Another Child - Another Birthday Celebration

Here in our home, the glow of Samantha's first birthday still lingers as we prepare to celebrate another birthday and another child, the Child Who's presence brings Joy not only to His parents, but to the world, to all who have eyes and hearts open to see His significance.

And again, I find myself hoping God looks down and finds two hearts overflowing with gratitude for the Child He sent into our lives, His own Son sent with Love from His Family to ours, to give the greatest gift and make the greatest sacrifice of Love the world has ever known. 

I hope He finds us full of Gratitude and Peace.

Birthday Baby

This post is intended to celebrate my daughter's first year of life and celebrate the Joy mothers everywhere take in expressing our gratitude and immense delight in our children.  We express this sentiment in many different ways.  Some of us spend hours before a birthday crafting the most adorable cake our hearts can conjure.  Others are overwhelmed by cakes and crafting and all things Pinterest and that's OK.  Instead they find countless other ways throughout the year to build a cozy nest for themselves and their families and to express delight in the husbands or children or extended family God gave them.  We ALL have this sentiment within us.  We all find various ways to express it, with or without extravagant homemade cakes. 

May I present to you: Samantha's first birthday.  The following was my humble attempt to celebrate the gift Samantha is to me, in as grand a way as I am able.  It was not as grand as some.  But I hope someday, when Samantha looks at these pictures, I hope she will feel loved.  I hope she will know that she is important to her parents and to God.
And today, I hope God looks down and is pleased by two hearts overflowing with gratitude for the child He sent into their lives.

Her first year has been a blast.

 Zoo Animals!  Theme chosen by Samantha's Daddy.

Fondant cake toppers, molded by her Mommy and Aunt Megan

Each child got a cupcake to eat and destroy

There was a baby safe food table (pictured) and an adult food table (not in the picture)

Paper balls hung from ceiling, (found at Walmart)

Party favor bags and 1 year old safe party favor toys (also at Walmart)



What sort of game can 1 year olds play at a birthday party???  Hit the helium balloons! 



Waiting for the presentation of the cupcakes

It was a hit.  No need for pink strawberry cake inside.  The icing was her only interest.  Praise God for Oxy Clean.  The shirt can still be worn again.

Cozy round the fireplace



Samantha's favorite gift?  A yellow duck puppet

Infertility, Motherhood, Humility, Suffering, Joy

I lay outside in the grass today, during my baby's nap time, reading another chapter in a book about motherhood and as I read, I had a light bulb moment and I want to share it with you.

It is the following words from Sarah Mae in her book Desperate that grabbed my attention...

"I have no foundation in homemaking or baby-raising.  I only babysat maybe three or four times..... I never wanted to babysit because I didn't like it; I found it boring.  Entertaining other people's children was not my idea of a good time."

As I read those words, I found myself realizing there was a time in my life when I would have read those words and felt smug because I LOVED entertaining other people's children.  I was blessed with a foundation in homemaking and baby-raising because of a mother and grandmother who made it look like a joy.  My heart should have been humble, knowing my love of children was a gift given to me, not something that came from being a naturally wonderful person.  But did I fully understand that at 22 years old?  No.  I would have read the words of that author and secretly congratulated myself because I thought I was better than her.  I wouldn't have voiced this, but I would have thought it.  Don't we all have secret smug thoughts we would never voice?

Now, at 35, I can relate to her.  Why?  Because ten years of infertility gave me plenty of time away from children and I learned to love all the time I had for myself.  There was a season of about 5 years when I no longer wanted to babysit.  During that season, entertaining other people's children was no longer my idea of a good time either.

I do love entertaining my 10 month old baby now, and her little friends, most of the time.  The love of children has returned to me.  It came rushing back with overwhelming love for my new baby.  But because of that other season of life, I can relate to the author.  And that's when it hit me; this is yet another reason God allowed those years of infertility.  If I had not gone through that season, I would never have seen that side of my heart;  my ability to be so selfish, that it was no longer fun to play with the most adorable creatures on earth!

It's always a great relief to see myself more clearly, to see how imperfect I am and to be able to relate to other imperfect people when they admit their weakness and failures.  I'm a much happier person now, at 35, than I was at 22.  It's not fun to be proud.  It's not fun to think I'm better than others.  That is a burden of loneliness I don't need.  The more time goes by, the more I realize I can relate to every person on this planet.  Given the right set of circumstances, there is no amount of evil too great that I could not be tempted.  The more I embrace this truth, the freer I am.  Free to love others on their worst days.  Free to enjoy the fact that God loves ME, on my worst days.

I know God had many reasons for allowing infertility to be part of my story, but if the above lesson was the only reason, it would have been worth it.

I hate the reality of suffering.  I don't have an answer for every perversion and every awful thing that exists.  I watched a deer die today.  Another car hit it and I drove up seconds later.  The deer lay in the road, heaving, wide eyed, trying to breathe.  We all stood around, wondering what to do.  Eventually the deer stopped moving.  She was gone.  I don't have an answer for why stuff like that happens.  But I've seen enough good come from pain to continue to trust God in those moments when I don't know the reason or purpose for the awful.

I know I would never see myself clearly if I didn't go through trials.  Every trial has revealed more of myself and stripped away burdens I didn't need to be carrying.  Every trial has left me happier than I was before.

Popsicles for Breakfast

Only when you've been up all night with a sore throat and fever you caught from Daddy, are you EVER allowed to have a popsicle for breakfast in my house.

Becoming Like Grandma

After a 3 month silence, I have returned to you.  When I write these posts, I envision us all gathered round in a circle, sitting in the grass, with a forest behind us, warm cups of coffee or tea in our hands, like some sort of hippy gathering, as we share our stories.  I guess I had to get up and leave the circle for a while.  I needed time to grieve the passing of my grandmother.  This is the first truly painful loss I've ever experienced, and I'm learning that I handle grief with silence.

Grandma was.....

well, nothing I could say could sum it up or feel right to me.  Furthermore, to write a tribute to her would be to say that she is gone.  It would feel like I am trying to tie up something that is not finished.  I do believe she is still alive, just on the other side of a great curtain and that I will see her again one day.  So instead of writing one big epic post about how much she means to me, (because she means a great deal) perhaps her influence and memories will appear occasionally in my writings for the rest of my life.

Like me, Grandma was a homemaker.  Perhaps it is because she made this lifestyle look so desirable that I chose this path.

Homemaking covers many topics.  We could discuss so many things.  We could discuss our move into a house with a yard and a fence and all the joys of building my new nest.  But we'll save that for another day.  Today I want to talk about motherhood again.

It's really no surprise to me that the topic breaking my silence is the topic of motherhood.  Truly, it is currently my favorite subject.  It consumes nearly every waking minute of my life right now and I'm even on duty in my sleep!  A nine month old is an all consuming joy.

Yesterday a friend wrote and reminded me that it is OK to admit that motherhood is hard.  I needed to be reminded.

I knew this in the beginning when my baby was a newborn.  It's just so obvious how hard it is and most people don't try to do more than is reasonable at that point.  We are all given a pass when the baby is only two weeks old.  It's later, when things get a little easier and our capacity increases, and we get carried away and then crash and then feel lost because we no longer have any idea where our new limitations are.

I'm in that stage where my baby is sleeping a little longer and I'm finally getting a decent night's sleep.  (Not an amazing night's sleep, but a decent night's sleep.)  I assumed this meant I would immediately start feeling better and well rested for the first time in ten months.  Not the case!  Apparently one or two normal nights of sleep is not enough to heal ten months of sleep deprivation.  No, it actually is making me feel worse for a little while, my body craving MORE, MORE, MORE.  In a way, it was easier to run on insufficient sleep.  The body simply shuts down the call for sleep and functions without it for a season.  Reawaken that beast and watch out! 

I've never heard mothers talk about this stage, but apparently I'm in a season of recovery and it doesn't happen overnight.

To make it more complicated, sometime in the past month I was bit by the bug that says I need to accomplish MORE than simply raising a child.  What a joy killer.  To raise a child is an all-consuming task. Joyful, yet all consuming.  I know it is all consuming and yet I have to be reminded.  Why do I quickly forget?

Maybe every mother has a tendency to forget?  Maybe all Americans try to see how much they can accomplish?  Like it's a badge of our value as humans?  Is this why people keep passing me in the street saying, "they grow up so fast!  Enjoy it!"  As well-meaning as this is, I wish they would stop.  I am keenly aware that Samantha is growing fast and soon she will grow up and be gone.  It's a painful thought.  If I think about it too much, it will ruin the beauty of the moment.  Trying too hard to enjoy something can, in itself, rob any possibility of enjoying it.  On the other hand, by not trying hard enough, we can also miss enjoyment, so I can't fault those ladies for their mantra.  It's just that I'm the mother who needs to be reminded that she will be a BETTER MOTHER if she spends time away from her baby occasionally.  I'm the one wanting to spend every minute with her, kissing her and enjoying her, not wanting to miss a minute of her short time with me, but at the same time CRAVING, NEEDING time alone and having a hard time taking it.  The one exception is when she is with her Daddy.  I have no problem walking away and not looking back and not thinking about her when I leave her with him.  I am at complete peace in those times because I know she is having a blast and he is having a blast and he and I are so bonded, when she is with him, I feel she is still with me.  Anyone who has a marriage like this is blessed.  But I digress.  The point is, I need to take time away from my greatest joy occasionally, so I can continue to enjoy her.

It's ok to say that motherhood is hard. It's even good and necessary to admit it.  But it's way more fun to talk about how amazing and wonderful motherhood is.  The joy makes all the hard worth it.  At 9 months old, it's just now getting really fun.  It has been fun, but it's getting even more fun.  Like sitting on the kitchen floor together every morning, sharing a bowl of oatmeal from the same spoon.  Or popping bubbles in the kiddie pool out back.  Or listening to Hakuna Matata from the Lion King seven times in a row just so we can bop our heads and hands to the music.  These things are the heart of homemaking.  We stay home so we can do these things together.  That is what Grandma taught me.

Yesterday my Mom asked if I remembered the time we visited the Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream factory... the time we all nearly wet our pants laughing because Grandma got slobbered on by a cow as she tried to help us kids feed the cows in the Ben and Jerry's pasture.  The amazing bit is that she hated all things farm related.  She grew up on a farm and wanted nothing to do with it.  Yet she did it for us.  She was always a good sport.  Willing, in her 60's to ride a thrill ride with me, a 10 year old, when the circus came to town.  Speaking of the circus, she always made sure my sister and I each got our OWN cotton candy when she was buying.  An incredible luxury.  But again, I digress.  I only vaguely remember the incident at Ben and Jerry's, but it illustrates what I do remember about her.  She was always on the floor with us, doing things in our world on our level, yet at the same time, raising us up, inspiring us to join her on her level, in her world.  Come to think of it, isn't that what Christ did for us on the cross and the Holy Spirit continues to do for us every day.  He comes down to our level and enters our world to raise us up with Him to Divine Glory. 

Whether Grandma knew it or not, she was imitating Christ for us.  And this is the heart of homemaking; to imitate Christ every day.  Many of us have heard this over and over in Sunday school;  the goal in every area of life is to imitate Christ.  Yet Grandma made it look like a joy instead of a burden.  She did it without broadcasting that this was the purpose of her actions.  Indeed, it is only dawning on me now how successful she was at things others read book after book and blog after blog, seeking to become.  Perhaps, sometimes, in trying too hard, we miss the whole thing.  She wasn't into reading Christian self-help books.  For her, simply presenting a sincere heart, a willingness to serve and a humble spirit, was enough to make her legendary in the eyes of all who knew her.

I seek to be like her, even now, when she is no longer a phone call away, but separated from me by a Holy curtain.  I hope to see her again one day.  In the meantime, I will continue to eat oatmeal on the kitchen floor with my daughter, like she would have done.

Keeping Watch

I am currently weaning Samantha from the need to have me nearby as she goes to sleep.  Some days she needs physical contact to get to sleep, some days she just needs to peek up at me occasionally and know that I'm still there, watching over her.  At other times, all she needs is a kiss goodbye and she's content to drift off all alone in her room, fiddling with her pacifiers and birdie.  And then there are the days when nothing satisfies and she has to cry herself to sleep no matter what I do.

Today all she needed was to peek up at me occasionally to know that I was still there.  As I leaned over her crib a few minutes ago, waiting and watching, my mind wandered back to my own childhood.  I distinctly remember the warmth of knowing that as I went to sleep, there were lights on somewhere in the house and Mom was up doing things.  I relied on that comfort into my teens.  Now, at 34, I can't get to sleep unless I'm the last one to go to bed.  As much as I've tried, and no matter how tired I am, I can't get to sleep if I know my husband will be coming to bed later.  The knowledge that everything is not settled down for the night around me, the anticipation that something will be bustling about nearby, keeps me awake.

It made me wonder... when did I change?  When did I go from being the child that needed to know someone was still awake in the house keeping watch, to the adult who can't go to sleep if others are still up?  The mother who now keeps watch as her own little girl drifts off to sleep, comforted by my wakeful presence.

Deperate for Air

It's been six months and twelve days since Samantha was born.  In the last three weeks it has begun to seem as though the hardest part of motherhood is finally behind me.  I know that will probably change.  Another tough season will come.  But for now, she is sleeping a bit longer which means I'm getting enough sleep so I no longer hit a wall every 10 minutes, feeling like I've reached the end of my capacity.  I'm breathing again.  A little bit deeper every day.

But it's still tough.  I was reminded just how tough yesterday morning as I picked up a new book written for Moms.  You know you're still in the thick of it when the first few lines of the introduction have the power to make you well up with tears, relieved and grateful that someone else knows just exactly how you feel.

"I can't be a mother today, Lord, I'm just too tired," Sarah Mae recounted of her own feelings as a young Mom.  It's those first two words that got me.  "I can't."  The exact words I battle every few days.  I counter back with "I can. And I will," based on a phrase in II Timothy that tells me "God has not given me a spirit of timidity, but of power."  I'm battling and having success, but the battle itself can be tiring at times.

As I read Sarah Mae's words, I breathed the fresh air of another woman's understanding and I looked over at my baby and wondered how this small, sweet bundle of joy, deep in peaceful sleep, could cause these tears. 

How could her presence cause me to pick up a book called Desperate?

I suppose it is the very fact of her incredible sweetness and utter vulnerability that makes me desperate to do the best job caring for her.

I am reminded of a pivotal day in February, when she was only two months old and I wasn't getting enough sleep and I realized on an new, important and deep level that I needed the air and the food of God to make it through one more day as a mother.  For several weeks, I kept running into a wall, reaching the end of myself and getting angry.  I have never experienced anything more peculiar than the type of anger that rises up in me when I am pushed to the end of myself and am still being asked for more...  when I realize more is needed and WANT to give it!... but just have no more to give?  That is the most bizarre feeling I have ever felt.  Nothing in my life before has ever brought me to the true end of my own energy and pushed me for more.  Not like this.  I felt exhausted, claustrophobic, boxed in.  My husband endured several emotional meltdowns as I reached that wall over and over and every time sat down in despair and didn't know what to do. 

I kept turning to food and sleep and a one hour break from the baby while he took a turn watching her.  These things helped a little, but they were not enough.  It was not until I remembered that "Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word which proceeds from the mouth of God," that I was truly rescued.  Instead of taking a bath with the hour my husband gave me, I sat and read bits of Psalms and Proverbs and Philippians.  I drank and ate every word, transformed in 10 minutes from a woman who wasn't going to make it through one more day, to a woman who felt revived, happy and eager to go find her baby and kiss her again.  I had pushed through the wall and found the other side; the place where there is an endless supply of energy to do whatever is needed.