Little Mountain Momma

Little Hearts

2013-04-28T19:27:00.000-07:00

I'm learning that my daughter is a human sponge. She's watching my every move. Taking in every word that my husband and I say and she's imprinting those words on her heart.

Each night before climbing into bed, we sneak into Mackenzie's room and we pray over her. And each night before I leave, I whisper into her ear, "You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Don't forget that". And then I melt when she climbs into my lap the next morning and whispers, "You know you're the best momma that ever happened to me?" Literally, some days I am floored that a seemingly sleeping child is hearing my words and that they mean something to her.

And several times a week I smile as I hear my husband ask Mackenzie from somewhere in the next room, "You know you are loved?" So it shouldn't come as a surprise to me when, while she and I are out grocery shopping, her hand slipped tightly into mine, she looks up at me in the produce aisle and she sweetly says, "Momma? You know you are loved?"

Because she's a sponge. She's hearing our words and she's taking them in and they mean something to her.

But just as our positive words are being soaked up, I am reminded daily that, so are our negative words. Last year I was introduced to fellow blogger Jen Bucker. She is a beautiful mother of two and is an amazing writer. She has an incredible gift and I hope you will discover her like I have. While reading one of her posts a while back, she wrote a line that I have not forgotten and it replays in my mind almost daily.

Jen wrote, "Little hearts should not be broken by little things."

Sounds simple enough. But is it really?

How often do we get overwhelmed by the constant barraging of questions from our babies? "Mommy, can you help me with..." or "Momma, I went potty in my pants..." Or maybe your baby is so small that he or she hasn't even formulated words yet. Maybe you hear grunts and whining, accompanied by constant pointing to objects. And you just want to pull your hair out by the end of the day.

Sometimes, I just cringe at the sound of the word. "Momma." And, I just want a break from the responsibility that comes tagged to it. Like, maybe if I pretend that the shrill sound of my title being shrieked from the next room isn't actually for me....then maybe, (just maybe) I won't have to come to its every beckoning?

How often do we trip over the dress up clothes or stub our toes on the tricycle that is lying out in the middle of the floor? How often do we hear the sound of a plate clanking from the dining room table and then we wait, shoulders tense and holding our breaths, just knowing that we're about to hear the words, "Uh oh, I spilled...." And then we're inevitably on our hands and knees picking up stray pieces of macaroni and scrubbing cheese off of the walls. Huffing and puffing and thinking, "I don't deserve this."

And some days I just snap. I holler and I yell. I mutter under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear my frustrations. I make her smaller than she already is. I belittle her and I let her know she is an annoyance to me. And it shows all over her face. Her already big, blue eyes get even wider and more round and I can just see that something has changed by the way her lips twitch. For a small second, I am no longer "the best momma that ever happened to me." I've become someone she is afraid of.

And it is then that, in the back of my mind I remember, Little hearts should not be broken by little things. Sometimes I find myself whispering it deliberately under my breath. "Little hearts should not be broken by little things. Little hearts should not be broken by little things...."

And the truth is, maybe that one moment won't actually make a lasting impression on my daughter. Maybe she will skip off and continue her playtime of princesses and treasure maps. And soon she will have forgotten that mommy was ever upset. Maybe.

But a friend recently pointed out to me, that we never know the exact point or moment in our child's life when he or she begins to formulate memories. And what do I really want those memories to be of? The ones where she is made to feel embarrassed and belittled for simply being a kid? I hope and pray that those aren't the memories she's making each day.

When I think ahead to the kind of future that I want for my children, I know in my heart that it isn't always going to meet up to my ideal. One day, my daughter is going to come home from school and she'll be fighting back tears and feeling like she's worth nothing. Some mean girl will have made a snide comment or a certain boy will have told her she's not pretty enough. And those days will break my heart as much as they will hers.

But here's what I do hope for on those inevitable days. Rather than my words for her as a baby and as a child, enforcing those feelings of unworthiness as a teenager-- I hope that she will come back to the words we whispered to her in the dark of night while she was sleeping. The words she hears now while she is wearing her princess crown and dancing merrily around our little home.

That, when the mean girl tells her she isn't "cool enough", she'll remember, I am the best thing that ever happened to my momma. That when the boy she's so desperately seeking a kind word from, isn't giving her the time of day-- she'll remember my husband's words, "You know you are loved?" I hope and pray that our words- of positive affirmation and of love and security, are the words that speak the loudest to her on those terrible days.

Little hearts should not be broken by little things. Today was a bad day. I lost my temper this afternoon. Mackenzie missed her nap and I snapped at all of the little annoyances of my day. She went to bed crying. I could be so angry at myself. And part of me is. But tonight, I climbed into her little white bed. I pulled her close to me and I whispered, "I'm sorry." And she whispered right back, "It's okay momma. I love you".

And I think it is those moments that matter the most. The willingness as a mother to admit when I've been wrong. The humility to let my little girl know that even her momma sometimes loses her temper. And tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow I will make new choices and I will repeat again those words, little hearts should not be broken by little things. Little hearts should not be broken by little things. Repeat.

Grace Forgotten

2013-04-14T20:22:00.001-07:00

In this season of yet, more change, I find myself being drawn back to old weaknesses and feelings of inadequacy. I've gone back to climbing the rugged mountains in life that I have been naive enough to think I had conquered. But as I sit here tonight and write what is on my heart, maybe that's where I am finding some beauty in the midst of struggle.

The realization that I've been in this place before but back then, I struggled to see any beauty in it. And so, even though I find myself frustrated by the circular patterns I so often seem to travel, I do recognize a glimmer of hope and redemption that I haven't always seen in the past.

Today I found myself again in a place of feeling overwhelmed and as if in a choke hold of suffocation, recognizing that the time until our little boy arrives is quickly approaching. For the past three or so months I've masked all of these anxieties with the excuse that I am merely "nesting", as it is so often referred to in a light-hearted manner towards the end of pregnancy. But I think deep down I know it has been more than that for me.

In a fit of feeling helpless and overwhelmingly behind about a month ago, I confessed to my husband that my obsessive necessity for lists and meticulously organized cabinets has come from a place of remembering how chaotic life was after our daughter was born.

The not feeling good enough. The feelings of unpreparedness. Could it be possible to circumvent the haggardness of newborn days if I were more prepared this time around? And so, in a desperate attempt to prove to myself that it could be done, I've been running myself ragged trying to overly plan for this new little life.

Stocking freezer meals, planning grocery lists, organizing closets and purging unworn clothes to goodwill. Mapping out the perfect layout for a nursery so as to make those sleepless nights more easy going. I've laid awake at night planning out my next conquerable chore that would surely bring us closer to a place of being more "ready". I've shed tears when, in my lowest moments, I've realized I'm just not working fast enough to be where I want to be by the time he arrives.

And, if I'm completely being honest, I've been wading through the sin of distrust and pride that I was so heavily ensnared by the first time around.

And all along, my servant of a husband has been bending over backwards to help me find a place of peace in the midst of the mess that has taken over my heart and mind. And at the same time, God has been whispering to me through the madness, reminding me to take hold of the one thing I was so in need of after our daughter was born. Grace.

Grace. Grace to let go of my imperfections and my fears of inadequacy as a new mom.

Grace to let the dishes sit in the sink and to let the laundry pile up while I cuddle my newborn son and whisper to him how deeply he is loved.

Grace to rely on family and friends to provide meals for us while we adjust to being parents of two.

Grace that will allow me to take a guilt free shower while my husband takes care of the babies for a half hour.

Grace to feel tired and worn down. Grace to shed tears when I am at my lowest points.

Grace to forgive myself on the days when I forget about this grace Jesus has so freely offered me.

Because he hasn't asked me to be perfect.

He has asked me to come to him when I am weary. He has asked me to give my burdens to Him.

As I sit here tonight, my first baby sleeping soundly in the next room, my second baby resting beneath the rhythm of my heartbeat, I am reminded of my ultimate purpose as a mother.

God has asked me to be a good steward of the souls of my babies. And how can I do that for Him when I am failing to be a good steward of my own soul? How can I set an example of God's grace to them while I am distracted and beating myself up over the socks that have yet to be matched and the unmade beds I still haven't found my way to? How can I mirror God's grace to my babies when I haven't quite found it myself?

And unless by some stroke of miracle, I am miraculously healed overnight of my pride and perfectionism, it is very likely that I will wake up tomorrow and face this struggle again...and the next day and the one after that. But I take comfort in the fact that this struggle isn't something that was even on my radar four years ago.

And today it is. Tonight, I am painfully aware of my weaknesses that are so often blinding and crippling. My greatest hope is that, in the coming months as we welcome our baby boy, I will be reminded as I have been tonight of the grace that I so desperately need to be shown and to show myself as I navigate the this journey of parenthood.

Life's About Changing

2012-11-25T19:12:00.000-08:00

I've never dealt well with change. From as far back as a little girl, I can remember struggling through the normal changes that come with life, whether it be from a big move to a new city, a friendship that had run its course, a move to a new school... To me, every change just seemed like an end. I could never see a clear, new beginning. My Momma use to let me lay my head in her lap, she would stroke my hair and do her signature "tickle my ear" way of soothing. Many times, she would sing the lines from an old Patty Loveless song,

"Time will ease your pain,

Life's about changing,

Nothin' ever stays the same...

Come let me hold you and I will try,

How can I help you to say goodbye..."

And, even though I'm an adult now, and have learned to navigate the winds of change much more swiftly, I still often times find myself humming the lines to that old familiar song. Tonight is definitely one of those nights. I'm not sad and I'm not regretful. But change is still bittersweet for me.

Tonight, I put my dream job in the past and let God finish a work in my heart that I know He has been doing for a long time. I never thought I would be the type of mom who could be "just" a stay at home mom. When Mackenzie was born, I wanted more than anything to be able to work. And when I joined my current company, I was thrilled to have an identity that I believed would keep me from becoming "just another stay at home mom". Over the course of the past few years, God has slowly but surely been giving me a new heart and a new desire.

A few months back as I was driving to work, I prayed and asked for a way to stay at home with my kids more. And, no joke, less than two hours later, I was sitting in the office of our Executive Director, listening to her tell me that the company was making changes and that my hours would be cut. Oddly enough, I didn't see this as a blessing. I was angry. I'm not sure quite why. Clearly, God was working boldly and swiftly to answer my prayer. I just hadn't trusted Him enough to do so and take care of the needs of our family.

So, here we are, two months later, and tonight I made a change. I punched out of my position for the very last time and I will punch in to a new one later this week. I'll be staying home with Mackenzie several more days a week. To say I am thrilled would be an understatement. It's been pretty incredible to see God work from the moment I spoke that prayer, to all of the details and blurs that needed to be filled between then and now. Every single one of them has been filled. No detail has been left unknown. God really did hear my heart and He met me where I was at.

More than anything, this change for me tonight is not just a job change. This change has been one of my heart. I'm looking back on where I was three years ago, so desperately trying to hold on to the parts of me that "were" from before I became a mom. And here I am today, loving the life I have with my little girl when I am at home. I can work the rest of my life. But I can only dance in my holiday socks, and do the wiggles with my three-year-old for a short time longer. She'll be in kindergarten before I know it and I'll be in my car doing the "ugly cry" after sending her off to her first day of school. And on the way home I'll be humming that old familiar momma song...

"Life's about changing,

nothin' ever stays the same..."

So here's to change. Here's to living it. Here's to experiencing it. Here's to embracing it and being thankful for it. Here's to feeling...well, a little bittersweet. But here's to seeing the clear, new beginning that change always brings.

It's Strong Start Day 2012!

2012-10-05T11:54:00.000-07:00

Supposedly, more children are born today on October 5th than any other day of the year. Maybe it has something to do with post Christmas boredom and the need for a little romance after the holiday season? Or, maybe there's always one good winter storm that creeps up mid January that keeps couples locked up with nothing else to do but... get busy? Regardless, with more births recorded on this day than any other day of the year, that means there are a lot of new babies and a lot of new mommas out there.

And, the fact is, 15-20% of those new mommas will struggle with postpartum anxiety or depression. And even smaller percentage of those women will actually get the help they need to get through it properly. I would know, I was one of them.

I thank God every day that I finally got help. I am thankful that I am finally on the other side and I feel hope and resilience and I am proud of my journey. But not all women can say that. Currently, I am mentoring two different momma friends who are knee deep in the trenches off PPD. And someday, they too will get there. But the fact is, they should have never had to be there in the first place. And neither should I have.

Today, more babies will be born in this country than any other day of the year. And today, is Strong Start Day 2012. This is the day that we raise money in support of continued awareness for PPD and other perinatal anxiety illnesses. This is this day we promote Postpartum Progress and we shout from the rooftops that we want all new moms to have a STRONG start.

I am SO incredibly proud to stand with fellow warrior mom Katherine Stone and each and every other warrior mom who has fought and is currently fighting for a strong start. Don't we all deserve it? Don't we ALL deserve to believe we are good enough? And that we CAN do a good job at being our baby's mother?

You don't have to donate, although I think you should. If you have been directly affected by Postpartum Progress then please, please donate! But, what I want more than anything, is for you, if you are reading this--to pass on this blog. Tell a friend. Let that friend who you know is struggling, know that she is NOT alone.

I wish more than anything that I had been introduced to Postpartum Progress after Mack was born. Maybe then I wouldn't have spent a year and a half wondering why my life seemed over. It wasn't. And I know that now. My life was just beginning. And I want other mommas to know that from the start too.

DIY Burlap Pillows

2012-09-17T21:11:00.003-07:00

Recently, a friend and her husband were featured on the HGTV Show "House Hunters". When the episode aired, Liz and Mike had some throw pillows on their bed that I fell in love with. While watching, I told my husband, "We've got to get some of those pillows."

Only, when I started searching different sites, I found that most of them cost $60 or more.

And while I absolutely loved these ones by The Virginia House...

I'm cheap and we're on a grad school budget.

So, I started searching Pinterest for ideas on how to create my own.

I started by creating a stencil using the computer and card stock printing paper. Follow along if you want the instructions. If not, skip to the part where I stencil the letters.

Creating the Stencil

1. Start by choosing a font and by adjusting the letter sizes to how big or small you would like them.

2. Next, left click with the mouse and choose "font" on the drop down box.

3. Once the font box has opened, look for the "text effects" option towards the bottom and choose it.

4. Now you can choose "text outline" and "solid line",

(this should give you a solid black outline around your text).

5. And finally, change the font color to white (or a color that is lighter than the black outline).

*There may be an easier and more common sense way to do all of this but humor me...this was the best I could come up with.

6. Print the outline letter and get your box cutter ready.

7. I chose a box cutter rather than scissors and I'm so glad I did. Make sure you angle the cutter down instead of straight up as your are tracing the letter. If you miss using the blade, it won't actually cut the paper in all spots and you'll have to redo parts of the tracing.

8. Now you are officially done with the stenciling and you are ready to trace your letters onto the burlap.

As I wrote in my Burlap Wreath Post, burlap is very inexpensive and can sometimes be bought from craft stores for as low as $1.99 a yard. You can't beat that. I bought one yard of fabric and cut it in half to cover both my throw pillows.

I'm almost embarrassed to say how easy this whole project ended up being. I actually chose to stencil my letters with a metallic gold Sharpie Marker. I could have used paint but I figured with a toddler running through my house, I just risked being knocked into and spilling paint everywhere.

And finally, once the letters were touched up, I hand sewed the burlap onto my old throw pillows. The sewing took a little bit of time but I wasn't sure if I could use a sewing machine on burlap.

You can find a simple tutorial here on how to recover pillows. It really is as simple as ironing the the hems and sewing the two sides of the pillowcase inside out. When the two sides are sewn, flip the pillowcase to the correct side, stuff your pillow inside the case and sew up the bottom of the pillow.

And finally...

The total cost for this project was under $5.00. Because we already had the throw pillows, the only purchases I made were the burlap and the package of markers.

I'm pretty excited with how these turned out and I may add an "&" sign somewhere down the road to another pillow. Hope I didn't miss anything! I would love to see pictures if you make your own. A special thanks to Liz & Mike for giving me the idea to create some of our own!

Love,

Love Affair With Burlap...

2012-09-13T21:59:00.002-07:00

I've gotten quite a few questions about the burlap wreath I just finished so I wanted to add pictures to give others an idea of how to make one. It was very simple and it's definitely one of my favorite DIY projects to date.

I purchased a yard of burlap at JoAnn's. The burlap runs for $3.99 a yard and if you use one of their weekly coupons, you can sometimes get it for as low as $1.99 for a yard.

Hence, the reason I'm having a love affair with burlap right now.

I began by cutting the burlap into strips.

I used a single stray strand of the burlap and threaded it through a needle-

(if you look closely at the above picture you can see stray strands of burlap fraying at the edges. I tore those off until I had one long enough to use as a thread).

I connected the two sides of my first strip of fabric with the needle and thread.

I gathered the fabric in three pleats and brought the needle down from where I first stitched (at the top of my fabric) and brought the needle through each pleat.

Repeat this step.

Gather three pleats and bring the needle down and through the pleats (pulling tight after each set of pleats). It should begin to look like the picture below.

And when you have finished and run out of your first strip of fabric, it should look something like the picture below.

Below is a completed strip of fabric placed on a wreath to give an idea of what it should look like.

I continued to to make pleats with each strip of cut fabric and I sewed them together until they were long enough to cover the whole wreath.

When the pleats were complete I used a hot glue gun to attach the burlap to the wreath. I also used stray burlap pieces and tied them around both the burlap and the actual wreathe to make it more secure. The burlap blends in so you cant see the tied pieces.

Lastly, go to hobby lobby and go crazy in the dried flower department.

I could spend hours in that place.

In total this project cost under $5.00.

Soon I'll post about our DIY burlap pillows. I'm thrilled with how our first one turned out and I can't wait to share the set of them and explain how easy they were to make.

Love,

I Am Pro Mom

2012-08-03T08:50:00.001-07:00

Yesterday morning, on my way to work, I got my first earful about the NYC "breastfeeding initiative". As I have said before, my initial reaction when I hear anything that might sound even remotely critical of non-breastfeeding moms, is to get angry. I've shared a little about my own experience with breastfeeding and it was pretty awful. So when I heard a male caller on the radio sharing that he had to "sit his wife down and tell her that as a family, they would be breastfeeding", I was pretty pissed. I was furious at Mayor Michael Bloomberg for creating an initiative geared towards women and babies and well, breasts (which he clearly does not have). I was angry at this man who thought he could dictate his wife's choice of how to feed their child. My first thought was, "How dare you!?" These men can't even begin to understand the feelings and emotions and bodily changes that go on with a mom before, during and after giving birth. So how can they say what we "should" and "shouldn't" do?

With that said, I got out of my car and marched all hot headed into work. I was ready to fight. I was thinking of how to contact the radio station, who could get me the direct line to the NYC mayor and what moms might be willing to fight right along with me. Now, roughly 24 hours later, I've cooled off. I've cleared my head a little and I've thought and researched a ton on this new initiative. And no, I didn't even give a call to Mayor Bloomberg to give him my thoughts. But I will give them to you.

First of all, let me just say, thank you, thank you, thank you, to all of my facebook momma and non momma friends who respectfully and openly shared their views on this topic. I can not tell you have nice it was to see a polite, respectful, "non-mommy-war" conversation taking place in a social media setting. I was impressed. Never at any point did I feel like judgement was cast or as if someone was taking aim at another momma's parenting style. I loved that. That is rare these days. Way to support each other ladies.

Second of all, after doing some research and reading several articles on this new initiative, I can officially say that I am FOR (yes- you are reading this correctly), this initiative. Well, mostly.

From what I understand, the basic idea of this new "Latch On NYC" Initiative is this: The "Latch On NYC" initiative is voluntary for both hospitals and patients and it is designed as a way to encourage and support new moms in the effort to breastfeed. Sounds harmless to me. Actually, it sounds pretty great.

Here are some more basic facts of this new initiative according to MedPage Today.

Within hospitals, baby formula will be kept in locked storage rooms, cabinets, or automated medication systems, to which only certain staff members will have access. Staff members must record each time formula is used and the reason it was used, and that information will be shared with the city's health department monthly
Discontinuing the distribution of promotional or free infant formula
Prohibiting the display and distribution of infant formula promotional materials, including bags and other items branded by formula companies, in any hospital location.

Now, I don't have a problem with any of these specific guidelines. While I don't love the idea of formula being "locked up" as if new moms are addicts foaming at the mouth and just waiting for nurses to leave their posts, it really isn't directly offensive to me.

And, if you know me, you know I never turn down freebies and goody bags. However, I do feel that formula companies make their money off of new moms who are vulnerable and might revert to formula at the first sign of breastfeeding troubles. So with that said, I understand and support the removal of formula samples and goody bag freebies from hospital bedsides. Deborah Kaplan, with the New York City Health Department says, "Mothers, pregnant women these days are bombarded by marketing materials, by email, by mail, in magazines, by the infant formula industry. When a mother comes to a hospital, the last thing she needs is more marketing."

My biggest concern with these guidelines is two fold.

First of all, I've heard that all women will be "counseled" or "lectured" each time they request formula. They will be told the benefits of breastfeeding and the negatives of formula feeding.

Secondly, nowhere in this initiative have I seen anything that has said lactation specialists will be hired or brought in to assist mothers who do choose to breastfeed.

And here are the reasons I have these concerns:

1. I believe that at no other time in a woman's life is she more vulnerable and more susceptible to taking on shame and guilt. After a baby is born, we as new moms need and crave someone- anyone- to affirm us and to tell us that we are making the best decisions for our new baby. And speaking from my own experience, I know that had I been "lectured" (or even just reminded) at every feeding on why I was making the "lesser choice" for my daughter, it would have added and contributed significantly to the guilt and shame that I was already battling. Is this the intent of doctors and nurses? I don't really believe so. I believe they will be doing so without knowing how far reaching and damaging their words actually are. Katherine Stone, founder of postpartum progress, says it well, "I believe that repeating over and over how you are essentially making the wrong decision for your baby, without any regard to why the mom has made the decision and why in this case it might be the best one, could end up being tantamount to shaming."

2. If this initiative really and truly is a way to encourage and support new breastfeeding moms, then hospitals sure as hell better get some trained professionals on staff to assist and help new moms as they start out. And this is where I will share with you my experience.

I delivered Mackenzie at Prentice Hospital in the heart of downtown Chicago. According to the website, Prentice is praised as a "One million square foot state-of-the-art hospital dedicated to providing care for the unique needs of women through all stages of life." Because of how new this hospital was and because of it's location, we had very high expectations for the care we would receive after Mackenzie was born. I should preface this by saying that, after working in a health care setting myself for several years now, I am always hesitant to criticize because I know that often health care settings are given a limited budget and are short staffed. I get it. No amount of care will be perfect no matter how expensive or how new the facility is. But in this case, I feel it is necessary to share and critique.

After Mackenzie was born, we stayed at Prentice for three full days. During our stay, I don't ever remember being seen by a lactation specialist (which according to the Prentice site, they have them on staff). What I do remember is being seen by nurses who rotated shifts every several hours. We were given different advice by each nurse that we saw. So much varying advice that Jeremy and both became incredibly overwhelmed. Mackenzie would not latch, my nipples were not extended enough to allow her to latch, my milk hadn't come in yet and even when it did finally come in (on day 3), I still wasn't producing enough to give her a full belly. We left the hospital on that third day, feeling incredibly discouraged. We were no closer to understanding how to feed our new baby on our own and we were being sent home with a load full of (yes!) baby formula.

Once home, we hired a lactation specialist to visit us. She charged (I kid you not) $100.00 an hour for her help. And because we felt desperate, we paid through the roof. We just wanted someone to teach us how to feed our starving child. And when she got to our home, that's exactly what she told us. That Mackenzie wasn't getting enough at her feedings and that we would have to supplement with formula. Over the next six weeks, feeding at our home became a nightmare. The schedule went something like this: Feed for 30 minutes on each breast using the plastic nipple (an hour total), supplement with a bottle for another 20 minutes. And I would pump between each feeding to try and increase my supply. Repeat. Our life revolved around feeding and trying to get feeding "down".

Six weeks after Mackenzie was born, our breastfeeding nightmare came to an abrupt halt. On a Friday night I woke up to the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced. I was hospitalized that night for dehydration, multiple infections and kidney stones. We were told that I would have to "pump and dump" for two weeks while Mackenzie drank solely formula. Because I was never producing enough breast milk in the first place, we had literally none saved up in our freezer for an emergency like this. What's worse (and this is where I will again, stress a lack of hospital support), is that after waking up from surgery, my first and only request was that someone bring me a breast pump. I was engorged and in pain and leaking. I waited hours and hours for that pump. It never came. I asked multiple times. By the time I was released from the hospital that night, my entire hospital gown was drenched in breast milk. I literally could have wrung my gown out with sticky milk. My supply was completely gone. I was incredibly embarrassed and frustrated. And so, 6 weeks after giving birth, in that same hospital that I first decided I was going to breastfeed, I quit. I was done. I waved the white flag.

Hospital support? Ha! What support? This is the first time since giving birth that I have actually written out my breastfeeding story. And now reading it back to myself, I am shaking my head in disgust. I am in full support of this initiative IF and ONLY if, hospitals leave out the "guilt" tactic and in turn provide trained, licensed professionals who are there to aid and SUPPORT mothers as they learn to breastfeed. Oh, and provide a dang breast pump for crying out loud.

One online writer Moxie, says it very well. She writes, "Had I been mayor I'd have gone about it in a different way, by requiring any formula company that wants to market directly to consumers in a vulnerable position to fund the salaries of three full-time lactation consultants for every 10 beds in a maternity ward so there is always an LC available to troubleshoot problems, along with providing training in breastfeeding once a year for every RN, LPN and MD on the floor." Can I get an Amen? I like the way this woman thinks.

I'm almost done (I promise). I guess the biggest thing I want to say after having done my research and having shared it is this:

I am pro-mom. I am 110% in favor of anything that will provide emotional and physical care for the well being of all moms out there. Just because my own experience with breastfeeding was poor, doesn't mean I don't want other moms to succeed. And if this initiative will in fact help moms to succeed in breastfeeding, then that is exceptional and I will support it.

With that said, being pro-mom also means that I will fight tooth and nail to eliminate the nasty, guilt and anxiety provoking tactics that this world uses to make mommas feel less of themselves. I get angry when I hear of moms pitting themselves up against other moms. My blood boils when I hear of mothers who are criticized and torn down to made feel less of themselves because of their own personal choices for their families. There's something very wrong with that. We are strong, capable women. And why should we be bullied into thinking otherwise? I hope more than anything, that this initiative does act as a successful support system for new moms and that it doesn't further fuel the "mommy wars" that I so deeply despise. I hope this new initiative means that we are taking a step forward in an effort to encourage and support mothers in this already tough role we have. This is what I hope.

Not Your Average Interview...

2012-07-30T21:01:00.001-07:00

Mackenzie Leigh at 3 Years Old

Once again, Pinterest provided a great idea and I ran with it...

Ask your child every year on his or her birthday, the same questions and see each year how the answers change. So here are Mackenzie's 3 year old interview questions.

*I tried my very best to quote these answers exactly as they were given. No edits!

1. What is your favorite color? "Pink!"

2. What is your favorite toy? "Ummm. Hmm. What do I like? My purse!"

3. What is your favorite fruit? "Lemonade!" (I started to argue that this wasn't a real fruit but then I realized, well, it kind of is...haha.)

4. What is your favorite tv show? "Max and Ruby!"

5. What is your favorite thing to eat for lunch? "Ham and cheese sandwich."

6. What is your favorite outfit? "Ohhh...what do I like on my shirt? I like Larry and Bob."

To which I said, "You don't have a Larry and Bob shirt." "Ohhh...what do I like then? I like a dress with flowers on it!"

7. What is your favorite game? "Basketball!" To which I asked, "Have you ever played basketball?" "No, but when I get big and strong I want to play basketball with you!" "How bout soccer ball?"

8. What is your favorite snack? "I like macaronie." "For a snack?" "Okay, I like goldfish."

9. What is your favorite animal? "I like Grover and Abby." Once again, I was going to argue but....are they not animals? I think they are?? "Okay, what about your favorite Zoo animal?" (more what I was originally aiming for) "Elephants!"

10. What is your favorite song? "The Taylor song. The people throw rocks one."

11. What is your favorite book? "Pete the Cat!"

12. Who is your best friend? "Abby." (Next door neighbor)

13. What is your favorite breakfast food? "Pancakes and waffles."

14. What is your favorite thing to do outside? "Play house! And make food in my house."

15. What is your favorite drink? "Hot chocolate!"

16. What is your favorite holiday? "Halloween."

17. What do you like to take to bed with you at night? "Teddy!"

18. What is your favorite thing to do with mommy and daddy? "I like to help you clean up."

Let's see if this is the same answer next year ;)

19. What was your favorite birthday memory? "My tricycle."

20. What do you want to be when you grow up? "I want to play something...""Yes, but what kind of job do you want to do?" "I want to be a doctor." "Will you be a doctor for me when I am sick mommy?" "Yes, of course."

20. What makes you sad? "When I go poo in my pants." (She'll kill me for this one someday)

21. What makes you happy? "Pancakes and playing with my toys." (Both of which she was doing during this interview. I think they were at the forefront of her mind.)

22. What are you most excited for right now? "Papa and Grandma and Aunt Kels! And Teddy's birthday party! And singing to him."

A Journey Come Full Circle

2012-07-24T20:38:00.002-07:00

Well, today was certainly incredible. I'm trying not to cry just thinking about it. This morning I had the opportunity to share about my journey through postpartum depression on 90.1 Moody Radio in Chicago. What an honor. What a privilege. It was three years ago this very week that I began to struggle with postpartum depression. We had just brought Mackenzie home from the hospital and I was scared as anything. Today I spoke and and shared my heart with women all over my city, the city where it all began. And today, everything seemed to come full circle. Today was just proof of God's unfailing grace in my life and in the ways He is using my weaknesses for HIS good. And while every day that I walked was so incredibly difficult, now looking back, I believe it in my deepest parts that it was all worth it. Funny how that can happen.

I have no idea who reads this blog. But when Elizabeth Henderson, producer of "This Is The Day" asked me to join the show and share, all I could do was pray. I've been praying all week. I've been praying my little heart out that the right women, the women who needed most to hear this message, would be listening. And I know just from some emails I've gotten today that several did. And I am so incredibly encouraged and blessed by that.

And while I do plan on writing a full recap of my interview and listing resources for anyone who visits my site and wants further support, tonight I just have one thing to say and I hope it resonates with you more than anything else you heard this morning. It is what I needed most to hear three years ago. And I want to share it tonight with you.

To the momma out there who is struggling, I want to tell you one thing tonight:

You did not make a mistake.

In this time and in this place, God made you a momma.

Satan may try to convince you that you aren't good enough.

He will try to tell you that you weren't meant for this role.

I know this, because he had me convinced.

But that is a line and a lie straight from the pit of hell.

So right here, right now, if you are reading this:

Hear my heart. Hear God's heart.

Your baby? Not a mistake. You becoming a Mom?

Not a mistake. I can speak to this truth because I've been in your shoes.

You were made for this role. You will be blessed by this role.

Maybe you aren't feeling this now. Maybe you still won't tomorrow.

But you will walk this road and someday you will look back

and you will have the peace in your heart about motherhood

that God always intended for you to have.

Thank you, thank you, thank you again for the great blessing of sharing with you today and each week through this blog. You have no idea what this has meant for me.

Love,

One Thousand Gifts

2012-07-15T17:21:00.002-07:00

Last fall a friend lent me the book One Thousand Gifts. Written by Ann Voskamp, her story is told from one who has experienced unimaginable suffering and yet has learned in spite of pain, to live a life of humble gratitude. I was excited to read this book. I was eager to inhale her words and learn from her life. And then as abruptly as I began my journey with Ann, I stopped. I couldn't read her words. Her stories were intense, her experiences too much to bear. I couldn't accept her challenge. To live fully. To live with gratitude in spite of the small and huge burdens of this life. Of my life. Of the lives of those I love.

Pain is everywhere. Suffering is all around us. We wade in it and are swallowed by it every day. It's on our television screens and our news stands. It's across the world, when I hear stories from my own sister who is experiencing poverty and oppression in Africa and Asia. It is here at home. I see it played out in the life of one of one of my old lady friends. Only, she isn't really old. She's a brilliantly smart 60-year-old woman. She has her doctorate degree and was a college professor. But now she is battling mental health problems and has been committed to an assisted living home to rot away for the next 20 + years. Her daughters have all but washed their hands of her. She is lonely. She has no control of her life anymore. She asks God,"Why me?" Wouldn't you?

And then there's my really old friends. The ones whose bodies are wasting away but their minds are still sharp. They can't hold their bladders or their bowels. They are embarrassed. They are in physical pain. Even the smallest of movements reminds them that their best years are gone. They lug around oxygen tanks just to help them breathe. When really, many of them just don't want to breathe anymore. I hear them every single day ask the same questions. "How did I get here? Why am I back to this place of feeling like a child? Why?"

I read it in the daily text messages from a friend, living so far away but whose pain is so close I can feel it within my own beating heart. More bad news. Still an empty nursery. Arms just waiting to hold and rock. Aching to be the mother she knows she is meant to be. She hurts so deeply each time she has to congratulate a new friend. She's angry most days. Always sad. Always feeling the pain of loss and of unmet dreams. Always asking, "Why?"

There's Ann's story. As a child, she watched her younger sister bleed to death in the arms of her parents. As an adult, she watched her brother and sister-in-law bury their two infant sons only months apart from one another. Wouldn't you as a reader of her book ask, "Why?"

And then there's me. I've been a mess the last several months. I dress daily and I look down at my midriff. Not growing. Not safely protecting a new life. By now I thought I would be rocking the belly band and the elastic waist maternity jeans. Instead, I just feel empty. My heart feels lifeless and my hand is often a clenched fist that pumps at God, asking, "Why? Why my baby? Why me?"

Natalie Grant's song "Held" says it well. "This hand is bitterness. We want to taste and let the hatred know our sorrows." And that's what I feel. Bitterness. Pain. Loss. Frustration at the dreams that haven't come true. And if I have to be bluntly honest, I feel entitled to them all. Why shouldn't I be angry? Why shouldn't I be bitter? Because of my lost dreams. The ones I thought I was promised. If I let go of them, who will know the pain and the hurt I feel? Who will pay for it all?

A few weeks back I had a piece of writing published called "Perfectly Imperfect". In it I made the statement, "I've often wondered to myself why suffering has to be debilitating. Can it not be something bigger than causing us to stop dead in our tracks, refusing to move forward?" I wrote this piece in hindsight of my journey with PPD but before I lost our baby. I made this statement when life was good. When I was living on the mountaintop. But what does it look like to really live out these words? What does living fully and well look like in the midst of pain and tragedy? What does it look like when in all honestly, some days I haven't wanted to get out of bed in the morning? When I have cried myself to sleep more nights than I can count? When I am moving begrudgingly through the valley?

So this week, knowing that my words were being put to the test, I picked Ann's book back up. I knew it was finally time to take my journey with her. In my gut, I knew I was ready to listen this time. I began to read One Thousand Gifts and to journal and soak up every God inspired line.

And so far, this is what I have found:

All sin can be traced back to the fall. This I knew.

Satan, wanted more. He wanted more. He wanted more power and more glory.

Satan was an ingrate and he sank his teeth right into the heart of Eden.

Adam and Eve's fall was a direct result of ingratitude.

Ingratitude.

They weren't satisfied with the lot God had given them.

They believed Satan when he told them God's provision wasn't enough.

Ann writes, "Our fall was, has always been, and always will be, that we aren't satisfied with God and what He gives. We hunger for something more, something other."

She goes on to write, "We eat. And in an instant we are blind. No longer do we see God as one we can trust. No longer do we perceive Him as wholly good. We eat. And in an instant, we see. Everywhere we look we see a world of lack, a universe of loss, a cosmos of scarcity and injustice."

And isn't that where we are? Isn't that everything I just described? My sister's calls from third world countries. My sweet old friends locked away in a place of no control. Empty cradles. Death. Sorrow and loss. Everywhere. And then we blame our circumstances. We blame God. Because we don't know who else to blame. Anyone but ourselves.

So the question becomes: Is wrong to mourn and to suffer? If we are the ultimate cause of our own downfall? It can't be. Jesus suffered. Jesus himself cried at death. Then is our reaction to mourning and suffering the problem?

Ingratitude. It was the cause of the fall. So maybe that's how we find our way back? We go back to the source? We go back to gratitude. Like Christ did.

Jesus, mourning and crying over the death of Lazarus, stood outside of his tomb and prayed "Father I thank You that You have heard me." (John 11:41)

"On the night when he was betrayed, the Lord Jesus took some bread and gave thanks to God for it" (1 Corinthians 11:23-24). On the eve of God's abandonment to him, Jesus gave thanks.

After preaching to country after country only to receive rejection, Jesus prays, "Oh Father, Lord of heaven and Earth, I thank thee." (Matthew 11:25)

So I've been asking myself this week. Could I live like that? Could I open my clenched fists? Could I give up this resentment I feel entitled to and replace it with a heart of constant gratitude? To trust that which I don't see? To thank God in the mist of failure and suffering just like Christ did? Could I return to Eden? The place that once was, before ingratitude pierced through the perfection?

I'll be blunt again. I've been fighting this. Every fiber of my being wants to hang on to the resentment and the pain and the anguish that I feel entitled to. I don't want to give thanks. I want to suffer and feel sorry for myself and hold on to my hurts and all of my "what could have beens..."

But I'm not going to. And I'm asking you not to either. If you have stuck with me for this long, I'm asking you to take this challenge with me. Let's see where it will take us. Read this book with me. Buy the book. Borrow it. Highlight through it. Journal as you read it.

Experience something new with me. Let's start our list together. List the gifts of your daily life. List them on the good days and list them on the hardest days. Let's just try this and see where it takes us. Let's list our gifts and go on a search for gratitude like Christ demonstrated so clearly to us. Like Ann did in her book. Maybe that's what's been missing? Maybe we really just need to return back to Eden, the place God gave us before ingratitude took hold. Today, I begin my list. Today, I am choosing to find joy and thankfulness in the midst of my pain. Will you join me?

Today's Gifts:

Summer nights spent with new and old friends
Six wonderful years of learning to love my husband
Hardwood floors that lay hold to tiny bare feet
Blue cookie monster cupcakes with googly eyes
Naps
Yarn for the cat to chase
The bubbly sounds of fresh brewed coffee
A good sale
Dental Insurance
A warm rainfall pitter pattering on the roof

Love,

Today You Are Three!

2012-07-09T21:55:00.002-07:00

Dear Mackenzie Leigh,
Today you are three. I can hardly believe it as I sit here and type these words. Three. Three? Really? Has it already been three years since I held you, my bundled burrito baby, in that city hospital room overlooking our world below? I remember how tiny you looked, barely filling out those red piggy pajamas I waited so long to dress you in. I remember your wispy blonde mullet and how you kept yanking off those ugly hospital caps the nurses kept stuffing onto your head. Even then you knew what you wanted. I still struggle with memories of bringing you home from the hospital and of being so scared because I didn't know what to do or how to care for you. I felt so unprepared to raise this little life we had created. I remember thinking we would never get past those days. And yet somehow, we've made it here. We've made it to today. And today, I can hardly look at you without crying happy tears. Without thinking of the incredible girl you are. Never in my wildest, craziest dreams, could I have imagined you as you are today.

Here are my prayers for this coming year for you:

I pray that your tender heart continues to develop. You've got such a sensitivity in you and I've seen it from just six months old. The way you can look deep into the eyes of someone who is hurting and feel that pain with them. It really is amazing to me to see how God has already given you the gift of compassion. This year, I am going to pray specifically that God will continue to bring that beautiful heart of compassion to its full purpose.

I pray that with that tender compassion for others, your heart will not be broken. Because you are so sensitive, I worry that it will allow for too much pain. And I want you to stay innocent for as long as you possibly can. This world is filled with too much bad. And I hope that your tender heart won't show you too much of that bad too soon.

I pray that you will continue to learn discipline. I pray that you won't be embittered towards discipline. That you will know see the love that is behind it and how God uses discipline to teach you and others how to live life well. I pray that God will develop a heart that sincerely want to do right for yourself and for Him.

I pray that you will learn and know that it is okay to make mistakes. I pray that even from this young age, God will begin to teach you about grace and the need to have grace for yourself and for others. I want this so much for you.

I pray that you will have fun. I see an old soul in you already. I see that you want to grow up quickly and fast. I see it in you because you are an only child and because you just want to be a part of the adult conversations. But you are still a baby. You are my baby. And I pray that you will know that it is okay to have fun and be silly. To have dance parties in the middle of the day. To sing at the top of your lungs when you are happy. To run through the sprinklers on days that it is so scorching hot and to jump in the leaves this fall when we rake them into big piles in the back yard. I pray that you will do these things without inhibition. Without hesitation or worry of you how you look. I pray that you will grow up slow and have fun every single minute of while you are doing that growing.

Most of all, this year, I pray that you will know how unbelievably loved you are. That in the deepest parts of your being, you are certain without a shadow of a doubt, that you are loved. I love you. Your daddy loves you. Your ornery kitty even loves you. Your papas and your grandmas love you. Your uncle and your aunties love you. You've got friends who love you. But most of all, God loves you. He loves you with a love that never wavers. A love that is stronger than all of the human love combined. And this year, more than anything, I hope you feel and know this.

Happy third birthday my sweet girl.
Love, Momma

Loving & Losing

2012-07-01T11:15:00.001-07:00

I’m finding it very difficult to write the words I am feeling tonight. I’m doing it though because I know that this pain will never be as fresh and as raw as it is now. I’ve been very open in the past several months about sharing my struggles with other women. I don’t like the thought of walking alone through my struggles, and I just as equally don’t want other women walking alone. I don’t believe that God intended us to privately suffer through life’s hardships. And so, even though this in itself is a very private struggle, I’m going to look for the words to share and to express my heart tonight because I believe other women might need to hear it.

After Mackenzie was born, I said I was done having babies. I swore I was done. The idea of bringing another baby home after having postpartum depression the first time just seemed foolish. I had one beautiful little girl and that seemed like it could be enough. But in my gut, I never felt like our family was complete. This past winter I really began to go back and forth about having another baby. And when I say I went back and forth, I mean I wrestled. Hard. Some nights I didn’t sleep. Some days I cried over the decision. A close friend advised me to give the decision over to the Lord. So I did. I began to pray. I prayed he would give me the desire for more children. Some days I prayed that He would intervene and give us a “surprise” baby so that the decision would be less of my own and completely a “God thing”.

This spring, a reoccurring theme seemed to begin playing out in our lives. The theme revolved around fear and letting fear control us. As a couple, we decided that ultimately, it was fear that was keeping us from choosing to expand our family. And we decided that God did not design us to live in fear.

And now, it’s summer. And while I would love to share with you the news that we are pregnant and expecting our second baby, I can’t. I do however, have several positive pregnancy tests lined up on our dresser and a stack of pregnancy books nearby. And each of them I want to burn. Or hurl into the nearest lake. This past week we experienced one of the most gut wrenching and painful things to go through. We lost our sweet second baby. To say we are heartbroken would be an understatement.

There are many things that keep running through my head. Feeling sorry for myself tops the list. I’m working on moving past that one. And, as you can tell by the, “hurling my pregnancy books in the lake” comment, I’m definitely moving right along into the angry camp.

But most of all, I’m just so incredibly sad. I am grieving the loss of a life that will never be lived. I am grieving for the son my husband will never get to play basketball with. I am grieving a daughter I will never get to read bedtime stories to or snuggle and kiss goodnight. I’m grieving for the little brother or sister that Mackenzie prayed for every night as she wrapped her little arms around my belly and gave kisses.

Practically speaking, I know that miscarriages happen. They happen fairly often and they happen for a reason. I know that this isn’t an experience I am going through alone. But emotionally speaking, this is just so incredibly hard. We envisioned a life with this child. We were planning for a future as a family of four. We already had names picked out and were mentally rearranging our furniture to make room for this new life. We were ready for this baby.

It is a little bit ironic to me, to look back on the journey I have been on as a mother. After Mackenzie was born I went through a big identity crisis. I struggled with knowing exactly what my new role in life was. Was I now “just” a mother? Could I still be a runner? Could I still go out with friends and enjoy life even though there was a little person at home depending on me? Eventually I came to a place of realizing that my identity was not lost but just expanded. I gained a part of my identity when my daughter was born. I write all of this to say that that moment I conceived this second baby, my identity expanded even more. I am not just the mother of Mackenzie. Now I am a mother of two children. One of whom I have the privilege of raising here on earth, the other, I believe is waiting for me in the arms of Jesus. For whatever reason, God chose to bring that baby home to Him. And it is painful. This pain I feel, this longing for that baby, is so great and cuts so deep to my heart. And yet, I know that eventually I will be okay. Not today. Probably not for a long time. But eventually, I will be okay.

This week was hard. Probably the hardest week we've had as a family. And yet, it was a week of bonding. A week of praying and cuddling and crying. A week of saying goodbye.

I'm not really sure where we go from here. I can say that fear has once again crept back into the realm of defining my thoughts and future plans. The idea of trying for another baby and possibly losing that baby too just seems like it would be too much to handle. And yet, I was reminded today by a friend that ultimately we must choose whether taking certain risks in life are worth it. If we want to expand our family we are going to have to take that risk. I believe the risk would be worth it to expand my identity even more. To become a momma to a third baby would be such a privilege and a risk worth taking. And someday down the road, I hope to be able to share that happy news with all of our friends and family.

Sharing and Growing

2012-06-29T19:27:00.001-07:00

Today, I was so honored to have one of my pieces chosen for the front page of my favorite site Postpartum Progress. This blog site has been an incredible resource to me while I have been on my journey through PPD. The women who share here are AMAZING. I am blessed to know them and each of their hearts. And I was completely blown away when I got the email telling me that I was chosen to share a piece of my own.

It has been a rough week. A horrible, terrible, rough week. And someday, when I have fully processed just how sad of a week this has been for our little family, I will blog about it and share my thoughts. But for now, for today, being confirmed that my words have meaning, was exactly what I needed to hear. I wasn't expecting this to be posted anytime soon, let alone on the front page, which is why I feel so incredibly honored.

In a way, it was comforting to be reminded that sharing my struggles is good and worthwhile. That my struggles in and of themselves can be good and worthwhile. Not easy. Not understandable. But necessary for the growth of who I am and who I am still becoming as a person. And for that, this week, I am so incredibly grateful. I am thankful that even in the midst of inexplicable pain and suffering, the Lord brings us to a new place. To a place of relying on others and ultimately on Him.

With all of that said, here's a bit of my blog piece that I was honored to share with Postpartum Progress this morning. Thank you to fellow Warrior Mom, Katherine Stone, for allowing me to share my story.

On Owning Your Struggle with Postpartum Depression

So proud to have Warrior Mom Brittany with us today, sharing her story and why she’s not afraid to be open about her struggle with postpartum depression.

I have dreamed my entire life of becoming a mom. Some of my fondest memories as a child are of mothering my plastic baby dolls and loving on them as if their cotton insides actually held a beating heart. As a doe-eyed teenager, I used to picture what life would be like when my boyfriend and I could finally marry and start a family together. And then suddenly, we were there. We had finished college, married and were living the dream life together in our favorite city. We talked about waiting to have babies, but when it came down to it we wanted to share the memories we were making together with our children.

We started trying for a baby, and before long I was pregnant and barefoot. Literally … I went barefoot to one of my baby showers. We spent nine blissful months “oohing” and “aahhing” over blurry ultrasound photos, meticulously decorating a nursery and waiting anxiously for our baby girl to arrive.

And then she was born. Blonde and blue-eyed and all 6 lbs 9 oz of her was perfect. I remember holding her the day she was born. She was bundled like a burrito and sleeping so peacefully in my arms. My husband remarked that she was like a tiny angel. That night we took rotating hour-long shifts to stay awake with her while the other would sleep. We worried that if we left her alone for all but one minute we would wake to find our baby not breathing and our dream dissolved into thin air. Maybe this first night was a foreshadowing of the anxiety-ridden days to come.

You can read the rest of the blog post here.

Next Friday I am excited to be the guest blogger for another one of my favorite sites Just.Be.Enough. It too is an incredible site. Don't we all, deep down, just want to be enough? I love the ladies who run this site because that's what they encourage. Living to be enough.

Can't wait to share my own "Just be enough" story with you next week,

Brittany

DIY: Mosaic Mirror

2012-06-11T19:26:00.000-07:00

In light of all of the serious posts I've shared lately, I figured it might be time to lighten up the mood and share one of our DIY projects that we've been working on. I'm a little proud of myself for this one because it actually wasn't an idea that I borrowed from Pinterest.

Last spring, my boss taught me (and our resident crafters) how to make mosaic birdhouses. So a few months back I got the idea to create a mosaic mirror for our formal entryway/living room. I started by collecting various plates and pottery in various blue and green shades. I bought from The Dollar Tree and from the Salvation Army (during their holiday 50% off sales). In total, the plates and pottery cost $5.

Next, I bought a flat piece of solid wood... this was a score I found in the "as is" section of Ikea for just $3.99. I'm not sure what it was originally intended to be but it was perfect (and cheap!) for this project.

This round mirror also came from Ikea for $15.00.

We used the product "Liquid Nails" ($4.00) to attach the mirror to the backing.

These "C Clamps" were from Home Depot and cost under $1.00 each.

We left them on for 24 hours to make sure that the liquid nails was completely dry.

I've discovered that one of the ways I stay sane in this journey of parenting is to always, always involve my daughter in my projects. It would be easy to brush her away and tell her to go play toys. But really, what does that accomplish? I would feel annoyed and she would have her feelings hurt. She's three and she wants to be just like her mommy. So, I let her join in. And this was no exception. Watch my rock star girl as she shatters some dishes and pottery. This was definitely our favorite part!

My beautiful girl!

See? Doesn't she look so excited!

Next we used clear tile glue ($3.00) to attach the broken plates and glass.

When all of the pieces were glued on... we took a several day break. This was tough work!

Eventually we got to the messy part.

Plaster of Paris is a powder that, when mixed 2 parts to 1 part water, creates....goop. Or grout. Whatever. Regardless, it was messy. We also mixed in some gold acrylic paint to give the color a tint...which we found out didn't do much of anything in the end.

Yes, that's my absolute STUD of a husband!

We (completely) covered sections of the tile with the grout mix. A note to anyone who tries this project- the grout does dry fast. When it says 6-8 minute drying time on the container, it really means 4-5 minutes. If you cover too much of the tile, you won't be able to wipe it off in enough time and you'll be using a razor blade to scrape grout off of the colored tiles. Like me below...

Wipe the tile off with a sponge or a towel that you don't mind throwing out after the project. Make sure you have a bucket of water nearby to rinse and re-rinse the towel.

And finally...

The finished product! We're very excited with how it turned out!

In total the project cost us around $25 ($40, if you figure that we used $15 of an Ikea Gift Card). It was a lot of work but we both agree, creating something together (as a family, no less) holds much more meaning to us than if we had slapped down our debit card and bought a mirror from Target.

Next up, I'm finishing this Pinterest find "tutu table" for Mack's bedroom! I'm hoping that when I share it with you, it will look as cute as the one in this picture :)

Putting Out The Fire

2012-06-09T20:16:00.001-07:00

I haven't struggled with postpartum depression in over 20 months. But hey... who's counting? :) What I do still struggle with is panic attacks. The only way I can think to distinguish between the two is like this: postpartum depression was a fire that lit immediately after I gave birth to my daughter and continued to burn out of control until I took control.

Panic attacks come upon me like the leftover burning embers from the fire that was once postpartum depression. These burning embers flake from the died down fire and come upon me at inopportune times during life. Over the past year or two, I've learned to recognize signs and signals that tell me I am close to having one. My husband and I have (finally!) nailed down caffeine as a significant catalyst for my attacks. Which is frustrating on so many levels- the most frustrating being that after Mack was born, my sleep deprived self was inhaling regular coffee by the pound. Had I known three years ago that my anxiety was being severely heightened by caffeine, it would have been cut from my diet immediately.

I can tell when an attack is coming on because my pulse begins to race. My concentration falters and I often find myself pacing our house and ringing my hands. Things that wouldn't usually bother me (like extra loud noises or the sound of my little girl whining about something trivial) suddenly become things that set me on edge. My mind becomes a mess of anxiety, overcome with insecurities and accusations that remind me of my past.

Sometimes I can defend against these attacks and strong arm them. Other times, I lose myself to them, and I find myself an inconsolable, blubbering mess, unable to rationalize against the malicious thoughts that have invaded my reality. As much as I am grateful to be beyond the dark cloud of PPD, these panic attacks do make me feel like a freak. I've had them in the middle of a Subway sandwich shop, in the bathroom stall of a church, and recently at a friend's wedding. And it's hard. Hard to know that people have seen you at your worst. Hard to know that you have made a fool of yourself in a public setting and have given others the chance to judge as though you can't handle life. It's hard to realize that sometimes you really can't handle life like you want to.

Katherine Stone, the founder of the incredible site Postpartum Progress, describes her own experience with a perinatal mood disorder. She writes, "Before, back then, I believed the real me was the person full of anxiety. The person who was and would always be ill. The person who was not and would never be fierce. I was never going to be loved by my children and would never be a good mom. I believed those things."

And sadly, I did too.

After Mack was born, and the "baby blues" didn't end within the first few weeks, I convinced myself that I was meant to live like that. I thought that part of having a child, was dying to myself and learning to cope and complacently live like that. I know, it sounds absolutely pathetic. And yet, this is what I actually believed. I wish more than anything that I could go back to my (then) self and shake the living daylights out of whoever that girl was. I wish I could tell her to relax and let the baby cry sometimes. To tell her everything would be okay and that life would become filled with more joy than she could have ever dreamed of.

I guess the biggest difference between my experience with my (then) postpartum depression and my (now) panic attacks, is what I truly believe about myself when all is said and done. When I've finally silenced the overwhelming voices in my head and the shaking of my body has calmed. What do I really and truly believe about myself as a mother? What do my daughter and husband see when they look at me? What do I believe now that I didn't and couldn't believe back then?

I cried the other day, as I read Katherine Stone's experience of returning to reality after one of her panic attacks. She writes, "Now, I am awaiting the moment when I go back to feeling like the real me. It might be later today. If not, it will most certainly be tomorrow. I'll go back to feeling strong and fierce and as though the ground I'm standing on is not buckling. This, right now, is not me. This thing is the thing that tries to deter me. I will allow it a few minutes to do that, but then I will go back to me. I am a good mother."

I cried, because I resonate so strongly with every word that she wrote. This person who is still overcome by occasional bouts of panic--this woman is not me. It is not who I am. It is not who I will ever be. Those fears of being a bad mother, they are gone. The feelings of being crushed by the weight and responsibilities of motherhood? They don't suffocate me anymore. And even in the midst of my occasional panic attacks, I now know and believe these in the deepest parts of my heart:

I am an excellent mother.
In this place and time, I am meant to be a mother.
I bring joy to my daughter and my husband each day.
I am strong and resilient.
I am brave.
On my most difficult days, I will survive.
Anxiety does not control me.
Fear does cripple me.
I know how to love.
I know how to be loved.
I do both well.
I am an excellent mother.

"She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future." Proverbs 31:25

Are You Mom Enough?

2012-06-07T06:35:00.000-07:00

I replay a lot of memories from the first year of Mack's life. Many memories are wonderful while others I would like to forget and pretend they never existed. There is one memory I find particularly humorous as well as equally horrendous.

We had just picked up our 6-month-old from the church nursery. It was wet and rainy in Chicago so JB ran to the parking garage to get the car. While I stood in the lobby waiting, two elderly women begin to "oooh" and "ahhh" over Mack. This wasn't unusual so I played along. At some point, the "small talk" turned to the topic of breastfeeding. How and why, I'm still not sure but I can say without a doubt that I was not the one to steer the conversation in this direction. The fact that I'm addressing this story in a public blog is actually surprising to me since any topic of female anatomy usually makes me blush.

I remember halting all of my participation in the conversation at this point. I let the two elderly women take over and I was generally interested to hear what they would say and how the conversation would play out. Perhaps this was my first mistake. Maybe, I should have taken my squirmy baby and made a run for the rainy streets rather than wait for the safety of my car. But I didn't. I stayed and found myself in the crossfire of two judgmental, old hags.

...Oops, did I just write that?

I listened. I listened as they talked together about God's purpose for breastfeeding, how breastfeeding is the natural, God intended way for babies to be fed. At this point I couldn't necessarily disagree with anything I was hearing but none-the-less, because of my horrible six week, hell-of-an experience with breastfeeding, I was beginning to blow steam from my corner of the room.

Do I believe that breastfeeding is the most nutritional way for a baby to be fed? Absolutely. Do I believe that God's original intent was for mothers to feed their babies in this way? Yes. Do I believe that it is the best option for every mother out there, today? No, I absolutely do not. In a perfect world, every mother would deliver her baby and he or she would immediately take to feeding from the breast. We don't live in a perfect world though. We live in a fallen world. My baby and I fought tirelessly to make breastfeeding work. In the end, it was not the natural, God intended way for me to feed my daughter. For us, the most bonding and nurturing took place with her at my breast.... while I fed her from a bottle.

With all of that said, I'll get down off of my soap box and tell you how the conversation took an even greater turn for the worst. As I stood listening to these two women converse back and forth, one of them turned to Mackenzie. She looked directly at her, smiled and said in a chipper voice, "You're such a happy baby. You must be breastfed."

Oh. No. You. Didn't. That was all I could think. That is all I can still think to this day. I love old people. I work with old people for God's sake. But never before have I wanted to all out sucker punch an old woman. As far as I'm concerned, this old lady might as well have written the headline for Time Magazine's May issue which begs the question to all non-breastfeeding moms out there, "Are you mom enough?"

I left the church that day feeling angry, guilty, judged and just plain flabbergasted by the nerve of these women. But the saddest part, is that, like these women, Time Magazine's recent issue has demonstrated an unfortunate truth. There are actually moms out there who pit themselves against other moms, and build themselves up, surely convinced that they are making better choices for their child(ren) than other moms. To this I ask: Where is the support? Where is the encouragement? Where is the camaraderie that can be found just in the basic fact that we are ALL moms who are trying our damn hardest to love our kids and give them everything they need?

I have struggled greatly with this concept since giving birth to my daughter. And maybe it all goes back to our inherent desire to be seen as "Wisteria Lane" type moms. But really, when I'm talking to another mom about how my daughter just can't get the hang of potty training, I don't care to hear about how my parenting style is the problem. If you ask me, that's judgment. That's you telling me in your "ever-so-smug" way, that you are doing it "better". What I really want and need, is for you to tell me, "She's going to get it!" or "Hang in there, toilet training was hard for us too!" When I'm exhausted and having a day where I feel like I can't do anything right as a mother, the last thing I need is for another mom to showcase her child as an angel, all the while helping to build my "Failure Mom" plaque even larger and shinier.

I'm not writing to bash or criticize Time Magazine, Dr. Sears or even his attachment parenting philosophy. Although I will admit, after seeing the front cover's bold headline, I was quite prepared be hot headed and angry at whoever wrote the article. Oddly enough, I finished reading and found myself wondering why the headline, "Are You Mom Enough?" was even on the cover. I didn't come away from the article convinced that it actually made any headway with convincing society of Dr. Sears' successful child rearing style. If anything, I felt like parts of the article took aim at mocking him and his followers. More than likely, the title was a gimmick to sell the issue and draw in readers. I read it... so it worked!

My purpose in writing today is primarily to vent. Don't we all just need that sometimes? I also love to encourage my momma friends out there who are having a rough time. Because whether we would like to admit it or not, we all have those days. And please, please don't be one of those who looks snootily at the mom in the grocery store who just can't seem to keep her kid in line. She might just need a big hug and for someone to tell her she's doing the best she can.

The other night, Mack was having trouble sleeping. Although, we try not to make rocking her an every night event, I am fully aware that these moments are becoming fewer and farther between now so on this particular night, I picked her and her tattered blue elephant up and we all snuggled together. As I quietly rocked her and "Ted", I heard her whisper, "I love you Momma. I'm ready to go in my own bed now." I whispered "I love you too" and tucked her back underneath the covers. As I fell asleep that night I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with joy. I didn't need to breastfeed my daughter to bring her to this place. She is safe and secure. She knows she is loved and she is happy. And at the end of the day, If my daughter is all of these things, then I know I must be doing something right. And I can fall asleep and rest easy knowing that, I am mom enough.

2012-05-30T05:54:00.001-07:00

"As for me, I've chosen to follow a simple course; come clean. And wherever possible, live your life in a way that won't leave you tempted to lie. Failing that, I'd rather be disliked for who I truly am than loved for who I am not. So I tell my story. I write it down. I even publish it. Sometimes this is a humbling experience. Sometimes it's embarrassing. But I haul around no terrible secrets." - Joyce Maynard "For Writers: Writing for Health"

When I began this blog a year ago, I had no intention of airing out my dirty laundry. I was looking for a fresh start. I wanted something that would be therapeutic for me and a place that I could post DIY projects and pictures of my kid. And it has been that. But it has also been so much more. At some point I began to write about real life. About my real life. And at some point, all inhibitions were thrown out the window. At the same time I was exploring this new comfort level of writing, I also began to discover other blogs and sites written by mothers who have been experiencing the joys and pains of motherhood like me. And many of them aren't afraid to write about the tough nitty gritty parts. These women have been absolutely inspiring. Freeing for me really. I've discovered a network of friends and allies I didn't know even existed.

In her blog Laughing Through Motherhood, Melinda writes in one of her recent posts, "I used to receive a lot of comments (that I never approved, because they hurt so bad) that consisted of the following: "What if your daughter grows up and reads this? What if your son reads this? The internet is forever. Your kids will hate you if they find out you ever felt this way. I feel so sorry for them. I want to adopt them. You are so lucky to be pregnant when there are so many infertile couples who would kill for a baby. Guess what? Fuck that. You know what a depressed woman in the deepest, loneliest hole of her life needs? Support. Love. Understanding. You know what I got? None of that. You know where I found it? Other people's blogs. That's why I'm back, and I'm ready to talk about it. I want to get this out of my system, and if someone out there going through the same thing finds this, I want her to know she's not alone. Because loneliness is the worst feeling ever."

And, while I probably won't be using such colorful language in my future posts, in a sense, I applaud Melinda for telling it how it really is. There have been times in my journey over the past three years that the closest people in my life just have not been there. And then there have been others that have come out of the nowhere and have surprisingly been there through it all. It's incredible to me really. But I'm really not writing today to rehash bad memories and old hurts. I'm writing because I've been inspired. By the blogger moms like Melinda and other Warrior Moms out there who aren't afraid to admit that they've been through some tough times. These moms are the moms I connect with because they are transparent and real.

And so, I guess my blogging style has probably taken a turn for the better (I hope). I will still post DIY projects and fun pictures of life with our little family. But I plan to post more of my writing. Of my heart. I hope I don't scare some of my readers off, but if I do, that's okay. And will my daughter someday read my posts? I hope so. I hope she reads my words and that she sees a mom who was honest and real. I hope she is inspired by my love for life, for her and for other people. I hope that she can see deeply into the wounds of my heart and painful parts of life but that she can see how good can come from pain. And I hope she takes my honesty and uses it for her own good and the good of those around her.

I love Joyce Maynard's quote. She writes, "I'd rather be disliked for who I truly am than loved for who I am not." And that's where I am in my life. I'm so exhausted from trying to maintain an image for myself and others. I'm going to share what's really on my heart and hope that you'll come along for the ride...

For my Mini Me

2012-04-09T14:06:00.005-07:00

This morning we sat, smushed together on that comfy brown couch hidden down in the basement. Our cold toes were touching and our arms intertwined and wrapped together in funny angles. I held my coffee in one hand and you in my other. I could feel your hot breath on my cheek and your messy blonde ringlets invaded my space.

But I didn't mind. All I could think about was how far we've come. How you've become my very best companion. How every word, every smile, every moment with you is making up for lost time. And then, all of a sudden you leaned in closer and pressed your tiny lips to my bare shoulder as if you were reading my mind. You didn't have to look at me or say a word. That little kiss was enough. It's as if you knew my heart at that very moment. And I believe that you do.

Someday, I'm going to tell you our story. I'm going to tell you about all of the good and the bad and the everything in between that you and I went through to get to this place. And I'm going to tell you that you were born to heal me. Because more than ever, I believe that. I believe that before you, I was afraid to love and to be loved. Before you and even after you, my heart was hurting. But there's something about this journey you and I have gone on together. This journey has taught me that to really, deeply love someone, you have to be willing to endure the pain of pain. To endure and learn from it so that you can live and love freely in the future.

A very important person in my life once told me to take out a picture of myself as a little girl. To look at that picture and to tell the little girl in that picture, "You are good enough." "You are worth enough." "You have value." And I thought about this idea. And after thinking for a while, I realized that I don't need that picture of me as a little girl. You are that little girl for me.

God gave me a mini-me. There's a reason that you have the same blonde mop, big blue eyes and tiny squirmish frame that I did when I was three. There's a reason you love art and running and old people just like me. And no, I'm not going to chalk it up to genetics. I have a mini-me, because God in His perfect wisdom knew that I needed to heal and that the only way to heal the right way was to do it through learning to love.

And that's what this has been for you and I. A journey of learning how to love. That moment we had this morning, it wasn't just a moment. It was a photograph in time, where I can look at the "us" we've become and see how I've learned to love you and how I've learned to love myself. There was a point in time when I didn't know either was possible. There was a time when I looked at you and thought "I can't do this. I wasn't meant to do this." And now my sweet girl, I know that both are possible. And I look at you and I think, "I can!"

A very special thanks to Heather over at The Extraordinary Ordinary for giving me the inspiration I needed to write this post. From one momma to another, you are amazing.

Just The Three Of Us

2012-03-28T18:04:00.002-07:00

As I've written before in some of my more serious "momma posts", I began this blog mainly to be a voice for mommas who are afraid to admit that life isn't so perfect. The daydream that you had as a little girl (you know, the one where you blissfully hold hands with your prince charming, while pushing your smiley baby in a stroller through the park), may happen every once in a while, but it isn't every day life. I spend my days as a mom, picking up stray cheerios, wiping runny noses, painting toenails sparkly pink and searching for a tattered, blue elephant we affectionately call "Ted". This is my life. It isn't perfect and some days I have to be intentional about discovering the hidden blessings in between all of the seemingly mundane moments. So here's my "my life isn't so perfect" spill for the week...

I've spent the past several months doing some soul searching. Our little girl will turn three-years-old this July. Friends and family and (oh, heck) even perfect strangers have begun to question, "When are you going to have another one?" Often when I am asked this question, I respond, "Never..." Then I stare blankly just to see what kind of a response I'll get. Sometimes I respond with, "I like my sleep too much." "I enjoy that I'm past the baby stage." "I would love to travel more, yadah, yadah, yadah..." All valid concerns,

but let's be honest... superficial none-the-less.

The real truth: I want to want another baby. I love the idea of filling up more bedrooms and of giving my little girl the baby brother she keeps asking for. I would love to add another toe headed child to our family photos. I want to want this more than anything.

What many on the outside don't realize is that bringing a new baby into our home would likely come at a cost. I don't just mean the normal "sleep deprived, money is tighter, I'm 20 lbs above my pre-pregnancy weight" cost. I'm saying that the first time around, postpartum depression nearly destroyed me. It took a huge toll on our marriage and it ruined many of my friendships. And the worst was that our baby girl didn't experience her momma like she deserved for over a year.

In hindsight, I can see that I was very lucky. My husband was a rock through my worst of worst days. And, although I would give anything to get the bonding time back with our daughter, she was so young that she was spared the gist of it . I lost friendships but I've repaired some of them and created new ones in the meantime.

I was and am beyond blessed.

I am stronger and I am wiser because of having been through PPD.

I have a compassion and appreciation for other moms that I couldn't have had.

I see my life through a new lens...one that is filled with grace, redemption and forgiveness.

However, even having come through and learned all of this- it doesn't mean that I ever want to face the demon of PPD again. When I look back at that time in our lives I relive a darkness that I never ever desire to meet again.

I've been so grateful for the women in my life who have stepped up and walked beside me as I've gone through this process of sorting out where we take our family next. Countless friends have said, "I'm not going anywhere and I'll walk with you if you have to face this again." It is these friends that have made me feel like having another baby someday just might be okay. And so, as one suggested, I've been lifting my family up in prayer. I've been asking for the desire to have another baby someday. Right now, I honestly don't have it. Right now, I'm overcome with fear and anxiety about how bringing another baby into this world would affect my little girl and my husband and of course me. This is where I am right now.

I write all of this for a few reasons.

The first reason: I know I am not the only other momma out there who has walked this road. I know I'm not the only other woman who has journeyed through PPD and then gone on to struggle with wanting (or not wanting) a bigger family. And yet, some days I do feel utterly alone. When I am at play group and the mom sitting across from me just had her first baby a year ago and is already pregnant with her second....yeah, I feel alone. When I hear of friends who were pregnant along with me three years ago, and are already two kids ahead of me and on to their third baby. Yes, I feel alone. So here I am saying it. For anyone out there who stumbles upon this blog and can identify with anything I have written... you aren't alone. I feel it too sister.

The second reason: I know there are those out there who look at me with judgement and can't fathom why I wouldn't want to bring a second baby into our home. Honestly, this is the most frustrating lecture to get from family, friends, fellow employees, little old lady at the grocery store...

You haven't walked in my shoes. You haven't held my hand along this journey. You look in from the outside and you don't have a clue. So please, refrain from judging me. Instead of believing that I could be making a mistake by not further procreating, please choose to look at the little family I have now as beautiful. And if this is all I ever have, this little family of 3 (and an outrageously furry cat), then I will love my life. And, I will always think my family is beautiful.

DIY Canvas Sign

2012-03-15T19:43:00.001-07:00

I'm sure a lot of people have refused to jump on the Pinterest band wagon simply because it is another social networking fad. And, although I was hesitant to join for that very reason, I'm so glad I decided to steer clear of the twitter sensation and becoming a Pinterest(er) instead. My husband, who is currently in grad school studying Psychology, told me recently that creating things is a sign of mental health. So, thanks Babe. Does this mean you won't mind if I clutter your office with stickers and glue guns and that dreaded sewing machine I'm still afraid to touch?

Since discovering Pinterest (follow me here) last fall, I've attempted a dozen or so new projects- in honor of Young House Love and the great Pinterest Challenge they put on each season. They encourage their readers to move on from "oohing and ahhhing" at projects and to actually "DO" them. Some of my DIY projects have been a great success while others have just been so/so. When we moved into our new house last month, I immediately knew I needed to create something that would cover the strange, empty, there-should-have-been-another-cabinet-there spot in our kitchen.

Pinterest has been booming with all sorts of "family rules" and DIY canvas signs. I've been eyeing them for months. At points I even researched several that I like on Etsy and my finger may have wavered over the purchase button once or twice. I just never could bring myself to pay the $60+ price tag that often comes with them.

So, I finally got brave enough to try one on my own. During a recent trip to Trader Joes, my cousin found this Virginia Woolf quote and I fell in love with it. Never mind the fact that in real life Virginia Woolf committed suicide by filling her dress pockets with rocks and jumping into a river. Clearly, she didn't get the food she was talking about when she quotes this.

Regardless, I'm a strong believer in feeding the people I love ridiculously delicious food. I'm usually only satisfied if they go away swooning. So, I set out to put this quote on canvas. My inspiration and instruction ideas came from Nothingbutbonfires and BrassyApple.

1. I started off by trying different stickers out on a piece of paper. I searched high and low and finally found the ones I wanted at Michaels. *Note, they were NOT in the normal sticker aisle.

I wanted to make sure that that it would work to peel them off and that the color wouldn't bleed through. The black sticker was too sticky and broke off as I tried to peel it. The red sticker peeled perfectly but left a little bit of paint that had bled through. I decided to take my chances and go with the red stickers and planned to paint over any color with white.

3. Next, I cut boxes around each letter so that I could display them on the canvas to get an idea of where they would each be placed.

4.When each of the letters were placed, I used a ruler to draw straight lines with a pencil so that there wouldn't be any slanting. I re-placed the stickers on to see how they would work with the new lines.

5.Once I was certain I had each of the letters/words where I wanted them, I began to peel and stick them on. It was much easier to see if the lines were crooked once the letters were peeled and stuck on. I enlisted the help of JB to help fix my lines. At this point, I was starting to see triple of every letter.

6. Once each of the letters was securely on the canvas, we moved on to the spray paint. The idea to spray paint inside of a box (also from Pinterest) was so that the paint wouldn't spray out onto the floor, walls, etc.

This is what happens when you arm me with toxic spray paint at late hours of the night.

7.The next morning I sprayed the sides and bottom of the canvas. That afternoon, I peeled the stickers off and we got this:

I'm absolutely thrilled with how it turned out. Below, is a side view of our canvas hanging. Please excuse my bombshell of a kitchen. I took this immediately after attempting my own version of "The Cupcake Wars".

I am pretty thrilled with how this canvas turned out. Although it was a time consuming project, it was well worth it. In total this project cost me $20 compared to the $60-$80 I would have paid to have someone else make one for me. It also feels great to have something hanging in our home that we put our own time and energy into to make "ours". Maybe I'll try my own family rules board next...

Changes!

2012-03-14T18:42:00.000-07:00

I can't believe we're already well into March. Time is flying and life is constantly changing. Or at least it has been. Our biggest life change this year is that-- we bought our first home! We are officially home owners. And this means, I'm going to remain a "Little Mountain Momma" for a good while longer.

And honestly, for the first time, I'm not feeling so city sick. I love cities and I miss our city more than I ever imagined I could. How can a place leave such a permanent stamp on your life and your heart? But, here I am, feeling pretty sentimental and reflecting on all of the journeys God has brought us to and through and I am ecstatic about this current one were on.

So, in short- here's our house story. We had been told by countless friends that house buying could be a nightmare. This past fall we began to pray about buying a home and we prayed that if this was in fact, the right time to buy, that God would make it very clear to us by opening and shutting necessary doors. So here's how it went-

January 21st- met with our realtor to visit home # 1. It was in a wonderful neighborhood but had been beaten up pretty badly inside by its previous owners.

January 24th- Visited house # 2- We fell in love. Beautiful home in an older neighborhood, 4 beds 2 baths. It was remodeled but maintained the older home charm which we wanted.

Here's where the oops on our part came in- We didn't anticipate falling in love with house # 2. Our lease on our current apartment wasn't up until June.

January 26th- We put in an offer on the home and prayed the sellers would agree to 90 days closing which would essentially have us closing right as our lease was ending.

January 27th- Sellers countered our offer and asked us to close February 22nd BUT offered to give us a check at closing for the remainder of our rental lease. We were floored. And we said yes! Who wouldn't?

January 28th- We accepted the offer and officially went under contract!

That gave us 3 weeks to have our inspection done, have the home appraised and our loan approved. Everything went off without a hitch and on February 22nd we were standing in front of our new home with the keys. And the best part, we're exactly 12 minutes from Downtown Denver!

December Photo Project 2011

2011-12-03T06:55:00.000-08:00

I'm back! I took an unintentional month or two hiatus from the blogging world. Since it's December (and life just gets a little sweeter in December), I'm joining fellow blogger Kellen Kurtz in her December Photo Challenge. The basic idea is that each day in December you capture the beauty of life through the lens of your camera. So here we go!

December 1st

One of the best and most satisfying parts of being a mother has been to watch the relationship between my husband and daughter develop. I cherish the relationship I have with my own dad and have loved to watch these two create memories and develop traditions of their own over the past 2 years. My husband captured this picture while playing in our December 1st snowstorm in the field behind our home. No doubt they were mid snow angel during this picture.

December 2nd

I am fascinated by the hands of the elderly. I love what hands represent. They are a story of hard work and life lived. These bony hands covered in pale, transluscent skin reveal blue veins and age spots. At first glance they are less than lovely. But if you really knew what these hands represent you would see something so very different. These hands have loved and lost two marriages. These hands have held and rocked four blood children and over 50 foster babies. These hands dried the tears of her own eyes as she painfully let each of those babies go. These hands have spent years with a needle and thread, quilting fabrics and prints. These hands have traced the words of God in her Bible since she was a young child. These hands have danced and loved and lived.

These hands I love. These hands are so beautiful.

2011-10-26T22:29:00.000-07:00

Mommas,

Here's a fun idea...

Halloween Candy

Fairy Dust

= The Candy Fairy

While working as a nanny in Chicago, I learned of the Candy Fairy. The Candy Fairy comes (much like the tooth fairy), the day after Halloween. After all of the candy is collected on Halloween night, Madelyn and Getty would take inventory of their candy and decide how much they would be willing to leave out for the Candy Fairy. How much they chose to leave out was up to them...but the more of their stash that they chose to leave, the more significant a treat the Candy Fairy would leave them that night. Mommas (and your significant others), this is a brilliant way to get the sugary candy out of your house, or into your own bellies--who am I to judge what you do with it? ;) More often than not, the kids would end up with a board game of some sort or a movie that the whole family could enjoy.

So this year, to make this tradition more of our own, I plan to sprinkle "fairy dust" around the house to help Mackenzie "find" where her gift has been delivered. Just something extra fun for the two of us to roam the house searching for. Hope some of you out there will love "Candy Fairy" tip as much as we do!

Living In The Moment

2011-10-26T21:43:00.000-07:00

Family life over the past several months (more like year & a half) has been a hectic mix of juggling year # 2 of grad school, two full time jobs, marathon training, church, small group...and oh yes, a little thing called "raising a toddler". This morning's snowfall was such a gift to wake up to. With all of the leaves still on our front yard trees, today everything was white and powdery and beautiful with just a hint of gold peeking out. I love mornings like this because they seem to always bring a sense of serenity and peace to an otherwise hectic world. I could have chosen to moan and groan over this premature winter storm but the smile on my little girl's face when she climbed out of bed this morning and ran to our balcony was enough to make my whole day.

An afternoon of playing in the snow!

Living in the moment. So thankful for making these memories with my little family.

'Tis The Season

2011-10-25T21:38:00.000-07:00

Pumpkin Buttercream Frosting Recipe

My grandma's handwritten recipes will always taste best to me.

Recipe

1 egg white

1/2 c. soft margarine

1/2 c. crisco

1 c. sugar

1/2 c. warm milk

1 t. vanilla

1/2 c. pumpkin

1 t. cinnamon

1/2 tsp. nutmeg

Beat egg white till light & foamy

Add margarine, shortening, sugar, milk & vanilla,

Beat for 8-10 minutes (until desired texture)

Add in pumpkin, cinnamon & nutmeg

Beat again until smooth

Enjoy! We served our's over a spice cake. It was heaven.