Tag: parenting

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Mother’s Day Rewritten

Hannah

There is not much I feel like saying about Mother’s Day this year, and that makes me feel like it’s more important than ever to say it.

Mothering, as well as having relationships with our mothers can be really hard. Yes, there are blissful moments, like when that baby is first placed in your arms, when they say their first “I wuv you,” and when they run inside from school desperate to find you for that unforgettable hug.

There are memories of mom being the smiling face in the crowd at all of your performances, the one you could come home and spill all of your emotions to while she quietly listened, the late night back rubs, early morning hair braids, and the countless times she came to your rescue when you forgot your homework, said something you regretted to your best friend, or really weren’t sick but she knew you just needed a day home from school.

There are also a whole lot of hurts wrapped up in being a mom, having a mom, or wanting a mom. There are empty wombs and empty cribs. There are sleepless nights and bone-tired days you don’t know how to push through. There are arguments because you just wish she could see things the way you do, and there are painful gaps where you needed a mom and didn’t have one there. There is pain and fear over children who have walked away and you don’t know if they are coming back.

This Mother’s Day, close to my heart are thoughts of my sister trying to balance the joy of the homemade cards from her littles with the deep grief of feeling the sharp edge of her first Mother’s Day without one of her cherished sons with her earth-side. How does one fully celebrate the gift of motherhood after watching one of her children draw their final breath? Just like a house of cards needs at least 8 cards to stand, does not one child missing make a mother struggle to build herself back to who she once was?

Heavy in my thoughts are the lives of my own littles. Two at the edge, ready to fly from the nest they’ve always shared with me. Each one of my birdies fighting hard battles that this broken world has thrown in their path, and myself, sitting practically on the sidelines, crippled and nearly motionless from the ravages of a rare disease that steals many of our moments together.

So yes, this Mother’s Day I am having trouble hyping myself up, but I think that’s ok. There are seasons for jumping up and down with excitement, and seasons for quiet reflection, and I’m sure each one of us is at a different place on that continuum. Wherever you are, I’d like to meet you there; in your joyous celebration, or in your silent weeping.

Tomorrow we will wake on a day meant for mothers. I will be thankful for my own mom, and for the women that have filled spaces I’ve needed filled along the way. I will celebrate and smooch on the children I have here with me, and I will take time to think upon each of my treasures in Heaven, and how they furthered me in who I am as a mom. I will rejoice with those who rejoice, and I will grieve with those who grieve, and somehow through it all I hope the littles who made me a mama will feel my love and appreciation for them, and see the reality and okay-ness of taking each day from right where you’re standing. Of being real and kind and tender and aware of those around you, and able to ride these ever-changing waves with grace and enthusiasm.

Happy Mother’s Day!

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Worth It

Hannah

As my baby sis and I chatted back and forth today on what would have been my nephew Angel’s 11th earthly birthday, my sister said something so incredibly true and equivocally profound that I am left pondering over it hours later.

“You know what’s amazing?” she said. “Angel refused to believe he was a burden (and he wasn’t). But by society’s standards, he was. He couldn’t move a single muscle other than his eyes. He was 100% dependent on others for literally everything–life, health, engagement, communication…all of it. Yet he never apologized for taking up space. He had high expectations for how he was to be treated and honored and considered and included and he didn’t tolerate those who saw him as worth less than anyone else. He KNEW his worth. He knew it so deeply. And I can’t say that for myself. I at times feel overwhelmingly guilty just for existing and have since childhood. But not Angel. He. Knew. His. Worth. No matter what. And that is really, really powerful.”

This struck me to my core, because I at times get caught up in how much of a burden I must be, and how I wish I didn’t have to depend so much on other people. But Angel never felt sorry for himself like that. He knew he was a treasure; a child of royalty, and he did not accept being treated as anything less.

While a lot of that came from being just the incredible little boy that he was, there is also loads to be said about the fierce way my sister and brother-in-law fought for Angel’s worth. He knew he was valued because he was constantly treated as valuable, and he was shown that what he brought to the table mattered. He was fought for, given a voice, listened to, applauded, and all of those things only cemented his knowledge that he was worth it.

As Angel’s 11th birthday winds to a close my heart is so tender, but so grateful that for a boy who could have felt less-than, he always knew right where he belonged, and now in Heaven, he has claimed his true worth, his royalty; the crown he fought so hard for and was bestowed by his King. And I can’t imagine a bigger smile than on the boy who always knew- I am worthy.

Happy birthday, sweet Angel. You are loved.

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To My Son on his 21st Birthday

Hannah

How do I write a letter to a 21 year old who used to fit in the crook of my arm with ease; the one I rocked and bounced and drove back and forth with for hours and hours when he would not stop screaming in the first weeks of life? How do I acknowledge adulthood to the little boy I taught to sing his ABC’s, and make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? (Wellll, we are still working on that one😉) How do I give permission to soar to the little sweetling that used to look back just to make sure I was still safely behind him?

As I rise to look my blue-eyed-boy in the eye, I see the reflection of each of these moments, big and small. The insignificance of how many months old you were when you walked. The monumental moment of greatest joy when you shared that you’d given your life to Christ. The skinned knees, the baseball trophies, the nightly kisses on the cheek that continue to this day. The victories and achievements, as well as the falling short and the battles. All of these tiny moments making the whole amazing you, and the joy and enthusiasm and determination that you bring to this world.

I am proud of you for letting each moment, whether easy or excruciating carve you into who you are today. I know it does not stop at adulthood; you have many years and many more small moments that will shape and change who you are. Promise me above all you will cling to your faith in God, you will be an advocate for what is right; standing up for those in need as you always have. Those truths I whispered to you in bedtime’s drowsiness, those songs I sang; keep them tucked away to always lead you back to where you came from. As you stand at the brink of this new ridge in your life, so much behind you, and yet such a beautifully immense expanse widening your eyes in front of you, I pray you remain anchored to that which is love and truth and family, and that you F L Y.

I love you, Jacob Andrew; the boy who made me a mama.

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Blue House

Hannah

This hot summer has been brimming with opportunities, and through my delight in seeing my littlest having grown into shoes big enough for some life-changing new experiences I did not even realize that the very thing that brought so much joy and revival for him would be the thing to send my head swirling under the tepid waters of another grief wave unexpected.

Finally old enough for church camp we excitedly rolled tshirts and shorts into the duffel bag as big as he is, and lingered in the aisles of the dollar store choosing just the right snacks to share with the other campers who would become friends. We watched videos of what to expect, and excitedly counted down the days to when he would set out on his big adventure. My heart bubbled with anticipation for him as I prayed over the days ahead.

Finally it was time to drive him the 40 minutes out to where camp was being held, and he was ready as ever. As I heaved his bag into the back of the car I felt a surge of emotion I could not put my finger on. I pushed it out of my mind and slid into the car to see him grinning in the back seat. He looked solid and strong, a maturity I had seen blooming in the preceding weeks. His face was already tanned from days spent playing in the sun; a smattering of freckles beneath his fluffy shock of dark blonde hair. His eyes were bright with enthusiasm, and it was the smile he flashed at me that poked that emotion I had pushed away, and sent it raging to the surface. It filled my insides with gravel and sent my thoughts spinning. I knew exactly what had me feeling a little “off.”

Looking over my shoulder into the back seat I was staring at the carbon copy of his older brother, blonde and freckle-faced also at the age of 9 going off to his first faith-based summer camp. When we dropped our firstborn off for a week at camp we had the same joyful anticipation for him, but that week was the one that changed our lives in the most painful way, tearing from us something so sacred. The last time I picked my 9 year old up from camp I had to tell him his little sister had died unexpectedly, and I watched his whole world turn on its axis and shake every foundation he had believed in.

Somehow, without me even realizing it my subconscious had put all of these signs together, and the unease I had felt was a full blown terrifying fear that when 9 year olds go away to camp, terrible things happen. I was in fight or flight mode; my memories having strung together a warning of perceived danger.

I prayed silently across the stretches of tar specked pavement that cut through swaying wheat fields and sleepy towns. I prayed for protection, for freedom, for healing. I knew my thoughts were just tricking me, so I pushed them down and smiled as I helped my littlest man choose the top bunk and unpack his belongings for the week. As he stood tall for the obligatory first day of camp photo, I could not believe how grown up and how tender and small he looked all at once. We prayed again as I hugged him goodbye and all the way home I sung loud with the truth on the radio to drown out my anxieties.

Each night that I got to talk to my boy that week was such a balm to my soul, and this time I was the one counting days. Camp ended on a sweltering Friday morning, and I arrived right on time, fiercely ready to pull my little bird back under my wing. The parents all waited in scattered patches in the burning sun until we heard it; the low buzz of a large group of children walking toward us, smiling and skipping and hugging each other. It took me a minute to pick my boy’s face out of the crowd, but as soon as I did I let out a huge exhale I had unknowingly been holding; perhaps all week? I tried to control the tears that swelled at the rims of my eyes and pricked at my throat. Some part of me had still been waiting to know that everything was going to be ok.

I talked with my counselor about these events this week, and she shared something so enlightening with me. She put it this way: If you walk by a blue house and a dog comes out and bites you, it’s going to make you leery of blue houses. The next time you see a blue house you are going to feel afraid, palms sweating, anticipating the ferocious beast you met before. But not every blue house has a dog that bites. We can learn to pick out those blue houses, call them what they are or are not, and confidently walk by with our heads high because we know; this blue house is different.

Glancing in the mirror at my suntanned and thoroughly exhausted 9 year old, I thanked God to be bringing him home with joyful celebration, and I thanked him for the lessons of the last blue house, and the blessings of this one.

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When Mother’s Day Wasn’t

Hannah

Today millions of moms woke up to hand-drawn cards and beautiful flowers, breakfasts in bed and cute little “What I Like Best About my Mom” papers from school. Moms woke up to the pleasure of the kids doing the dishes, and the distinctive taps of their tiny baby’s feet as they wiggle and turn in the womb. Moms woke up excited for this day and the joys it would hold, but what if you didn’t?

What if your story does not look like the Mother’s Day version written in the Hallmark cards? What if you woke up with an aching hole in your life from your mother passing away? What if you woke to the sight of all the days crossed off on the calendar that you had not conceived, or a counter full of needles and liquids, a longing attempt at being a mama? What if you saw your child’s beating heart on a screen, but never got to hold them in your arms? What if you have to share your children with another adult, and they do not get to be with you today? What if your child is grown and this date sends you counting the days since the last time they have wanted to be around you? What if you wanted to hide under the covers because you were so weary of the arguing and fighting? What if you do not know where your child is? What if the children you sacrifice so much for forgot it was Mother’s Day? What if you cradled your child as they drew their last breath; what then of Mother’s Day?

To the ones that woke up today and had tears and sorrow and grief… I see you. I hear the loud crack of your heartbreak as you wake up hurting on a day that is supposed to elicit such joy. I hear the echo of the emptiness where you grasp for what was once in your arms, or what you hoped would be. I understand your sadness and shame when instead of an Instagram perfect breakfast in bed, you are met with harsh words and an ungrateful attitude. I see the tally of all the hours you have spent pouring your very lifeblood into the littles in your life, only to have your circumstances not look like you dreamed they would. I hear the deafening silence as you sit at a familiar grave sight.

I hear you and I see you and I want you to know that you are not invisible. I know that the hard, painful threads of your story can be woven into something more beautiful than you have thought to imagine. I know that the One who holds your shattered heart is big enough to put it back together again. I know that this day brings a burden heavy to carry, but I also know that your current situation does not have to be the end.

Choose to feel those hurts and be transformed into the gentle, compassionate human that you are capable of. Choose joy and life and hope and know that even on this hard day that challenges your motherhood, you are created for something beautiful. Believe that.

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Mixed Media Self Portraits

Hannah

When Mark travels for work we don’t do much. That can be tough for the kids, but without him here to drive us and to push me around long distances in my wheelchair, we just aren’t really capable of getting out. I try to plan special things for when he’s away that break up the time and give the kids something to look forward to. We almost always order pizza with all the topping he won’t eat (hello olives and peppers!), we rent movies, and come up with activities we can do while we are huddled in. Today I’m sharing with you a fun idea we copied from another family, and had so much fun doing it.

First I took a picture of each kid (and dog) against a white wall in our house. Then I printed them out in black and white, set out our crafting buckets, and let the kids get to work. The rules were there were no rules. They took scraps and stickers and colors and every creative thing they could rummage, and transformed their pictures into works of art. I did some with them, and we truly had the best time giggling and getting our creative juices flowing. The pictures are proudly displayed on our kitchen wall, until the next thing we come up with!

Try it yourself! It’s great fun for kids and parents alike!

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!

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Enough

Hannah

I’m lying in bed as the last light of day seeps in the bottom of my bay windows.  The plasticky smell of oxygen whispers against my pillow with every breath, and I count how many times the back door chirps open as the kids run in and out to grab things for the box fort they are making.  They are soaking in the warmth the summer evenings still offer, even though school is back in session.  We have just wrapped up a whirlwind adventure of a summer vacation, and as I lie in the comfortable quiet I find myself wondering if it was enough.

We planned big.  There was hardly a week that we were not out traveling or exploring or trying out some new adventure.  We knew it was good and our family needed it. At the beginning of the summer we talked about shifting our focus to the memories and the legacies we were creating of our time together.  We definitely made big and wonderful memories, but I’m left troubling over the mundane. It is easy to make memories when it’s fun and exciting, but are we making good memories in the grind of every day?  I try to think back on my own childhood and remember the small moments.  I want my children to reminisce on our dinners around the table, braiding hair in the mornings before school, and snuggling in for a book before bedtime.  I want them to remember these things because these are the things that feel so inherently me. It will be easy to remember the thrill of a concert or the awe of a canoe ride, but I hope the kindness and love and adoration I have for them seeps deep into their souls so that when they think back on the days of packing school lunches and rubbing backs in my bed they will be overcome with the remembering of the safety and love that was there. We may still have a wild adventure or two, but for me, I’m going to be focusing on these little moments and making sure they count far into eternity.

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!

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Summer Lovin’

Hannah

Every summer for the past few years we have started off the break making a “summer bucket list” of things we want to do during summer vacation. Some things are big, some are small, but the main idea is to be intentional about using our time. I am a homebody through and through, so I would be perfectly happy snuggled in my nesting place with my tribe. I have wanderers and adventurers though, so we try to plan some exciting things to venture out and try while we are free from school routines.

This summer we crammed in more than we usually do, trying to check off some unique things that I either haven’t done or likely won’t able to in the future. It has been a blast. I have dug deep for energy and stamina to hang with my people, and while the nights find me collapsed in an exhausted heap, it has been exhilarating to taste so many joys this summer. We stretch me out, hydrate, medicate, and wake up again to take on the next adventure.

From staying in pajamas all day and doing sidewalk chalk, to concert hopping and driving to new destinations, we are creating a beautiful bucket full of the exciting and the mundane of sweet summertime. What is on your bucket list this summer?

If you are friends with me on Facebook, you may have already seen some of these, but enjoy the pictures of some of our adventures!

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!

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July 14th

Hannah

Today we remember those last moments we got to know our Ellianna. We were thankful this week of her anniversary to get to be in Colorado to celebrate her mighty life.

Our months with Ellie brought us so much love, we aim to always pass that on and continue to let her life make an impact on others. It’s not always we get to be in her hometown, so we took advantage of being able to continue her legacy here. Since we don’t get to shop for our little peanut we went shopping for another little girl who needed love and encouragement:

Looking for things to bless a baby girl, we were overwhelmed with the small reminders of our little one. Purple with rainbow stripes couldn’t have more embodied all that we remember.

When I looked for a card, we immediately saw one not only with the little Piglet that she was known for, but the quote on the front was the same as is written on her headstone. I melted at the tender reminders that God knows exactly what our hearts need.

We packed up our bag of love and headed up to Ellie’s NICU. Tears brimmed as we embraced one of the nurses who has become a lifelong friend. We asked her to choose a family for us, and she knew just who needed the encouragement. Standing in that familiar hallway, we got to meet the mother of another baby girl there fighting for life beyond the hospital doors. It was evident that God had placed her nurse on just the right day that a weary mama needed the love and hope we had to share. There we were, getting to exchange hugs and a gift of love because of the short and mighty life of our little girl. I will never stop being thankful.

After the hospital, we headed to the cemetery to remember. I know many people don’t see the point in visiting the cold hard stones, but for us it’s a tangible place where we can open our hearts and express our sorrow and joy as we remember the moments where we stood between earth and eternity and gave our girl back to the arms of the One who holds her. It’s especially helpful for our other children as they bring tokens of their love and remembrance for her. Little Colby had chosen a special shell on the beach of Florida for his big sister that he brought with him all the way to Colorado. We enjoyed a beautiful stormy sunset as we each wrote notes to our girl and then lit them, sending them floating into the sky.

We are truly blessed to have gotten to be Ellie’s family. She has changed us in ways we all needed, and we will forever be grateful for every day she was with us. We will continue to find ways to share the hope we have, and spread the love she gave us, until we meet again.

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you’re listening!