to make them feel my love

How beautiful are these lyrics, 

when read with our children in mind?  

Oh, how I pray that my children feel my love, 

so deeply, their entire lives.

If you haven't heard this song before, 

click on the video below.

And grab your Kleenex box.

When the rain 

Is blowing in your face

And the whole world 

Is on your case

I would offer you 

A warm embrace

To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows 

And the stars appear

And there is no one there 

To dry your tears

I could hold you 

For a million years

To make you feel my love

I know you 

Haven't made 

Your mind up yet

But I would never 

Do you wrong

I've known it 

From the moment 

That we met

No doubt in my mind 

Where you belong

I'd go hungry

I'd go black and blue

I'd go crawling 

Down the avenue

There ain't nothing 

That I wouldn't do

To make you feel my love

The storms are raging 

On a rolling sea

And on the highway of regret

Though winds of change 

Are blowing wild and free

But you ain't seen nothing 

Like me yet

I could make you happy

Make our dreams come true

Nothing that I wouldn't do

Go to the ends 

Of the earth for you

To make you feel my love

the stuff

I saw reference to this song today on Twitter and wanted to check it out.

A little bit corny...but definitely true of this mom's life!

I lost my keys in the great unknown
And call me please 'Cuz I can't find my phone

This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff that's getting to me lately
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I'm blessed
This is the stuff that gets under my skin
But I gotta trust You know exactly what You're doing
It might not be what I would choose
But this is the stuff You use

45 in a 35
Sirens and fines while I'm running behind

This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff that's getting to me lately
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I'm blessed
This is the stuff that gets under my skin
But I gotta trust You know exactly what You're doing
It might not be what I would choose
But this is the stuff You use

So break me of impatience
Conquer my frustrations
I've got a new appreciation
It's not the end of the world
Oh Oh Oh

This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff
Someone save me
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I'm blessed
This is the stuff that gets under my skin
And I've gotta trust You know exactly what You're doing
It might not be what I would choose
But this is the stuff You use

kitchen shuffle

She follows me around the kitchen, a 10x5 rectangle.

Fridge to counter, two steps to the sink and then three more to the stove.
Nestling her head between the backs of my legs, her soft hair hitting just above my knees
We do the kitchen shuffle.

In between the washing, the putting away, preparations for the next meal,
I reach down and gently press her head closer to my leg and say "I love you baby girl."

"Hold you, hold you" she asks over and over again.
"Just a minute baby, let me finish the dishes."

When drainers are empty, hands are dry, and I can do a few tasks one-handed
I lift her to my left hip.  The curve of my waist, hugged by little legs, as it has been for the past seven years.
A chubby hand pats my arm and squeezes gently.

Her head nestles underneath my jaw, laying on the shoulder that has burped three babies and handled more spit-up, drool, sometimes vomit and baby boogers than is calculate-able.

My one-handed tasks complete, I lower her to the ground once again, amidst protests.
I kneel to the ground to pick up stray crumbs.  Her desire to be close, compels her to get on all four's as well, head touching mine.  Ever near.

We return to the kitchen shuffle, more tasks to complete.

This mother-child dance.
I cherish each moment.  Savor them.  Taste them.

The days, the months are short.
The older sisters, their worlds don't revolve so closely around me anymore.
I've done this before.  My heart knows, she's not far behind.

Yet still, when she wakes in the morning, I'm the first one she wants to see.
Heavy toddler feet clod in my direction, pink sleepy flushed cheeks, Wubbie always in hand.
"Hold you."

With each move in our kitchen shuffle, my heart breaks a bit.  For I am aware of the coming transition.
Before an empty nest, comes an empty hip.

The day approaches all too quickly
When I must redefine my motherhood.
No longer, a baby's mama.

A sense of freedom coming, yes.  Potential for new life patterns.

But for now, it's still a pending emptiness.
I love this job, this life as a baby's mama.  Although I know I will love these next stages too.

Three babies.  I was their mama.
Always my babies.  Always their mama.

My arms may tire, completion of tasks may slow.
But I welcome these moments, these kitchen shuffles, the ever near.
Being my baby's mama.

birthday eve

7 years ago, it was my last evening before becoming a mother.

Miss Rose had not cooperated and was comfy with her head up in my ribs, close to my beating heart.  She would make her debut through the surgeon's cut.

Bean and I went out to dinner that night and saw the movie Big Fish.  I made sure everything was ready and packed for my early morning wake up.  I took my trusty Tylenol PM because I knew there was no way I'd fall asleep quickly.

I spent years dreaming about becoming a mother.  Imagining what it would be like to have a baby of my own.  Once that first baby was growing in my belly, I dreamed about her.  Wondered what she would look like.

Would she have darker skin like her dad?  Or the lighter skin that would be in 75% of her genes.  Would her hair be curly like mine?  What color would her eyes be?


I already loved her.  I was already her mom.

She was my dream come true.

I remember that night like it was yesterday.  I remember waking up the next morning, so excited for what the day would hold, even if it wasn't going to be the birth I had hoped for.

Regardless of the means, my baby was going to be born.  I would hold her in my arms and nurse her at my breast.

I waited my whole life for that day.

It's been everything I hoped it would and so much I never knew it would be.

Motherhood is the best and the hardest thing I've done in my life.

On this, my firstborn's birthday eve, I think back to that night.  I think back on the last 7 years.

And I love it.  Being a mom is the greatest gift.

the mom I am

Thank you so much for your supportive and encouraging comments on my last post.  Unfortunately moms are one of the most competitive communities.  Which is such a shame because each mom is different, each child is different, each life is different and you can't really compare how this all plays out.

So today, I want to toot my own horn.  Because we worry about offending others, because we don't want to brag, because we don't want to sound stuck up or snobby, we don't give ourselves enough credit for the mom we are.  I'm not saying I'm better than anyone else.  I'm not looking down on anyone who's made different choices in their life.  We are each unique and individual.  That's okay, and it's good.

This, is the mom I am.

I am a working mom, who managed to bring my babies to work with me until they were 6 months old.

I pumped the life out of my boobs, in order to provide my children with that precious liquid gold, until they were one year old.  A drop of formula never crossed their lips.  (although I chose to supplement with a little bit of organic whole milk the last few months before they turned 1, when my supply started to dwindle)

I wear my babies, and my toddlers.

I rear-face my children until they are close to two years old.  (well, not my first daughter, but I didn't really know better at that time)

I insist on some form of protein at almost every meal.

I co-slept with my babies, even though I thought I never would. Everyone got more sleep that way, and I cherish those memories of their tiny bodies nestled in as close as possible to my body.

I let my children eat their share of candy and treats, and they even drink Sprite at restaurants.  (in their eyes, this makes me very cool)

My sick children sleep in bed with me, even though the idea of sleeping in their infectious germs gives me the creeps.  (so far, I rarely get their illnesses)

I ignore housework, a lot, so that I can cuddle on the couch with my kids.

I let them lick the spoon, and the beaters, and wipe the bowl clean when we bake.

I put them to bed on time 75% of the time, because everyone is happier that way

We listen to a lot of worship music in the car and the house.  We also listen to the radio and fun dance music.

I burp and fart.  Hey, girls need to do know it's okay to do that stuff too.  Although there are times we emphasize manners too.

I bring the older girls to church with me sometimes, at 7:30am on Sundays, even though they wreak havoc in my office and run through the hallways screaming (you think I jest, I don't, they really do).  Because how often does a mom get to bring her kids to work with her.

I wake up early (sometimes) to exercise, so that I don't have to miss precious time with them later in the day.

When I get home from work, I gather my children to me, like a mother hen gathering her chicks, and we soak each other in.

This, and more, is the mom I am.  The mom I am proud to be.

Your turn now.  Toot your horn in the comments!  What makes you stand out as a mom?  What are you proud of?  Nothing is off limits!

the mom I'm not

I have quite a long list of blogs that come into my Google Reader.  This gives me great reading material as I unwind before bed.  I rarely read every post in every blog.  I love finding a blog where I have something in common with the author, maybe they are also a runner, or they have all daughters, or another working mom.  Sometimes I have nothing in common with them, but I enjoy their writing style or their take on life, or their life journey is fascinating. 

Sometimes though while reading blogs, I'm overwhelmed by the mom I'm not.  The mom I wish I was. 

I am not the mom who is doing anything related to Advent with her children.  I wish I was.  There are so many wonderful and easy ideas out there.  But finding the time to put it together, and having an opportunity each day to do it with the children--just isn't something I have the energy for.

I am not crafty.  I don't often do crafts with my children.  I don't do a good job decorating our home.  I see things I like.  I read blogs with great do-it-yourself ideas.  But I'm not a crafty mom.

I rarely get to volunteer at my daughter's school.

I have spent very little time teaching my almost 4-year old letters and numbers.

I laugh at my kids when I should probably discipline them.  I yell when I should be patient.  I don't follow through with consequences.

These, and so much more, are the mom I'm not.  It's easy to be disappointed in myself. To think I should try harder, do more.  Make more an effort.  Be more selfless. 

Yet, I can't be defined by the mom I'm not.  By the mom I think I should be. 

Because I am a mom who is helping provide a good future for my children.  And working is a huge dynamic in my mothering.  My heart is to be home with my children.  I believe one day, that will happen.  But for now, I believe I'm doing what God wants me to do.  My parents never owned a home.  We usually had cars that broke down all the time.  My parents weren't able to contribute to my college education.  I love my parents dearly and I loved my life.  But I have the opportunity right now, to set my family up differently and I don't want to waste it.

I am a mom who loves my children deeply.  My favorite thing is to be with them.  They are my priority.  Yes, I take time for myself; I run, go out for girls nights, rare date nights with my husband.  But these things make me a better mom, and I try to do them in such a way that has the least impact on my kids and my time with them.

I may not be crafty or good at imaginative play, but I will sit on the floor and let my kids crawl all over me.  When the baby is crying, I'll hold her.  When Gracie is grumpy, I cuddle her.  When Miss Rose is exhibiting bad behavior, I'll first shower her with love and affection, because often that solves the problem.

I just love being a mom, being with my kids.  The mom I'm not, doesn't define me.  The mom I'm not, doesn't matter as much as sometimes I think it is.  That's not the mom God made me. 

Someday, I hope I have the time and energy to learn to be more crafty.  As my children get older, we'll get to do more things like celebrating Advent and nightly Bible reading.  I have to remind myself, they are young.  There is time.

My kids don't know the mom I'm not.  They just know the mom I am, and I know they love me.

x 6

This is my sixth Mother's Day.

It might be my seventh. I have weird memory and if I recall correctly, I was ovulating Mother's Day weekend in 2003--the month I got pregnant with Miss Rose.

I thought I had done a good job of capturing photos of me and my children each Mother's Day. I thought wrong! Perhaps other family members have photos they took, but I don't have as many as I recalled.

We lost several months worth of photos about four years ago. Including a photo of my first Mother's Day (2004). There is a hard copy of it somewhere. Which is of some comfort.

I didn't look back to check the exact date, but Miss Rose was dedicated in May 2004.  So these photos are circa-Mother's Day.  I actually remember being in church on my first Mother's Day because they were sending a pastor to get Starbucks drinks for various moms who qualified in different categories.  I had the youngest baby, so partway through the service I had a caramel macchiato in my hands!

In 2005, we took my Grandma out the day before Mother's Day.


(does this photo give you some clues as to which sister Lily favors?)

In 2006, we, well, I don't know. But I did find this photo from a week or two before Mother's Day.



Gracie-girl came about a month before Mother's Day in 2007. I remember being thrilled that I was a mom of two on Mother's Day. (Some good friends had their second child TODAY! How fun is that to have a brand-new baby for Mother's Day.)


Miss Rose sang her heart out in church that morning as a treat to the moms.



I guess in 2008 I thought it would be cool to take a picture of Bean and the girls on Mother's Day. From what I can tell, this photo was taken on Mother's Day...but I can't find any photos with me in them! The life of a mom....always behind the camera!


(and yes, Bean rocked earrings for several years. Until Miss Rose started playing sports, and he didn't want to be "that day" trying to look too young. Yes, that really was his reasoning for taking them out. I didn't mind, because I never was a huge fan of the earrings.)

Last year Mother's Day was special because we also dedicated Lily that day. Would you look at this? An actual photo of me AND the kids.


I happen to like this photo too. Smiling and posing like I'm a model...only I'm breastfeeding my baby. I love that someone captured this moment.


My NEW goal is a photo each Mother's Day with all my children. It probably won't always be picture perfect, but it will be us! Lilybug has been sick today. In fact, she's having a very hard time falling asleep tonight. I'm really hoping that she's more herself tomorrow. We don't have much planned, but even doing nothing will be nicer with a happy baby.

Happy Mother's Day friends!!! And don't forget to say a prayer for those this year who didn't get their wish to be a mom, and those mom's who don't have their children on this earth any longer. They are close to my heart this year as I reflect on how blessed I am.

If you missed it...check out yesterday's post on Motherhood also.

The real gifts

I've already received my Mother's Day gifts.  They came in

2004


2007


2009

Truly, I have need for nothing else.

Just BEING a mom is a gift.  A precious gift.  A gift that some long and strive for; a gift given and then all too quickly taken.  An elusive gift, they are always chasing.

I have been given this gift three times now, and I don't take it for granted.  Not one single bit.

My wonderful husband has recognized my motherhood each year with sweet gifts and tokens of appreciation.

But these faces.  That greet me {early} each morning.  They are my never-ending gift.