Goodbye 2016 and Hello 2017

Goodbye 2016 and Hello 2017. I love the Holiday Seasons because we all intentionally quiet our busy days and spend time with people we love, it’s another beautiful day to celebrate the gift of Jesus, and it’s a reminder that time really magically slips between our fingers if we let it. People sometimes roll their eyes at Christmas Joy that seeps too early or the redundancy of failed resolutions but I love to believe that these honored days should and are suppose to be days that remind us of how we’re really suppose to spend each day.

Christmas and, very specifically for me, Jesus is a gift that beckons nothing back but reminds us that love should be given freely. New Years’ is a reminder that we can always be better versions of who we really are but time truly waits for no one.

I welcomed 2016 with open arms as 2015 was a painful year for me. But 2016 was a mix of bittersweetness that brought along very big, swooping life changes. Life’s been an utter blessing this year but it’s, also, stretched me the most emotionally. Needless to say, I’m excited for the promise of new beginnings in 2017.

And so, here it starts …

Aren't they just beautiful?! -This incredibly unbiased doting mother ;)

Aiden: Seven and a Half

He's seven and a half and his baby-ness is dissipating with each aging day. So when he chose to sit on our laps and let us wrap our arms around him, I had to snap a picture because things like this are happening less and less. Sometimes I wonder if he feels pushed out of our laps by the smaller but much louder little ones or if he's, simply, just needing us less and less. Perhaps it's a complex mixture of the two but knowing him, I'm willing to bet he's quietly sacrificing himself for the greater good. Either way, I will jump at every chance to let my love for him be known.

Out of all my kids, he reminds me the most of the handsome man with the kind, blue eyes to the right. Quiet. Introspective. Sensitive. And kind. I worry about Aiden because the world prefers bold, flashing lights rather than the quiet, intricate goodness that can touch your soul like a really great book. It takes a while to become acquainted but once you do, they never quite leave you entirely.

I tell Jarod all the time how similar they are. He listens and nods. But I don't think I convey that every time I make the comparison, I'm also reassuring myself. If he turns out anything like his dad, then I know he's going to be just fine ❤️

the girl who holds the world in a paper cup

There are few songs that can deeply affect you your whole life. As far back as I could remember Kenny Loggins played on my parent’s cassette tapes and on the soft rock radio stations that my parent’s played incessantly to the point that I even naively believed 70’s and early 80’s music was the only kind of music that existed for more than half of my childhood.
 

Even as a young child, I’ve been enthralled by words in such a peculiar way that I see now majoring in English was always my inevitable path; it’s as if my heart has always been spoken for. One song with its magical array of cleverly assorted words has continued to grow with me alongside the ever increasing lines that grace my face. As a little girl, I heard Loggins sing of loving “the girl who holds the world in a paper cup.” Although, I wasn’t quite sure what those lyrics meant back then; I wholeheartedly decided I was going to be that girl.

Loggins sang “even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you, honey,” and those lyrics carried me through all the years when we had no idea how we were going to pay our bills and we lived, quite literally, on love. He sang how “a smile, a face, a girl that shares my name,” changed the boy who “will never be the same,” as if he personally knew the affect my love would have on Jarod.

He sang about babies being “conceived in love,” and seeing “a family where there once was none” as if he knew how much I still marvel at these children that surround us with their presence and affection. 

He sang about the kind “little boy (being) mine,” and how a “Pisces … is a very good sign,” as if he knew Aiden’s existence even before Jarod nor I ever were a glimmer in our parents’ eyes. He sang as if he somehow knew I would tenderly sing those lyrics to our first-born in the quietness when a mother and a child’s hearts are first entangled and seemingly inseparable. 

Years have woven into our marriage and even almost eleven years later, Loggins tenderly reminds me that I need to “try to earn what lovers own,” because love is never devoid of effort; this wisdom whispers in the recesses of my mind when I selfishly demand more without loving reason.

And most importantly, he reminds me “in the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes, and tell me everything is gonna be alright,” for the sun has always risen after the darkness envelopes the entire world and hope has always been miraculously prevalent. Our sole job is to, simply, believe.

Danny’s Song is much more than a favorite song. My simple words can only suggest a minuscule of the depth of emotion and meaning this song provokes in my soul. Thus, absolute joy filled me when I sang back these beautiful lyrics to the singer and songwriter himself while sitting next to the man that “shares my name,” the Pisces “little boy (that is) mine,” our three other babies who were “conceived in love,” and my best friend who often reminds me that “everything is gonna be alright.”

This moment will forever be a favorite.

 

if God exists . . .

                I used to look at the pain of the world and scoff at the notion that a loving God existed.

                If God existed, He would never let this happen, I thought as my eyes rolled in the back of my head.

                I know I’ve made remarks in this seemingly abandoned blog (cue the tumbleweed slowing passing by) that my thoughts have made quite a 180 reversal in the last year. But one example is I no longer scuff at the non-existence of God’s presence ... but desire to be of God’s service.

Now I see that God works through people who act with love and compassion in their forefront.

                Now I see people that seek to glorify God through their kindness can only do so because of the wisdom and strength that Christ has graciously given us.

                Which leads me back to foster care, Jarod and I came to the conclusion that it’s too much for our family. Ahem, in other words, Jarod decided it was too much for him and our family. I still have such a big passion for foster care and adopting … but I’ve come to learn to respect Jarod’s wishes and let him take the lead in our family.

                I understand that although God has put this in my heart, Jarod doesn’t have it in his.

                However, I believe that my passion for children, especially those who suffer from neglect and lack of love, doesn’t exist for nothing. I don’t know what God’s plan is for me but I know it will include this avenue in some way.

                I pray that Jarod will one day have a change of heart. I know how pure his heart is, that adoption isn’t a new idea we just recently toyed around with (we talked about it early in our relationship), and I know our current financial situation overwhelms him at times (which will dramatically change in the next year, more about that in a different post); so I do have a small amount of hope that he may have a change of heart.

                But for now, I’m content. The other day, I went to an informational orientation to volunteer with a foster care center in the neighboring area. I’m really excited about this. It’s a one year commitment to volunteer for one shift once a month. I don’t feel like it’s much (because I wish I could do so much more) but it’s something.

                And it will make a difference.

                You see, a few months ago I stopped questioning God’s presence in the mess of this world and I started taking responsibility for my lack of involvement. I stopped questioning where He is and started asking where He wants me.

the struggle of marriage

How does one even begin to explain what ten years of marriage with you looks like? I've been the happiest I've ever been - with you. I've felt moments I knew, even in the millisecond that time was unraveling, would forever be etched in my heart as the reason life exists. We've celebrated birthdays, holidays, milestones in our "adult life," and the indescribable joy that comes from bringing home a new baby created from our love with one another ... a wondrous four times.

There have been countless amazing moments.

But ten years of marriage, ten years of life, is not always amazing.

I have felt utter dislike for you - as I know with certainty you have felt for me. I can easily recall the time when your mother absolutely hated me and my father loathed to even look at you. I remember when we were painfully confused between being kids versus adults, our parent's children versus each other's spouses, and between remaining innocently happy versus jaded by the harsh coldness of life.

There has been an undeniably amount of pain and struggle.

I can look back and see the moments we could have easily walked away from each other, walked away from our faults, and our struggles. I have an intimate understanding of just how delicate relationships are and how easily they can unravel.

Life is hard and marriage is even harder.

But, loving you, has been the easiest thing I've ever done. It's not terribly difficult to love someone who is kind, thoughtful, selfless, intelligent, funny, hard-working, and good-looking.

You ... have made difficult moments, such as miscarrying our first baby, saying good-bye to my Lola, countless weeks in the hospital (for Lola and our nephew), and when people and life were just too much for me, a little more bearable.

Our life together has never been comfortably easy. We've been thrown a few curveballs and sometimes our reaction is to unjustifiably to take it out on one another. "Hangry" has absolutely no comparison to the level of stress and exhaustion that our lives sometimes affords.

When I think of ten years of marriage with you, I vividly remember all the hardships we've gone through. But when I see you, and even when I just think of us, I can see the growth and strength that only emerges from struggle. When I think of ten years of marriage with you, I see you and me fighting for us, for each other, and for our love.

I love you, Jj.

identity.

I've grown as a person in so many ways this past year. I know how clique that sounds in so many ways but it's true. 2013 me would have never imagined this new 2015 me. At. All.

As much as I was growing as a person of faith and furthering a very real, authentic relationship with Jesus, I couldn't grasp a solid foundation of who I was because my foundation was evolving and changing.

Putting yourself out there, in any aspect, such as a job interview, meeting someone new for the first time, a first date, and blogging takes a lot of courage. Honestly, I feel like I wasn't ready to expose all of who I am because I wasn't quite sure who all I am entailed.

Yes, I'm different. There's a gratitude inside of me that failed to exist before. There's a relationship that I put above everyone and everything else now.

But I'm happily still me.

I'm not perfect and I have many, many faults.

But I do like my own authenticity. I like the messy parts of me just as much as the "perfect" parts. I like that I'm slightly neurotic. I'm positive I have a slight undiagnosed case of OCD. I will shove bags upon bags of dirty laundry in the closet when company comes over but I'll expose my messiness and faults on the internet for the world to see.

I love ridiculously, cheesy (annoying) "Hallmark moments" and believe life ceases to exist without them. Yet, when someone acknowledges the real, messy parts of life and parenthood unapologetically, I can't help think 1) I'm not alone, 2) somebody really gets me, and 3) why aren't me and this person BFFs?!

As much as Jesus has changed my soul, I'm still human. I desire to be more and more Christ-like. Period.

But I'm will never be that perfect and this is my open-for-the-world-to-see journal. I'm here to give blogging another go with this new identity ;)

Ferguson

In the midst of the deepest pain is when we see the true character of a society. The full depth of love, compassion, and basic human regard has the strongest possibility in the time when pain’s echoes can be heard in shrieking screams.

The recent events that have occurred in Ferguson have split our society in halves for various reasons. We all like to think of ourselves as intelligent and wise, disregarding that there are truths that we cannot fully comprehend due to our lack of circumstances and experiences.

Yes, there is a divide and yes, people will continue to juxtapose whom is “right” and what side has the “real evidence.” However, I hope we don’t get so caught up in the details that we fail to see what’s truly happening right before us.

When righteousness is so resounding that it bleeds out compassion, we all have lost.

Only God knows the exact unraveling of events and the true heart and intentions of those involved on that heartbreaking day but we all know that there is much lost in this tragedy.

The happenings in Ferguson stood for much more than the death of one; it was symbolic of a system that is imperfect and unjust. It propelled the realities of racism into our forefront and onto our television screens, tablets, and smartphones.

No matter how much we would to like to deny its existence, racism still occurs in varying degrees to a multitude of people.

Ferguson stands for the pain of being treated differently based on one simple factor, the color of one’s skin. It is a representation of what has occurred over and over again for more generations to count.

Regardless of who is “right” in this instance, there is a tremendous amount of pain shed from other’s tears. We can pour salt into those wounds with hateful words and our mind’s own righteousness or we can show compassion and empathy to those who suffer just as Christ does.

Romans 12:2

dear Jj: ten years of marriage

I've always had an idea, an ideal, of what marriage and love and life was supposed to look like. You, or more accurately, the idea of you always weaved in and out of my mind: what you'd look like, what you'd be like, what our kids would look like.

Yes, I've always been "that girl" that dreams bigger than her life with love positioning itself right in the heart of it all but you know that, you know that too well. Just as you've always been "that guy" with your sweet disposition and laid-back attitude without a bullet-point plan.

By comparison and the standard of most, it didn't take long for me to meet you. But you see, my soul had spent the entire compilation of my existence, a very long 18 years, looking for you. So you, you, my sweet babe, you couldn't come fast enough.

I remember the day too well. Basked in the middle of my high school years and the start of the rest of my life, the horizon seemed infinite as the summer light gleamed, and on the very first day at my new job, there you stood.

A smile warmed across my face, my gaze laid upon you, and as you failed to return the gesture, I simply assumed a friendship would lack an existence. I see now what other's rarely have the immense pleasure to glimpse - the true depth of your thoughts and emotions. I know now that you hide the recesses of yourself only for a very select few. Thus, never in a million years could my first impression of you ever be a true depiction of what and who you really are because of the impossible concoction of your trust and first meetings.

You've told me since that you noticed me first, thought I was beautiful, and you really did love my smile. Ten years later, you still think I'm beautiful and you still love my smile but what I love most is now you really see me as I am. You see the intricacies of my soul, the repressed oddness I find myself most at ease, the varied passionate emotions I hide from the world, my extremity in nurturing compassion and zealous optimism that you often put in check through sheer necessity and sanity. You see my many faults and short-comings and still love me.

You see me as clearly as I see you.

Today marks our ten year wedding anniversary, and ten years and some six months since our very first day.

Time is a strange thing, isn't it? It feels like we've filled ten years with a lifetime of memories and yet, it all seems like every fleeting moment in our lives happened just yesterday.

Thank you for the last ten years, for your love, and for allowing me to share my life with the most amazing person I've ever met. I'm incredibly grateful to God for placing you in my life; I'm certain the core of my being could never remain intact without your love, the kind of love that let's my wild-eyed dreams take flight and holds me when the world gets a little too cold for me to bear. I love you so very much.

Love,
Kj

why foster care?!

"Nearly half the world's population, 2.8 billion people, survive on less that $2 a day."

Tha magnitute of that fact doesn't escape me. Sure, I worry about when we're finally going to be out of debt, when we're going to buy a piece of land to call our own, but the accumulation of our blessed wealth is staggering in comparison to the world.

Spoiled. Blessed. Privileged. And unbeknownst, entitled.

I most certainly am.

I look at my life and see a safe, quiet bubble that I've conveniently diverged myself into. I've failed to get my hands dirty and rarely, concern myself with anyone other than myself, my husband, and our children.

The last few months have changed my core. I didn't just accept Jesus into my life but I want so desperately to allow him to change my very core.

Do I know how crazy that sounds to non-Christians?

Absolutely.

I was there, myself, looking quite strangely at those people who say they don't have a religion but "a relationship with Jesus."

Say, "whaaaat?!"

But I get it now. I totally get it. 

Jesus, His teachings, the life we're called to have makes us yearn for something bigger than ourselves. For a life outside of just what we can see.

Which leads me to: why do I want to foster?

I don't want to live a life concerned merely about myself and conveniencing myself. There are children who need help and I want to help.

More than anything, I feel like it's a calling from God and we're suppose to be someone else's parent ... if only for a short time, if not, forever.

Sure, I want Ali to have a sister - for the rest of her life.

But I don't want to just take a child, any child, away from their parent(s). Reunification is the goal in foster care - I think it's God intention for children to live, be loved, and raised by their biological family. I want that. I desire to want what's best for "this" child.

I'm not devoid of emotion and I'm acutely aware of the pain that loving and losing a child will have on me and my family but loving a child, biological or otherwise, is never, never about possession.

Love is about putting someone's needs before yourself and sacrificing for the betterment of another. My pain may be that very sacrifice.

As for the effect this may have on our children? Of course, I wish to shelter them from the realities of this world but I care more about the people they'll be and the character they'll have over the loss they may encounter.

I don't want them to fear doing the right thing, the kind thing, because of the sacrifice they will have to make. Truly, how can one serve another when no true sacrifice has been made? How big of a difference can you make if nothing from your life actually changes?

I want my children to learn to be selfless and compassionate. I don't want them to worry about every conceivable negative consequence that can and may occur when they love and serve others, when they show someone else God's love.

How can I teach them that?

Well, I see no other way than to do so myself.

in the thick of this mess

It's 11:20 on a Friday night and the dishwasher's still full from dishes from the day before, tonight's dinner and dishes are skewed on every "free" counter space available, I have three loads of clean laundry that need to be "ironed" (ahem, straightened out by another run in the dryer), sand and crumbs layer the carseats and floor in our SUV from our recent outings, and I still need to find room in the fridge for the 2 new gallons of milk (basically, clean out the fridge), pack the husband's lunch because six/ seven day work weeks are his norm, and wake up early because I'm pretty positive the older boys are in need of antiobics (aka I need to get myself and four kids ready for the doctor early in the AM).

A simple, "I'm busy," doesn't begin to explain my life. "Overwhelming" hardly begins to scratch the surface. There are moments I yearn for empty hands and the possession of time as my own but I know that right now, at the peak of this season of exhaustion and busyness, I will never be more happy, content, and fulfilled.

The dishwasher's still full because last minute, I got invited to the ultrasound to find out if I'm going to have a nephew or a niece - during naptime (aka a parent's time to get anything done). Btw, it's a nephew!! Dinner wasn't cleaned up right away because I firmly believe ice cream always taste better when you go out to get it. It's a fact, actually. Laundry's so behind it's embarrassing because we've been out this week: family farm, the beach, and I squeezed in a date with the husband. Sure, the date included an oil change, renewing our auto tabs, and buying Ali a birthday dress with a near expiring coupon. Minor details. The point is I spent time by myself. with my husband. when the sun was actually out!! Miracles, ya'll, miracles.

I'm slowly and progressively learning to  prioritize. Clean houses just don't mean as much to me now as they use to because my kids are growing up and time is so incredibly fleeting. I mean, let's be real, I'll probably sleep half of a credited doctor's nightly suggestion of sleep because I'm still a bit of a neat freak ... but I've learned to let go.

I mean, Aiden hardly busts a move now because he's older and cooler. Tristen doesn't cuddle with me half as much as he used to. Ali's word-to-screaming ratio is widening in a good trending way. Thank goodness. And Carsen, my baby, demands to be treated just like the rest of the kids.

They're growing up. But even more than just growing up, they're changing. They become new people almost every day.

Quirks and traits that you used to define them slowly dwindle away until one day you realize they haven't done or said that thing in weeks. The sweetness of the words they can't properly pronounce is replaced with boring, regular speech. "Gankey" suddenly becomes "blanket." "Puppy-dog" is now adamantly a "dog."

The bitterness and sweetness of raising children is children just don't grow up, their very core changes. And if I spend most of my time cleaning my house and occupying my time with other things, I'm going to miss all these quirky, amazing people that grace my life for such short periods of my life. Right now, I'm digging the lego-obsessed kid that says, "this is the best. day. ever!!" at least twice a week, the shy kid that idolizes his older brother and will seriously ask us, "why we not sleeping?", the little girl that likes to "cheers" with her cup every time we eat and "pound it" immediately followed by an explosion sound, and the man-baby that has a crazy obsession with food and an even crazier dislike with the notion of sharing his mommy (jealousy is a legit thing).

Sure, I'll still love them when we start engaging in "adult talk" and I'm just as excited for them as they will be about growing up but right now, they're so dang amazing. And their love and need for me is overwhelming ... in the best. possible. way. I'm in the thick of this mess and I already miss all of it.

foster to adopt?!

we're made the beautiful and terrifying decision to foster-to-adopt. i'm a bit of spontaneous, wild dreamer of a girl. my eyes have always widened at possibilities and new beginnings. saying yes to a boy that i only dated for 3 weeks hardly made me bat an eye and deciding to start having children when we had less money than zero never fazed me. optimism and the promise of love always gets the best of me.

but this absolutely, terrifies me in a poetic desperate way. i am going to fall in overwhelming, all-encompassing love with a child that may leave our lives in a moment's notice. how can anyone not fall in love with a child they care for? especially i? i rarely do anything half-way, let alone, love. i never do love with anything less than both feet in, head first, propelling as fast as gravity can take me.

i am terrified of a broken-heart.

but i know better. i know my fear is simply my selfish ways exemplified. because love does not love begging nor demanding for something in return. love simply exists, regardless of circumstances, reactions, approval, and gratitude.

God calls us to love others. period. He doesn't call us to love others only if they can stay in your family forever or if they bring you back something wonderful in return.

we're here to love.

jarod and i will start the process in a few months and we'll see if we get approved, if our landlord agrees, if our home is big enough, if our large family isn't too large, or any other reason it wouldn't work exists. please pray that things work out just right and we complete the foster care process and we can bring a little girl into our home to love.

. . . and please pray a little harder that she'll remain in our lives forever :)

My Hands, My Life

Furious streams of heated tears fell down my cheeks.

I don't want this anymore. I'm exhausted. I frustratingly thought to myself.

Ashamed at the knowledge God knew my thoughts, I prayed for patience and to be better than myself. To be more like God. To love so effortlessly and so self-sacrificially like God. Like Jesus.

My heart ached in pain.

I never thought of myself as selfish until I became a parent. Motherhood demands all my waking moments and a decent amount of moments I'd prefer to be asleep.

I desire so fervently to give my heart and soul to my children but burn-out hits me ever so often that an emotional release weeps out of my being.

I need to get out more. I need time away from little voices that demand answers to every question imaginable and from little souls that deserve and beg for patience and understanding.

In God's perfect timing and in a few short hours, I heard a man's testimony about how a distracted anesthesiologist's negligence caused him electrical surges of crippling pain from his spine and would in a few short years bring him to eventual paralysis. I watched as his facial expression and body posture mimicked joyful elation and slowly turn to anguish. As rolls of sweat dripped down his forehead, it became abundantly clear the dire physical toll it took for him to stand upon us. His spirit sustained him as though he knew there was a much bigger struggle that needed more healing than the pain that resignated from his core.

He further talked about the struggle he lived with and how his life-changing journey went from bad to worst. The physical toll cost him his employment, his health insurance excluded his condition, and due to the fact that another doctor caused his condition many other doctors were prevented from treating him whatsoever due to their policy. The very threshold of his former life slipped beneath the soles of his feet and solid ground ceased to exist.

He further explained how easy it would have been to be angry and to lean on our own understanding of the ways of God. He confessed he had his moments of frustration and angered questions that simply demanded the answer to, "why?"

Yet, I watched this man stand for over half an hour in excruciating pain to bear witness about how amazing and faithful God is. He glorified God with his spirit and his words helped heal my own.

Sometimes we examine our own pain and hardships so microscopically that it becomes all we see. It becomes a monstrosity in our imperfect minds and often when we compare our own tribulations with others, we begin to see clearly that ours are quite minimal in comparison.

Raising four young children all under the age of six is difficult and my heart will forever go out to a mother of small children. But tonight, I realized how truly blessed I am.

The only hardship God has placed in my life is the joyful exhaustion of raise four beautiful, amazing children.

I do not have an ache that will never cease. I am mercifully free from physical pain. I do not need the assistance of others to care for my basic necessities.

I see now that God has chosen my hands, my own life, to be available. I can either be in need to help. Or I can be helpful. I can be an instrument for others to show God's love. Or I can be an instrument to show other's God's merciful and faithful love.

My job, a mother's job, a Christian's job, is more pressing and consuming than simply raising good, law-abiding citizens.

Our jobs are bigger than that.

We are commanded to shed our old self and demonstrate God's wonderful, patient, merciful love to others, our children exceptionally included.

And yet, the beauty of a commandment is our obedience forces a growth in our hearts and by miraculous design, we become more like the one we fervently admire.

Our hearts mold.

Our souls change.

And we become more and more like our Lord, Jesus Christ.

happy

Have you ever gone through the ebbs and flow of your daily life and feel that life has not changed much, yet life feels so extraordinarily different? This post is going to be one in which some will nod their heads in agreement and others may roll their eyes into the back of their heads.

As a (humbly self-professed) "writer," I dare to stay clear of those glorified cliques of life when I write. But this time, I can't.

The only words that filter through my thoughts and onto this page is, "I once was blind and now I see."

I've not only accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior but have fully allowed the fruition of the Word to mold my heart and my life.

My life has completely been turned upside down and yet, life remains the same. My perspective on time, life, family, my marriage, God, and the meaning of life has changed.

I'm happier than I've ever been and possess a peace that I've failed to know.

I'm incredibly thankful that this new path has also been accompanied by my husband, Jarod. I'm guilty of previously skeptically nodding my head in politeness when hearing other Christians say that if they focus on Jesus their marriage grows stronger.

Uhh huh, suuure . . . crazy.

And now Jarod and I have joined the "crazy" group. If this is crazy, I never want to be "sane" again.

So thankful for it all. God is amazing.

i've changed.

It's been weeks since I've written on here. I've spent the last few weeks really evaluating my life, myself, and consequently, this blog. What do I want in life? Who do I want to become?

As you can see by the enormous weight of these questions, it hasn't been an easy feat. How do I write about my day-to-day life when so much inside of me was changing? I couldn't.

I considered shutting this blog and erasing it from the world. I bought a notebook journal and thought, maybe, I'll keep my thoughts to myself. But writers, myself included, have words and the incessant desire to be heard. Who would read my story trapped inside a closed journal that will one day be thrown into the back of my closet? No one, for it never even had a chance.

Also, I love the exchange of thoughts the internet, blogging, and vlogging so easily allows us to exchange. There are bloggers and vloggers I've read and watched for years; somewhere down the line I've grown a fondness for them as if I actually know them in my real-life. There's a craziness that's equally beautiful in sharing your life with other people, even strangers, on the internet. I believe sharing your story can help others, even if only by allowing one person to not feel so alone.

Nathaniel Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter helped me heal some deep-rooted pain simply because I read a story about a woman who remained true to herself even after experiencing crippling isolation and rejection from the world around her. A book written by a man, written in 1850 was powerfully therapeutic to my soul. I will never meet Hawthorne but it is to his credit that I am not a bitter, hateful person.

Words are powerful. The simple ability to enter the mind of someone who has long gone or you will never meet is astonishing and only possible through the use of mere words.

But my main point is I came to the conclusion that I will keep this blog up. 

But another problem posed itself: what would I write about?

This blog started as a mommy/ family blog but as my oldest inches to the age of 6 and heightened reading ability. I question how much of my kids' lives I should put on here. There are stories I wish I could share, especially of a certain someone's first love, but I can't.

And then there were posts where I felt like I just b*tched and moaned a whole ton but that now goes against the better person I'm striving to become. I figure if I spend my valuable time, because all of one's time is invaluable, doing something, doing anything, should be productive, positive, and beautiful.

Thus, the direction of this blog is changing because I'm changing. I hope you'll stick around :)

Confession: Sometimes I Hate My Husband

Sometimes I hate my husband. Sometimes I hate that I'm a woman, the mommy, the one who can never check out.

To lay out the foundation of our relationship and this situation, you must know I am wholeheartedly 100% a feminist. I don't believe in gender roles. I know, I know, I look like Suzy-fucking-homemaker with her bundle of four small children. But I'm choosing to be home because that's where my heart is. I'm not at home because I believe women, all women, are suppose to be home, baking cookies, and knitting sweaters.

If I worked outside of the home, the chores would be split right in half just like they were before we had children and I stopped getting paid for my hard work. 

We've devised these guidelines about money, responsibilities, and work. I've agreed to be responsible of all of the household chores and the vast majority of the child-rearing in exchange to him working between 55 - 70 hours a week.

 

I've agreed to this household plan because his overtime pay beats any wage that I could make while working around his work schedule. I look at his overtime pay as the amount I would be making but yet, still have the blessing of a flexible schedule and the time to spend together as a family.

We have this plan and it works 95% of the time. Jarod has his realm of work at work and I have my own at home. I have a schedule, a plan, a way of doing things. I'm so use to doing things at home by myself and he's so use to not doing much at home. But then, my consecutive nights of little sleep start getting to me, the kids get exceptionally whiny, his overtime hours get shortened, and he comes home to the place he's accustom to not doing much of anything and he sits on the couch.

Source: Unknown

He says he's tired. Uhh, so am I.

He says he's excited his day off is tomorrow and I'm confused of this magical world of which he speaks. Where is "Day Off?" Is it far? How do I get there?

And then I hate him. I resent him for sitting down while I run around like a chicken with my head cut off. The kids are use to me doing everything for them, too. They're use to their dad not being home so they ask me for every little thing. I can be cooking dinner with my right hand, telephone wedged between my tilted head and shoulder while my left hand is pulling a child out of a fire, and then have another child ask me for new pants because they "pee in undeewear," all the while the parent is right there, sitting on the couch, laughing at some funny Vine.

 And then, I hate him even more.

"JJ."

Of course, I get nothing because men are terrible at doing anything else than the one task they're currently engaged in.

"Babe!"

If I hadn't been married to this man for almost 9 years I would already be so pissed and could have sworn I was being ignored.

"JJ!!!"

He slowly looks up, "Did you say something?"

Duh, I'm fucking dying over here, is what I really want to say but I usually go with a casual, "Yes, can you . . ."

Sometimes I hate how every big, small, minor detail: bills, emails, 3 meals a day (everrryday, whhhy??), cleaning, homeschooling, everything, and anything, falls on me. It doesn't seem like much but it all adds up.

I hate how I drink coffee at 10pm to get some "me" time in the day. I hate how he effortlessly states he needs time for himself to workout, to take a shower, to eat; I have no idea how to do that. I know how to take care of everyone else but me.

Sometimes I wish being "selfish" and simply, just taking care of myself wasn't such a foreign trait. Sometimes I wish I was a man because sometimes, being a woman is so damn exhausting.

Most of the time, I really, really like him, but sometimes, sometimes I hate my husband.

 

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Kids Are Hard, My Driving Disability, And Our Posse

When you have one kids you quickly realize doing anything and everything is hard. Things that used to be normal everyday things seem to take enormous mental agility and strength.

Going to the bathroom means sprinting and locking it before a strange, small person joins you, stares, and fills the silence with awkward, small talk.

"You poop?" they enthusiastically ask as they try to take a gander in the mesmerizing white bowl you're sitting on. You engage in this degrading conversation after thinking, how in the world did my life come to this?, because the only thing better than retaining the small amount of self-respect for yourself is the thought of never changing their diapers again.

Even driving becomes the hardest task in the world; so hard that you begin making up weird-ass driving disabilities. It is a known fact in our family that mommy cannot drive without complete silence.

"Okay, Mommy needs to focus now," is a phrase they've come to know as a demand for their complete silence and the blaring of the radio to muffle out any remaining sounds of their existence. It's not lost on me that one day they're going to recall this time in their lives and slowly come to the hard realization that I'm just a big, fat liar.

Please tell I'm not alone and you have lies disabilities you tell your kids.

Living life with kids, especially small kids, is hard. Doing anything out of the normal exhausts me but I want them to have childhood memories they love. I want to have family traditions we share and so, on Sunday (instead of revelling in nap time) we rented Monsters University, threw cookies in the oven, popcorn in the microwave, and, of course, coffee in the pot.

The DVD in the living room is broken, of course. Everything is slowly, but surely, breaking. Yay! So everyone "snuggled" (I was "comfortably" laying against the hard, cold wall) on our bed and me and my posse made a memory.

this is my happy. they are my world.

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Confession: The Real Reason I Take Selfies

I love me some selfies and I don't understand why anyone wouldn't like them.

Generally, in real-life (you know, the thing opposite of what you're looking at right now) we look at people's faces because that's how we're suppose to communicate with people, it's how we scope someone's emotions, and gauge what they're really thinking. 

I think you can give me that argument, right? Faces are pretty damn great.

But, selfies (insert eyes rolling) are the devil; they're a self-involved public pictorial statement from a camera-raping son-of-a-bitch begging the reassurance to the ever-annoying, "am I pretty? I'm so pretty, right?! Right??"
 



As a selfie-loving mom of four who's had every inch of her body stretch, sag, and most definitely, not bounce back (stilllll waiting for that one), I have to say, "bahahhahhha." Us moms, with our three-day unwashed hair, unshaven legs, dark-circled eyes, know the hell motherhood has on our looks and we, who, stupidly lovingly sacrifice ourselves again and again to create fucking life could give a damn if you think we're pretty.

Proof.

Ohh, we know we used to be pretty; How do you think we snagged ourselves a man? Our brains?? (LOL, pleeease) and once a week month year we use magic to make ourselves look, not pretty but like regular, normal people.
 

I don't strive for pretty anymore. I strive to look average. I strive to look like I got some sleep last night.

And when I cleverly think I can fool you - SHAZAM!!!! - I take a fucking selfie.

SHAZAM!!!!

 

Took a shower today. Selfie.

Brushed my teeth. Selfie.

Used magic!?! Put on makeup!?!

SHA-FRIGGIN'-ZAM!!!!

Are you a selfie-lover? Or a selfie-hater?

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The Difficulties of Being Pretty

It's really hard and annoying to be pretty. Trust me, I know this for a fact.

Aiden and Tristen have recently started vying for my attention with the kind of praise any 11-year-old girl would kill for. I am told I am pretty allllll the time. alllllllll day long. luuucky me.

I'm sure you're thinking, "how sweet! How friggin' adorable!" because that's what I thought, too.

That is until Tristen became a complimenting terrorist stopping at nothing to inform me of my "prettiness."

"Mommy!!"

"Just a second, Tris," I beg while rocking a cranky baby on one hip while attempting to open a box of crackers for the other terrorist in our house, our daughter, Ali. On a side note, anyone who says girls are easier has never met my daughter. She's the hardest, most demanding, and loudest child we have I have ever met. Btw, she's, also, for sale.

"MOMMMMMMMMYYY!!!!!" 

The decibel level in his cries wrench into my compassionate mommy soul.

Some thing's wrong! Some thing's terribly wrong!! I think to myself as his face scrunches into painful anguish and a second thought crosses my mind, I had too many kids too close together and I suck at taking care of them, as my three youngest cry like the grim reaper is swiftly approaching their short, miserable lives. 

I am a shitty mom, flushes over my greasy unwashed hair, down my husband's stained shirt because my own clothes remind me of that foreign body that use to be mine, all the way down to the pathetic chipped nail polish on my toes.

"What's wrong, Tristen!?" I plead. I hope my concern and meager effort can level out my inadequacies.

His anguish instantly switches to pure joy as his eyes beam of pure, incandescent love and his two favorite words in the entire world happily bounce out of his upturned mouth, "you're pretty."

"Thanks, Trissy," is what comes out of my mouth when I really want to just give him a hard-cold stare of sarcastic death and say, "are you fucking kidding me?!" because my kid is a sweetheart and I'm just an exhausted bitch that writes a blog about the difficulties of being pretty.

 

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Thankful For My Husband

There's a thing on Facebook where a few of my fellow Facebook friends post something they're thankful for every day in the month of November because November is the month of America's Thanksgiving and heck, why not be thankful? I think taking a minute to embrace what's positive in your life is always a great thing, but why stop at just one month?

So, I'm just going to write about something I'm thankful for whenever the idea fancies, and the idea fancies now.

I am thankful for my husband. 

 

Sure, everyone always says their husband is the greatest and they love them so much. Blah. Blah. Blah. Nothing original here (I know) but can I just say, I really, really love that man. I am so incredibly thankful for him.

We usually are given two parents who root for us, love us unconditional, and want what's best for us, but I think we're so lucky when we find someone else who loves us like a parent can love a child.

That sounds really creepy, but bare with me.

I am enameled at how much that man loves me. Aside from my parents, no one has ever loved me so unconditionally. No one has ever rooted so strongly for me to succeed. No one has ever stood by me through the thickness of life and the painful thinness of despair.
 

 

I can't count the number of times he's held me for hours, forgoing sleep (and if you are a woman with a man, you know how big of a sacrifice that is), because my heart was so broken the only mending band aid was a bleeding, out pour of tears.

I have never been a perfect woman (shocking, I know) and his devotion has never wavered. He's stood by my side when my depression was so low I didn't want to live. He's been right here when my, respective astrological sun and moon signs of Gemini and Gemini, personality would drive the most centered, Zen-monk fuuuuck. iiiiing bonkers. He's stayed right next to me when we were teenagers and I, most definitely, acted like a teenager.

I am thankful that staying by my side has been the absolute minimum of his love. I am so incredibly thankful that I know a love so strong that I compare it to a love of a parent's and risk sounding like a weirdo with daddy issues.

No, I don't call my husband, "daddy," and no, I swear, I don't have daddy issues.

This is getting really weird so I'm going to end it here: I am thankful I know him and his love.

I am thankful for my husband.

What are you thankful for?

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We Only Have About Ten Halloweens

The best thing about Halloween is how much fun it is for little kids. I love all of October, in general. I love how much the kids love going to the pumpkin patch, making Jack-O-Lanterns, and of course, going trick-or-treating. It's exciting how excited and happy doing these simple things make them. Hell, if knocking on people's doors and asking for candy made me as happy as it made them, I would do it every day. 

As we were driving to my mom's house on Halloween it hit me that in 18 years we will no longer have children to dress in costumes, trick-or-treaters to take trick-or-treating, scary movies or haunted houses to go to. Our children will be adults and the chaos and struggle (because it truly is) to get everyone dressed, out the door, decently well-rested, and temporarily happy will no longer fill our time. We will have the time we so desperately yearn for. Jarod and I will have the freedom of idle hands.

There are seasons in life and I look forward to each one. I'm excited to be a grandma. I'm excited to cuddle with my husband again without the anxiousness of having to do something else, something that needs to be done: laundry, dishes, dinner, emails. But I, also, want to be present. Present in the now; present in this utterly exhausting and mildly insane season of now because soon, the leaves of fall will rustle away and be replaced with the snow of winter, all I will have left are these memories.

And so, I made Jarod and I into zombies. Yay for playing with makeup and only spending under $5 for both our costumes! The older boys were both red Power Rangers, Ali was a princess, and baby Carsen was handed-down the puppy dog costume each of my kids have worn for one Halloween or another. 

We hit every house with Halloween decorations or a porch light on, the kids held their baskets out while saying "trick-or-treat," and with the excitement of the night, they forgot to say, "thank you" more than half of the time. Jarod and I took turns running Ali to each house the older kids ran to. We constantly did head-counts for our kids to make sure nobody was left behind and reminded them they needed to walk on the sidewalk. It was tiring and exhausting . . . 

and one of my absolute favorite days ever.

Later, I watched Grey's Anatomy and it was said that we, parents, only get about ten Halloweens with our kids before they want nothing to do with and they'd rather hang out with their friends. And it struck me, I'm going to have much less years than I originally thought, less years than I want, less years of having this whole gang together on this day.

My kids are going to grow up and that's okay because that's what kids are suppose to do, but realizing how sacred and rare a day like this was made Halloween 2013 even more special. I'm forever thankful I will always have these memories, pictures, and this video:

 

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