Every day, I get to...

 sweep the kitchen about fifteen times, that's not an exaggeration

 put away the toaster at least three times

cook, clean, repeat at least three times

change about 8 diapers

load and unload the dishwasher over and over

get impatient

get interrupted

not have a minute to myself until 8 pm

be there for them, each of them

see them smile

hear them laugh

pray with them

clean up their messes

thank God that I get to be home

be the shoulder that's cried on

point them to Jesus

sing with them

count my blessings

take the focus off myself

be a blessing

serve

love them

be in a warm home

be the light

see their simplicity

pray for strength

every day, I get to do this

As a mom...

I never imagined the lack of sleep,

how I could never wear black or white,

how my food would never be "my" food.

I never thought I'd be talking nonstop,

or have read through hundreds of books.

I never knew that cuddling would soothe my weary soul, 

and that's it usually me that's in a phase and not my child.

ahhhh, this life.

this amazing, beautiful life.

clinging to the robe of Christ and at the feet of Jesus every day,

learning to love beyond myself.

ahhhh, this amazing, beautiful life.

Thankful

There's so much that I have to be thankful.

I'm overwhelmed at times, by the amount of my to do's, 

but when I take a step back, whoa.

*

I'm thankful for Jesus.

For dying for me, loving me, I'd be a pretty big wreck without Him.

He's my peace in the chaos of every day,

the reason that I do what I do.

*

Ezra.

I think I could type just that and no more.

He's naughty as all get out, but he's also the sweetest little boy.

I love how he says "Mom! Shame on you" then he'll race you to the stairs and scream "race you". 

Told you he was naughty! He builds play fires everywhere by dumping everything everywhere and calling it a "hot fire", and if that doesn't keep him busy enough, he'll get a pair of scissors and cut up a piece of paper into about four million pieces. He's little and so squishy still, I can't help but pull him into my arms all the time. I whisper to him "I love you so much, do you love me?" to which he always responds, "no, love daddy".

Jude, or as I like to say in my deep woman voice, Judy.

My baby.

My boy who loves to climb and cuddle. He's stronger than any other baby I've had, or perhaps I'm just weaker. He loves being held, more than anything, and he raises his hands whenever he hears music, even in his car seat. It's darling. He's constantly on the prowl for an open bathroom door so he can check out the toilet, and standing on the table is his new fun game.

Eden.

I'm not even sure where to begin. She's the second mommy of the house, in more ways than just helping! She's like my right hand. My creative pursuer, shoe obsessed, lip gloss lover. She's fun, funny, slightly rude, book loving, school loving girl.

Micah Gray!

I've been yelling saying that a lot lately. I love this picture, it also reminds me of how much he's changed in months. The day after he turned six, all things became silly. All. The. Time. He's caring, affectionate, and totally unable to sit down. He's slightly obsessed with Jude, legos, and Star Wars.

Michael.

My rock.

I've needed him more this past year than in our eleven years of marriage combined. He's been there for me when no one else has and he's  loved me, I mean really really loved me.

He's shown me grace when I've messed up, and I just can't even put into words how thankful I am for him.

Two years ago

Two years ago, on this night, I was still in disbelief. We had waited, waited, and waited some more. My hormones had been checked weekly for nearly twenty weeks.
I remember when I used to drive to the hospital in the early morning, just to get there when it opened, praying, pleading with God on my whole drive. Then I'd wait the day away waiting for the number to come back in the afternoon. Eventually, my prayers turned to sobs then anxiety, and the drive to the hospital became excruciating.
Over and over and over again, the same news, bad news.

The "bad" hormones, the miscarriage, the molar pregnancy, it changed me forever.

It changed how I go through pregnancy, and it stole my joy of pregnancy. I would never be giddy with excitement at the weekly milestones. But instead I would distance myself from those thoughts about my baby. I never wanted to prep baby clothes, only purge. Just in case that happy day never came. I wasn't bitter, but I ached. An ache so deep, I don't think I'll ever forget how it felt.

But it taught me so much. It taught me empathy, to cry with all those other women who know the same pain. And it taught me so much about hope. That is the whole miracle in this story, hope.

And two years ago, I was about to be overwhelmed by hope.

Ezra is two tomorrow. 

I look back now and it seems so long ago, but it wasn't. And when I think about it, I can still remember how badly my heart ached.

Life is so fragile, so tender. And I know not all stories end up how mine did. To all my friends who are pregnant, or who desire to be more than anything else, I'm praying for you tonight.
Ezra's two tomorrow, and I still can't believe it. I'm always so emotional on my kids birthdays. It just keeps going and going, and I want time to just slow a little so I can soak it all in a bit more.