Small Style

Loving...

Her eyelashes


Shoes on her feet


Not quite loving...

The, um, strong personality that has surfaced over the last two weeks. (Still hoping it's the teeth.)



Thankfully, "ilk!!!" seems to make a lot of things bearable for Little Miss, including an annoying Mama desperately trying to get a full-length shot of her outfit.


Happy Friday everyone!






Making it Work
Blazer: Gap, Emma hand-me-down
Shirt: Tea Collection, Kendall hand-me-down
Jeans: Old Navy, friend hand-me-down
Shoes: Pediped, Emma hand-me-down
Bow: Adornemegirl

Little Better

As she buried her head in my chest, I felt her shakes and I knew they were real. The tears were falling from a child, but the cries were from a grown-up place that I often wish my 6 year old didn't have to visit.

I knew she had been struggling lately, that something was up. But it wasn't until a walker stood between her and a much-anticipated tea party that I saw her heart.

"Why does she have to use that, Moooom. Just take her out so we can get started."

I knew right then and there that all of this "rock star" walker business was getting to her. My heart ached at the thought, and my tongue was tempted to quickly "fix" her hurt. But this wasn't the time. The table was set, the Princess music was already on full blast, and Kendall was anxiously waiting to do her welcome dance. So we all sat at the table, poured "tea" into mini tin cups and shared Rice Chex and raisins as if everything was okay.

It wasn't until a few days later that I saw my chance. Jeff had sent Emma to her room for disrespecting him, and I quickly suggested that I do the "sit down" with her this time. After we talked about her behavior, I only had to mention Brooklyn's walker before she broke down.

"Why does she have to have a walker? Why can't she just walk like you and me."

We had one of these kinds of conversations soon after Brooklyn started physical therapy, but that was before there were standers and walkers and lots of people acting like these were all good things. To an innocent heart and a praying big sister, these weren't good things at all.

So we talked. We talked about Faith, we talked about miracles, and we talked about Heaven. We talked about sister love and playgrounds and God's plan and dancing. We hugged and we cried, and when it was all said and done, she answered one of my greatest prayers in just seven simple words.

"Mom, you always make me feel better."

Today, instead of playing Barbies with Kendall, she sat on the floor and played with Brooklyn until her bus came. When I told her it was time to get her coat on, she kissed Brooklyn on the head and promised her they would play some more as soon as she got home from school.

As Emma closed the door behind her, Brooklyn called out for her -- "Me-maw!" -- and started to inchworm crawl her way over to the door. Emma caught it all out of the corner of her eye and ran back, sneaking in one more kiss on her baby sister's head before skipping up the driveway and heading off to 1st grade.

~Linking up with Just Write.~

Having it All

The first time she said it, it stung.

"Where am I going tomorrow, Mommy?"

I never thought my child would be wondering who she'd be spending the day with. It should be with me -- her Mommy -- shouldn't it? Shouldn't it?

When Jeff and I decided to start trying for a baby, we both agreed that me being at home was a priority. At the time, I was able to finagle an "at home" work arrangement that let me do my writing during nap time and at night, with a "big girl" trip into the office once a week. I admit, it was a good gig.

But then life threw us a few curve balls and work was no longer an "option" but a necessity. And as much as I feel blessed to be able to help provide for our family, there are days when I have to fight to not get angry. To not get jealous. To not get resentful.

I am just so flipping tired.

But then there are days when I love the fact that I can grab my cup of coffee, enter my "office," and stretch myself outside of these four walls. I get to research, talk to smart people, and create something that I am good at. And get paid for it. All the while, my girls are happy and being well cared for.

In a way, it's like having it all. I know this. But at night, I find myself wishing I could be like "everyone else" who gets to enjoy some downtime instead of psyching myself up for another long night of work. I want to go to bed before 12am. Just once.

On Mondays and Thursdays, when I hear Brooklyn laughing two rooms away, my heart wishes I was the one making her giggle. I want to trade in stressful deadlines for a round or two of Candy Land, where my only worry is to not pick up the dreaded gingerbread man when I am only two reds away from sweet candy bliss.

But I know all to well that Candy Land has its own set of stresses. I've had a taste of both sides of Mommyland, and neither one is easy. Being with them all day; leaving them with someone else. It's all hard. And exhausting.

And that's the part where I actually get encouraged. Not in a "misery loves company" kind of way, but I must say it is extremely healing to realize that you are not the only one struggling to find balance. There was a time in my life when I played the "I'm busier" game, and it's very lonely. The fact is that we are all busy and trying to figure out how to enjoy the life we have been given.

I admit that many days I have to work at finding the joy. It's a choice -- plain and simple. And although my head knows the "right" perspective, sometimes my heart is just not there. And, lately, my heart just so isn't there.

But I am working on it. I am trying to accept this season of my life and how it is shaping me. I could waste my days longing for "simpler" times when I didn't have to work so hard, or I could be thankful that Kendall can run into my "office" and give me one of her awesome hugs before rest time. Some days I have wasted, but many days I am thankful that I have a job that allows me to be near my children, even if I can't be with them every second.

Today, life forced me to trade deadlines for snuggles and sniffles, and let me tell you, I appreciated every one of those snuggles. And instead of a quick hug before rest time, I got to read about princesses and ballerinas under the covers.

Yes, I was exhausted at 8pm when I sat down to begin yet another late night, but as I settled in my chair, I couldn't help but appreciate my "day off." It wasn't easier, necessarily, but it was exactly what my heart needed in order to catch up with my head. Today, I felt like I had it all.

But the funny thing is, it will all still be there tomorrow.

Rock Star

 

They said there was no way to know her abilities. What she will or won't be able to do.

Every case is different. Every child is different.

Wait and see. Wait and see.

Well, we have waited, and now we are seeing. Seeing miracles. Perhaps through a different lens than the rest of the world, but we are seeing miracles.

From the first day she kicked those legs, to the first day she sat up, to first day she scooted across that floor, to the first day she stood tall and proud.



And now we are here. Walking. A place that looks different than I ever would have imagined, but a place that is more beautiful than I ever could have dreamed.

Of course, there will be more milestones. More independence. More work. But I have no doubt she will amaze me every single time.

Just weeks ago, they said that she was "too young" to start using a walker.

"Mrs. Bonnema, these kids with Spina Bifida aren't typically ready until 24 months, sometimes 3 years old."

Well, my dear surgeon, perhaps you have forgotten what you told me 2 years ago. Words I have hung onto every day of her existence.



Every case is different. Every child is different. 

She is different

and motivated

and stronger than you or I will ever be.



And perhaps, my dear surgeon, you haven't met my God. Because He? Well, He can do anything. Through you, through me, and most certainly through these kids with Spina Bifida.

They are rock stars. Every one of them. Not because of their challenges, but because of how they overcome those challenges.



Our rock star has decided to skip the part where you fit her for a more mobile form of bracing. We will get fitted for that next week, but until then, she has decided that she's not waiting for anyone to tell her what she is able to do. All she needed was some wheels, and thankfully God provided us with a therapist who ignored her age and her diagnosis -- and only saw her abilities.

Apparently "wait and see" isn't on Brooklyn's agenda.

Yeah, total rock star.




Linking up with Small Style...
T-shirt: Okie Dokie (gifted)
Leg warmers: hand-made (gifted)
skirt: Baby Gap, niece hand-me-down
hair bow: Adornmegirl
shoes: Pedoodles, Kendall hand-me-downs

Special

Most days when I look at her, I forget. I don't think about Spina Bifida, her shunt, her cathing, or her legs. I just see her -- Brooklyn -- and the beautiful spirit that she is. The way she now gives tight-around-the-neck hugs, her silly games of peek-a-boo, her fake "cries" to get attention, how she raises her little finger for "one more" book, and the way she adores every single thing her big sisters do.





But then there are other days when the tears fall fast and quick -- and I'm not really sure why. Days like today when I remember what she's been through and how it just isn't fair. How another rock star friend of hers has to go in for another surgery, and it just isn't fair. They are only children.

They are only children. 

But what's amazing about all of this is that it only takes one more look at her -- at that little impish grin -- and I forget all over again. I have written before about how I don't know if I could love her without hurting a little, and I think perhaps I was wrong. Yes, I hurt for her, but most of the time I just see all of the joy, the love, and the beauty she has brought into our lives. Part of that is because of her Spina Bifida and all that has taught us, but most of that is because of who she is...something that has nothing to do with her Spina Bifida at all.



Her determination is what is allowing her to succeed far beyond any of our expectations. Her gentle spirit is what has her therapists wrapped around her little finger. Her playful attitude is what captivates her sisters' attention when they could very easily ignore her.

When people talk about their diagnosis not defining them...I get it. Now I get it. This girl is so much more than the scars on her back, her head, and her feet. She is Brooklyn.



And that is what makes her special.








Making it Work...
dress and legwarmers -- Target, Kendall hand-me-downs
shirt -- Cherokee, niece hand-me-down
shoes -- Pedoodles, Kendall hand-me-downs
headband -- Adornemegirl

About Face

Kendall and I had a date with my camera yesterday, and I had every intention of getting some great good shots of her in my favorite dress for Small Style. But as with all things Kendall, she ended up being a goofball, and I couldn't get a good full-length shot of her. But boy did I get some close-ups, and I am in love with every one of them.

Just to be clear, when I say I am in love with them, I am not talking about the photography. I am talking purely about the subject matter. I realize I am looking at these through a Mommy Lens, but seriously, this girl is just too darn cute. I could have posted about 20 pictures, but I did my best to edit it down to my very favorites. All of them give you a glimpse of the many things I love about my Middle. She is a ham, but she also has a very tender heart.

Here are some of the many faces of Kendall:


The Face we call trouble




The ever-famous "Sharpay Face"




The Face that melts Jeff's heart




The Face that makes me giggle



The face that melts my heart




The face that makes me wonder where my baby went



The face that speaks for itself



The face that I will always remember





Oh yeah, and the dress...

(Christmas splurge: ZAZA Couture via Zulily)

Go

He misses me. I can feel it.
I miss Him too.

Why does this life always seem to distract me from the things that are dearest? Why is it such an effort

to stop

when it's really all I want to do.

But I keep going -- we all do -- because sometimes stopping just isn't an option and because sometimes

we are afraid to.

Does it prove something to everyone else, to me, if I keep going? What is on the other side of busy? Perhaps I am afraid to look.

What does He think? Is He trying to tell me to stop, or is He giving me the strength to keep going? I'm not sure.

It doesn't feel right -- eyes burning, stomach churning, patience fleeting -- yet the train must keep running.

As least for now.

What does He think?

Maybe I should take the time to stop and ask Him. I mean really ask Him.

I think I will.

~Linking up with Just Write...

Sanity

This, my friends, has been my sanity lately. I love, love, love my morning coffee. Like a lot. I actually find myself looking forward to my cup of coffee as I am getting into bed for the night. (Is it just me?) Of course, that may be because it's not technically night any more when I slide under those covers, but I'm pretty sure having a cup at 1am or 2am would really not be a good idea.

I have to say that things have been a little hectic around here lately, and my head is all cloudy. (Too much coffee, perhaps?) But it is really bothering me that I haven't posted anything yet this year. I have a whole "2012 word" post written in my head, but more work is beckoning me tonight, so it will have to wait a few more days.

Until then, I'll leave you with a photo of few other things that keep me sane. Well, most of the time! ;)

Enjoy your Monday coffee, everyone!

The Photo That Should Have Been Our Christmas Card

Well, I didn't send out Christmas cards this year -- those stamps add up -- but I did manage to get a photo of all three of them in their Christmas outfits. And I literally mean a photo, as in 1 take, on the way out the door to church. Not bad, 'eh?



Hope you all had a great Christmas!

Making It Work...
Emma: shirt - Children's Place, skirt and leggings: via Kohl's (gifted); scarf - Justice
Brooklyn: shirt, skirt, and sweater - Children's Place, Emma hand-me-down (see Emma in it here and Kendall in it here... too fun!); red shoes -- I wish you could see them! -- Pediped, Kendall hand-me-downs
Kendall: dress - Gymboree, Emma hand-me-down

Indulge

In case you haven't noticed, this blog has an identity crisis. I think that if Simon Cowell were to critique this blog, he would call it "indulgent." And it is. The tense, the tone, the perspectives are all over the place, depending on how I am feeling that day. One day I'm using medical terms with a "Brooklyn Update," other days I'm showing off our latest fashion attempt, and yet other days I'm all deep thoughts, writing poems and stories that my heart needs to get out. Honestly, this all-over-the-placeness kinda drives me nuts, yet I think that's why I like it.

I think.

You see, I have a problem with blogs. You might find that interesting since I have one, but until Brooklyn, I never really dove in and tried to "make it" as a blogger. Not that I'm trying to "make it" now, but more on that in a minute.

First of all, I think there is a fine line between sharing your story and making it a circus. How much should people really know about your life...about your children's lives? And how much do I want them to know? I'm still not sure I know the answer to that question, which is why I am hesitant to share a lot about Jeff and my other two girls.

Blogging somehow makes you an authority -- or at least people perceive you as such. And I am SO not an authority on anything. Please don't think for a second that I have all the answers -- or that I think I have all the answers. I for sure do not, and, honestly, I need just as much help as any other Mommy struggling to find balance. Most nights I lay in bed wishing for a "do-over," holding myself back from running into their rooms to apologize and hug and not rush this time that I know I will miss all too soon.

And although I know this blog is very "Brooklyn heavy," there is a reason for that. I hope you don't think that this indicates that Emma and Kendall are any less important than Brooklyn. Of course, that just isn't true.  I do my best to make them feel just as special in our everyday lives because they are. I'm sure I fail a lot in those attempts, but I know in my heart I am trying.

Honestly, I think I am more comfortable writing about Brooklyn because I feel I get a little "grace" in that journey. It's new and it's fresh and it's different than most people's journeys, so I feel like bad days are a little more forgivable than my bad days with Emma and Kendall. The failures with a 4 year old and 6 year old are just so much more obvious, and I'm not sure my heart is ready to admit that I am not as good at this Mommy thing as I thought I would be. It's hard, and it's a work in progress.

Basically, I use this blog to gain perspective. I vent, yes, but I try to do so in a way that is positive because that is how I deal with things. I refuse to become bitter. At the same time, I don't want to create a perception of our lives that isn't true. We are not perfect around here. Far from it, in fact. There is a fair share of yelling, melt-downs and regrets. Maybe too many, but I am working on it. Always working on it.

I struggle to find an identity on this blog because I really don't know what it is supposed to be. What God wants it to be. I have readers, yes, but I have no idea why. I think most of it is because of Brooklyn, and I'm okay with that...I think.

I mostly struggle with what I should be writing. There are many inspiring blogs out there already (Kelle Hampton just plain rocks), and although I have opinions on parenting issues like sleep and food, I know that every family has their own way of doing things and my way isn't necessarily better. It just works for us.

I have my faith, yes, but I hesitate to get too "preachy" because my Bible background isn't as strong as I think it should be. There is a responsibility (I feel) associated with throwing out Bible verses. I do it when I feel led, but I don't want to force it or contrive something that is for myself -- and not for Him. Yet I often feel like He wants me to do more with this, which is confusing.

And then, of course, there is my real writing job...but that's a story for another day.

So what is this blog? Is this my testimony? Is it just my way of dealing with this season of my life? Does it/could it/should it mean anything more than that?

I have absolutely no idea, and until I do, I guess I will just continue to indulge and wait until God gives me an answer.

Freeze

I can feel the chill finding it's way through the cracks of the storm door, but it doesn't seem to bother her. As she leans in, trying to press her head against the cool glass, I hold on tight to her stander so she doesn't tip over.

She has the most beautiful profile. I have always hated mine. It's the nose that goofs it up for me. But her nose...it is absolutely perfect.

Open fisted she bangs, bangs, bangs on the glass, desperately trying to get her sisters' attention. Kendall sees her and quickly comes up to the door, eyes peeking out between hat and scarf.

Brooklyn is giggling as Kendall approaches, and she starts jerking back and forth in her stander in excitement. Kendall opens the door with a snow-covered mitten and gives her baby sister a snotty kiss on the head.

"Careful," I say as she closes the door. Tiny fingers in door jams is one of my biggest Mommy fears.

Emma is now looking for Kendall, and the two decide to play in the driveway as Jeff sweeps away evidence of the first snow. The girls are dancing and don't seem to mind that there is merely a light dust covering the ground.

I look back at Brooklyn. She is watching them closely, smiling and cooing and I swear wishing she could be out there with them. There is a pang in my heart, and I wonder if she knows. She can't possibly, right? Not yet.

Please, not yet.

I am not ready for that day. The day that threatens to take her innocence, her joy. I will do my best to not let that happen, but there will be sadness. This I know.  Jeff and I have often said we'd just like to freeze time, to let her be this age forever.

I decide that there is no reason she can't feel the snow beckoning her from behind the glass. I lay her down, get her out of the stander, and let her sit and watch the girls while I try to find a snowsuit. I quickly search through bins, only to discover that it must be in one of the bins I lent to my sisters.

Defeated, I look around at the mess I've made and see the shoe bin. I've been meaning to pull it out since Brooklyn got her casts off and decide now is a good time to go through it.

I lug the blue bin over to Brooklyn and, together, we sift through the shoes and find ones that will fit over her AFO braces. Some work, some don't. When we are finished, she is left with a pretty good shoe supply, including a pair of red shoes Kendall only wore twice. I leave them on, even though they clash with her pink outfit.

I hear the garage door open and the scuffling of boots and unzipping of snow pants. The girls are asking for a snack and the hot chocolate I promised them. I ask Brooklyn if she wants a snack, and she eagerly signs "eat" with an anxious "tst, tst, tst."

We all head to the kitchen, and I cut up some apples and scatter Cheerios on Brooklyn's highchair. She gathers them and stuffs them in her mouth all at once. I give her "the look," and she just grins, knowing exactly what Mommy's gonna say.

"One at a time, Brooklyn..."

I pour freshly made hot chocolate into mugs and top them with stale marshmallows. I warned the girls that they were stale, but they decided that stale marshmallows were better than no marshmallows at all.

I couldn't agree more. I just hope that someday, she does too.

Push

So leave it to me to get on a good blogging roll and then come to a screeching halt after leaving my heart on the page screen for all to see.

I kinda feel like that last post needs some explanation, yet my hope was that it wouldn't need one at all. I have to admit that I wonder what ya'll thought of it. Not that this is a shameless plug for comments, but I do care what you think. Probably more than I should.

But, honestly, that's one of the reasons I wrote the last post. Lately, I've been inspired to take chances. My whole life, I have played it safe. I have followed the rules and colored like WAAAY inside the lines. I still follow rules (just ask my hubby and my 6-year-old daughter), but I realize that I need to let my crayon travel outside those boundaries every once in a while. Like many other things, it is good for the soul.

So I have decided to push myself...in my work, my writing, and my faith. Taking chances not for the sake of taking chances, but to inspire myself to do more, to leave a mark. Even it means putting myself out there.

This blog is a "risk" for me. Yes, I am a writer by trade, but I am a journalist. I deal with research, facts, and figures. I write with my head. But this, this is my heart. And that is a scary thing.

But I am pushing myself. Writing about things that might make some people uncomfortable and playing with words in ways that would make my grammar teacher rip her hair out. Yes, we're talking commas here, but it's my crayon and my journey. I'm sure yours would look different, but that's the point.

Push.

Don't get me wrong. This isn't about putting a spotlight on me or even this blog. If I only have 3 readers, so be it. It's about feeling alive. It's about amazing my God. It's about inspiring my own children to feed their passions, to not settle for cozy and comfortable.

I feel called to be more. I feel we are all called to be more.



I literally watch this little girl push herself every single day... joyfully and with much determination. There are just so many things I take for granted. So many things that are EASY.




But the blessing, my friends, isn't in the easy. It's in the hard. The uncomfortable. The more.



Push.



Making it Work... (and linking up with Small Style)

Shirt: Target, Kendall hand-me-down
Skirt: Old Navy, Kendall hand-me-down
Tights: Baby Gap, niece hand-me-down

*P.S. Putting this brown skirt with a gray top was VERY outside of the lines for me. I know, I know... nothing says "carpe diem" like a brown skirt. Let's call it "mocha," shall we? ;)

In His Presence

The first thing she felt was the grass tickling her feet. It was cool, yet inviting; each blade soft to the touch, but firm enough to find its way between each of her toes. The sensation, she realized, was new. She didn't want to open her eyes -- not yet. Something made her want to savor the feeling for just a little while longer.

She stretched out her left leg and felt the tickle crawl from her feet to her ankle, up her leg, until it stopped at her knees where her dress began. She then stretched her right leg, taking the time to lengthen it ever so slowly.  

Savor.

The weight of her legs was now making imprints in the soft grass, grounding her, yet the feeling pulsing through her body made her want to fly.

She opened her eyes. The light before her was blinding -- blue and white with flecks of golds and silver. Even in its brilliance, it was mesmerizing, drawing her in and making her see more clearly.

And that's when she saw Him. He had been watching her the whole time. He too had been waiting for this moment. The smile on His face mimicked the feeling spreading throughout her whole body.

Pure joy.

Their eyes met, and He nodded. It was time.

She looked down at her new body and slowly bent her knees, using her hands to push her legs up, until finally she was standing. The movement was graceful, easy. As if this was how it was always meant to be.

She looked back at Him, eyes wide, and He held out his arms. Her first step was careful and slow, but as she felt the weight of her body on the lush ground beneath her, she began to walk faster and faster, until finally she was running. Running as fast as she could until she fell into His arms and thanked Him. Over and over and over.

Thank you.

As they pulled away, His hand touched her cheek and He searched her eyes for any questions. She had none.

He smiled again.

His arms invited her to leave if she wanted to. As she looked around, she saw that some were dancing, leaping, while others sang in unison. Their praise permeated the air, creating new breath. She inhaled.

She saw others walking through the fields, laughing and talking; children skipping and running; the flowers swaying to the rhythm of their joy. Her soul warmed.

Then she saw those gathered at His feet -- peaceful and still -- and she knew where she wanted to be, just for a little while longer.

She slowly bent her knees, lowering her body back onto the grass, and simply sat in His presence. As if this was how it was always meant to be.

(Copyright, Lisa Bonnema, 2011)

************

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 'He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" Then he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."

He said to me: "It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children." 

Revelation 21:3-7 NIV  

************

Spark

Last week, when we were at clinic, I saw an adorable little girl in leg and hip braces, pushing a walker, and I couldn't help but smile. Her mom followed as she confidently led the way, knowing exactly where she wanted to go and almost taking a few toes out along the way. This girl had a destination!

First, it was full speed ahead to the table with the over-sized checkers board, where she took a seat with her mom. But she immediately switched gears when she spotted a waving baby. I watched as she got back into her walker and eagerly rolled over to the baby. She then flipped down her seat (that was part of the walker) and thought nothing of striking up a conversation with the baby and his family. And there she sat chatting for the next 15 minutes, beaming as much light as when she first walked in.

Clinic days are interesting. They reveal the crazy spectrum that is Spina Bifida, ranging from kids with no signs of physical challenges that are there for a quick urology check up, to incapacitated kids with feeding tubes and reclined wheelchairs. Most of the time, I leave thankful for Brooklyn's health and praying for the little ones with much bigger struggles.

When they called us in for Brooklyn's ortho appointment, I couldn't get the image of the little girl out of my mind. It was an image I have seen many times in my head, and I couldn't help but ask the question I knew better than to ask:

"I know you're only guessing, but based on what you see so far, what do you think Brooklyn will be able to do?"

Our orthopedic surgeon smiled and gently told me that it depends on the muscle strength we see in the coming months. But as I pressed her, she added that because Brooklyn is already able to sit up independently, she should be able to walk with assistance. We just aren't sure what that "assistance" will mean. There will definitely be braces of some kind and a walker involved at some point, either as a bridge to crutches or as her main mode of transportation. And, of course, there is always the possibility that she will need a wheelchair, even if it is just for long distances.

Her answers didn't surprise me. In fact, I pretty much knew what she was going to say, but something made me ask. I admit that for the last 6 months, I have basically predetermined what I think Brooklyn will do. It's not like I've completely lost hope -- trust me, I still pray BIG -- but I kind of felt like I just knew. A Mama's heart can feel that stuff.

Later that day, Brooklyn had physical therapy. Nothing special, just our typical weekly therapy. But during stretching, I watched our PT's face light up.

"I think I just felt something new twinge."

My heart stopped.

"I think I might have fired a hamstring."

Now I was choking back tears. You think I'd be used to this by now. Even now, as I write, the tears are falling.

It wasn't until that moment that I realized perhaps I had lost a little bit of hope. It's a difficult balance -- hoping and accepting. We had heard early on that maybe Brooklyn had some hamstrings, but further unofficial "tests" didn't confirm that, so I figured we were all quads. And although I want every muscle we can get, quads are all we need to walk. So I was good with that.

But to think there was still a chance for more? To think for a second that my image was wrong. Well, that was a m a z i n g.

Like anything in life, I'm not sure there is a "right" way to navigate through this journey, but I do think that a spark of hope every now and then is good for the soul, even if it turns out to be wrong.

This week, Brooklyn has started to experiment going on all fours, bending knees that never really existed when she was born. We are bumping her PT appointments up to twice a week, and I can't tell you how excited I am to see what she can do.

We also have a muscle test coming up in January -- her first one since the day she was born. I am both excited and scared to see what we find.  I am fully aware the results may prove our PT wrong -- and my heart is ready for that (I think) -- but my hope, my prayers will still be that Brooklyn proves all of us wrong.

Happy weekend, everyone!

 

(Shhhhh!)

Imperfect

I planned on going to bed early tonight, but here I sit, again, at the computer screen. I have had so many posts half-written in my head, but somehow they haven't made it onto the screen.

That seems to be happening a lot lately. I have the best of intentions, yet my follow-through hasn't been the best. I feel like I have been letting down so many people...friends, the girls, Jeff, God.

I used to think I was "anal," but with the humbling gift of children, I realized I am not at all anal -- or organized -- but I am a perfectionist. And perfectionism can paralyze you at times. You know Black Swan... that really dark, twisted movie that most people would never see again? I totally got it. Not sure I would ever see it again, but I think I was more disturbed by how much it spoke to me. Sometimes your own expectations can, well, kill you. The quest to be "perfect." It often stops me in my tracks, frozen and staring straight into the face of failure.

Real-life example: I go to Bible study on Monday nights. I am not saying this to get a notch in my belt. Actually, quite the opposite. I have been HORRIBLE about getting my lessons done. There are 5 per week and that's a lot for this season in my life. And although that might be understandable, the expectation still hovers over me...another thing that didn't get done.

It was tempting not to go tonight. I haven't done a lesson for weeks and wouldn't be able to participate. And I don't do "quiet" or "listen" well. But I went. It was our last study, and I didn't want to let myself down or disappoint my group. I made a commitment, and the least I could do was show up. Plus, I kinda wanted a Mommy night out before Jeff heads out of town for a few days.

And, of course, in all of his awesomeness, God totally spoke to me tonight. Like A LOT. He used my "listening" -- my failure to do the lessons -- to bless me. Can I tell you how much I love that about Him? How He loves me despite my many shortcomings and works to show me that my weaknesses are there to push me forward, to help me grow...not to hinder me.

To be clear, that guilt about the lessons was not Him...it was me. He, on the other hand, found a way to show me I am loved, even when I neglect to make time for the most important thing in my life. He blessed me simply because I showed up...empty-handed, yes, but with a willing heart. And truly, friends, that is all it takes.

On the way home, I ended up getting an opportunity to do something nice for two people I love very much, and it felt so good. Not just because I actually followed through on something I have been wanting to do for weeks now, but because God orchestrated a night to bless me, to encourage me. And I never even asked.

This may not be my most well-written post, nor will it have my usual "zinger" at the end, but I don't care. Today, I dedicate this post to Him. To thank Him for his love, His grace, and His patience with me as I try to figure out His will for my life. I trust that He will see my intention, and that will be enough. Tonight, I am humbled and honored to be His daughter, imperfections and all.

Standing on the Promises

I kinda wish I could have posted her naked because really, I don't give a flying fig what she is wearing right now...

SHE IS STANDING!

It is wonderful and strange and humbling and absolutely amazing to see my baby standing on her own two legs. She just looks so tall, so much older, and oh so beautiful...my heart overflows.

She may need a little help for now, but it doesn't matter. I can see it now, right there in front of me. His plan. He's whispered, painted images on my heart since we found out about our rock star, but to see it happening -- with my own two eyes -- well, it is enough to send me to my knees. Or better yet, stand in awe...with my baby.

I no longer have to imagine. It is happening.

She may always need help, but that's okay. I don't care. At least not today. This isn't about what the world thinks is "normal." None of that matters. Not anymore.

It is about what He can do. What she can do. What they will do together.

It's about seeing the miracles...whether that means beating the odds, or simply taking advantage of the medical advances our generation is blessed enough to have available.

I don't care.

SHE IS STANDING.

Making it Work...
Onesie: Carter's (Target)
T-shirt: Cherokee, Emma hand-me-down
Pants: The Children's Place, niece hand-me-down

Real

"Mommy, why are you putting on makeup?" she asks me, eyes wide.

I am finally getting to me. Everyone else clothed, fed, washed. I decide to put on some mascara in an effort to make an effort. Or maybe it's because the mom I will see when I drop off Kendall at her playdate is 10 years younger than me.

Through the mirror, I see that Brooklyn is still happily playing with the plastic top from my mousse and some other random blocks/toys I sprawled on the bathroom floor. Please don't hit your head on the tile. But I let her play because I know I should.

The question is still there, hanging...waiting for an answer. She asks me again, although I have not forgotten.

"Mom-meeeee, why are you putting on makeup?"

I wonder why parenting has to be so hard. Such a simple question, yet it has my head spinning. I want to be honest, yet carefully word the answer so that an impressionable young female heart isn't given the wrong message.

Why AM I putting on makeup? I guess it is a good question after all.

I muster up an answer that I am sure is all sorts of wrong, but it's all I got: "Because it makes Mommy feel good. I don't have to put it on. I just I want to."

It seems to appease her, and she disappears into my closet. I continue applying the mascara, now annoyed that they can't seem to design a brush that will actually separate my lashes without clumps.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

"Look, Mommy!" she giggles. One of her famous shoe fashion shows. Today, she's chosen the camel booties that I bought 8 years ago  -- pre-kids and when I worked full time and spent way too much money at Ann Taylor and Nordstrom. I'm still not sure if they will "pass" this season as booties, or if they will look like I am trying too hard and missed.

She shuffles past Brooklyn, who I now see has opened a tampon and is sucking on it. I take it away. Kendall disappears back into the closet.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Now, it's the purple boots my Mom bought me 5 years ago when I wanted something that made me feel like I wasn't a Mom. Not that I don't loving being a Mom. I just don't want to necessarily look like a Mom. Well, I guess I just want to look like a trendy Mom. Or maybe I just don't want to look old.

Emma now enters the bathroom and asks me for the millionth time if it's time for her play date. I instantly feel guilty that I forgot she was home. Then I feel guilty that I am dropping her off at a play date when she has the day off. And then I feel guilty that Kendall also has a play date on the same day. I didn't it really plan it that way. It just happened. I hosted the last two here, but I still feel bad. They are both beyond excited, which only makes me feel a little better.

The Mommy clock is ticking, and I'm starting to lose them. Brooklyn is trying to army crawl to me -- Please, please don't hit your head -- and Kendall is whining about snack. I reach for my cell phone, which is now my watch, and see that I've spent a whopping 15 minutes getting ready yet I've only managed makeup and clean teeth.

I look in the mirror, grimace at my hair, and throw it into a ponytail, deciding that I can get away with it because of the mascara.

But then I put on some over-sized earrings and grab my riding boots, just in case.

Ready for some skin!

We like purple and all -- and hot pink was fun -- but we prefer to go "au natural" -- if you know what I mean. Casts off tomorrow!

Woo-hoo!!!

(Is it me, or could you just eat her?!)

Tug, Tug, Tug

This one is growing up way too fast, and I am trying hard to figure out how to let go while still staying close.



This one cracks me up, but has a sensitive heart that I pray we are filling much more than we are hurting.



This one is giving me more strength these days than she will ever realize, and I am convinced now more than ever that she was meant for me -- and not the other way around.



My three loves, pulling my heart strings in all sorts of directions but somehow holding me together; tugging and mending, just enough so that the love overflows.


*****
(Linking up to Small Style at Mama Loves Papa)

Making it work...
Emma: cardigan and belt- Target; jeans- Gap

Kendall: coat- Target, Emma hand-me-down; cords- Kohls, Emma hand-me-down; shoes- Koala Kids, friend hand-me-down

Brooklyn: dress- Old Navy, Kendall hand-me-down; leggings- Gymboree, niece hand-me-down; hat- gifted,  Kendall-hand-me down