I remember her, my Mimi.  I remember the time I woke up and had to go to the bathroom on Christmas Eve and crept out of the room my brothers and I were sleeping in, only to find Santa’s Elves (a.k.a. my parents and grandparents) busily prepping for the next morning’s big event.  Before I could register what I was seeing, Mimi clamped her hand across my eyes and led me to the bathroom on the other side of the house.  So, Amanda, is there a Santa Claus?? I think I must’ve been 7 or 8.  My Mimi passed away from ovarian cancer when I was 9.  I wish that I had known her, as I know things and people now.  From the way my Mom describes her, I think we would’ve been close.  Faye was her name – and now the middle name of my first baby, Charlie. Her husband, my Grandad TJ, has officially been put on hospice.  He’s almost 90 and wants to remain in the comfort of his home.  And why not?  He’ll avoid the cold sadness of a nursing home and will be made comfortable during his last days.  I saw him today, took Charlie with me as I didn’t know if this would be the last time.  My parents had said he had declined even in the month or so since I’d seen him last, but I don’t think I was really prepared for how frail and fragile he looked.  I sat with him and put my hand on his leg, patted him while we talked and had to speak louder than usual as his hearing has become so poor.  He apologized for the “state of things” – a proud man – I’m sure he just hates having to give up so much control as his body and mind start to decline.  He faded in and out of conversation, nodding off every few minutes and then catching himself – eyes popping back open and straining to understand what we were saying.  I’m sure the constant soft chatter in the room was putting him to sleep.  When it was time to leave, I went to hug him and he felt like a pile of clothing, like there was nothing inside, an empty paper bag.  My breath caught and I could feel my eyes well up.  I made a quick exit because I knew I might crumble and I wasn’t sure what that would look like – I mean, does he even know that he’s dying?  The other night Vann and I were talking in our kitchen and he said to me, “Oh, this is the first time you’ve dealt with losing a grandparent as an adult.”  I realized he was right.  As much as I wish I remembered more about my Mimi, I just don’t.  I have to rely on stories my Mom tells and pictures, so many pictures of her red hair and retro glasses.  But my Grandad has just always been there.  The first time I got on a plane by myself as a kid it was to fly to Texas to stay with him.  There were always cans of Old Milwaukee in his fridge. I think he might have given me a sip of it once, which I’m sure nipped that in the bud real quick. He’s been there every Christmas, every college graduation, every wedding.  He was a tough man that mellowed with age, and in these last few years especially has never forgotten one of the girl’s birthdays – has always sent them a card and $25.  I would write in the thank you note that we were putting it away for a rainy day – I knew that he would appreciate that, the frugal man that he is. An avid follower of the stock market, he always asks Vann “how Pepsi is doing these days” and they’ll chat about the business world and what he’s investing in.  He loves a good glass of sweet red wine.  He turns 90 in January, and I’m not sure he’ll make it that far.  I wonder as he faces these last days if he’s thinking about my Mimi…if he’s getting excited to see her again.  And it dawns on me that I remember being the child whose parents were the adults saying goodbye to their grandparents.  And now, I’m the adult saying goodbye. But I know it’s not forever… 1 Corinthians 15:54-57 says: When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. As my sweet Grandad prepares to meet his Savior, I’m praising God for His victory over death.  O victory in Jesus,
My Savior, forever.
He sought me and bought me
With His redeeming blood;
He loved me ere I knew Him
And all my love is due Him,
He plunged me to victory,
Beneath the cleansing flood.

Vann and I have 3 grandparents between us that are in crisis.  All in their late 80’s and early 90’s.  Men and women who have lived long and spirit-filled lives.  It makes me think a lot about the girls.  At 2 and 5, what do you know of life and death?  Their world, God-willing, will stay safe and small for as long as it can, if we have any say about it…I know the days of teenage angst and slamming doors are coming, but hopefully not for a good, long while. I want them to stay little, to be interested in childish things, to be thrilled when they have a new pair of jammies and want to wear them every.single.night.  I want them to ask me to hold their hands, because I know the day will come when they don’t ask anymore.  I wonder if it’s scary to face death.  As a Christian I know what my afterlife looks like, but even so – do you have peace?  Are you afraid?  When you’ve lived on this Earth for 90 years, are you ready?  Ella will be 3 in just over a month.  At this time, 3 years ago, we were preparing for her arrival Thanksgiving week.  Grandparents had purchased plane tickets, hotel reservations had been made, we were gearing up for a very turkey baby holiday.  There was a concern those last days that Ella had stopped receiving the nutrition she needed from my body.  Something wasn’t working.  Dr. Roth asked me to start coming in for fetal non-stress tests (where you basically lay there while they monitor baby’s heartbeat) once a week…which at the time was such a huge hassle because I had a very active 2 year old and the office was downtown…not your 10 minute hop, skip and jump like it is in Texas. Super annoyed to have to do this every week, on November 9th I went in as usual, and to add insult to injury they left me in the room for what seemed like forever.  I might have even fallen asleep.  This is before I experienced the iPhone and all of it’s magical time-sucking qualities.  It’s a good thing Instagram wasn’t around. The next thing I know, Dr. Roth is asking me if I can stay, indefinitely – well, no, I mean my childcare was only for this appointment and Vann was at work – well, she was going to call the high risk doc over at Northwestern and compare notes.  And it could be that this baby was coming as early as the morning. She finally released me later on that night (after Vann made a mad dash to collect little C) with instructions that she’d update me as soon as she could.  I remember walking to the train from the hospital – Fall was making way for Winter and the leaves crunched under my feet.  Michigan Avenue was gearing up for Christmas – lights were starting to come up everywhere.  It wouldn’t be too long before you could see your breath in front of you. At home, I received a call from the doc and she said to be at the hospital at 1 pm the next day.  It was true, the baby needed to come out because she had stopped growing.  Baby girl was coming a full two weeks early – which if you had grandparents in town might not be that big a deal.  I could hear the crushing disappointment in my Dad’s voice, who had never missed a grandchild birth – and despite my own butterflies, I consoled him and told him we’d be fine and he would get to meet her in two weeks. You can’t explain the feeling the night before you give birth – with my two c’s I knew it was coming – but the anticipation is just overwhelming.  In a wonderful way, but still. The next morning we left poor Charlie (who was sick with a horrible flu) with an on-call nurse we used through Pepsi’s benefits program.  My friends all had kids – or worked full-time jobs – so that was our only option.  I remember looking around our apartment and thinking this was the last time we would be a family of 3.  Forever changed, we would come home with a baby and Charlie would have a sister. Of course, the end of that story is that sweet dark-haired Ella Monroe was born, 5 pounds, 8 ounces, on November 10th.  She was the teeniest pea and I remember marveling at her fingers and toes.  She didn’t even fill out preemie clothes, that’s how small she was.  Being small of stature has never stopped our Ella.  Her huge personality certainly makes up for what she lacks in size.  I think she might have finally broken the 20 pound mark – but it took awhile.  And we weathered a year of early childhood intervention and feeding therapy as she wouldn’t feed herself or walk on her own until she was 18 months.  There was even concern when we decided to stop ECI back in 2011 that she was going to be delayed in her words.  When would she climb stairs without crawling up them?  When would she speak in complete sentences?  All questions we labored over for what felt like forever. Now, at almost 3, all of those fears seem like distant memories.  She’s a petite powerhouse, endlessly stubborn and almost annoying verbal at times – the child who literally asks THE SAME question about 50 times in 2 minutes.  She’s my giggly girl who carries her Minnie Mouse with her everywhere and worships her big sister.  She’s in the terrible two’s and then some.  She loves to run naked through the house with her hand in her crack.  Comforting?  Not sure.  She still has the baby booty.  I guess we should think about potty training but she shows no interest and to be honest, I’m not too concerned about it.  Could it be me trying to keep her a baby for a little longer?  Possibly.  She’ll be in her crib at least until the end of the year and maybe later, until we can afford to buy her a new bed.    She chipped one of her front teeth earlier this year and the other one has now turned grey.  Should be awesome for pictures for years to come.  There goes her modeling career. The biggest surprise to me recently is, despite all of the added stress of the house, I am beginning to feel the pull for a 3rd baby.  3 years later, and I can finally start to wrap my mind around what that looks like and who that little someone might be.  Life.  Death.  It’s all one big cycle and I guess the most important piece is that we learn how to live the days in between. Fall has finally arrived in Texas and it’s going to be a “cold” weekend – if 54 degrees constitutes “cold”.  I’ll take it, thank you very much. 

When it rains, it pours – doesn’t it?  I hesitate to complain about my life because I know there are families out there who are dealing with SO much more than we are…but as this is our life, our story, I know it is just as valid.  The foundation repair man did not deliver good news.  As he very carefully slid the clipboard across the table, I steeled myself for the worst case scenario.  As it turns out, I guess it COULD be worse, although only slightly: the front of our house has sunk and it is going to cost us a small fortune to fix it.  24 concrete piers installed under our home.  Apparently they jack it up just like a car with a flat tire.   The good news, the silver lining, if there is one, is that the repair comes with a lifetime transferrable warranty, which means that we never have to worry about it again – and neither do the future owners of our home.  I guess you could say that it increases the value of our home, as we’ve learned this type of issue is extremely common in North Texas.  Super fun!!  Ironically, after I saw the number I felt this peace come over me – at least we know now, and it has to be fixed.  No getting around this one.  And I thought, well God, how’re we gonna pay for this??  The logical thing to do is pray.  Pray for a solution, pray for a money tree, pray for a do-able part time job for me to help things along…the emotional thing that I want to do is cry.  And yet, as I’ve been maneuvering through this issue of our finances and tithing, I do feel in my bones that the Lord will provide.  I think I get it now. To add insult to injury, I got sick pretty much right after our Chicago trip and was laid up in bed the days the girls were in school.  As soon as I started feeling better, both girls got sick and Charlie especially has been battling a high fever and viral yuckiness.  Which doesn’t make the strain on our marriage easier.  In my mind, Vann gets to be out in the world, yes, slaying dragons and all that – but is still able to avoid cleaning the vomit off the loveseat and keeping the little germ-fests from breathing on each other. And at some point, I think I’ve probably given up: let them watch entirely too much TV, given them entirely too many treats for no reason except to keep them quiet, sent them upstairs to play while I crawl into bed and put my earphones in, zoning out to Pinterest and my marathon of “Friday Night Lights”. I’m surprised they aren’t fixing themselves dinner at this point, too.  So this morning, when I finally sat down to do my church bible study (we are working through “Stuck” by Jennie Allen), mad that I had to miss it on Tuesday – my heart wasn’t feeling like getting un-stuck.  Sometimes it just feels better to stay put, you know?  More comfortable, less risky.  There is one section that asks you to jot down the “areas [you] feel successful” in your life and the “areas [you] are insecure” about.  Here’s what I wrote: areas I am insecure housekeeper homemaker writer wife mother friend Guess what the other column said?  areas I feel successful [blank] yes, it’s blank.  It’s because I’m feeling pretty mediocre about all of my ‘”jobs”.  Not feeling like I’m succeeding at anything right now.  Wishing I could be more for my family but a lot of times struggling to get even one thing accomplished.  And yet, there is grace: Philippians 2:12-13 says, “Work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose.” See, God doesn’t ask me to be perfect – quite the opposite, He is with me through my failures and discouragement.  He knows my heart and my desire to provide a loving home for my family.  He knows I experience a daily struggle about giving my career up to be a mom.  He knows I rarely clean my bathrooms and have a stack of junk mail and paperwork on my desk at all times.  He knows I am weak in the world and that buying things makes me feel better.  He knows I am guilty of letting the TV be the babysitter, more times than I’d like to admit.  He knows that I deeply long for a calling in my life to touch people’s hearts through my own insecurities and hope that translates into a viable career someday.  He knows that I am often jealous of other writer’s blogs that I admire, that I wish I could be so pulled together and articulate with words.  That I wish I had 5000 followers and could write a book that people all over the country would buy and love.  He knows that I want to experience all the goodness He has for me, that the secret might just be coming to Him with my “stuck” places and laying them out, trembling, for the world to see. So, here’s to getting “unstuck”, to baring those things we aren’t proud of, to sharing our hearts in all their mediocre glory. Where are you “stuck” today?

So, home ownership?  Turns out it kinda bites sometimes.  I hope I’m not alone on this one.  Most of our downstairs is tile, so it seemed reasonable to have some cracks here and there in our 10 year old home.  Not a big deal because we plan on replacing the tile and old carpet with shiny new wood floors SOMEDAY – so we just thought, why fix the cracks when we’ll jackhammer it all out eventually anyway?? Well, my Dad, being the handyman that he is, noticed some other things: slight cracks in the drywall in places, a new tile crack in the hall bath at the front of the house, a seam in one of our kitchen countertops raised ever so slightly – all of these things minor but when we followed the path it went straight through the center of our house.  It was so hot last summer, and with the limits on watering it’s possible it’s just an issue of the ground being dry – but an issue nonetheless, which we felt like we shouldn’t wait on getting evaluated.  So we did our research, and we have a guy coming out next Wednesday to take a look.  And I’m just so pissed about it.  At first I thought, “What will people think when they see we have cracks in our tile?  Will they think our house was poorly built and we don’t take care of it??”  But then after I asked around I figured out that a lot of people have dealt with foundation issues, and just as basement floodings are par for the course in Chicago, dry, shifting ground seems to be a Texas issue.  Of course, it doesn’t help that: A.  I have an overactive imagination.  I’ve had dreams that the middle of our house opens up like a fault line, yawning and groaning and swallowing up all of our furniture and worldly possessions, never to be seen again.  I know.  B.  We came back from our wonderful Chicago vacation and I got sick almost immediately.  On the plane ride back the guy seated to the right of me sneezed and I swear I felt it on my cheek.  (Sorry, I hesitated revealing that little piece of joyous news.)  Makes me think that next time I fly I should wear a hoodie up over my head.  My Mom says there’s no way I got sick that instantaneously, but you know, I’ve watched enough “Outbreak” type movies, so, yeah. Nothing like being sick and facing a potentially very expensive house issue to make you want to hide under the covers, hoping it all goes away.  I guess I’m pretty blessed that I have an even-keeled husband.  After 6 1/2 years of marriage, he’s used to talking me off the ledge…and this is no different.  I think he put his arm around me and said “It’s going to be ok” like 10 times yesterday.  Here’s the thing: as we navigate through these early years of home ownership, I know that we aren’t the first and we certainly won’t be the last.  This is just part of it.  But I really have to check myself and pray because these are the times when the devil relishes in my weakness.  He knows I’m a pretty easy target.  I’m just one fingertip’s push from the yawning, groaning abyss of worry.  So I have to work extra hard to remember who’s really in control here and just how blessed I am, even in the midst of cracked tiles and foundation evaluations.  Praying for minimal damage – under our house and in my heart.

At the end of every summer, a dark cloud arrives at my front door. It kind of rivals the dead of winter in Chicago, where it’s just too cold to go out and with all the effort it takes to bundle everyone up it’s just better to stay at home in your warm socks and hibernate.  Here, of course, it’s the heat and the mosquitos and going to the pool is just too much work.  And since I’m not a crafty mom it’s basically a cyclical schedule of dress-up, reading books, watching endless hours of Sprout and eating, which is something my almost 5 year old is doing with abandon these days.  Growth spurt, much? Fortunately, we seem to be entering into a new phase of actually playing well together, if even for an hour or so.  It almost makes me feel like I’m being neglectful – is it ok for them to play alone upstairs?  Do I need to be in the same room with them??  This is all new to me.  But here’s the biggest thing: these “dog days” are tough on me and my mental well-being.  The last two days I have been in such a funk – I think Vann was concerned something might be physically wrong with me.  Recently, he came home from work and I was crashed out on the loveseat in the playroom while the girls created chaos around me.  I was just. so. tired.  Now, before you get all concerned – I am taking my meds and yes, I’ve struggled with depression off and on my whole adult life.  I’m an extrovert and get my energy from other people, my friends, my peeps.  Strangely, summer feels so lonely to me.  I know, all the Vitamin D and all…but everyone is in and out of town and schedules are erratic and there isn’t any unadulterated Mommy time unless you get a sitter and/or your hubby graciously agrees to give you a night off.  I’m gonna say something controversial – I can’t be with my kids all the time and stay sane.  I need routine, preschool, MOPS, church, MNO/GNO, Bunco – all the things that keep my mind firing on all cylinders.  I miss the rush out the door to get the girls to school on time, the interaction with friends in the parking lot, meeting those same friends for lunch and feeling a little more energized at 2:30 pm when I come back to pick them up. I feel like there is this catch-22: on the one hand it’s easier to spend a morning at home because you can stay in your comfies and all of your “stuff” is close by – on the other hand it’s harder because your 2 year old’s screams reverberate off the walls in such close proximity you want to claw your eyes out.  And yet, she just might scream if you take her out of the house, so sometimes I wonder – what’s the point?? So excuse me for just surviving these last 3 weeks before my life (hopefully) returns to the norm I know and love.  And before you ask me if I’m exercising and doing all those things to get endorphins going – yes, yes, I am.  At 5:30 am, which in no way helps me in the middle of the day when I want to dangle my children from the catwalks.  I’m kidding, of course.  Sort of.

I’m in a weird place right now.  Some days writing comes very easily.  I’ll be driving in the car and a scripture will pop into my head or a nudging on my heart will happen and the words start forming even before I can sit down at the computer.  It will flow out and it feels really, really good and then… …well, weeks pass.  I think, what if I won’t be able to write the next time I want to?  I guess I’m having that whole blogger “crisis of identity” thing.  Is my blog a ministry?  Is it still a place to share crazy pictures of my girls and tell tales about my journey of Mommyhood?  Is it a place to wax on about my fall shopping wishlist and fun things I find along the way as I try to keep my stylish city girl spirit? The truth is, maybe it can be all of those things.  And, to be honest, I’m still honored and flattered that you would read in the first place.  I often think, blogs are a dime a dozen, aren’t they?  What really sets one apart from the others?  I’ve been a bit addicted to style blogs as of late – outfits of the day and all that – which I find amazing and I guess am vicariously living through since I spend most of my time in yoga pants and tank tops.  These girls that parlay their love of style into businesses and gasp – bestselling books!  I mean, in my dreams!! My girls are going to preschool for three days a week starting this fall.  One more year and Charlie will be in Kindergarten – BIG school, as we call it.  I had a moment where I felt some guilt, like maybe three days a week is just terribly indulgent of me.  But you know, I’ve always, always believed that your children can’t be your world.  You just have to have something else for YOU.  We are better mothers when we can take care of ourselves and nurture our own spirits.  Bottom line, we can’t be our best when we are feeling overtired, over touched, overwhelmed…we are giving giving giving 24 hours a day to little lives that need us to survive.  If you don’t give yourself that grace, that love – well, you all suffer for it, in my humble opinion. So my hope for this fall is that I use my time wisely.  Maybe, just maybe I will actually sit down and write more than once every three weeks. Charlie spent the last week with my parents.  Most of the time if one gets shipped off it’s Ella, so having one-on-one time with my little this week has been really precious.  I think back to 2010 and what a stressful, heart wrenching year it was and here she is in front of me, talking in complete sentences, eating like a house on fire and running everywhere.  Proof positive that God is always faithful.  In the most mundane activities this week – running into Target, etc. – I’ve found myself looking over at Ella and feeling like my heart would burst.  How in the world did this little girl come to be?  How in the world is she half me and half Vann?  Truly, life is such a miracle. And so, looking ahead to the latter half of 2012, Vann and I have the extreme pleasure of getting to go back to the city for not just one, but TWO weddings this year.  To say that I am geeked about it would be a huge understatement.  Chicago is half of my heart, and it’s always a blast to visit, but these two trips involve the celebrations of two dear, dear friends – or really, sisters – so needless to say it will be a year to remember. I would be remiss to leave out that fall and winter are my VERY VERY favorite seasons of the year and yes, it’s a million degrees outside but I’m still dreaming about boots and sweaters and lighting our fireplace and football season and hot coffee on a cold morning and actually feeling like I look cute because why is my makeup falling down my face and I’m sweating in places I didn’t know you could SWEAT?????!!!! I am blessed that each new season here in Texas brings new friendships, new community, new life breathed into this heart of mine.  I can’t wait to see what’s next. Dreaming of 50 degree temps –

I’ve had this post on my heart for a few weeks…and really struggled whether it was just too personal to share.  The tiny nudges, the whispers in my soul to open up about our finances have only gotten louder as I try to keep them contained.  And of course, God knows what He’s doing, as always, and if I’m to use this blog as a ministry (such a scary thing to say out loud!) – well, here goes. Vann and I were never in debt before we made our big move.  But buying a house, furnishing that house (and there are still rooms that are empty), purchasing appliances (which we’ve never had to buy – apartment living for all those years in the city), a second car, the list goes on…after two years we are still paying off the debt we accrued.  And so last summer, after tithing faithfully for most of the year, we stopped so we could focus on paying off the debt. As Christians, we are called to give 10% of our earnings back to God.  He has much to say about this subject in the Bible: Matthew 25:29 says “To those who use well what they are given, even more will be given, and they will have an abundance. But from those who do nothing, even what little they have will be taken away.” Acts 20:35 says “…You should remember the words of the Lord Jesus: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’” All that we have been given is God’s.  And all He asks from us is to have a generous heart and give back 10% of what we earn to the Kingdom.  And He says we will be blessed for it:  2 Corinthians 9:10-11 says “10Now he who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will also supply and increase your store of seed and will enlarge the harvest of your righteousness. 11 You will be enriched in every way so that you can be generous on every occasion, and through us your generosity will result in thanksgiving to God.” God says we will reap what we sow.  I don’t think it’s an accident that we gave up tithing and our debt is still very much alive and kicking.  But this is so hard – and I admit, when our Pastor challenged us to be consistent givers a few weeks ago – I didn’t want to hear what God was telling me.  Trust me. But God, we need that money to make solid payments on the credit cards.  Trust me. But God, we need to buy a bigger car at some point. Trust me. But God, I know where the money is going this month and if we start this again it will mess everything up.  Can’t we push this back until August? Trust me. It was as if God was sitting right next to me, whispering in my ear.  Friends, His voice was as clear as day.  Trust me. So Vann and I spent most of our drive back from Tennessee a week ago talking through it: What are the dreams for our family?  Does it make sense to have another baby now when our financial stress is high?  Another baby means a bigger car, room re-do’s, furnishing a nursery…these things would add to what we owe, not subtract from it.  Is it wise?  Should we wait?  What is God telling us to do? Look, Vann makes a great living and we are blessed.  I know that, and I am thankful. But I also know that I am a true consumer.  I admit it – I love nice things.  I want my hair done, my body strong, healthy and sustainable food for my family, the latest makeup collection from MAC, new clothes for my girls – I could go on and on.  Something tells me that I’m not alone in this – and in our town I find it is really hard to keep up sometimes.  We are surrounded by big, beautiful homes filled with gorgeous furnishings and freshly manicured lawns.  On the outside, people’s lives look and seem perfect.  But we all know that appearances can be deceiving, and the devil fills the world with temptations of all sorts and sizes. And it is hard to resist.  This might be the greatest struggle of my life – my love and need for stuff.  Stuff.  That’s what it is – given to us by our loving God but cherished more than He. Probably not the point of His design.  Friends, with a very un-cheerful heart, I hit “send” on our church’s website yesterday.  I submitted an online gift for the first time in a year and I felt sick.  And immediately wanted to take it back.  I know that feeling was definitely not of God.  And I prayed for forgiveness for my ungrateful heart.  Is this not the very least I can do for my Heavenly Father?  To thank Him for this beautiful roof over our heads and the food in our mouths?  When so many are living with so much less? Oh God!  To be released from this ever-present need to keep up, have the latest and greatest, being a slave to the lender, stingy-ness of being the ultimate consumer!  I want freedom from this – to experience the power of consistent giving and all that You have designed generosity to be!  And so, today, we listen to you, Lord.  We hear you when you say in Malachi 3:10, “10 Bring all the tithes into the storehouse so there will be enough food in my Temple. If you do,” says the Lord of Heaven’s Armies, “I will open the windows of heaven for you. I will pour out a blessing so great you won’t have enough room to take it in! Try it! Put me to the test!” Trust me.