My Sweet Spot 8/31/22

We've lived here almost five years and I've just now found my sweet spot.

It's the spot that I can't wait to get to each day.

I'm not sure why it took me so long to discover it; it's been hiding in plain sight for years.

Maybe it's the rocking chairs angled just right.

Maybe it's the steal of a table I found that's wedged perfectly in between the chairs.

Or maybe it's the cheerful seat cushions that pull it all together.

But really, I think it's because it's become home to some of my favorite memories.

It's home to the ongoing Uno game with my husband (which to date I'm winning).

It's where a sweet face plops down across from me to tell me about school.

It's where giggles flow when orneriness prevails.

It's become the place for me to get in on the gossip with my teen.

It's the perfect place to watch the sunrise.

It's my favorite place to drink coffee and read my Bible.

It's brought out my inner old lady who watches the cars drive too fast down the road and appreciate the ones that seem to be going the correct speed.

It's got the perfect view for watching kids perfect front yard flips and catch lightning bugs.

It's all of these things and so much more.

Perhaps it's that it gives me the opportunity to slow down.

Perhaps it's that it reminds me to appreciate what's right in front of me because this year has reminded me how quickly it can all change.

Perhaps it's that those that I love the most make their way to me rain or shine in that sweet spot. With them usually come the hugs and kisses that warm my heart.

For five years I didn't know what I was missing. But now that I've found it, I'm soaking it in.

If you're in the neighborhood, stop on by. We can sit in the rockers and watch the world go by. And maybe, just maybe, that's what we've all been missing.

When They See Us 7/17/22

"I wanted to take a picture because you guys just look so cute!" - Aspen

And that's love almost twenty years in. It's wrapped up in each other's arms when we sleep.

It's holding hands driving down the road.

It's a head on the shoulder in the restaurant booth.

It's holding onto each other every step of the way in the good and bad.

Love looks a little different than it did when we first couldn't keep our hands off of each other.

Love looks like this. Sunday nap day snuggles.

Four kids and a lifetime of craziness.

Our kids see it and they know. They see us and they see love...even when we're sleeping.

The Real Me 7/15/22

I'm an open book. For some, that's hard to handle. It's hard because it's real and it's raw.

I don't live my life behind secrets. If you want to know, ask. I won't make up a lie to make you feel better. My time is too precious for that.

I sometimes come across as abrasive. I call things like I see them. I'm not rude or overly blunt, but I also don't try to sugarcoat the truth to make it more palatable for everyone. 

Decisions, I can make them. There's too much time wasted on indecisiveness. I'll hear both sides and decide.

Religion, I'll let you know how much God loves you, and let you make your own decisions from there.

Politics, we can talk. I refuse to let a letter behind a name determine my vote; too many people have given up their lives for me to just blindly follow a party letter, so tell me about your platform and then let your walk reflect your talk.  

Hard topics, let's talk about them. I believe that knowledge is power. Conversation brings change, and change is good. I may not change my mind about the topic, but I'll have the conversation and walk away knowing more than I did before.

My life, my marriage, raising kids, I'll tell you all about it. It's crazy. It's messy. It's beautiful. It's hard, exhausting, overwhelming, wonderful, and a multitude of other adjectives. You need someone to be in the mud with you, I'm your girl.

It's hard living with a mom and wife like me. Privacy is a thing of beauty, and I respect and appreciate that. If there's something that makes someone in my household uncomfortable with me sharing, we talk through it. Sometimes I share, sometimes I don't. I come from the position that we can learn from this and sometimes others can too. Some things we keep close to the vest, others we share openly so others can learn from our trials and victories.

I didn't grow up this way. I grew up where things were hush hush. 

We didn't answer the door or phone all of the time. I remember hiding in the stairwell until someone left or peaking out a window to make sure they were in their car.

I had to keep track of who knew what. Secrets had secrets. And all of it was exhausting.

Bearing that weight was not and should not have been mine. But it was. As I've grown, I've recognized that and it's a burden that I refuse to pass onto my children.

As an adult, I had to learn to navigate life struggling to find the ability to break free of the image that was expected of me. The straight line that I was supposed to walk, the people that I was supposed to do as they said, I found it too much. I had to make the choice to break the mold and know that some seas may be stormy because of it. The stormy seas were worth every second of my peace of mind, so going against the grain, I'll do it every single time.

My kids aren't responsible for protecting my story. It's mine to tell. They won't learn lies to protect me, they'll know the truth and we'll talk about it. The uncomfortable things, the conversations, and mistakes I hope they never ask about, ultimately, I know they will and we'll talk, laugh, and cry through them. But I won't shy away from the truth.

In truth comes freedom. With truth comes life lessons. Some they'll learn from, others they'll never believe that mom was ever that person, and both are acceptable outcomes. But they'll have the freedom to not be weighed down by me.

They'll have their own secrets to keep. They'll figure out how much of them they're willing to share, and they'll find that balance. By living life as an open book, I want them to be free from the oppression that secrets bring. I want them to know that some things belong to just them, but they shouldn't hide just to be or pretend to be who someone else thinks they should. 

Mental health is something we should never take for granted. Freedom in transparency and truth for our lives fosters mental wellness. When we live in such a way that others don't see just picture perfect lives and we have the real conversations, others benefit. Let's stop trying to make life look perfect and force our kids to make it look the same. Life is hard sometimes, let's be real and talk about it. For you, for me, for them.

Grace 7/12/22

Some days I just feel tired and over it.

Some days there's no particular reason for that feeling. Other days, it makes sense.

Has anything bad happened? No. But sometimes I just feel weighed down by the weight of it all.

The weight of:

*schedules - remembering who needs to be where and when

*what we need - are we running low on soap, milk, socks?

*emotions - who's had the best day? Who's overwhelmed? Who's battling friend drama?

*food - what are we eating three meals a day?

*laundry - this uniform and these socks need to be clean by tomorrow

*work - gotta work to pay the bills

*marriage - finding time to stay connected

These are just a few things that feel heavy. Things that I feel guilty for feeling weighed down by.

Guilt: it comes in heavy. Heavy because every one of the things above are blessings to have. Therefore feeling weighed down by them breeds guilt. And the guilt becomes another weight.

Then the outside factors of the world add an additional layer. The layer of loss of life, illnesses, violence, and the subconscious weight and fears that these produce.

Sometimes it feels like too much. Like I just want to shut it all out. Close the door. Keep my family in a safe little bubble.

On these days, it's a choice to concentrate on finding the good. It's intentionally counting blessings. It's remembering to cast my burdens on the One that can carry them.

In those days when it's easy to be hard on myself for feeling overwhelmed instead of grateful, I have to remember to give myself grace.

Grace to know that I'm not alone.

Grace to know that I can still be thankful for all of my blessings and yet still feel overwhelmed by them.

Grace in knowing that I'm human and therefore it's ok not to have it all together.

Grace to know that this too shall pass.

These days, I have to remember that His grace is sufficient for me.

Friend, you're not alone in being grateful and overwhelmed simultaneously. You and I simply have to remember that He can handle our burdens and give us the grace that we often don't give ourselves.

2 Corinthians 12:9

Missing You 6/16/22

It's not the day that's hard. It's the days leading up to the day.

By this time we'd have had at least a hundred texts between all of the siblings about what to get Dad for Father's Day. We'd have decided who was buying what and Venmod money this way and that.

It was always a struggle figuring out what to get someone that didn't want anything. Kitchen gadgets, we'd bought them all at one point or another. Lotto tickets always made the cut. Usually a gift card to Casey's or one of the places he loved to eat were thrown in too.

But this year is different. We aren't scrambling to figure it all out. We're not trying to collect money from each other. This year is different. We're trying to figure out how to live without you.

I'm not worried so much about the day itself. Yes, it'll feel different not loading up the kids to come swim and eat burgers at the pond. It'll feel different just acting like it's a normal Sunday. It'll be different, but it's been the time leading up to it that's tearing my heart apart.

I think of the smiles. I think of the hugs. I think of the wait to see what the scratch off winnings were (generally a goose egg). I think of all the times we had and all the times we're going to miss. And I've thought about this for weeks.

It's not just me. We've all thought about it. Nobody's put a finger on the heavy sadness that's hit us each at different times over the last few weeks, but I think it's that another first is sneaking up on us that we are subconsciously aware of. It's because this one is publicized. It's a day just for Dads and ours isn't here anymore.

We've watched the profile pictures change to our friends and their dads. We're hearing commercials celebrating Dads. We're seeing the cards line the aisles at the stores. And each one is a reminder of what we're missing. You, we're missing you.

Maybe with each passing year, it'll get easier. Maybe with each passing year we'll be able to look back and smile more. Maybe one day it won't all feel so raw. Maybe, but this isn't the year.

I knew the firsts that we had without you would be hard. Birthdays, weddings, holidays, they would all be hard. What I didn't anticipate is the things that we did leading up to days that celebrate you would hurt.

Learning as we go. Learning to live a little differently because nothing will ever be the same. Learning that sometimes it's not the actual day that hurts, but the ones before. Learning that letting go can be really hard. Learning that being ok is a different kind of ok. Learning that I'll never stop missing you and that's ok. Learning that watching life happen and change without you will cut pretty much every single time. Remembering how much love there was and is, is why every single lesson hurts.

Forever missing you. Forever wishing things could have been different. Forever loving you.

.

I Never Thought I'd Be 6/12/22

I never thought I'd be:

 

A swim mom;

 

Or a choir mom;

 

A band mom;

 

A basketball mom;

 

A tumbling mom;

 

A soccer mom;

 

Or a minivan mom.

 

Nope, never thought I'd be any of them. But I've been them all and then some.

 

I've been them all and found that I love every exhausting second of them. Win or lose. Burning heat or freezing cold. I love it all.

 

Why do I love it all? Not necessarily because I love the activity or because I know so much about it (I mean I am year nine into soccer and I'm still Googling rules). No, it's because I love the kid on the field, on the mat, in the chair, and in the seats behind and beside me.

 

I love watching them learn and discover what they like and what they excel at. I find myself wrapped up in their ambition. I cheer louder than I knew I could (and I used to be a cheerleader) because my heart beats for them.

 

Do I care if they get first place? Nope, not at all. Is it sweet when they do? Yep, it is. But it's the in between, the pushing through, the fight to stick a landing, to hit a note, to shave a few seconds off a stroke, the grinding all day because sunrise comes early for practice that I love. It's watching them watch themselves get better and grow.

 

Are there days when it would be easier to not fight about practicing their instruments or having to attend an outdoor practice because the weather stinks? Yep. But somethings are worth fighting about. And if I don't teach them to fight for themselves, who will?

 

So for all the things I never thoughts I'd be, and so much more, I'm extremely thankful. Thankful that I get to walk alongside of these beautiful souls and watch them grow. I get to be there for the hard falls and the high highs. And that too is more than I ever thought I'd be.

Love Grows In Gardens 5/29/22

"When I grow up, I'm going to be an organic farmer. And I'm going to have a garden just like you because you love gardening. Maybe I'll have some animals too because you grew up on a farm right? And that's what you did with your dad."

For as long as I can remember, his garden had the straightest rows and the finest dirt; the kind you could walk through barefoot and it felt like sand through your toes. It's where I hopped from footprint to footprint behind him as he pushed the tiller between rows. There wasn't a weed to be found in his garden. It was a masterpiece.

Year after year, his garden grew. There were years he'd tell me he'd replanted it three or four times before anything grew. But he also told me, just like it says in the Bible, there's a time to reap and a time to sow, so when it's ready, both will happen. He reminded me of that when I'd complain that I was late getting my garden in.

Dad's garden didn't just feed his house. As his garden grew, it also grew in size. The bounty to be shared throughout the community. Green beans and tomatoes were also abundant. There was always more than we could use, so we canned and the rest he gave away.

For years, I've never planted green beans, I didn't need to, he always had more than enough. The same for tomatoes, I'd plant a few, but when it came time to can, I depended on his supply. This year, I planted rows of both.

As I went out to weed my garden and Afton walked with Rob behind the tiller, I couldn't help but admire the rows of beans that were growing. I felt proud that they grew. And as I watch my little girl hop into her daddy's footsteps, I couldn't help but think how it would have made him smile.

It was then that I remembered that he lives on and continues to be with me. She'll remember working the ground. She'll remember planting the seeds. Though she may not grow up to have a farm, somehow I believe that she'll have a garden and one day smile when she remembers being out there with us. She'll remember her roots and where that love began, and he'll continue to live on and at some point, so will I. Because a lot of love grows in gardens.