My Mother's Day

It's nice to have a day where you are able to claim...

"Its MY day, so I get to..."

Fill in the blank.

1. Sleep in late.

2. Have breakfast made and cleaned up for me.

3. Take a 2 hour nap.

4. Choose my own radio station.

5. Not have to wipe any bottoms.

6. Not have to wipe ANYTHING!

I had a pretty great Mother's Day.

While all the details were taking care for me I had sometime to look around and see what is right in front of me.

To start, I have a pretty amazing husband.

I may or may not give him a hard time about his singing and nail biting and the amount of time he takes to get ready...

But when it comes down to it, he kinda loves me.

A lot.

And I know it.

Which is pretty awesome.

And I only hope he knows how much I love him.

(More)

Together we have these pretty great kids, with one more on the way, and they are the most precious gifts I could have ever asked for. 

They drive me crazy.

They are loud and dirty and messy, but dang do I love them.

I love being their mom.

I told each one of them that last night as I was tucking them in.

"I love being your Mommy"

I'm not sure I've ever told them that before, which makes me sad.

Because I feel it everyday.

I love this job.

This role.

This life.

Whatever you want to call it. 

I have it pretty darn good.

A very wise lady once told me...

"People can call me a lot of things, but they can not call me ungrateful."

I feel that way too.

I am so incredibly grateful for all of this crazy life.

Happy Mother's Day.

Stick A Sock In It!

Do you have (or know) a child that

NEVER 

STOPS

TALKING?!?!

I do.

She's cute and tiny and she doesn't shut up for even a second.

She's been home sick with me all week.

I'm not sure I am going to be able to make it two more days. 

I'm not sure how many more questions I can answer...

"Right Mommy?"

"Right Mommy?"

"Do I look pretty Mommy?"

"Do you want me to sing a God song Mommy?"

"Do YOU want to sing a God song Mommy?"

"Where are we going now?"

"What about now?"

"Mommy?"

"Mommy?"

HOLY MOTHER!

She talks whether I'm listening or not.

Whether I'm in the same room or not.

She talks to her babies... and her baby's babies.

Do you think it would be rude to tell her to 

"Stick a sock in it!"?

Probably?

Thought so.

Good thing she's so stinkin' cute...

Things That Bring Me Peace

Things That Bring Me Peace

1. A clean (and quiet) house

2. A lavender scented candle

3. My Indie singer/songwriter station on Pandora

4. A fire on a cold day

5. The windows open on a warm day

6. Coffee before everyone gets up

7. A shower in the dark. Better yet...an outdoor shower.

8. Being by the water

9. My favorite antique store

10. A drive by myself with my radio up and the windows down

11. A good glass of wine or a cold beer 

(really missing those right about now)

12. A summer night on the patio

13. A really loud fan when I sleep

**So I just had to break**

 Here I am trying to find my peaceful place when a scream comes from upstairs.

McKinnley just threw up all over the carpet in my room.

Spaghetti and watermelon.

Throw up does not bring me peace.

Really could use a number 11 right about now...

Blue Jay

So after I declared that I am getting back to the heart of my writing I started to get excited.

Ideas for post started swirling.

Only a few hours after I wrote the post, For Me, I have found myself in my house...

By. My. Self.

A rarity.

The kids went to run errands with Logan and since they walked out of the door I haven't stopped cleaning.

First the playroom, then the den, then their rooms.

Each of these tasks has sent me by the kitchen windows a least a couple of dozen times, and like the last few morning I keep noticing a pair of beautiful bright blue jays.

Sometime they are sitting together on the fence.

Other times they are pecking in the grass, but always together.

Before I met one of my dearest friends, I would not have thought twice about these sightings.

But through her I have learned to look a little deeper into meanings of things and I got curious.

I looked up the meaning of these 'Blue Jay Sightings' and my jaw just about dropped open!

Here is where I got my info:

http://www.whats-your-sign.com/blue-jay-animal-symbolism.html

Blue Jay Meanings

"Like the crow, magpie and raven, blue jays are talkative creatures utilizing a wide range of vocalizations to express their opinions. Indeed, their speech abilities are so advanced, that they are able to mimic other birds and even humans.Likewise, those with the blue jay as their totem are quite loquaciousness, and have the gift of gab."

**Coincidence that I have just come to the conclusion to start my writing/gab again???**


"The jay is fearless when it comes to protecting its partner, young and territory.
They also keep the same mate for life, which is symbolic of endurance, patience and loyalty. The jay is an excellent symbol for those wishing to honor their long-lasting bond between friends, family and lovers.
Those who resonate with the blue jay will also find themselves equally curious.
 Indeed, blue jay people have are always dabbling in new directions, gathering new insight, and slaking their curiosities.
These people tend to be a jack-of-all trades, knowing a little bit about seemingly everything. This makes them fantastic trouble-shooters and quite resourceful (not to mention fascinating party guests)."

The universe is always speaking to us... sending us little messages, causing coincidences and serendipities, reminding us to stop, to look around, to believe in something else, something more.
Nancy Thayer 
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/coincidences.html#3TrQzw4FaVBPrH4J.99 

For Me

Well...

Its been a while.

I'm not sure what has kept me away so long.

Life?

Kids?

Time?

Fear?

Every time I get the urge to write a post or story or something, I freeze.

I don't have ANYTHING to write about!

Well...that couldn't be further from the truth.

My mind rarely shuts off and my thoughts are always spinning and turning.

Surely within my crazy full life with my three kids (and a fourth on the way!), my husband, friends, etc... you'd think I could come up with a post or two.

I want to write. 

I think I am a better person when I do...but something has been holding me back.

Maybe its writers block?

Or a less professional version. 

I know I could write about the insignificant things that happen in my day to day life, but for some reason that doesn't seem like enough.

Sometimes I feel like I get so far behind in recording our family milestones that it would just be easier to scrap the whole blog all together.

Then, after nights like last night...

And a sweet talk with a neighbor...

The fire is lit again.

This blog is not for anyone else.

I am so humbled and flattered whenever anyone mentions that they read it or even better LIKE it!

But, its not for them.

Its for me.

I don't need to stick to any schedule or routine here.

I don't have to post about one thing or another if I don't want to.

I think I forgot that.

This space started as a place for me to come and ramble about anything and everything.

Back then my husband and mom were my only followers.

I think I need to get back there.

When writing was fun and not a commitment.

My life is so full of commitments and schedules that I can't help but feel like I am falling short to fulfill.

That's what this blog started to feel like.

Like something else I wasn't able to keep up with.

So, 

I'd like to start again.

I'd like to get back to the basics and the fun that writing used to be.

For me.

And maybe post a couple of cute pics of the kiddos along the way...

Get It Together March

Alright March.

You need to go ahead and pull yourself together already.

You need to start acting like the month in which the first day of Spring is celebrated and take all of these clouds and snow and shove 'em!

We have had about enough. 

It is time to pack away our socks and boots and pull out of flip flops for crying out loud!

It is time to open up our windows and let your breeze clear out all of the viruses and bacterial infections already!

We are tired of looking for the missing glove and dealing with snow coats and boots.

We are tired of Disney Channel reruns and two-hour delays!

Our kids need to go outside...

Where kids belong.

Our legs need a tan.

Our wardrobes need an update.

Our weekends need to be filled with fresh air!

We do not want to be searching for Easter eggs in our winter coats.

Or spend our Spring Break stuck inside.

Our homes are seeming smaller by the minute. 

And our patience growing even smaller.

We've done our time.

We've made enough fires and hot chocolate for one winter.

We've put in our share of snow days and movie days and pajama days.

Enough is Enough.

Get it together March.

One Thing At A Time People

This post has been a long time coming.

Every time I see that damn Sprint commercial I write and rewrite this post in my mind. 

And then like most things, I'm distracted by an orange juice spill or text from a girlfriend and my brilliant post has long been forgotten.

Today, I've been reminded a few times about what bothers me so much about the for mentioned commercial.

It's the one where a man is sitting at a table with a bunch of preschoolers and asks them what is better...

"Doing two things at once or one thing at a time?"

The kids answer immediately, "TWO!! Definitely two!"

And I cringe.

This is an argument that I have with my kids, and more often my husband, on a daily basis.

Since when has it become better to give a bunch of things a little bit of your attention, rather than one thing your undivided attention?

Why is it necessary to sit in front of your 500 channels while searching the web and texting?

Why do you need to be trying to beat your best Fifa score and talking to someone on the phone?

Isn't the point of calling to talk to someone or even sitting down to enjoy your favorite show to, for those few minutes, give that one person or one thing all of your attention?

Isn't the point of doing anything to give it your thought and attention?

How personal is a phone call when you know the person on the other line is engaged in five other things?

How enjoyable is your favorite sitcom when you miss half of b/c you are constantly checking your incoming emails?

What is the point of sitting down and having a meal with someone if for the whole time the two of you are tapping away at your screens?

Doesn't that just defeat the whole purpose?

I mean, just go eat by yourself for goodness sakes!

So...

To the man in the Sprint commercial...

One thing at a time.

The answer is one thing at a FREAKING time!

Giving your personal and heartfelt and full attention to whoever or whatever you are doing is always better.

Its not always practical.

But its better.

And its not always easy.

But its better.

I've been known to pull up Pinterest while waiting at a red light or check Facebook while the TV is on.

I'm guilty of trying to carry on two conversations at once and running to my phone when I hear a text come through.

Then I am reminded of those sad little kids in that commercial and that doing more, having more, saying more is not always better. 

One thing at a time people.

Where Is The Good?

I have been talking with other moms about the Newtown tragedy.

It has been in the forefront of all of our minds. 

As we drop our precious kids off at school and doors that used to be left open are now locked and guarded, we are reminded.

During pick-up conversations the topic always leads to Sandy Hook.

My girlfriend and I stood in front of our kids preschool today while our beautiful, healthy, and safe children ran around the school yard and we and without even saying a word we both knew what the other was thinking.

We just can't shake it.

It's on our minds every day... all day.

How can it not be?

How can I look at my own six year old's face and not think of those parents who would give ANYTHING to look into their child's one more time.

We are feeling broken and lost.

Hopeless and sad.

"What is the world coming to?"; we keep saying.

"Where do we go from here?"

I thought it was just me, but turns out, its every mother I talk to. 

Where is the good? 

(I did not write this but its been emailed to me a few times and I'm sure its floating around facebook and I wanted to share)

Twas' 11 days before Christmas, around 9:38 

when 20 beautiful children stormed through heaven's gate. 

their smiles were contagious, their laughter filled the air. 

they could hardly believe all the beauty they saw there. 

they were filled with such joy, they didn't know what to say. 

they remembered nothing of what had happened earlier that day. 

"where are we?" asked a little girl, as quiet as a mouse. 

"this is heaven." declared a small boy. "we're spending Christmas at God's house." 

when what to their wondering eyes did appear, 

but Jesus, their savior, the children gathered near. 

He looked at them and smiled, and they smiled just the same. 

then He opened His arms and He called them by name. 

and in that moment was joy, that only heaven can bring 

those children all flew into the arms of their King 

and as they lingered in the warmth of His embrace, 

one small girl turned and looked at Jesus' face. 

and as if He could read all the questions she had 

He gently whispered to her, "I'll take care of mom and dad." 

then He looked down on earth, the world far below 

He saw all of the hurt, the sorrow, and woe 

then He closed His eyes and He outstretched His hand, 

"Let My power and presence re-enter this land!" 

"may this country be delivered from the hands of fools" 

"I'm taking back my nation. I'm taking back my schools!"

then He and the children stood up without a sound. 

"come now my children, let me show you around." 

excitement filled the space, some skipped and some ran. 

all displaying enthusiasm that only a small child can. 

and i heard Him proclaim as He walked out of sight, 

"in the midst of this darkness, I AM STILL THE LIGHT."

This Is What MY Six Looks Like...

I can not come up with my own words to explain how I feel about the events that happened this past Friday.

So, until I do, I'll share this with you.

This is what MY six looks like...

What Six Looks Like

by

Jennifer Rowe Walters

I am not really a major cryer. I mean, don't get me wrong, I cry -- when it's appropriate to do so. Funerals. The occasional wedding if it's particularly beautiful or meaningful. Schindler's List. Things that normal people cry at. I am definitely not an over-cryer. I don't cry at commercials or cheesy Hallmark movies or at the drop of a hat. And, when I do cry, there's usually a beginning and an end. I cry. I get it out. I stop. Normal crying.

However, since I first started to understand the magnitude of what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School on Friday morning, I have cried a lot. I cried when I heard the terrible news. I cried when I went to pick my son up early from school. I cried when I told my husband what had happened. I cried when I talked to my girlfriends about it. I cried at church when we prayed for each victim by name. Off and on for going on three days now, I have cried. And this is despite going out of my way to not watch anything about it on TV or read too much about it online. I'm actively trying to avoid it, but I still find myself crying more than usual.

I mentioned this to a friend last night and she said that she couldn't seem to stop crying either. When I asked her why she thought that was, her answer was, for me, a revelation. She said, "I think it's because we know what six looks like. We see it every day... in all its glory." And she was right. Because, you see, this friend and I both have a six-year-old child. I, a six-year-old son. She, a six-year-old daughter. Both are in first grade. Both, I imagine, so heart-breakingly similar to those 20 kids who were so brutally and senselessly killed on Friday morning. And we do, indeed, know what six looks like. We do see it every day. In all its glory. We see the good, the bad and the ugly. The beautiful and the infuriating. It's in our face. We live it and breathe it.

We know what six looks like. We know what it smells like. How it can go from the fresh scent of shampoo and soap to the musky aroma of "dirty child" in what seems like minutes. How it resists getting in the bathtub... and then resists getting out half an hour later. How sweet its hair and skin and clean jammies smell when it sits on your lap and asks you to read it a bedtime story. We know the unmistakeable fragrance of the occasional accident in the middle of the night caused by too much milk and no last-thing-before-bed visit to the toilet.

We know what six looks like. We know what it sounds like. How it cries and whines. How it sings and laughs. How clever it is and how much more clever it grows every day. How it sounds out words on signs as we drive past in the car and how happy it is when it gets them right. How annoying it sounds when it teases its little sister and how kind it sounds when it soothes her when she falls down and hurts herself. We know how lovely the words "Mommy" and "Daddy" and "I Love You" sound in its six-year-old voice.

We know what six looks like. We know how it tastes. How picky it is. How it thinks chicken nuggets or macaroni and cheese are gourmet foods. How much it loves candy and cookies. How it tolerates broccoli and carrots. How it absolutely abhors Brussels sprouts. How it thinks French fries are a vegetable. How it thinks chocolate milk was created by God himself. How it thinks pizza is its own food group. We know that six is happy when it finds "I love you!" written on a napkin in its lunch box at school.

We know what six looks like. We know how it feels. How big it's getting. How fast it outgrows its clothes and how it's no longer a baby, but not quite yet a big kid. We know the weight of six in our arms. How we can barely carry it anymore, but try anyway because we can't quite bring ourselves to accept the truth. We know how easily six gets its feelings hurt if someone says just the wrong thing or if this friend or that one doesn't want to play with it or it gets in trouble at school. We know the velvety softness of six's skin. We know the still-silkiness of its hair.

Yes, we know what six looks like. We know six's gap-toothed smile and its gangly arms and legs. We see how it jumps and dances. How it twirls and runs. We know how funny six is. How absolutely charming it can be. We know six's terrible jokes. We know how obsessed it is with "Minecraft." We know its crooked "S" and its backwards "3." We see how it teeters on the cusp of the world of books and all the joys of reading, but how it's not quite ready to fall in yet. We see how six can't decide if it wants us to stand beside it or not. We watch it take two steps towards independence and one step back towards us every day. We know how sturdy and strong six is... and yet how frail and fragile.

We know what six looks like. How beautiful it is. How precious. How brightly it shines with promise. How much it looks towards the future... toward 7,8,9... How much it looks like forever.

We know what six looks like and can only in our worst nightmares imagine how devastating its loss in this senseless and evil way would be. We can only barely imagine the wreckage and the despair and the utter hopelessness that would be left if six were brutally and suddenly taken from us. We know we couldn't bear life without it.

Yes, we know what six looks like. And we know that, to us -- like it must be for those other mothers and fathers in Connecticut -- six is the whole world.

Jennifer Rowe Walters

http://jrowewalters.wordpress.com/2012/12/16/what-six-looks-like/