Not a day

"Momma, when can he come home?"

"Oooh, Nick would love this book!"

"How come his mom gets to decide he can't see us?"

"Does this mean he's not our brother now?"

"Why doesn't he tell his mom he wants to come here?"

"Does he miss us?"

"Does he care that we miss him?"

"I'm gonna pray and God will send him home."

Oh, my Nicolas...not a day goes by that we are not missing you, grieving your loss, and yet trying to live still.  You're not even gone, just gone for us.  And yet only over a couple hills, around a few bends, just a handful of miles away. 

Not a single day.  We have not forgotten you.  We will not forget you.  We love you, kiddo.

A letter for my children (and dogs)

Dear children,

Spring has sprung.  You have been itching to play outside for months now.  You will now be outside during all awake, non-school hours.  I will ring the (imaginary) dinner bell and serve your dinner on the porch.  You may come in at bed time, after being hosed off. 

Since the dogs share your affinity for mess and mud, they will be joining you outside.  They will also be hosed off before coming in for bed.

Now that my house will remain clean, since you will not be in it, I will have much more energy for other things, such as napping in the sun.

I am also sure that all of this fresh air will result in delightful, always obedient children who are absolutely enchanted with eating whatever wonderful, vegetable filled entree the mother you adore has made for you.

Oh, I love spring!  It has been such a long winter...

Thankful or...

We always have a choice to make.  No matter what life brings, we can choose thankfulness.  I can choose thankfulness.  You can choose thankfulness.

Or we can not.  I can wallow in self pity.  I can make sure everyone I talk with knows how terrible life is treating me.

I.  I.  I.  Me.  Me. Me.

It's not all about me.  In fact, I'm becoming convinced that very little of it is about me at all.

And I have a pretty darn good life, in spite of, and sometimes even because of the hurdles.  But it's all in how you look at things...

I don't have a perfect house, but it serves its purpose and protects my family from the elements.

I don't have perfect children, but God has blessed me with just the kids He wanted me to have.

I don't have a perfect husband, but he loves Jesus, he loves his kids, and he loves me.

I don't have a perfect body, but it does (most of) what I ask it to do.

I have a husband who is broken and in pain, but he is here and determined to live life.

I have a child with special needs, but no one can make me laugh the way he does.

I don't have enough time in the day for what I need to do, but God is my strength.

I choose thankfulness.  I choose to live life to the fullest.

(And least anyone think...wow, she's amazing, I assure you I am anything but.  I have been as guilty as anyone of taking my blessings for granted lately.  No.  More.)

People from the past...

impacting the future.

Whenever I listen to Carolyn Arends, I am brought back in time.  To the summers of '94 through '96, to be exact.  I was 14 in 1994, and I can oh so vividly remember sitting in my friend Deb's living room late at night.  We'd sing for probably hours, Deb playing her guitar along with our friend Laura (whose last name I cannot remember for the life of me!).

Deb wasn't just any friend.  She was an adult.  A real live adult, with kids of her own.  The reason I was there was to babysit for her girls, who were not all that much younger than me, at least in hindsight.  I would stay at their house for a week or more at a time.  Those years between 14 and 16 were rough ones for me, and I'm not sure if Deb ever really knew how rough.  Oh, they're probably hard years for most kids, those years in between childhood and adulthood.  So maybe she did know.

What Deb did for me in those years was amazing.  She loved me.  She trusted me...with her babies, with her home, with her dogs, with her heart.  Deb never treated me like a kid, but always as a friend.  She listened, she respected me for who I was, and had a profound impact on who I am now.

Deb was a single mom.  She had a lot on her plate.  Too much, actually.  I know they were hard years for her.  Yet, not only did she keep going forward, one foot in front of the other, she took the time to love a kid during the transition to young adult.  When I hear "Seize the Day", I can only think of Deb and how she lived that song we would sing together.

And now...we are both students at the same college.  Her babies are grown and on their own, and I have 5 babies of my own, and probably too much on my plate.  We're both seizing the day...

We have another reader in the house!!!

My girl can read!!!!  Really read!  She can sound out and figure out words she hasn't seen before!  She is now whizzing through her phonics book.

Go, Hannah Girl!!!!

I cannot begin to express the delight in my heart.  I have a feeling this one is going to be a little bookworm, like I was as a child. 

And I taught her.  Me.  An untrained teacher.  That just flat out amazes me.  IMO, the hardest thing to teach a child is how to read.  Everything else builds on that, so there is a lot of pressure to do it well and do it right.

We did it, Hannah Girl!  Go, us!!!

Just another day

Hard plastic toys hurtling through the air, connecting with a sibling or a wall.

Spreading little papers all over the living room and refusing to pick them up.

When made to pick up, shredding the papers and shoving them into his mouth.

Screaming.  Crying.  No, wailing.

Hiding and pooping in his pants.

Pinching, hitting, pushing, throwing.

Refusing to eat anything but carbs.  Throwing his food on the floor.

Attacking baby sister as if he hates her, when I know he doesn't!

Just another day for Levi.  We have had three in a row like that, actually.  I am exhausted and don't know how to help him.  There must be a way...

Forgiveness and bologna sandwiches

I think I have been overthinking the concept of forgiveness, thinking it had to be some spiritual event and certainly had to result in an epiphany of kindhearted feelings on my part.  Lately, I'm thinking it's much simpler.

Forgiveness is...doing something nice for my husband when he's just shown me his oh-so-human side.

Forgiveness is...allowing every day to be a new day for my children.

Forgiveness is...giving friends the same grace I hope they will give me when I need it.

Forgiveness is...making bologna sandwiches for Tractor Man.*

Forgiveness is...meaning it when I tell him to have a great day.

Forgiveness is...knowing God has my future under control, and I don't need to hold onto the anger.

Forgiveness is...knowing that God can handle the justice part, and I don't need to.

Forgiveness is...remembering that I am one of those Jesus was referring to when he said, "Father, forgive them.  They know not what they do."

I don't have it all figured out, but I think being open to learning is all that is required here...


*Tractor Man...used interchangeably for the man who drove the tractor that hit Brian, and also for the farmer that owns the tractor.

Missing my boy

I haven't cried too much lately, but it seems to be coming due.

Part of my heart is missing, though it lives just over a couple of hills, in another town, with another family.  I keep hoping maybe his mother will relent and if we keep trying, maybe she'll just let him be with us again.  Maybe this weekend.  Maybe this Wednesday...maybe...or maybe not.

And then he doesn't come, isn't even in school on Wednesdays.  He's been stolen from us, and it is so unfair.  To him, to us, to the other kids.  They deserve to know their brother as a real brother, here in their life regularly, to play with, to fight with, as all siblings should.  I hate that he's already become "the brother we never see" to Levi and Esther.  I don't think they even realize he's as much of a brother as Noah is.  It's just not fair.

People ask me how many kids I have, and if I think I won't have to explain anything, I still say 5.  But if it's someone who sees me with my kids, sooner or later, they're going to wonder where this 5th imaginary child is.  A couple times lately, I have said I have 4 kids.  Even as I type that, the guilt is overwhelming.  How can I disown my boy?  Oh, Nick, please don't ever think I've disowned you, that I still don't think of you as mine.  It just hurts so much to explain to someone who doesn't really need to know and probably won't understand why an "evil stepmother" would be anything but relieved over not having to deal with another woman's child. 

Please forgive me, Nick.  If I don't cry, it's not because my heart isn't breaking into a million pieces.  I just can't cry because if I start, I might never stop.  I have to be able to live life, to love and care for what is left of our family, even if it means I must lock the sadness into a room no one lives in any more.  Your room.

I love you, Nicolas.  More than you will ever know.  I pray you are missing me.  I hold onto a thin thread of hope that you'll come back to us.  It's been over 1/3 of a year.  I miss you so much...