Movin' On Up

Fourth grade has been my heart since that August day 12 years ago when I greeted my first student. There are so, so many things I love about nine and ten year olds, and there are a multitude of assignments I have loved giving them over the years.

• Fourth graders almost always love their teacher. They make their teacher sweet cards, tell her nice things, and generally make her feel special. And they ALWAYS notice when their teacher changes her hair. 
• Fourth graders are funny. Sometimes it's intentional and sometimes it's not, but they're always funny. 

Still one of my favorite grading moments...

• Fourth graders find excitement in everything. Cleaning the floor, straightening the book case, taking the trash out...they do it all with a bounce in their step!
• Fourth graders take the time to get to know their teacher. They know what she likes to eat, what her favorite colors are, and how many times she has worn an outfit in a school year.
• Fourth graders put 100% of their effort into my most favorite assignments: memorizing "The Road Not Taken," writing a research paper about a specific dog breed, putting together an extensive notebook of their own poetry, making a game and commercial for The Sign of the Beaver, and writing a persuasive letter to parents arguing the benefits of a new puppy (a parent favorite). 😉

Why, then, would I want to leave my comfort zone full of familiarity and favorites? 

I have found myself taking on more and more responsibility over the past several years. I have been writing a lot and editing even more, and I truly believe it's because I have been longing for a new challenge. 

This spring, when a secondary English position opened up at my school, I was intrigued. When I passed the necessary certification test right away, I was interested. But when I felt God calling me to take the job, I was positive. God's been nudging me towards a position like this for many years; I just didn't see all the pieces until the job was right there in front of me. 

I'm under no illusion that it will be an easy transition. I know the hours will be longer initially, the grading will be more time-consuming, and the students will be a little wiser and a lot taller, but I know I'll love my job just the same.

I'm not sure what the future holds or what my new list of favorites will look like this time next year, but I do know that I'm ready to start over, to push myself and my students to our full potentials. Until then, keep me in your prayers as I take this small, yet life-changing, step of faith. 

Mother's Day

Mother's Day gets me. Every single year it sneaks up on me, and then I'm standing in church watching the baby dedications and weeping. Some years more than others, but always without fail.

Mother's Day is complicated. I watch people. I'm a people watcher by nature, and I'm especially attuned to people on this wonderful, difficult day. I see the woman longing to be a mom, yearning to be the one up on stage holding a little one, wondering if her time will ever come. I know her by the tears running down her face as she turns away from the happy scene. I see the woman smiling down at her child while silently grieving the ones she never met. I know her by the wistful look in her eyes as she rests her hand on her belly unconsciously, a habit that never seems to go away.  I see the woman who looks sadly at the empty seat next to her--a woman who would give anything to hug her own mother one last time. I don't know her yet, but I will someday--a day I will never be ready for. I see you.

I have been one of you, am one of you still. I have written many times about my losses, but I don't know that I was ever quite able to truly convey the overwhelming, all-encompassing pain and grief I felt sometimes. Mother's Day was excruciating for me. Staring up at a whole line of rosy-cheeked babies and doting moms and dads was torture every year, and I found myself wanting to skip church on the day I probably needed it most.

How can you be thankful on a day your heart is so full of everything but gratitude? Questions and shame and anger and desperation, yes. But not gratitude. Not today. Flutters on a screen, heartbeats there and gone, hopes and dreams destroyed. I know. I see you.

I don't know if you will ever be up on that stage. I certainly doubted that I would ever be. I'm not one for platitudes; I have been on the receiving end of way too many. But I do want to say that you are not alone. Don't cry by yourself today in a bathroom stall; don't watch Netflix all day alone in the dark. Don't do the things that almost destroyed me years ago. Reach out to someone you love--or someone you barely know. Reach out to me. I'm here. I see you.

My Journey to Fit-ish

New Year's Day came and went, and as I stood on the scale during the first week of January, I willed the numbers to magically go down after a single day of eating well. While the numbers stayed put, something finally happened to my acceptance of them.

I decided, for the first time in my entire life, to enter a weight-loss challenge. I paid $15 and was invited into a secret Facebook group of women made up of friends and strangers alike. The rules were simple. Post a picture of your scale every Friday by 10:00 a.m. and make sure you include the week's new password--given early that morning--in your picture. Anyone losing 4% or more of their weight by the end of the eight long weeks wins an equal portion of the pot. Here's a peek into my eight-week journey.

Week 1, Day 1: 

     I take a picture of my beginning weight, almost crying in the process. I cannot believe I have put on almost 20 pounds since I left public school less than three years ago! I have been in serious denial. Apparently all that weight that I shed in stress, I gained in actual pounds! I decide to download the Lose It! app to track my calories. I know I cannot lose weight without heavy tech support. I put in my current weight, my goal weight, and the time frame, and it tells me that I need to stay within a 1257 calorie-per-day diet. Armed with my new weight-loss plan, I make Pioneer Woman egg muffins to eat for breakfast each day, shop for low-calorie snacks and high-protein lunches, and schedule a daily workout routine. I've got this!!!! 

Week 1, Day 2-6: 

     I am dying. My stomach is eating itself out of sheer desperation for calories. I want pizza, chips, Coke, and a candy bar for lunch, and then I need a dinner at Ted's with all the extras. I hate working out. Jillian's abs do not make me feel good about myself. At all. At least I know after having such self-control all week, the scale will show me down at least five pounds come Friday! 

Week 2, Day 1:

     Before I document my first weight check, I make sure that I'm not even sporting any residual mascara from the night before. I step gently and slowly onto the scale. I want to make sure it remembers that we're friends. One week down, seven to go...after which Jillian will be calling me for tips. Wait, this number can't be right. ONE POUND?! O.N.E. POUND??? I've been denying and starving myself for this!!????!! I resist the urge to cry, as I'm afraid the splash of tears may increase the number on the scale, and then I take the picture. Only 17 more pounds left to lose...

Week 2, Day 4: 

     After a few caloric mishaps over my single-momming-it weekend, I vow to start fresh. I eat like a bird all day, and I complain about how hungry I am to anyone who will listen. If the scale isn't more favorable this week, I am quitting. Halfway through the day, I hear about an intermittent fast in which I can only eat my allotted calories between 12 p.m. and 8 p.m. I decide--with no further research whatsoever--that this is the answer to my weight-loss quest.

Week 2, Day 5
     This is so, so much worse than low-calorie. No calories before noon? What was I thinking? By 8 a.m. I feel nauseous and have a terrible headache. When noon comes, my measly lunch doesn't even come close to satisfying the raging hunger that has taken over. I want to devour everything in sight. Even Clover's bunny food starts to look appealing. When bedtime comes, though, I feel so much better than I normally do. I don't have even a hint of my usual reflux, and sleep comes quickly. I can do this!

Week 3, Day 1
     Weigh Day!!! I'm cautiously optimistic as I step on the scale this time. I suck in and push all the air out of my lungs, trying to trick the scale somehow. Down 2.2 more pounds! Maybe this fasting thing is working after all!! I think I'll celebrate by consuming as many calories as I possibly can all weekend long...single-momming it for another full weekend is not for the faint of heart.

Week 3, Day 5
     I cannot continue the fasting. I. JUST. CAN'T. I feel like my body is shutting down. I barely have energy for my workouts and my patience is hanging by a very thin thread. I eat a tiny protein bar at 9 a.m. and immediately feel like my entire life is back on track. I decide to continue depriving myself of all food after 8 p.m. just because it seems like a reasonable compromise, but I go back to eating breakfast and smiling at the people around me.

Week 4, Day 1
     Trepidation. I did not do quite as well with the calories during Week 3, mostly because we ate out a lot, and it is hard to count calories at places that don't list them. I always end up searching and choosing whichever version of my food has the lowest calories in my app, which feels a bit like cheating but also makes me feel successful. I stare down at the scale, willing it to give me even the tiniest break. One pound down. At this rate I'll be rocking a one-piece body by December! Maybe I should schedule a beach trip for some extra motivation...

Week 4, Day 4
     This week has been marginally better. Erik has been off work and has made us dinner every night to avoid the dreaded, "Where are we going to eat?" argument discussion that has only intensified as I try to avoid unnecessary calories.

Week 4, Day 6
     I spoke too soon. I over-indulge today and find myself elbow deep in fried rice, wantons, bubble tea, and later on, a mini blizzard. All worth it in the moment, but I'm afraid my scale will not let me get away with this gluttony.

Week 5, Day 1
     0.4 pounds lost this week. Although I'm a bit depressed as I step on the scale for the 10th time and don't see the numbers change, I also know that I was not at my best this past week. I didn't work out much, and I certainly could have eaten better. Back to the treadmill! 

Week 6, Day 1
     Another pound down! At this point I have lost 6 pounds. It doesn't sound like much, but I am definitely able to tell a difference in the way my clothes fit, and better yet, I have had a few people comment that they can tell, too! This means a lot to me, as I definitely fight discouragement on a daily basis. I knew the fat wouldn't melt away without any work on my part, but I really thought it would be a bit easier. With age comes humility!

Week 7, Day 1
     This past week saw my hubby and I celebrate our 15th anniversary by staying in Pawhuska at the Pioneer Woman's Boarding House. This equaled road-trip snacks and a lot of great food upon arrival. After three straight days of constant eating, I had to fight against over-indulging on Valentine's Day as well. I look down at my feet and accept the scale's measly 0.6 pounds down as a late anniversary gift and let out a sigh of relief.

Week 8, Day 1
     The previous week consisted of a staff lunch, a banquet, and a host of other reasons to eat, eat, eat. While I did a good job of avoiding a lot of the bad food, I did not complete one single work out. Not one. I step on the scale, close my eyes tightly, and hesitantly open them. Please, please, please!! 0.2 pounds down. It's a tiny, insignificant loss, but it's still a loss, and better yet, it means I have finally hit my 4% down! If I maintain it, I get a piece of the winnings! Yay for me!!!!!

Week 8, Day 2-6
     I know now that a couple of days of eating horribly won't kill me, so I take the opportunity to eat some things I love on a mommy-daughter date at one of our favorite restaurants. Then I eat way too much fried rice throughout the week; I also find myself snacking consistently on the Nerds jelly beans I bought for my students, as they are the absolute best candy Easter brings. My kids at school seriously beg me for these if you need a good basket filler. At the end of the week, I realize that once again, working out has eluded me. I have no idea if the scale will betray me on the final day. I could easily lose the 4% I worked so hard for because of my lack of self-control this week!

Final Weigh Day
     I take some deep, cleansing breaths before I step on the scale. This is important to me. Despite many, many lapses, I still sacrificed eating what I wanted to eat so many times over the course of 8 weeks. I have been dying for a big, greasy cheeseburger with everything on it. I've dreamed about living in a bakery and eating all the bread almost every night. I have sat forlornly while eating with friends, watching them happily enjoy their lunches while I stare at my wilting lettuce. I have even skipped every pastry offered in the lounge for breakfast and almost every dessert my husband and daughter have enjoyed. I step on the scale. 0.4 pounds down! A final loss of almost 7 pounds...I am ecstatic!

     While my goal was more like a loss of 1.5 pounds a week, I only hit that once, and it was a week of fasting and faithful workouts. Unfortunately, with our crazy schedule, that is just not always realistic. I have found that what works best for me is a combination of one cheat day a week, caloric accountability, consistent exercise, and the knowledge of a semi-public weekly weight check. I also did better when I was wearing my Apple watch.

     Before I started all this, my late-night snacking was out of control, and I was eating a lot of small, unhealthy things throughout the day. I was also sitting A LOT. When you know you are going to have to account for every single calorie, you think twice about whether you really want to eat a candy bar or drink that Coke. You also make more of an effort to get up and move so you can add in the exercise to your calorie count. The more you move, the more you can eat guilt-free...and isn't that the point? :-)
   
     In another week, I will embark on this journey all over again, trying to lose another 4%. My prayer is that nicer weather and 8 weeks of experience will translate into an easier, more consistent loss. Here's hoping!!

The Santa Squabble Update

When I wrote my original post detailing our plans for Santa-free lives years ago, I did it with great conviction, if not a slight touch of naiveteˊ. You see, I didn't exactly know what would lie ahead, only that we believed whole-heartedly in our future December traditions. For those of you thinking of following in our wildly unpopular footsteps, here are my thoughts six years in...

Unexpected Hurdle #1: Addison did, in fact, spill the beans to at least one child that we know of; thankfully we seem to have moved past the holding-the-breath moments we previously experienced whenever Santa was mentioned around her. We've role-played, begged, reminded, and explained more times than we can count. If you know Addison, you know she is a very matter-of-fact child, and in her mind, a statement from a person is absolutely true. And so if it is not true, it must be a lie. Trying to get her to understand the complexities of Santa has proven to be much more difficult than we expected. Each year we discuss the real Saint Nicholas with her; we read a book about him and how he relates to today's Santa traditions. Then in the simplest terms, we remind her that some parents like to play pretend with their children, and that it is not up to her to ruin their game. She has tried so hard to understand all the whys, but our explanation still doesn't make sense to her, and that has proven to be the biggest obstacle so far.

Unexpected Hurdle #2: We knew before we ever had Addison that we did not want Santa to come to our house. However, what I didn't expect was to have so much guilt years into the choice. At first, all of the "I feel sorry for her" laments and incredulous questions just made me defensive. But as the years have passed, I've found myself letting others' doubts creep in. Did we make a mistake? Will she be scarred for life? Is she missing out? Are we ruining her childhood? When Addison looked at me recently and said, "Mommy, I'm glad you didn't make me believe in any of that fantasy stuff," my heart broke just a little.

Unexpected Hurdle #3: While we discovered early on that the rejection of Santa led to unwanted commentary, we also found that it led to others feeling judged for their own family choices. I promise, we aren’t judging! It is just so hard--harder than we ever expected--to try and explain the reasons behind an unpopular conviction you have and not sound holier-than-thou. Even now, years later, no matter how I try and spin it when people ask, and ONLY when they ask, our Santa-less existence ends many a December conversation in uncomfortable silence. I've tried self-deprecation, subject changes, simple statements--nothing seems to change the inevitable awkwardness that follows the now-dreaded Santa conversation.

That's not to say it's all been bad, or even difficult. In fact, while I didn't quite understand all of the small hurdles we would face, I am ashamed to say that I definitely didn't expect the many blessings that I have seen come out of our choice.

The biggest blessing of all is that Addison has completely embraced the true meaning of Christmas. She understands it all so much more than I ever did as a kid. She is fully focused on Jesus--the real reason for the season. Instead of the elf, we hide a star every night, which she truly looks forward to finding. She leaves her Wise Men at the spot where she finds the star each morning, and the next night we do it again. On Christmas morning, she will find the star above the manger scene. We still do most of the same things Erik and I did as children, and she still gets a stocking from us, but she is not really focused on receiving gifts; she is all about the giving. This year, she surprised us by telling us she didn't want any presents from us. She wanted instead to go pick out toys for someone who needed them more than she did. That was one of my proudest mommy moments. I know that we could not have bought nearly as much for "Zach"--yes, Addison named our Angel Tree kiddo--if we had to pretend to be Santa for her. It makes it a much bigger sacrifice for her knowing she won't get presents from us at all, and sacrificial giving is something we are constantly working towards as a family. Do I believe that God is blessing us because we don't celebrate Santa? No, I believe that the blessing comes from following our convictions, and in this matter they are different for everyone.

So do I wish I could go back in time and change our Christmas traditions? When Addison thanked me in regards to the "fantasy stuff," she truly meant it. She is the most logical little human I've ever met, and there is little room for gray in her world. We didn't know who she would be someday when we began to follow our conviction, but I can't help but think that God was already steering us towards what would be best for her. I can honestly say no, I don't think we would change one single Santa-less thing.

SIX-ty Miles an Hour

My precious, precocious, brilliant, vivacious daughter, 

Six years have come and gone. Six years since you made me a mommy. Six years since you changed my life forever. Six years of ups and downs and smiles and laughter and tears. 

Addison, I cannot possibly put into words how you have bettered me. You inspire me. On my hardest days, God uses you to lift my spirits, and on my happiest days, you multiply my joy. Little girl, you are extraordinary. Your wit, kindness, generosity, intelligence and unique insight are such a powerful combination; God is going to use you for big things.

God has gifted you in so many ways. This year saw you take up piano, advance into chapter books, and pursue art with a passion. While you may not be the next Mozart or Picasso, you still amaze us daily with all you are capable of. Your potential is limitless.

You are a born teacher. While you may never choose to stand in front of a classroom, you will teach in some capacity--that much is certain. Daddy and I are your favorite students, and you frequently help us learn new words in Spanish or demand that we raise our hands to speak at the dinner table. You love telling us all the things you will do someday when you have your own classroom, and oh, how we love to hear your grand ideas.

You have worked so hard at making new friends this year. I love watching you play with others and just act like a kid. Because you are so rarely around anyone your age outside of school, we often view you as a mini adult. But seeing you run and laugh, tossing all carries and worries aside, makes my heart sing.

You may not be perfect, but you are the perfect little girl for me, and I thank God daily for the gift of you.

I love you, my favorite.

Mommy

But God...

Grief has been a common theme throughout many of my posts. Razor-sharp grief has split me in two on more than one occasion, but it has also been a binding thread, connecting me to so many women that share components of my story.

Just recently, another close friend lost her baby before she ever got to meet it. I was able to counsel her, listen to her, advise her, and just be there for her in an experienced way that most others, thankfully, could not. She asked me one day how I endured it all during those dark years, why I no longer spend my days constantly grieving and longing for the babies I will never get to hold on this earth. I answered her in two words that our pastor once made into an entire sermon:  

But God.

For three years, I lived in a waking nightmare of hospital visits, surgeries, tests, ultrasounds, hormones, specialists, needles, blood, incompetence, heartbeats and no heartbeats, shots, and silence. I cried out; I wrestled; I screamed; I pleaded. After the fifth loss, I often felt more like a hollow shell than an actual person. I experienced many moments of grief that left me prone on the floor, silently begging for it all to swallow me up because my spent tears and hoarse voice had left me with absolutely nothing else.  

As I tried to comfort those suffering through their own tragedies, I fought desperately to gain perspective. I worked with people who lost their beautiful, vibrant children or beloved spouses in terrible accidents. People who saw a loved one suffer through a cancer diagnosis. I witnessed both of my grandpas endure some of the cruelest things this world has to offer in their dying days. I watched people struggle through their grief and come out stronger on the other side, and I watched some who seemed as though they would never get out from under it. I know for a long time, it could have gone either way for me. 

But God. 

He faithfully restored my marriage. He brought friends into my life who shared the same beliefs. He prompted me to write and share my story with other women who were in pain. And on the most difficult days, he reminded me that even though it hurt, I was not hurting alone. In my weakest, most painful moments, his strength was revealed. 

When God blessed me with Addison, she didn't fill the void of the babies that I lost. Only God could do that. He bound up my heart with his own healing thread of grace and contentment and love, and he filled it with a peace that passes all understanding. And even now, on the occasions when pain lurks around hidden corners and sometimes dwells in the shadows of my heart, he is there, ever faithful with his perfect comfort. While I would never wish to walk that three-year road again, it changed me for the better. Places that were hard and angry are now soft and sympathetic. Pride has been replaced with humility. Striving to do it all on my own has given way to surrender. I don't wrestle with what I went through anymore; it is a part of who I am. It has given me a powerful testimony, and it has prepared me for whatever lies in front of me. I'm no longer apprehensive about the future because I know that even on the hardest days ahead...

But God. 

But [God] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 NIV

A Work of Heart

I have been thinking a lot about the situation our teachers are facing in Oklahoma. I have read just about every opinion piece circulating, mostly for the strike, but some against. I have rattled words and words and words around in my head, asking myself if I have even one bit of new perspective to add to an already thoroughly dissected issue. I'm not really sure, but I'm going to try.

I taught in public schools for nine years. My first couple of years were fine, but things quickly changed to not fine at all. Nine years is but a fraction of the time many of my friends have taught, but nine years was enough for me. For my tenth year, I left to teach at a private school. I love teaching. I love watching kids learn, and I love when they surprise themselves with what they are capable of doing and creating. I love connecting with them, and I love knowing at the end of the year that I may have made some small difference in even one life. I still struggle with feeling a bit like a traitor, leaving my teammates behind. But I am still teaching, only now without all of the things I didn't love.

You see, I didn't love being told exactly what to teach and when to teach it, regardless of whether or not my students had grasped a concept and were ready to move on. I didn't love when a very high-ranking administrator told me that I was NOT to teach writing (or really anything but reading and math), because it was not on the state tests. I didn't love going behind that administrator's back and teaching it anyway, because it was what was best for the kids, but knowing that I very well could be answering for it later. I didn't love teaching to the test because my school would be judged by the performances of students who had a parent arrested the week of testing, or had been told that their parents were splitting up that same month, or a host of other things I saw happen come April. Funnily enough, kids don't care very much about a test when their lives are falling apart around them. I didn't love spending so much time focused on getting the low students to pass the test that I had no time to challenge the ones that were above the cut-off scores. I went home many nights thinking that another day had gone by that I had failed to connect with those kids that rested solidly in the middle, and that ate away at me. I didn't love hearing that I "only taught 10 months out of the year" so my pay was actually more than fair, even though when I worked out my hourly wage with all the extra hours I put in, it was somewhere around $13 an hour (which wasn't too far from what I made working retail in college). I mean, we pay our high school babysitters $10 an hour to play with our one kiddo! I didn't love spending so much of my money on supplies and things for my classroom, but it didn't occur to me that things should be any other way, because I had seen my parents (who were also teachers) do it for many years before I ever did; their careers offered just a glimpse into the unseen sacrifices I would be expected to make as a teacher. I didn't love when the copy count for our classrooms started to be limited; when people who had never seen us teach started questioning how much we chose to copy (and by extension questioning our professional judgement) through an inanimate object. And I didn't love when the standards kept changing and changing and changing and we were forced to spend many long hours of our own time trying to bend and revamp our curriculum in order to push our kids to learn things that seemed to be more developmentally inappropriate by the year. The list could go on and on, but that's not really the point. 

The point is that many, many of my friends are doing their jobs, and doing them extremely well, despite all of these things, and so many more things that lawmakers have never thought about for a second. My friends have taken on more and more every year, and they have done it under the radar, with such little recognition and respect that it still shocks me sometimes, now that I'm on the outside looking in. Were I still part of the public school system, I would walk in a heartbeat, not because I didn't care about my students, but because I absolutely did. Trust me when I say that if your child is being taught by someone who is still sticking it out despite professionally deplorable conditions in many cases, it is ONLY because they love their kids, your kids. It is definitely not about the money. According to the opposition, that's what getting a second job is for...

My Skin Cancer Story

The phone rang. I saw the number, and I knew I was about to find out whether or not I had skin cancer. I almost didn't answer; after all, I had had the flesh-colored mole checked by my doctor and 2 different dermatology physician assistants over the past three years, each one more sure than the last that it was nothing. But even as I heard the kind voice on the phone telling me that I did, indeed, have basal cell carcinoma, I told myself that it was nothing to worry about, just a quick in-and-out procedure; maybe I'd have to sport a little band-aid for a few days. They gave me the choice as to whether I wanted to receive radiation or to have the spot removed. After a few days of going back and forth, I chose the Mohs surgery because it seemed more final. I just wanted it gone, and I didn't want to commit to 20 sessions of radiation over 6 weeks for something that may not work or something I might have a bad reaction to. I spent some sleepless nights after the surgery was scheduled searching online in hopes of finding anyone with a similar story to mine (same age, same place, etc.), just for some idea of what the end result might look like.

I went in for the Mohs surgery thinking that I was pretty sure as to what to expect during the procedure. Goodness knows I had read enough about it. I knew that it could take hours for them to analyze the margins of the section they took, and that there is often a need for a second or third cut, followed by more waiting each time. I had pictured them taking off a few layers from the top of the mole, testing them, and then shaving down a bit further if needed, until I had maybe a tiny laceration above my upper lip (something like cutting thin layers off of a tree stump). The smell as the doctor cauterized my flesh literally right under my nose was something I will never forget. As far as pain, I felt nothing but pressure. I sat patiently and waited for the doctor to come back with the test results. When he came back and said that he had gotten clear margins after only one pass, I couldn't believe it. I figured it would be a very small little cut, and I wasn't worried at all until he told me that he was going to need to refer me to a plastic surgeon because he didn't feel comfortable handling the level of reconstructive surgery that I required. Apparently, in actuality, after he numbed me, he had dug a perfectly round hole out just above my top lip (think excavator). My heart started pounding, and I was not prepared for what I saw when I finally mustered up the courage to look.

When I saw the picture Erik took of the hole in my face, I started to cry. We had just seen Wonder Woman, and I envisioned myself looking like Dr. Maru when it was all said and done. Unfortunately, this image stayed in my head for quite some time.

When we met the plastic surgeon (who is younger than I am) just an hour or so later, he immediately set to work explaining how he would fix things and move things and skin flaps and asymmetry and honestly, it was over my spinning head. I just told him I trusted him and would see him soon. He covered the hole in my face back up and sent me on my way until the following day when I could see him for the surgery. I didn't know what he could possibly do that would fix something like that, but I went in bravely, ready to be sewed up. The surgery was more intense than the Mohs surgery. He let me pick the OR music, and I laid on a steel table while they numbed me up and covered my face with a paper sheet. I was awake through the whole thing, and again, that smell of burning flesh threatened to make me sick right there in the OR. I asked the doctor at one point why my lip was twitching so badly, wondering if he had struck a nerve or something. He assured me that it was just his assistant putting cotton swabs into the hole while he was stitching up the muscle. It was a weird feeling. Then they moved to the outside stitches, and I began to relax. He was calming, confident, and funny, and I knew I was in good hands.

When it was over, he told me he would see me a few times over the next two months, and then I would switch to seeing him every three months. The initial recovery was not quite as easy as I had thought it would be. The surgeon told me that I had to stay in bed for a full week, and that I could only get up for absolute necessities; that may have been the hardest part. I couldn't even give Addison a hug in case she were to accidentally hit the stitches; I felt like a terrible mom. To make matters worse, I could not even open my mouth to eat, and I was not allowed to use a straw at all. My lips were so swollen, I looked like the victim of a botched lip augmentation. We had quite a time figuring out how to get me nourishment with me not being able to move my lips. FYI, eating a smoothie with a baby spoon takes HOURS. I had to have everything I ate completely blended, and I was so thankful during that time to have some wonderful moms from the school bring me amazing soups. I went through a lot of towels too, because when you can't close your lips, things tend to dribble right back out. I really could not talk at all (it turns out that having your lips touch is important to making coherent sounds) and if I was even tempted to laugh, the pain of stretching the stitches stopped me quickly. Once the surgeon took the stitches out though, it was a fairly easy recovery. I experienced lots of stabbing pains and uncomfortable twitching as the nerves regenerated, but it was bearable. . Once I was released to the outside world, I was religious in putting on my scar cream and keeping my scar out of the sun, and that allowed me to regain mobility and heal faster than my doctor expected. In fact, at my last checkup, he asked me if I even wanted to discuss the idea of having laser resurfacing, and when I told him no, he didn't bat an eye.

I have included some pictures below to show the initial "hole" and then the recovery, as this is the thing I could not find much about (except for the worst case scenarios) on my many late nights of searching and wondering. Will it come back? Will I still look like myself? Will this scar be the very first thing people notice about me from now on? In six more months, when my scar is no longer under doctor care, I am sure I will be even happier with the results, but right now, in this moment, I can say I rarely remember that I have it or worry what people are thinking about it. In fact, I tried to take a picture of it many different times in many different lights to show my six month picture, and although it is still visible in the mirror, it hardly shows up in pictures, if at all. I am still worried about the fact that I am likely to have more skin cancer in the future, but all I can do now is stay out of the sun and be vigilant with sunscreen. The damage has already been done. I can count on both hands the number of times I have visited a tanning salon, but I did receive many bad sunburns when I was a kid/teen, and with my fair skin and family history, it seems that me getting skin cancer was just a matter of time.

A word of advice: If you have a spot that you are even the least bit suspicious of, please go get it checked BY AN ACTUAL DERMATOLOGIST. It's what they're trained in and what they do. Get a referral if necessary. Do not just blindly trust your primary care doctor or settle for a PA. If I had trusted myself and ignored their "It's nothing!" assurances over the years, chances are it would have been a quick freeze for a precancerous growth. Instead it had time to take root and grow over a long span of time. Listen to yourself and go with your gut. Demand that they test the spot if they don't offer. You are your own best advocate. I wish it hadn't taken me so long to become mine!

The hole in my face...deep and round enough to swallow a dime.
The dots around it indicate how much bigger it could have been had the margins not been clear.

Stitches before the swelling set in

People actually pay for their lips to look like this?!

A month out...no makeup on it. I was already having trouble getting the scar to show up well in pictures.

Give Me Five!

My Favorite,

I am so, so proud of you, my darling daughter. Today, on your fifth birthday, as my heart overflows with love and joy, I wanted to share my thoughts.. 

Just a few short weeks ago, you made the most important decision you will ever make, and that is to ask Jesus into your heart. At first I thought you were too young to understand, but then as we talked more and more, I realized that you were indeed ready, and you grasped what it meant to start the most important relationship of your young life. I have never felt such peace as I did in that moment, knowing that one day, no matter what happens here on earth, we will be reunited in heaven. I can admit that even today I still cannot fully comprehend the amazing grace and sacrifice of Jesus, but that first moment of surrender to Him is but a beautiful starting point of a lifelong journey. 

Although everything else that has happened this past year pales in comparison to that decision, you have done some incredible things as a 4 year old. This year, I gave you a reading placement test with our school's new reading program. I knew you were reading, and reading well, but I was shocked to see that you tested at a 3.5 grade level. I am simply amazed by your intellect. Your daddy and I have always known that you were incredibly bright, but to see your performance at school this year, I am so proud. You are also quick to smile and laugh, you tell hilarious stories, you still sing praise songs at the top of your lungs, and all of it is beautiful music to my ears. Your quick-witted answers keep us laughing constantly, and your compassionate heart often melts mine. You know who you are, my child. You have never been one to follow the crowd, and I see evidence that you never will be. Even more important than that, you are always confident in your choice to stand out in the ways that matter. You teach me things every day, and even at your young age, you cannot imagine how often those teachings point me to Jesus. 

Your daddy and I love to speculate on your future career each year, as I know that someday it will be so fun for you to look back on our musings. I still see your love of animals, and you still love to pretend to be a vet, but if I had to pin down a prediction this year, I would say you are going to be a teacher. You have the sweetest spirit when helping younger kiddos, and you love to help me grade and organize things in my room. However, earlier this year, when I asked you what you thought God might want you to be when you grew up, you exasperatedly said, "Just a grown up!" It reminded me that even though I have so many hopes and dreams for you, right now you are still simply my little girl. And I have never been more grateful.


All my love,

Mommy

So "Four"tunate...

My Sweet Girl,

It has been a month since your birthday; I am a little behind this year! I absolutely cannot believe that you are four! It seems impossible, but when I see your hair growing longer by the day and your jeans growing shorter by the week, I cannot deny that you are, indeed, growing up!

This past year we have made a lot of fun memories! We got to see you ride your first roller coaster, write your full name, start "school," really begin to enjoy swimming, and make your first (human) best friend. Your love of cats has waned over the past year, but now your love of dogs rivals my own, much to my relief!

There are so, so many things I admire about you. You are yourself. You dance when there is no music, you sing at the top of your lungs without knowing the words, and you say whatever is on your mind. You are funny! Oh, how your quick wit and quirky sense of humor can make us laugh, even on our grouchiest days!! You are so generous. When I presented you with our "Operation Christmas Child" shoebox, you were so excited to pick out all the things our little boy might want. You never once asked if you could have something for yourself, but continued adding more and more things to our stash for him!  You are honest. If you do something wrong, you immediately own up to it, unflinchingly. You rarely need more than a reminder or a look to do the right thing, and your teachers at school say you are kind, considerate, and so smart.

Your intelligence still astounds us! You have been reading up a storm all year, and I love hearing you sound out unfamiliar words as you plow through new books. Recently, when I brought home a puzzle game intended for my students, you surprised even yourself by mastering it immediately! Your spatial reasoning is already better than my own. (You get that from your dad). You have the memory of an elephant. If you say something happened, we can be sure that it will be correct, usually down to the last detail, and we often count on you to find things, because you always know right where they are!

Things weren't all butterflies and sunshine this past year, though. Daddy and I often found ourselves looking at each other and mouthing the word "threenager" when you would have one of your sassier moments. Sometimes those moments were nothing short of exasperating, but mostly, they were a glimpse into a future that is rapidly approaching, a future I am not ready for. As the next year sees you starting Pre-K and (hopefully) taking our first family vacation, I know that I will often find myself holding my breath, hoping to stop time and keep you small for just a little longer.

Oh, how I love you my child. And no matter how time speeds on, or how tall you grow, that is something that will never change.

Yours "four"ever,


Mommy

A Tribute to Koda...

It's been exactly a year since you've been gone, Old Girl. But today, it feels like we lost you only yesterday. I wish the last day of your life wasn't a memory. It was one of the worst days of my life. I will never forget your big brown eyes looking into mine, begging me to do something to take the pain away. As we sat on the floor with you and gave you our last goodbyes, I literally felt like my heart was breaking in two. Thankfully, that was only a day in your ten years. And in those ten years, I have more memories of you than I could ever detail, and that one day cannot overshadow them. Here are the ones on my heart tonight:


I remember the night we met you. You were a silly, clumsy puppy, but already so smart. We ran inside to grab some food at Braum's and left you in the car with the motor running. The next thing we knew, you were hanging out the window about to jump to freedom, having opened it by standing on the switch. Erik ran out and kept you in Jeep Jail, much to your dismay. I still smile thinking about your goofy, happy face, tasting freedom for a few moments.

Our first night with Koda.

One of our all-time favorite Koda pics.

I remember the many, many tricks we taught you. You amazed everyone with how you would get a Kleenex when I would sneeze, how you could turn lights off  and on, and how you would obey every command with merely a hand signal. I remember one year when we were showing off your Kleenex trick at my birthday party, and you got a little overzealous. You started pulling tissue paper out of all of the sacks and you were just so pleased with yourself! You had a knack for making people laugh.

Koda loved to "laugh." (These pictures were taken years apart).

I remember how you used to lay in the doorway every single morning as I was getting ready for work. You would roll the ball to me with your nose, and wait for me to roll it back. It was one of my favorite games to play with you, our private ritual. But on the mornings that I was running late, I would refuse to play along and ignore you altogether. Oh, how I wish I could have a few of those mornings back!

Our house on River Birch

New house, same routine...

I remember the night you got stung by something. Maybe several somethings. Your nose was swollen and misshapen and your breathing was heavy, and I stayed up all night with you, barely daring to blink. I rested my head on you and lay on the floor with you the entire night. The morning couldn't have come fast enough. It was my first taste of how it might feel to be a mom.

I remember the darkest of days, when I would sit on the floor and cry, or stay in bed recovering from yet another procedure. You would lick my tears away, never intruding, just there. My healing shadow. There were days you never left my side, wouldn't even go outside for a potty break. You knew I needed you, and I can't imagine getting through some of the hardest days without you.

I remember you with Addison. You were only a part of her life for a brief time, but you were her best friend. She still prays for you every single night, without fail. Seeing her rest her head on your belly and read to you would always bring me such pride in both of you. Your kind, patient temperament was such a marvel to anyone who didn't know you. Those of us who did, well, I'm sorry to say that we often took it for granted.

You were such a beautiful dog. You were a conversation piece everywhere we took you. From the ever-popular "I didn't know they came in black," to the curious, "What kind of dog is that?!" we responded to questions and comments about you left and right. I always thought that one day, that gift could translate into you becoming a therapy dog, but you just had such a puppy-like spirit, even at the age of ten, that it seemed a shame to try and rein in that exuberance.

Koda loved her daddy.

 
We grew up together, you and I. You saw me go from a silly, adult(ish) woman, to a nervous, but overjoyed, mom. I'm so glad you got to see that transformation. I know the sadness of our hearts had to affect you, as you were such a sensitive dog, and I'm relieved to know that in your final years, you lived in a house of contentment and peace (definitely not quiet, but peace nonetheless). You brought us so much joy, love, and companionship over the years, Old Girl, and I can only pray that we gave you even half of that in return.

I brought you home,
A ball of fluff.
You licked my face
I was enough.

My tiny shadow
Grew big and tall.
You had three loves:
Mom, Dad and ball.

We saw the light
In your dark eyes.
Your happy spirit
Shone through gray skies.

When Addison came
You took her in.
Soon enough you
Were such close friends.

That bleak day came
Caught by surprise.
We saw that look
In your kind eyes.

It broke our hearts
To say goodbye.
For days I couldn't
Help but cry.

I pray someday
We'll meet again
Reunited...
A gal's best friend.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow...

It has been many months since I have blogged. I remember finding it so easy to write when I was in the midst of pain or anxiety, but I find it much harder now, when I feel like my days are (thankfully) more mundane. Today, I was reminded that it is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, thanks to post after post on Facebook. It seems fitting then, that tonight, I write.

My last loss was in April of 2011. I remember it vividly because I spent my 30th birthday not out celebrating, but recovering in bed from yet another D&C. When I was going through my 5 losses, I only knew one person that had suffered a miscarriage. Now, I know too many to count. Back then, I had never heard the term "rainbow baby." Now, it is a universal phrase of hope. I pray that it is because we are finally understanding that miscarriage is not something to be ashamed of. Not something to blame ourselves for. Not another reason to look in the mirror and feel like we aren't enough, don't have enough. Maybe it is finally becoming okay to talk about your loss, to feel it, to grieve it, to share that grief with others.

I know from experience that grief is so very complex. Completely universal, yet incredibly personal. Here are just a few things I wish I had known years ago:

Grief does not, and will not, look like someone else's. I know some were incredulous that I did not plant trees, buy necklaces, or really do anything tangible to remember my babies. But I didn't, and now I don't feel the need to. They are in my heart, and that is really all I need. Don't feel guilty because you aren't grieving like others think you should.

It's okay to ask for help. I certainly did. I knew I wasn't dealing with a lot of things during those dark years. Our marriage was in shambles, my grief was eating me from the inside out, and to everyone else I still looked like I had it all figured out. We did not escape unscathed, but we were able to persevere and grow with the help of an amazing counselor. There is NO shame in admitting you cannot navigate it alone.

You don't have to keep it together for anyone. You will make people uncomfortable. It is not your job to worry about that. Yes, talking to someone about death is hard, but experiencing that loss without support is even harder. Good friends will listen, give you grace, and not expect anything in return. You need to take care of only you, for at least a little while.

Try not to stress the excitement out of your next pregnancy. Sometimes I wonder how much my story has colored the lives of those around me. I know of only one woman personally that has suffered more than one miscarriage, and yet I have tried my best to reassure so many who are terrified of that very thing. I am a fraction of 1% of the population. Please learn from my mistakes. I thought during each pregnancy that if I just prepared myself enough, detached myself enough, that I wouldn't feel it if or when I said goodbye to a once-beating heart. I am ashamed to admit that I didn't do so many things for Addison's pregnancy; now her baby book sits unfinished in a drawer, a testament to my worry that a loss would happen again. I let my fears leach away what should have been hers.

Grief does diminish over time, but it is still there, may always be there, lying dormant, waiting. Facebook posts, a friend's loss, a certain time of year...grief will return. It may not be as strong as it once was, but you are allowed to feel it. And you should. It is a part of the healing. And although I'm not sure if anyone ever finds total healing, I feel like you can get pretty darn close. For us, it came through God in November of 2012 in the way of Addison's big blue eyes, bright red lips, and squishy pink cheeks...a rainbow baby if there ever was one.

The Longest Goodbye

Dear Lakehoma Family,

I can remember the first day I walked into Lakehoma as a teacher like it was yesterday. My nerves had my stomach in knots and my heart started to pound the moment I unlocked my door and stared at my unoccupied classroom, envisioning it full of excited students, all relying on me to teach them. Yesterday, as I locked my classroom for the last time, my stomach was in knots just the same, but my heart pounded, then broke into pieces on the tile floor as I imagined someone else standing where I have for the last 9 years. I have endured (and also chosen) a lot of hard things over the years. This ranks right up there as one of the most difficult.

Today, as I reflected on all of my teammates who have stuck by my side, I was reminded of how very, very blessed I have been through these last 9 years. I have made some incredible friends, taught some amazing students, and made countless memories. I would have never believed in myself enough to take this next step were it not for some very, very extra-special coworkers.

To Paula: Thank you. You have been my mentor, friend, safe place, and reinforcement. I could not have survived some years without you. I owe so much to you, for without you, I would have been in the loony bin long ago. I have learned so many things from you, and I love you very much. You are, without a doubt, the most dedicated person I have ever known.

To Miranda: I love you My Friend. You have done hard things. You have listened. You have acted when no one else would. You have been there when lots of others were not. You are selfless and you have taught me a lot about being a better person. I will miss you every single day.

To Cindy & Liz: You two are a force. You make things happen, and you make it look easy. I admire and respect you both, and you have been a sounding board over the years for many, many things. You've talked me off of ledges and pushed me off of others. I will miss you both so much. Thank you.

To Sheri: Your quiet grace and understanding are beautiful. You are calm and collected when most would not be, and you see so much good in the world. You were a raft on an ocean on the bad days, and I love that about you. You will be missed.

To Karis: I'm so glad you joined our team 2 years ago. You are so much fun and provided some much-needed comic relief. I loved being your partner this year and I'm certain that many more kids will be touched by your math wizardry as the years go by. Thanks for listening this year!!!

To Vicki: Even though you left 2 years ago, that hole was never filled. You were my partner-in-crime, my work mom, and my favorite. I still miss you, and I've often found myself wishing I could open that closet door to tell you some random something. Love you!

To Jenny: Thank you for helping me get my foot in the door, for directing me as I tried to navigate my first years, and for taking a step back when I needed to find my own way. You will always be loved, my "other mother."

To Shawna: It is rare to have a boss you love. You are an encourager, a friend, and a wonderful principal. The fact that your door is always open is rare, and your willingness to help is always appreciated. We grew up together, teacher and principal, and I'd like to think that even as we move apart in proximity, we will stay close as friends.

To Anita and Jill: You two are too much fun! You've known me forever, and you've loved me like your own. I could not have done my job each day without you both. You are equally loved.

It seems fitting to end there, with the first and last people I saw on a daily basis. I could go on and on, but I won't. 

I've watched people wordlessly come and go over the years, and it always seemed too abrupt. You don't leave a place like Lakehoma unchanged. You all deserve the love and appreciation you've earned to be put out into the world, to be spoken and heard. And so it has been...

Amber

What About Bob?

Since I have had so many questions about the newest addition to our family, I decided I would do a lengthier review than the space of a status update would allow. I am referring to our new bObsweep Pet-Hair Robotic Vacuum and Mop; we affectionately call him Bob. 

I have wanted a robotic vacuum for years, but the price tag has always been the main deterrent. In past years, when my Christmas money started burning a hole in my pocket, I would spend hours looking longingly at the Roomba, and then quickly close my Amazon browser before my mouse-clicking hand could override my brain. This year, however, I came across a Groupon too good to be true, and I jumped at the chance to finally purchase my very own little cleaning robot. 

When Bob arrived, I noted how thorough the packaging was...it included everything I could imagine a vacuum would need, and more. Replacement parts, a concise owner's manual (because let's face it, I don't have time to read anything thicker than a Llama Llama book these days), cleaning tools, and even a little screwdriver! I'm easily impressed. Once I did the few things needed to get Bob ready, I plugged him in to charge, reluctantly waiting until the next day to test him out. 

Why such excitement? Well, I'm not ashamed to say this; our house is dog-friendly. That means dog hair is constantly everywhere. Piled in the corners, woven through the strands on our rug, and even occasionally floating in our drinks. It's the price we pay for having 2 high-shedding dogs. And while we wouldn't trade them for anything, I do get sick of the hair. No matter how much we vacuum, we can't seem to stay on top of the daily furmageddon. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I knew he had the potential to be life-changing!

On his first run, he did manage to run into just about every single thing in our entire house. Many times. But he's a fairly quick learner. And he cleaned under my couches! UNDER MY COUCHES!! That alone was worth the price for me! He goes along my walls, cleans under tables and chairs with relative ease, and manages to find his charger when he is done cleaning (usually after about 45 minutes). No matter how many times he has cleaned during the week, his dustbin is always surprisingly and disgustingly full of dust and hair. We mainly have tile and wood, but he did just fine on our patterned rug and carpet once we blinded him. The diagonal lines apparently made him think he was going to fall off the edge of something; this prompted a pretty hilarious jig all over the living room before I finally decided to rescue him. He is a little louder than I thought he would be, but nowhere near as noisy as our Dyson. The dogs give him a wide berth, and Addison follows him around watching him clean, which is an added bonus. How do you think I'm getting time to write this review?! ;-)

He does have a few drawbacks. He doesn't always clean every spot that I think he should, and sometimes I catch him going back to a certain spot over and over, which is a little annoying. I find that if I just let him work without watching him, I am a lot happier. As long as the dustbin is full at the end of his run, I try not to nitpick. After all, after just 4 hours, I can put him to work again! 

If I had it to do all over,  I would purchase him again in a heartbeat. To all of our future visitors who prefer their environments hair-free, you're welcome! 

Meet Bob. I just love his shiny red color! 

This is Bob's dustbin today after Erik vacuumed just last night with our Dyson. Full and dirty!

Footloose and Fancy Three...

Dearest Daughter,

As your daddy and I tucked you in tonight, I couldn't help but reflect on our past three years as a family. I can hardly believe you are three today. The years we spent waiting and praying for you are not lost on me. I never tire of thanking God for you. You are the best parts of us, all rolled into a spunky, brilliant, silly little girl.

The past two birthdays I have written you a long letter, but this year, I thought a little rhyme was more appropriate. Currently your favorite books to read all rhyme, and after reciting them to you every day, the rhyming has become kind of contagious.

Our start of year two was a little rough
Your sleeping schedule made it tough

Your transition to a big girl bed
Filled my heart with so much dread

You were stubborn in your potty training 
When you finally got it, you had us exclaiming

Your adoration for Cars grew every day
Though Momma hoped for princess play

You are able to recognize so many words
You can count to 20; it seems quite absurd

You continue to have books as your favorite toys
You'll read for hours, making no noise

You still pretend to be a cat when you feel shy
But deep down you are tough, and rarely cry

You lost Koda this year, your very best friend
"She's in heaven," you say. You help our hearts mend

You sing so sweetly to Jesus each day
My favorite part of each night is hearing you pray

You have brought us so much joy and laughter
I cannot wait to write our family's next chapter

I couldn't possibly imagine loving you more
I will cherish each moment until you turn four!


XOXOXOXO
Momma

The Santa Squabble

Not since our decision to keep Addison an only child have I had to defend such a personal choice so often. It is mind-boggling to me that people feel the need to interject their judgement, criticisms, and derision into a conversation that has absolutely nothing to do with their lives. I'm not bitter...just surprised. So, once again, I am blogging about a decision we have made for our family in hopes that I will not have to defend myself even one more time.

We are not doing the whole Santa thing. 

Now, I could list the reasons, but honestly, I don't want to. And none of them would be good enough for someone who does not agree with them anyway. But if you are open-minded and interested in our reasons (and what we will do instead of Santa), this blog (most of this one) (oh, and this one) is almost exactly what I would have written, were I so eloquent.

I will, however, say the following:

My decision to leave Santa out of Christmas has no bearing on anyone else's life. We get that people may think our decision is ridiculous, but to say that you "feel sorry for Addison" is just not okay. I know what Addison is and is not "missing out on" as Erik and I both grew up with Santa. For the record, if she someday decides to do Santa for her own children, we will completely support her, and we will even pay for her therapy should she decide her own Santa-less childhood has scarred her in some way.

I do not go searching for this conversation. It seems like inevitably someone daily asks about what Santa is bringing Addison or asks when she is having pictures with Santa. Because I have trouble being articulate under pressure and because most people are very defensive regarding this particular tradition, "We aren't really doing the whole Santa thing," always leads to a very awkward and abrupt end to the conversation. I am open to suggestions on alternative answers.

It doesn't mean that we think someone is/was a bad parent because their children believe(d) in Santa. No one needs to defend themselves to us. I promise that we don't care. We will not go home and talk about anyone behind their back. Our decision is not an indictment on anyone else's parenting.

We understand that people are very upset about the thought of Addison potentially ruining Santa for their children. I can assure everyone that when she is old enough to ask questions, we will make sure that she is fully briefed on how to respond to statements/inquiries about Santa. We will even role play. She will not run around breaking Santa figurines like some terrifying pint-sized Grinch or scream "Santa's not real!!" in the middle of the school program. We won't need an annual December quarantine.

In the end, we all have to prayerfully make the best decisions for our own families, and stay true to our personal convictions in the face of criticism. We wish all of you a very Merry Christmas, and may we all remember the true reason for the season.

Two Too Old

My Dear Daughter,

I absolutely cannot believe that today you are two years old. People constantly tell me not to blink while reminding me how quickly you will grow. Unfortunately, I don't need a reminder; I see it daily in your changing face, your new words, and your piles of too-small clothes. Today is bittersweet, as I'm sure all of your birthdays will be. I am so proud of you as you grow, and yet I want to keep you my baby forever.

This year has seen you acquire so many new skills! We are often left breathless keeping up with your quest for knowledge. The minute you feel confident in one skill, you are ready to learn something new and are not content to review old things. You have mastered the art of puzzles, you know all of your letters and their sounds, and you can name all of the numbers on sight. You frequently point them out as we stand waiting to check out at the local grocery store. Counting to 11 is a piece of cake for you and you know all of your colors too...even the hard ones like gray. You have also started picking out simple sight words like "is" and "the" in your books, much to our astonishment. You frequently string together thoughts that surprise us, and although we still can't understand everything you say, I know that someday you will hold us captive with your stories and observations.

We see your personality developing each day, but in many ways, you are still very similar to the baby I held just one year ago. You still love to dance with abandon, although now you don't hesitate to scream a song at the top of your lungs while doing it. Currently you especially like "Let it Go" and "Shake It Off," and you will ask us to play the songs over and over while you try to learn all of the words. You are still so very head-strong; you keep us on our toes as you change your mind often, but emphatically. You ALWAYS have an opinion on what you want to eat, what we'll watch on television, and even what you'll wear out of the house. You are so, so tough. You rarely show pain, and after falling you will dust your hands off and say, "I'm okay Mama!" no matter how scary the tumble seems to me. We call you our little "Warrior Princess."  Even though you are very independent, much like your mama, you still have a sweet streak a mile wide. Your hugs and kisses make our day, and we know the dogs secretly love them too. You make sure to say a sweet goodbye to each child by name at your daycare, and "Min-Min" frequently tells us how precious you are. You have made an impression on so many hearts, my child!

We still love trying to predict what you will become someday. We haven't ruled out anything involving books, as you can spend literally hours reading to yourself. Us getting to read to you is a luxury rarely allowed. Your obsession with the nightly appearance of the moon has prompted us to throw astronomer or astronaut into the mix, while your love of all things furry still has me proclaiming you to be a future vet. We know that God has given you the gifts and tools to be absolutely anything.

We are so looking forward to this coming year with our sassy, spunky "Miss Independent," and all of the new things it will hold for us all. From tackling potty-training to our first hotel stay as a family, there are sure to be many fun memories made and stories to tell. You enrich every aspect of our lives, my child, and we love you more than you could ever imagine. Happy Birthday My Sunshine!

All my love,

Mama