Yeah, that's whole milk.

Don't judge me.

Jesus Called Me This Morning

Trust me in the depths of your being.

It is there that I live in constant communion with you. When you feel flustered and frazzled on the outside (um...quite often), do not get upset with yourself. You are only human (Amanda), and the swirl of events going on all around you will sometimes (or all the time) feel overwhelming. Rather than scolding yourself for your humanness, remind yourself that I am both with you and within you. (Thank heavens).

I am with you at all times, encouraging and supportive rather than condemning. I know that deep within you, where I live, My peace is your continual experience (make it more so, Lord).

*Slow down your pace of living for a time. Quiet your mind in My presence.*

Then you will be able to hear Me bestowing the resurrection blessing: Peace be with you.

-Sarah Young, Jesus Calling (parentheses mine)


That whole slow down your pace of living line...boy, does that resonate. I find myself more irritated with Emily than ever lately because she is showing her individuality more and more. I think that there is a fine line (I'm still looking for it) between demanding her immediate obedience and understanding that there are lots of things going through that little mind of hers; she is discovering this big world and it can be and is confusing for her. She is very particular and methodical about how things are done. I need to understand that she doesn't think just like I do and she doesn't understand why it might not matter in the long run if she does or does not put that pretend skillet full of stickers (or eggs) in the kitchen cabinet very gently (and slooowly) on top of the stack of pots only to cause the entire stack to clank to the marble floor RIGHT before we have to leave the house to make it to an appointment barely on time. All the while Anderson has escaped to the bathroom to splash around in the toilet water, might I add.

There are things that are incredibly important to a three-year-old that adults will never understand because we've lost our sense of imagination and have allowed the "real" world to become superior to child-like wonder, play, and imagination. Would she or I benefit from me being obviously irritated and rushing over to throw the pots in the cupboard, grab her hand, and drag her out the door? When I do things like that, her spirit is crushed. She asks me, "Mommy, are you happy?" when I am obviously not.
 She knows.
 She's smart.

 I don't want to be a spirit crushing, madly demanding, irritable mother.

 Or would she and I benefit most from me remaining calm, slowing down our pace of life, helping her put the "eggs back on the stove", and asking if she will share her breakfast with me when we get home from our errand? That sounds much better.

 I want to be a mother that fosters her healthy independence, her incredible imaginary skills, and understands that she is a quirky three year old.

She needs that from me.
 I expect it of myself.
But, I need the grace from God to slow down.
I need Him to increase my eagerness to listen before I speak and seek to understand before I demand understanding. Even from a three-year-old.

Thank you, Jesus, for calling this morning.

Bedtime with Eloise

Emily and I are reading "Eloise" at bedtime. I've never read this book, but friends of ours gave it to us and said it was a "must" for childhood.  One of the pages tonight sounded JUST like Emily. Here's a snippet (I'll type it exactly as written--punctuation and all):

"I have two dolls which is enough
Their names are Sabine and Saylor
Sabine is a rag doll and she has absolutely no face at all
partially because she came from Jamaica by Air Express
Otherwise she has shoe-button eyes and two right legs
She is rawther unusual


Saylor is a very large doll and has a hard head and no arms
She was in the most terriblest accident and she bleeded so hard
she almost choked in the night and this ambulance came and took
her to this hospital and it was an emergency and they had to give
her all this terribly dark medicine and a lot of Band-aids and when
she came back home she was weak weak weak and had to take cod-liver
oil

I gave her a strawberry leaf from under my grapefruit for not
whimpering and Weenie licked her face
They have to have a teaspoon of water every hour or so, so you can
see they are an extremely lot of work"

I typed all that to give you a peek into what it's like around our house these days.

A 3 year old that constantly chatters. Constantly.

And a 1 year old who is into everything. Everything.

But they are so wonderful. Being a parent is so rewarding.

Happy Birthday Anderson

Today marks one year since this peculiar baby boy decided it was his time to see the earth. The memories of his birth are less than desirable. No first sweet moments together, no cuddling, no bonding, no nursing. Heck, I didn't even get to get a good look at the kid (besides his feet when he was in an incubator about to board a helicopter for a hospital an hour away from myself and my freshly severed abdomen). The next two weeks involved us temporarily moving into Jonathan's parents house to be closer to the hospital. And their bedroom nonetheless. We will always be grateful for their generosity to us in that time. It made the recovery more bearable. Anderson spent the next two weeks in the NICU--struggling along. It was tough. It was an emotional roller coaster. Wouldn't wish that on anyone. I'm already praying that the next baby (who is NCY, btw) is overdue rather than 6 weeks early.

Throughout Anderson's pregnancy and his first year, I've often thought about the baby that should have been. We conceived a baby in May of 2010. That baby went straight from my womb to the arms of Jesus at the end of June. Then, Anderson was created at the end of that same year. I can not imagine a more amazing little boy than my sweet Anderson. But there will always be a place in my heart and my mind for the baby that we won't meet until we get "over yonder".

So, today we celebrate Andy's life. He has more personality than any baby I've ever known. He is saying da da, ma ma, na na, and all sorts of fun sounds. He could have been walking two months ago, but he is too cautious to try it on his own. Funny, because he's not cautious to try anything else--emptying the cabinets, emptying the dishwasher, opening the fridge and throwing things onto the floor, climbing up the entertainment center, climbing in the washer, playing in the toilet. He is such a boy. In to EVERYTHING. But, he is so much fun. And he brings so much joy to us.

It is so fun to watch Emily and Anderson's relationship develop. They are playing together more now. In fact, last night I sat in the recliner for about 10 minutes just listening to their giggles in Emily's bedroom. She dumps out her box of shoes and tries them all on. Apparently it's pretty funny. Anderson will crawl back out into the hallway periodically to check on me and make sure I'm still in sight. He is absolutely a mommy's boy. Anyone who has been around us for long will testify to that. This is my first experience with attachment like that. Emily has been independent from the get go.  Sometimes the attachment with Anderson is trying (ok, a lot of times). But, that look he gives me when he hasn't seen me for a while and the hugs that immediately follow are almost more than this mama's heart can take.

Anderson never did take a bottle. He's been a master nurser. Thanks in part to that, I'm back to my old college sized self. However, I've been wondering how to wean him. I started praying about it a week ago. The night before last, he refused the breast and self-soothed to sleep (something he has never done). Yesterday, he refused the breast at both naptimes (yes, he still needs two naps) and refused it again at bedtime. I must add, he absolutely did not refuse to nurse during his two mid-night wakings. Of course those will be the last to go. I thought that I was ready for him to stop nursing, but now that he's doing it on his own, I'm not so sure. I know it's time and I know we've had a good run of it. Nursing my babies is one of the sweetest experiences I've had yet in life. I fully recommend nursing for a year. The benefits for mom and baby are absolutely immeasurable. We are reaping those benefits.


Anderson is a happy, healthy, filled-with-personality baby boy. Not to mention, he already eats us out of house and home. With both the heavenly Father and his daddy's leading, I can't' wait to see the man that he will grow into. For now, we are enjoying our day to day play times, meals together, snuggles, and learning experiences. 


I love you, sweet boy. 

*Note: NCY=not conceived yet*

Words to Treasure

I received a card in the mail today that I just have to share.


The card wishes me a happy birthday and tells me that I am a gift from God. But it gets better.


There are two notes inside--one from grandpa and one from grandma.


"Dear Amanda, we wish you a very happy birthday. Thank you for making the trip with your children. I know it wasn't easy for you. You are always so helpful and you always know just what I need. You are so special to us. We love you and Jonathan and your two precious little ones. Love, Grandma."


"Dear Amanda, 'June of the third' is a special day in your life. It seems like yesterday that we waited for word from the delivery room that we had a beautiful baby girl. We were so proud. You gave us a lot of joy and still do. We are so proud of you. You have two beautiful children not only on the outside but on the inside.


We love you and commend you for the finishing of your college education, for the mother and wife you have become, and for being a loving and caring granddaughter. May you have many years of joy in your life.


Love, Grandpa"


Melt. My. Heart.


I will strive to communicate such love and pride in my children and grandchildren. These two precious individuals have set an amazing example for me and have provided me with love and security when I needed it most. I will never doubt their love for me. That is an invaluable gift. 






This afternoon, my kids took horrible naps. While they were asleep (for about 10 minutes), I made cookie dough.

When Andy woke up cranky as all get out, I dipped his finger in the cookie dough. He didn't stay sad for long. After that first taste, he insisted on crawling to the floor beneath the mixer on the counter and demanding another taste. Over and over again. Then Emily woke up. She wasn't happy either. I had to bribe her to get her attitude straight with a warm cookie. Hey...sometimes a girl just needs a chocolate chip cookie.

























Now i'm anxiously awaiting bedtime (I won't post a picture of that--it's not pretty). I am running my first 5K tomorrow and would really appreciate a decent night of sleep. It's doubtful. I have been actively putting kids to bed since 7pm. It is now 9:30. There is something wrong with this picture. A change is in order--just have to figure out how to get the result I desire. Isn't that what parenting is about? I mean, how many times can she get out of bed before she gets the picture? And how many times can she really say "mommy, mommy, ma ma" in a semi-sing-songy voice before she gives up? I'll let you know.

 We have been going through things in our basement little by little. In one of the boxes Jonathan brought up last week, I found old picture albums. I found all of my school pictures along with an album that my Dad gave me a long time ago that I had completely forgotten about. I have something else of his to cling to! What a happy moment of discovery that was. In these pictures, he is obviously proud of me, his girl.

Looking up to my Daddy. 

He loved me. I know he did.

The picture above was taken at Mary Helms' house. I visited her house often with my Dad. He took good care of her--the widow (widder) woman as he called her. 

                                                       
                                          I love this picture because it shows his hands.
                                    I always loved his hands. They were so strong and skilled.
                            I took pictures of my last glimpse of his hands--folded across his
                                             body in his bronze embellished casket.            

Pom Pom Pom

Hello Darlin'. Nice to see you.

Are your speakers up?

My music this week is a tribute to my Dad. The first song is a favorite. The second was Dad's favorite song of all. It was played during his visitation. It will forever bring back that memory. And a nauseated feeling.

The third lovely song choice is definitely the song most closely associated with my Dad in my mind. When I was a girl, he took me out on the Dream (the name we gave an old aluminum fishing boat that we painted together because it would forever dream of being something bigger and better) and taught me to fish.

Let's stop there a second.

 Fishing with me consists of Dad baiting my hook, me castin', catchin', and reelin' in the fish, and Dad taking the fish off the hook. He did most of the work. He never minded though. I was a girly girl dressed in muddy boots from hopping the creek, my Daddy's baggy flannel shirt, and a crooked baseball cap. I loved it because I fit in with him. I was his girl--even if just for the few hours we were floating about Douglas Lake on the Dream.

Most of those fishing trips were spent with Dad fishing and me singing. Loud. Conway, Merle, and Hank Jr. were frequent company via the little radio we carried with us. One afternoon, I decided I was going to accompany Conway on the "pom pom pom" song. Dad was so tickled. And proud of me for memorizing a Conway Twitty classic. Ever since that day, every time I would talk to him, whether on the phone or on Facebook, he would undoubtedly say "pom pom pom, pearl".

Can't he just say that to me one more time?

One warm summer afternoon, we were in a cove on Douglas fishing for crappie. I suppose I had just learned all the words to the National Anthem because I sang it to him (and the entire lake) over and over and over again. I didn't hold back in the upper register, either. Dad finally decided he was taking me back to the dock. "Can't catch nurry a one out here with you caterwallin' like that Pearl".

What I would give to have more time with him. Isn't that the sentiment of everyone who has ever lost someone they love? I have been so insensitive to death. No longer.

This is the song I sang (okay, attempted to sing) at my Daddy's funeral. (I know you hate to, but you'll need to pause Conway for a second to hear this song.)  It's on my iPhone's "Purchased" playlist. I often forget that and as my phone shuffles through tunes to play, that one comes up so often it seems. Most of the time, I skip it. I can't bear the memory. Or I don't want to let it ruin that moment that I feel okay about all of it. Other times, I seek it out. I turn on that song along with all of the songs on the playlist that you are hearing. I pull up my Snapfish account that has the pictures from his funeral and I put them on the slideshow setting.

 And I sit. And I weep. And I remember. And I feel. And it hurts. Oh, it hurts.

Just one more conversation. One more hug. One more kiss on the forehead. One more "pom pom pom". One more call to check on Emily and Anderson and "Sarge" (dad's name for Jonathan).  I say "just one more", but the reality is that one more would never be enough. I would always long for more and more.

Of all the things I have faced in my 22 years, the death of my father is the most perplexing and the most painful.

I am thankful for the grace to forgive. I can remember my years with him with fondness. Suddenly, the memories seem to be dripping with Dad's love for me. I wish that I could have seen it when I had him with me, but I see it now. And I'm thankful. I refuse to let bitterness, anger, and a begrudging attitude hinder his memory.

Many things are happening in life right now. I have one week of college left. And for that I am grateful as well. It's hard to believe it is almost over. It has been five years since I began my college journey (yes, it has definitely been a journey). The end has seemed so unattainable--out of reach. But here it is. It is approaching full steam ahead with no time to stop and savor the moment. I tend to think that the more I struggle, despise, and dread something, the sweeter it is when it is finally passed. That sweet day is coming. Coming very soon.

I have been "training" to run a 5k. I am about a week and a half away from completing the training program. I am very much looking forward to running in a race soon. It will be my first one. I am proud of my newly developed habit.

My children both have birthdays in the next couple months. As do I. As soon as Emily found out that Mommy's birthday is coming close to her own, she has asked me about ten times a day "Are you going to be old on your birthday?" She also asks everyone else that we see--especially strangers. I'm pretty sure that twenty-three doesn't quite count as "old" yet. Maybe in her sweet mind.
She will be turning three in June. She is a bit obsessed with this fact and is a pro at showing you just how many three is on her fingers. Anderson will have his first birthday shortly after Emily's 3rd. I already know what he is going to do with his birthday cake....and it won't be pretty. But it will be fun. These are the days that will forever hold a special place in our hearts.

I wish my Dad could be here to see it all. He would be so proud of me for graduating and "gettin' educated".  Through this, I've learned to cling tightly to those that I do have here with me.


A song that's been in my head lately reads:

My heart can sing when I pause to remember a heartache here is but a stepping stone.
Along the trail that's winding always upward, this trouble world is not my final home.
But until then, my heart will go on singing.