God Be With You Till We Meet Again

On August 3 my mother called me to let me know that my grandma had passed away. The call did not come as a surprise; she had been in a skilled nursing facility and in and out of the hospital several times in the last years of her life. I started to think about my grandma and what I remembered about her from my childhood. I thought about watching Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune with her. I thought about the books, and books, and books she had on her shelves. I thought of her reading in her chair. I thought about the white styrofoam cup of iced tea she always had around (it is my absolute favorite drink to carry around, and the root of why I love Uncle Harry's iced tea). I recalled the nights we stayed with her and how she would have ALL of the fixings for ice cream sundaes. I told my children that she had passed away. I prayed for her, for my mother, and for my Uncle Perry. None of those moments brought tears to my eyes.

I'm a crier. I inherited that from this grandmother, so I began to wonder why I wasn't emotional about her passing. I chalked it up to the fact that I knew my grandmother had enjoyed a long life, I knew each time she went to the hospital she returned more tired, and just that her passing wasn't a complete surprise. But I also wondered why I seemed so callous.

Yesterday her service was held at the church of my early childhood, the Church of Christ in Dos Palos. Gracie and I stood near the door greeting people and I was all smiles. I sat down and we began to sing the a hymn, Old Rugged Cross. Tears began to well up from nowhere. They weren't tears of sadness. I didn't really know what they were. I looked down at Ashlyn to find her worried eyes looking back at me. "Don't worry. I'm not sad, honey. I'm just crying." I told her.

My brother gave a beautiful eulogy highlighting what we all knew about my grandmother-we couldn't think of time she had anything bad to say about anyone or really, anything. I'm certain she thought them, but she followed the rule that if we don't have anything nice to say, we shouldn't say anything at all. I smiled a lot remembering her. I considered how easily she laughed at herself and was reminded of how important that is. My brother mentioned that my grandmother knew that faith could be fleeting, so she persisted as the years went by, asking him to pray with her each time he visited. I considered the years when my I had lost my faith. More tears.

My Uncle Perry spoke at the end. He shared that the morning after he learned of her passing, he went to church. The message was, in part, that when we pass from this life, we no longer live by faith. We no longer must believe in what we cannot see, because we are with Him. We. Are. With. Him. More tears.

We enjoyed a reception afterward. We stopped at my mom's to help put things away and to visit for just a bit. We laughed together. Then we got in the car. And I cried all the way home.

I cried out all of the feelings I've been too busy to have. I cried with gratitude for that foundational place of my faith, where I sat and sang hymns yesterday. I've been singing "God Be With You Till We Meet Again" since we left (and for anyone that knows it, I'm NOT EVEN hitting those high notes, but I don't care). I cried with gratitude because as I sat singing in her service yesterday, I looked over to my husband, knowing the hymns were familiar to him, too. I cried with gratitude for my grandmother, because her grandchildren and great-grandchildren treasures to her, and she loved us well. I cried because she found joy in simple things, and I long for more simplicity in my own life. I cried because home is so good and I love family.

So, I'm not callous. But, I'm busy. Too busy. At the service yesterday a cousin let me know that she misses my writing. I have missed it, too, but I struggle to find the time. There's nothing like losing a loved one to make you shift your priorities. So, today I skipped the gym and came here instead. I will honor her today. I have an errand to run, so I'm going to stop for my iced tea in a white styrofoam cup (many of my former students know me with my white cup) and this afternoon I'm going to sit on the couch and read my book-simple pleasures that remind me of her.

I recently learned that the term goodbye originates from the phrase, "God be with you". After hearing my uncle yesterday, I realized goodbye isn't the right word for my grandma, because she IS with Him.

But, to those of you reading-Goodbye.

Until next time, in love,

Dusty

Always go to the funeral.....

It's been several weeks since this happened, but I've been feeling compelled to write on this, so here goes.....

Several weeks ago I saw a post in my Facebook feed for a fundraiser in my high school hometown for my friend's mother. She had been diagnosed with cancer and it was at an advanced stage. Days later came the post that she had passed. It was one of those life moments that hit me in so many ways. I realized how long it had been since I'd been to my high school hometown (I have a different childhood hometown). I realized that we're reaching a time in our life when we will begin to lose our parents. I realized I'm getting old when I calculated the years that have passed since I last saw her. She worked at our high school so I saw her almost daily in those years. I hadn't seen her in 15 years, but I felt compelled to attend her funeral. I wasn't sure why, but I was being called to go. So I did.

The drive was the quietest I've had in years. I was solo and it was storming (California style) so I chose not to be on my phone as I normally would, calling to visit with Grandma or Kelsi or other people I don't get to talk to often enough. My memory is terrible but I spent the drive thinking of her and trying to figure out why I felt so compelled to attend her service. I could hear her voice and laugh, I could see her in her kitchen, in the school gym after a basketball game, and on the lawn at lunch.

She was the mother of my boyfriend in high school. Paul. My first love. When I say that it sounds super corny, but I'll come back to it's significance.

The drive was windy and wet so I got there right on time and sat alone in the back. Even though the church building was new, everything felt familiar. Her daughter sounded just like her. I knew every word to every hymn that was played, and as How Great Thou Art played I could hear my mother singing in church when I was a kid. Her brother sang In the Garden, and again, my own mother came to mind. God was speaking to me.

Let me change gears. When I moved to Fresno, I had just married my first husband. My hometown, and all of the people in it were behind me. I kept very few connections, and Paul wasn't one of them. Shortly after I moved here, Paul began appearing in my dreams. It wasn't that we were back together in the dreams, he was just present. I couldn't figure out why he was there since I never saw or spoke to him. As time passed, he was there more often. My first marriage failed, and the dreams continued.

As I sat in the funeral service, I felt God speaking to me. As the hymns played I mouthed the words, envisioning my mother singing in my childhood. It was all so familiar. It was like the first time Matt took me home to meet his family, that same feeling of comfort. Like I was home. I never really thought Paul's family was much like mine, but at her service I realized-there is familiarity in faith. 

When I met Matt, Paul stopped appearing in my dreams. Once that happened, I realized why he was there in the first place. That was a lesson in what love should be like. Once I had that, he never appeared again. As I sat in the church, considering all the familiar things, I was reminded, God is love.

Gabby is my high school BFF. She was the first person I reached out to when I saw the notice for the funeral. "Why do I feel so drawn to go?" To which she replied, "You need to go. If I were still home I would be there for sure. Go." As adults our lives could not be any different. She's never been married, has no children, and dons her bikini to travel the world's beaches every chance she gets. I'm over here married twice, five kids, and never donning a bikini again. But when I see her, it's like nothing has changed, as though no time has passed. We can still communicate just by looking at each other. She was my confidant during formative years of my life. No matter the miles or life differences that separate us, she will always be dear to me. She had a part in developing my character. Seeing Paul at his mother's service made me realize that the same is true of him. I may never see or talk to him, but he is part of who I am and that's why I felt so drawn to go to his mother's service.

There are a lot of shows on TV that I don't let the kids watch because I don't like the message. Gage will often say, "This show doesn't have a message." EVERYTHING sends us a message, everything teaches us something whether we realize it or not. The lessons and reminders from this day were not lost on me.

The day after the funeral this article came up on my feed.  http://www.npr.org/2005/08/08/4785079/always-go-to-the-funeral

I'm glad I went.

Hope to write again sooner than later.

Love. 

"And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own, and the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has every known." -In the Garden
 

Thoughts on the hoopla of Harambe

Usually controversial topics aren't my thing but this Harambe thing has me just a little riled up. I write this blog as therapy, a way to reflect. As a way to be thoughtful of my parenting and to let my children know how much I love them. Because this will be old news in two weeks, I'm going get this written down now.

A mother and her 4 year old son (some sites say 3) were at the Cincinnati Zoo. The boy made his way into the gorilla exhibit. He was in the exhibit with the gorilla for several minutes. A zoo staff member, in the best interest of the boy's safety, killed the gorilla. Now, there's a great deal of other information floating around the internet that I'm not sure is true or not. All of it is rather irrelevant to make my point.

Here are some comments I've read regarding the incident:

So there was the celebrity: "Shame on those for the murdering of #Harambe" -Kelly Osbourne

Also the person who very likely has no experience or further education in animal behavior but is a clear animal expert: "no it wasn't safest for the child the gorilla was protecting the child. yes he drug him through the water but thats how they do there kind it was a shamless murder" (I'm pretty sure that was supposed to be shameless, and never mind the grammar-remember, these aren't my words)

The non-parent with parenting advice: "I just think that if you are a parent there are baby leashes that leash your children you can't control."

The person that has no sympathy for children that aren't as well behaved as her own: "Sorry. My kids never even wanted to misbehave in that manner at the zoo! My sympathy goes with the primate, he was endangered the kid wasn't. The parents need to compensate the zoo for their loss!!"

The perfect parents: "My kids NEVER left my side at that age!! They were ALWAYS holding my hand!! I ALWAYS made sure they were by my side in the mall, at the zoo, at the park, etc." A comment from another followed, "Absolutely!! I have three and they NEVER wandered off and NEVER left my sight!!"

When these things happen I can't help but wonder how my children would react and how they would feel when they're old enough to respond in a public forum. What I hope, hope, hope my grown children say and feel in response to this incident:

What a tragic accident.

Thank God that little boy walked away alive.

I empathize with that family. Something that could have happened to anyone, in their case, had tragic consequences.

Thankfully, the zoo employee had that child's best interest in mind. May he be at peace knowing he did what he thought was best.

What a sobering reminder of how vigilant we have to be in watching our children.

I'll use this to remind my children of how important it is to mind and follow directions, especially at places away from home.

Because honestly-don't be so negative. And if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.

There was someone that commented, and even though I don't agree with her-she was right. I couldn't find exactly what she said but this covers the idea. There was an article on Scary Mommy basically defending the mother as people are calling to have her investigated for child neglect. There were many mothers defending with comments that we've all made mistakes and lost track of our kids for just a split second. The person I'm referring to commented to say that yes, we probably have all lost sight of our kids for a second BUT-if this child had been with a baby sitter, a teacher, a child care provider we would all be singing a different tune about how that provider should have been more careful and diligent in keeping watch of that child.

She's probably right.

I thought back to last year when a child drowned at a local swim school (which, by the way, solidified our decision not to put in a pool). Many parents were outraged that such a thing could happen. I wasn't. I was VERY sad, but not outraged. Accidents happen. A child slipping out of sight does not equate to negligence. It just doesn't. Negligence is when no one is even bothering to look for the missing child.

There doesn't ALWAYS have to be someone to blame and pay the price. Sometimes there are just tragic accidents.

Kids are up now, so I'm off to talk to Gage about this.

I hope to be back sooner than later.

Love.

Party of Seven

It's been WAY too long since I wrote a post

On the birth of Evelyn.....

My due date was the 13th of February, but we scheduled an induction for the 11th. If you're wondering why-it's because we could. I really wanted my physician to deliver so I scheduled a day when knew he would be there. Plus, with four other kids to figure out care for it seemed easier with a planned date. The others were all technically induced so I figured it was going that way anyway.

That morning the hospital called at 4:15am, as Matt and I were on our way out of the door, and postponed the induction. There was no room at the inn. We were already up and at it so we decided to start our day. We went to Starbucks, ran to Walmart (which is the only place open at 6am) for last minute birthday stuff for the twins, then by the lot to take care of a few things with the house. We ended up heading to hospital at more like 11:30am and induction started around 1:30pm. At 7:02pm we learned that our surprise baby was a precious girl. I was actually really surprised, I thought I was having a boy. She was our biggest baby, weighing 7lbs, 10oz at 20.5" long. You really do forget how little they are because Matt and I both thought she was going to be one our smallest. She looked a lot like Gracie to me at first, same coloring and same little notch in her gums. She had wide eyes like Gracie and didn't come out crying-just curiously looking around.

As with all of our children, naming her was an arduous process. Having been a teacher I have a lot of names that are an immediate "no" for me. Evelyn "Evie" was a name that we had considered when we had Ashlyn. I had a student named Evie and she had bright eyes and a calm nature. For anyone who isn't sure, we pronounce Evie with a short "e" sound. And for anyone that doesn't recall the difference between short/long vowel sounds-the short "e" sound is the same sound as in Evelyn, or elephant. Again, it came down to the wire, where we had to give her a name or stay another night in the hospital.

We got lucky. The only newly remodeled room in postpartum opened up for us JUST in time. So Matt was able to stay with me and I didn't have to share a room. My night nurse (with an accent) said, "You stay another night? This like hotel---so nice. You stay, enjoy!" No. I HATE the hospital and would never stay any longer than I had to. It made me pause for a minute. I realized that for many women they see-that hospital room is probably much more appealing than going home. What a blessing that our home is far better. Really. Think about that. 

I talked to Gage via Facetime the evening I delivered so he could see her. He let out a little disappointed "aww" when he learned she was a girl. Then we brought her home and he fell absolutely in love. Every day when he comes home from school or back from his dad's house he asks to hold her.

When we brought her home from the hospital it was pretty late but Jay was still awake. We introduced them and he said, "Where's the boy one? The boy baby for me and Gage? This is the girl baby for the girls-where's the boy one?" It was hilarious. He was so serious.

The girls are both over the moon about having another sister. Gracie wants to hold her all the time. I have really been able to see Gracie's nurturing spirit. Ash is helpful with fetching and tossing diapers or picking out her clothes.

On becoming a family of seven.....

When I was pregnant I DREADED the question-how are you feeling? I wanted to just smile and walk away so I wouldn't have to lie......or tell the truth. Honestly, I was exhausted. I was tired to the point that my brain was like a fog. One time I was at the fabric store and the lady asked me how much yardage I needed. I just stood there in silence. It really felt like I was trying to search through the fog in my brain for an answer but couldn't find one. I could not come up with an anything. Another time I called our doctor's office about a rash that Gracie had. After talking to the nurse for a good ten minutes and explaining all of her symptoms she asked me in a confused tone-"Okay..........so you're worried that this is going to harm the baby somehow?" And then I realized that that I had called my OB/GYN office instead of the pediatrician. I was crazy tired but I didn't want to be honest-because I did this to myself. It wasn't as though Baby #5 was a surprise. I just imagined people thinking, "If you're so exhausted, and can't get it together-why would you have another one?" I felt embarrassed to be having another baby.

Those feelings linger now that she's here. A couple weeks ago, at Gracie's gymnastics class, I was "wearing" Evie in the wrap carrier. Toward the end of her class Jay fell through the bleachers. The sound of his fall was awful. I had trouble getting him out from under the bleachers because he weighs a ton and I was carrying Evie. When I lifted him up there was blood going all over and he was screaming. The fall turned out to be very minor and the cut was so small we could hardly find it by that afternoon. But, in the moment it seemed awful. Other moms jumped to help me. One quickly offered to tend to Ash, another ran to get first aid supplies, another helped me carry him while applying pressure to stop the bleeding. As I held him, while another mom helped me clean up and care for him, I began to feel tears well up in my eyes. I was suddenly burning up and trying my best to hold back tears. I felt every person in the room staring at us. I felt like everyone was thinking that it happened because my hands are too full.

The truth is, it didn't. I wasn't distracted at all. We were in conversation. I was looking right at him, telling him to take his puzzle back down to the ground. It could have easily happened to any other mom that had a toddler there. But it happened to me. And I have filled my hands more than most people would. I shouldn't care, but I can't help it.

I messaged my imaginary friend on Facebook. I kid, she's not imaginary. But I will admit I've never actually met her in person. She's married to Matt's college roommate. They have five children by choice, too. If there weren't several states between us I'm sure we'd be real life friends. She reminded me that there is something so amazing in creating an eternal soul. She continued by sending me a link to a blog written by a mother of nine. Upon reading, I came to realize that I ought not let the world squash this beautiful gift from God. By being worried about what people think and feeling embarrassed I am taking away from the precious family God has given us. 


Arriving at the hospital

 

She safely arrived

 

They love her

 

Precious

 

Recently some of our dear friends had their first baby. She told me that she didn't know she could love something so much. I told her that's why I keep having them. They drive me bananas. They make my house, my car, and my entire life a complete disaster. But my love for them is beyond measure. The greatest gift since Evie's arrival has been to see the other kids express their love for her.

I hope to be back soon. But we're moving in three weeks (or so they say) so it's unlikely.

Love. 

  

People often tell me they don't know how I do it.....

Often, I don't. At least not well.

Matt is coming home today from a ten day trip. I hate to say this, but it's really not that much different when Matt's gone. I miss him, but it's not like I'm overwhelmed by being alone with the kids. That's how it is most of the time anyway. I cook less when he's gone and have less clean up. The only major difference is Gage. He's different when Matt is gone. It's hard to explain. Part of it is that does things that he would never do if Matt were home. Just as an example, we picked up pizza one night and as I was getting the littles out of the car he grabbed a slice, walked into the living room, and started eating it. He would NEVER do that if Matt was home. We ALWAYS sit at the table and eat as a family. He's never been allowed to eat in the living room. Ever. He talks to the little ones in ways that he wouldn't if Matt were here. Maybe he takes his "man of the house" when dad's not home role a little too seriously. I feel like I've spent the last week being nothing but annoyed and upset with him.

Last night was the tenth night of Matt's absence. The twins are going through a phase where they only want ME to help them with everything. Every time I asked Gage to help me (get their shoes on, unbuckle their seat belt, hold their hand as we left party) they would go into a hysterical fit to the point that Gage literally could not help me. The kids were exhausted from a birthday party we'd been to. I was tired. My hips were hurting and every time I moved it seemed I got a shooting pain down the back of my leg.

I lost it.

As I gave the little three a bath, Gage did not do what I asked of him. When I discovered this, I didn't just get upset-I lost my shit. It was ugly. I was ugly. It wasn't fair to him.

The three littles were waiting in Gracie's bed for me to read books. I stopped outside of her door and began to cry as silently as I could. Moments later Gage walked toward us down the hall saying, "I'm coming to read to you guys, Mom is tired hurting and she needs to go sit down and rest."

He stopped at the door. I told him I was so sorry and I kissed his head. I hugged him for a long time. He cried too, but he told me that it was okay, he knew I was just tired and that he was going to read to the kids.

I let him.

Jay began to whine that he wanted me to read and Gage told him that I needed a break and he would be reading. He didn't just read, he did all the voices and read to them with love. From around the corner I snapped this picture.

Sometimes I have a hard time with Gage. Our personalities do not harmonize.

But he is good. So. Good.

I am thankful for that. For forgiveness. For new days.

Love.

In everything give thanks......

Yesterday, as I glanced through photos on Instagram to catch up on missed costumes, I saw several (and that's not an exaggeration) memes along these lines:

No. Not in this house I may start my Christmas shopping, but Thanksgiving will not be glossed over here. They say a thankful heart is a happy heart, and I'm with them.

Today I share thanks for my husband. A few weeks ago, Matt and I celebrated our fifth anniversary. We were in Santa Barbara for his management meetings, so although we were sans kids, it wasn't the most romantic trip.

In following the traditional gifts, this year was wood. We decided that the house we're building was gift enough to each other and we both got something small in addition.  My gift to Matt was a wooden business-sized card that had my vows imprinted. It was something intended for him to keep in his wallet, but when it arrived, I realized it would be too fragile. It also didn't arrive until  few days after our anniversary. He may have cared that his gift was late and sub-par, but if so, he never let on.

That's one of the ways we maintain a happy marriage. We know there is a season for everything. This is a time for growing our family and building our home. It doesn't leave time, energy, or resources for much else. It means that our anniversary gifts were not extravagant. It means that we're sleep deprived and sometimes barely hanging on. It means that he's working his tail off at work and I'm exhausted just being pregnant with four children. We know that this is a season that will soon pass, and one day this will be something we just get to look back on. I'm grateful for a husband that doesn't care that his anniversary gift was just eh and a few days late. I'm grateful that he loves me good.

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and a time to build up. A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance. A time to scatter stones and a time to gather stones. A time to embrace and a time to turn away. A time to search and a time to quit searching. A time to keep and a time to throw away. A time to tear and a time to mend. A time to be quiet and a time to speak. A time to love and a time to hate. A time for war and a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3: 1-9

This is a season to give thanks.

Love.

Work in progress.....

Looking back at my notes from Phemom on Tuesday I see "Feeling awkward and uncomfortable is an opportunity for growth." Speaks to me.

I HATE to have conversations that make me feel awkward, embarrassed, or uncomfortable. I really hate to have a conversation where I think someone might get upset with me. So I avoid them. Completely. Often times it has come back to haunt me, and yet I continue the pattern. You would think in 34 years I would learn to just face an uncomfortable situation instead of letting time pass and having it fester into something much larger. But I haven't.

Recently, there was something I should have shared with a friend, but I didn't. I wasn't sure how to approach it, I didn't know what to say, and I was afraid of feeling embarrassed when the words came out. So I just didn't say anything and hoped she wouldn't find out. It wasn't because it was something bad, but because if she did, then we might have that awkward conversation. As it often does, that came back to haunt me. Now it seems like I've been hiding some big secret. I could have had a slightly uncomfortable conversation months ago, but instead I avoided it. In the end I had to endure a much more uncomfortable and humbling discussion.

Today I will let myself be comforted by the words from my Phemom notes, "Feeling awkward and uncomfortable is an opportunity for growth." Those were words that God intended for me to hear this week. I HATE to feel like someone is upset with me. My stomach goes into knots and it keeps me up at night. This situation has certainly done that. But I realize this is something I needed to endure in order to grow. This is part of me that I need to work on, but it does not define me. I need to get better about having conversations that I don't want to have. Next time I want to avoid an uncomfortable situation, I hope I remember how much worse it can become when I put it off.

Also at Phemom, we were asked to consider living without expectations of anyone. Then we were challenged to specifically think about one unrealistic expectation we have of a loved one-and let that go. I had to really think. It's not often that someone doesn't meet my expectations because I don't have many expectations of others. I don't get easily disappointed or offended by other people. It's easy for me to find the good and forgive. I was scanning my brain about my expectations of Matt, my friends, my parents, my peers but that wasn't where I found the unrealistic expectation. It was with my child.

I loved school. I loved it so much I chose teaching as a career. It came easily to me and I valued getting good grades. I would have died at the thought of getting answers wrong and someone thinking I was stupid because I didn't have the right answer. Even in college I hated peer editing. I hated the thought of someone thinking I wasn't a good writer or seeing my mistakes. Gage, on the other hand, doesn't seem to care. He rushes through his homework making errors and leaving his paper a mess. He doesn't seem to be bothered if he makes mistakes. He sees his mistakes as just careless errors, not a measure of his intelligence....or worth, the way I did. It has been really hard for me to watch him. Doesn't he love learning? Doesn't he love school? Doesn't he love to get the right answer? Doesn't he feel embarrassed by wrong answers? Doesn't he feel ashamed to turn in messy work? Doesn't he want to be a good student?

Unrealistic expectation of a loved one. I am expecting him to be me. I ask myself, "Doesn't he love learning?" Anyone that has spent any time with Gage knows that he loves to learn and he's not stupid. He asks too many questions not to love learning. He loves school. He is a great reader and he loves books. He is well liked by staff and doesn't get into trouble. His school experience isn't going to look like mine. I have to let go of that expectation. It's not that I'll absolve him of expectations. He'll still be expected to maintain good grades and stay out of trouble, but I can't expect his experience to fit the mold I've created in my head. I can't expect his handwriting to be perfect and his papers without errors. It's something that I've struggled with the last several weeks and I am so grateful for that challenge to let go of my expectations. I can see it from a new perspective. I need to let him be who the Holy Spirit has made him. 

Sometimes in this mom life things get lonely. Little people all day, every day. It's hard to spend time with friends, even those with kids. There are so many nap schedules to follow and snotty noses to avoid. With so many little ones, I don't get to spend as much time with moms of the school age kids. Today I got to catch up with a friend I haven't seen in a long time. She has kids around Gage's age. It was good. So. Good. It was good to talk about parenting the school age child. One of things that I love about this friend is that she isn't afraid to talk about the short-comings of her children and herself. I loved that it wasn't talk about the superficial but about the depths of parenting, such as knowing that our influence is so significant as parents yet so much of what our children choose to do is beyond our control. It was a visit that I didn't want to end and it filled my cup.

I am now 20 weeks (21 tomorrow). Jay often comes over and gives the baby a kiss. Ashlyn thinks everyone has a baby in their belly. Gracie thinks we should name the baby "the new Gracie" if it's a girl. Gage asks a lot of questions.

Jay continues to be "all boy" with his growling and destruction. Ashlyn always out of nowhere says, "I love you so much (Mom, Dad, Gage, Gracie, Jay)" Last week I was asking her to hold my hand as we left the store. She said, "Because if not, I maybe get lost? You won't have me anymore? That would be sad if you don't have me anymore". Her whiny nature gets to her dad, but she cracks me up. Gracie is LOVING preschool at Hands On Discovery. She cries on the days that she doesn't get to go. Last week she came home with a bracelet her classmate had made for her. When Gage found out that this classmate was a boy he was not happy. "What does he like her or something? No. No, not okay. I am NOT okay with this." Then he decided to tell Matt about it at the dinner table, just in case he wasn't aware. Look out little sisters, he's watching. Gage is LOVING flag football. I was selfishly happy he chose that over soccer. I love that my Saturday mornings can still be used to clean the house while Matt takes the kids to the gym.  It's the little things.

The house is still under construction. At this point, I'm just hoping to be in before the baby comes. Pray on that one for us.

I hope to be back soon. With pictures. I took next to none this last month. I'll be better in October. I hope.

Until next time, love.