The Waiting Game...

We spend a lot of our lives waiting. Waiting in line at the supermarket, waiting in traffic, waiting for retirement, etc. While waiting is often a negative notion in my mind, tonight's wait is wonderful.

Tonight we wait for Harper Grace.

Her arrival into the world has come as quite a surprise to us all. In fact, we all assumed this "waiting game" would start eight weeks from now. But no, as any princess would...she has her own timing. After a sudden bout with preeclampsia, Beth and Blake learned this morning that sweet Harper needed to come soon. She needed to come today. So here we are....praying that the past 32 weeks of growth are enough. Enough time for Harper to breathe on her own, enough for her to regulate her body temperature, and enough to prepare her sweet life for early entrance into the world.

There are a number of things left incomplete. And for those of you who know my sister, this is a major concern. Harper's room isn't perfect yet. Her walls do not display the artwork Beth and Blake envisioned. Her rose-printed nightgowns are not yet clean. And her little diaper bag is not yet packed.

But our hearts are ready. And that is enough.

Beth and Blake are already wonderful parents. Sweet Beth has spent the past week laying flat...obeying her doctor's orders to keep their baby girl in the womb as long as possible. Blake hasn't left Beth's side and I am pretty certain he hasn't slept in a week either. They are worried. They are tired. And already, they are in love with their girl. And as any mother would, Beth is preparing Harper's world as best as she can for when Harper arrives.

Early ultrasounds have shown hair on Harper's sweet head. So Harper's tiny hats and bows are here at the hospital: waiting for the little darling these hats were created for. Beth called me a few days ago and wanted to make sure Harper's NICU bed would be ready for her princess. She asked me to make some signs for baby girl's bed. The signs are waiting to warm the temporary home of baby Harper. Like a mama bird, Beth is preparing her Early Bird's nest.

It's eight hours into labor and the doctor assures us we have a long haul ahead of us. So we wait patiently. Because good things come to those who are patient.

And a new baby girl? Well, that's about as good as it gets.

What do I know?

The past few months have been some of the toughest months of our lives, and while I have been hesitant to acknowledge any of it through avenues such as blogging and Facebook, I feel pulled to share. So sharing is what I am going to do. I usually try to keep my posts light-hearted and my hope is that those reading my posts will be blessed in some way; usually through some laughter or an otherwise overlooked chance to appreciate where you are in life. I am also amazed at how my blogging has sort of evolved into a family journal I can share with our children someday. My hope is that this post will share some truth with the blogging world…or simply those who stumble across my blog.  :)


Deep Breath. My heart has been broken…twice. Jimmy and I have been so eager to grow our sweet family and as things often go, it has not been in our timing.

In May Jimmy and I learned we were expecting. We were elated. We promptly ordered Pearce the dearest, coolest, “Big Brother” shirts and paraded him around friends and family to announce our news. I started planning Pearce’s ‘big boy’ room and how we would welcome this new life into our family. I fixed my eyes on the due date of January 25th. I celebrated the fact that morning sickness was not nearly as bad as it was with Pearce, and counted down the weeks until we got to see the wonderful heartbeat of our baby.

At nine weeks things did not go as planned. Following some mild spotting, my doctor ordered an ultrasound to ease my mind. I will never forget the way my stomach dropped when the tech turned the ultrasound screen away from Jimmy and I. Right there, I knew… But I hoped. Hours later we learned that our celebrated addition was not what we thought. Our pregnancy had actually ended weeks before, with an empty sac and a genetically faulty pregnancy. I felt foolish. Did I share with others too soon? Was it something I did? Was my praise for the milder morning sickness just a farce? And the hardest question of all: How do I mourn the loss of something I never actually had?

The weeks that followed were raw. I remember crying on my closet floor because I simply wanted to be alone, and I needed the world around me to stand still. I was desperate to close my eyes, plug my ears and stomp my feet as the world around me kept moving. I was still standing in the ultrasound room, but everyone else had moved on. But with darkness, comes morning. And with the morning, comes mercy. Scripture tells us that “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” Lamentations 3:22-23. I have no idea how we got through the emotional rollercoaster that followed the loss of our baby, coupled by an insane plummet in hormones. I seriously thought I had lost my mind.

About 6 weeks later we learned that we were expecting another little one…due April 28th. We were thrilled, but cautious. We told a small group of friends and asked for prayer. Prayer for peace, a healthy pregnancy, and for continued healing. My heart was guarded but my mind was so hopeful. I actually remember verbalizing the relief I felt to Jimmy, as surely a miscarriage wouldn’t happen twice. I had already proved my ability to carry one healthy pregnancy…sweet Pearce. But after a series of frustrating doctor’s calls, frequent blood work, and about 5 ultrasounds my doctor told us what we were dreading: this too, was not viable. My pregnancy was diagnosed as ectopic, and treatment was needed. I was given two injections of a chemotherapy drug called methotrexate: the purpose was to burn out the pregnancy and treat rapidly developing cells. I cried. I was distraught with the concept that I was ending a pregnancy … because dangerous or not, this was a child we wanted. My doctor assured me that this was not an option but necessary, as ectopic pregnancies are life threatening and cannot be carried to term. I still cried.


In the aftermath of this season I find myself asking lots of questions. I have been angry because, dang it, life just hasn’t been fair to us. I want to know why God would allow this to happen…why He didn’t miraculously heal these two little lives….why I even got pregnant in the first place….and most of all, why us?

 It amazes me how quickly our grateful hearts can turn bitter. The same God who so graciously orchestrated the blessing of our precious Pearce hasn’t changed…but my perspective has. I am no longer patient, I am planning. I am not waiting, I am worrying. I am no longer trusting, I am throwing tantrums. My hands are no longer open and ready to accept God’s sovereignty, they are accusing as I point my finger at our God and place blame on the blameless. I hurt deeply and want so badly to taste the bitterness that suffering brings.


I began to question my faith. Is Jesus who He says He is? What sort of Father would let his children suffer? If God really is in control…why hasn’t He healed me? What kind of God demands such glory that He allows us to suffer so that He can be glorified? I even spent forty five minutes one day researching how dinosaurs fit in the Bible, thinking that would provide some proof I needed to see. (FYI…there is lots on the subject) But the truth is…who am I to ask such questions? Who am I to challenge the Creator of the universe? I have grappled with this for weeks. But you know what? I believe the Lord welcomes doubt as it is just another way He can be glorified.

And there is a silver lining: I am growing. In all honestly, I am doing all I can to prevent spiritual growth during this time. I want to stay angry. I want to feel sorry for myself. And I want to blame someone for the unjustness we have felt. But dang it; no matter how hard I push, I am still being held. And as He often does, The Lord really convicted my heart this morning.


I have always loved this song, but today the lyrics spoke to me on a different level. I cannot help but feel this song was written just so I could hear it on this day as I drove to work in my cozy town of Tulsa, Oklahoma.



What Do I Know of Holy?

I made You promises a thousand times

I tried to hear from Heaven

But I talked the whole time

I think I made You too small

I never feared You at all

If You touched my face would I know You?

Looked into my eyes could I behold You?



What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?



I guess I thought that I had figured You out

I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about

How You were mighty to save

Those were only empty words on a page

Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be

The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees



What do I know of You

Who spoke me into motion?

Where have I even stood

But the shore along Your ocean?

Are You fire? Are You fury?

Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?

What do I know? What do I know of Holy?


The truth is: I know nothing. Just like the author of this song, I ask so many questions. And rather than listen to the Lord, in my arrogance, I feel the need to explain my point of view.


As if I know better.


I know nothing of the God who created life and I know nothing of the One who has numbered our days.


But I try.


And in my weak, half- hearted attempts to find the answers I am seeking: I truly believe the Lord meets me here. He holds us in the midst of our disbelief and doubt. He loves us in spite of our unlovable hearts. And in time, His graciousness is revealed as we get to live His perfect plan for our lives… A plan that began with creation, was tainted by sin, but was restored to wholeness by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

So I am waiting here as I slowly transform my accusing, pointed finger into open palms, ready to accept the Lord’s sovereignty.

To be TWO...

As of last week, I am the mother of a two year old.

 Is it possible for two years to flash forward in the span of just months? Where did the time go? Last week I watched Back to the Future and couldn't help but feel a bit like Marty … life as I know it has changed, yet I cannot figure out how.

 With every big change in our lives, we have a solid start and end point. Our new marriage was marked by the joy of living under the same roof and in the same town. My new job afforded a new office, and a great car. Our new home resulted in a new neighborhood, a fresh location, and some new furniture. But our baby boy dropping the ‘baby’ and becoming a boy? No matter how I try… I cannot pinpoint the start and end points of this transition. Slowly, gradually, it simply happened.

Maybe I have been in denial. Maybe I have been plugging my ears and ignoring my mother’s warning that time flies. Maybe I slept through the past two years. And maybe, just maybe this is just the way life goes…

On August 27th, 2008, the greatest thing to ever happen to me, happened. I was 38 weeks pregnant, still sick as a dog with morning sickness (don’t get me started), and miserable. I woke up to my usual routine of eat and throw up, to be followed by a long – awaited occurrence… my water broke. This was it. Jimmy and I were elated … we finally knew the date of our boy’s birthday. We knew that in a matter of hours, the sweet face we had dreamt about for months would be looking into ours. And oh, that face is still the most precious sight to see. In many ways, dear Pearce looks so different. But in others, he is exactly the way I remember him when Jimmy handed him to me at 6:07 pm on his birthday.

• His button lips still form a perfect pout. They have this rosy shade to them at all times and I can see his daddy in his mouth. We knew it the moment he was born … Pearce was blessed with Jimmy’s plump lips.
• His hair is still wonderfully wild. I remember one of the first things I noticed about Pearce was his dark, soft hair. Even today, his little head looks and smells as sweet as it did the day he came into this world.
• His pudgy little fingers are still the softest, most wonderful sight. I love the way his hand dimples when he places it on mine or rests it in my lap. These small acts of affection warm my heart more than I could have ever imagined.
• And his cheeks. Pearce’s plump cheeks were there the moment he entered the world, and I have a feeling they are here to stay. I love the way they jiggle as he walks and plays.
• Pearce’s profile might be the sweetest view of him…those long lashes, perfect lips, and pudgy cheeks could take your breath away.

And now we celebrate our boy.

He is independent. Pearce sometimes puts on his own shoes…when did he learn this? He has preferences. Last week he asked me to cut the tag out of his shirt…what? He doesn’t need my help eating anymore and when he does need help, he has the ability to tell me straight out. No more guessing what he needs…my baby is a boy now and can tell me himself. He is a compassionate person…his clumsy, yet gentle pats on my back brought me comfort in a recent hurt. He is a singer. A few weeks ago I turned my ear to the back seat to hear a little voice singing “Jesus Loves Me.” And he is proud. His conquered puzzles and picked up toys are celebrated with an enthusiastic, “I did it!”

Two years have passed since Pearce entered our lives and while I don’t recall a clear start and end point of this milestone called boyhood…I have a series of tender moments to cling to. I will never forget the way he looked when Jimmy first handed him to me. I will never forget the sound of his little whimper…we called him a pterodactyl. I love the way I felt when he first started reaching for us and how precious he always looked snuggled up in our chests. The words “I wuv you mama” are music to my ears. And to hear our boy singing the words “Jesus Loves Me” is one of the more precious moments I recall. I love the little person Pearce is becoming and I am awestruck at his ability to warm my heart more and more each day. Happy 3rd Year, Pearce. We love you loads.

Beautiful Mess

I have a confession to make…My house looks lived in. This is a tough realization for me, as I have always prided myself on a fabulous looking home. Our home is no longer fabulous…it is frazzled. My kitchen is no longer tidy…it is turbulent. My bathroom counter is no longer spotless…it is splotchy.

Many of you know that I have an unhealthy addiction to perfumes and I truly love changing my signature scent to the point that I no longer have one signature scent. I have about five, and what I wear depends on what mood I am in. I used to have our bathroom counters arranged just right so that I could admire my perfumes, while finding a classy and clean way to store my q-tips and cotton balls. Today when I left the house, I looked at my counter to see the following: a random spare drawer knob, a toy screwdriver, a sippy cup, two bottles of nail polish and a wrapped up (wet) diaper. I took one look at the clutter…hesitated… and walked out the door. Again, my house looks lived in.


While there are some days it makes me batty, there are others that it brings me great joy. I am really trying to let the Lord work on the condition of me heart, specifically, to be more joyful in everything. This is hard for me, particularly when I am walking through a booby trap of toy cars, stale milk, and hippos (as Pearce says, Pippos). That kid loves his Pippos. I find myself sighing heavily and tensing up as I picture our once clean home. But sometimes, when my heart is right, I am able to see the mess for what it really is... Beauty.
Here are a few of the recent things I have learned to find joy in when looking at our less than perfect house:


CHEESE CRUSTIES
I had to smile as I vacuumed up the crusty shredded cheese in our kitchen. It brought me back to a few days ago when I was making dinner and Pearce was ‘helping’ me on the counter. I looked over to see him up to his elbow in shredded cheese and shoving large helpings into his mouth. I giggle because that is totally something I do when no one is looking. Pearce simply smiled and said, “Yummy.”


GRUBBY FOOTPRINTS
As I mopped chalky foot prints off our wood floors this weekend, I smiled at the thought of him diligently doodling on our driveway with his new pieces of chalk…he was very focused. I am thankful that sweet Pearce is able to run barefoot outside, even if it means tracking his grubby little feet through our house. 

BOARD BOOK BEDLAM
Last week as Jimmy and I put dozens of board books back on the shelf in the playroom, I tried to celebrate the fact that we have a boy who loves his books. Often times, he will unpack the entire book basket just to find his favorite two or three. Then he simply walks in reverse until he finds our laps and plops down. I know these moments won’t last forever. And if that isn’t sweet enough, one of his favorite books will steal your heart: The Bible. He loves his little Bible story book. (For the record, we are still trying to correct his misunderstanding of Jesus as Santa.) Baby steps, people.

I am also trying to accept the fact that boys get dirty. And not just any dirty…but a mud-wrestle, roll in dirt, covered in stickiness kind of dirty. I mean, boys are just magnetically charged to be dirty. And if they aren’t dirty on their own merit, they will find a way to get dirty.

Pearce also likes to get down and dirty and work hard on his little Cozy Coupe. He is very intentional in his efforts to “repair” the coupe. He often marches outside with his screwdriver (scewdriber) and hammer (bang bang) in tow and gets a-crackin’. He will say, “Mommy! Daddy! Outside? Tools? I drive. I drive.” Then he squats his short little legs and works his magic until the coupe is in pristine condition.

Pearce had his first popsicle of the season and oh my, was he in heaven! He thought he was pretty swift with that stick of sugary ice. Don’t mind that he spent much of his time admiring it as juice dripped off his hands onto the pavement. I literally sat in a minor-panic mode as I pictured the ant colonies making their way up our driveway. You will be pleased to know that I got a grip and simmered down.

Either way, I am seriously loving life with Pearce and Jimmy. While I am still getting used to our lived in appeal, at least I am past the stage of following the boys around with a lint roller and broom. (wink, wink.)

It's My Potty...

...and I'll try if I want to.

Did you know that the average potty training age for boys is anywhere from 31 to 38 months? Seriously! For the record, I am beginning to think there is some merit to these “experts” and statistics. Apparently even "child genius’s" have an opinion about being diaper free…it’s frowned upon.

For the past few months Pearce has been showing some interest (even minor) in potty training. He often tells us when he is wet or dirty and sometimes he even tells us before he dirties his diaper. Being the “our-child-is-a-genius” parents that we are, of course we think Pearce can beat all statistics and potty train before the age of two!

I find myself daydreaming about sitting on the couch with Oprah as I tell her just how we conquered the potty for Pearce, followed by Barnes & Noble book signings of our best-seller, “How to Push Your Child to Overachieve in the Bathroom”…all the while enjoying a diaper free darling. So these are the thoughts that fill my mind as I nudge Pearce to excellence.

When we first bought Pearce’s potty I watched everyday for the UPS shipment to arrive. Seriously, I was gung ho about this new addition to our lives. When it arrived I was just certain that Pearce would be so overcome with joy and gratitude that he would drop his drawers, grab his favorite board book, and potty where civilized society expected him to! That’s not exactly how it played out.

Pearce was actually very eager to sit on his potty and he even knows to call it “potty” but I think he is under the impression that it is some modern looking chair for his enjoyment. Maybe he has been sneaking issues of Architectural Digest to bed? I have actually learned quite a bit about potties and their many uses….here are just a few:

Potties make fabulous hats. Pearce discovered this a few nights ago. I gotta tell ya, when he placed it on his head it sort of resembled some modern day cowboy hat. Not bad, Pearce.

 Potties make excellent "carts". Pearce has spent plenty of time packing his potty full of trinkets and toys and pushing it from room to room as he moves about the house. Clever use…you can never have too much storage, can you?

Potties…ahem…clean potties make practical dishes. Pearce’s potty has already housed some of his favorite snacks: string cheese, crackers, and gold fish. I can appreciate the need for somewhere to store your food. After all, his little cheeks can only hold so much.

Potties also make convenient toothbrush holders. Pearce loves to snatch Jimmy’s toothbrush and gnaw on it a bit (that’s a whole other sanitary issue), and the other day he found the proper place to store daddy’s toothbrush: in his potty. It fit perfectly and the colors coordinated nicely. Aren’t human mouths the grimiest places on the human body? Surely the potty can’t be too bad. It was actually cute until the next day when I looked over to see Pearce marching towards our toilet with Jimmy’s toothbrush in hand. No joke, thank goodness he has trouble getting the lid up.

Last, potties are the perfect lounge chair/stepstool a kid could ask for. Pearce has been known to tip over his potty to attempt greater height…to reach something he shouldn’t have, no doubt. And he finds great joy in sitting on his potty on his terms. Need a place to rest your feet? Find the potty. Prefer to sit while you brush your teeth? Find the potty.

Oh Pearce, you bring my heart joy.

Introducing….Jake. And Brenda.

Alright folks, we have done what I swore we were not ready to do…we have pets...ducks. Well, they are more like quasi - pets. Technically, they are not our ducks but they come close. They are a boy and a girl who wander our street and have come to love our house. You may wonder where they got their names. Apparently the ducks started visiting our street a few months ago and the neighborhood kids decided they needed names. Like any normal kids would have, they chose the names Jake and Brenda. Pretty cute, huh?

I looked up the definition of pet and here is what I found:

Pet: noun.
1.An animal kept for amusement or companionship.

While we don’t keep these two in our house, they do serve as companions and we even feed them everyday. So in my mind, they are pets. Let me tell you how we got to know Jake and Brenda. One evening Pearce, Jimmy and I were in the backyard and I decided to go grab the mail. When I rounded the corner from my back gate I saw two little tail-feathers wiggling along our driveway. And they were precious! I ran inside, grabbed some bread and called for Jimmy and Pearce to come look. We probably spent 30 minutes that first night just oohing and ahhhing over these two.

Everyday in early evening we look out our front door to see two little ducks waddling up our driveway. There is something sort of enchanting about having ducks in your driveway. I love the way we can count on them to come over each night, sort of like an old neighbor coming over for dessert and conversation. In fact, last night I left the front door open to run inside and grab the bread. When I came back out I saw Jake on our front porch, with Brenda, headed toward the inside of our house. I think they might just move in if we let them! So this is how we have been spending our evenings lately. We sit outside and wait for Jake and Brenda to come for dinner. Pearce gets so excited as they cross the street and make their way toward our lawn. He squeals with delight and says, “Hi Ducks! Hi Ducks!” He is so precious.

And when I say we feed them “bread”, I mean the good stuff. They don’t eat Wonder Bread...they get multigrain flatbread and they LOVE us for it. I am actually glad these are our first “pets” because Pearce still isn’t quite sure about the whole feeding them process. For example, Pearce will take an entire piece of bread to feed them and either throw it whole or tear it up and toss the pieces, only to walk around and eat the torn up pieces off the pavement himself. I am not kidding. Last night Jimmy and I tried (unsuccessfully) to explain the process to Pearce. He simply looked at us, then down at his bread, and said, “No, No.” as he munched away at the pavement pieces. Oh dear. Can you imagine if this were Kibbles and Bits dog food? Pearce would think it was the greatest new cereal in town!

On another note, sweet Pearce got his first skinned up knee this past week. He was running (as usual) to the car and slid on the pavement. He handled it like such a champ that I didn't even know it was bleeding until we got home. Of course I had to take pictures and he was so brave while I doctored him up! I think the presence of Elmo must have helped...

Oh dear...

Do you every have those days where you feel that you are screwing your child up royally? A day when, no matter what you do, you seem to see your quirky lacking in the motherhood department? Last week I had one of those days. If life were truly a game of baseball, I would have struck out an entire Major League team. Seriously.

It started with Pearce’s doctor’s appointment. I went to pick him up at Miss Sheron’s only to find him in a Christmas t-shirt. That’s right, a Christmas t-shirt. Why?, you ask. Well, because I am an irresponsible mother who forgot a back up change of clothes for my son and his shirt that day was covered in lunch. So, the Christmas t-shirt was necessary to save him from stains galore. Strike One.

When we got to the doctor’s office, I realized that Pearce’s hair was a mess. We only see Dr. B and her staff every once in awhile and Pearce needed to look cute. He was already wearing an oversized Christmas t-shirt…the odds were stacked against me. How on earth was I supposed to fix his signature hairdo? As I walked into the hospital I noticed Purell hand sanitizer on the wall. So, like any mother would have, I doused his ‘do in Purell. I am not kidding. Strike Two.

As we discussed Pearce’s possible ear infection, I assured Dr. B that the infection was in his left ear (if any infection at all). So, Dr. B pulls out her little tool and informs me that Pearce has a major wax build up in his left ear. Strike Three.

After cleaning the waxy residue from both ears she informed me that Pearce does in fact have an ear infection, however it is not in his left ear as I asserted. No, his infection was in his right ear. Yes, I am the observant mother of the year. Strike Four.

Upon completion of Pearce’s appointment, I got into my purse to get the car keys. The usual, friendly jingle of my car keys was absent and my heart began to race. I frantically dug through my bag and literally dumped it on the hospital bed only to find that my keys were no where in sight. I had locked my keys in the car. Thank the Lord for AAA. Strike Five.

Since AAA said they would be approximately an hour, I decided to pacify Pearce with whatever I could. Since he is my son and I am certain we share some sort of characteristic…I took him to do what I would do in a moment of boredom: we went to eat. I promptly walked into the hospital deli and grabbed Pearce a bag of Baked Cheetos, opened it, and plopped him down to start munching. I took my time choosing my snack, and when I went to pay I learned the deli does not take checks or credit cards. Ironically, I never carry cash. Fabulous. Like any responsible mother would have, I left Pearce sitting up to his elbows in Cheetos, in the deli full of strangers while I ran to the ATM down the hall. Strike Six.

So that was my brush with craziness. To be perfectly honest: I was frustrated, overwhelmed and cranky. But thank goodness that even at our worst, the Lord can take these rough days and reveal Himself in the midst of chaos….

When I got home, the Terminix representative was waiting for us to do our annual termite inspection. The result? Termites. Swear. Could somebody please take over my life right now? Please?

While the rep and I were in the kitchen discussing the financial woes that were to come in treating our new ‘wood-eating friends’, the Lord spoke to me through the Terminix guy. I was busy feeling sorry for myself and lamenting the day I had just survived, when he noticed our kitchen chalkboard with scripture on it. He then said, “You know, that verse is really cool. Another verse I like is ‘Be still and know that I am God’.”

Wow. Okay God, I am listening. Be still and know that I am God. Such a powerful verse. And here’s the deal: I don’t read this as a request. It is written as an order. I think the words are so intentional here. He does not tell us to feel that He is God or hope that He is God. He instructs us to know that He is God. This says so much about my God’s determination to reach me... he spoke to my heart through a Terminix rep. I needed to hear that. How dear that we serve a God who cares enough to seek us!

And for those of you that read this and are rightfully concerned about Pearce’s well being, rest assured that he has at least one fabulous parent. (See post below.)