Happy birthday boys!! I cannot believe my boys are 3. I have 3 year olds! And to celebrate...they're sleeping in! Maybe it's because they haven't napped in ages, maybe it's a combination of day camp and swimming in the pool, but I'm feeling very productive on this birthday morning. Who knows, maybe this will be the new normal...haha, right.
I love Warren and Dean's birthday. I love it. There is so much to celebrate on this day. First, that they were able to have a birthday this late, that they didn't come in May or early June when we thought they would. And second, that they survived even born so early. We know all to well that this is not a given, that the odds were against us. And not just surviving, but thriving. They are going to camp together, learning so much and sharing it with each other. This year is a little sweeter, as they are so clearly best friends. They love each other and look out for each other and play (flight) together, which makes my heart so happy. Three years ago, I was being moved back from labor and delivery to my longer to room, only to go back to labor and deliver a few hours later. I still so vividly remember the way our doctor calmly stated "I'm going to take them now." The rush of fear and anxiety followed immediately by calm and peace. (And then reeeally calm as the mag drip set in). We knew God was in control, we knew God would be with us and these little bitty boys. We didn't know the outcome, knew better than most that there are no guarantees, but we knew that, no matter what, God was by our side.
We are so thankful to celebrate Warren and Dean's 3rd birthday today!!
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Friday, May 20, 2016
Failing
So days you just feel like a failure as a parent. Some days we wake up and have a great time playing, everyone is getting along, and there is only moderate levels of whining. Let's be real, with 2 toddlers, the best you can hope for is moderate whining, and I'm okay with that. And then, you have days like today. Where there is nearly constant whining. Where the whining hits a nerve and causes me to yell, which I hate. Where they run around like animals, banging on the walls, breaking things, hitting their sister, acting like some demon has taken over their little 2-year-old bodies. Where no amount of punishment or grace has any effect on them. I just don't get it. So, tonight I quit. They are running in their room, banging their blinds, hitting the walls, bound to wake up Hannah. I have gone in there and tucked them back in. Gone in and punished them. Gone in and explained why their actions are dangerous (blinds falling down) and irresponsible (wake up sister). Nothing matters. I can even sit in the room with them and they just don't care. There is no change in action.
Nothing makes you feel less in control that this whole experience with children - from trying to conceive, loss and pregnancy complications, and now parenting. I used to walk into work sure of what I was doing, knowing what was going on with someone's body and able to help heal them. That was the easy work. THIS, this day in and out feeling like a failure, of knowing my children are a bit more, shall we say, free-spirited than most, this is what gets to me. I worry that my boys aren't getting all they need, that they are falling more behind after losing all our therapies at once. Yet, we're finding it nearly impossible to get in with a pediatrician here in FL to start the referral process to get the therapy started again. And we've been told the waiting list for some of them could be months. Meanwhile, the boys are not interacting well with kids, throwing violent temper tantrums in public. And no amount of love or disciple makes a bit of difference. I know we are all sinners, but no one sees that more than the parent - child relationship. Not with college roommates, not with spouses, it's the kids that point out the sin in your life. And it's amazing to watch them lie or bite or deceive right in front of you. AUGH! I know this is a stage, a stage we prayed for for years. But it is a difficult stage, stretching me to my limits.
And just when I am about to lose my mind, I step funny and hurt my foot (biopsy this morning on the plantar surface of my foot, so I've been hobbling around all day). I sit down and cringe. Dean comes over to me and makes a pouty face/whiny noise. And says "It's okay Mommy. I'll take care of you." I wrap him up in a hug and, as he buries his face in my shoulder, he whispers "I just love you so much." :) God knows when we need these moments, for our sake and our kids. His Grace is sufficient, and I need to rest in that on these off days/weeks.
Potty training starts tomorrow, so that should be fun....more to come on that I'm sure!
Nothing makes you feel less in control that this whole experience with children - from trying to conceive, loss and pregnancy complications, and now parenting. I used to walk into work sure of what I was doing, knowing what was going on with someone's body and able to help heal them. That was the easy work. THIS, this day in and out feeling like a failure, of knowing my children are a bit more, shall we say, free-spirited than most, this is what gets to me. I worry that my boys aren't getting all they need, that they are falling more behind after losing all our therapies at once. Yet, we're finding it nearly impossible to get in with a pediatrician here in FL to start the referral process to get the therapy started again. And we've been told the waiting list for some of them could be months. Meanwhile, the boys are not interacting well with kids, throwing violent temper tantrums in public. And no amount of love or disciple makes a bit of difference. I know we are all sinners, but no one sees that more than the parent - child relationship. Not with college roommates, not with spouses, it's the kids that point out the sin in your life. And it's amazing to watch them lie or bite or deceive right in front of you. AUGH! I know this is a stage, a stage we prayed for for years. But it is a difficult stage, stretching me to my limits.
And just when I am about to lose my mind, I step funny and hurt my foot (biopsy this morning on the plantar surface of my foot, so I've been hobbling around all day). I sit down and cringe. Dean comes over to me and makes a pouty face/whiny noise. And says "It's okay Mommy. I'll take care of you." I wrap him up in a hug and, as he buries his face in my shoulder, he whispers "I just love you so much." :) God knows when we need these moments, for our sake and our kids. His Grace is sufficient, and I need to rest in that on these off days/weeks.
Potty training starts tomorrow, so that should be fun....more to come on that I'm sure!
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Two
Two. Two is a difficult age. Well, 2 almost 3 is anyway. I don't remember right at 2 being so awful. Having 1 2-year-old is enough to make a mama go crazy. Having 2 "spirited" aka defiant and strong-willed 2-year-olds is, well, SO HARD. I've endured many years of "hard" in my life. I've had times filled with sad-hard, with lonely-hard, with grief-hard. These days are full, full of life and that spirit, but still so very difficult. It's the reason the phase "terrible twos" exists. And I don't get much encouragement from other moms who have these strong-willed children that it will improve any time soon.
It's amazing, how up and down our days are. One minute we are happily playing trucks, zooming along our makeshift pinterest-fail worthy road, when we suddenly decide we cannot live without an excavator. Only...there's not one in my direct line of sight. So, I must scream and throw things. And then fall down, the more violent the better, slamming my head on the floor. And THEN, I get to cry legitimate tears because my head is throbbing and/or bleeding. And then the crying gets worse because my tears and/or blood have dampened my shirt and now I need a new one. Mommy kindly explains that I need to use my big boy words and ask for the truck I want, but that requires so much more effort than flinging myself around the room while screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors two doors down.
And then, 3 minutes later, I get this running hug, this explosion of love so innocent and so sincere. With the words "I love you so much, Mommy." And my heart just melts, and I completely forget all about the hecticness (is that a word??) of moments prior. Nothing makes it better than a child telling you they want to play with you, or be like you, or that they love you. Those moments don't seem nearly as often as the others, but oh man, they sure do stick.
Here's the thing I've realized. I need help. I cannot raise all 3 of these kiddos so close in age and give them each what they need. I feel Warren slipping behind in his comprehension without therapy, and I know I need to get him into the routine again...but I cannot with Dean answering all the questions or Hannah crying in the other room. And Dean needs so much emotional support to make that timid heart feel comfortable and loved. And Hannah...well, she's still so little. She gets fed regularly, but otherwise seems to live in the carrier. She's content to play with a single wooden block for an hour or more, and is often left to fend for herself. Seems just so wrong. How do moms of 4, 5, or more kids juggle it all? How do we give enough of ourselves so that each kid gets what they need?? The truth is, we can't. The right answer is, God can. God uses me, despite my brokenness, my mistakes, and even my short temper. He loves my boys when I cannot handle another minute. He can give me the strength to endure days like today if I have the faith. And if I remember to ask. But, besides that, I really need help. And somehow, that makes me feel guilty. This is my job, day in and out, and I cannot do it. As a successful professional, that is hard to stomach. Asking for help feels like a failure. And yet, I've come to a realization that without it, without a break, I will not cherish these precious moments. So, the search for what our family needs, how I can balance the boys and Hannah and the demands of keeping a home, begins now.
It's amazing, how up and down our days are. One minute we are happily playing trucks, zooming along our makeshift pinterest-fail worthy road, when we suddenly decide we cannot live without an excavator. Only...there's not one in my direct line of sight. So, I must scream and throw things. And then fall down, the more violent the better, slamming my head on the floor. And THEN, I get to cry legitimate tears because my head is throbbing and/or bleeding. And then the crying gets worse because my tears and/or blood have dampened my shirt and now I need a new one. Mommy kindly explains that I need to use my big boy words and ask for the truck I want, but that requires so much more effort than flinging myself around the room while screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors two doors down.
And then, 3 minutes later, I get this running hug, this explosion of love so innocent and so sincere. With the words "I love you so much, Mommy." And my heart just melts, and I completely forget all about the hecticness (is that a word??) of moments prior. Nothing makes it better than a child telling you they want to play with you, or be like you, or that they love you. Those moments don't seem nearly as often as the others, but oh man, they sure do stick.
Here's the thing I've realized. I need help. I cannot raise all 3 of these kiddos so close in age and give them each what they need. I feel Warren slipping behind in his comprehension without therapy, and I know I need to get him into the routine again...but I cannot with Dean answering all the questions or Hannah crying in the other room. And Dean needs so much emotional support to make that timid heart feel comfortable and loved. And Hannah...well, she's still so little. She gets fed regularly, but otherwise seems to live in the carrier. She's content to play with a single wooden block for an hour or more, and is often left to fend for herself. Seems just so wrong. How do moms of 4, 5, or more kids juggle it all? How do we give enough of ourselves so that each kid gets what they need?? The truth is, we can't. The right answer is, God can. God uses me, despite my brokenness, my mistakes, and even my short temper. He loves my boys when I cannot handle another minute. He can give me the strength to endure days like today if I have the faith. And if I remember to ask. But, besides that, I really need help. And somehow, that makes me feel guilty. This is my job, day in and out, and I cannot do it. As a successful professional, that is hard to stomach. Asking for help feels like a failure. And yet, I've come to a realization that without it, without a break, I will not cherish these precious moments. So, the search for what our family needs, how I can balance the boys and Hannah and the demands of keeping a home, begins now.
Monday, May 9, 2016
Dirt
Dirt. What is it
about 2 year old boys and dirt? It makes them so incredibly carefree and
happy. I can pinterest plan an
assortment of themed activities and crafts, plan out how we will make cookies
and wash the dishes together (aka play in some soapy water), make lion makes by
tearing strips of paper and gluing it onto a plate while watching scenes from the
Lion King, paint a cardboard box and turn it into a race car, build a town by
drawing a street and buildings on a large box and then building houses and cars
out of our legos, etc. So much effort
turned into endless temper tantrums, fighting over who gets what, throwing
toys, and about 3 minutes of fun. But
dirt… Dirt requires no effort. I am
sitting here outside in the morning sun, Hannah is sleeping peacefully for her
nap, and Warren and Dean are playing in a pile of dirt left from the
construction on the pool. Dirt is
carried in cups from the pile to the water table, from water table to bucket, bucket
to box, and then back to the pile.
Sometimes it’s dirt, sometimes it’s pancake mix, sometimes it’s
strawberry cake, and on special days it’s pizza. It’s been almost an hour and there has been
one temper tantrum. ONE. That is just incredible. They play well with minimal temper tantrums
when they’re on their own, but put these 2 boys together – whether they play
the same thing or not – and there is almost always someone screaming. But not when there is dirt. Picture it…I’m sitting and typing this WHILE
THEY ARE AWAKE! Or at least in their
room “napping” not napping.
I was so disappointed our pool progress has become about a
month delayed. BUT, it’s giving me these
relaxing dirt mornings, before the Florida heat gets too hot. I get to watch their imaginations develop as
they turn a pile of dirt into so many different things. I get to watch them play together, laugh and
smile, and help each other out. All
without me having to lecture, threaten, or bribe them. What a beautiful morning!
Monday, May 2, 2016
Mother's Day 2016
Mother's Day is rapidly approaching. We're spending time making an assortment of handprint/footprint art for that special day. There is nothing I like more than something with my kids prints on them. I love looking back at the handprint platter from the boys 1st Mother's Day, knowing their huge hands now would never fit on such a small surface. I have a whole collection I cherish. And yet, it is so painful to see. It's so hard, because not all my children are included in the way I would want. My children, all 4 of them, are not accurately counted. And that will always make this week difficult.
I'm so incredibly blessed to have Reagan's footprints. I know not everyone who experiences stillbirth gets those, especially children who passed in the years before Reagan. I stamp each of my living children's hands or feet, get these blurry images that I love so much, messy just like real life, getting a glimpse into the crazy of life. And then, when the kids are all tucked into bed, I pull out Reagan's box, handcrafted and painted by my parents. I sift through her cards, letters, special clothes, until I find her footprints. And then I have to make a photocopy. And then cut those out, or trace over them, or do something to try to transfer them to the art project of the moment. I am so so thankful I can always include her in our art, that her footprints are right there with her younger brothers and sister. But it's so heartbreaking. Those feet never change. They remain so, so tiny. They actually seem to get smaller as everyone else grows bigger. I HATE that I don't get to see them grow. I HATE that life seems to be passing her by. I HATE that I don't get to see my first baby girl grow up, that I miss those bouncing curls and ballerina feet. I love that Hannah gets to wear her clothes and use her toys and blankets, but it some days it makes me miss those moments with Reagan even more. As everyone comments on how beautiful Hannah is, I remember vividly how beautiful Reagan was. And how no one else got to experience that, no one else besides us got to see her. Oh, how I long for the day when I can introduce her to our families!
It's been many years since I walked the road of infertility. And many in our new town would never know the pain this holiday brings for us, as I am so much surrounded with living life as a mother. Mother's day - the day I dreaded for so long. I still, years later, am just filled with anxiety about the day. I feel for my friends who are waiting for their babies. I feel for my friends who have lost babies, long ago forgotten by the world, who are waiting for their families to be complete. This Mother's Day, take a moment to pray for the wife sitting quietly without kids running by, the mother who has experience miscarriage, the mother who doesn't have all her children at home with her. This is one of the hardest of days. And yet, one of the most beautiful. Reagan made me a Mommy. She was my first, will always be my first. SHE is the reason I was able to celebrate this day before I had little feet running through the house. And for that, no matter how painful, I am eternally grateful.
I'm so incredibly blessed to have Reagan's footprints. I know not everyone who experiences stillbirth gets those, especially children who passed in the years before Reagan. I stamp each of my living children's hands or feet, get these blurry images that I love so much, messy just like real life, getting a glimpse into the crazy of life. And then, when the kids are all tucked into bed, I pull out Reagan's box, handcrafted and painted by my parents. I sift through her cards, letters, special clothes, until I find her footprints. And then I have to make a photocopy. And then cut those out, or trace over them, or do something to try to transfer them to the art project of the moment. I am so so thankful I can always include her in our art, that her footprints are right there with her younger brothers and sister. But it's so heartbreaking. Those feet never change. They remain so, so tiny. They actually seem to get smaller as everyone else grows bigger. I HATE that I don't get to see them grow. I HATE that life seems to be passing her by. I HATE that I don't get to see my first baby girl grow up, that I miss those bouncing curls and ballerina feet. I love that Hannah gets to wear her clothes and use her toys and blankets, but it some days it makes me miss those moments with Reagan even more. As everyone comments on how beautiful Hannah is, I remember vividly how beautiful Reagan was. And how no one else got to experience that, no one else besides us got to see her. Oh, how I long for the day when I can introduce her to our families!
It's been many years since I walked the road of infertility. And many in our new town would never know the pain this holiday brings for us, as I am so much surrounded with living life as a mother. Mother's day - the day I dreaded for so long. I still, years later, am just filled with anxiety about the day. I feel for my friends who are waiting for their babies. I feel for my friends who have lost babies, long ago forgotten by the world, who are waiting for their families to be complete. This Mother's Day, take a moment to pray for the wife sitting quietly without kids running by, the mother who has experience miscarriage, the mother who doesn't have all her children at home with her. This is one of the hardest of days. And yet, one of the most beautiful. Reagan made me a Mommy. She was my first, will always be my first. SHE is the reason I was able to celebrate this day before I had little feet running through the house. And for that, no matter how painful, I am eternally grateful.
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
Arrived
I haven't felt as though I have much to blog these days. No new insight, nothing profound. Days are spent trying to entertain kids who just desperately want to play outside in the dirt but cannot since our backyard is currently under construction. Nights are spent trying to unpack and fix the numerous little things wrong with this house. We are so not "fix it up" kind of people. This may be the only used house we purchase. Wow, how self-righteous that sounds. But seriously, everything is just a little off. Faucets all leak, washer leaks, fridge breaks, garbage disposal breaks, dishwasher tips over if you open the drawer all the way, outlets don't work, wall switches are connected to nothing and yet some lights we can't figure out how to turn on... Nothing major, just adds up to be a myriad of little things that all need to be fixed so I don't have to blow dry my hair in the toilet room (not even sure WHY there is an outlet in that little room, but it's the only working one in the bathroom at the moment. Don't worry, it's located right next to the phone jack... Not so sure about the previous owners...)
The drive to FL was hard. It was hard to leave behind the Carolinas. I know we'll be back to visit, but we just have so much history there, so much life was lived there. I actually got a call from my awesome maternal fetal specialist doc when he found out we had moved. Who does that?? Who has such amazing doctors that they call just to say bye. I doubt I can find that again. Anway, we spent a few days in Clemson at the spring game and lake before making the trip to FL. One last visit with my sis, one last trip to watch the Tigers play, before it just becomes more difficult. I felt homesick. Oh no, wait, not homesick. Stomach sick. Yep, that 8 hour drive from Clemson turned into 12 as I caught a stomach bug. A bug that seemed to persist forever. Let me just say I am thankful we moved to the town where my inlaws live so that they could spend that week caring for the boys while Andrew handled the move and I hid upstairs. Ugh...
I am anxious to get out of the house, to get out and about, but it's disappointing to learn most things seem to be ending for the summer. It's a bit overwhelming to think of entertaining the kids without structured events when it's too hot to just go out to the park. I didn't realize just how much I depended on those therapy hours, just that little bit of structure, to help us through our day. And naps...oh, how I miss the naps. Without those, it's 13 hours of non stop kiddos. Every. Single. Day. Whew! Just a stage, I keep reminding myself. This is just a stage...
The drive to FL was hard. It was hard to leave behind the Carolinas. I know we'll be back to visit, but we just have so much history there, so much life was lived there. I actually got a call from my awesome maternal fetal specialist doc when he found out we had moved. Who does that?? Who has such amazing doctors that they call just to say bye. I doubt I can find that again. Anway, we spent a few days in Clemson at the spring game and lake before making the trip to FL. One last visit with my sis, one last trip to watch the Tigers play, before it just becomes more difficult. I felt homesick. Oh no, wait, not homesick. Stomach sick. Yep, that 8 hour drive from Clemson turned into 12 as I caught a stomach bug. A bug that seemed to persist forever. Let me just say I am thankful we moved to the town where my inlaws live so that they could spend that week caring for the boys while Andrew handled the move and I hid upstairs. Ugh...
I am anxious to get out of the house, to get out and about, but it's disappointing to learn most things seem to be ending for the summer. It's a bit overwhelming to think of entertaining the kids without structured events when it's too hot to just go out to the park. I didn't realize just how much I depended on those therapy hours, just that little bit of structure, to help us through our day. And naps...oh, how I miss the naps. Without those, it's 13 hours of non stop kiddos. Every. Single. Day. Whew! Just a stage, I keep reminding myself. This is just a stage...
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
Full
The house is being packed up. I am sitting surrounded by boxes, bare walls, empty counter tops. I am overwhelmingly sad and nostalgic as I think back over these last 6.5 years. So much life has happened in these walls, so many struggles, so much heartache, so much joy. We have experienced laughter and tears, highs and lows, crushing despair and immeasurable joy. We learned the fullness of Christ and His promises and faithfulness. There will never be another first home.
Saying goodbye is just as hard as I expected. As I sit here late at night with quiet for the first time in what seems like weeks, and I able to reflect and look back on this time together. Our marriage grew so much in this home, outside the bubble of easy life and careless days. We have faced so much together, and God has carried us through. This little area of land became my full time home while on bed rest all those months, became my home and place of work when the boys came home 2.5 years ago. With 2 years of isolation, I have spent more time inside these 4 walls than anywhere else in the world. And for those years, these walls WERE my whole world. I am going to desperately miss it. **Trying not to cry....trying and failing miserably...
These past few weeks have felt like a whirlwind. We've had showing after showing, planned last trips and things I wanted to do "just one more time." The schedule has been full. And for the most part, it has been wonderful. The boys have loved all the trips to the parks and museums, play dates, and time with their friends. This week started with a trip up to Blowing Rock, my happy place. The mountains will forever be my place with Reagan - my last trip before complications started with her pregnancy, our last fun trip away, our little babymoon. And every time I go, I just feel such a sense of peace, of knowing that God is with me. This time, it was in the stillness of the pond and the little purple wildflowers growing along the path. Leaving the close proximity to the mountains, to Blowing Rock in particular, is one of the huge drawbacks to moving. I just love it there. Our car ride home, though, was filled with the sounds of our living children. Of endless (literally, endless...) crying from one child, constant whining and complaining from another, and some seriously sound sleeping and snoring from another. The car ride was anything but peaceful, and by the end I felt that all too familiar throb in my head and a little twitch in my eye. Andrew was on a conference call and he was equally as frustrated with the sheer volume of our car. And yet, I was filled with peace (which could ONLY have come from Christ, as I would normally have wanted to rip out my hair). Peace and love for my children, appreciation that Dean was able to whine using so many words when we doubted if he would ever speak. Appreciation that Hannah had no lung weakness as she put that to the test and confirmed that she is strong enough to scream for 2+ hours. And appreciation that Warren sleeps like the Savant men, that despite the chaos around him he was able to find rest, waking only once to calmly state "Hannah's crying" before drifting off again.
I came home and I wanted to hug my children, I wanted to cling to them and never let go. I was so grateful for each of them. Being in my Reagan place always puts things in perspective. Having those moments to feel close to our oldest daughter, remembering where she is and what she is doing, and remembering WHY she is able to live out eternity in heaven is so wonderful. This Easter season, recognizing the sacrifice of giving up ones only child, just leaves me in awe and wonder. My love is flawed and selfish at best, and yet I would still do anything to have Reagan with me. I cannot fathom choosing to be separated from her, and then choosing to put my judgement on her. I can't even imagine how painful that would be. And I am so thankful that because God chose that, because Jesus was obedient, I get to spend eternity with my daughter. I love springtime and the reminder that comes with that. And so, driving home, my heart was full. I was emotionally and physically exhausted, but completely and utterly filled.
Oh, and Hannah turned 5 months! Poor child... We got some good pictures before the craziness started. And she is still such a sweet little girl, and easy going for the most part. We really ask a lot of her, to wake her from naps after only 20 minutes sometimes for showings, to expect her to sleep in a car/carrier/my arms/the store/etc as the world still revolves around these crazy boys. But she seems to handle it all in stride. She now rolls all over the place and won't stay on her back for more than a few seconds if there is no one interesting to look at. She likes her feet, her thumb, and any number of rattles/plush toys. This child is not picky when it comes to her toys. She'll take a lego if that's all I've got for her. And we are working on sitting, though she tends to just fold right in half and rest with her head on her toes. Aww, to be that flexible...
Saying goodbye is just as hard as I expected. As I sit here late at night with quiet for the first time in what seems like weeks, and I able to reflect and look back on this time together. Our marriage grew so much in this home, outside the bubble of easy life and careless days. We have faced so much together, and God has carried us through. This little area of land became my full time home while on bed rest all those months, became my home and place of work when the boys came home 2.5 years ago. With 2 years of isolation, I have spent more time inside these 4 walls than anywhere else in the world. And for those years, these walls WERE my whole world. I am going to desperately miss it. **Trying not to cry....trying and failing miserably...
These past few weeks have felt like a whirlwind. We've had showing after showing, planned last trips and things I wanted to do "just one more time." The schedule has been full. And for the most part, it has been wonderful. The boys have loved all the trips to the parks and museums, play dates, and time with their friends. This week started with a trip up to Blowing Rock, my happy place. The mountains will forever be my place with Reagan - my last trip before complications started with her pregnancy, our last fun trip away, our little babymoon. And every time I go, I just feel such a sense of peace, of knowing that God is with me. This time, it was in the stillness of the pond and the little purple wildflowers growing along the path. Leaving the close proximity to the mountains, to Blowing Rock in particular, is one of the huge drawbacks to moving. I just love it there. Our car ride home, though, was filled with the sounds of our living children. Of endless (literally, endless...) crying from one child, constant whining and complaining from another, and some seriously sound sleeping and snoring from another. The car ride was anything but peaceful, and by the end I felt that all too familiar throb in my head and a little twitch in my eye. Andrew was on a conference call and he was equally as frustrated with the sheer volume of our car. And yet, I was filled with peace (which could ONLY have come from Christ, as I would normally have wanted to rip out my hair). Peace and love for my children, appreciation that Dean was able to whine using so many words when we doubted if he would ever speak. Appreciation that Hannah had no lung weakness as she put that to the test and confirmed that she is strong enough to scream for 2+ hours. And appreciation that Warren sleeps like the Savant men, that despite the chaos around him he was able to find rest, waking only once to calmly state "Hannah's crying" before drifting off again.
I came home and I wanted to hug my children, I wanted to cling to them and never let go. I was so grateful for each of them. Being in my Reagan place always puts things in perspective. Having those moments to feel close to our oldest daughter, remembering where she is and what she is doing, and remembering WHY she is able to live out eternity in heaven is so wonderful. This Easter season, recognizing the sacrifice of giving up ones only child, just leaves me in awe and wonder. My love is flawed and selfish at best, and yet I would still do anything to have Reagan with me. I cannot fathom choosing to be separated from her, and then choosing to put my judgement on her. I can't even imagine how painful that would be. And I am so thankful that because God chose that, because Jesus was obedient, I get to spend eternity with my daughter. I love springtime and the reminder that comes with that. And so, driving home, my heart was full. I was emotionally and physically exhausted, but completely and utterly filled.
Oh, and Hannah turned 5 months! Poor child... We got some good pictures before the craziness started. And she is still such a sweet little girl, and easy going for the most part. We really ask a lot of her, to wake her from naps after only 20 minutes sometimes for showings, to expect her to sleep in a car/carrier/my arms/the store/etc as the world still revolves around these crazy boys. But she seems to handle it all in stride. She now rolls all over the place and won't stay on her back for more than a few seconds if there is no one interesting to look at. She likes her feet, her thumb, and any number of rattles/plush toys. This child is not picky when it comes to her toys. She'll take a lego if that's all I've got for her. And we are working on sitting, though she tends to just fold right in half and rest with her head on her toes. Aww, to be that flexible...
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