Jess Writes Here

Because Toads Don't Get Married

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Tue, 05 May 2020 00:53:00 +0000

We were on our way to Anna's weekly dance class. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to bring up the conversation. It was a sweet time with just the two of us, just us girls. At seven years old she craves this one-on-one time with her mama, and I don’t take for granted that maybe one day it won’t be as special to her. It’s only a 15-minute trip so I knew I needed to pose the question as soon as I put the car into drive.

“So, Anna,”

“Yes,” she said expectantly. My heart skipped a beat. I couldn't believe we were about to have this conversation. The Conversation. I took a deep breath, reminding myself not everything has to be laid out in the next 15 minutes.

A few weeks before, I sat in a room full of other parents listening to a woman talk about sex.

Yes, sex.

With fear and trepidation I entered the church’s sanctuary wondering how many other parents felt the same way. We were all coming to Mary Flo Ridley’s seminar titled Birds and Bees. What advice would this woman give to equip and encourage parents to successfully share the story of life? An hour later I walked out feeling as if I had stood in front of a fire hydrant. While overwhelmed by all the helpful info, I was so grateful to the friend who told me about this seminar because I did feel empowered. Something so important to share with our children doesn’t need to feel so scary.

Without getting into too many specifics—because if you’re really interested I highly recommend you check out her website—we learned that The Talk isn’t enough anymore. It’s an ongoing conversation that begins at a young age. One of the first steps after creating your family message is that the child should know the anatomically correct vocabulary. Check. Our kids have been saying penis and vagina since they could talk. We encourage them to use these words in the appropriate contexts but I have two boys so…Next steps would be to share the birth story, explain the beauty of reproduction, teach the design of conception, and then continue the conversation as they begin puberty and enter adolescence.

Before I attended this seminar we realized if we weren’t the ones sharing this information then our kids would hear it elsewhere, sooner or later. We didn’t want that. We want to be the ones explaining how babies are born, the beauty of reproduction, God’s design for sex, and especially the dangers that are out there, like pornography. We want to be the ones building that foundation so that when they are surrounded by mixed messages from the outside world they will fall back on the truths they learned from the people who love them most.

It’s been easy to share how babies are born. With all the babies being born these days in our church and out of our friends group, our kids have had so many questions and always right before bed.

“But how does the baby come out of there again?” one will ask with each pregnancy announcement, unaware of how loaded his or her question is as we attempt to tuck them all under their covers. The other one will answer, making a point to use the anatomically correct terms to describe the delivery. They are amazed with what a woman’s body can actually do—as am I, even after three births! Then they will plead for us to share their own story again because they love hearing how we met for the first time, emerging into a cold, bright room to then being swaddled close to mama. As I retell their story, I snuggle them in my arms as if they were that small again remembering so vividly what it felt like to have them inside me not so long ago.

I knew it was maybe time to bring up “but how did the baby get in there” question when Anna started pretending her Barbie dolls were pregnant during her play and most of her drawings were of pregnant women. She hadn’t ever asked the question herself, but I could sense her confusion when during this past Christmas season she didn’t understand how Mary could have been pregnant and birthed Jesus all before she was married to Joseph.

“The Holy Spirit put the baby inside her,” I responded hoping that would suffice. And it did, until we watched The Nativity movie where many of Mary’s family and friends were dismayed when they saw her pregnant.

“Don’t they know the Holy Spirit put Jesus inside of her?” she asked.

Well…

So there we were on our way to the studio when I felt like that was as good of time as any to bring it up. Why not? It was really one of the only times in our week where it was just the two of us. The boys weren’t ready to engage in this conversation quite yet. I treaded lightly, a little nervous that whatever we discussed could be contemplated over throughout the hour and a half dance class. I didn’t want Anna to be distracted by thoughts of reproduction as she was turning pirouettes.

“So, Anna,” I began.

“Yes.”

“You’ve been drawing a lot of pictures of pregnant women and a lot of your Barbies have been pregnant. I was wondering why?”

“I don’t know,” she said innocently. She didn’t elaborate. I presented the question a little differently asking what her interest was in pregnant women. She didn’t know again.

“Well, you know how the babies come out, right? Right. Have you ever wondered how they got in there?” I asked cautiously.

“Hmm?”

I could tell this wasn’t something she really considered before except with Mary and Jesus, and she knew that was the Holy Spirit’s doing. We haven’t come across too many families whose babies came before or outside of marriage so in her mind she assumed babies come after marriage (again, unless you’re Mary). First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby with the baby carriage.

“You eat them. Like their eyes are blueberries,” She finally answered after a few thoughtful moments.

Wait, what?!

We had about two minutes until we arrived at the studio. That definitely would not be enough time to explain the entirety of reproduction, but I was quickly able to say no, babies do not come from the food women eat. I had to chuckle to myself though. It’s perfectly rational that one would think babies come from food. Their home for nine months sits right below the stomach. I couldn’t fault her for thinking that. But we had much to talk about still, and at that moment we were pulling into the parking lot.

I watched from the car as Anna walked in by herself thinking how old and mature she was becoming. It was only a few weeks before that I was walking her in, helping her get her ballet slippers on, and encouraging her to place her belongings neatly in the class’s shared cubby. But now as I sat and considered the conversation we had not even five minutes before I realized just how naive and unsullied her little mind was. I grappled with introducing her to God’s design for sex.

“Maybe we can wait a little longer,” I said as I relayed our conversation to Travis later that evening in the kitchen. We were preparing dinner as the kids played in the living room away from earshot.

“Telling her now won’t take away her innocence. If we wait and we leave it up to her friends to tell her they may say things that just aren’t true. That will be what takes it away.”

He was right. I remembered the illustration in Mary Flo’s seminar about the sponge. We need to fill our children’s minds with the truth so when they hear outside voices it will just splash off.

I repeated we need to be the ones, we need to be the ones, over and over in my head the rest of the night. I asked God to give me another opportunity soon to share where babies really do come from.

***

A few weeks later we were invited to spend a few days with friends at their mountain cabin. We were surrounded by nature, deep in the woods with views of Table Rock as our backdrop. Spring was beginning to blossom and we were given the perfect opportunity to bring reproduction back to mind as we witnessed many things come to life.

While we hiked around the nearby lake one of the afternoons we came upon a dock where Travis suggested to Theo they fish. Right away we noticed hundreds of toads along the shore. These toads were entwined in what looked like long coiled strings just sitting below the surface. I had never seen anything like it. It wasn’t until I Googled toads that I learned they were toad eggs! Upon further observation we saw many of the toads one on top of another. They were mating!

“What are they doing?” Anna and Theo both asked. Well, here goes, I thought to myself. I racked my brain trying to come up with something quick that was truthful but just enough to satisfy their curiosity.

“They are getting married,” I finally blurted out. They seemed content enough to not push the issue but I was not totally happy with my response. Because toads don’t get married.

As the kids played along the shore, careful to adhere to my warning of not disturbing the mating toads or their eggs my mind reeled with how I could continue the conversation with just Anna. I wasn’t sure if the discussion would lead to human reproduction, and I still didn’t think Theo was quite ready for that.

Thankfully Theo took an interest in Travis fishing further down the dock, so I had a chance to continue. Anna gently held a non-mating toad she had just caught allowing its legs to bounce lightly on her hand.

“Look mama, it’s a ballerina. It’s doing a plié!” she could not have been more precious, and I thought of our chat on our way to dance class.

“Do you know what the married ones are really doing?”

“What do you mean?” she looked at me quizzically.

“Well, remember when we learned that God gave all living things either a seed or an egg?” I reminded her, referring to when we dissected flowers at the nature museum just a few weeks earlier.

“Yes.”

“Well, the toad on top is the male, and he has the seed. And the female is on the bottom and she has the egg. The male is giving the female the seed and when the seed and egg meet life begins. By God's design they are making babies!”

Phew! I got it out.

I watched her eyes grow and glisten as she realized what I said and what that actually meant. I was petrified of what would come next but all she said was, “Wow! That is so cool!” Her face lit up and she giggled, full of wonder. I could tell she was truly amazed. As she gazed in astonishment at the mating toads poking out of the surface of the water she was satisfied, and so was I.

For the next few minutes I relished in her awe. Maybe this wouldn’t be as difficult as I have been making it out to be. Hopefully with every step we share with our children they will see the beauty and marvel of God’s design for life. Because it truly is beautiful and marvelous. And nothing God creates can be anything but full of those things.

A Father and Son Go Fishing During covid-19: the next one hit wonder country song

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Wed, 15 Apr 2020 19:57:00 +0000

Times are strange. I feel like I’m watching a movie. When I check the news feed before closing my eyes at night—which, let me just stress, that’s a bad idea—nothing feels real. With every article, every update, thousands more cases have been confirmed with hundreds more deaths right behind. Story after story, photo after photo reveals a world that seems so distant to me as I shelter with my family tucked away in the mountains. I don’t take for granted where we are amidst what feels like the world falling apart around us, things that seemed so permanent and stable are crashing to pieces. We decided the best thing for our family and to help stop the spread of the covid-19 virus during this time is to "shelter-in-place" in a secluded home that our extremely generous friends have offered to us. This house we’ve retreated to sits in a valley. It’s as if the rolling peaks are the walls of our fortress, protecting us from the disease that is slowly yet steadily infiltrating the rest of the world.

We’ve been here for almost two weeks but it feels much longer. It's becoming our home away from home. We’ve gotten into a rhythm of school and play and family time that has been sweet and precious. We’ve hiked and explored, witnessed wildlife wake up after its winter sleep, found spring in the trees blooming the prettiest of flowers, I’ve drank way too much Coke and coffee and the kids have eaten way too much popcorn and ice cream (because apparently a global pandemic calls for over-caffeinating and sugar highs), and Travis and Theo went fishing one night.

I stood on the porch, gazing a little longer than I usually would have as Travis and Theo walked side by side down the driveway, father holding his pole, son carrying the net over his shoulder, and I marveled at the simplicity and beauty of the moment. My husband of almost 15 years, my boy who grew inside of me only six short years ago, the mental picture I was capturing could’ve come straight out of a country song. They crossed the street to walk through the field where the cows graze the other half of the year to the river on the other side. As they became two little dots below the towering mountains above I hoped they would catch something, if not a trout then maybe a crawdad or a salamander. But even if they didn’t, I hoped more than anything it would be a special time for father and son, a memory they could tuck away for a long time.

For the next hour or so hour I sat on the porch swing, Coke in hand, and watched the sun slowly set behind the mountains, Anna and Owen playing “puppies” in the yard with our gracious host. Then when I didn't think they would ever return I saw those two little dots reappear out from the trees. For the five minutes it took them to cross the field and the street and walk up the driveway, I eagerly anticipated hearing all about their discoveries and time together.

“We caught two fish! We caught two fish! And I netted them!” Theo’s little voice rang out as he climbed the stairs to the porch. His smile beamed across his face and said it all. He was so proud of his accomplishment. He was so proud to have been with his daddy the last few hours. His enthusiasm was contagious. My smile grew as I listened to him share about the two rainbow trout Travis caught and how his daddy couldn’t have done it without his expert netter.

A few days later as I was working with Theo on his phonics lesson he was prompted to write a secret letter to someone in his family. He knew exactly who that would be. He dictated as I wrote the message for him to copy. Stopping every now and then to giggle he finished copying his letter with the most precious picture of his daddy and him fishing below. He folded it up, and tiptoeing into the bedroom he placed his beloved message on Travis’s pillow. If you know Theo then you know he can’t keep a secret for the life of him, so he immediately told Travis there may or may not be something waiting for him. Those next few moments of the sweet interaction between father and son held such simplistic beauty. I witnessed love and joy and goodness and gentleness—fruits that are so needed during this time.

Times really are really, really strange--I cannot emphasize "really" enough. While my family is secluded in a beautiful place it doesn’t take away from the fact that our life, along with everyone else's, has been upended (aside from "sheltering-in-place", toilet paper being sold out everywhere, and the fear of catching this virus, I mean, I went from drinking soda only once in a blue moon to consuming a can a day), my kids still bicker like siblings do, I still, if not more, get irritable, we miss our friends and community terribly, and we wonder, as I know everyone does, what the future holds.

So I share this story of Travis and Theo fishing because it may not have happened had life not drastically changed in the last month. Sure, there would have been other fishing outings, but I appreciate that moment more with the heartfelt letter written after because of what’s going on in the world. I watched them walk away toward the river, imagining they were in a country song, but really, more so just captivated by a father and a son enjoying one another and God’s creation that continues to go on. Spring still blooming, birds still singing, and life still happening, it just looks a little different now. And if it’s allowing me to slow down and delight in the simplistic beauty that still is and watch the things that I thought were permanent and stable come crashing down so that all that remains are heavenly things, like love and joy and goodness and gentleness, then praise God.

Moving Memories

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Sat, 03 Mar 2018 20:21:00 +0000

Travis’s phone rang. He looked down to check who was on the other end.

“It’s the apartment office,” he said and quickly answered it. After a few “uh-huh’s” and “ok’s” he hung up.

“We’re moving at the end of the month.”

A huge smile spread across his face. I was happy too. This was something we had wanted for our family for over two years. It meant a bigger place to call home, not feeling so cramped in our tiny two-bedroom townhouse. Even if the upgrade was only to a three-bedroom unit within the same complex, we just couldn’t wait.

But something fell in the pit of my stomach. This also meant we actually had to leave the apartment we came to love as our home.

I had been too exhausted to make the kids pick up their toys before nap but as I glanced around our toy-strewn living room minutes after receiving that phone call a burst of energy came over me. I thought about our new space and what it would mean for our family of five. Crawling around on the floor I picked up the scattered toys. As I placed a dinosaur back in one basket and a doll baby in another I thought about the extra bedroom upstairs, the extra closet space, the chance to purge and start over. Maybe purging would consist of that dinosaur or that doll baby I had just placed in their respective places, because, really, who needs five doll babies? And that dinosaur was missing a leg. I could have just thrown them out right then, the dinosaur in the trash, the doll baby in a give-away pile. I’ll get to it in a few weeks when the pressure of packing gets to me, I thought. For now I’ll hold onto these things a little longer.

After throwing the last toy in its basket my eyes fell upon the dark marks on the walls placed there over the years by the dining chairs bumping against them. Those marks never seemed more apparent than in that moment. I rolled my eyes recalling the effort I had exerted one day to try and remove the spots, to no avail. It only took the paint off instead. They’re just so dirty. At least our new walls will be clean with a fresh coat of paint.

Deciding I needed some fresh air I opened the front door and looked down over the grassy hill just off the front stoop, the same grassy hill Anna rolled down on her tricycle when she was just two years old. I could still hear her little grunts in rhythm with each bump, as I knelt below cheering her on. The new place wouldn’t have a grassy hill, which, really, I was fine with. It’s safer that way. But I didn’t want to ever forget about that grassy hill where our little girl conquered her fears and, later, where our little boy found delight in throwing his ball, watching as it picked up speed the farther it went.

Looking down our sidewalk I noticed our neighbor sitting on her front stoop just like she did almost every day.

“Namaste,” I said to her and bowed in greeting.

In that moment I thanked God we would still be surrounded by such beautiful people who had journeyed from all around the world to settle here, the same kids we were accustomed to seeing run through the streets daily would continue to knock on our door asking in their best broken English to play Legos or play-dough or with the chalk and bubbles. I thanked God not everything was going to change.

***

“Mommy, I don’t want to move into a new house!” Anna exclaimed from the back seat of our car. I glanced in the rear view mirror and I could see her eyes well up with tears. We had been prepping her for a few weeks, trying to get her excited for what was to come. At barely four years old I didn’t imagine moving just three buildings away would devastate her as much as it had. I got a little teary eyed too trying to put myself in her shoes. Maybe she didn’t realize her toys and clothes and bed and blankets would come with us. Maybe a big change like this was too much for her little mind to process. Maybe she couldn’t envision being happy in her new place because our old place was all she had ever known.

I remember the very first night we brought her home. We gave her the tour as if she were aware. I held her close while we walked through her nursery and then cuddled in our nursing chair. She was so calm as I laid her in her crib. She looked up at me and I remember thinking, “It’s just us now, baby girl.” She was home.

It was into that same nursery that we brought her brother just two years later, and now as they fall asleep at night Travis and I listen to their giggles echoing through the halls and down the stairs. It was in our kitchen where they both learned to walk and in our living room where they danced with their daddy while Mumford and Sons played through the stereo.

As we pulled into our designated parking spot for one of the last times I reminded Anna that the move would be great for our family.

“There will be more space for you to play, you’ll meet new friends, you’ll have new places to explore, and you’ll get to take all your stuff with you.” She didn’t seem convinced. As the move crept closer I was beginning to not be so sure either. It was just three buildings down though, why was this so difficult?

Their firsts are moments I never want to forget, but I feared they would be lost in the move along with that doll baby I had hoped would disappear all on its own—at least that’s what I will have told Anna.

First birthday parties held amongst our friends and family would only be remembered in the photos I still had not printed out. I won’t be able to walk through the kitchen anymore and think back to the time when we made chocolate chip banana pancakes for the first time. And those pesky marks on the wall left by the dining chairs would soon be painted over and I will have quickly forgotten some of the sweet times had around the dinner table.

But maybe these memories could follow us somehow. With having our third baby in our new home, perhaps all the memories of Anna and Theo’s firsts will flood back into my mind. As I give the baby a bath in the new tub I’ll wash him with the same soap I used on my other babies. I’ll smile as I take in the scent of chamomile and lavender and remember the laughter during bath times from my other two. I’ll nurse him in the same chair and then lay him in the same crib Anna and Theo slept in their first year of life. We’ll flip through the photo books that I’m determined to finish as my children sit in my lap pointing and giggling at the memories that were shared in their first home.

***

We have been in our new apartment for a few months now. Things are beginning to settle. The kids have a new bunk bed, we replaced the beat up red couch we sat on for 11 years, and the third bedroom is absolute bliss. It’s feeling more like home.

Anna hasn’t forgotten the old apartment though. She’ll bring it up every now and then, out of the blue, like the other day when we were getting ready for her nap. We sat on our new-to-us couch, the cream leather broken in from years of use by another family, and had just finished reading The Napping House.

“Can we snuggle?” she asked.

“Of course, it’s been a long time since we’ve snuggled before nap.” I answered. I thought it was sweet that she wanted to.

“Yeah, like in our old house,” she said and remembered that was our thing before I would lay her down for her nap. We would read a book or two on my bed and then snuggle. This was a memory she hadn’t forgotten, a cherished memory she packed up with her, having nestled its way amongst the rest of our belongings.

I held her a little tighter that day before nap. I noticed how much she’s grown just in the few short months we’ve been in our new home. Her legs thinning out and growing long, her face still holding her chipmunk cheeks but maturing into a little girl’s. I closed my eyes as I rubbed her back trying with all my might to hold onto this new memory in our new home.

We Went Camping and I Survived

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Fri, 02 Feb 2018 19:42:00 +0000

This essay was previously published on Parent.co.

We went camping for the first time as a family this past weekend. I went camping for the first time this past weekend. Like at a campsite, in a tent, in sleeping bags, on the ground, camping.

Travis had wanted to go camping for some time. He wanted it to be “our thing.” He wanted our family to be a camping family. He was putting a lot of stock into this dream with a wife who had never camped before and the unpredictable nature of the weather app.

“I’m going to take Anna camping for her birthday,” he told me back in September. Secretly I was relieved he didn’t invite me on their father/daughter trip. I wasn’t so sure I was ready to be among the bugs and the dirt and sleeping on the hard ground just yet.

He made reservations at a campsite at a nearby lake. Anna’s third birthday came, and with it, a storm that was to last all weekend. They moved their camping trip indoors and set up the tent in our tiny living room. She had a blast. She had no idea this wasn’t real camping.

But Travis did. He was ready for the real thing. He longed to be sitting by the fire roasting marshmallows and hot dogs, falling asleep under the stars, and waking up to the birds chirping and the cool air filling his lungs. And he wanted to experience it all with his family.

Autumn left without another camping trip planned. Winter was cold, as usual, but living in the south we knew it wouldn’t be long before spring brought warmer temperatures. Travis spent December through February researching the best tents, sleeping bags, and other camping gear out there. Who knew there was something called a mummy wrap to keep you from freezing to death while you sleep?

He set up a trip in February to go with a good friend. They went backpacking for two nights. He was very thankful for that mummy wrap — without it and a few other pieces of clothing he might have actually frozen to death.

After that experience he was more ready than ever to introduce his family to the great outdoors. I told him we needed to wait until the weather app told us the low would be higher than 50 degrees. But he lived for the open air and the surrounding trees. He was suffocating in the urban jungle of Charlotte.

At the beginning of each week starting in March, Travis would check the weather app for the following weekend. For six weeks the low was less than 50 degrees. He began growing weary. Until the weather app brought great news — at least, great news for him. He reserved our spot on Lake Wylie, we gathered all our supplies (sans mummy wrap because you don’t need one when the low is higher than 50 degrees), and we loaded the car. We were going camping!

Excitement filled the car but my expectations were low. Since I had never slept in a sleeping bag on the hard ground, in a tent, outdoors, with nothing but mesh between the elements and me I didn’t know if I’d wake up with a crick in my neck that would last for the next week. I feared what it would be like for Anna and our son, Theo, who was barely a year-and-a-half. Would Anna be startled by the sounds or scared of the dark? Would Theo toss and turn all night, waking up at all hours and impossible to lull back to sleep?

I wondered what Travis was really thinking taking his young family into the woods. As soon as he reminded me of conversations with friends who have taken their kids camping and survived, I trusted him and began eagerly anticipating the unknown.

Pulling into the campground I was relieved knowing we weren’t the only young family to leave the comforts of our home to brave the outdoors. Moms and dads were pitching their tents or making their RVs ready while kids ran through the trees and down by the playground.

We parked the car at our own campsite and I immediately noticed how peaceful it was with the trees enveloping our little space. We were far enough away from the other campers but close enough to the playground and bath house to make me feel like we weren’t in total seclusion. I stepped out of the car, and after feeling the crunch of the gravel beneath my feet I looked up at Travis.

“We’re sleeping on gravel?”

“Jess, just breathe.”

That’s all he said. That’s all he needed to say for me to remember we weren’t at the Hilton. He would’ve said it was better than the Hilton; the verdict was still out for me.

Not even 30 minutes later our kids were playing in that gravel. Dirt so thick on their little bodies, dirt so embedded under their tiny fingernails, I cringed knowing a bath was still 24 hours away. I carried the baby wipes around with me, following their every move, wiping and scrubbing the caked on dirt to no avail while Travis sat in his chair enjoying his surroundings.

“Jess, just breathe,” he reminded me again.

He was right. I needed to breathe. I needed to remember that the wilderness calls for dirt under your nails and dirt in your clothes and dirt everywhere. It was going to happen regardless of whether or not I ran at the heels of my kids with a baby wipe in hand. Why was I fighting it? I know how important it is for kids to play outdoors, getting dirty, feeling the earth, playing with sticks and bugs, building castles made out of rocks. Exploration. Feeling. Sensing. This is how they grow.

“We’re going to have to clean them with soap and water before we eat,” I told him.

“Just breathe.” The baby wipes sufficed.

“We should have them take a shower in the bath house before we get in the tent for the night,” I recommended.

“Just breathe.” The shower was nixed.

We fell asleep under the stars. We were dirty. All of us. We smelled of fire and smoke and the great outdoors. Before I closed my eyes for the night I peered over at my sleeping babes next to me. Anna’s face was smudged with dirt and leftover marshmallow from her s’mores. Theo bore a welt on his forehead from a fall he took earlier off the picnic table and his fingernails were caked with earth. As I drifted off to sleep, I breathed for what felt like the first time that day and decided camping wasn’t so bad after all.

We were stirred awake the next morning by the birds chirping and the sun breaking through the trees illuminating the inside of our tent. We survived the night! I took a deep breath allowing the fresh, cool air to fill my lungs. I was determined to let my kids get as dirty as they possibly could that day knowing we would leave in a few hours to return to our home and bubble baths. And they did.

Later that evening I held Theo close as I nursed him in our chair. After a night in the wilderness it felt good to be back among the familiar. Taking a deep breath I let the heavenly scent of Burt’s Bees baby shampoo overwhelm me. I took his hand in my own. The earth that was once caked under his fingernails had been washed away. No trace of camping left on our bodies.

Just breathe.

Travis’ words echoed through my mind. He knew that was all it would take for me to enjoy our first time camping as a family and to allow my kids to experience the great outdoors in all it’s glory.

Owen Lazarus's Birth Story

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Wed, 05 Jul 2017 19:30:00 +0000

When I woke up on April 4, 2017, I never would’ve thought Owen Lazarus would be joining us that day. Even though I was six days overdue I resolved in my mind that I would eventually have to be induced later that week. He seemed awfully cozy in my belly and the early labor, that was really just a nuisance and exhausting, wasn’t giving any hints. Losing more of my mucus plug and the incessant contractions were a tease since beginning a few weeks prior.

My due date was March 29, and once that came and left us without Owen in our arms we told Travis’s mom, Terri, to come on down from Ohio. It was nice having her here to help with the kids while I rested before the big day.

The morning of the day he came I was so over being pregnant. I really shouldn’t complain. It truly is a blessing, being pregnant and all. But by the end, and especially since I was almost a week late, I was so tired of being uncomfortable and so tired of being tired. I knew nights of interrupted sleep would continue after Owen came but I found solace in knowing I would finally be able to sleep on my stomach and not have to carry 40 extra pounds around my midsection.

As we sat around the breakfast table that morning I asked Terri if I could spend some time with Jesus while she entertained the kids. She was happy to let me go so for the next hour I worshipped and read encouraging scripture. That time with the Lord was so refreshing. I felt His peace envelope me and remind me that He is good and in control no matter if I get the labor and delivery I hope to have or am induced.

To stay busy the rest of the morning Terri and I took the kids to Freedom Park. They played at the playground while I walked around the lake in the hopes it would spur on stronger contractions. It definitely did something. By the second loop my contractions were feeling different than they had over the past few weeks. They weren’t painful yet but they were like waves beginning in my thighs and moving up over my belly. By the time I completed three loops and met up with Terri and the kids my contractions were coming every 8-10 minutes.

Terri was really excited when I told her what was going on but I was still sure the baby wasn’t coming that day. I didn’t want to get my hopes up just yet. We ran a quick errand to Target and then headed home for lunch and naps.

When we got home my contractions were down to 6-7 minutes apart. I sent a text message to Travis at work to update him on my progress. I also told him I was going to shower and lay down for a bit to see if the contractions would stop.

“NO! DON’T SHOWER, DON’T NAP! KEEP WALKING. I’M COMING HOME!!!”

“But I’m so tired! And don’t rush home. I still don’t know if it’s the real thing,” I wrote back. I knew he was right though. If my contractions really were different and this was the start of something I knew I should keep walking to move things along. While Terri put the kids down for a nap I walked around the neighborhood.

Travis met up with me 15 minutes later to walk next to me. We laughed about how this could be the real thing and how we could meet our new son in just a few hours but most likely tomorrow because I tend to have long labors. We got excited after each contraction ended knowing we were one step closer. Travis asked me how long we needed to walk until it was time to go since my contractions were now down to 2-3 minutes apart. I was so afraid of going in too early—that’s what happened with my other two—so I tried to wait as long as possible until I couldn’t walk or talk through them.

We made it back home after a few contractions in a row stopped me in my tracks. They were tolerable but I had to really concentrate on my breathing in order to get through them. I knew it was time to call my midwife. The nurse told me my midwife would call me back but I told her that we were already on our way. I wasn’t about to wait around when I finally knew this was the real deal, and with Owen sitting so low and being my third baby I had a feeling this was all going to go really quick.

We kissed our napping kids, thanked Terri for being awesome, and headed on our way!

We arrived at the hospital at 3:30 pm. My midwife, Kathy, checked me right away. I was 5 cm dilated.

“You seem to be progressing very nicely so I don’t think it’s necessary to break your water,” she said. I was so thankful. My water was artificially broken with my other two and I stalled for several hours. The pain was excruciating. At one point when I was in labor with Theo I swore I would never get pregnant again. But here I was for the third time.

For the next three hours, that seemed to fly by, I went back and forth between bouncing on a ball and swaying my hips hunched over the bed. This labor was so different than the other two. I’m not sure if it’s because my waters were still intact or if it’s because everything was happening so fast. I could actually feel my body move through the different stages. I looked up at Travis at one point as he held my hands across the bed from me and whispered, “I’m going through transition.” I breathed and relaxed with every wave, and although it hurt like hell, the pain was manageable.

During each contraction I imagined holding Owen. I imagined what he would look like. I imagined how it would feel to push another baby out of me. I told myself I could do it again, and I marveled at my body, the way it carries and grows a human, births a human, and then sustains a human. What a beautiful miracle. I praised God that I could be a part of that.

Two and a half hours after we arrived and not long after my sister, Emily, joined us I felt the urge to push. I was surprised it happened so quickly. Thankfully Kathy walked in right after I told Travis I was ready to push and she checked me. Half expecting her to tell me I was still at 8 cm I was thrilled when she said, “you have a tiny bit of cervix left but I think you can push through it.”

“Praise the Lord!” I exclaimed.

Travis helped me onto the bed as Kathy donned her scrubs and turned on the blinding overhead lamp. Within seconds I was ready for my first push. I bore down and my water immediately burst. It was the weirdest, coolest feeling ever. Kathy asked if I wanted to push again during that contraction but I wasn’t ready. I wanted a few minutes to rest and regain my strength. I was already so exhausted.

I waited for the next one to come. And when it did I took a deep breath, bore down again with all my might, and felt the familiar ring of fire. He was there!

“There’s his head! You’re doing so great, Jess! Keeping pushing!” Kathy said. I could hear Travis and my nurses encouraging me too.

I pushed two more times within that same contraction and his head finally released. I thought he would wiggle himself out at that point but I could feel as if something was caught.

“Push again! One more time and he’s out!” I didn’t want to push again. I wanted him to already be out. I was confused as to why he didn’t just fall out of me. The pain was unbearable. I wanted it all to be over. It was so uncomfortable and hurt so bad. But I collected myself, took the deepest breath I could muster, and pushed. And then his broad shoulders popped through as the rest of him followed.

I lay back in relief, my whole body shaking. I couldn’t believe it was over. I couldn’t believe my body just did that.

Kathy called Travis down to cut the cord because it was too short for Owen to rest on me while still connected. Seconds later she set him on my chest. As I looked down at him and took in the fact that he was on me now and no longer in me, I exclaimed, “I’m not pregnant anymore!” Everyone laughed. I was filled with joy. He looked exactly like his sister and brother, except his entire face was blue. We were reassured it was just bruised from traveling through the birth canal so fast. I couldn’t believe I was a mother for the third time and that he was mine.

It was 6:43 pm. Owen came only three hours after arriving at the hospital. It was absolutely glorious and everything went exactly how you would hope a natural, non-medicated birth would go.

Travis and my sister crowded around my bed as I held and nursed Owen, admiring his little self. He still had gunk all over him that kept him a grayish color and he pooped on me at one point but I didn’t care. He was beautiful.

After holding and gazing at him for an hour or so, he was weighed and cleaned off. He weighed 9 pounds, 4 ounces. I knew then why his shoulders were stuck!

And that’s where I should end my birth story. My sweet family gathered together around my postpartum bed, holding our newborn son, marveling at the works of our Lord and taking in all of His goodness.

But it continues.

Shortly after we settled into the room that would be ours for the next two nights I hemorrhaged.

Travis went to grab our bags from the car while Emily and I chatted in our new room, Owen lying peacefully in my arms. It was only 8 pm or so and I was excited that we would have an entire night to rest.

Two of my nurses walked in a few minutes later and asked if I would like to go to the bathroom. I hadn’t gone since delivering. I agreed that I should try. I handed Owen to Emily and each nurse stood on either side of me as I draped my legs over the side of the bed. I stood to my feet and before I could take a step blood began gushing out of me through my diaper-like pad as if it wasn’t even there. A pool of blood lay at my feet as I looked up at the nurses hoping they would know what to do.

“OK, let’s get you back into bed and lay you flat,” one of the nurses, Haley said. She remained calm but I could see the bewilderment behind her eyes. As the other nurse repositioned my bed so I was laying flat, Haley called my midwife and told her to bring in a team of nurses, including a hematologist.

Within seconds the door swung wide open and a slew of nurses filed into the room. I looked over at Emily who still was holding Owen and she had a very concerning look on her face. She was scared and helpless. But I was so thankful she was there. She was such a comfort to me even if she was in the corner out of the way of the nurses holding my hours-old baby.

I lay flat on my back with my hospital gown up around my still soft belly as one nurse to the left of me continually took my vitals, Haley down at my pelvis exchanged pads every few minutes while my midwife pushed on my abdomen to the right of me. The hematologist was inches from the foot of my bed with a scale weighing the pads as Haley passed them to her. Another nurse inserted an IV into my right arm filled with Pitocin to contract my uterus and pain medication for what was about to take place.

“Your earrings are pretty,” the nurse who was taking my vitals said. I’m not sure if she really thought so or if she was trying to distract me from all the chaos.

Every few seconds I was asked how I was feeling. Despite my blood pressure dropping, not once did I ever feel dizzy or lightheaded. Not once did I ever think I would lose so much blood that I would need a transfusion. Not once did ever it cross my mind that I could actually die.

A short time passed and Travis finally walked in the room. Amidst the frenzy he was informed by one of the nurses of my condition. His face went white as snow when he saw the blood pooled at the side of my bed. He later told me the room looked like a crime scene. Grabbing my hand, he stood to the right of my head and instantly I felt peace. But I could tell he wasn’t doing well. I imagined he had thoughts swirling through his mind of his wife, the mother of his children, dying right there on the bed in front of him. He couldn’t last a few minutes without having to retreat to the bathroom. I reached my hand out for someone, anyone, to take. I needed to be comforted. Kathy held my hand as she waited for the pain medication to take effect.

Travis walked out of the bathroom and back to my side moments later with more color to his face. He took my hand once again. Kathy then proceeded to search inside my uterus with her hand. It’s as bad as it sounds. Thankfully the pain medication did its job and I didn’t really feel much of anything.

There’s nothing like being splayed upon a hospital bed, naked from the waist down, with 16 eyes on you and one hand in you and blood all around you. I was at my most vulnerable, fighting for my life. I didn’t care at that point who saw me and what they saw. I lay there and allowed the nurses and Kathy to do what needed to be done.

“Well, there it is. Would you look at that?” Kathy said as she held the tiniest piece of something that came out of me. Whatever it was rested in the palm of her hand.

“It’s a part of your placenta that broke off inside,” she continued. “Your body was trying to flush it out, that’s why you were hemorrhaging.”

That’s it?! That’s what was causing the blood bath? That’s what almost killed me?!

I could not believe it. In that moment I thought of all the things that could have gone wrong if I was anywhere else with anyone else. If I would have gone into labor at home. If it was 100 years ago. If I didn’t have an amazing team of nurses who cared and didn’t just chock up my bleeding to the usual postpartum flow and a brave midwife who was willing to search inside of me to find the culprit.

It was past midnight by the time my bleeding subsided and the room was scoured and spotless once again. What I once thought was going to be a relaxing night of cuddling my newborn baby turned into a bloody fiasco along with having to be checked every 15-30 minutes until morning to make sure I didn’t bleed out. I didn’t get any rest that night even when Owen was taken to the nursery for a few hours. I was insanely exhausted but my mind could not shut off and my body could not relax.

I saw the sunrise before eventually receiving a Percocet and finally falling asleep.

The Lord is good. He gave me the birth I had always hoped to have. I felt him in every wave that swept over me. After every contraction I praised Him for getting me through another one. The pain was fierce but his presence was fiercer. And then he continued to be with me as my body worked to rid the foreign piece still inside of me. His peace overwhelmed me as I lay on that bed exposed trusting in him and trusting that my midwife and nurses were going to find and fix the problem. I never doubted they knew what they were doing and that I wouldn’t be healed.

Three months later I’m still shocked by the whole day. It’s funny how God makes you forget what labor and delivery feels like because if you asked me today if I’d do it all over again, I would—just without the hemorrhaging. Childbirth truly is a miracle and I feel blessed to have been able to experience it all in its full glory.

Grace

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Wed, 17 May 2017 18:41:00 +0000

It's funny what adding one more kid to the mix will do to a family. In ours Baby Owen has brought joy, excitement, and wonder. He's also brought with him higher loads of laundry, less sleep for me, bigger messes from all, and more discipline for the older two. Talk about sanctification! Then there is this new ability I've acquired this time around to let things just slide off my shoulders.

As I recently skimmed through old posts I wrote following the birth of Theo I couldn't help but want to give my former self a huge hug. I didn't want to tell her everything was going to be OK and to cherish the moments because that wouldn't have helped. Those were hard times. Going from one to two kids was really, REALLY tough. It was one of the blocks I put in place as we contemplated having more. I remember how bad my eyes burned from the exhaustion of not sleeping more than 2 hours at a time while attempting to console a fussy baby night and day. I was drowning in laundry and dishes and to-do lists. And looking back now I know I didn't savor all the sweet and new things that come with a newborn. I say that because I don't remember any of it. How could I? I was running on a few hours of sleep here and there. I was just ready to move past it all and get back to a normal routine.

After giving her that huge hug, one thing I would tell my former self is to give grace. Give grace to yourself. Give grace to Theo. Give grace to Anna. Give grace to Travis. Grace upon grace upon grace. As I read those words from two and a half years ago I sensed so much guilt from that new mama. Guilt for not having the toilets cleaned, for dishes stacked high, for laundry still sitting in baskets--clean, but still unfolded and not in drawers. Guilt for not having memory books written in and toys not placed nicely in their correct homes. Guilt for the time I wasn't spending with my older one because I was too busy with the new one. Guilt for not knowing how to console my son who was in obvious pain and wishing I had an "easy baby".

Grace.

Since we welcomed Owen I haven't cleaned the bathtub or vacuumed the floors, most days dishes are stacked high, I currently have a load of towels in the dryer that need to be folded and two other baskets of clothes that need to be put away, not to mention the clothes sitting in the hamper that need to be washed. Memory books still sit untouched. I'm writing from the YMCA while my older two are in the child care and we left the house with Legos strewn all over the floor. Travis and I tag team to console Owen during his 8-10 pm witching hour every evening all the while the older two raucously play in their room refusing to go to bed.

And I've resolved to not let it bother me.

Owen is an infant, he's going to cry and spit up. He's going to need to be nursed in public and a passerby may just happen to see a boob. He's going to poop all over the changing table and have blow outs that cover his entire back. He's going to need to be held to be comforted and straightening my hair is just going to have to wait--or maybe it's not and he's just going to have to wait because he's not going to die from crying a few minutes longer.

Anna and Theo are kids, they are going to disobey. They are going to test us when we say no just to see how far they can get. Anna is going to whine when her brother takes her baby doll and Theo is going to throw a fit when I tell him he can't have another "bip" (chip) when he's already had 20. They are going to wake up earlier than we would like and spill their milk on my bible while we're eating breakfast and insist on putting on their own shoes as we are running late for church. But they are also not going to forget to ask to give Owen a hug and kiss before bed and beg me to "nuggle" and sing them our song as they fall asleep. And always I will be happy to oblige.

It's only natural that the more you add the more challenging it gets. More hands to hold, more things to remember, less time to devote to each person in the family, less sleep. But there are more giggles and more kisses and more love to go around. And there is more grace.

***

A few nights ago I stood in the doorway watching the gloomy clouds cover the sun setting behind our building. The older two were playing outside while Owen lay peacefully in his bouncer at my feet. Anna pedaled past us on her purple bike, Theo played with a stick and a rock he found a few minutes before. Any other night I would have rushed the kids inside upon seeing the looming clouds. I wouldn't have wanted them to be caught in the rain and then trample the water and mud through the house. I wouldn't have wanted to get towels to clean up the mess and then have to change them out of their wet clothes into dry, clean clothes. I wouldn't have wanted to do more laundry than I needed to. Plus dinner was almost ready and it would have kept us from sitting down to eat in a timely manner.

But I let it happen. I waited for the clouds to open up and allowed the torrential rain to pour down on their little heads. They squealed and looked to me half expecting me to call them inside.

"Go! Play! Get wet!" I shouted.

The giant droplets soaked their clothes. They jumped through the puddles that quickly pooled next to our front stoop. Mud splattered across their legs and they both looked up to the sky, mouths opened wide to drink up the falling rain. Soaking up the moment, I delighted in their giggles. A moment that only lasted a few minutes but one they will remember for awhile and one I'll remember even longer.

I had a friend the other day ask me what my favorite thing is about having a newborn in the house for the third time.

"Noticing all the little things again." I told her. It's allowed me to stop and cherish Owen's fuzzy ears and the way he tries his hardest to smile at me first thing in the morning at only 5 weeks old. I've taken in Theo's growing hands and feet that are more like a little boy's and less like a baby's, and Anna's sweet and hilarious songs she makes up on the spot and her big beautiful eyes that continue to pierce our souls.

This whole parenting thing is still so hard. It's always going to be hard because we're dealing with tiny, broken human beings who become big, broken human beings, when we ourselves are broken--and clueless. But grace. Grace allows us to let things slide off our shoulders much easier. And thanks be to God, our newest addition has brought that with him.

Photos by my wonderfully talented sister, Stef.

A Love Letter to My First Son

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Sun, 05 Mar 2017 13:58:00 +0000

Dear Theo,

It feels like yesterday when I first met you, peering down over my still round yet quickly deflating belly, the same belly that held you carefully for 9 months. My legs were raised in the stir ups as Jan, our midwife, held you high so I could see your tiny arms and legs extending for the very first time.

And all I could say was, “I love him so much!” – my first words to you.

I never imagined having a little boy. Growing up in a family where the estrogen ran high I was unsure of how I was going to handle the nonstop energy of the opposite gender. Two years later I’m still scratching my head trying to figure you out. You’re loud, you like to believe you can jump from any height, you’re already talking about poop and calling everyone “poop”, I’m finding rocks in the laundry that you’ve collected in your pockets, and you always want to wrestle.

“You’re such a boy!” I yelled out one day after you came inside covered in mud. As I stripped you down to your diaper at the door I immediately contemplated how much Oxyclean solution I was going to have to use in order to remove all the stains.

“You can’t say that like it’s a bad thing,” your father called out to me from the other room.

He was right. You are a boy, and that is the most wonderful thing. You’re going to get dirty, you’re going to think farts and pooping are funny, you’re going to hide rocks in your pockets, and you’re going to see how high you can jump off the playground. You may even break a few bones along the way. And that is great.

You know what else I’m learning about boys through you though? You love to cuddle and you love your mama.

While you were still in my belly I prayed you would come out as a baby who didn’t want to ever be put down. I should have listened to the old saying, “be careful what you wish for”, because I got exactly that. The months after we brought you home tested my strength as a mother and my faith in God. Most nights were spent nursing you, snuggling you, and burping you, not to mention sleeping in an upright position with you on my chest to help with your reflux. You didn’t finally sleep through the night until after your first year. Many days I regretted saying that prayer for a cuddly baby.

But it has paid off.

As you’ve grown older and been sleeping through the night regularly, your desire to cuddle hasn’t faded. When we read together you don’t pull away to sit by yourself. You always choose my lap as your go-to seat. When you’re sad you don’t run off licking your wounds by yourself. Instead you reach up, arms open wide, saying, “hug, hug.” And my favorite part about all of this is when you get hurt the first person you call out for is mama.

I don’t ever take this lightly.

And do you know why?

Because I won’t always be the one you call out for. There will be someone else someday who you’ll choose over me to cuddle with, to hug when you’re feeling sad, to call out to when you need to be comforted. And I’ll have to be OK with that.

Lately it’s been more of a challenge to carry you around, to hold you when you reach your little arms up to me. It’s because of your baby brother growing inside of me. My arms get tired, my belly contracts as it’s nudged by your knees wrapping around me. I ask if you would rather be held by your father and all you say is, “Mama, hold you.”

“Ok, buddy,” I say because I remember I won’t always be your favorite person. There will be someone else.

So in these moments when my arms are tired and my belly contracts more than it should and a part of me just wants a moment alone I’m going to endure and hold you for as long as I can take it.

I love you my sweet, cuddly boy, more than you’ll ever know,

Mama

Soft Curves

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Wed, 08 Feb 2017 20:00:00 +0000

My second trimester was lovely. I felt great, I slept great, I breathed easy walking up and down stairs, and my bump made the perfect soccer ball shape under my maternity clothes. Most days I forgot I was pregnant. Ok, not really, but I had no complaints.

And then the third trimester came in with a vengeance. Sleeping has become incredibly uncomfortable. With every waddle I feel the extra weight that's been added. The weeks leading up to when we'll finally meet our little guy seem never-ending. My clothes continue to get tighter, and I feel like a whale most of the time. I've been told more than once that I look like I'm ready to pop. And whenever I tell people I'm not due until the end of March they respond with "oh, you poor thing".

At the gym last week one of the front desk attendants told me I'm a lot bigger than I was with my other two.

"Thanks! I still have two months," I responded with a fake smile.

Then I watched as she floundered like a fish.

"But you still look great, like really great! You look so cute! I'm so glad you're here, it's so good to see you!" she said back pedaling her compliment--or insult, I'm still not sure which one it was.

Uh-huh.

I thanked her again, but this time for real. I felt bad that she felt so bad. I know she didn't mean to make me feel larger than life. I ran upstairs--and out of breath--to the elliptical vowing to not stop until I sweated off the pancakes I ate for breakfast that morning.

When I look in the mirror these days I almost don't recognize myself. A giant bump has taken the place of the abs I worked so hard to strengthen before last summer. My pre-pregnancy toned muscles are softening into the familiar curves I saw with my first two babies. The insecure, selfish part of me wonders if I'll get back down to the weight I was before I had Theo. But then the grateful part of me slaps myself and says, You are carrying life inside of you! What an honor and joy it is that, thanks to God, my body can create life, hold life, and then sustain life. It's really a beautiful thing.

I look at Anna and Theo and see the people they are becoming. Anna with her beautiful, sweet spirit who tells us "I love you" without prompting and Theo who collects rocks and never stops smiling, they were once inside of me. It was their tiny feet poking me in the side and their hiccups keeping me up at night. And now they're in the world making their own decisions with their own personalities and quirks. Pretty soon--and I hope sooner rather than later--we'll meet the tiny one who's made my curves softer, my pelvis writhe in pain whenever I tumble off the couch, and my esophagus burn like H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. But it's worth all of it.

How far along? 33 weeks

How big is baby? The size of a ferret. Baby boy continues to put on fat and his bones are hardening. He is beginning to keep his eyes open while he's awake. I can't wait to see what color those sweet eyes will be!

Total weight gain: 30 pounds

Maternity clothes? Yes

Sleep: It's as good as it can be. I'm getting up one to two times a night to pee and using all the pillows to stay comfortable.

Best moment this week: I had Anna go with my to my midwife visit this week and she was so excited to hear the heartbeat. As we listened I asked her what she thought and she said, "he sounds like a puppy." So apparently we're having a dog!

Miss Anything? Wine

Movement: He’s moving so much! I can feel his back and butt on my left side and he kicks off to my right. I feel him punch down towards my pelvis. He hiccups every day and it's the cutest thing!

Food cravings: sweet and juicy

Gender: BOY!

Labor Signs: Braxton Hicks have started. They usually are more frequent when I haven’t had a lot of water or I need to pee.

Symptoms: Hip and groin pain after sitting or lying too long. Indigestion has started and I’ve been taking Zantac once a day, sometimes having to pop a few Tums before bed. I’m not peeing quite as frequently this time around but when I have to go, I have to go now! I'm always congested--it feels like I've had a cold since October.

Belly Button in or out? out

Happy or Moody most of the time: generally happy but the flip can switch at any given time.
Looking forward to: searching for minivans over the next few weeks!

It's Another Boy!

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Fri, 09 Dec 2016 21:05:00 +0000

Poor, sweet Anna. We opened the pizza box together, and before our eyes, the ultrasound photo taped to the inside lid revealed what we had been waiting to find out for weeks.

"It's a boy!" Travis and I shouted together.

Then Anna's little voice cried out: "But I don't want another brother!" I immediately looked down and saw her face drop and the tears begin to well in her eyes. My heart so full of joy broke a tiny bit for my first born who so desperately wanted a sister. It was as if she never wanted anything more in her life. Her own baby sister to hold and nurture and dress up in the sweetest little girl clothes. A sister to begin her huge family of sisters just like little orphan Annie--her ultimate dream. I hugged her and kissed her and told her what an amazing big sister she is to her little brother and will be to her new baby brother. I thought of all the things I could tell her to convince her that it's ok she's the only girl (for now). You'll get to have your own room someday. You'll be mommy and daddy's favorite girl. You'll get to keep all your dolls to yourself.

Sold.

The little girl who plays so well by herself will continue to get to play by herself while her younger brother who craves being around others will have a little playmate. Everybody wins.

When we ask her now, a few weeks after the reveal, what she thinks about having another brother she says she still wishes he was a girl. I get it. It takes time. But I'm confident once she sees this sweet baby boy and gets to hold him for herself, she'll be smitten and won't want to put him down. Fingers crossed!

How far along? 24 Weeks

How big is baby? The size of an atlantic puffin and over a foot tall. His lungs are developing significantly, and he's beginning to develop taste buds, so I hope he likes all the Christmas goodies I've been eating!

Total weight gain: 19 pounds

Maternity clothes? Yes

Sleep: I'm getting used to not breathing through my nose which is making sleep more bearable. Travis has begun to lovingly refer to me as "mouth breather" so that's sweet of him. It's getting more difficult to change positions through the night but for the most part I can't complain--I'm not exhausted throughout the day.

Best moment this week: we asked Theo what baby brother's name is and he repeated it for the first time! It's sweet that he really knows there is a baby in mommy's belly, and what's even sweeter is he knows his name.

Miss Anything? sleeping on my stomach

Movement: feeling him more and more as he gets bigger and bigger!

Food cravings: sweet fruits and chocolate

Gender: BOY!

Symptoms: my hip flexors have been killing me if I sit or lay too long. I don't remember that feeling with the other two; peeing frequently, waddling like a penguin, occasional indigestion

Belly Button in or out? In between

Happy or Moody most of the time: generally happy but the flip can switch at any given time.

Looking forward to: watching more Christmas movies and sipping hot cocoa snuggled on the couch with my loves.

***

Pregnant with Anna at 24 weeks

Pregnant with Theo at 24 weeks

All I Want for Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Wed, 07 Dec 2016 20:35:00 +0000

The past few months have been a whirlwind. Fall is already crazy in itself. Three birthdays to celebrate, a soccer season to fill our Saturdays and at least one night a week with practices, and a new school year schedule to get accustomed to, not to mention Halloween and Thanksgiving, plus Christmas to prepare for right around the corner. And then on top of all that, this year we had a big move. Well, maybe not a big move, we only moved three buildings down the street, but a move nonetheless and our first with kids. They tell you it’s not easy moving with kids, but it’s one of those “you never really know until you’re in the throes of it yourself” type of ordeals.

I feel like we’re finally catching our breath in December, but even then we have all the festivities that come with Christmas, and as a mother to two young kids I want Christmas to be magical and special and include every activity that goes along with it. We have an advent calendar and a Jesse Tree; we’ve already baked cookies, watched at least 10 Christmas movies, and listened to Christmas music every day since Black Friday. I have it on my radar to visit Santa, see the singing bears in uptown and walk through the nearby Christmas village, take a carriage ride through the Billy Graham Library lights display, and watch still at least 20 more Christmas movies. Plus there are the parties to attend and the Christmas cards that need to be printed, addressed, stamped, and sent. Oh, and then there are the gifts; gifts for the kids, gifts from the kids, gifts for parents, grandparents, cousins, siblings, aunts and uncles, friends…

I told Travis my plans the other night during our monthly planning meeting (because when you rarely see each other during the week and neither one of you wants to talk plans on the weekends, you need a planning day at the beginning of the month).

“Wait, wait, hold on, you want to do all that?” He asked.

“Well, yeah.” I answered impatiently.

We sat on our bed scrolling through our calendars on our phones, the kids playing in their bedroom across the hall. I knew we didn’t have much longer before we heard a cry or a “he took my baby!”, so getting through our schedule needed to happen with haste. I rambled off all the free days we still had available leading up to Christmas day. Before I could set the date for our visit with Santa he gracefully interrupted,

“With all that we’ve had going on this fall I was really hoping December would be low key. I need it to be low key. The kids aren’t going to care if they don’t see Santa, they won’t care if we don’t make time for the singing bears and the Christmas village. What I really want is for us to enjoy being together even if it’s staying in and snuggling on the couch with hot cocoa and cookies.”

He was right. I held onto what he said throughout the rest of the evening as we set up our Christmas tree and the kids hung our ornaments. I wondered what I really wanted for my family. Do I want them to see the Christmas season as a time where we fill our agenda with every activity that we possibly can? Do I really want to stand in a long line for my kids to tell Santa what they want for Christmas when we’ve told them Santa only brings small stocking stuffers? Do I want to risk tempers flaring as we rush out of the house to attend the next unnecessary activity when all my kids really want to do is stay in and play or read?

After decorating our living room we set the kids down for a pizza dinner and turned on Elf. It’s one of the few traditions we’ve held on to since before kids came along. My mind continued reeling with what I want my family to embrace during this season. Love, joy, peace, hope, a giving heart. I want us to reflect on why God sent his son Jesus into the world as a baby as we sit together each evening reading our advent devotion and adding our nativity pieces to our calendar one by one. In that I want my kids to know waiting can be hard as Anna tries to add baby Jesus to the manger too soon, and I want them to come to see it’s worth the wait. I want my kids to experience the joy and anticipation that Christmas brings even if that is in receiving gifts because one day I hope their desire for gifts turns into a desire for Jesus Christ, the true gift we’ve been given. Because Lord knows Anna loves gifts, and if she loves gifts this much my prayer is that she will one day love Jesus even more!

Most of the activities that surround the holiday season are simply wonderful. I love looking back at all the great traditions I experienced growing up and I do want that for my own children. But I’m realizing that before I go and fill our calendar with all things Christmas I have to be sure I’m focused first on the things I truly desire for my family to embrace. If those are neglected then all the activities I have planned will be in vain.

And really adding one more thing to my plate just doesn’t need to happen. Snuggling under a warm blanket, sipping hot cocoa, baking homemade cookies, and seeing the sparkle in my children’s eyes as they anticipate Christmas morning is all we need to celebrate this Christmas season.

Half Way There

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Thu, 10 Nov 2016 19:54:00 +0000

I've made it to the half way point. **praise hands** A part of me feels like the baby will be here in no time, but I also feel like 20 weeks seems so far away. I mean, we still have Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, and St. Patrick's Day to get through. The leaves still have to fall from the trees and Charlotte's one snowfall in the winter needs to blanket the grass until it all melts away in the afternoon sun. Flowers will be blooming again before my due date rolls around and daylight savings will have already graced us with her sunny presence. Still so far away, right?

To tear or not to tear?!

You know what else feels so far away? Finding out the gender of our baby when I have the results in my hands! I could just tear open the envelope this very second. I would jump up and down rejoicing, I would call my baby by his or her actual name instead of referring to him or her as Juice Drop, and I would feel a little closer to the precious boy or girl kicking and flipping around in there. But that would also take away a special moment for our family who lives in Ohio, another moment they won't get to experience because we live here and they live there, 8 hours away. Sure, I could open the envelope now and we still have the party the day after Thanksgiving. They would all still be surprised. But that's no fun, and my reaction wouldn't be authentic. They deserve authentic. And for that I'll wait. Two weeks can't come soon enough but it's only two weeks away.

How far along? 20 Weeks

How big is baby? The size of a paper airplane (if the paper airplane were made from an 8.5" x 11" paper), and is sprouting teeth buds underneath those gums, as well as lips, eyelashes, and eyebrows.

Total weight gain: 11 pounds

Maternity clothes? Yes

Sleep: Not too bad. Breathing a little better now that we've added a humidifier.

Best moment this week: it's been a tough week in our country no matter who you voted for, so this is a difficult one for me. But because my kids are still naive to the things of this world they are helping me put things in perspective. We made a thankful tree this week adding leaves to our tree each day and drawing the things we are thankful for on the leaves. While this world is broken there is still so much to be thankful for. The best moment this week was seeing my kids get excited to talk about all the things they are thankful for. What beauty.

Miss Anything? a glass of wine

Movement: Yes! But just little pops. That darn placenta is blocking every big blow and it makes me sad a little.

Food cravings: anything

Gender: Thanksgiving can't come soon enough!

Symptoms: bloody nose, out of breath, round ligament pain, indigestion

Belly Button in or out? In between

Happy or Moody most of the time: generally happy but the flip can switch at any given time.

Looking forward to: feeling more bumps and kicks so the kids can start feeling the baby.

Pregnant with Anna at 20 weeks
Pregnant with Theo at 20 weeks

Here we go again

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Thu, 03 Nov 2016 18:58:00 +0000

I can't believe the last time I posted was back in June. I didn't think it'd be like that, but the summer just got away, I got pregnant, I got really, really tired, and my writing was set on the back burner. I even wrote a post back in April promising myself I wouldn't do that again. I guess you could say I jinxed myself. Since realizing I went on an involuntary hiatus I've slowly started writing again. I have a few pieces in the works and maybe they'll make it to the blog, maybe they won't. I'm having trouble starting a piece and not finishing it. The trend recently has been I lose interest in that piece or I have another idea that pops in my mind and I have to get it down on paper or I'll lose it. Either way, I did finish this small thought below so I'll share it with you, plus there's a bumpdate following it. I contemplated whether I'd even do a bumpdate this time around because, you know, it's my third, but the more I thought about it the more I said, "yeah, this is my third, and he/she is just as important as my other two." So here we go again!

***

I’m not scared. Maybe I should be. It is our third, and we will officially be outnumbered in less than 6 months. I have to be honest though, there were moments the first few weeks after finding out we’ll be adding another little chickie to our brood where I was stopped in my tracks wondering if we were crazy. One second I was full of regret, these two kids are driving me nuts, how can I handle another one? to the two we have already are perfect. The next second I was overjoyed, I’m so excited to have another sweet baby in my arms to Anna and Theo will be such great big siblings. And now, 19 weeks later, the joy overcomes any fears left.

Maybe it’s because I’m forgetting what it’s like to be up every few hours with a newborn, the constant need to change my clothes, their clothes, because of the spit up and blow outs and leaky boobs. The not knowing how to soothe and still having to be mommy to my other two children. I’ve heard from some moms who have 3+ kids just how difficult it is…“Going from two to three was the hardest for me.”

And yet, there have been just as many who have said going from two to three was their easiest transition. Their third is the one who has to fall in line with the others, go along for the ride, adjust to the family’s already way of life. I’m taking comfort in this. Of course I know it’s not going to be a piece of cake. Newborns are hard, and personally for me, it’s not my favorite stage, but I think I’m more excited for this pregnancy than my other two. My expectations are realistic and they’re accurate. Or maybe my expectations just aren’t there because I’m tired of having them.

But above forgetting what it was like with the first two or the lack of expectations this time around, the reason I am most excited and not terrified is because I know the love for another one surpasses any sleepless night, blow out diaper, leaky boob, crying fits, and spit up on my favorite shirt. I know my heart is just going to grow bigger because I remembered what that felt like when Theo came and it continues to grow bigger every day as the two of them grow older. My heart swells knowing in just a few short months I’ll get to hold another one who might look exactly like my first two or look nothing like them, having his or her own unique look.

As the kids and I drove along the other day, just minutes from our home, “Praise Him, Praise Him” played through the sound system from my phone. I gazed back into the rear view mirror and my breath was taken from me. Anna giggled as Theo, who is learning new words every day, sang along with the music. Tears filled my eyes, my heart has rarely ever been so full knowing my children were singing about the love of their Heavenly Father. My thoughts turned to the tiny baby in my belly, who we still don’t know yet. I imagined what it will be like in just a few short years when I gaze back through that rear view mirror and it won’t just be two singing but three. My heart almost couldn’t contain the love in that moment.

I'm not scared now. I'm just ready. Ready to be filled with joy. Ready to delight in my three children. Ready to be sanctified all over again.

How far along? 19 Weeks

How big is baby? The size of a Gameboy and is beginning to sprout tiny little hairs from his/her head. Both my other two had a head full of hair at birth--can't wait to see if this one will too!

Total weight gain: 10 pounds

Maternity clothes? Most definitely

Sleep: I was sleeping amazingly until we moved, and I don't know if it's all the dust that was flying about or the change of seasons but my allergies have been awful making it impossible to breath at night.

Best moment this week: Seeing our little one at our ultrasound appointment! Leading up to this appointment I had been a little anxious. I wasn't feeling the baby as much as I thought I should be since I'm so far along and this is my third baby. Of course my mind goes to the worst case scenario, and I was nervous something just wasn't right. Come to find out my placenta is anterior which means it's in the front side of my belly cushioning most of the kicks and jabs baby is throwing. I was a little bummed to know I won't feel him/her as much this pregnancy but also relieved knowing he/she is completely and perfectly healthy!

Miss Anything? Jogging. I tried the other day and had to stop a half a mile in because I was cramping up. I guess it's the elliptical and weight lifting for me.

Movement: Yes!

Food cravings: everything. I just love food.

Gender: Guys, I have the results in a sealed envelope literally 12 inches from where I am sitting right now. I could rip open that envelope and find out what our baby is in a matter of seconds! But I'm resisting. I'm pretending that that envelope isn't even there. We're waiting until Thanksgiving to find out with the rest of our family in Ohio. We'll see if that envelope stays intact until then!

Symptoms: Round ligament pain, indigestion

Belly Button in or out? In between

Happy or Moody most of the time: generally happy but the flip can switch at any given time.

Looking forward to: Finding out what's in that top secret sealed envelope!

What are you, Little One? You sure do have the cutest nose!

Pregnant with Anna at 19 weeks

Pregnant with Theo at 19 weeks

Something Greater

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Sat, 18 Jun 2016 19:57:00 +0000

The day I decided I didn’t like fishing was the day my dad took me fishing for the first time. I was three years old. I was so excited to be going on this special trip, just he and I. I can’t remember where we went or whose boat we borrowed. All I know is we were at a lake surrounded by the tallest of trees that offered a nice reprieve from the summer sun beating down on the water. (Not that my little three-year-old self cared about such things. I was of the age when the heat would plaster my ringlets to my face, sweat dripping in my eyes, and I wouldn’t mind one bit.) I remember looking down at the boat from the dock. It was small, just your typical rowboat. I stood on the dock waiting for my dad to put all the fishing gear onto our tiny boat. After settling everything in its spot he took me into his arms and placed me on the wooden seat across from him. I mustered all my strength to hold on to one side of the boat as he rowed away from the shore, my body engulfed by my life preserver. But I didn’t mind, the anticipation of catching my first fish was killing me. I had no idea though that most of fishing is waiting.

As my dad rowed further into the lake I peered over the edge watching the ripples circle off the oar. We soon arrived to where my dad thought would be a good spot to cast a line, and he began fiddling in his tackle box.

“Go ahead and pull out the juiciest worm in there, Jess. The fish really like the plump ones.” He handed me the container full of worms we had bought from the dingy bait shop just a few hours earlier. As he tied his hook onto his fishing line I selected the fattest one of the bunch and let him wiggle through my fingers. It tickled and I giggled, aware that in a matter of seconds he’d be hooked and tossed in the water ready to be feasted on by one unlucky passerby.

“OK, Jess, you’re up!” My dad said after hooking my wiggly friend. He casted the line and handed me the pole. I held on with dear life as the goofiest grin spread across my face.

And then we waited.

Within a few minutes, but what felt like hours to me, my line started to jiggle. I quickly looked to my dad who whispered, “I think you got one. Start reeling.” I put into practice what he taught me earlier that day and began reeling as fast as my little hand could turn. He gently put his hand over mine to help with the slack until finally we pulled the fish into the boat. I immediately saw the blood and panicked.

“Daddy, my fish!” I gasped, hot tears beginning to well. I knew what this meant. My poor fish was going to die.

You see, my dad told me when we go fishing we always put the fish we catch back, still alive. Catch and release. But this time was going to be different. There was no catch and release. This fish was completely covered in its own blood and I was the one who killed it. My little self couldn’t handle the guilt. I cried heavy sobs as my dad tried to unhook the unfortunate fish while also trying to prevent blood from spilling all over the boat. He reassured me that it was just one fish, everything was going to be okay, and I could still enjoy this sport. But I had it settled in my mind, and that day I decided fishing wasn’t for me.

Looking back I feel bad for my dad. I can imagine how thrilled he was to take his little girl on a small adventure. He was going to teach her what his father taught him. He was going to be able to pass down a love for nature and the great outdoors. But one little bloody fish had to ruin that. Since that fateful day my dad has tried convincing me to give it another shot. He’s taken me fishing a few more times after but my mind has been forever closed to the possibility of ever enjoying it.

What my dad desired for me I desire for my own children. I want to show them the world. I want to introduce them to the things I love. And I hope they will enjoy the same things I enjoy.

***

We introduced Anna to the beach at an early age. She’d run toward the waves with abandon, not realizing just how big it all was. When we were vacationing to Lake Michigan one summer we let her loose to splash and frolic on the shore. While not as big of waves as you would encounter at the ocean, Lake Michigan’s waves are big enough to wipe out a two year old who is still trying to get familiar with her own stability. And that’s exactly what happened. She tumbled, she quickly returned to her feet, and then she cried great big sobs.

Throughout the rest of our vacation, with fear in her voice, she wouldn’t stop talking about “the big waves”. We would ask if she wanted to go back to the beach and she would begin to cry. We understood she was scared. It had to be a scary thing for a toddler but we also knew how much fun she had up until that dreadful fall, and we didn’t want her to miss out because of one wave.

“Be brave, Anna! You can do it! You’ll love it!” We would encourage her. Because we know how great it is to run from the waves and let them chase you back to the sandy shore. It’s worth the trepidation.

On the last day of our trip we returned to the lake. Hand in hand we walked Anna down to the waves. Before our toes hit the water she gazed up at me with her big brown eyes. It was almost as if she was looking to me to make sure it was safe, that I was going to be right there, and wondering if it was going to be worth the jump.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s going to be great!” And it was.

***

During our week to Lake Michigan I was constantly being reminded of the bloody fish I caught with my dad. Travis was doing a lot of fishing and was thrilled to share his love of it with his daughter, just like my dad with me. As Travis hooked the worm onto Anna’s pole I recalled the excitement my dad had while we rowed out from the shore. Joy spread across Anna’s face as she caught her very first fish. She was so proud, as was I. And then I remembered how even after I caught my bloody fish my dad still encouraged me to try again. Just like I encouraged Anna to try running through the waves again. It was worth the trepidation. My dad didn’t want me to miss out on something greater because of one fish. I didn’t want Anna to miss out on something greater because of one wave.

With all this to say, I should practice what I preach and give fishing another chance. I may have been missing out on something greater all these years.

My Reclaimed Hobby

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Mon, 25 Apr 2016 18:42:00 +0000

It was December 29th, the end of another year gone by. In just a few days I would fly out to California for a sisters trip with Stefanie and Emily where we would visit Joshua Tree, hike to the Hollywood sign, stand On Top of the World in Laguna Beach, and ride a wooden roller coaster on the Santa Monica Pier. In the days leading up to 2016, I was beginning to feel the itch for something new. I had become a sort of serial hobbyist bouncing from one interest to the next as soon as the first sign of boredom set in.

But writing has always stayed with me. I've been writing stories ever since I was little. I began this blog a few years ago because I wanted to share my stories. It's just never been a hobby I've really invested money in like I've done with all those come and go hobbies. Thankfully you really don't need to invest money into writing, unless you want to take a class or attend a conference. Just your time. But because I never felt confident in calling myself a "writer" I never pursued taking it further. I'd write for a bit, blog for a bit, leave it for a bit, but I've always come back. It's never left me like the other hobbies.

As I scroll through Instagram a few days before 2016 begins I come across Coffee + Crumbs' post. My hands begin to shake and my heart starts racing as I read the caption below their little square photo. The collaborative mom blog announces they are launching a writing workshop. And better yet, for mere mortals like me! I stare at the photo for a few minutes until I finally brush the thought of one day actually being able to call myself a writer out of my head. Another few minutes pass, and I decide to go to C+C's website to find out more. Travis looks up from the book he's reading and notices I'm frantically searching the web.

"What's going on?"

"Oh, um, nothing...well, something, but I don't know if I should share," I spit out.

He pushes a little further. I go on to explain the workshop and all that it entails based on C+C's little blurb on their site. I then proceed to tell him it's not a big deal and it will be too bad I won't be able to sign up.

"Why not?"

"Because it costs money and I'm not really a writer."

"So what? Do something for yourself for once. You're not going to know if you're a real writer until you take the time to pursue it. And if you decide you don't want to write anymore after this, that's okay. Just know it's not a waste."

***

Fast forward six weeks later. I'm in the second week of C+C's writing workshop and we're given a writing prompt called the Red Dot Essay, kind of a "you are here" montage. Every week leading up to this prompt, and even the weeks following, I stress about what to write. I take days writing one prompt. But this essay, it takes less than an hour for me to spew it all out. Maybe because I am living in it. This essay is the epitome of my every day, and it isn't a huge challenge to piece together.

***

A few weeks after C+C's workshop comes to a close I stumble upon the Good Mother Project's monthly theme submission request as I'm scrolling Instagram (yet again). By this point I'm still full fledge into my love of writing without the prospect of getting bored anytime soon. I love what I learned in the workshop, I grew as a writer and as a person, and I'm excited for what the future holds. The GMP's monthly theme for April is called "That's What She Said." I think about my Red Dot Essay from the workshop. I never thought I would be one to submit an essay to a website. No one would want to pick my essay out of a bunch of real writers. But something inside tells me to still submit. I want to see if I have what it takes, I want to see if my writing is worth the read, I want to see if I can face my fear of failure. So I do it. I revise my Red Dot Essay adding and omitting a few details. I submit That's What Nan Said. And a week later I receive the email that says the Good Mother Project wants to publish my piece! I'm humbled, honored, and over the moon filled with joy.

And I still am humbled, honored, over the moon filled with joy for all the pieces that shaped this story behind "That's What Nan Said". I'm grateful for C+C who took this former lover of writing and gave her the confidence to call herself a real writer. I'm grateful for the wonderful, lovely, and inspiring women who make up my little writing group encouraging me to step out and face my fears. I'm grateful for the GMP who was willing to publish an essay of mine that means a whole lot to me. I'm grateful for Nan who made this story possible by taking the time to meet with a couple of weary missionaries and encouraging them with finding the sweet moments. And I'm grateful for Travis who says if this is just another come and go hobby for me, that is okay.

But I know, for me, writing has always been more than just another come and go hobby. It's just been reclaimed.

***

Click here to read my first published essay, "That What Nan Said" on the Good Mother Project.

I was nominated for the Liebster Award!

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Thu, 14 Apr 2016 17:22:00 +0000

Never heard of it? Me neither. Well, not before last week. For those of you who haven't heard about it (like me last week), the Liebster Award is an online award given from blogger to blogger as a way to recognize writers, letting them know how much their work is appreciated. It also allows followers to discover new blogs they may not have been familiar with before. What a neat concept, right?

I was honored and humbled after a friend from high school reached out and nominated me for this award! Thank you Meredith Nye, from Semi-Balanced Mama, for nominating me and being someone other than my mom who reads my blog! Go check her out, guys. She's been writing for less than a year but already has a huge following. I've really enjoyed seeing her journey in the blogging world!

There are a few, easy guidelines to follow when you are nominated for a Liebster:

1. Write a blogpost about your nomination, displaying an image of the award.

2. Thank the person who nominated you and include a link to their blog.

3. Answer the 11 questions the person who nominated you asked you in his/her blogpost.

4. Nominate 5-11 other new bloggers who you think deserve this award, and come up with 11 questions of your own for them to answer.

5. List these rules in your blogpost.

My answers to Meredith's questions:

1. What is your favorite thing about blogging?

Allowing others to see my heart. I'm not normally an open book who lets just anyone in, but as I write I can hide behind my pen and paper (or computer) and it makes it easier for me to open myself up. Blogging has allowed me to be vulnerable in ways I wouldn't otherwise be. It's challenged me to step out of my comfort zone, and while I still get a lump in my throat every time I click "publish", I love it.

2. What is a blog achievement that you have?

My recipe post for banana oatmeal muffins went viral on Pinterest a few years ago. All of a sudden I gained a ton of followers (and when I say ton, I mean over 100) and had people stopping by and commenting every day for several months. It was great for a while, until I changed my domain name (like a dummy) and lost all my followers and the link on Pinterest was broken.

3. What has surprised you the most about blogging?

How much I care about the likes and comments I receive. I've contemplated not blogging anymore because of what it turns me into at times. I've had to step away at certain points in the past few years (I still write but not post as much) so I could remind myself why I do it in the first place--because I love writing and I want to share it with others, not for the accolades.

4. Right at this moment what is the song that would best describe your mood and this moment in your life?

Here We Go 'Round the Mulberry Bush. Really that's the only song that's in my head but it's fitting as I'm a mom and I sing preschool songs all day and my life feels like we're just going in circles most of the time.

5. What is your favorite number and why?

The number 5. It was my softball number growing up.

6. If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be and what would you say to them?

My grandparents. I can't choose just one because they have all passed away and I'd love to be able to sit with each of them and hear more about their life, listen to the wonderful stories of their past, and maybe get a glimpse of who I am from them.

7. What is your favorite post that you have written?

Unqualified. I wrote this and took a month or so to actually publish it. I was scared out of my mind for how it would be received, but I was blown away by the encouragement and "me too's" from so many people. I had people I hadn't talked to in years send me messages encouraging me they felt the same way and they were thankful I was bold enough to write it. I also had people I didn't know sharing it with their friends. I was completely humbled, to say the least.

8. If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?

Italy. I don't have any Italian descent in me whatsoever, but my love for their food draws me to their country. To be able to visit the Vineyards in the fall and walk along the stone-cobbled streets of Rome, visiting the Colosseum and eating a hearty bowl of pasta sound like a dream come true.

9. Who is your biggest inspiration?

I'm going to have to go with Travis. I know that's your typical wife answer but it's so true. He's inspired me to be a better person, encouraging me to be a better wife, mother, friend, daughter, and follower of Christ, and pushing me to achieve goals I would try to snuff out for fear of rejection or because I think they're silly. I'm proud of the man he has become, and I thank God for bringing him in my life and putting up with me after 15 years.

10. What is the most random fact about you?

I was born with a broken rib that never healed properly. It sticks out from my body but no one can see it or feel it because it's under my right boob.

11. Is your life how you pictured it would be when you were younger? Explain!

Yes! Well, almost. The wife and mother part, definitely. That's all I ever wanted to be, a wife and a mother. I did think I would be a teacher but that didn't happen (I'm totally fine with it). And I never imagined I'd be a missionary. But looking back over my life I know exactly how I got to where I am today, and I'm so thankful God stuck by my side through it all, guiding me and protecting me for his glory.

Here are the bloggers I'm nominating for the Liebster Award! Congrats Ladies!

Callie from Notes by Callie

Sarah Elizabeth from SEB

Allison from Nestful of Love

Kristin from Splashing in Still Water

Carly from Carly Jones Music

Tiffany from Seeing Sunshine

Jodie from Big Sky to Big Apple

Here are my questions for my nominated bloggers to answer:
1. Why did you start your blog?
2. Knowing what you know now, what advice would you give your 13 year old self?
3. What are three things you can't live without?
4. Cat or Dog? Why?
5. What is your guilty pleasure tv show or movie?
6. Where was your last, best vacation?
7. Where do you get your inspiration to write?
8. What do you have for breakfast?
9. What is your best feature?
10. What would plan B have been, career wise?
11. Would you still blog if you knew no one would read it?

Looking forward to reading your answers and learning more about you lovely ladies!

Thank you again, Meredith, for nominating me. You made my year, for sure! Also, I want to thank Erin at Truthfully Told who nominated me last week as well--I'm so honored! Be sure to check her out too! Her writings are raw, inspiring, and so beautifully written.

Happy Writing!

Just Like Judas

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Mon, 11 Apr 2016 19:43:00 +0000

Judas has been on my mind lately. Maybe it has something to do with Easter behind us, and the fact that he was the one who set Jesus’ walk to the cross in motion. I don’t want to give too much credit to Judas because ultimately the Lord’s plan would’ve played out with or without Judas, but his role is pivotal in the most amazing story ever.

I often wonder if I’m like Judas. Would I betray Jesus to the point of death? Would the lures of this world be enough to entice me to deny my Lord? Would I sacrifice my beloved to receive glory? My body wells up with goosebumps when I think about such things, but something inside me can’t help but ask these questions. Am I really like Judas?

I think about all the time Judas spent with Jesus. He was with him throughout the three years of Jesus’ ministry. He dined with Jesus, he walked with Jesus, he listened to Jesus’ sermons, he witnessed Jesus perform miracles, and he allowed Jesus to wash his feet. You would think after all this time Judas would’ve come to really know and love Jesus. Judas was Jesus’ disciple, follower, and friend. I want to ask Judas after all he and Jesus had been through why he’d give Jesus up like that. Did he not realize what the ramifications of his actions would be? Did he not realize he was turning Jesus over to be killed? The ultimate betrayal.

“Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, ‘The one I will kiss is the man; seize him.’" Matthew 26:48

So surely I’m better than Judas, right?

Here’s the thing, my flesh desires the trappings of this world just as Judas did, praise for my writing and all the time I put into it, accolades for being a good mom and a good wife. I get sucked into believing if my clothes, my home, my life looked a certain way, then I’d be satisfied. Most days I would rather succumb to the pleasures and comforts of the world than fight the good fight because life is hard. Maybe that was Judas. He was at the point where he just needed 30 pieces of silver. So he thought, I’ll just tell these “important people” where Jesus is. It’s not that big of a deal, really. How many times have I said those same words? It’s not that big of a deal, really.

But it is that big of a deal. Anything I do that is not with God makes me just like Judas. I choose to let my flesh win. While I haven’t surrendered Jesus to anybody for 30 pieces of silver, I betray him everyday, letting my pride, my accomplishments, and my covetousness become my idols. And if I’m real honest, I have given Jesus up for cravings that probably cost less than 30 pieces of silver.

“For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Romans 3:23

Most mornings the first thing I do is scroll social media, checking my likes and comments (or lack there of). And most mornings I feel a nudge right before I click the app on my phone. I know this nudge is the Holy Spirit, and I know he’s wooing me anywhere but there, beckoning me to come and sit with him, allowing him to fill me up for the day. A bible verse, a song, silence before the kids wake, anything but Instagram or Facebook. Instead I give in to my cravings of desiring approval from others, and by the end I feel empty. My joy is stolen as I compare my life to the beautiful—and sometimes deceiving—images of others. And every time I feel like I betrayed a friend and what little time I do have to spend with Him.

My heart goes out to Judas with compassion. He grieved after what he did. He felt shame, so much so that he killed himself. When I read his tragic story I wonder why he didn’t return to Jesus. Why didn’t he run to the cross? It wasn’t enough that he threw the money back to the religious leaders. Maybe that was his way of making things right, but he still bore the guilt of his actions to the very end. If only he would’ve come back to Jesus with humility, with sorrow, with a repentant heart. What then?

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” 1 John 1:9

The beauty found in grace is that there is nothing we can do to save ourselves. We all sin, we all fall short of the glory of God, and we all are just like Judas. But the great news is we don’t have to stay there. That is why Jesus came, that is why Jesus died, and that is why Jesus defeated death. So we don’t have to. All he asks is that we have faith.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith.” Ephesians 2:8

I like to believe Jesus would’ve forgiven Judas if only he would’ve returned to Him. Just as he forgave Peter for denying him three times. Just as he forgave David and Jacob and Jonah and so many others.

Just as he forgives me.

Citizens of No Land

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Wed, 30 Mar 2016 17:55:00 +0000

I’ve been quiet through this whole thing. I haven’t really spoken my two cents yet. Maybe out of fear. Maybe because the words haven’t been there. Maybe I’ve been in denial this issue has really anything to do with me. But it does. Because it really it has everything to do with all of us.

Refugee. The dictionary defines the word as “a person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster.”

Where we live, where we work, refugees constantly surround us. Refugees from Nepal and Burma, Rwanda and Liberia, even Syria and Afghanistan. We’ve come to love the people who we call neighbors. We can’t see ourselves living anywhere else. They have become home.

As our country decides whether to let any more refugees enter the USA, I can’t help but be thankful that they allowed the refugees in who currently reside in our neighborhood. What if we hadn’t met Moo, Mooku and Daykulay, Sui and Esther, Anisha and Sabina, Shalena and Hari? And then there is Mary, our daughter’s best friend. They play everyday, being so sweet with one another without ever knowing any different. Anna doesn’t know Mary’s family is from the mountains between Burma and Thailand. She doesn’t know what Mary’s parents and siblings had to endure to get here, to safety. She doesn’t know that Mary’s family lived in a refugee camp before flying on a big plane to welcome arms in the city of Charlotte. All she knows is that Mary is her best friend and that’s all that matters at this point. Friendship.

As missionaries to this neighborhood we’ve been called to be friends to those who live around us, and more than just as missionaries, as Christ followers as well. They just happen to be refugees.

When we first moved in, I have to admit, I was scared. Scared out of my mind. Our first week consisted of a few domestic deputes right outside our window, excessive knocking and screaming coming from the other side of our bedroom wall, and drug busts right in front of our eyes. Culture shock is an understatement from these former suburbanites. But over and over again I heard:

“And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.

Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” Matthew 10:28

I was comforted in that time knowing that no matter what happens to my body, my soul is safe in the arms of Christ. No human can take that away from me. And if I have Christ, the enemy can’t take my soul either. It made making friends with people I have nothing in common with much easier. It made it less scary knowing nothing could hurt my soul. I was free to make friends, to reach out, to love, without the fear of being hurt. So why was I the one afraid in the first place? America is my home. The refugees, remember, are without a home.

I can’t even imagine. Can you?

Torn from your home, placed into a refugee camp because you don’t belong to any country or because your country won’t accept the fact that you’re a Christian or your country is experiencing war and conflict. You spend weeks, maybe years, waiting to find a new home. America accepts you. Yay, a free country! You travel on a huge airplane for days. You find yourself in a tiny apartment with your family who consists of a mom, a dad, grandma, grandpa, and four kids. And you can’t speak, read, or understand the language. You’re scared but you’re relieved. Your family is safe and that is all that matters.

Let me ask the question again: Why was I the one afraid?

I don’t want to get political. I hate choosing sides. All I can say is what I’ve learned from our experiences living among refugees. But I don’t believe the verse above is just for my family as we’ve lived, and continue to live, in a neighborhood surrounded by families who have found a new home here. I believe this verse is for anyone who claims Christ as his or her Lord, the one who protects his beloved children’s souls.

And one more thing, as Christians, are we not refugees in a foreign land awaiting our forever home?

Daughters of the King

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Thu, 03 Mar 2016 19:53:00 +0000

We wanted to provide a place for the girls to feel beautiful. Beautiful in their skin, beautiful in their hearts. We wanted them to see who they really are. Not defined by the world’s standards but defined by their Heavenly Father’s. He says his daughters are beautiful, he delights over his daughters with singing, he brings purpose to his daughters’ lives. We wanted them to really see it, really feel it.

Emily transformed Laura, Susan, and Jackie’s back patio into boho chic with sari’s she acquired from her travels around the world draped over twinkling lights, lit candles set in mason jars, and flowers delicately placed in tiny vases. We thought it be appropriate to provide hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies—because, duh, what girl doesn’t love chocolate? And because we were going to share with the girls how they are daughters of a great high King, we planned to make crowns from ribbon and flowers.

The evening was lovely. We created our crowns, we devoured hot cocoa and cookies, we laughed, and then we read letters from our King of Kings based on verses from scripture. As each girl read a letter I was overwhelmed with joy. I prayed that with every word she would believe that her Creator adores her. I wanted to shout it from the rooftop (or that lovely patio) “don’t you see how beautiful you are because the great high King loves you?!” But I refrained, and instead let the written words do the talking.

I loved meeting new girls and catching up with the ones I've known for four years now. This evening was refreshing and exactly what was needed. Our girls nights are heading in a new direction, and I am excited for what the Lord has for these girls and hopeful for how he will draw them closer to him. We are his daughters and he will continue to fight until we know we are his, and only his.

Dear Anna,

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Sat, 30 Jan 2016 21:01:00 +0000

Hey there, my sweetheart, my joy. It’s 2:30 in the afternoon and you’re supposed to be napping like your brother in the crib next to you. How he hasn’t come to yet bewilders me. I only say this because the clunking from your baby dolls hitting their mini cradle beside your bed is enough to wake even the deepest sleeper. But alas, his slumber hasn’t been interrupted. The noise must be a familiar occurrence to him as you avoiding sleep in the afternoon has become the norm and the phrase please read quietly has fallen on deaf ears.

You missed me peaking in at you a few minutes ago. My displeasure of you still awake left quickly as I took you in. You are breathtaking. I can’t believe you are mine, flesh of my flesh. I watched you ever so gently hug your baby and with the utmost care lay her down to sleep.

Then it struck me, why did you do it all so gracefully, so carefully, so lovingly?

And it’s because of me. Me.

You’ve learned how a soft touch equates to love, from me. You’ve learned a gentle but deep hug is beneficial for both giver and receiver, from me.

And then I wonder what else you’re learning from? It’s almost scaring the life out of me to ponder just how much you watch me, take after me, look up to me. I see so much of myself in you.

But, I hope you didn’t see when I rolled my eyes and shifted my weight to the other hip as we stood in the check out line after 20 minutes of waiting.

I hope you didn’t see me on my phone scrolling Instagram for the millionth time today while you quietly played.

I hope you didn’t see me scoff and sigh at your father after we had that disagreement, even though deep down I know he’s right.

I hope you didn’t see me lose my patience with you when I asked five times already to put your books where they belong.

But, I do hope you see me hugging your father and hearing me say, “I love you, Babe”.

I hope you see me holding the door open for the person behind me.

I hope you hear me say “please” and thank you” when we’re at Starbucks ordering my soy caramel latte and a cake pop for you.

I hope you see me reading my Bible and worshipping Jesus in the mornings.

And I hope you hear my heart when I ask for forgiveness for the mistakes I’ve made, for all the wrong things you’ve seen me do.

I’m not perfect, Anna, and neither are you. We need God’s grace more than we even know. As much as I don’t want you to see me lacking as a mother, a wife, and at life, it’s vital that you do. I make mistakes, I hurt people (remember when you told me I hurt your feelings? Broke my heart), I lose control and patience. We all do.

More than anything, what I pray you do see is me coming to the Father after I’ve made a mistake and asking for forgiveness. I hope you see my repentant heart. I hope you see Jesus restoring me and making me new. And I hope someday I’ll get to see that in you too.

I love you and I am so proud to call you mine.

Your Momma

Unqualified

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Tue, 12 Jan 2016 19:01:00 +0000

Often I wonder why God placed us where we are. I get bogged down counting all the people I know who would be "better" suited to be missionaries in a refugee neighborhood compared to us. People who could love better, have more compassion, better pray-ers, people who actually speak the same language as their neighbors, who are more selfless and are willing to give all their time to building up this community. I'm discouraged after I sit and think about all those more "qualified".

And then I hear a voice that says, "But I called you, and you said 'Yes!".

But why?

Why were we called? Why was I called?

I'm so very weak. I'm an introvert who longs for and savors my alone time. I avoid praying aloud at all costs for fear I won't have the most eloquent words and my prayers won't be good enough or the recipient(s) for whom I am praying won't be encouraged. I can only speak one language, however, I'm surrounded by hundreds whose second, third, fourth, fifth language is English. My flesh craves to be of this world desiring what I want and what makes me comfortable. Expressing compassion is not second nature for me. The first born syndrome in me disdains others for not following the rules or is eager to exclaim, "well, that's what you deserve. Fair is fair in my book."

I'm not proud of my actions, my feelings, my vulnerable confessions.

So, again, why with all my weaknesses has God chosen me (us) to live where we do? Ministering to refugees?

Because he chose Abraham, Moses, David, Ruth, Esther, Mary, and so many others. He chose Paul who proclaims:

"...'My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.' So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may work through me...For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

That is why we were sent here. Because His power is made perfect when and where we are weak. As we continue in this ministry our limitations become more and more apparent, and I'm realizing we become more and more qualified.

I am qualified because I said "Yes!"

I am qualified because I am willing to be used as a vessel.

I am qualified because I am weak.

And I am qualified because I am unqualified.

I am unqualified and He gets all the GLORY.

_______________________________________________

If you would like to hear more about the Urban Eagles and the role the Lord has called us to as missionaries, click here!

Looking Forward

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Thu, 31 Dec 2015 20:14:00 +0000

I'm pretty sure this is the first year I've really taken inventory. Never have I ever really sat down and soaked in all the blessings from the past year and looked ahead to what the new year will bring. Last year I definitely didn't. Travis and I were recovering from the flu from Christmas and I was in the midst of mastitis while we rang in 2015, plus we had a fresh 2 1/2 month old who enjoyed being awake all hours of the night rather than sleeping like most human beings. Looking to the year ahead was the last thing on my mind. I just wanted to get through the day.

This year, however, is different. Both our children sleep through the night now--Praise God from whom all blessings flow!--so I'm not just in survival mode. I actually want to look ahead this year. I'm able to get through most days with my head still on (picture a chicken running with its head chopped off. That was me a year ago), albeit I'm ready to crash at 8 pm, but that just comes with the territory of being a parent. I'm ready to take my walk with the Lord to a new level. I'm ready to be a wife, mom, daughter, sister, friend of which I can be proud. But all these "things" I'm ready to be doesn't just come without effort. Inventory has to be taken. Reflection needs to take place. Looking back to look forward. Despite the sleepless nights and the being sick for two straight months last winter, 2015 served our little family well. I trust that 2016 could be even better. I only say this after I've looked back to look forward. Without reflection, sure, 2016 can still be a great year. But with it, I'm beginning the year with a clear and proactive mind.

I'm so thankful a mentor recently handed me a list of questions to ask myself as the new year approaches. Questions to get me thinking how I desire this upcoming year to be different than the previous year. I'm excited to share these questions with you in the hopes they'll be an encouragement as you look forward to 2016 as well. I added a few of my answers to the questions below. Most I wanted to keep between the Lord and me. I challenge and encourage you to take some time in the next few days to really ponder over the words below. How can 2016 be different than 2015?

1. What's one thing you could do this year to increase your enjoyment of God?

Breathe. Just Breathe. (ok, Faith Hill, you can pipe down in my head, thanks.) Stop for a few seconds...minutes--if I'm blessed with that long--a day to take in the Lord. Pause and let Him envelope me. Breathe in all the good that is He. Really enjoy the laughter of my children. Find the lone flower in the midst of weeds. Gaze at the sunset. Revel in the stars above. Listen to nature. And realize all the above comes from Him alone. Take a breath.

2. What's the most humanly impossible thing you will ask God to do this year?

3. What's the single most important thing you could do to improve the quality of your family life this year?

Stay disciplined. With chores, homeschooling, simplifying our lives and home, spending time in the word, working out. And how do I do that? I've come to the conclusion that having a morning routine gives me a better chance of actually staying disciplined. When I am disciplined it makes for everyone else's life to be disciplined. It makes for a happier family. It makes for a purposeful life. One in which you get things done and get to just be rather than just going through the motions to try and get by.

Below is my current morning routine followed by 2016's morning routine:

-wake up whenever the kids wake up-so no "me" time

-forgo getting changed out of pjs and into real clothes

-maybe make bed but most likely will wait until mid morning (at least it's made by noon!)

-shuffle to the kitchen to make everyone breakfast and coffee; coffee, always coffee

-lounge on couch watching kids play until we have somewhere to be and then scramble to get everyone ready in a matter of 20 minutes. Always late.

-wake up at 6:30 (hopefully before kids are up since they usually don't wake until 8)

-make bed

-put on bra. This is key.

-make coffee

-start a load of laundry (not everyday, just on days it's needed) and empty dishwasher

-make breakfast

-lounge on couch, get into the word, and just breathe before everyone wakes

So maybe the single most important thing I could do: keep to a morning routine.

4. In which spiritual discipline do you most want to make progress this year, and what will you do about it?

My prayer life. It's so weak. I'm so selfish. Confession time: I rarely pray as it is and when I do it's usually all about me and my desires and wishes and wants. So what will I do about it? Last night I was browsing through the website "Desiring God" when I came across this article: Reignite Your Prayer Life. It was perfect. I don't want a step-by-step "this is how you pray". I want something simple. I need something simple because I'm a stay-at-home mom who struggles to pray as it is. So this was perfect. John Piper suggests Pray Through the Bible, "open the bible, start reading it, and pause at every verse and turn it into a prayer". This allows me to dive into the Word and to pray in one setting. It also prevents me from saying the same old things about the same old things. I'm hopeful this is the beginning of a new conversation with Jesus.

5. What is the single biggest time-waster in your life, and what will you do about it this year?

6. What is the most helpful new way you could strengthen your church?

7. For whose salvation will you pray most fervently this year?

8. What's the most important way you will, by God's grace, try to make this year different from last year?

9. What one thing could you do to improve your prayer life this year?

10. What single thing that you plan to do this year will matter most in ten years? In eternity?

If you're where I was last December, without the slightest idea even of what year is coming to a close, IT IS OKAY. Even just a skim through this list might bring new perspective, might bring a little light to the end of the tunnel. Wherever you are in your life just looking forward to the task in front of us--not even to tomorrow--is all that Christ asks of us. So be encouraged, friend, we made it to a new year!

**Happy 2016!**

__________________

These questions come from Don Whitney: Ten Questions to Ask at the Start of a New Year.

The photos were taken by Carly Jones.

Michigan

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Sun, 08 Nov 2015 18:58:00 +0000

Ludington, Michigan has always held a special place in Travis' heart, and in the last 11 years, my heart as well. This is where Travis' family has been vacationing for generations. This is where his love for fishing really started and hasn't let go. I always say if he wasn't in ministry he'd be fishing for a living. This vacation is where he lives out his favorite pastime twice a day for seven days straight. A fisherman's dream come true. And for me, it's less about the fishing; it's where Travis proposed to me to be his wife on the beach of the Lake 11 years ago. After 7 years of vacationing elsewhere we finally returned to a place that holds so many memories.

After almost three months Anna still talks about our "new house" in Michigan and the big fishy Pops caught. I forgot just how amazing Michigan is, so much so I really don't want to vacation anywhere else. Who needs the beach of Florida when the R&R we received on a secluded, peaceful lake was everything we needed?

The "Evergreen" house was the perfect home for us for that week in late August. It felt more like fall. After 90 degree temps for the previous three months I did not mind one bit that our vacation was filled with 60 degree temps and precipitation. It was almost more relaxing that it rained most days.

Every morning while Theo slept and Anna played quietly, the boys out fishing, I'd sip my coffee and sit and marvel at the serene Hamlin Lake just 50 yards from our living room window.

It wasn't just the four of us in that little house by the lake. We also went with Travis' dad, better known as Pops, and Travis' brother and sis-in-law (I'd rather call her one of my best friends because an "-in law" doesn't do our relationship justice) Troy and Carly.

Pops surprised Anna with her first fishing pole. She loved that thing and picked up casting right away like a pro.

She was super excited to catch her first fish, if you can't tell.

She was so sweet with each fish she and Travis caught. She'd want to hold every one. She'd pet it, tell it "it's ok, you're ok", give it a little kiss, then throw it back in the water. Every time. I about died.

Travis was over the moon getting to share his love of fishing with his daughter. The fact that Anna took to it and loved it so much brought Travis so much joy (especially since his wife doesn't take to it at all).

I know Travis can't wait to be able to share his love for fishing with Theo too but for that week he was Mommy's buddy. I didn't mind at all. Fun fact: Theo perfected his walking skills that week. What happened to my baby?!

A few nights after we arrived Travis caught his biggest fish ever. A muskie that he says was at least 42 inches. Here's the thing, he and his dad weren't able to ever get it in the boat to be able to take a picture and measure it correctly. This fish still haunts him three months later. A few nights later, Travis' dad was out in the boat by himself and caught the sister of the one Travis caught. He wrestled with it on the line for 20 minutes before he finally was able to pull it in. He ran up to the house, struggling to hold it because of how heavy it was, so we could capture it on camera. Carly, Anna, and I were sitting on the couch in the living room when we saw Travis' dad rushing onto the porch. As soon as Anna saw it she exclaimed, "OH MY GOSH, That's a BIG FISH!" She was right, it was bigger than her! She looks so proud of her Pops in this photo :)

When the guys and Anna weren't fishing we slept, walked around the resort grounds, took boat rides, toured the little towns of Ludington and Pentwater, spent time on Lake Michigan's beach and walking to the lighthouse, ate ice cream at our favorite dive House of Flavors, and Anna experienced her first time playing putt-putt. She absolutely loved it!

I'm so thankful for the man holding my Littles there. He made this whole vacation possible. Anna and Theo love their Pops, for sure.

And then there's these goofballs. I couldn't imagine having spent this vacation without Troy and Carly. It made all the times the guys were out fishing for their lives while the girls and Theo stayed in that little house that much better.

The guys showing the lengths of their biggest fishes caught. Sorry Troy!

We can't stop talking about Michigan. It will live long in our hearts as one of our best vacations. We've already promised ourselves that we need to make it an annual trip, one that our children will grow up cherishing just like their father did and his mother did and her father did.

Photo credit for a few of the above: Carly Jones

Homeschooling Continued

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Wed, 14 Oct 2015 18:35:00 +0000

I had a lot of great feedback after I posted about the curriculum Anna and I are using for our homeschooling. I'm so very thankful for that! ABC Jesus Loves Me has been a wonderful resource as we've navigated through Anna's first year of preschool. It also can be overwhelming as I've heard from a few friends who visited its site. They provide a ton of ideas and it can be a bit much when you're first starting out. And actually in the past few weeks it was getting to be too much for Anna. We've had to slow our roll a bit. But that's what I like about ABC Jesus Loves Me. I don't feel bound to do exactly what it says. I can pick and choose activities from the week and if we get to them, great; if not, I'm not upset. I don't devote too much time to planning--which is something the site even suggests. They encourage you not to spend so much time planning you miss the time spent with your child.

To help those of you who have thought the website is overwhelming, this is how I plan:
The curriculum is broken up into 5 weeks at a time with a review week during the fifth week. I take a few minutes at the beginning of each unit to look over the following five weeks (mainly so I can see which books I need to reserve from the library that we don't already have at home) and then each week spend 15 minutes at the beginning picking activities based on what type of week I think we'll have. Most Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays we're at home in the mornings so these are the days I'll plan at least one to two activities. I make sure I know what songs I'll be teaching and make sure the supplies we'll need are readily accessible. I try to stick with activities that have supplies we already have at home-saves time and money! Each evening I'll look over what's on the agenda for the following day and that takes less than 5 minutes. Like I've said in previous posts we only spend about 30-60 minutes (as long as Anna can stand) on formal lessons. If we don't get to an activity or if something else comes up during the mornings we usually do "school", I don't stress. A lot of the times I'll teach her a new song while we're driving and repeat it randomly throughout the day. Most of our reading of books occurs before nap and bedtime and whenever she asks throughout the day-which is often. She's also started this thing where she takes at least 20 books to bed with her and just reads for an hour before she naturally falls asleep surrounded by and laying on a plethora of books. We're doing life together and I realize as we live our lives she's learning so much just by being with us. I plan formal activities to spur on her creativity and imagination, to get her thinking about things other than babies and dollhouses and princesses.

One of the main reasons we're homeschooling is because we believe free play is so very important. Sharing, playing well with others, listening and obeying, being respectful and honest, we strive for these over Anna mastering her ABCs and 123s. I'd so rather have a day where she just plays all day, but why not throw in a few activities to get her thinking about more? and to find out just how much she knows and can know?

I know I haven't posted much lately about our homeschooling experience but I'd like to continue sharing with you what we're doing. I get inspired and encouraged when I read about how other families are homeschooling and I hope we can be an encouragement to you who've decided to go that route too!

As of Lately

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Fri, 11 Sep 2015 18:46:00 +0000

I've been emotional lately. I stop myself before tears stream down my face because, really, who has the time? Big events are coming my way, ready or not.

It all started with Theo walking. WALKING! Yes, I said walking. Who does he think he is? He was barely 10 months old when he decided it was time, and I could do nothing to stop him. In the past few weeks I've started to wonder where my baby went. I feel like I've missed something. Have I taken enough pictures and video? Did I cherish the time when he wasn't mobile or when he was just crawling? Am I reading and singing enough to him? I never EVER in a million quadrillion years thought I'd say this but I'm actually enjoying his middle of the night feed. While most babies his age are sleeping 7am-7pm (and when I say most I mean only a handful) my little guy still enjoys a nightly meal around 3 am. I should be upset, right? I mean, he's old enough to cry it out and sleep through the night, but that time for us together is the only thing I feel still makes him a baby and I'm holding on tight to that one. He'll be one in less than a month and a half. I feel like life has gotten a whole lot faster with him around. When Anna turned one it was definitely a fast year but this past year, where did it go?! We're closer to him being a toddler and no longer an infant and I don't know if I can handle that right now. Even though he's constantly on the move and getting into and climbing everything he is still a big mama's boy and loves cuddling and giving open mouth kisses, and I wouldn't mind if it stayed that way for a very long time.

Be still my heart...and time.

Anna will be three in less than two weeks. Let me just say there is such thing as a "three-eenager" because we got one. We've got ourselves a sassy, strong willed, little princess. I never thought I'd have one. Let me just stop myself right there. I know my mom is rolling on the floor laughing as she reads this because that is exactly what she had in me. My former 3 year old self has come back to haunt me through my daughter. She's constantly singing, playing in her own world, reserved in crowds but jumping off the walls in her own home, loves everything pink and sparkly and super girly but loves her cowboy boots and fishing with her Daddy. Dresses for days, I mean all.day.e'ry.day. She didn't wear a pair of shorts one day this summer. And if she wasn't wearing a dress, she was wearing pants with her tutu over them. Since I'm dealing with a mini-me I've decided to chill out a bit. The control freak in me wants to control the control freak in her and I have a feeling I'm going to lose. So I've decided to let go and let her have her fun. And I'm having more fun too.

These days are fleeting. I so wish they'd just slow down.

On the same day Anna turns three I will turn 30. Thirty. I think I'm somewhat in denial because I'm not experiencing a quarter life crisis like I feel most people do. I'm actually totally okay with it. Or maybe I just haven't had time to really think about what that means. Thirty. Maybe it's because I'm exactly where I wanted to be at thirty. I love my life. Jesus is at my center. My husband and I have a great marriage. I have two beautiful children who bring me so much joy. I have wonderful friends who bring laughter to my soul. My extended family, while far, we still see each other frequently and I cherish those times. I love where we live and can't imagine having different neighbors that we do now. I'm excited to see what this next decade brings. Thirty, you're looking good and I don't care who knows it!

Grays are shining through my hair but I don't care! It's a sign of wisdom, right? ;)

As the next few months fly by I hope I can stop for a few minutes and cherish all that is around me. As Theo begins to talk and Anna learns new steps in her ballet class and I enter a new age bracket I hope the small moments don't get away from me and I can see the beauty in life of simply being present.

Week Two

noreply@blogger.com (Jess) — Sun, 16 Aug 2015 20:38:00 +0000

Second week down, and already when I ask if Anna wants to do school she says no. Hmmm, maybe I'm going about this the wrong way!... During the middle of the week I stopped saying we're doing school and instead I would start something by myself relating to school (painting, play dough, sorting blocks, reading our little Bible) and more often then not she'd wonder what I was doing and want to join. She's still only 2 so of course she doesn't want to "do school", she just wants to play! And I definitely want to encourage that. I recently read an article (I read it from Facebook and now I forget who posted it so I can't link it up) about the differences between German children and American children. I loved it, and now I want to pack my family up and move to Germany. Not really, but I am ready to be different than what I've witnessed here in America. I had a friend tell me that her son's kindergarten teacher told her that school (and she's referring to kindergarten too) is for learning, home is for fun. I'm sorry--what?! I thought learning was supposed to be fun?! Shoot, I still have fun learning! In Germany the main purpose of kindergarten is to play and socialize. Everyday children are expected to play outdoors, rain or shine. One of the main reasons we're deciding to homeschool is because we want our children to find joy in learning. We both attended public school and feel like the joy of learning was stripped from us at an early age. I went to college for education and the schools I observed, did my practicums, and student taught in most days were spent teaching to test. Most of my fellow collegemates were encouraged and wanted to change what they saw. I greatly admire them for that, however, for me, I turned the other way and knew I didn't want my own children to attend schools where testing was the priority. So homeschooling is our only option at this point. Which I love so far--granted, we're only in week 2 of pre-K, ha! Ask me again in a few years ;)

Check out what we learned this week. We're following the ABC Jesus Loves Me Two Year Old curriculum.

The Bible Theme: God Made the World Around Me, Creation Day 3

This week we continued learning about how God made the world around us. We read about God creating the land and the plants on the third day. We read from The Beginner's Bible pages 9-12. We continued our Creation Day Book by making Day 3. We glued brown and green construction paper to make trees and plants, and Anna painted the water blue. We planted poppy seeds, sunflower seeds, and cilantro seeds and talked about how plants need sun, water, air, and dirt to grow. We've been watering our plants everyday. I glued uncooked curly pasta to construction paper to look like flowers and had Anna paint on the pasta. We're continuing to recite our creation fingerplay and have added "On Day 3, God created the land and the plants". I'm realizing if it's not with music it's harder for her to remember but if it is to music girl's got it down! So everything we're learning we're putting a beat behind it.

Starting to paint her water that turned into a snake.

On Day 3 God created land and plants--and according to Anna, snakes.

My little flower girl planting her first flowers.

Verse: Genesis 1:1-In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

Tune: Are You Sleeping?

Same verse as last week. I love that she's already memorized a Bible verse!

Song: The B-I-B-L-E

When I first introduced this song I was surprised to hear her pick it up so quickly. I asked if she'd ever heard that song before and she exclaimed "yes, at church!". We sing it together before we read our Bible story.

Color: Blue

We started the week with a color walk where we looked for blue objects. Anna found blue trash dumpsters, blue letters on license plates, blue cars, and my blue shirt. Anna knows her colors really well. This week it got to the point where I'd ask her to find the color blue somewhere and she'd just say "no". Stubborn much?

Letter B

I printed out a block letter "B" and we dipped her thumb in yellow paint to make bumblebees on the "B". After the paint dried I added wings, stripes, and stingers with marker. We talked about how bumblebee starts with the letter B. Throughout the week we looked for the letter "B" around the house and while we were out. (I failed to mention last week that the two year old curriculum doesn't focus too heavily on letters. The objective is for the child to learn to say the letters of the alphabet correctly.)

Bumblebees start with "B"!

Information: First, Middle, and Last Name

We continued reciting Anna's full name plus Mommy, Daddy, and Theo's full names.

Self Care and Manners: Say "Please"

Anna knows "please" really well. She knows that if she whines and doesn't say "please" we won't listen to it. However, this is something she definitely still needs to work on. I'm trying to get better at saying "Anna, I will be happy to listen to you when you say "please" first and in a big girl voice."

Number: 1

We counted to 1 on our button counting card. I love how every time I ask how many buttons there are she says "just 1". She knows the number 1, she knows how to count to 1, and she knows how to find 1 object. Bring on the number 2!

Shape: Line

We made lines, er snakes ;) out of play dough. We put Anna's wooden blocks in a line. I drew vertical lines on a piece of paper using a highlighter. On one end of the line I added a green dot and the other I added a red dot. Then Anna traced each line starting at the green dot down to the red dot (this is prewriting activity). I glued uncooked spaghetti to a piece of paper and had Anna use blue (color the week) paint to trace down the spaghetti.

Book of the Week: When the Elephant Walks by Keiko Kasza

We would read this book in the morning, before nap, and at bedtime. It was an easy book for Anna to read along (recite) since there weren't a lot of sentences. We also made an elephant mask one day using a paper plate, cardstock paper, and paint. We didn't have gray paint so I mixed blue, brown, and white. I wasn't sure if it'd come out gray but I'd say I did a pretty good job guessing!

Motor Skills:

Fine Motor: Sorting Activity
After borrowing this sorting toy from a friend I quickly realized that Anna has already got this motor skill down. She still enjoyed it but I wanted to give her more of a challenge so I switched our activity to one I found from a friend's blog (Katie's Chasing Vowels). I love that it's super simple to set up and with items we already had around the house (pipe cleaner, beads, and paper). The child strings the appropriate amount of beads onto each pipe cleaner. It was great for counting and for fine motor skills. It turned into Anna pouring the beads into a cup and less about the counting and stringing.

Gross Motor: Jump forward
While I played music each morning Anna worked on jumping like a frog, kangaroo, and "runny babbit"--she said this one day on accident and thought it was the funniest thing so we've continued calling it that. I love how she cracks herself up because she sure cracks me up!

Two weeks down and so far we're having a great time. I love seeing how fast and how much Anna's learning. My baby girl is officially a big girl now *sigh*