Ezra's Birth Story

With each of my boys, one way I have loved celebrating their first birthdays is by remembering and documenting their birth stories. 

I feel a little sheepish because I don't remember a ton of details from Ezra's birth. It was so uncomplicated that I have not told and retold the story dozens of times in the last year. 

Finn's birth story was such a surprise, and Jonas' had so many complications; I told those over and over again. 

Ezra's, in so many words, was contractions, active labor, birth. The end. 

Yet as I have paused to really think through those days, there are so many little things hiding beneath the surface of those obvious details. 

For one thing, he was my first baby that made me see my due date come...and go. As my due date was October 16 and Finn and Jonas had each come a few days early, I was hopeful from the very beginning that he would be born on the 13th. That is the anniversary of my brother's death, and I thought it would be super cool to redeem that date a little. 

The 13th came and went. So did the 14th, 15th, and 16th. Ugh, and the 17th. 

For about three nights before he came, I was up often in the middle of the night with contractions. Each night they got a little stronger and I would wake up so hopeful that the day had come! Yet they died down about the same time the sun came up. We had our 40 week checkup on Friday, October 16 and I was only dilated to a 1.5. This was after a couple nights of contractions. I was fairly discouraged, but my doctor said she thought I may not make it through the weekend. But grudgingly, I had to set up another checkup for 41 weeks...just in case. 

The night of the 17th they were particularly strong. By the time it was time to get up for the day, I was gripping my pillow through the contractions and was having a difficult time talking through them. It was a Sunday morning. I remember being so thankful that Matt had someone to cover for him at church that morning, as I did not think I could manage the contractions and parenting our two young boys through the morning hours. 

I was planning to ride the contractions out at home for a few more hours, but my mom convinced me to at least call the doctor and tell her what was happening. Her nurse called back and let me know that I should probably come in. 

Walking into the building, I had to stop several times as contractions hit. They were definitely strong, and I was so hopeful that they were productive and that we would not get sent right back home. 

When they checked me at the hospital, I was dilated to a 6 - HALLELUJAH!!!

They checked me in, and I got fairly comfortable, and I got my sweet, sweet epidural. One of my prayers for this birth was to have excellent nurses and to have a doctor in the room upon birth. I had learned with Jonas how vital a great nurse can be. God answered my prayer, and then some. We had the most amazing nurse named Molly, who was attentive and fun and communicative. She was exactly what I needed. 

After a few hours of my contractions amping up and then relaxing, they decided to give me a dose of pitocin to see if they could move it along a bit. Within the next hour, I was ready to push. And about an hour after that, sweet Ezra Adam made his appearance at 4:08 p.m. Not only was there a doctor in the room, but a doctor and a student and 3 or 4 nurses. We were more than cared for. 

Recovery was easy, especially in comparison to my others boys. I was up walking around that evening. This turned out to be a huge blessing; Matt's mom, who was watching Finn and Jonas, had not been feeling well. Since she is a warrior, she watched them without complaining. Yet we knew at that time that something more was going on. So Matt made himself more available to help her with the big boys, and I bonded with Ezra. 

From the moment I got home, I was able to dive right in and keep things running. The adjustment to having three kids was fairly smooth, simply because I felt fine for the most part. 

Ezra became and remained my sweet cuddle bug; he loved to be held. It was difficult to put him down sometimes! 

I look back at the past year and everything that God has seen us through. There are many sweet memories, and many painful ones. Ezra came into this complicated world in an uncomplicated way. His name means "Help" and he is a reminder that God always gives us the help we need when we need it. He is a reminder, always, of God's faithfulness and goodness. 

A Treadmill Tale

Almost immediately once Ezra was born, I was eager to get back on the exercise horse. Baby weight does not magically fall off my body, so I was very ready to put in the work to get my body back to where I was before the pregnancy. I am always so tired of maternity clothes and cannot wait to fit back into my "normal" clothes.

About 4 weeks post-pardem, I squeezed into my exercise clothes. I strapped on my running shoes. I dusted the cobwebs off our neglected treadmill. My goal was to "just run a quick mile". I got on and set the treadmill pace at a familiar number that I used to run at before pregnancy.

Ha. Hahahahaha.

My body laughed at me. Or rather, screamed at me. I grudgingly kept pushing buttons to slow the treadmill's pace. I had barely managed half a mile. My expectations were too great and my pace too fervent. Because I had started off at too fast a pace, I was too spent to complete my mission.

I had hopes to hop back on the treadmill after a casual 9 month break and be able to do what I used to do with ease. Those expectations were unreasonable and, ultimately, unkind to myself.

I had forgotten all of the hard work that I had put in to be able to run at that previous pace. I had forgotten the hours I spent building up my ability to be able to run at the rate and distance that I could before the pregnancy nausea and fatigue set in. I had forgotten that I would probably need to start from scratch.

I tackled the treadmill again a couple of days later. That time, I set the pace at a slower rate with the goal to complete a mile no matter what. It wasn't super easy, but because I was moving at a slower pace, I was able to complete a mile.

My battle with the treadmill reminded me that if I didn't run a mile yesterday (or anytime in the last nine months), it's going to be harder to run a mile today. I can't expect to achieve a goal when I didn't invest the work needed to meet it.

I can't expect where I don't invest. 

One of the main questions I have been asked since Ezra's birth is, "How is it going with three?"

If you had asked me that 1 week, 2 weeks, 5 weeks ago, I would have smiled and said, "It's going much better than I thought!"
And that was true. That was true.

This week has brought a bit of a six-week slump.

I'm tired, I'm stressed, I'm tired of being stressed and tired. And what's more: there is no end in sight. There is no end to the list of things that need to get done. Boys need to be fed and changed and taken care of....daily. Laundry and dishes and toys need to be cleaned and put away....daily. I need to shower....daily. 

When Ezra first joined our family nearly 7 weeks ago, I felt strong right out of the gate. I was eager to prove that I could tackle being a mommy of three and do it well. And I really feel like I did. I remember the feeling as I drove to church for the first time with all three. All three were dressed and changed and happy. Even more, I was dressed and showered and happy. Life was good, man.

But this week something has changed. I feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of the to-do. And I just don't feel like I can. I just can't even.

I realized this morning that, like that first day on the treadmill, I spent these last 6 and a half weeks at a fervent pace. Eager to prove that "I got this", I spent energy that I did not have. I spent my reserve supply, and it has been showing. In my emotions, in my parenting, in my relationships, it's showing.

If there was a slow down button to push on life with three kids, I would be pushing it. Again and again. That's not really an option when it comes to being a mommy, however.

When I run, I hit my stride when I am focused on something other than the fact that I am running. I set a good pace and work on breathing correctly, and then I try to focus on something else completely. A sermon, a song, a problem. Some of my easiest runs have happened because I was trying to work out a problem or bad day in my head. If all I think about is the fact that I'm running and can't wait to be done, I will end my run much sooner than if I'm able to fix my gaze elsewhere.

Focus matters.

So what do I do when I'm overexerted and can't get off the mommy treadmill? Sticking with the running theme, my only option becomes to re-set my pace. Correct my breathing. Fix my focus.

I can slow down and take deep breaths in order to deal with the task before me. But even more importantly, I can fix my gaze onto something greater.

For me, that means fixing my eyes on God through gratitude. I become busy giving thanks and there isn't enough room for the icky stuff to creep in and settle down.

Where I can see my boys' energy as overwhelming, I choose to see it as a reminder that they are healthy and strong.
Where I can see the crumbs on the floor as a never-ending means of visual torture, I choose to see them as a reminder that we have food to feed our family.
Where I can see frustration that my body isn't whipping back into shape like I wish it would, I choose to see the miracle in my arms that it brought forth.

When I do this, I invest in my joy and peace, and can therefore expect to see increased joy and peace throughout my home.

Because I know, I can't expect there to be joy and peace when I haven't done any of the work to invest in it.

A steady pace. A fixed focus. A happy heart.

"God pays no attention to our natural individuality in the development of our spiritual life. His plan runs right through our natural life. We must see to it that we aid and assist God, and not stand against Him by saying, 'I can't do that'. God will not discipline us; we must discipline ourselves. God will not bring our 'arguments...and every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ' (2 Corinthians 10:5) - we have to do it. Don't say, 'Oh, Lord, I suffer from wandering thoughts.' Don't suffer from wandering thoughts. Stop listening to the tyranny of your individual natural life and win freedom into the spiritual life." - Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

The Miraculous Mundane

The last few days, I have been living under one dark cloud of crank.

I wake up with a light heart and ready to face the day, and then some moment comes and reality breaks in and the crank comes out.

I don't want to be active. I don't want to veg. I don't want clean. I don't want to play. I most certainly don't want to run errands with my kids, even though our refrigerator shelves are feeling lonely.

Somewhere in the mixture of the monotony of daily life and the endless pop-up demands of mommy hood, I grow weary. Of all of it. I don't want life to be boring and predictable, but I also don't want any surprises.

I wipe down counters, I put dishes away, I sweep the floor, I feed the faces, I pick up endless superhero "guys", I add things to shopping lists, I hang up clothes.

The monotony.

I kiss a fresh ouchie, I clean sand out of hair, I break up a fight, I wipe some snot, I break up squabbles, I correct an outburst.

The endless pop-up demands of mommy hood.

I am one who has a laser like focus. Just ask Matt what happens when he tries to talk to me if I am reading or trying to write. If I am deep in thought, it is hard to break through to me: "Gretchen? Gretchen??? Hello?"

Because I am naturally formed this way, I have always enjoyed being by myself when it came to personal devotion time with God. Growing up, that meant shutting myself away in my bedroom. In college with multiple roommates, that meant retreating to a prayer room where I could concentrate. As a mommy of one, that meant waking up early in order to check it off my list before the craziness started. As a mommy of two, finding pockets of time that are uninterruptible is nearly impossible.

In our first year of marriage, I would hole myself up in our bedroom to have quiet time with God when we would get home from work for the day. Read my Bible, check. Pray through my written list of prayer requests, check. Write in my journal, check. It didn't take long for me to notice that Matt never sought such time like this. When I would ask him about it, he'd say, "I just talk with God throughout my day, whatever I'm doing".

Hmmmm. Novel idea. But isn't it easy to get distracted that way and aren't there some days where you reach bedtime and realize you haven't spoken at all? That was my fear of trying that approach. I didn't want to risk missing Him.

There have been times this pregnancy where I have felt totally disconnected from God. My brain is one big pile of scrambled eggs and there is no ability to laser focus in on anything except the demand of the moment. I miss the connection. My love language is quality time and lately so little of it feels quality. It feels broken, rushed, slopped together. I'm in survival mode half the time.

I find myself missing early morning Bible reading while I drank my coffee. I miss running on the treadmill while I listened to worship music or a sermon. I miss shutting myself in a room without the door being knocked on or opened or hearing crying on the other side of it.

It's easy to tell myself: this is just a season. You'll be able to connect with God again soon. The boys are only young for so long and they won't need you this much forever. Soon you'll be able to find your pockets of time again when you can check 'connect with God' off the daily schedule.

But the truth is, I'm not really okay with that. I'm not okay with feeling connected someday. I want more of Him today: A) Because I can't make it through the day without His joy and strength and B) Because He's worthy of being wanted every single second and not put up on some shelf for when relationship feels convenient again.

I "joke" every now and then that if it wasn't for God, I would be hooked on some kind of medication to deal with life. I say it smiling, but it feels true. I need Him and I know it. I don't like feeling unplugged.

I read this the other day and it totally resonated with me:

"The great lie of motherhood: I'll find Him when life slows down or this burden lifts or my present struggle no longer nips at my heels...instead, the fight is to find Him when the dishwasher breaks and a friend just doesn't understand me and my daughters' wounds surface again" ("Every Bitter Thing is Sweet" by Sara Hagerty)

Yes!!! I felt it firmly as I underlined the words in the book. It is this moment, every moment really, where He is available to be found. There is something in me that expects Him to show up in the good moments and not the mundane, maniacal ones - which, honestly, is when I need Him most.

When I try to make it through my monotony or pop-up demands without Him, I do myself a disservice by acting in my own power. But when I see every single moment as a chance to meet with Him, I create space for Him to move and speak.

This was verified to me when I read the next day in my devotional:

"His purpose is for me to depend on Him and on His power now. If I can stay calm, faithful, and unconfused while in the middle of the turmoil of life, the goal of the purpose of God is being accomplished in me...it is the process, not the outcome, that is glorifying to God...God's purpose is to enable me to see that He can walk on the storms of my life right now." ("My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers)

God doesn't want my someday, He just wants today. I can't honor Him tomorrow; I only have my right now, in which I can choose to see His hand in the midst of the mundane and the chaos of motherhood.

Just a couple of months ago, my mom posed this question to our parenting class at church: "How will you know that you've been a successful parent?"

I answered assuredly, "If my boys grow up and live for Christ." Nothing else matters to me more than that. By stating that, I was essentially branding myself a failure if I don't see my boys choosing Christ. In a way, I probably will feel like a failure if that happens. However, my life and how it honors God should not ever be based upon the choices that someone else is allowed to make.

This too was written by Sara Hagerty and caused me reexamine this goal:
"If my chief end as a mother is anything less than knowing Him and carrying His glory in my life, I will walk through these years empty".

This moment is all I have to choose to honor Him. It's all I have to choose to love others and put their needs ahead of my own. It's all I have, whether it's mundane or miraculous.

I will meet with Him in the chaos, and not just the convenience of a quiet room.

I will choose to see Him in it all.

Guilt as a Terrible Parenting Strategy

If you had to ask me what is the single toughest task for me as a parent, it would be easy for me to pinpoint:

Reacting.

I react with my emotions all wrapped up in my children's behaviors. Whether they disappoint, shock, or please me, it is written all over my face and expressed in every word from my mouth.

I've never really considered myself an impulsive person...I love plans and schedules and order. But the impulsivity of my emotional reactions is swifter and more powerful than what I've learned to control.

Too often, I've reacted before I have even processed what happened. If I could just. slow. down. I know that wisdom is lurking around in my brain if my heart would just simmer for a single second.

I'm attending a parenting class on Wednesday nights currently (taught by my mama, nonetheless), and it stuck with me a few weeks ago when she said how important it is to not parent from our emotions. As a parent, it is crucial that we remain in control of the situation by acting, not reacting. Our children get a bit of a free pass when it comes to losing it, we do not.

A couple of weeks ago, I was driving away from a park with my sons. We left on a semi-sour note, as Finn and one of his cousins had been going at it a bit. As we drove out of the parking lot, Finn and I talked about what had happened. He didn't feel like his cousin was being very kind and was upset that I expected him to still be nice in return.

I said to him, "I understand. I understand that it is really tough to be kind to others when we feel like they aren't being kind to us."

He sighed and said, "Yeah, it is."

This was good. We were off to a great start. Let's dig deeper!

I said, "Maybe next time before we hang out with your cousins, we can pray and ask God to help us be kind at all times."

I felt a puff of accomplishment in my spirit. I was utilizing what I was using in the parenting class and it was working!! Until....

Finn says, "I'm not praying. If you pray I'm closing my ears and not listening."

Well, he may as well have taken a dagger to my mommy heart. Absolutely nothing on this earth means more to me than my faith and the hope that my children will share the same faith. It triggered a big old emotional reaction in me.

"Finn Matthew, why would you say that?! That hurts my heart! I am so disappointed in you."

Suddenly what could have been a Level 3 incidence between us escalated to a Level 8. Not because of Finn; Finn is a child and a 4 year old who loves to push buttons sometimes. This one was all on me.

I allowed myself to get so worked up that by the time I got home and told Matt about it, I was actually in tears. My mommy heart felt broken and like a total failure....again.

By the time an hour or so had passed, my brain caught up with my heart and the guilt began to rise.

The next day, still baffled, I asked my sister what she would have done in that situation. She responded, "Well, I probably would have said that sometimes I don't feel like praying either..."

Oh yeah. Duh. That's simple enough. If only I had to been slow to respond (James 1:19).

My children are absolutely not going to come to a relationship with Jesus because I guilt them into it by saying I'm disappointed in them when they don't feel like praying.

No manipulation, no coercion, no willing it to happen will help my children believe that Jesus loves them and wants relationship with them. It may lead them close for a moment, but will ultimately push them away.

Finn and I let the discussion on prayer cool for a couple of weeks. The most I said to him was that prayers don't have to be long and complicated. I told him that one of my favorite prayers was simply, "Help, God."

Yesterday he surprised me.

He had gone outside to wait for some friends that were coming over to our house. When Jonas and I walked outside to join him, he says to me,

"Mommy I was talking to God."

My heart grew 3 sizes, like the Grinch.

"Oh yeah," I tried not to seem too excited, "what were you saying to God?"

"I was praying for the dead mouse (in our window well) and the dead bird (on the street)"

My sweet son was praying, from his own heart, about something that truly matters to him. 

It was a reminder to me that God can touch my son's heart without my help. I don't need to strong arm my faith into him. Sometimes, mommies need to get out of the way so that their children can cultivate their own relationship with God.

Pray. Lead by example. Love with everything I have. Talk about God's goodness and faithfulness.

And then?

Release the reins and get out of the way!

"Help"

I'm not sure how people who have held a precious baby in their arms and let their minds truly think about how that baby was formed for 9 months, can still doubt in the hand of a Creator.

There are so many, many things that have to go correctly in order for a baby to be born perfectly without complications. It is truly a miracle when a baby is flawlessly formed and birthed.

With that being said, complications aren't rare. Medical issues, physical deformities, and babies with special needs are fairly common, yet it doesn't mean that those precious babies are any less beautiful or as though they were neglected and forgotten in the forming process.

Matt and I have been fortunate to have 2 uncomplicated pregnancies.

This one has proven a bit different.

We found out yesterday that there is a cyst on our sweet baby's brain. This can be an indicator of a few possible chromosomal issues.

I feel like I've been on a roller coaster for the last couple of days - the exhilaration of the ultrasound appointment, the unmet expectation of not having a daughter, the thrill and embrace of naming our sweet baby and being able to call him by name, and then the crushing news that there could be something seriously wrong with the baby we love so much.

A few days ago, even before our ultrasound, I felt a song laid on my heart. "Good, Good Father" was my declaration going into this week, not knowing all that I would be facing. I lived this song, walking around the house singing it and even figuring out the chords on piano so that I could play it from my heart.

One of my favorite lyrics of this song says, "You are perfect in all of Your ways", and I sang that over and over again, seeking to embrace God's plan for us no matter what it was.

When we found out on Tuesday that we were having a boy, we immediately set out trying to settle on a name for him. That's one of our favorite parts - getting to call him by name. We finally chose "Ezra Noel", and Matt nearly cried happy tears. He had been set on that name this entire pregnancy. I had been the holdout - Ezra Fjerkenstad seemed a bit of a mouthful to me. Yet, when I discovered that the name means "help", my mind was changed. Help was the one thing I knew I needed through this pregnancy - help with my sickness, my exhaustion, my feeling overwhelmed about having 3 young kids.

Naming him brought so much peace and anticipation to his impending arrival.

Then Wednesday afternoon came, and a scary phone call from our OB nurse. That afternoon as tears flowed, I read in Psalm 20:6: "That cinches it - help's coming, an answer's on the way, everything's going to work out".

I smiled at God's goodness that I should read that psalm that day of all days. Peace flowed in.

Later that day, my mother-in-law Lynette called to pray with me. On the voicemail she spoke a couple different times that God is a "good, good father" and able to be trusted. She had no clue I had been clinging to that song. Peace flooded in.

When my mind has been troubled these past few days, I turn on worship music and direct my eyes to the one sure Help I have, God my Father Who loves me and works all things for good.

Here is the part where I say how I hesitated to post this. I could have just posted a professional singer and band singing the song. But because I have personalized this song so much, I felt like it was important to post a personalized version of it (with my very, very rough piano skills). I love this though because if you listen closely enough, you can hear Finn singing along with me. There's nothing quite like listening to your child sing along to a song like this!

We have an ultrasound Tuesday when we will discover more about what is going on with our baby. We highly value your prayers as we wait. Until Tuesday, we are focusing on expecting a good report.

Then our next hurdle will be breaking it to Finn that we are not naming the baby Batman.

It's A.....(gender reveal)

So you're pregnant with your 3rd baby?

The questions immediately start rolling in, and the most notorious is definitely:

"So, do you have any preference whether it is a boy or a girl?"

I am a terrible liar. Every single thing I feel shows up all over my face, so I don't even bother trying to pull one over on people. I answer:

"I would absolutely love a daughter. I've always wanted a daughter!!"

No shame about coming right out and saying it, no use giving the PC answer. God knows the desires of my heart and I really don't feel badly about stating them out loud.

To be supremely honest, I wanted a daughter when we were pregnant with Finn. I wanted a daughter when we were pregnant with Jonas.

I wanted to buy sweet dresses and bows. I wanted to play Barbies and dolls in lieu of trucks and trains. I wanted a daughter I could be so close with as she grew older and I could walk her through her complicated emotions and absurd hormones. I wanted a daughter that when she's young is content to sit in my lap rather than run around exerting energy like my big boys, and when she's older could sit and have long, deep conversations with me. I am fairly certain that I do not desire to be pregnant again, therefore this is our final chance!!

There were 3 separate people that spoke into us that we were having a girl.

I felt like God laid a name for a daughter on my heart.

Yet......it's a boy!

Let me say 100% honestly up front that as I was looking at that sweet boy today on ultrasound, I felt nothing but complete love for him. I am already aching to hold him in my arms. He is so amazing and I cherish every single kick that I feel him give me.

Even though with Finn and Jonas I began the pregnancy desiring daughters, something always switched in my heart before the ultrasound. I peacefully was ready to hear the ultrasound tech say "It's a boy!" Because of that, there was never a shred of disappointment. In His mercy, He prepared me.

Today was not quite like that. I really expected the opposite report. And we all know how expectations can complicate things!

I write this all as a way of processing...maybe it's a mistake to write it all down when my emotions are so raw. But again, I figure in the days to come it's going to be making it's way around anyway, and there's me with my face that gives my heart away. So I lay it all out here.

The disappointment is real. I don't think that our disappointments surprise God or mar His love for us.

I truly believe He gets it. He understands layers deeper than anything I ever could.

And this is just one day on the journey of 1,000 steps. It may take awhile to work it all out. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:

He knows exactly what we need. He knows exactly what He's doing. He is ever faithful and always so, so good. He loves me and cares about the fact that my heart is a little broken today at what seems like the death of a long-held hope and desire. I can say with absolute certainty that I trust His will; this disappointment is only for a day and I know that one day I will see His absolute gracious provision in blessing us with 3 amazing, astounding boys.

One day. Today is for processing and embracing His perfect plan.

I remember my sophomore year of college when I was dating a guy who I thought was the whole package. When he broke up with me, I remember feeling so devastated and embarrassed that I literally hid out in my dorm room for two days. I was not prepared to talk about it at all, even with my best friend and roommate. It was the end of a hope and desire then, too.

And now, at 13 years past that experience, I wish I could go back and whisper in 20 year old Gretchen's ear: "It's okay. This is more than okay. It is a victory and a gift that this relationship ended. God has so much more ahead for you. Let this hope die and accept and trust the heart of your Father who works all things for good. There is a new hope ahead that will kick this hope's butt. Trust and take His hand!"

I cling to that today as I accept what looks to be the ending of this hope for a daughter. I am letting go of my desires in order to better hold onto what God has ahead for me. Somehow, I think future-Gretchen wishes she could whisper to me of all of the wonderful things that God has on this journey ahead.

Stubborn Choice

So, I wish that I could say that since my last blog, I have been living in total victory over discouragement.

In all actuality, the opposite is probably true. Life has not magically gotten easier. I didn't crack the code of some long kept ancient secret to never being discouraged.

Days are still hard and it is still a daily battle and it truly takes a stubborn choice sometimes to NOT be discouraged.

Over the weekend, I had the most annoying strain of stomach virus. I use the word annoying because it made me feel just sick enough: my body was achy and sick, but my mind was jetting around inside of my head, trying to beckon me to do the enormous list of things I knew needed to be done.

Talk about frustration. I can't turn my brain off and I can't find my body's on switch. I felt helpless and hopeless and just so very, very sad. Maybe a little sorry for myself. It was the 4th time I have been sick during this pregnancy, other than the standard nausea and exhaustion, and I was just so very done.

The last time I remember feeling this way was right after Jonas was born. I was so eager to get up and get moving and conquer the world of mothering two sweet boys.

I just couldn't.

The postpartum period was rough with Jonas because of the physical effects of the labor. While my mind was aching to use my "I'm a mother of TWO" anxiety to get active and prove to everyone (to myself) that I could do this, my body just simply would not cooperate.

I could barely walk. I could barely sit.

I could lay pretty well though, so there's that.

I had to accept others' help, rather than prove to everyone (to myself) that I could successfully mother two boys.

It was frustrating, but it was a phase.

So I try to keep that in mind as I feel like I deal with one sickness after another, one nauseous day after another, one lousy night of sleep after another.

It is frustrating, but it is a phase.

In the midst of dealing with all of these physical symptoms, I am clearly feeling some mental anxiety about having a third child. I am nervous. I don't feel like the natural mothering type and I am very hard on myself and I compare myself to others who do it so much better and I spin myself into circles and then into knots.

I so badly want to be amazing at this but so often do not feel like I am.

I want to prove to everyone (to myself) that I am a good mother.

Then yesterday morning I read it.

"If you're a hard worker and do a good job, you deserve your pay; we don't call your wages a gift. But if you see that the job is too big for you, that it's something only God can do, and you trust him to do it - you could never do it for yourself no matter how hard and long you worked - well, that trusting-him-to-do-it is what gets you set right with God, by God. Sheer gift." Romans 4:4-5 MSG

In that moment, I was blissfully reminded that I cannot do it "all", nor am I expected to.

When mothering feels overwhelming to me and I feel so far less than excellent at it, I remember the help that is at my right hand by calling on God. My Deliverer, my Helper, the God Who sees me.

It honestly brings a sigh of relief to my exhausted body when I bask in the reality of His help. I know it not just as something that I read about in His Word, but as something that is true and lasting and comes right when I need it. I've called out for His help in a moment of despair or confusion and felt the immediate lightening of my problem.

I state here and now that I am not a perfect mother by my own abilities. I am far too often overwhelmed by all that I feel needs to be done and yet underwhelmed by what I feel are my own abilities.

But when I call on God and trust Him to act, I have all the help I will ever need. 

Breathe. Relax. Trust.

On Rejection

For years and years and years, as long as I can remember really, I have had this insecurity complex where I brace to be rejected. I had this feeling that unless someone explicitly shows they like me, they probably don't.

If someone didn't specifically tell me I was doing a good job, I assumed I wasn't meeting their expectations or was letting them down.

Even further, if someone actually rejected me, even jokingly, I took it hard.

I cowered in the face of rejection.

Please like me. Please, please like me.

At times this has led me to extreme perfectionism. Because you can't get hurt if you do it best, right?At times it has led me to extreme apathy. Because you can't fail if you don't even try, right?

I don't know if I even really realized this about myself until the last year or so. I just thought I was super sensitive. I was going through some really personal battles, and by praying and studying and listening, I discovered a deep root of rejection in my life.

As has been typical since I became a mother, I have recently become privy to how rejection affects me in my most important role of being a mother. We bring our baggage everywhere, especially into parenthood.

My relationships with my two sweet boys are pretty different. From the time Finn was born, I absolutely loved him. I couldn't wait until the moments when he got older and would cry when I left. I stated on numerous occasions that I wanted to be his #1 person; I was his mommy after all. But Finn didn't show his love for me in the way for which I was longing. He was typically happy to leave my side, especially if he was staying with one of his grandmas. He lit up whenever Matt walked into the room, but not usually when I would. He was used to me. I think he maybe cried once when I dropped him off at nursery, but otherwise he was like, "See ya, mommy! I'ma gonna play!"

Because he didn't show his love for me in the way that I was expecting/hoping, the slightest feeling of rejection from him rocked me. I didn't feel loved, and what kind of mother isn't loved by her own child??? When he would openly prefer someone else, I would feel humiliated. The first time he said he didn't like me upon being disciplined, I shattered. When I would go to pick him up and he would cry to stay where he was, I would bite my lip and try to wait until I got to the car to cry. I felt unloved and unwanted, by my child. Children are supposed to fill our love holes....right?

It's tough acknowledging my frailty in these memories. It's tough to document.

On the other hand, Jonas has always preferred me. Even as a newborn, he clearly wanted me more than anyone else. He lights up when he sees me and looks for me before anyone else. He bawls when I drop him off at the nursery. He always, always comes to me when he gets hurt and needs comfort. He loves me the way I always expected my child would.

But.

A few weeks ago, Matt's mom watched the boys while Matt and I helped with the women's conference at our church. It wasn't until last week, however, that I saw a note hanging on the fridge:

My heart lit up. "He thinks that about me?! Wow!" I had no clue that Finn felt that way about me. It touched my heart more than I can really express. It may seem small, but that kind of indicates how much I needed to hear something positive. I feel like a failure much of the time.

When I mother from a place of rejection, or trying not to feel rejected, it doesn't inspire affection in my children. My kids are going to show they love me by their own unique personalities. Jonas is social and effusive - ask anyone. Finn is shy at first and then blossoms.

It is impossible to compare the two - each so different, each so special.

I truly believe that both of my boys love me and look to me as their safe place, they just show it in different ways. It's taken awhile to get there, but get there I did. I am learning to operate from a place of believing that I am loved.

When I mother from a place of knowing, truly knowing, that I am loved, it frees me up. I don't need to try to earn their love, because it's all mine already. I don't need to prove myself worthy as a mother; God has made me a mother, therefore I am anointed to be a mother. I am still learning confidence in mothering, but I can say this - the more confident I am, the more confident, secure, and stable my boys are. I've seen it.

Entering our relationships from a place of insecurity always leads us down a road where nothing will ever be good enough. No affirmative word will last long enough. No quality time will be perfect enough. No gift will be thoughtful enough.

I remember when Matt and I were dating and I felt insecure in our relationship, afraid of being rejected. I couldn't wait to have a ring on my finger to prove to others (and myself) that this wonderful man really did want me. But then as soon as we were engaged, I started counting down the days until we were married. Because you see, if it was legal, then there was no getting out it for him!!

It was three months into our marriage when I started getting hit hard with insomnia and anxiety. Looking back, I know that a big part of the anxiety for me was - once again - fearing that he wouldn't want me anymore if I fell apart on him. Well, fall apart I did. And yet - he still wanted me. He still pursued my broken heart. He was steady in all of my unsteadiness.

That year taught me that Matt can see me at my lowest.....and still love me. Because of that year, I know that Matt will stick with me through it all. My insecurity in our relationship slowly dissipated. I was no longer waiting to be rejected.

When I relate to others from a place of brokenness, it only begets more brokenness. It breeds insecurity and jealousy and striving for my selfish ambitions. I constantly try to protect myself.

WONDROUS NEWS!!!! I can relate to them from the place of fullness that Christ offers me -  I do not need them to fill me because, honey, I'm full. Let me pour out. I can know that I'm not enough on my own but I'm enough in Jesus. Let me be available when you need me, I can be there.

This is when I have the joy to do the tough task set before me. I have peace that I am doing a good job and don't need nearly as much outward approval.


1 John 3:18-22 :"My dear children, let's not just talk about love; let's practice real love. This is the only way we'll know we're living truly, living in God's reality. It's also the way to shut down debilitating self-criticism, even when there is something to it. For God is greater than our worried hearts and knows more about us than we do ourselves. And friends, once that's taken care of and we're no longer accusing or condemning ourselves, we're bold and free before God!! We're able to stretch our hands out and receive what we asked for because we're doing what he said, doing what please him." MSG

Safety in Darkness

Jonas' new favorite thing to do is to climb up onto his big brother's toddler bed. Maybe it is because it has a cool red blanket strewn on top of it in order to create a fort-like atmosphere. Maybe it is because Finn's bed is more fun to bounce upon. Maybe it is because he has been told over and over again NOT to do it. Judging from his mischievous smile when he gets caught, I think it may be the latter.

Last night, I followed him into the room and shadowed him as he climbed up on the bed for like, the 15th time that day. Since I am battling a nasty sore throat and fever, I just did not have the energy to lift him off again. So I joined him. I laid down in the bed with him, and if he got too close to the edge, I mustered the power to steady him.

It wasn't too long before Finn joined us. To a three year old, a situation like this screams, "PARTY IN MY BED!!!!!" Finn laughingly turned on the noise machine and turned off the light, delighting in the fact that we were having a 'sleeping party'.

Unsurprisingly, Jonas was not a fan of this new twist. The lights had been shut off for him and the fun had stopped. I could feel him in the dark grappling to find his balance because he could know longer see where he was. I felt him, ever so slowly, sidle over to me. He touched my face and my arms to make sure it was me, and then he clung to me. I spoke to him as he searched and told him he was okay.

I enjoyed every second of the snuggles, however brief they were. Because 5 seconds later, Finn bounded to the light switch again and turned the lights back on. Just like that, Jonas started scooting further away from me again. He felt safe with the light back on and so he went back to doing whatever he wanted.

Until once again, Finn hysterically shuts the light off and we are basked in darkness. Then the searching and grasping for my arm and face resumed.

This hilarity ensued for a good five minutes before mommy regained the strength to put an end to the madness.

In the light, Jonas giggled and played and made daring attempts to fly past me off of the bed. In the darkness, Jonas cuddled and clung closely to whatever part of me he could find.

And I'm laying there thinking, isn't that what we too often do with God?

When the light is on and we can see where we're going, when things are rosy and sunshiny and going our way, we edge away from Him by pursuing our own desires or whatever is making us happy and fulfilling our needs in that moment.

But when the lights go out on us, what then? We suddenly feel alone and afraid. We struggle through the darkness to find any piece of Him that we can. When we find Him, we hold on tight to His love, and strength, and peace. We know we are safe with Him in the dark.

But oh….to know that it is safe with Him in the light as well. To know that the best place to be on the brightest days of our lives is STILL right by His side, clinging to His hand.

When we remain by His side, we do not need to be afraid that the light around us might suddenly go dark.
When we remain by His side, we don't waste time trying to struggle in the darkness by ourselves.
When we remain by His side, we get to experience the brightest highs and the darkest lows with the One who loves us stronger and knows us better than we could ever imagine.

There's no safer place than that.

"For anyone out there who doesn't know where you're going, anyone groping in the dark, Here's what: Trust in God. Lean on your God." Isaiah 50:10 (MSG)

"'Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you. For I am the Lord your God, The Holy One of Israel, your Savior; I have given Egypt as your ransom, Cush and Seba in your place. Since you are precious in my sight, Since you are honored and I love you, I will give other men in your place and other peoples in exchange for your life. Do not fear, for I am with you." Isaiah 43:1-5 (NASB)


"There are many out there taking other paths, choosing other goals, and trying to get you to go along with them. I've warned you of them many times; sadly, I'm having to do it again. All they want is easy street. They hate Christ's Cross. But easy street is a dead-end street. Those who live there make their bellies their gods; belches are their praise; all they can think of is their appetites. But there's far more to life for us. We're citizens of high heaven!" Philippians 3: 18-20 (MSG)

Jonas' Birth Story

When Finn turned 1, I wrote down his birth story as a way of commemorating. I thought it would be fun to do the same for Jonas Rips. Two very different stories, two very different boys!

Even my pregnancy with Jonas was very different. Finn's was tough, a struggle through the entire third trimester.

Jonas was easy to have in my belly. It may have helped that I was finishing my graduate degree and completing my internship, so my mind was often focused on other things and I wasn't allowed to dwell on the fact that I was pregnant.

By the time I sat through a 3 hour graduation ceremony praying that I wouldn't need to pee, I only had a handful of weeks left to be pregnant.

The last couple weeks of pregnancy, my sister and her boys were in town. We spent those days keeping busy with them. Finn enjoys running around with his cousins more than just about anything, so we pooled it and parked it to our hearts content.

Jonas' birthdate was projected to be June 24th. About June 17th, I started having some irregular contractions and knew the time was getting close. Since Finn's delivery had been such an expected surprise (emergency c-section), I was very hopeful to have a successful VBAC: counting contractions, labor, pushing, the whole shebang.

On the evening of June 20th, my sister and I planned to have a sister date night. We rented a cheesy movie, and carefully picked out our favorite junk foods to enjoy along with the movie. As we were walking around Lewis Drug shopping for these things, I kept having random pains in my lower gut. They weren't truly consistent yet, though.

We went back to my house, ate, and vegged to our cheesy chick flick. As the movie was on, I remember starting to time those random pains because they suddenly weren't feeling so random anymore. Some were about 7 minutes apart, some 11 minutes, some even 20 minutes apart. My hope was starting to kick in that THIS. WAS. IT!

When my sister left that evening, I rolled into bed with Matt and hoped that the anticipation would allow me some sleep. It did…kinda sorta…but not really.

I fell asleep on and off for about 4 hours, waking periodically to the tightening in my stomach. I began keeping mental track of how often the contractions were occurring. Just before 4 a.m., I moved out to the couch so I could more officially count how far apart my contractions were and how long they lasted.

At that point, my contractions were consistently 10ish minutes apart and lasting about a minute each. I knew that things were kicking into gear!! When Matt woke up about 7:30, I told him, "I think this is the day!"

He was much calmer this second time around, maybe because he knew we had time as we watched my contractions. Finn played and Matt packed a hospital bag, and I laid on the couch and continued to count my strengthening contractions. I called my OB/GYN to let her know labor was beginning and she asked me how far apart my contractions were.

When I told her they were about 5 minutes apart, she basically told me to get my big ole prego booty to the hospital. At this point, I was having to brace myself through some of the contractions and wasn't always able to keep moving during them. At this point, I still thought the whole "counting contractions" adventure was…….fun!

What was NOT fun was riding in a car while contracting. Before heading to the hospital, we had to drive across town to take Finn to my mom's house. By the time we made it to the hospital, I was getting a little nervous. We had been to the hospital a couple days earlier for a false alarm. The one thing I knew was that I did not want to get sent home again. I prayed and prayed that after these hours of contracting, that I would be dilated.

And I was!! To a 3!!

At this point, I was still relishing the excitement of it all. I loved being able to count my contractions and enjoy the anticipation. Although I had been up most of the night, I was not tired. I felt invigorated. Because Finn's emergency birth had been such a quick surprise in every way, the gradual building of this birth was beautiful and I was enjoying every moment.

We got checked into our room and settled in a bit. My mom arrived, and took her place beside me as resident hand squishier; her hand took a serious beating that day. For another hour or two, I labored the old-fashioned way. Contraction: pain. Break: rest.

This was when my exhaustion started creeping in. That, coupled with the fact that I hadn't eaten anything since dinner the night before (about 18 hours previously), meant that my body and my mind were tired. Just when I was reaching the point where I was about to scream through my next contraction, a lovely man entered the room. A lovely, lovely man named an anesthesiologist came into the room carrying a pretty, pretty needle.

It took about 5 minutes for my epidural drip to kick in, but even then it was only working on about half of my body. The other half still….well….hurt. After a few physical adjustments, the pretty, pretty needle's job was officially done.

I was able to get the rest and physical replenishment I needed. For the next couple of hours, I laid and watched "Wreck It Ralph" with my husband and my mom. I may have gotten a couple of brief naps.

Finally, at about 6:15, the nurse came in and said that I could begin pushing. I had briefly met the on-call OB, but from my understanding she wouldn't be present again until the big shebang. So like a good girl, I pushed when they told me to push and laid back to rest when I could. Because of the epidural's constant drip, it wasn't painful and I couldn't feel the contractions. As the time got closer, however, I could feel the baby moving downward inside of me. It was crazy awesome.

This is the part of the story that goes off the rails a little bit. According to the nurse, Jonas was beginning to crown. She still had me pushing. Little did she know, the OB was not currently available as she was assisting with two other births at the exact same time. But I pushed because she told me to push.

However, then Jonas obliged and he began to emerge. The nurse freaked out a bit and tried to hold him in with her hand. Seriously. She blocked a baby from being born. What?!?! After a few weird moments, she realized there was no option to wait for the OB and she delivered my sweet Jonas Rips. He was beautiful and perfect and so so amazing. He was mine and he was here!!!

THIS is the part of the story where the details get a little gory. This is your fair warning.

Yes, my baby boy was here and he was healthy. I still had my epidural drip in so I was not feeling anything yet. However, I was still in stirrup city. Several nurses shuffled in and out and each one took a concerned look at…..that area. When the midwife came in to check me over, I think she sat and stared at…that area….for a few minutes with a concerned look on her face. Finally someone communicated to me that I had torn fairly badly. Jonas had apparently had his arm up over his eyes during birth and it created one big ouchie. Well, at least I couldn't feel it, right?!

After a brief examination and more concerned looks, the midwife informed me that she didn't feel qualified to stitch a tear of that magnitude. Because of that, I had to wait for the OB. The OB that hadn't delivered my baby and who I still hadn't even seen since our first meeting. Since the nurse thought that the doctor would be coming in shortly, she turned off my epidural drip.

From that moment forward, I moved my feet at least once a minute, trying to see if I was gaining any more feeling back on my bottom half. I was petrified that I would regain feeling in my lower half before the doctor came to stitch me back up.

I waited and waited….moving my feet…still in stirrup city. I was still exposed to anyone who walked in the room. I was shaking due to the physical shock and loss of blood. After about half an hour, my mom got MAD. She started muttering that she had never seen anything like this and asked for a blanket for me at least. After being briefly denied, they finally covered me up a bit. I laid there with my anxiety building that the epidural would wear off.

About 1 hour and ten minutes after Jonas was born, the OB finally made her way to my room, frantic and stressed. It took her about 45 minutes to stitch me up and while she stitched, she actually opened up to me about her rough night and how stressed she had been. I had compassion on her for sure…she couldn't help that 3 women had gone into labor at the same time. I was just tired and so desperately wanted her to be done so that I could snuggle with my baby and welcome family in to meet him.

She finished and scooted off to her next duty. Lastly, the nurse on duty told me that I needed to use the bathroom before they could move me to my maternity room. I shuffled along beside her and sat on the toilet. Suddenly, I began feeling very light-headed. Having fainted before, I knew the symptoms and told her that I thought I was going to faint. She had me hang my head upside down.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up blurry-eyed back in my bed. I had fainted, due to the blood loss and lack of food in my system.

Could I seriously just hold my baby now, please?

Finally finally finally, I got to just hold my sweet boy and welcome other family members in. My stepdad brought me McDonald's and it was maybe one of the best meals of my life.

Finn met his baby brother and was so very sweet to him. That was a moment that I will never forget. Suddenly, Finny Matt seemed SO BIG, as though he had grown immensely in the few hours since we had last seen him.

There were still some bumps in the road during the remainder of our stay at Sanford. Although I did have one excellent  nurse that made me feel taken care of for the first time. I suddenly had a new realization for the vital importance of a nurse's job. I knew what having a poor nurse felt like, and I knew what having a fabulous nurse felt like. Nurses - please know: your job is so, so important and valuable!

Full recovery from labor took a good month. It was probably 3 months before I didn't feel any pain. But I had such a wonderful support system that stepped in just when they were needed and stepped back out the moment they knew I was ready.

Yes, I have two boys with two very different birth stories. Both stories involve some dramatic moments and lengthy recovery, but each time I received an amazingly precious gift to hold in my arms.

Sign me up for #3! Are you ready, Matthew?!

Dog Toys

A few days ago, I was cleaning, Jonas was sleeping, and Finn was playing. It was exciting times at the Fjerkenstad household!

Like many people, we keep our cleaning supplies underneath our kitchen sink. When I moved to clean the bathroom, I left the door to said cabinet open. Normally it is child lock protected and dutifully shut every time. I guess I got a little lazy.

Finn's curiosity got the better of him and he started digging through a treasure trove of cleaning bottles and Target bags.

Suddenly, I heard him proclaim, "Mommy! There's toys in here!"

I peeked my head around from the bathroom and said, "There aren't any toys in there, Finn."

"Yes there are!!!" he urged me.

Then it dawned on me: we used to keep chew toys for our dog underneath the sink…Eureka!

I said to my funny boy, "Finn, if there are toys down there, believe me - you don't want them."

"I do…" he insisted.

As this conversation continued, I thought of the oodles of toys that Finn already had in his possession. Already, our living room was overflowing with superheroes, Little People, and Legos.

Yet Finn was searching for more. Even worse, there was inflection in his words that suggested that we were holding out on him.

"Sweet boy," I said again, "Trust me you don't want anything under there." With that, I closed the cabinet and somewhere in the back of my mind, I made a mental note to clean and purge under our sink.

However, as I continued my cleaning spree, it dawned on me that sometimes we treat God our Father that same way.

We ignore the bounty before us and are in a continuous search for more…..More…..MORE!!!!!

There is a continuous aching in us that is forever longing for something more.

C.S. Lewis once said, "If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world."

Until we are in our forever home of heaven, we will always be aching for something.

And because of that aching, we often point the finger at God and question His authority and His goodness to us.

We believe that He is holding out on us. If He were truly our provider and our sustainer, then surely we wouldn't feel this constant longing.

All the while, He is showing us all of the amazing gifts we have already received.

Love. Breath. Sunsets. Nature. Beauty. Laughter. Emotion. Intellect. Spiritual gifts. Love…again (it's so important I had to put it twice!)

Romans 8:31-32 says, "What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son, but gave Him up for us all - how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?"

Look around and be encouraged.

God is not holding out on us. He has given us everything.

In other words, there is no need to dig around for a glimpse of dog toys when you have superheroes and Little People in front of you.

Trust Him - He knows what you need and He will never withhold any good thing from you.

"For the Lord God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory. The Lord will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right." Psalm 84:11

Letting Go

My oldest son, even with his abundance of energy and independence, has always been a snuggler. The other day as we cuddled after he woke up from his nap, I asked him,

"Finn, will you promise to cuddle with me forever?"

With all seriousness, he looked at me and perked up immediately and responded,
"I have to fight lions and monsters first!"

But of course! So…

I let him go.

He exploded off the couch and brandished his styrofoam sword and ran off to conquer those pesky lions and monsters.

He is an adventurer at heart.

He is feisty and sweet and shy and social and loathes loud noises. He is one hundred other, unique things; and he is an adventurer at heart.

Because of that, I know that I will spend the rest of my life letting him go.

Letting him go to preschool, and then school.
Letting him go hang out with friends, and drive, and date.
Letting him go to move out and move on and head to college and career.

And every time I let him go, a little piece of me will go with him.

There is so much inside of me that wants to cling him to me and keep him close always. I dread the days when he will leave me with an actual aching in my heart.

But the older that my boys get, and the more independence that they exert, the more I realize that when I love them the way that I need to - with kisses and cuddles and spoken words - it doesn't always resonate with them.

When I cuddle and coo, it is mostly just an expression of what I am feeling in that moment. When I say, "I love you" to my boys 639 times a day, it is because I truly feel it at those moments. Those kinds of things meet my need to express my love to them.

However, to truly speak the language of looooove, it must be communicated in a way that the receiver knows it and feels it.

When I sit on the floor and play Little People? When I let Finn use his superpowers to turn me into a princess and the kitchen table becomes my castle? When I pick Jonas up from his crying in the middle of the night to comfort him when all I want to do is pull the pillow over my head and sleep?

That's love in their language.

My own mom has become an expert at this as my siblings and I have gotten older. She actively seeks out our worlds and when she spends time with us, she wants it to be doing something that makes us feel attended to. That's why she sits and watches tv shows with Missy and shows care for her animals. It's why she goes shopping and sips coffee during conversation with Kiki. It's why she engages in football games that she watches with Josh, asking questions so he can explain it to her. It's why she speaks with me about music and psychology and allows me to pick her brain about everything.

Parenthood is a continual letting go. But there is an upside of letting go, and that is when you grasp the opportunities to step inside your children's worlds and be active participants in them. I guarantee you that they will never feel more loved or invested in than when they feel that you care about the things that interest them.

It's speaking their language.

"Love, Mom"

My mom always made Christmas magical.

Not like Santa and flying reindeer magical.......

....but just super, super special.

Back when I was a little girl, I had no idea just how hard she worked to make it all happen.

She saved all year long in order to be able to buy us just the right things at Christmastime. Each gift was wrapped impeccably and had a different personalized tag on it: For "Gretchie-Ketchie-Netchie-Setchie-Betchie-Detchie" or "Grrrr-Nin" or "Gretchen Noelle".

"Love, Mom".

But it really wasn't about the gifts, even then. They were simply the icing on a Christmas-flavored cake (what does Christmas taste like, you say? Mint.....and egg nog......and love).

It was about the traditions that she birthed and fostered and tended every year. It was about all being together. It was about listening to Christmas music and reading Luke 2 as a family and eating caramel rolls in the morning. It was about taking turns opening gifts so we wouldn't miss anything and playing games and putting on plays about the nativity story.

Mom handmade each of our stockings, delighted in getting us matching pajamas, and made 5 different kinds of cookies every year because, well, we each had our own kind that we would sit and make with her of course! If baking cookies meant quality time with mom, we were there. 

Being the youngest child, the older I got, the further away my older siblings moved. However, nearly every year without fail, they each returned home. Christmas was our time to be together. So a house that had been quiet burst with joyful noise. The driveway filled up. The table became crowded. There wasn't a chance of getting to watch what you wanted on TV. It took about 2 days for all of us to start getting on each other's nerves............but wow, those first 2 days were pure bliss!

This year as my own little family was decorating for Christmas, it hit me that this is the first year that Finn kind of "gets it". He loves anything to do with Christmas. He loves any movie with a Santa in it, wants our tree lit at all times, he lets out gasps of delight at seeing lights on others' houses, and He even calls snow "Christmas". 

He also is beginning to know who Jesus is because we talk about how Jesus is with him at all times. Christmas isn't Christmas without Jesus. 

With his new awareness, I feel a certain kind of pressure, a good pressure, to not only make Christmas special and memorable for my boys, but to also keep the discussion central on Jesus. 

Because Jesus is cooler than Santa. 

As much FUN as Christmas is, THIS is the time to begin teaching them:

"In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:

Who, being in very nature God, 

did not consider equality with God as something to be used to his own advantage;

rather he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, 

being made in human likeness. 

And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death

 - even death on a cross!

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and 

gave him the name that is above every name, 

that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,

 in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 

and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, 

to the glory of God the Father."

- Philippians 2:5-11

My sweet, squishy boys: this is the most important thing that I could ever teach you. 

Love, Mom. 

Mostly Stay-at-Home Mommy

Welp, tomorrow I officially become a working mommy!

I begin my first post-masters job, my first job where I hold the title of "Counselor".

Excitement ensues!

I am so very thankful that God blessed me with a job where I can work 5-10 hours a week as a counselor, yet still be mostly a stay-at-home mommy to our two amazing boys.

Which is crazy, because I never ever saw myself as the stay-at-home mommy type.

When I was in my lower twenties and would think about having kids, I would find myself thinking that  having kids would be much more suitable for me if I could bypass the baby, toddler, and preschool stages. School age kids were my forte, my niche. I wanted the freedom to send them to school and out to play with their friends. I did not want the responsibility of a little person shadow.

I wanted to work. I wanted to send my kids to daycare and school. I wanted my independence.

Even when I was a little girl, I only kind of sort of enjoyed playing with dolls. I much preferred playing with Barbies because I could pick out super cute outfits, style their hair, and take them to lavish parties. Or if no Barbie threw a party that weekend, the mall.

My Cabbage Patch dolls, meanwhile, hung around - mostly neglected - in the corner of my room.

I was not exactly a nurturer.

But then I got pregnant. And the thought of going back to work full time sort of made me want to vomit.

So Matt and I talked about it. He wanted me to stay home. I wanted to stay home. We cut way back on the way we lived to make it work.

God has provided every single step of the way. Now that we have two boys at home, God provides in even more amazing ways.

He is faithful.

I am so grateful that being a mostly stay-at-home mom is even an option for us. I realize that there are many mommies who do not have the choice but who have the decision made for them by a myriad of circumstances.

I know that while I am working, I will miss my two scrunchy ones at home. I will wonder what they are playing with, what they are laughing at, and why they might be crying.

But I also know that I will be doing good work. I will be giving support to other kids who really need it. I will be spilling forth from the overflow of love in my life.

As a pre-freaky Miley Cyrus once sang, it will be "the best of both worlds"!!

I will get a taste of being that working mommy that I always assumed I would be.

A taste is enough.

As much as I enjoy leaving the house without a diaper bag and car seat in tow, I really really love driving home to my adorable ones. And walking through the door at home?

Whew. Nothing like it.

Not For a Moment

I love being a mommy to two boys.

Two sweet, squishy, lovable boys.

The transition from mommy of one to mommy of two was not everything that I pictured it would be.

I knew it would be hard. I was prepared for it to be hard. One consistent thing that I had heard from others is that the transition from one to two is hard.

I kept trying to prepare Matt for it to be hard, but Matt just wouldn't even go there in his mind.

That is why we are married! My realism meets his optimism in a happy, beautiful balancing act.

Yet even though I was prepared for it to be hard, I was not prepared for the right kind of hard.

The hard that I was expecting was actually quite easy. Perhaps I over-prepared myself by dwelling on worst case scenario possibilities. That's definitely been known to happen before :).

These things went easier than I planned:
 - I worried about how Finn would react. However, Finn loves his baby brother and is fascinated by him. He wants to be near him. He is not jealous but is sweet and obedient and eager to please 90% of the time. When he gets excited or revved up......its a different story. He is Matt's son after all! I love him in all of his moods.
 - Since Finn was a fairly easy baby, I was expecting my second one to be tougher. However, Jonas is the definition of content. He sleeps well, nurses well, and only gets fussy when he has a toot or a poop. He is fairly gassy.....he is Matt's son after all! :)
 - I was worried that with family in town that Jonas' entry in the world may be inconvenient or imposing to others. However, having extra family around was a gigantic blessing and it was wonderful getting to share those first few days of Jonas' life with more people.

I am so blessed and grateful that those worst case scenarios did not pan out. Once again, I wasted time mentally preparing for things that did not come to fruition.

However......there was a different kind of hard to deal with that I was not prepared for. There really would have been no way to prepare for it even if I did have some foreboding feeling about it.

First, the good news:
I was able to have a successful VBAC! Jonas cooperated perfectly and all of my labor went smoothly. It was a fun adventure to time my contractions through the night and feel the anticipation build as they became closer together. I am so thankful that I was able to give birth to Jonas that way.

And I am also very thankful for epidurals. Contractions are no joke.

The hard part started at the moment of Jonas' entry into the world. I don't need to paint a picture on here about everything that happened or went wrong.........those who need to know, do.

But there was a series of things that did not go as they should have. The result of that being that I was in quite a bit of pain for the first couple weeks of Jonas' life. The first week it was difficult to sit or move without pain.

Thus......caring for a newborn and a toddler was hard. The hard that I was not expecting.

I had many moments of frustration. I longed to jump into being a mommy of two....I wanted to run around with Finn so that he would know that Mommy still loved him. I wanted to pick up Jonas by myself to nurse him rather than have to have him handed to me. I wanted to dive in and feel like I could tackle everything that I saw looming before me.

I was not able to. I had to sit and wait and allow others to help. I had to *gasp* ask for help.

As frustrating as it was for me to wade slowly into the "mommy of two" waters, I can look back now and see what a blessing it was. It really just feels like everything worked out the way it needed to, pain and all.

Of course it is easy to say that now that the pain is mostly a distant memory. But that's how it works: pain loses its power in time. 

Now that everything has settled in a bit, I have gotten into a new routine and groove with my two boys.

I love my days with them more than I can say and am so thankful for the opportunity to be home with them. This may seem super nerdy, but sometimes I get butterflies of excitement in my stomach at the prospect of spending time with them.....even during middle of the night nursings. These days are precious gifts!

God's gifts can often come as a result of pain.......His faithfulness is always true, not only in the midst of good circumstances.

This song is my latest obsession and gets stuck in my head nearly every day. It applies to this situation in my life and so many others.........I believe it is a song that people need to hear. Peace through the pain, comfort in the storm, love when we are unlovable.....just more gifts from God!

"Not for a Moment (After All)" - Vertical Church Band

Weany Weeny

*Sigh*

Tonight is the first night that I have not nursed my son since his birth. And it is hard. I have missed holding him close............stroking his hair.................I even miss him slapping at and pinching me. I already miss the nearness of nursing. I am a weany weeny.

But there were a few things today that highlighted that it was time. I have been thinking about weaning him completely for about a week now. After all, he is over 13 months old, and most women (from what I have read) nurse until about a year. After all, I don't want to keep nursing him just because it is difficult for me to give it up.

Today was it.

- I worked for a few hours today and when I picked Finn up from my mom's, she was holding him and I was taken aback by how big he looked! Granted, my mom is teeny tiny so most things look big next to her. But boy my boy looked big.

- He has been in a great mood all evening long. Whereas yesterday evening, he started following me around and crying/fussing at about 8:30 (half hour before his nursing - he was ready!), tonight he played happily for the most part. When he would get a bit fussy, I would give him some milk and distract him with a story. Plus, the ultimate distraction came over......which leads to my next reason:

- My mom asked if she could come over tonight and bring Finn a couple of things. Like a beacon of confirmation, she brought him a new blanket that she had made for him and a "sleep giraffe", which is essentially a snuggly giraffe with a noise machine tucked inside.

Snuggly tuddly with his new "lovey" blanket and giraffe pal

Every day Finn gets closer to being a toddler and further away from being a baby. And while it is definitely bittersweet that I am done nursing my boy, it has been a gift while it lasted. I cannot wait for the next phase of motherhood; so tonight is not about mourning what is past but rather looking excitedly toward the steps to come.

And, God willing, there will be more babies to nurse in the future :).

Stair Climbing

Over the past few weeks, we have been spending a lot of extra time at my mom and step-dad's house. First Kiki and Matt and their boys came, then Josh and Taty; now Missy and Bruce have arrived in town. Let me just say that I love my mom's house. It is home; my mom has this uncanny ability to make any place that she is "home". It didn't matter how many times we got moved from house to house - even up to Alaska - wherever my mom was was home. My mom is an exceptional home-maker.

With that being said, watching my curious, energetic boy at my mom's house has become a genuine workout. He's into everything and just wants to be free to explore. Last night, Missy was watching him for a few minutes and came upstairs to where my mom and I were, plopped down and said, "I'm exhausted!"

Of course, Finn's favorite thing to do at my mom and step-dad's house is to go up and down the stairs. They have two separate staircases, so when he gets tired of one he moves on to the next.

Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

And so whoever is on Finn duty obligingly trudges up and down with him.

Last night, it was my honor. He has recently learned how to scoot himself down the stairs, so that is his new fascination.

As his spotter, I never took my eyes of Finn, lest I do and he slips at that moment.
I let Finn explore and have fun with his trips up and down the stairs, but I do stay right near him, within arm's distance, and stand between him and a serious tumble. True, Finn is only 1 year old so there are times when he gets distracted and loses his focus and slips. But then my arm is there to steady him; and rather than facing a terrible end at the bottom of the stairs, he may come away with a carpet scrape, but wholly intact and healthy.

As I stood there spotting him and thinking of these things (yes, these thoughts really swarm around in my head), it became a clear picture to me of how God takes care of me. When I slip and lose my focus, God's hand is right there to steady me and get me back on track. Although I have attempted to move too fast and have made mistakes, because God stood between me and destruction, all I came away with were some scrapes and bruises. God never takes his eyes off of me, lest I should I fall.

When I help Finn down the stairs, do I allow some room for him to slip? Yes, because I want him to learn from his mistakes and correct it the next time, or the next time, or the next time.

But I do everything in my power to make sure that he doesn't seriously harm himself in the process, because I love him so much that my heart wants to explode sometimes when I just look at him.

I love him. I don't want him to get hurt but I do want him to learn. And that is why I am right there to help him, to catch him.

Psalm 94:18 "When I said, 'My foot is slipping', your love, O Lord, supported me."

1 Peter 5:7 "Live carefree before God; he is most careful with you." (MSG)

The Great Cookie Debacle of 2011

Let me begin with a simple question: is there anything easier to bake than chocolate chip cookies?

I became a titch over-zealous last night. Forgetting the fortitude that it takes for me to successfully bake, I decided to make chocolate chip cookies. After all, I was coming off of a really great week.

I found out that I received an "A" on my midterm exam in Appraisal and thereby spent the next couple of days puffing myself up. It felt really good to be slightly overwhelmingly busy, but still manage to get an "A" on a tough midterm.

There wasn't anything I couldn't do! I am woman, hear me roar?

Hence, the over-zealous inclination that baking needed to be done.

But it has to be asked: how exactly does one manage to ruin chocolate chip cookies? The recipe is fairly standard and basic. The instructions are easy to understand and follow. But as far as my baking skills are concerned, the results leave much to be desired.

The first batch became one large cookie conglomerate, as all of the cookies ran together. Additionally, somehow the edges burned and subsequently stuck to the sheet.

First batch - are cookies supposed to be translucent?

The second batch was a fraction better. Now instead of one ginormous, burned-around-the-edges cookie, I had 12 single, burned-around-the-edges cookies. Success? Success-ish. 

The third batch was another fraction better, although still burned. I made Matt promise not to laugh at me; he promised and then thoroughly broke it. Who could blame him? After all, this stuff comes easy to him. 

Keep in mind that the best-looking cookies are at the top

In the midst of my cookie-making debacle, I had the thought that God saw it good for me to be humbled: "Sure, you may get A's on tests, but your cooking leaves much to be desired!" :)

But I have to admit, I was pretty sad that my cookies were so shabby. After all, if I can't even bake chocolate chip cookies, is there hope for me to ever become Holly Homemaker? 

That thought was reinforced again today, as I strove to clean up my seriously neglected house. Since I typically have to squeeze work in while Finn is napping, I am not able to attack housework during those times. Plus, trying to get it done with him awake is a challenge; therefore, it is easy to put it off. 

I am not sure what happened, but I did not get the same DNA strand that my mom and Kiki have to keep consistently clean homes. They are rock stars. Cleaning rock stars!

Speaking of rock stars - shout out to my favorite!

Since I did not get said clean gene, it always takes me awhile to gain my cleaning sea legs. On top of trying to occupy an 11 month old who only wants to play with whatever it is Mommy is using and not a corner of the house that didn't need attention, this morning definitely had hectic moments. 

What I learned? 

- Realize that if Finn is not getting enough attention, he will let me know

- Keep in mind that he is always more important than the task at hand and he does not deserve to be scolded for being curious in what I am doing

- Things can be attacked in greater intensity during 30 minute Baby Einstein break

- Baby cookies (i.e. not Mommy cookies) are a great distractor - for use in the high chair, while cleaning the kitchen

- Don't sit down. It is always easiest to keep moving. Newton had it right: an object in motion stays in motion unless something intervenes to bring it to rest. 

- A good reward for me on Fridays after a busy week is to get to sit down and blog

Happy weekend!