Memories in the Making

Who would have thought that a hose and a few cut up sponges would provide such glorious entertainment on a hot summer evening?  There was splashing, puddles, sneak attacks, games of 500, more sneak attacks, mud and soaking wet boys from head to toe.  I want to remember Noah's bravery and sense of adventure, Mason's fearlessness and spunk, Emmitt's curiosity and affinity for his big baby belly.  Moments pass and memories grown dim, but these are bits of bliss and smiles of sheer delight that I will tuck away in my heart as the years keep on flying by, turning my sons from babies to boys to men. 

Maggie's Birthday {04.09.12 | Year Three}

“Farther along we’ll know all about it

Farther along we’ll understand why

Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We’ll understand this, all by and by

Tempted and tried, I wondered why

The good man died, the bad man thrives

And Jesus cries because he loves em’ both

We’re all cast-aways in need of ropes

Hangin’ on by the last threads of our hope

In a house of mirrors full of smoke

Confusing illusions I’ve seen

Where did I go wrong, I sang along

To every chorus of the song

That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates

Leading mice and men down to their fates

But some will courageously escape

The seductive voice with a heart of faith

While walkin’ that line back home

So much more to life than we’ve been told

It’s full of beauty that will unfold

And shine like you struck gold my wayward son

That deadweight burden weighs a ton

Go down into the river and let it run

And wash away all the things you’ve done

Forgiveness alright

Farther along we’ll know all about it

Farther along we’ll understand why

Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We’ll understand this, all by and by 

Still I get hard pressed on every side

Between the rock and a compromise

Like the truth and pack of lies fightin’ for my soul

And I’ve got no place left go

Cause I got changed by what I’ve been shown

More glory than the world has known

Keeps me ramblin’ on

Skipping like a calf loosed from its stall

I’m free to love once and for all

And even when I fall I’ll get back up

For the joy that overflows my cup

Heaven filled me with more than enough

Broke down my levee and my bluff

Let the flood wash me

And one day when the sky rolls back on us

Some rejoice and the others fuss

Cause every knee must bow and tongue confess

That the son of god is forever blessed

His is the kingdom, we’re the guests

So put your voice up to the test

Sing Lord, come soon

Farther along we’ll know all about it

Farther along we’ll understand why

Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We’ll understand this, all by and by”

.......

"Farther Along"

by Josh Garrels

. . . 

I am thankful for May.

For me, the start of May is an exhale and a long-awaited period at the end of a month I struggle to stammer my way through each year.  April gets caught in my throat like a lump.  It threatens to unravel any trace of mending from the year before.  

April holds the heart-wrenching anniversaries of our Maggie girl's death and birth--in that order.  In a week's time we soaked up the joy of our sweet Mason turning 5 years old on April 4th, staggered through memories of the day we lost our baby girl on April 6th, celebrated the HOPE that Easter brings of life beyond the hurt of this world [THANK YOU, JESUS] on April 8th, and relived the all-too-brief moments we held our precious Maggie for the first and only time on April 9th.  It was a heavy week of bouncing up and down between joy and hope, sorrow and desperation.  The highest of highs and the lowest of lows packed into 6 days.

Maggie's birthday always leaves me so lost.  

No Happy Birthday hugs or kisses on her cheeks.

No watching her open up birthday gifts, take in birthday streamers and blow out 3 little birthday candles. No birthday girl.

Just the familiar, frantic emptiness each year.

Year three has brought on kicking and screaming, clenched fists, resentment, brokenness and more questions than answers.

It has been an ugly year for my heart.

For every inch forward there has been a landslide back.  Some days I feel like I just can't cope with the fact that this is our story and she will never be ours this side of Heaven.  Peace and hope have been hard to wrap my head and heart around. 

Hard just seems to be the theme right now.  I miss the sunshine.  I miss feeling joy FULLY.  It all just feels so unsettled--so unfinished.  I suppose it always will as long as I am here and she is There.  

Things people say:

"You have 3 boys that ARE here, and they need you."

"You never know what the future will hold.  You're young and could always try for another girl."

 "I just want you to be happy."

"I miss the old Missy."

"I don't know what to say to you."

"Three boys, huh.  Can't make girls?"

"You have to keep moving forward."

"It's been three years."

. . .

Things I wish I could say:

"I need my sons as much as they need me.  It would be a much darker road without them."

"Missing my daughter does not mean I love my sons any less.  Wanting her doesn't mean not wanting them.  Children are not interchangeable, and love for one does not outweigh love for another."

"I do not know what the future holds, but I'm aware that raising a daughter may not ever be part of the plan for our family, and that is so hard to grasp."

"I pray that my grief does not damage my children irreparably."

"I can't breathe."

"I miss the old me, too."

"I am so sorry I have missed your baby shower/little girl's birthday party/social anything.  I relish in the delight you take in your daughter. Truly.  Know that I delight in her with you.  In the same beat, my heart aches for what you have."

"I understand how hard it is to approach a grieving mama.  You don't have to have the right words--just acknowledging our Maggie blesses us immensely." 

"I am doing my best to not let grief swallow me whole.  Some days I succeed.  Some days I fail."

"IT'S ONLY...BEEN...THREE...YEARS."

You are loved and missed desperately, Maggie girl.

Every. Single. Day.

Lord, come soon.

RAISING SONS

Adam was out of town for a few days last week, so the boys and I ventured out to Target (where else?) to walk around and break up the l-o-n-g weekend.  After receiving the second "Three boys, huh?" observation of the day I took a breath and we looped around the store to the little people clothes.  We passed by rows and rows of pink shirts with words like "sweet" printed across them, and as we made our way over to the boy section, I could hardly find a single item without skulls and crossbones plastered all over it.  I was a little girl once, and I can tell you with complete certainty that my demeanor and character as a child was not at all determined by (or reflective of) the fact that I wore dresses and hair bows instead of superhero costumes and baseball caps.  I adored baby dolls and loved all things girly, but I was also rough and loud, I was mean and feisty, I fought with my sisters, I yelled, I disobeyed, I ran off babysitters, I threatened to run away.  I got older, I was disrespectful, I argued, I broke rules, I lied.  I was a mess.  Sugar and spice?  Not so much.  My mom was put through more with this girl than any mother should have to endure.

The world today leaves our young men broken and ill-prepared, choosing lust over love, wealth over worth and recreation over responsibility.  The media-made man is portrayed as lazy, ignorant, sex-driven, insensitive and incapable. 

SOMEWHERE DURING OUR FIGHT TO EMPOWER OUR WOMEN, WE BEGAN TO DEMEAN OUR MEN.

For every stigma and stereotype society has created, there is the exception.  While I know my fair share of men that fit the description above, it is a far cry from the man I married, and no where near the direction we are working tirelessly to point our sons.  We are fighting against the current, trying to hold their hearts above water so they do not get sucked under.

As we are working to build our sons up, the world is working to tear them down. What are they to think when the constant theme from onlookers is how hard, how much of a handful, how brave (brave? really?) we must be to have 3 [gasp!] little [eyebrow raise] BOYS [insert commentary here]?

My kiddos are not perfect.  They think burping is funny, forget to pick up their toys, talk back when they shouldn't, are challenging at meal time, push each others buttons, whine (oh, how they can whine).

But they are not monsters, they are little people--MY little people.

My BLESSINGS.

My JOY.

They have ears that can hear snide remarks, minds that mull them over and hearts that are affected.

Why do I get the impression that many people think mothers of girls have hit the gender jackpot while all-boy families got the short end of the stick?  One of the hardest parts of going out in public with my three sons is not my three sons--it's the public.

It's a disheartening battle--having to defend my children simply because they wear blue instead of pink.  I am finding that many minds and opinions are already made up (and so freely spoken) before they even give my boys chance.  To add insult to injury, they expect me--their mama--to nod my head along in agreement as they make their comments.  I am sure that all-girl families receive comments as well.  I am equally saddened by the fact that so many remarks directed at little girls are appearance driven.  The emphasis on outward beauty (as defined by the world) begins so early on, planting a seed in them that can quickly become such poison as it grows.  There are impossible standards and unbearable pressure placed on young ladies today.  I know, firsthand, how these deep-rooted wounds can wreak havoc on the heart and mind, and the struggle it is to untangle and heal from the damage.  Perhaps I am more sensitive to it all because our own daughter could not be here with us, leaving people only to comment on the three children they can see instead of the one they cannot.  As the mother of three precious sons--with my only daughter in Heaven--it hurts my heart.

Nothing that Adam and I accomplish in our own lives will matter as much as the three people we've been trusted with raising.  I can count the number of truly good men I have known in my life on two hands.  I was brought up by a single mama that worked herself to the bone to provide for us, and an absent father that could not cope with his role and responsibilities of raising his three daughters.  We need more devoted husbands, present fathers, selfless providers, unconditional protectors, Godly leaders, more GOOD MEN in this world.  It is time for a change, time to break the cycle and the stigma.  It starts here in the land of dirt and Lego men, amongst the heaps of laundry, family dinners and goodnight kisses.

Noah, Mason and Emmitt,

You are good people.

You are compassionate.

You are tender.

You are kind.

You are smart.

You were made with a purpose.

 You are worthy.

You are wanted.

You are LOVED.

You are HIS.

I am blessed to be your mama and so proud to call each of you my son.

Love you,

Mama

"Therefore, my brothers and sisters, you whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, dear friends!  Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.  Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you."

-Philippians 4:1,4-8

MOTHERHOOD IN THE LITTLE YEARS

Motherhood isn't glamorous.  Some days, it is hard to recall the time in my life before my legs didn't have a five o'clock shadow or I managed to use the bathroom without an audience.  A time before the contents of my purse consisted of Band-Aids, spare diapers, stray Lego pieces and granola bars.  I have replaced my perfume with baby wipes (because a good baby wipe will clean up just about anything).  I've traded in my favorite shade of lipstick for a surplus of concealer to cover up those dark circles and pesky forehead wrinkles I've acquired from perfecting "The Look" over the past 7 years of motherhood.  You know, the one you give in the grocery store when your kind, sweet, precious child enters meltdown mode over a cookie, complete with arms a-flailing and mid-screech feet stomp that draws in glances from aisles away--that look.  Vague and distant are the days when I started out my morning with a nice hot shower and nothing stuck to me.  Let's face it--dried on drool and breast milk is never sexy.  Keepin' it real, folks.

We were at an event a few weeks ago when I overheard my husband talking to someone about what he does for a living.  When they asked him what it is that I do, he explained that I stay home with our three little boys.  "I've got the easy job," I heard him say.  "My day is like an 8 hour vacation compared to what my wife does all day."  Made my day.  My Adam, he just blesses me.  Being home with my little people is one of the things I thank God (and my hard-working hubby) for each and every day. 

It is all I could think about growing up, being a mama.  This is huge for me.  And while it has its challenges, its heartbreaks, its discouragements, motherhood also has gifted me with some of the sweetest victories, rewards and JOY on this Earth.   I believe that I am living out an ENORMOUS part of my purpose raising these precious babes.  I feel like I am right where I'm suppose to be--especially in this season when my sons are small and soaking up the world around them.  I want to make sure that the things they are soaking up are good for their developing characters and growing souls.

What I do everyday is certainly not much to some, but to me it is everything.

This past Mother's Day, Adam kissed my hand as we left our church parking lot.  Peeking back in the rear view mirror at our 3 little men he said, "Hey boys, when you meet a princess you kiss her hand."  I smiled as my husband demonstrated love to our boys.  My happy little love bubble burst just a moment later when Mason piped up (without skipping a beat) and said, "She's not a princess--she's just a boring mommy."  Ouch.  That one stung.  Then before we could even open our mouths to respond, Noah added his two cents, "Yeah, and she doesn't even have a job."  Sucker punch right to the stomach.  I half expected baby Emmitt to add "And she's fat, too!" from his car seat, just for good measure.  My. Heart. Sunk.  Tears stung my eyes as I tried to digest the honest, unfiltered, call-it-as-they-see-it perspective that flowed so freely from my little boys.  For the rest of the drive home, Adam spoke and Noah and Mason listened.  He asked the boys how clean, fresh clothes magically return to their dresser drawers, or how breakfast, lunch and dinner appear on their plates each day.  He asked them who fixes up their boo boo's, holds them when they are sad, drives them to school and back home again when the day is through, reads them stories, searches high and low for lost toys and missing loveys. They hadn't meant any harm or hurt feelings by what they said, and they felt pretty bad about it once Daddy explained to them how much weight their words could carry.  To Mason, being just a mommy (as opposed to some sort of flying, crime-fighting superhero) did seem pretty boring.  I guess stain annihilation doesn't count as a super power.  To Noah, our day-to-day doesn't seem like much of a job, especially since I don't head off to the office every morning and return each evening like Daddy does.  They are children and they were just speaking what made sense to them.   

I am no wonder woman.  Not by a L-O-N-G shot.  I wish that I could mother my boys with the same fervor and excitement as a new mama, but with the know-how and wisdom of a seasoned one.  I fall short daily.  My kitchen table is currently camouflaged with remnants of this morning's breakfast, junk mail, random projects in progress, and homework papers adorned with smiley face stickers.  The floors in my boys' rooms are peppered with tiny Lego pieces, the bathrooms could use a good scrub, my mountain of laundry is calling my name.  I stay up way too late, drink far too many cups of coffee and prioritize poorly sometimes.  If you drop by unannounced at any given time during the day, you'll likely find us in our pj's with toys and books and mismatched socks strewn about the living room floor. 

WE LIVE HERE IN THIS HOUSE, AND IT LOOKS LIKE IT.

The OCD in me does not want to let go of having things just so all the time.  I don't function well in a mess.  There came a point after our middle little arrived, and then again when our third son made his debut, that I had to do some surrendering.  I'm still trying to find balance between tidiness, sanity, quality time with my sons, my hubby and my Lord, and a bit of time to take care of me.  My precious downtime when little ones are snoozing could be spent sweeping the floors or folding another load of laundry, but jotting down a few words here and doing some head and heart housekeeping feels important, too.  So while my house could be neater and my hair fixed a little more often, I know that this is only a season (one that is speeding by), and there will be a time for all of that later.  And I'm ok with that.

WE'RE MAKING MEMORIES AMONG THESE MESSES.

"Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children."

  -Charles R. Swindoll