and all.

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When our 'day' finally came, there was more pain than we could have ever imagined. Hours and hours of pain, filled with tears and worry. Anticipation. Waiting. When Doctor Dyer came into the room to assess our situation, I remember lying there on the bed exhausted, swollen, unable to think - almost having forgotten, really, what we were even there for – to give birth a child.

Our child.

In moments, we would be overcome with emotion as we took in his suggested plan: a delivery by cesarean section.

My emotion was tied to a finality of sorts. Relief. An end. I could see the end. It wasn’t the end my heart desired, but an end nonetheless. I remember distinctly, among the many, many things I cannot remember, the calming feeling within me. It was as if all of the power and strength from all of my prayers, and all of the prayers said on my behalf, encircled me.

Inside my heart, all was calm.

Jared was less sure. Never had I seen him show so much emotion. There, on the hospital bed, he leaned into me, leaned into my entire body, full with child. I remember cupping his face in my hands, and now I was the one telling him all would be well.

:

And it was.

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Soon, Doctor Dyer announced that our little darling had dark hair. Moments after, they rested his precious little body across my shoulder, inbetween the two of us.

There was Morgan, glistening, holy. A miracle of miracles - another human being that we had given life to - and he was perfect and healthy. Whole. Ours.

The moment went quickly, and soon, a nurse carefully guided Jared out and down the hall, our darling bundle in his arms.

I watched the doors close as I laid there, the doctor and nurses caring for my body. I laid still, tears rushing down my face. In that moment, I was overcome. But of all the emotions, the deepest was gratitude. All was well. And how grateful I was that in Morgan’s first hours of life, when I couldn’t be there, Jared could be. With our son.

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In the early morning after our first night home, my mother and I were exhausted. Morgan cried and cried more than he had ever cried before. There wasn’t a thing we could do. He would not be calmed.

Jared, asleep in the other room, rushed in to help.

He took him in his arms and in one moment, he was hushed.

When our baby was born, a father was, too. Gentle and warm, with a tender heart and hands for comforting. And they did just that.

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Tonight, I sat in the same chair I slept many nights in when Morgan was brand new. Only, tonight, I rocked a growing toddler of a boy. The baby disappears more and more each day, yet I rock him back and forth. And where does time go? Eleven months have passed - nearly an entire year. There are not words to match the feelings that I have within my heart for my child, for our experiences, for the perfect, simple routine we’ve built here within our home. How we have all learned and grown, felt things with a newfound depth we never really knew before.

The things I know within my heart to be true are simple. There is a Father in Heaven that watches over us. He knows us individually. He has a plan for us individually, and for our families. If we let Him, He will guide us in all of our ways, throughout our entire lives, so that one day we’ll be together forever.

He blesses us continuously with more blessings than we could ever count. He binds us together with bonds that are real, bonds that will carry us through this life, and life hereafter.

The bond that I see, that I feel between my husband and son is so very, very sweet to me.

It is all that is pure, and it brings me so much joy. Joy that goes unnmatched. How grateful is my heart tonight.

late friday night, my darling husband surprised me by coming home early from his hunting trip(empty handed, once more). he arrived stinky, dusty, and oh, so hairy.

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i welcomed him with open arms.

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c and s keller were here for the night, visiting and playing with morgan, and bedtime had long since past, by the time we laid him next to us in his bassinett (yes, he still sleeps in our room....we wouldn't want it any other way).

midnight had come and gone, and morgan nestled right down. jared, freshly showered and smelling heavenly (still hairy), snuggled me close and we found ourselves laughing about something or other. there in the dark, we lay giggling. then morgan, apparently not asleep, joined us in laughter. and we'd giggle more, then he would too. And so it was, on and on. oh, how the morning came so bright and early.

the thing so exquisite about a baby - about the entire parenthood experience - is that amid all of the challenges, all of the sacrifice, there is perfection in the smallest of moments, even if those moments are fleeting. the purity of the happiness felt then and there is enough to carry you through the imperfection.

and i believe that those 'silver linings', those small moments, however cliche that may sound, are there for all, everywhere.

for that is how He works.

In whatsoever state I am.

{The Sleepier Days}

December 7th, 2008

Last Wednesday, I called up S. Kappas and we took our darlings to Chilies for an afternoon out. It had been too long. My, my, how our darlings have grown.

They sat side by side in high chairs, dangling their legs and eating off our plates.

We ordered Turkey sandwiches and lemon water. Note to self (and everyone else): don’t order turkey sandwiches at Chilies. Yuck.

We talked about school (she started back up this fall). We talked about new vehicles (you should see her very-new-very-chic dusty gray Tahoe! Oh my!). We talked about how our babies will soon be one.

One year old.

Takes my breath away to think of it.

Sara and I became mommies together. Sara and I delivered our newborns one week apart. Monday, November 3rd. Monday, November 10th. Both babies born in the same town. In the same hospital. We have shared stories about our experiences, the births of our firstborns. We’ve talked about nursing (which never ended up working for either of us). Naptimes. Sleep routines. Then rolling over, crawling, walking (for mea). Teeth. Baby clothing. Carseats. We’ve shopped together. Found steal-of-a-deal bargains together. Shared recipes. Shared leftovers. Shared craft ideas.

For me (anti-social/borderline unfriendly), Sara has been my one friend. And Mea has been Morgan's.

As we sat there at Chilies, chatting away, chatting above the chatter of our babies, two elderly women walked by our table and stopped to “oooh” and “ahhh”.

Babies draw all near.

One of the women said to the other, “Can you remember back to all of this?”

The other said, “Oh, yes, I’m so glad it’s past!”

I felt my nose wrinkle as a looked at Sara, then I quickly recovered, hoping the women didn’t notice.

While I am always being reminded by dear Mister Keller about patience and tolerance, and not being easily offended, it was offensive.

As I thought about it later on, it became less offensive, and more sad.

I felt sad for the woman who, in her elderly retrospect, felt that way about the days and years she raised her children.

I wondered to myself: how could anyone wish these days away? What is more precious? I know it’s challenging. I know it’s exhausting. I’m right in the middle of it. I know.

But, what on earth, or in heaven, is more rewarding? More sweet? More satisfying?

And what comes after children? A quiet home? A clean home? A nicer car? More money? Down time? Afternoon naps?

It sounds nice. But if I were there at that point, I believe I would look longingly upon days like these. I would want back in my home the laughter of my child - tubby time - nights spent in the rocking chair – washing bottles, picking up toys, cooking, cleaning. Doing it all over again.

I do these things because I care for and am depended upon by another. When your entire self is focused on serving, it becomes rewarding – heart-melting, really. When I ask for kisses, Morgan gives them. In the morning time, when sleep still lingers in my body, Morgan reaches over the side of his bassinet and pats my face with his tiny hands. When Jared comes home, Morgan becomes giddy, which, in return, makes my heart entirely full, as if nothing else in the world matters at all.

All of this is my happiness in life (and hereafter, too). And isn’t it all about being content right here, right now?

I so desire to live and live well - without regrets - though I know there will be some. I want to look upon days that are past, stages that are past, and have tender feelings about each one. So, when the time comes, in the far off distant future, when Sara and I find ourselves with white hair and wrinkles, we won’t exchange the same sort of words.

I hope to never be glad these times have passed.

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Not that I speak in respect of want:

for I have learned that in whatsoever state I am,

therewith to be contact.

Phillipians 4:11