and how does a baby turn twenty-six when all you did was blink?

This was twenty years ago.  First tooth was missing and moments after this picture was taken you'd break your arm for the second time.

Five years ago when you turned twenty-one I wrote these words -

Words won't even come that seem powerful enough to express my thoughts at you turning twenty-one years old.

What makes this age so different?  You don't look different or act different.  The sun is still hot and the planets are still lined up.  Everything looks and feels the same.

Everything but me.

It's hard to describe.  It's almost a feeling of dread.  There is a heaviness in my heart that spreads into my arms when I think of today.  I physically feel it. 

Am I, for the very first time after twenty-one years of watching four children grow so rapidly before my eyes, just beginning to realize that I will never get any of that time back?  I know I've known this, I've even blogged about it - but I think it was only in my brain and tonight my heart is not taking the news so well.

Five years later and my heart's still not taking so well this growing up all of you are doing.  So.  Fast.

And today you turn twenty-six.  And you do look different.  You are carrying my first grandchild.  A baby girl and I know the moment I lay eyes on her I will be traveling in my mind back to a place and time that was the beginning of you.  You, my darlin'.  The beautiful baby girl born to your daddy and me.  

And these words I wrote are the same -

The first moment you were placed into my arms I felt a strange and powerful kind of love as I stared at you for the first time.  And I remember staring, for a long time - just staring.

You and I began to grow up together.  I seemed to know little more than you did.  And because of that you suffered many things.

And there's a heaviness in my arms - a longing to just hold you again. 

Just another chance to stare. 

Just another chance to say, Wow, I love you, baby girl.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
Mama

when you are trying to raise a son into a man that sees

I want to raise a boy into a man that sees.

I send him over to ask if it's okay.  He runs back all smiles - yeah, Mommy, she says I can.

So he is changing clothes and bug spraying when my phone rings.

Marie, Max just knocked on my door and asked if he can cut my grass.

Yes ma'am, is it okay?

It would be wonderful.  Last night before I fell asleep I prayed to God to send someone to knock on my door today to cut my grass.

We both laugh amd chat a minute and then hang up.

His daddy gets him going and then he cuts.  He follows the pattern and cuts circle after circle after circle.

And I watch.

And then my phone rings.

Marie, my son says he wants to send Max $30 for cutting the yard.  

No, thank you, but please no ma'am.  That's not why he's cutting it.  I don't want him to think he has to get paid.  

And then she begins to cry.  

I prayed to God last night before I went to bed that someone would knock on my door today and ask to cut my grass.

Yes ma'am, I know.  

And she hangs up crying.

I go to the window and watch.  He's cut the same spot so many times there's bald patches appearing. I go outside and guide him to a few missed spots.

Repost from here - We were blessed beyond any form of our worth with three beautiful girls and my years were over forty and much time had passed since we made the unspoken bond of no more children by not speaking of it any longer.

There are some things that are very hard to explain.  And the fear is if you try you might sound somewhat extravagant.  Or like a dreamer.  Or just plain foolish.

But on a night earlier pressed against each other I laughed loud and told him we just made a baby.  I knew it.  I felt it.  I can't explain it.  I said it but how does a woman know such a thing at such a time?

But I did.

And I was right.

And weeks passed and he came home as I walked out of the laundry room and right into his arms and cried and there were only three words -

You're pregnant?

Yes.

And I said words that were too honest when I wondered aloud why would God give us another child?  I didn't want another baby or need another baby and why would I be pregnant unless He was giving us a son?  Why would I be pregnant if it were a girl?

Some things will shame till the day we die.

And I didn't realize how badly I wanted a boy until the thought that I might not have one.

But I was afraid to say the words too loudly or too often.

And on a table too short in cold dark room I held the hand of the man I love and watched only him.  And there it was.  Wand moved and fingers touched keys and I saw it on his face before she spoke the words.

It's a boy.

But I already knew for his smile started slowly and he saw and looked at me in a way he had never looked at me before. 

And then my excitement turned to fear as I realized I had no idea how to take care of a boy.

But I could figure the taking care of part out.

But raising a son?.  How do you raise a man?

To be honest I had come to believe God didn't think I'd be any good at it.  I guess He believed I was the daughter raising type.

But here, now, he was granting us a son.  Blessing us with a son.

In this post I continue on to explain a promise I made to God when it appeared later on in the pregnancy that something was very wrong with Max.

I'm still not going to share that promise here in this white space.  It's personal.  Too personal.  And it was a hard promise.  One I want to keep but am not so sure I'll ever be able to.  I think of it often.

So here we are raising a son.

Girls are natural care givers, mostly kind-hearted and compassionate.  Instinct drives much of what they do.  A mother's instinct.

But boys like bad guys and heroes and dirt and mess and often get wrapped up in their own little gross worlds, too wrapped up to just notice things around them. They go too fast to just notice.   

And boys seem to not have chivalry in this modern age.  I don't want the age of harlots and brew and turkey legs devoured around an uncivilized table.

But there has to be an in-between, because boys growing up now are missing the mark.  Parents are missing the mark.

I want to raise a son into a man.

A real man.  A man like Christ the man.  A wise, kind, compassionate, loving man who has the hands of a hard worker.  A just man who angers with injustice and a zeal for God's house that will consume him. John 2:17 

A man who is not afraid of hard work and sweat.  One who is not afraid to be gentle. A man who never tires of loving one woman and telling her so.

And I want to raise a son who grows into a man who notices.  One who notices things going on around him.  A man with a keen sense of what needs to be done and then just does it.  One who notices a woman carrying a box while men stand all around her.  Notices an elderly neighbor's yard that needs attention.  A man who notices the child in the corner without a friend. And then becomes that friend.

I want to raise a boy into a man that sees.

her first mother's day

It was Saturday and Gregg was working when labor pains began.  And I didn't know what labor pains felt like.  So I called Mama.  And she said she couldn't remember and told me to call my cousin Teresa.  

But Lena wouldn't let me.  She just put me in the car as firmly as she made me buy that pregnancy test and Christmas onesie seven months earlier and drove me to the hospital.

And they put me on the monitor and keep me a few hours.  Then they sent me home with Braxton Hicks.  If google had been then I'd been all over that.  Cause y'all, that's what I do.

So Monday came and I worked all day.  Can't remember where.

But Tuesday came and I worked all day.  With the sun to Louisville and back late afternoon.  And I felt bad.  By the time Mama and I hit Carthage all I wanted to do was sleep through me some Braxton Hicks.

And I did.  I went straight to bed on the sofa.  Gregg comes home at eight or so and we call the doctor. We'd done the little minutes thing and pains were three or so minutes apart.  I was told to come on now.

But I didn't want to.  It was Braxton Hicks.  I had six weeks to go. 

So by ten the pains were ninety seconds apart.  And I was told to come NOW.  

But I needed a shower and my hair needed washing.  So Gregg and I fought and I took a shower.  

Then I needed make-up cause I was all cute and pregnant and I was gonna stay cute and I believed pregnant. 

So Gregg and I fought and I put make-up on.

And when they wheeled me into a room my pains were only a minute apart.  And nothing could be done.  It was not Braxton Hicks and when Mama and I were alone in the room I thought my water broke.  

But it was blood.  Lots of blood.  

And I was hemorrhaging and she was coming and I was in trouble.  And so was she.

Then they gave morphine.  And all I remember was burning and some cursing they heard in the waiting room and it was kinda like a TV show when I asked where I was and yelled at them to get her out. 

And that was it.  For over twenty-four hours I remember nothing.  

But when I woke I remember her.  She was tiny.  Preemie, but healthy.

Beautiful.  

And now it's Mother's Day twenty-six years later and my baby's having a baby.  

And the feeling is a little like amazing mixed with awe and much gratitude. 

My baby girl's first Mother's Day.

My baby's having a baby.  

when i stuck that pin right in that hiney

I hope you overlooked my messiness I call a house when you came by yesterday!

The only thing I noticed was the waste of two wonderful looking enchiladas.

I forgot to put them up!!!  Ugh!!!  I truly am sorry for leaving my mess everywhere in the house growing up!  I never understood your frustration until now!

Well I guess that helps -  a smidgen.

And I told her I cursed them.

My darlins, it's time you knew - I cursed you all.  Somewhere in the back of my tired brain I remember wishing and hoping that one day y'all would have kids just like yourselves.  Messy.  Sloppy. Sometimes just down right disgusting.

Told her I had little dolls they never knew about.

Some call them voodoo, I call 'em revenge.  
Secret stashes to get me through the mad days.

heh-heh-heh

And the time the smell wouldn't go away and I got down on hands and knees to search out the sour milk was the time I stuck a pin right in the knees of that doll.

And when I threw away the plastic containers instead of washing them cause the hairy green stuff had found a way to also grow on the outside of the container - that was the time I stuck a pin right in the hiney of that doll.

And the time I stuck little pins all up and down the sides of the dolls. One for every cup I threw away with mold floating in it and every dish I soaked for days just to get the dried mac and cheese off.

And when I had to go out and buy all new forks and spoons cause ours all disappeared. Disappeared with the bowls and saucers and plates that got lost in the abyss of under beds and behind furniture and under clothes.  The day I bought all new silverware - I stuck pins right in the eyes and ears of those little dolls.

So yeah, your apology makes me feel just a hair better.  But knowing what goes around comes around, priceless.  

And those dolls, those dolls probably saved your lives..

Muahahahaha!

When your imagination runs wild

Remember the day we trespassed and snuck around the old yellow house?  I had to talk him into it.  I had powers of persuasion he couldn't resist in my younger finer days. 

It was deserted.  Neglected.  Dreamy.

My fascination with old homes must have begun -

I'm not sure.  In the womb?  When I was knitted together by a God who singled me out to be a one and only.  As did He to you.

In the tenth grade Mrs. Neely asked us to curl our tongues.  I couldn't.  I still can't.  She said it was genetics.  Mendelian inheritance.  Now they say not so much.  Environment plays a part.  Go figure.  What'd we know thirty-five years ago?  Not much, apparently.

Attached ear lobes?  Detached?  Genetics.  Recessive inheritance. 

Dimples?  Dominant genes.

Right handed?  Left handed?  Genetics.

Clasp your hands.  Left thumb on top?  Or right thumb?  Genetics?  Jury's still out on that one.

Love of deserted buildings?  Must be genetics.

She found a mystery buried in the barn.  It was a tale no one tells.  The young girl married and then - not?  No one knows the whole story.  Or at least no one's talking about it in this one red light mountain town.  It's been a shush tale for a half century.

An old ring box.  An old photo. Who is the mystery man and who is he?

And then there's always the time spent in Paris.

A pretty raunchy novel buried in the hay.

Oh her imagination was running wild.  That great big beautiful smile and spilling ideas and webs of deceit and . . .  maybe murder?

Aren't we incredibly made?  Knitted together by God who created this, the Gerenuk-

and this, the Amazonian Royal Flycatcher-

and this, the Sunda Colugo-

So there's a little imagination running wild on a beautiful lazy mountain afternoon?

No harm?  No foul - play . . . baby bones?

when I'm gonna be a grandma

So, there was the option of a dewy eyed sentimental post about becoming a grandmother.  With pictures such as this

that would make my heart flutter with the idea of my baby having a baby.

But I decided to go with this instead.  It was a coin flip.  Tails won. 

Dear newly pregnant Delia,

I'm still getting accustomed to the idea of being a grandmother.  There are babies, children, teenagers, young adults, parents ...

grandparents.

I have mixed feelings about this.

In one corner I cannot wait to hold your baby just so I can give it back when it starts screaming or projects stinky formula across the room (you were too young to remember). But in the other corner, with the much larger more buffed opponent, I'm not very enthusiastic about becoming officially old. Because, as everyone knows, if you are a grandparent you are, officially, an old person.

So here is a list of a few things - some words of wisdom you should commit to memory and some demands, um, requests.

Bear with me.

Demands Requests:

I am in the process of creating a list of pleasantries for your child to call me.  Nana is taken, so is Grandma (thanks be), which wouldn't be in the running anyway (refer back to the dirty word old) because it just sounds so ... OLD.  Granna, which is absolutely adorable, is taken because apparently Tammy has put more thought into this than I have. 

I like the following options.  Please let me know which one you and Ruben like, although at my age I've earned the right to not select it.

1.  Mamie (long a sound)
2.  Mamsie (long a sound)
3.  Zsa Zsa (might be the closest to glamorous I'll ever be)
3.  Auntie  (which I guess is out of the question)
4.  Deary
5.  Slim (which is currently my favorite)
6.  Grand

And finally, simply put, never tell me I cannot say or give something to your child.  It's a losing battle. Just ask Nana and Grandma. And soon to be Granna and Slim. 

Now the advice, which has been earned the hard way, and is golden.

Turn up all the TV's, radios, and CD players in the house to full volume.  Train your baby to sleep through anything.  At first it may seem heavenly to have total quiet, but eventually nothing is worse than having to tip-toe during nap time, in fear that your angel will wake up the dreaded TOO EARLY.

Don't worry if you don't breast feed.  Have no guilt my darlin'.  To be honest, being the only one who can feed the baby is not all it's cracked up to be.  But think carefully about this. You can always pump breast milk so Ruben can feed and bond with baby. You get to do this alone in a quiet room.  Let's face it, no one wants to be in a room with a breast pumping hormonal mommy.  And it could become your only down time.  Think even more carefully,  I did not breast feed. Refer back to my breasts in above cartoon. 

Projectile spit-up cleans up easily with a magic eraser.

People who publish books about child rearing have probably broken their own rules often.  Don't buy these books.  Ask Granna or Slim.

Toys are nice.  But nothing beats a good 'ole pot and spoon.  Clean out at least one lower cabinet. Your baby will spend hours in there during which time you can pretend you are back in your newlywed days.

But don't ever sit down, because as soon as you do ....  Never mind this one, I think I'll let you learn it the hard way.

Pacifiers are like crack to a baby.  And you can find a dealer on every street corner, but you must buy up stock in the one your baby loves.  He/she will want one in the mouth and one in each hand. And if the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, one stashed in the diaper.   Take it from your daddy and me,  finding a new one at three in the morning because just one has disappeared or baby has sucked a hole in a favorite is nearly impossible.  Okay, it is completely impossible. The thumb is always an option, and according to the Jones' next door your child will need braces.  So, go with the thumb.  Trust me, go with the thumb.

Sleep is overrated.  Sleep is overrated.  Sleep is overrated.  Say it often.  You may begin to believe it. Or maybe not.  But it doesn't hurt to try.

XOXO's are never optional.

And finally, and most importantly, cherish your tush the way it is now. Admire it often in the mirror. It will probably be a lot lower for the rest of your life.

And welcome, my beautiful Delia, to the world of stretch pants.

Love,
Grand

And just for the fun of it -

love huge

When I held you in my arms twenty-three years and one day ago it was an impossible thing for me to imagine twenty-three years later.  You were the kind of labor nurses made you walk the hospital halls through. Slow.  Not far enough along.  Slow.  Tearing.  Stitches.

The kind of labor most young women today do not go through unless they choose to.   Even eight years ago baby Max was a walk in the park compared to the walk in those halls.  Modern medicine has made having a baby much easier today than then.  And much easier then compared to a century ago.  My, my.  Time.  What it does.

What time does rears itself to me much lately.  It took that baby face, perfectly round like treasured gold piece, and created a woman.  First steps and double digits and driving and falling in love and marriage and now the desire that won't let go for a perfect baby face of your own.  It's time you say, to start your family. 

A woman with dreams bigger than time can conquer because they take time to conquer.

Plans that sometimes start small and grow big and bigger and then one long day from now there's a sign on a door that says Open.  And smells of sweetness delight the nose and then the mouth. 

But time, my darlin', is a gift.  Because one day you will see that a long day from now seems like only yesterday. 

Remember this . . .

When the dreams of what you have now seemed like a lifetime away. 

My sweet Blubird, time brings sweet things.  And it brings choices.  And letting go and living small to live huge.  Because you brought love huge and Daddy and I never would have chosen a perfect moment because there isn't one to bring that perfect love that you breathe hard through.

And life is full of choices.  And all things good do come.  And all choices, if you let them, bring happiness.  If you let them. 

Happy Birthday.  Love, Mamie

when you go against better judgement and let her watch halloween and then she sleeps over...

Izzy:  I love you!!!

 

Me:   I love you baby bones!

 

Izzy:   I love you more!

 

Me:     Nope.  I love u more than Michael hates Lorie.

 

Izzy:    I love you more than Lorie hates Michael!

Me:     I love u more than how many times Michael dies.

 

Izzy:  I love you more than how many people Michael killed!

 

Me:  Ohhhh.  That's good!  Don't let him get you tonight!

 

Izzy:  I'll try!  I love you!  Goodnight!

 

Me: Love you too!  Put your white noise on if u can't sleep.  you and that dirty blanket.

 

Izzy:  Yes ma'am!

 

Me:  Y'all still awake?

 

Izzy:  Im peeing!

 

Me:  Really?  Don't fall in.  Wash ur hands!

 

Izzy:  Mother.

Izzy:  Whoops I fell in

Izzy:  IM DROWNING!

 

 

 

Forest says ...

So a few days ago he comes to me and wants to know how one changes their eye color.  I'm not really sure of the question and mumble some ridiculous answer about age changing the color of your eyes.

And I know that isn't what he wants.  He looks unsatisfied.

And he returns and asks about contacts.  So now I'm following the conversation - but only for a moment.

Contacts can change your eye color.  If you have blue contacts your eyes might change from brown to blue.

 

Where are they?

 

What, baby?

 

The contacts.

 

In your eyes.  They are like little round pieces of soft plastic and they sit on your eyeball.

And then - to my never-ending amazement that is Maxster - his face lights up as he places his fingers inside his eyes -

How do you get them out, Mommy?  Help me, Mommy.  Help me get mine out. I want to see my other eye color.

 

I'm eternally amazed by the things he doesn't know.

 

And as Forest says, That's all I have to say about that.

 

When you accidentally on purpose read

I'm probably gonna get in trouble for blogging about this.  There's really no probably about it.

Isabela is taking a literature co-op class that Shelby took years ago.  She didn't want to take it.  Izzy doesn't like to write.  She doesn't think she is good at it.  But Shelby took this same class from Jennifer years ago and the progress she made in writing was encouraging.  So when we were given the blessed opportunity for Izzy to take it I didn't hesitate.

I'm not supposed to read what she writes.
 I'm not to correct it or hint suggestions or just look at her the wrong way so she knows to fix something.  And for me, if you know me, that is a hard one.

I sit down at computer to check bank (yep, still doing that.  Won't it be nice when the day comes that I don't have to check in everyday to be sure there's enough to make it through that day?  I have a feeling I'll be living a heavenly life before that happens.  And that's okay.) 

And there is her writing.  She didn't click off or exit out or whatever.  And I look at it.  But I don't read.  And there it is.  That ever knawing gut feeling that I get when I'm about to do something I'm not supposed to do.

Ever get that?  Sure you don't.  Can anyone say I'm a mama?

I swivel in the chair and look the other way.  I ponder.  I swivel back and the other way and ponder some more.  I minimize it.

I ponder.

What will it hurt to read it?  It's not her journal writing.  It's just a writing on a children's book she read.  Just for practice.  It's not private.  And Jennifer is my secret twin and she would read it if in the same boat and she is the teacher so after a short time of rationalizing I click on and read. 

She writes this book she reads reminds her if she is ever some place she doesn't like she can simply turn her head and walk the other way.  She writes the book makes her feel good and as if she can accomplish anything.  That the book reminds her she'll struggle and fall and that friends will come and go and that one day she might end up alone.  She says she knows there will be bumps in her life she has to crawl over and that life is going to be harder than she expects and that there will be smaller bumps on the big bumps but there will always be a way to make it through. 

And I'm looking at the grammer and how she quotes the book and wondering if I should tell her I accidentally read it so I can help her make corrections. 

But then I read the last paragraph.

And I forget to breathe for a moment.  Because this is being written by the girl everyone thinks has it all together.  But she doesn't.  Who does?  And she lives every day with the knowledge that some people choose to not like her.  That some of the people she is to respect have chosen to put her in a neat little box they think she belongs in because they have put other girls in it.  And she doesn't belong there.  And she knows it.  And I know it.  And it can be hard.  And it hurts her.  But she is learning to live with it because that is what people do and this is what one does when they do. 

And I read her last words.  That it is important to her to keep her head on straight.  That she never wants to forget who she is.  That she doesn't want to look toward something that appears grand and wonderful to discover she should have turned away from it. 

And then in this little paper I wasn't supposed to read, this little paper that is just what a children's book makes her feel like, she writes that she wants to be guided by the One that created her and everything around her. 

Isabela's not perfect.  Who is?  She puts toothpaste on her pimples at night and longs to have a mole she thinks is ugly removed and hasn't memorized all her time tables and can't keep her room clean.  She knows what it is to be selfish and all-consuming when she should be aware.  But who doesn't?  Certainly her mama does.

But children's books make her think of her future and her future includes God by her own choosing. 

So to my darlin' sack of baby bones - yep, this world can be hard and there are huge bumps on top of the hugest bumps but you will be just fine.  And you will never, ever end up alone.  That is a pinkie promise.

when it's just time to exercise a little faith

So we are driving to Sunday School, just Maxster and me, when the song This is Only a Mountain by Jason Castro comes on the radio.

Max is singing like he always is, he knows the words to all the songs.

And then I mess up an opportunity to teach when the wrong words just tumble out of my mouth and I know I'm not saying the right thing but I can't find the words to make him understand.

So I do the wrong thing.  I say the wrong thing.  I think I just told my son he'd never have enough faith to move a mountain.

Mommy, what do those words mean?

This is only a mountain

You don't have to find your way around it

Tell it to move

It'll move

Tell it to fall

It'll fall 

 

I tried to explain about faith.  How it doesn't take much faith, I skip the mustard seed part because I know he wouldn't get that,  but then I'm saying there can be no doubt and I'm rambling and  I see him in the mirror. He's looking at me.  He's trusting me and believing with all that he is worth that he does have that much faith. 

 

But if he doesn't - can I tell him how to get it? 

 

He wants to move a mountain.  And if all it takes is believing then he doesn't understand.  Does God not believe that he believes?  and for just a brief moment of taking my eyes off the road I see in his eyes that he thinks he can tell a mountain to move and it will.  Because he loves Jesus and believes it will move.

 

And I'm grasping for words and then I tell him he'll probably never have enough faith to really make a mountain move because we can never erase that little doubt in our minds that we can't really make a mountain move and I know that's not right but maybe it will work and that's not really what Jesus meant when he talked of the faith of the disciples in that verse and I'm rambling and falling deeper and deeper and pulling him into a pit of confusion.

 

Not just confusion - but I see it - a moment in his eyes of questioning.  Just a moment of maybe, maybe every thing he believes is not real.  Did Jesus tell him something wrong?  Doesn't it say it in the Bible?

 

Oh boy, I just told my son he'd never have enough faith to move a mountain and he's only six and he can't separate literal from implied.  I remember less than a week ago I discovered during a lesson of the globe that he didn't know - he didn't know - that Bethlehem was a real place on our Earth.  I never imagined he would think that. 

 

What is he thinking now when I just told him he can't move a mountain and the Bible says he can?

 

He doesn't understand that God lowers himself to us and speaks to us in ways that we can understand.  Just as I am trying to speak to Max in the way his limited intellect can understand, that is how my Father speaks His Word to me.

 

Jesus does not mean that mustard seed sized faith can literally move mountains.  His expression was just a metaphor describing what we think is an impossible task.

But I can't say it right and he turns his head and is no longer singing the song but looking out the window and I just lost him.  He doesn't want to listen anymore.  I just lost that moment.

 

Superman can fly and Spiderman can climb buildings and Jesus is supposed to be real and bigger and didn't Jesus say it?

 

So I backtrack.  I look at him in the mirror and tell him it's hard to understand but 

 

yes, yes he can tell a mountain to move and it will move from here to there if he has enough faith.   

 

He looks at me again.

 

How much faif does it take, Mommy?

 

And I smile at him in the mirror.  And he looks out the window again. 

 

But I see it -  just a hint of a little smile on his face reflecting on the glass. 

 

And I shut up.  Because to a six year old life really isn't that complicated.  And faith is big.  

when i'm not exactly sure what happened

Shelby Lee - what's that you hung on your window?  That's U.G.L.Y.

 

(it's private y'all, but I don't ever want to forget it!)

 

 

When Another Birthday Comes Much Too Quickly

Darlin' Izzy B,

Why do you feel you have to remind me of your birthday coming so soon? 

Is it because  I forgot Bluebird's?  Is it because you think if we cut my brain open it would be a tangled mess of everything but the most important? 

Or, is it, deep down in the deeper, that you are still the silly little girl full of excitement that climbed the doors like coconut trees?  That feated up when you were hot and touched my cheek when you told stories?

Or, maybe, deep down in the deepest, you are growing up quickly right before my eyes and can't wait to get there?  Yes.

It was the day before you were to be born.  She walked into the largest of the baby suites - the one they had set me up in because I was to be there so long, the one big enough for your sisters to bring sleeping bags and stay with me at night, the one you would be born in - and she looked at my iv. 

It needs changing again.  There's no place left to put it but your neck or foot. 

I probably cried.  I was tired.  I could not wait for you to get here.  Could this pregnancy get much worse?  It all began the day I passed out in the dressing room of Limited Too and your Uncle Markie scooped me up and carried me to the waiting ambulance. 

When a tear was found in my gallbladder and there was nothing they could do but wait for you to come.  When every bite made me sick and I slept with a bowl by my bed just in case I couldn't make the bathroom.  When your big sister was so afraid she slept right at my side. 

She held off on the iv change and less than 24 hours later they made me so comfortable I never felt a moment's pain and you brought more than just a new baby girl into our lives.  You brought joy and happiness matched only by the two before you and you were mothered by three and they were bigger mama lions than I was.

To know you is to love you.  And I'm so glad you are back.  Back from that dark place that held you in fright - but could not keep you because of our God bigger than dark or fright or uncertainty. 

You work hard and do everything I ask - as long as we leave your bedroom out of the picture.  You change diapers and wash dishes and fold clothes and cook supper and dig clothes from behind the dryer and climb the cabinets I can't reach and text all my words and never ask for anything in return. 

You put the music in your ears and help your daddy and can I tell you there aren't many out there who would do it with such a sweet and understanding attitude?

You don't complain and only occasionally pout and my only complaint is how long it takes you to get ready and that you've got me obsessed with Downton Abbey.

So, my little sack of baby bones, I haven't forgotten your birthday and there is more than a tangled mess in my brain and you are not a silly little girl but a beautiful young woman and people have much worse pregnancies and even though they don't always show it the two joys before you still ache to rock you and would plant a sleeping bag next to you at any moment you needed them. 

And fourteen years later I have never felt a moment's pain from you and when I do - because it will come - never forget that to know you is to love you. 

And I love you the most. 

Mama

When I'm Given So Much More Grace Than I Deserve

It was late summer early fall 2006 and some of the happiest days of my life.  I was carrying a son, a dream I had given up on years earlier when I thought we'd never be brave enough to try for another child.

We were blessed beyond any form of our worth with three beautiful girls and my years were over forty and much time had passed since we made the unspoken bond of no more children by not speaking of it any longer.

There are some things that are very hard to explain.  And the fear is if you try you might sound somewhat extravagant.  Or like a dreamer.  Or just plain foolish. 

But on a night earlier we were side by side when I laughed loud and told him we just made a baby.  I knew it.  I felt it.  I can't explain it.  I said it but how does a woman know such a thing at such a time?

But I did.

And I was right.

And weeks passed and he came home as I walked out of the laundry room and right into his arms and cried and there were only three words -

You're pregnant?

Yes.

And I said words that were too honest when I wondered aloud why would God give us another child?  I didn't want another baby or need another baby and why would I be pregnant unless He was giving us a son?  Why would I be pregnant if it were a girl?

Some things will shame us till the day we die.

And I didn't realize how badly I wanted a boy until the thought that I might not have one. 

But I was afraid to say the words too loudly or too often.

And on a table too short in cold dark room I held his hand and watched only him.  And there it was.  Wand moved and fingers touched keys and I saw it on his face before she spoke the words. 

It's a boy.

But I already knew for his smile started slowly and he saw and looked at me in a way he had never looked at me before.

And there was little morning sickness and few headaches and he was much easier to carry than my loves before him.

She explained all the complications and risks and I prayed a promise that it wouldn't matter because it wouldn't and I passed all the tests.

 And life was really good and I felt strong.

And on most days he went with me because he liked the dark room where he sat holding my hand month after month watching his son grow.

But on this day I was alone when she stroked too many keys and moved wand too much and didn't speak at all.  And she left the room and came back with another who sat at machine and pressed buttons.  And it was colder than usual.

And I said it again because maybe she didn't hear me -

Is something wrong?

I'm just getting some numbers . . .

When Two are Better Faster Stronger Than One

It was on the church bus.

 

They saw each other for the first time.

 

I'm sure for a moment she may have been a little taken back.

 

This freckled face boy with hair long color of yazoo clay and waved like the water that brought him here.

 Brought here for her?

 

And it's in the moments of complete horror and sadness that only our Father can produce joy.

She was always silly.  Never shy or hesitant to make others laugh. 

 

So we weren't sure what was wrong with her on this night. 

 

Her braces had just come off days before and she was excited to turn fifteen.

 

I can imagine Mom shopping and finding that shiny blue wig - no doubt in her mind Shelby would get a kick out of it - no doubt in any of our minds.

 But she didn't.  We all thought it was a game when she wouldn't put it on. 

But it wasn't.  Tears flowed in the back room and nothing - nothing could convince her to give us just one more hat photo to join the collection since she was old enough to know what one was.

 

But then he quietly found her and they whispered in the corner and I remember thinking that my silly bluebird just wanted him to see her as a young woman instead of a little girl.  I remember thinking that night my girl might be in love.

 

And only one - only one person - convinced her. 
 

And that's the moment I fell for him.

 

And they both grew up on the ice and hockey players and figure skaters clash - just a little. And the day came they sought out to prove who was better who was faster who was stronger. 

And she walked through the door after she went down face sliding on ice.

And there was the break-up.

 

And the make-up.

And the break apart.

 

And time.  And the struggle to stay friends.

 

The summer apart.

 

And she didn't know what to do. 

 

And he wanted her back and she wavered scared and only wanted to make this life decision once. 

 

And she was afraid.

 

But I knew she missed the boy.  And on this night sitting and laughing she posted status Will you be my . . .

 

and she waited.  And we laughed and imagined what he was thinking and when she couldn't wait any longer she finished the question and

 

they found their way back.

 

She was barely four when she went on her first trip for Jesus.  I packed her bag and told her we were trippin' for Jesus.  She didn't get it.

 

Her's not white her's not black me don't know what her is.

 

And there, with Native Americans, she began trippin' for Jesus.

 

So when years later took her to Hondurus and she fell grown deeper in love with Jesus and then Tennessee sealed her desire for Him with questions and confusion she came home trying to find her steps and couldn't figure out how to split her heart between the two.

 

Mama, I only want to be in love with Jesus. I don't know how to have room in my heart for more.

 

And then the break.

 

And his heart was broken and he was angry and didn't understand. 

 

And Jesus gently rocked her and led her back.

 

Then hard days came and she hurt and slept. 

I watched him. Wondered what he was thinking.  I'm thinking the time away from her had been a blessing. And while she had been struggling with more love than she knew what to do with he was realizing that no matter what life would be - he wanted it to be with her.

 

She cried.  I don't want Joe to have to spend his life with someone that feels bad so much. 

 

Do you remember when Joe was concerned about you being without him?  You know his concern about dying young, like his dad, and leaving you and children alone?   

 

You thought that was sweet ridiculous.  Even if you knew your time with him would end tomorrow you wouldn't give him up.  You're not giving him and his love for you enough credit.

 

Stop thinking so much, and just love.

 

 

 

And she did.  Because from that moment on the bus there really was never another option, was there, my bluebird love?