FILM • WINTER 2013

I have hours and hours and hours of video footage on multiple thumb drives from years ago, so I've started trying to compile them into short videos. Here's one from Winter of 2013 - our last few months in New Mexico before we moved to Brooklyn.

Earlier today, Evie was watching me edit the video. She started to tear up and when she spoke, I could hear her choking back tears. She said, "I wish I could be like that again." I asked, "Like what?" "So cute and happy and nice, like I am there."

A few hours before that, we were in a tussle about something. I'm sure it was me asking her to do something and her adamantly and violently refusing. I'm not even sure what I said to her, but I remember I was trying to encourage her. I was trying to complement her and build her up to help her feel up for the task I asked her to do. She yelled back at me, "I'm just a stupid, disrespectful kid!'

Parenting a five year old has been hard, but I'm convinced being five has to be a lot harder. When we've had a day like today, I wonder if I've done something to royally screw this up. I wonder if all kids say these kinds of things, think these kinds of things about themselves.

I've been reading parenting books and articles for years, trying to gain an idea of what kind of parent I want to be, hoping desperately that I can do this right. I still have no idea what I'm doing most days, but I have learned that parenting her the 'normal' way isn't an option. She isn't 'normal,' but I love her that way. The extra effort that I have to put into being her Mama is worth it.

WHY I HIKE

It's always fun when we meet someone on a pretty intense trail, Noble perched high in the frame pack on one of our backs and Evie trekking along between Alex and I. One of two things happens - they pass us by with scarcely a word, but their raised eyebrows and dodgy eyes say it all, or they can't stop commenting on how surprising it is to see us out here. Though we all enjoy hiking, I seem to be the ringleader of the whole parade. Alex is usually like, 'We can't do that with the kids,' and I just shrug and say, 'Sure we can!' Maybe it's the military wife in me, but nothing fazes me anymore. We aren't logging any long miles these days, but we manage to get out quite a bit more than I ever thought would be possible before I was a Mama. Most people try to convince you that life is over once you give birth. You can't sleep anymore. (Well that one is a little true.) You can't hike anymore. You can't eat at restaurants anymore. From the very beginning, my determination kind of came in handy because I waved all of that off. The fact is, I can go without a full night of sleep and I can be those people in a restaurant for a few years, but I have to hike.

FOUR

WATCH NOBLE GROW • MONTH SIX

10.10.2015

six months old

eating • everything in sight + reach - you LOVE food and have now tasted avocado, sweet potatoes, applesauce, banana, peas, raspberries + watermelon

sleeping • terribly, but it comes with the age, I believe

wearing • six month sizes - we just took them out of storage and they're snug, so we'll be getting out nine month clothes soon

milestones • 10/01 - first trip to the county fair • 10/08 - first swing at sportsman lake park • 10/10 - first oktoberfest + taste of german chocolate cake to celebrate your half birthday • using your hands well, but you throw an absolute fit any time you can't hold onto something that interests you • speaking of things that interest you - the distracted nursing has begun • you LOVE your sister and anything she does, except when she takes a toy out of your hands - you aren't afraid to let the whole world know when you're mad • you started fighting sleep by simply yelling - not angrily, more like a constant noise to keep yourself awake

I wrote this months ago and have been carrying around a tattered piece of paper full of the scribbles that make up this letter for months now. While the difficulties I wrote about have almost passed, it was still important to me to put this here. A few nights a month, I stay up way too late for someone with two kids to look after, to work on turning this digital version of our story into a physical version. Even when I get months behind and even if no one else cares to read it, I like to sit and catch up on my stories about babies and hard times and love because someday these words will be bound in a book that my kids will pull down off of our bookshelves to reminisce and bond over. Our life has been hard and it isn't all that I dreamed about at times, but it's our story and it makes my stomach do flips when I think about being the keeper of our family's stories for years to come.

Dear Noble,

Our life has been a whirlwind since you joined us and for that, I feel an indescribable amount of guilt. The feeling of babyhood slipping through my fingers is a familiar one, but this is harder than that. Our life is so hectic each day, so tense. I carry around this heavy burden of knowing that you deserve more than this. I long for the same kind of start to life I gave your sister - days with a slow, rhythmic quality, a calm space with room for you to play, roll, crawl, a normal schedule with a celebration to top the day off (the joyous occasion of Papa coming home and a meal enjoyed together), bike rides down sun speckled streets, uninterrupted naps, hikes through the beauty of the high desert with you perched behind me in the frame pack, hearing you wake from far away and the anticipation of walking down the hallway to lift you up and reunite. Our days are full, but of what I'm not sure, nothing that feels as though it matters, nothing soul-building, nothing memory-making. When I fall into bed and the rest of the family have all found their places for the night, all I want is to wake you up and enjoy a quiet moment together. I want to rock you in our rocking chair and watch your eyes flutter and finally close as you succumb to the heaviness of sleep. There is so much that isn't possible for us right now. It's feels like we've been cheated out of our time together. I miss you without having been away from you. I worry that all this stress and tension that fills our days will form you in some irepareable way, so I pray for your resilience often. I think of our home building timeline in terms of how old you will be when we finish. It seems like a race for our bond and our sanctuary. Regardless of all of this, I am finding so much joy in being your Mama and watching you grow. You have a magical spirit.

ev at six months • noble at five months

THE BIRTH OF NOBLE ALEXANDER • PART III • BREASTFEEDING + POSTPARTUM

If you missed part I of the birth story, click here.
If you missed part II, click here.

When people would talk about 'just knowing' something, I was never able to relate to them until I became a mother. I had never really experienced having an intuition until I was put in this emotional role of Mama. It started as a timid, small voice when your sister became mine, and has grown into this roaring, confident voice that I now feel privileged to carry around with me as I care for you. The first time I ever had this 'knowing' feeling as a mother was when I brought your sister up to my breast to nurse right after her birth. As soon as she latched on, it was like the future flashed through my mind and I knew. I knew her latch wasn't right. I knew the battle to breastfeed would be fierce, but my determination I had carried around with me all these years would serve me well.

Each nursing session started with screams and ended with tears from everyone involved. She would move her head back and forth while frustrated little snorts escaped, but she would never latch. Her patience wore thin and pretty soon her frustrated snorts were replaced with back-arching, clawing, and screaming. Your Papa would have to hold her hands while I tried my best to maneuver her onto the breast. There were weeks of this. I came to dread sleep because the nights were the hardest, the loneliest. I would become anxious as the clock neared seven. Her escalating frustration made my attempts at helping her futile. Eventually she learned how to latch on, but it wasn't without toe-curling, jaw-clenching pain. We spent hours each night fighting with each other. I would try to correct her latch. She would yell out in frustration and become too worked up to latch on again. Crying would eventually exhaust her and she would fall asleep only to wake an hour or less later to do it all over again.

We went through weeks of this (ten or so), but it felt like months. I can remember sitting on the side of the bed with your Papa and saying, through sobs, 'It's going to hurt forever.' I couldn't see a way out. I felt trapped. I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to write. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to do anything. We tried everything we could think of. A nipple shield allowed me to heal, but didn't allow your sister to get enough milk. For a few weeks we tried using a supplemental nursing system. I pumped while she slept, then fed her with a small tube attached to my finger. We were afraid to give her bottles for fear that she would deny the breast altogether and I would be stuck pumping or using formula. We kept going to appointments for weight checks and kept coming back disappointed. When I was around other mothers, I would go home feeling bitter, defeated. They seemed joyful. Their babies seemed happy. Feeding them was as easy as shaking up a bottle of formula.

What was supposed to be a beautiful bonding experience became a depression-inducing nightmare. I had never dealt with depression in any form beyond the occasional bluesy day until now. It was like being sucked into a black hole, and it took me a long time to come out of it. I was determined to see it through though. I told myself I had to keep trying until I was sure it just wasn't possible. Eventually we met with an ENT specialist who told us she definitely was not tongue tied, which was a little bit devastating for me. I had held onto that as the solution. I didn't want anything to be wrong with her, but at the same time, I wanted an answer. I wanted to know it wasn't me. It wasn't my fault. Then we found a pediatrician who listened to her nurse and simply said, 'She can't breathe. Clear her nose with saline before each feed.' It was like magic. I felt a little dumb for not having thought of such a simple solution, but after a few days of fighting with her about latching on, she finally did and she nursed. On top of the breastfeeding troubles, we thought she was also colicky, but once her latch improved and she started gaining weight, all of those symptoms went away. She started smiling more than screaming and falling asleep content. I found that breastfeeding is a funny thing - some days you cry over the limits it places on you and some days you cry at the possibility of it being over.

THE BIRTH OF NOBLE ALEXANDER • PART II

If you missed part one of the birth story, click here.

NOBLE ALEXANDER JACOBS

born 04/10/2015 at 3:47 A.M.

7 pounds + 10.5 ounces • 20 inches long

made in Brooklyn • grown in Missouri • born in New Mexico

I leaned over the bed and put my hand on Papa's shoulder. I paused, trying to think of how to wake him without sending him into a panic. 'Babe, I need you to wake up.' I shook him a bit. He didn't respond. I changed my tone. 'I'm having contractions. I need you to get up.' He looked at me bleary-eyed and whispered, 'Just give me a minute. I need a minute.' I recognized that the news of a baby joining us tonight was probably a bit overwhelming to wake up to, and though I wanted to yell, 'We don't have a minute!,' I walked into the other room to give him some space. A few minutes later he joined me in the kitchen. I was pacing, trying to stay calm, but there had been no warning. I'd woken up in the midst of an unpredictable coastal storm. The contractions had blown in when I had least expected them and were quickly reaching hurricane proportions. I told your Papa to call the midwife and pack a bag (I don't, for the life of me, know why we can never manage to pack a bag until I'm already in labor.), even though all I wanted to do was stay. I hadn't been able to ease into these active labor contractions. I had gotten no warm up time. What I wanted with everything inside of me was to just be still and try to focus, but I knew if I let myself slip away we wouldn't make it to the birth center.

Papa called the birth center and tried to answer some questions from Melanie. He finally handed the phone to me and I just said, 'I don't know how close the contractions are coming. I just know my body is telling me that I need to get to you.' We hung up and that was that. I stumbled from room to room, trying to gather what we might need and failing to accomplish anything. I finally just started shouting out items to your Papa, then I remembered I had made a list. My list making tendencies are usually an annoyance to anyone involved, but I think this list prevented you from being born in the car. We gathered just a handful of items and threw them into the nearest backpack. Papa walked into your sister's room in a hurry and she immediately sat up in bed with her eyes still closed and hands outreached like she was walking through the dark, wobbled side to side, hit her head on the wall, then flopped back down, still asleep. It was like a scene from a movie. He was laughing so hard he had to leave the room. He told me what had happened and I laughed until tears came to my eyes and I couldn't stand up. He went back in, a bit quieter this time, and shook her awake. 'We have to get up and go bye bye. Mama's going to have the baby,' he whispered. Of course, she was immediately awake, asking fourteen questions a second, ready to conquer the world. 'The baby's coming?!' she said excitedly.

As soon as we had everything ready, I hit the stairs and waddled as fast as I could to the car. Papa and Ev met me there, her exclaiming, 'Look at the moon, Mama! It's beautiful.' I paused and smiled. Indeed it was. It was a half moon - the light reflected off the hood of the Jeep as we drove. I was trying not to sound panicked as I told your Papa to try to get there as fast as possible. He turned on the hazard lights and blew through stop lights flashing his lights and honking. The man is good under pressure, I'll give him that. What was normally a thirty minute drive ended up taking twelve or so. I'm not going to lie, I had kind of always wanted to do that like they do in the movies and I smiled to myself a bit when that thought entered my mind. Your sister was yelling from the backseat, 'Slow down, Papa! This is dangerous!' and 'Red means STOP, Papa!' We looked at each other and laughed from the front seat, then tried to explain that this was an emergency and you can break the rules in an emergency. I also tried my best to talk her through what lay ahead. I told her she would need to be brave and she was, even when I wasn't. I don't even remember most of the drive or how many stop lights we actually ran. As we drove, the contractions became like clockwork and I started to shake. I tried my best to come to a place of acceptance for what might lie ahead.

THE BIRTH OF NOBLE ALEXANDER • PART I

 

21 week ultrasound pictures that I never got a chance to share

Dear Noble,
You're two weeks + two days old as I begin to write this and unlike the way most people feel about time and babies, I question how it has only been two weeks. How have you not been here with us the entire time? How have I lived my entire life without knowing you until now?

The last few weeks of my pregnancy were. . . frenetic (much like your birth would be). I feel like I never stopped moving. We moved into our apartment and immediately our days became a blur of errands, lists, unpacking, and cleaning. My mind wouldn't let my body accept defeat. I was determined to organize and scrub and shop and fluff until this place felt like home. When I was pregnant with Ev, I don't really recall going through a nesting phase. This time around, it was like an automatic bodily function. I couldn't help myself. Papa would come home, take one look at my ankles and force me to sit. Even then, he would leave the room and come back only to find me up again. Sometimes I would just be wandering and surveying what still needed to be done because my level of exhaustion made anything else impossible, but I needed to feel productive. During this time, I was willing you to stay in. I had no list of specific things that needed done before I could feel ready to go into labor. I just knew I wasn't ready. We all weren't ready. I also knew without a doubt that I did not want to go into labor at night. This was such a permeating thought that if I woke for any reason in the night, I would instantly feel a sense of panic. My eyes would shoot open at some arbitrary hour and my heart would race. I would lay in the dark hoping not to feel a contraction, but waiting for one. Funnily enough, the theme of this pregnancy prevailed with labor too - acceptance + letting go of control.

our last outing as a family of three

Fast forward to the Monday before your birth. Papa was off work, so we had plans to spend the last day of his long weekend (and what we knew might possibly be our last outing as a family of three) at the zoo. That morning, I began having light contractions that continued for a few hours. They were fairly sporadic, which would usually make one doubt whether it was the real deal, but so were my early contractions with Evie. Once again, I didn't know whether I was in labor. (Looking back, I think some progress was made and I walked around at that point for a few days.) Though I hadn't had a chance to anticipate or feel 'ready' for labor, I started to feel some excitement creep in with each contraction. I sat up in bed for an hour or so, timing contractions with a book in hand, but getting no reading done. My mind would drift from thoughts of meeting you to my list of things we needed done before your arrival and back to the book, where I would reread paragraph after paragraph countless times over. Finally I gave up and laid the book down, content to sit with my thoughts. Though a part of me wanted this to be it (I had almost convinced myself it was.), I was a bit disappointed at the thought of not getting to enjoy this last outing we had planned. I hated to sit at home all day waiting for labor to show up if this wasn't it, but I knew second babies were usually more unpredictable and had a feeling labor would go quickly this time around.

I decided to take a chance and told Papa I wanted to go anyway. He reminded me of my plans to go grocery shopping just hours before Ev was born, but obliged. I'd been given strict instructions to call the birth center at the slightest sign of labor, but I'm a stubborn woman and like to push my luck apparently. I promised I would call if the contractions didn't stop once I started walking around. Alas, the contractions did slow to a halt and we enjoyed a short walk around the zoo and a picnic in the grass. Ev has an infatuation with picnics these days and gets giddy at the mention of them or even at the appearance of a granola bar at the playground.

Going into this birth, I anticipated it being faster than my first and I assumed faster meant it would be easier. I had done this before. I had an easy birth last time. I (thought I) knew what to expect. Looking back, I realize how incredibly naive of me that was - all babies are different, so all births are probably different too. Though I was confident in my ability to have a natural birth again, I still had fears. The first thing I did after settling in at the birth center was share them with my midwife. The majority of my care had been elsewhere until just a week before you were born; whereas, I had time to build a connection with all the women that were a part of my care with Ev. Luckily, it still felt like a familiar place even after three years, and the midwife that attended your birth also assisted at Ev's. 'I'm afraid of tearing and losing too much blood again,' I blurted out between contractions. Melanie assured me she would coach me through delivery to minimize tearing and give me a shot of Pitocin afterwards as a precaution.

This is a very personal admittance, but one that I think needs to be included for the sake of the story. With each of my pregnancies, it's always been important to me that as the end draws nearer, I feel connected with your Papa and this time around, Evie too. That connection is a vital thing that I pull from during my labor. Thursday night, Papa and I laid in bed for quite some time, having a meandering talk about everything and nothing. It was the kind of conversation that had gotten harder to come by with an excited totter around and the exhaustion of pregnancy. Afterwards, we made love and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Throughout the night, I was awoken several times by a contraction here or there, but none of them were strong enough to completely pull me out of sleep. Then one approached and my eyes slipped open. I braced myself for what I had a feeling was the one, the confirmation that I needed to know I was in labor. The contraction climbed far beyond a peak I was ready for as I felt my face become flush and threw the sheets off. I jumped out of bed and took a trip to the bathroom to assess things. There was nothing out of the norm, no signs of labor other than the contractions and that my pelvic bones and muscles along the inside of my legs were throbbing, and had been for days. I could barely sit down. I had never experienced that with my past pregnancy. I walked into the kitchen to check the time - one something - and started to time the contractions. It only took two for me to decide the timing didn't matter. These were the real deal and this was active labor. It was time to go.

32 WEEKS + A 36 WEEK LETTER

These were taken at 32 weeks. I'm 36 weeks as I write this and your Papa is packing things away for our journey home in the background. We'll be headed to Albuquerque tomorrow morning. I had planned on taking another picture of you and I today, but we didn't get around to it. I hope we'll have time to take one before you come. 

Dear Baby,
In a way, I feel like this is the beginning of your birth story. Partly because this will probably be the last letter I'm able to write to you before you're here with us and also because I'm convinced your birth and place in this family started carving itself out long before the day you'll arrive. Much like the story of the gospel and really, all of our lives as a whole, the story of your beginning is full of hard things and triumphal moments that somehow come together to make a big, beautiful story. I'm excited to tell it. I'm excited to keep telling the story of our family until you and your siblings can tell it too.

I had a feeling you were with me. A few days before I held a positive pregnancy test, I had looked down while walking home from a quick trip to the corner grocery store and there you were. My shirt draped across my belly a different way. It's hard to describe other than to say that when you've done it once before, you know what is growth and what is bloat. A thought flashed through my mind, 'I'm pregnant.' and then it was gone. I wasn't entirely sure I was pregnant, but I wasn't entirely sure I was ready to know whether I was pregnant either. A few weeks before I had almost worked myself into panic attack at the thought of having another baby, ever. So I waited, and tried not to think about the possibility of you all that hard. I wasn't sure how I would feel. I knew how I would want to feel, full of joy, but just wanting to feel a certain way wouldn't will that reaction into existence. I also knew that no matter what my brain told me I wanted and whether you were planned or not, my heart would be disappointed if the test were negative. Women are funny, fickle people sometimes.

The day your Papa and I found out about you, we were packing our things for a trip to Niagara Falls. We had talked briefly and awkwardly about the absence of my womanly visitor, but had shrugged it off until the night before. I went to bed with a plan to take a pregnancy test when we woke in the morning. My hands shook as I unwrapped the test. I tried to be calm about it. I tried not to care or prefer a certain result. I held the test in my hands and watched the results appear - and I laughed. It was all I could do after the life we'd lived the past year and the changes I knew were coming. Coming out of the bathroom after taking a pregnancy test is awkward. It's like walking out onto a stage to tell a joke you had to come up with in the last ten minutes. You haven't tested it out on anyone. You haven't rehearsed it at all. I had no idea how to tell your Papa and for once in our lives, I wasn't entirely sure what his reaction would be. I don't mean his outward reaction. He is a good enough man not to outwardly express disappointment at the news of a new baby, but I can see the truth in him even when I don't want to. I was afraid to see something there, a flicker of it across his face, but I was also looking and hoping for it as a comfort to myself. I was looking for something to tell me that the touch of despair underneath the joy that I felt was ok.


I didn't have a lot of time to formulate how to tell him. I didn't want it to be awkward. I didn't want it to be solemn. So I made the split decision to take the route of humor and opened the bathroom door. I stood in the doorway of the kitchen and realized I was smiling like an idiot. I had an internal dialogue about whether I should be smiling, 'It's ok to smile, right? This is happy news, but it's also stressful news if I'm honest.' I guess I was afraid to announce it lightheartedly only for him to launch right into the logistics and shock of it all. The morning light was streaming in through our open windows. Brooklyn sounds followed the light in. He was assembling all the food for the road trip - he put the butter knife down and turned to face me when he sensed me in the doorway. I'm terrible at hiding emotions, so I'm sure he knew as soon as he turned around and saw my face. I couldn't just stand there in silence and assume he knew, so I blurted out the quippiest thing I could think of, 'So I guess one more person is coming to Niagara Falls with us.'

WAYS TO CONNECT WITH YOUR TODDLER EACH DAY

Three is hard.

I mean, there is a challenge in every stage of parenting that seems overwhelming at the time, but three has had me way more baffled than any other age so far. I know that I'm a good mother and I know that she's a fantastic kid, but lately I haven't felt like a good mother who is raising a fantastic kid. Lately my brain has been full of worry - that she has ADHD or SPD, that my correcting her so often is tearing down her confidence in herself, that by not sending her to preschool this year, I'm depriving her of something and dooming her to a life of being lonely. I'm not sure whether it's the age or the life circumstances or the pregnancy exhaustion and emotions that has things feeling out of sorts between Ev and I, but I've been struggling. My impending due date isn't helping things much - every little tantrum, every time I lose it, every bad day seems to matter more because I know how precious this time should be to me. Every tantrum is accompanied by thoughts along the lines of, 'This is going to be impossible to deal with when I have a newborn.' Every time I lose my patience I think, 'My patience will be tested more with another child to take care of.' Every bad day ends with fear that I'll fall into postpartum depression again. After having done this once, I thought I would be able to approach a second baby with more confidence - 'you've done it before, you can do it again' kind of thoughts - but I find myself with more worries this time around. Maybe it's because I'm not oblivious now. I know the hardships that are coming. I also know the joy that is coming along with it.

Anyway, in lieu of focusing on discouraging thoughts, I've been trying to really pay attention to what Ev enjoys, to what makes her feel loved and connected to me. I know that a lot of our issues have to do with the lack of things to do in a hotel room in the middle of Winter, but others have to do with me and my selfishness. By noticing these things and being intentional about our days, or at least certain parts of them, I've come to see an obvious difference in her mood and behavior. When she feels seen and heard and known in a way that all of us desire to be known, she is more joyful and more apt to listen to my requests. Here are a few things I've been doing to try to forge that connection between us and make for a more joyful day:

- When she wakes up each morning or after her nap, I put down what I'm doing. I acknowledge her and connect with her. I make sure she knows that she is accounted for and appreciated. I ask her how she slept and what she'd like to do now that she's awake. There have been times that she has wandered out of the bedroom in the morning or after nap time and I've been working away on something and haven't looked up. That usually queues tears from her or frustration from me when I find her doing something she knows she shouldn't be. I wouldn't like to wake up and go looking for my husband in the morning only to find him staring at the computer screen and not even have him acknowledge my existence. There are times of the day that it is good to teach your toddler to let you finish a job or entertain themselves, but I've found that wake up times are not it.

- No matter how frustrated I am, I should never make her doubt whether she is loved. As she has gotten older and can now understand what I say and right/wrong, discipline has gotten trickier. Sometimes I find myself berating her over every little thing for no other reason than I'm grumpy. I forget that she's a toddler and still makes messes just for fun, even if she knows she shouldn't. I try to remember to encourage her as much as I correct her. I also say, 'I love you.' at least fifty times a day - often before I start to talk her through something she did wrong.

- I try to remember it's her day too. People often talk about how selfish kids can be, but in reality we adults are often oblivious to our own selfishness. We wake up with our own to-do list on our minds and forget that this little person might have a to-do list of their own that is full of things that don't seem important to you, but to them, it is. It's their 'work.'

- I make time to join her in her play. I often find myself just searching for something to entertain her, plopping it down in front of her, and walking away so that I can get back to whatever I was doing. Don't get me wrong, I'm a firm believer in children learning how to play by themselves and that it's good for them to be bored occasionally, but that's all different from being lonely. Since it's just her and I at home each day, I'm her friend and I'm sure I won't always have the privilege of that label. So sometimes I sit down and try to act three with her, even if that's not what I want to be doing with my time. I tell her she's my best friend. I make train noises. I yell when her block tower tumbles over.

- I let her help me. This is a hard one for me. It tests my patience more than anything on this list, but it also means more to her than anything on this list. I used to ask her to go find something to entertain herself with while I was working in the kitchen because I just wanted to get the job done, but lately I've made an effort to slow down and let her help. I at least give her a job to do while I'm making dinner like washing the mushrooms or peeling the garlic. I came to the conclusion that we're going to be here all day and we usually run out of things to do, why not take a little longer doing the things we have to do everyday anyway? It makes her feel accomplished and she learns valuable lessons from it.

- I savor bedtime rituals. No matter how tired I am or how hard the day has been, I try not to rush bedtime. This is our final connection point for the day, our last chance to end it on a good note, when the thoughts of me that she will go to bed with are formed. As much as I want to get out of there as fast as I can and enjoy my adult time, I try to read every story like it's the first time I've read it and sing every song like it might be the last time I sing it. Repetition is soothing for kids, even if it drives you bonkers. We try not to make a habit of laying down with Ev until she falls asleep, but if it's been an especially hard day for us, I'll make an exception and play with her hair until she drifts off. It's important to enforce boundaries as parents, but I think it's equally important to know when to let the rules go for the sake of connecting.

- I'm intentional about physical touch. When you have an infant, it's easy to give them a lot of hands on time and direct attention because well, they're always in your hands. It gets a little trickier when they're older and more mobile. They still need that physical touch, but they don't always slow down enough to know that they need it or communicate to you that they need it. As they begin to separate themselves from you, it's easy to forget that aspect of your relationship. Last time Alex was away for a few weeks on military duty, I noticed that Ev was a lot rougher with me than usual. At first I was annoyed and couldn't figure out why she was climbing on me and swatting at me (playfully, but we don't play like that) when she had never done that before, then I realized that Alex wrestles with her every night before bed and she wasn't getting that physical touch she was used to and needs. Since then I try to be intentional about loving on her in my own way (Mom just doesn't wrestle.) even it means forcing her to sit still when she doesn't want to.

- I pick up my camera and try to document the beauty in the chaos. It helps me just embrace it. I see a different kid through the lens of my camera. Some of the little quirks and annoyances cause me to smile. The messes don't seem so big. I can more easily find the joy in the everyday and the beauty in her childhood if I'm pausing to capture them.

If you want to read more about 'filling up your toddler's love tank,' check out this post from my friend Andrea over at Hand and the Heart.

Please share with me the ways that you parent intentionally each day and forge connections with your toddler/kid!

THREE

 

To my sweet Ovie Lou,

as I like to call you these days (and to which you adamantly protest almost every time - 'No, Mama - it's EHHH-vee, not OHH-vee!'),

You're three and your eyes are sparkling and face is all aglow. You've insisted on it being your birthday every day for months now, but today is the day. We woke you up with a 'Happy Birthday' this morning, which you said right back. You fail to understand the concept of the Happy Birthday phrase and see it more as a greeting like 'good morning' or 'have a good day.' All day you would spread your cheer with 'happy birthday' responses, making people chuckle. I made salisbury steak a few nights before your birthday and you were sure that I had lost it - brown gravy was all wrong. Where was the white gravy? Where were the muffins (biscuits)?! So I knew then that your birthday breakfast would be biscuits and gravy.

After biscuits and gravy, we went off to church. It seems that people (especially older people) think that children need treats, all the time, at every event, whenever possible. I usually don't mind much when you've had a few treats in church, but I didn't want it to spoil your birthday cake. I knew you'd appreciate it more if you hadn't been munching on sweets all morning, so we had a talk along the way about how to tell someone, 'No, thank you. I'm having birthday cake later.' To my surprise, you succeeded in our endeavor to practice self control. A toaster oven is the extent of my baking abilities these days, so I knew I wouldn't be able to bake you an actual cake - and as much as I hate to admit it, I can't let my knowledge of what terrible things store bought frosting is made of go even on holidays. So I picked out the healthiest boxed whole wheat brownies I could find and you picked out sprinkles and dinosaur birthday candles, and together we made magic. You helped me pour and mix and sprinkle and your face lit up. You loved every minute of it. I set my camera on my tripod and videoed your Papa and I singing Happy Birthday to you as you blew out your candles one by one throughout the song, finished by the end. I asked your Papa to light them a second time, so I could get some pictures too and he obliged, accompanied by eye rolls, but he obliged. You didn't seem to mind, but were concerned about the water (wax) dripping off the candles onto the cake. We probably ate a lot of wax with our brownies.

You've talked with Papa a lot about what he does each day and you ask each morning he has to go to work if you can come with to ride the big machines. He patiently explains each time that the Air Force doesn't like to share their toys and you nod and ask with hopeful eyes, 'Someday?' I was a shy little girl, but there was a time when I stood on a stage and proudly proclaimed to the audience that I would be 'a firefighter, just like my Daddy.' I see that same sparkle in your eyes, that same reverence for what your Papa does all day while he isn't with us, and it makes me proud. I hope someday that you can look back on my 'work' here with you with a form of admiration, but for now - I'm happy your Papa is in the spotlight. He needs that - taking care of a family can be hard. So I went out in search of a construction site for you and found a little set of machines. We filled a tub full of barley and rocks and you and Papa played for hours, while I was content to sit and watch. It was a simple birthday, but just like our Christmas, it's simplicity made it something beautiful that I'll never forget.

Three years seems like very little, but it has felt like a lifetime. You brought joy into our lives that wasn't there before, but once it entered our lives, it felt familiar. It felt like you had always been there, a little bit of yourself in each of us, and now those little pieces had all come together to finally bring you here. I imagined you a long time before you were born, even long before I ever met your Papa. Somehow you turned out to be brighter, wilder, more beautiful than I had ever imagined. You have a spirit unlike anyone I've ever met. It can be a challenge to remember the beauty of it when it's intermingled with parenting, but I hope to polish you, never tame you. You are wild and loving, free and forgiving. You are so excited about life - when you run, you can't help but skip in excitement every few steps. There's something about it that makes strangers pause to watch you. Often I'm reminded by watching you that magic is real after all.

I love you, Evangeline Idella - more than you'll ever know, maybe more than I'll ever even be able to comprehend. Keep skipping through life in wild abandonment and I'll keep running along ride beside you, astounded by your beauty.

Love,
Mama

P.S. Ev's first + second birthdays + our first clock picture (each year we take a picture in front of a clock at the time she was born - 7:35)

24 WEEKS + THOUGHTS ON BECOMING FOUR IN 2015

 

As is customary around this time of year, I've been spending a lot of time reflecting on 2014. It was a whirlwind kind of year, to say the least. We moved four times to four different states and spent over half of the year staying in other people's homes, accepting the generosity and hospitality of others, but never being able to give any in return. It was adventurous and it was unforgettable and it was hard. It was trying. It was draining. It was taxing on our family, finances, and hearts. Brooklyn was completely worth it, but I'm relieved to be on the other side, looking back at all of it and forward to a fresh start. After all of the change we've been through, heels dug in the ground and my hands over my eyes for most of it, I just don't have the energy to join in the new year hullabaloo with a list of goals and such. Realistically, I'll be spending the majority of my energy and thoughts on birthing a baby and falling in love with said baby and helping my people get our life sorted out, and that's ok with me - or at least I'm trying to make that ok with me. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't lay down goals and walk away from them lightly. Before I birth said baby, I'm trying my hardest to enjoy being three. I'm thrilled at the idea of meeting this new life, but I'm equally terrified at the thought of staying at home with two, the possibility of battling depression again, having a challenging time breastfeeding again. It was all so unbelievably hard the first time around and though I'm entering into this new phase of motherhood with more experience and perspective, the fear is there and makes me wonder whether its always a companion for mothers when adding another to their home, whether its their 2nd or 6th?

Along with the fear comes a touch of sadness at it no longer being just the three of us, or just Ev and I the majority of the time. I find myself grasping for the time to cherish her, but facing disappointment instead. The life we're headed back to in March is not the life I want for her, and this is not how I wanted to spend our last months together. The defiance that comes with being almost three has been a regular companion most days and my desire to cherish it all before we're a family of four makes for a horrible match against parenting and discipline. I swing from high to low each day, from overreacting and being overwhelmed to checking out completely and doing nothing out of defeat. I make lists to try to make sense of our lives when there's no sense or solution to be found. I know that no matter how many lists I make, it won't all get done in the two weeks we'll have to prepare, it all can't be afforded, and my experience will probably be nothing like what I'm imagining and hoping for. It will be good; nonetheless, because there's always good to be found in a new life, but I'm afraid it will be filled with more disappointment. I have no idea how I will manage two kids in all the circumstances that await us when we head back to Albuquerque. I have no idea how I will love another kid the way that I love Evie, how I will have enough good in myself to give to each of them.

If there's one thing I've learned through five years of marriage and (almost) two pregnancies, it's that life is uncontrollable. There's nothing like the change of seasons or the arrival of a new year to remind us of impermanence. I used to live under the assumption that it was in our control to bring a baby into the world at just the right time, when it would be the most convenient for us and our plans. Being (unexpectedly) pregnant through the holiday season has been a special time for me. It's given me a unique view through Mary's perspective - through all the wanderers' of the Bible. I'm sure giving birth in a manger wasn't what she had in mind. I wonder if she had thoughts along the lines of, 'Really? Right now? This can't wait until we're home? Or at least until we find a place to stay for the night?' When groups of the Bible were led this way and that, did the mothers long for home? Were they all just desperate for a place to rest and nurse their babies, for a normal life? Sometimes I'm thankful for the sporadic life we've lived, but oftentimes it has felt a lot like laying things down at each place we leave - my plans, dreams of home, financial goals, hopes of security, jobs, memories of my child. It feels a lot like closing the door on all of that and oh, how that begins to hurt after you do it repeatedly and how obvious it becomes that I'm holding tightly to things that I don't want to relinquish control of - things I think are important, but are just specks of dust in our lives.

I imagine there's a special kind of freedom that comes from giving it all up, from unclenching your fists, laying it down, and walking away - the perfectly decorated house or even a home of our own, the baby brought home to a space that is ready for them, the defiant toddler who is battling her own wills and desires, the job you've been hoping for. When all of that is stripped away, I imagine you can really begin to live because you aren't wasting a single second planning and worrying about matters that are uncontrollable. I've learned many lessons in patience and perseverance and letting things go over the last year and that's been a hard road to walk for a perfectionist.

When I was pregnant with Ev, I couldn't imagine us as a family of three. I had no idea how two kids who like to sleep in and go on sporadic adventures were going to figure out life with a baby. While it didn't feel like our normal at all in the beginning, we came to be comfortable together, effortlessly in love. How I long for that learning curve, that awkward fumbling stage, to be shorter than the last. These three years with Ev have changed me beyond recognition and I will always cherish our memories together. She will probably never remember a time without her sibling, but I will. In 2014, I learned that big changes often bring hard times with them, but there is always beauty to be found. While I don't look forward to the difficulty that might await us, I do look forward to the inevitable beauty and joy that will be found in this new season of life. I know that the fumbling feeling of a new person joining us will wear off and will all settle in to our effortless love once again.

So here's to 2015 and letting it all go and falling in love with a brand new person.

DEAR BABY

This was a letter I was never sure I would get the chance to write. Your Papa and I went over it all in our minds, the pros and cons of having an only child, never coming to a conclusion. Once the decision was made for us - we were at peace, accepting. It made all the sense in the world to have another baby, to raise another child. You felt right.

If I'm at all honest, I had thought that if this ever happened by accident I would be in a panic. I thought I would be full of doubts, worry, fear, but what I've really been full of is joy. When I stood and told your Papa, I couldn't help but smile big and he couldn't help but do the same as he learned of you. I didn't even have to tell your sister. She started poking her round toddler belly out and saying, 'Wook! I have a baby in here, Mama!' When I told her that I truly did have you in my belly, her whole face lit up. Papa explained to her, as her feet dangled off the kitchen counter, that you would grow big in there and then you would come out and we would have two babies. She squealed and grit her teeth and clenched her fists together in excitement. Since then, she checks in on you now and then. 'Baby still in der?' she'll say. I'll ask her to lay on my chest in the mornings and she'll say, 'No, I'll squish the baby!'

We weren't expecting to learn of you, so I wasn't sure how far along I was. We went in for an ultrasound, fully knowing what to expect and I was blown away. Even after doing this once, I was in awe that my body could make another baby. We watched as you kicked and rolled and wiggled. We listened to your heartbeat and just as it was with Ev, I wished I could have had longer. They say those ultrasounds are twenty to thirty minutes long, but it always feels like five to me. I always want more time.

Since then, I've held those ultrasound pictures a million times trying to see something else that might not have been there before, trying to know you just a little more than is possible. We're all talking about you a lot unintentionally - a lot of conversations start with 'when the baby gets here.' Ev likes to talk about 'when I a big sistah.' I've been making a list of the things we need before you get here to keep my mind busy. Papa is just hoping we'll have a home by the time you come and that something military-related doesn't come up that will cause him to miss the birth. Though there are things that we'd like to fall into place before you come, we're all ready to meet you. I'll say the same thing to you as I did in a letter I wrote to your sister when I was pregnant with her - we don't have a lot. In fact, we barely have anything these days, but we're rich in the important things. We're rich in love.

I lifted up my shirt to show Ev my belly a few days ago and she exclaimed, 'It's getting biggah! Maybe the baby will come out soon?' Where I once had so many doubts, they're all overshadowed by the joy that you've already brought to our family. I won't lie, I'm a little intimidated at the thought of having two kids to care for everyday, but from already having one I know that the joy always makes it worth it. You are just a huge mystery to us so far. We're all baffled as to whether you're a boy or girl and go back and forth between saying 'he' and 'she.' A large part of me couldn't imagine having a boy, but the other part of me would love that experience. Either way, you will be loved. You are already so very loved.

FIVE YEARS + COURAGE

 

2008 senior prom • freshmen in college • mission trip to peru • 2009 the day we said 'i do'

2011 our first year in new mexico • balloon fiesta • 2012 bringing our Evangeline home

though we've known each other over a decade and have taken pictures together over that time,

film makes it hard to share pictures from all of those years (even our wedding pictures haven't made it to the computer),

but we have them packed away in shoe boxes, tucked into the back of closets and they are cherished

We're celebrating our fifth wedding anniversary (eleven years together) with a little spontaneous weekend trip. While we're away, I thought I'd leave our story here for you all to read. It's been told here before, I'm sure, but I can't pinpoint the time or the holiday and I guess it will continue being told because it's our story after all, and much like this blog, it's always evolving. So if you're new here and you've never heard it before, welcome - have a cup of coffee in my honor, pretend we're clunking our chunky mugs together for good cheer (don't you just love chunky coffee mugs?) and enjoy - you'll probably be here awhile.

The first time I met him, I was eleven years old. When you're eleven years old you're not thinking a lot about meeting your future husband, so I didn't notice him much, but he says he noticed me. No matter how long I stayed somewhere, I always carried around the 'new kid' stigma - painfully shy and self-conscious, quiet and reserved, always with a book in hand. I walked into my new sixth grade classroom wearing a bright yellow Adidas backpack, pony tail bouncing, and was persuaded to introduce myself. I shared my name and probably not much else in a barely audible tone and sat down in the front row, center aisle. We went to a tiny little school made of rock on a back road of a small Southern town, so it isn't surprising that we came to share the same friends. I 'dated' Alex's best friend and I use 'date' because we were twelve and I was terrified to even hold his hand or have a conversation with him, much less go on a date. Alex was different though - different from any other boy, but also different because we were just friends like kids should be, so talking with him came easier.

When we were thirteen, that little school let us out for Summer break and shut down for good shortly after. We went our separate ways, off to where we would both spend our high school years, but not before exchanging addresses and agreeing to write. So we wrote each other letters all Summer long, him from his treehouse he and his brother built themselves in the woods behind his house, me by  flashlight under a blanket on the top bunk while at camp in Arizona. I have no idea what thirteen year olds even write about that is so urgent you break the lights out rule to get it down on paper, but I still have the letters tucked away in a box somewhere, so I guess we'll always have the chance to be reminded. That was one of the ways I knew he was the one in college - so many notes and movie tickets and concert bracelets hadn't been kept, but those notes had made it. I had to have hung onto them for a good reason is the way I saw it and that good reason was that I was meant to marry him.

SIMPLE THINGS + NOT SO SIMPLE THOUGHTS

I find myself unintentionally picking up my camera in more ordinary moments lately. It's probably my quiet revolt against a society that is trying to make everyone believe that they need to be somewhere beautiful, doing something epic, eating something delicious, having life-changing conversations with people that matter, while validating it all by sharing it 40 different places online. 'It doesn't count if no one sees me do it.' is what is ringing in our heads. We all think we're missing something if we aren't connected and the truth is that we are - we're missing real life as it passes by us, blurred glimpses seen from the edges of our screens are what people settle for. I often wonder if ten years from now children will be saying, "I wish I had been able to look up and see my mother's face more, rather than the lens of her camera/seeing her face turned down at her phone." I find myself standing in an ordinary moment, seeing extraordinary beauty so I dash out of the room to find my camera and I try to sneak back into the moment without anyone noticing that I left. Most of the time I'll get a few seconds of the genuine moment, then I'll see their eyes shift, noticing I'm there, followed shortly by a crooked smile and 'What are you doing?'

It makes things a bit quiet around here because honestly, I'm a little intimidated by the many people out there who have a skill for capturing real life in a much more beautiful way than I feel like I can. I enjoy capturing these moments, but I enjoy it for me and I'm honestly terrified of the thought of creating a business or obligation out of a hobby I've come to rely on for therapy. So I usually shy away from sharing some of the more personal pictures I take here because for a long while, in a world focused on sharing without savoring, I thought of it as cheapening. I know they're nothing special in terms of skill, but I cherish them. These moments are fleeting. They are the simple moments people miss after time has passed - your two year old discovering morning light, watching your husband shave, stuffed animals at the table.

I feel that so much of people's lives that are shared online are posed. This world demands perfection - look your best, act your best, share your best, be the best, and it's disheartening because I feel like I am the least put together woman out there for one, but I also wonder how that can be satisfying. That first statement is probably what explains the absence of pictures of myself here. It's something I realize is an issue inside of me that needs to be dealt with, my lack of taking care of myself at all for one, but also my reluctance to keep pictures of myself in which I'm not satisfied with my appearance. It's a curious thing too because I'm not necessarily self-conscious of what I look like nor do I care what other people think about me much. It's more about how I don't look the way I feel, a disconnect between the life I'm living in my head and what my appearance says about that. There are so many other things that are a bigger priority for me that I rarely think about how I'm dressed or when I ate or exercising at all, until I look at a picture of myself and it's all completely apparent to me, my lack of loving myself.

There have been a plethora of articles out there lately about 'over parenting' and being 'too busy.' My thoughts: you wouldn't have to over parent and busy yourself into exhaustion if you had someone else, a village, but we don't. We're all trying to find our solace in the internet through false connections - likes and comments and glimpses into the good parts of another woman's life that feel like relationship-building, but it's not. You may be making friends on the internet, but you still sit in your house alone every day and the saddest part is there are women around you doing the same thing, but no one wants to make the effort to build that village. If they do, we spend our hours together checking our phones. One up side I've found to all of this is that I hold onto the relationships that I am able to build more intentionally, but when you move away from each other it isn't quite the same. You still long for a community. You still feel lonely trying to do it all yourself.

Simple things Sunday is about slowing down and capturing life’s everyday details. Taking joy in the simple things is the focus and Sunday is the day we gather together to reflect on our experiences from the week and share our photos with each other.