Live and Love Without Words
We have the privilege of celebrating another birthday with our Wonder Woman, who has just turned four. Four more celebrations than she was ever supposed to have, according to a misinformed medical community. I am at a loss for words, which is inconvenient for me since this blog is specifically for writing. But when I think about how far she’s come, it doesn’t feel like the right words exist to describe her journey, her strength, or how she’s changed us, and that’s fitting since she lives and loves all without words. As a writer by trade, it’s odd for me to experience something so ineffable. I always search for the…
Name Calling is not Kind
“You’re a yucky baby!”“You’re a poopy head!” My boys taunt each other. I can tell that this started silly by their tone, but it’s about to snowball, and these joking gibes will cause hurt feelings. It has the potential to escalate to words like ‘idiot’ and ‘stupid,’ words that will undoubtedly get them in trouble. This is why, joking or not, we do not allow name-calling in our house. “Excuse me,” I cut in, “That’s not okay. What do we use our words for?”“Kindness and truth,” they respond in unison, though the younger one pronounces it, “twooth.”“That’s right. If it’s not true and if it’s not kind, then you don’t…
Cultivating Spring
Spring is here. We’re finally getting those first days of 70-degree weather, and the sun is shining her brilliance across blue skies. The brown, dry, brittle colors of winter are giving way to the vibrancy of new buds and blossoms. Beauty springs forth as new life breaks through. New beginnings emerge with the rebirth of plants that looked dead. The tips of barren trees become round and form tiny buds full of potential. Blossoms breakthrough and green reclaims its ground. Despite my appreciation of nature, I’ve never been one to cultivate it. Instead, I watch with excitement as spring tiptoes in, quietly restoring beauty to a barren landscape, and hope…
A Father’s Love
I slid my feet into a pair of flats, preparing to leave the house. I checked my pockets for my cellphone and then leaned down to kiss my six-year-old snuggled and cozy in my bed under our fluffy blanket. Instead of saying goodbye, he looked up at me and asked, “Mommy, does Daddy love me more or does God?” I was caught off guard and paused, my body mid lean and my face next to his. My brain flashed through memories of how much his father loves him. I thought of two nights earlier when this little boy had broken his collar bone. How John heard the cry and immediately…
Coffee is Love
I awake to the sound of a mandolin, rhythmically strumming its intro to an upbeat song. My eyes open the tiniest bit, and my hand reaches out toward my nightstand, fumbling for my phone. It’s 6:25am, time to rise and shine. There is a mental struggle in my mind as I tell myself to get up. Well, not exactly a struggle. I tell myself to get up, and myself tells me no. I find my phone with one eye shut and snooze the alarm, or maybe turn it off, who cares. I’m not ready for this. Nine minutes later, the song plays again, trying to coax me awake with its…
- Adoption, Depression, Faith, Family, Grief, Hydranencephaly, Life, Love, patience, Special Needs, Special Needs Parenting, Unexpected
National Adoption Month
November is National Adoption Month. It’s also the month that Wonder Woman was born, and marks the day we heard those life changing words over the phone, “She is yours.” My cell reception was awful that night and the audio cut in and out as I paced across blue kitchen tile and said her name over and over to our social worker, hoping she would accurately hear it. This name was treasured by us and had been held in my heart for years as I waited for a baby girl. The most important thing—the only thing—I could do for our little girl right then was give her her name. Despite…
4, 6, 8, 13, 16, 32
I can remember myself as an 18 year old walking down the aisle, orange roses in hand, scorched by the Texas sun but focused only on the handsome man waiting for me. I was a fledgling baby adult, thinking I was grown- the hallmark of those who aren’t yet. I was marrying my best friend, he was joining the military, life was going to be perfect. We were going to have the white picket fence with 2 kids and 2 dogs. Our life would be a picture of stability, comfort, and well behaved children. My short sightedness makes me chuckle. I’ve always been a daydreamer, prone to idealism. I couldn’t…
Good Friday
We threw our worst at you. Our pride, our envy our jealousy, our hatred. We took sins of the heart, turned them into action. Slapped, beaten humiliated, crucified. We did our best our worst. You didn’t fight back. You took it all. The sin of that moment, the sin of your people, The sin of people to come. My sin. My pride, my envy my jealousy, my hatred. You died. Our best (and our worst) is paltry. You were not defeated. You are victorious. Risen. Worthy.
A Letter to My First Born
Happy birthday to my first born. You made me a mommy, and six years ago I was privileged to meet you. When you took your first breaths your tiny arms flailed against the cold air; first sensations in this big world are overwhelming. I brought you to my chest, snuggled your soft skin to mine, and you settled into me. My world changed in that moment, and together we began our journey as mother and son. I marveled at the way that your tiny body had grown from a poppy seed to the perfect baby I held in my arms. Watching TV while you slept on my chest, I breathed…
In Sickness & In Help
I’ve reached two weeks of being stuck at home with kids who are simultaneously too sick to be in public but too well to be cooped up— especially when the Motrtin takes effect. I get the privilege of holding my oldest as he cries thanks to a nice broom whack to the forehead. I should applaud my sons’ creativity. The lone dirty diaper that hadn’t found the trash can was turned into a ball and the broom was functioning as a bat. It only took one swing for my sons to realize it was a bad idea. Should have choked up on the bat. Or, you know, not attempted to…
