Grace For My Boy

Today is a significant day for my boy and me. A day that he is altogether unaware of, but one that I pray will stay with us for the rest of this school year, and the rest of our life together.

This morning as I started the day with my vital two cups of coffee, I stumbled across these words:

"Gracious words are like a honeycomb,
sweetness to the soul and health
to the body."

My first thought? "Ah, yes, this is a gem to pass on to the kids!" After all, they have been at each other all week, cranky, rude, ungracious, mean, ugly, etc., etc. So I passed it on to them, I'm sure in one ear and out the other, and we moved on with the day, hopeful that any of the richness of that Proverb stuck even a little.

Fast forward to yet another aggravated exchange between my 11 year old boy and myself this afternoon. We went to a bookstore to find him a grammar/spelling book for school because in the chaos of packing and moving, his books are stashed away somewhere in a box, in storage. I'm simply trying to find a few things to get by over the next month or so that we are in home transition.

I found a book I really liked. I was thinking about how great it looked, how much I thought it would work well for Elijah's level, learning style, etc. I made the mistake of actually speaking out loud in front of him, sharing my opinion. I simply stated that I thought it looked like a great book. What did I get in return? He's 11 and is pretty sure he knows everything, so of course what I received out of his brain, heart and mouth was an overwhelming mix of defiance, sarcasm, and disgust. With a sneer that I didn't even have to see to know it was there, my sweet boy uttered the words, "Geez, if it's so great, why don't you get one for yourself?" I realize the words themselves are not that bad. It's not like he cursed at me or called me a name, but can you just hear the attitude? The lack of kindness? It broke my heart and made me mad as hell at the same time.

So how did I respond? With the same kindness and grace I was expecting from him? Of course not. I immediately fired back at him (because that's how our personalities seem to work with each other) and I'm ashamed to admit it, but I actually threatened to take him out of my house and put him in school, so that some teacher could deal with him. Deal with him?? I truly hate that I said that. And what words came stumbling over my hot head and hard heart in that same moment?

"Gracious words are like a honeycomb,
sweetness to the soul and health
to the body."


That Proverb was for me. Go figure. And in that same moment I realized I cannot and will not give up on my sweet child. I will not send him off to let someone else "deal" with him. He is mine, warts and all. And a lot of those warts he inherited from me. How can I possibly threaten to reject him? God, forgive me. Sweet boy, forgive me.

The fact is, if I am really honest, this life with all grade school age children and no more babies is hard for me. I miss the babies. My best gifting is teaching and loving babies and young kids, and now my son is an adolescent, and it is HARD. He challenges me every day. Every morning, when he walks in to the kitchen and greets me with, "Hey, Mom", the day begins and we are on our way. On our way to a day either seasoned with arguments, eye rolls, resentment, and frustration; or a day full of kindness, patience, soft hearts and gracious words.

Gracious words. They are hard to come by in some moments and in some entire days. It takes work. It takes a constant awareness and openness to our own weaknesses. Being able to admit when we are weak. Being able to admit when we are wrong - even to the smirking face of the know-it-all adolescent standing in front of you, who is also still learning how to show humility. And there's the key: Humility.

I need Humility to teach my children. I need Humility to know that I don't know everything. I don't have all of the answers, I don't know what it takes to turn out successful young adults, I don't know the secret of how to just be nice to these little people each day. I'm tired, I'm stressed, I'm overwhelmed, and I don't have a clue. In the moment that I can admit those things, that's when I am able to accept help from others, advice from others, and the all-knowing Grace from God in order to fill all of my gaping holes. God fills in those holes and wide expanses of a lack of knowledge with community, friendship, love, and a whole lot of grace, and then some.

In humility is where we find our gracious words, and it's in humility that I won't give up on my adolescent, challenging, sarcastic, sweet, funny, loving, caring, creative, boy.

Today is a significant day for my boy and me.

To See Your Face

It seems like the only thing I ever write about on here anymore is Eveyn. I would like to write about my other children more often. I do love them dearly and want to be better at chronicling their lives and the things they teach me every day. But unfortunately, today is not that day. Today I am writing about Eveyn again. I think it's just those really tough things about life that are easier for me to write about, rather than the every day things. I may regret that someday. But I also feel drawn to write about her and say her name often because infant death and miscarriages still seem to be a taboo subject to talk about in every day life. But this is the every day life of so, so many families so there is no reason it should be shied away from or kept private. So, here I write. About Eveyn, about grief, about life...

I have prayed and prayed for the last (almost) nine years to have a dream with Eveyn. I have always figured that this is my best possible place to be close to her on this side of eternity. This dream of dreams has never come. God has never given this to me. I did not realize how bad I wanted it until several months ago when Gavin woke up and told me he had just awoken from vivid dream of Eveyn. I immediately started to cry and felt jealous, indignant, and angry. I should be happy for him. After all, Eveyn is his daughter as well. He still grieves for her. He still loves her just as much as I do. I was glad for him, but I wasn't. I wanted that dream, that time with her. And I still do.

But I have found through these last nine years that God acts in his own time. He allows things to take place along this journey in the time that he knows is best for me. I may want things to happen yesterday, but he knows I can't handle it until a lot longer timeframe than I think is normal, appropriate, helpful, kind, or sane. But, he proves his wisdom, kindness and grace to me over and over, and over again.

At times, when I think about Eveyn, I do get a particular "vision" of her. Whether it's from God, my own head, pieces of things I've seen before, I don't know and I don't really care. It is a symbol of her spirit and soul and the fully healed body that I will one day see. She is not a baby anymore. She is lovely, tall, full of light, life and love. Walking in the most perfect of perfect days, with the greenest of grasses, the brightest of bright colors and light around her. I can hear her laugh. It is a vision. But I only see her from behind, barely catch glimpses of the side of her face before the wind moves her long hair to cover her. I can never see her face.

I may never have this dream of my girl that I so long for, and that's ok. Whether it's in a dream, or in the reality of eternity, I know my day will come.


Oh to see your face
To catch just a glimpse
To see your eyes, their color and sparkle
To know every spot and freckle like they are my own

Your hair is long and brown
Your laughter is warm and light
Your movements are joyful and pure
But oh to see your face

To press my forehead against yours
To smell your breath as we laugh face to face
To see the shape of your teeth and the form of your smile
Oh to see your face

Your legs float with ease and strength
Your arms full of freedom and grace
You bounce and twirl on the tips of your toes
Your feet carry you joyfully on your way again...

Some day I will see your face
And I will kiss your nose
And touch your cheeks
And feel your forehead against mine.

But until then, I will wait and I will dream
But oh to see your face

The Beauty of Pain

Recently, Elijah asked me if there was one thing that has ever happened to anyone in our family that I could take back or change. And if so, what would it be? It struck me that this is actually a difficult question to answer. The obvious answer for me would be the fact that Eveyn did not survive her birth. If all it took was a gentle calling of her name, I would have her back here with us faster than my lips could finish forming the sounds. Or would I? As utterly horrible as this may sound, Eveyn missing from our home has given me more life and grace than would have ever been possible otherwise. I still cry for her and grieve her absence, and I still have a longing for her that reaches depths I didn't even know were possible. But the fact is, I can't change it. So what do you do with pain that you can't change? You look deeper. You look even deeper than the depths of despair. Because from under those depths, love springs. Joy grows. Hope rises.


We all have a myriad of things in our lives that we regret, in the sense that we don't want to repeat those things. Whether it is something that has happened to us, or something we have caused, we have a lot of regret. (Regret is defined as feeling sad, repentant, or disappointed over something that has happened or been done, especially a loss or missed opportunity). There were many choices made leading up to Eveyn's birth and death, and there are an abundance of choices made every day that lead us to where we are when we lay our head on our pillow each night. Every stupid or mean word that has ever stumbled out of my mouth in the direction of my children or husband is most certainly followed by regret. Every bad financial decision that has caused disruption to my family. Every job lost, every friend ignored, every stranger judged. Regret. But I don't believe we should live in a way that says, "I wish that never happened." We can and should have a desire to change unwanted behavior and circumstances that don't work well, but if we wish for those things to have never been a part of our life, we will never grow and we will never really appreciate all that life has to offer. We will remain stunted, immature, ungrateful and bitter about life.

Even in the most difficult, painful of circumstances, can't we see more? If we take a step back, and maybe it takes months, if not years to see anything more than the sheer pain, but when we are able to take a step back, can't we see the depth? Can we see beyond and under the surface layer of ugliness and pain to see something else? Can we actually come to a place where we can see beauty, love and even goodness? It doesn't mean the pain goes away, or the regret ceases to be a part of our thought process, but when we allow ourselves to see the beauty and love around us, and then allow them to work alongside the pain and regret, then we will be able to come to a place of thankfulness and peace.

So, where's the goodness in an untimely death? Where is the beauty in a violent act? I don't believe there is goodness and beauty in those things. However, can there be goodness and beauty around those things? In the events before, after and about them? In the friendships deepened, lessons learned, character grown, grace discovered, and strength owned? These things are beautiful, life-giving breaths given us by God to allow us a way to navigate the pain.

You see, life is painful. But you already know that. You know all too well the pain of loss, disappointment, exhaustion, hopelessness and fear. Is there anyone on this spinning globe of ours who does not know pain? Some may know more than others, but for each of us, regardless of what anyone else thinks, our pain is real, valid and consuming. It consumes our hearts, our minds, our bodies, our very souls. But will we allow ourselves the life of more? Will we let our hearts open to more, or will we refuse the beauty?

Sometimes the idea of living in pain and bitterness is actually a more welcome thought to us because it is comfortable, and we know what to expect from it. It feels like the right place to stay. Forever. We convince ourselves that being joyful in the midst of our pain is an inauthentic way to live. It seems fake, because this pain is so very real and raw. But I would argue the opposite. I would argue that when we acknowledge the pain, but also leave room for joy, for the two to live simultaneously in our hearts, commingling, intertwining, weaving in and out of each other as we go through life, then we are living authentically. Only then will our souls feel peace. It is a thing of eternal beauty.


Words from one of my favorite artists:



If I could I’d frame your stretch marks...
You only get them two ways
Giving birth or dropping weight
Either way, serious pain...

The picture of endurance, gave birth to a miracle
Them lines are memorials, freedom from the torture
And pounds you put on were the defense mechanism
Like "Maybe if I was ugly, then he would stop touching me"
And you endured the teasing of a fat girl on a track team and kept running

You tuned out the ridicule and every calorie burned
A cause for celebration
Them lines are victory laps, eternal gold medals
When I see ‘em, I’m reminded of the freedom...

Your struggles inspire, it’s physical literature...

It isn’t love if it doesn’t hurt
If you don’t feel it, then it doesn’t work
The pain removes the scales, pulls back the veil
The bruises in the blood will always tell the tale
Of the grace of grief, the beauty of brokenness
The peace of pain, the hope of hopelessness
The ease of emotion, the frame for the feelings
The scars and stretch marks, the proof of God’s healing

Propaganda

Eight Years In The Making

How do you create a headstone for your daughter? And not just that, but how do you allow it to be primarily for your daughter, but also appropriate for yourself and your husband in the (hopefully) distant future. It is a strange thing to have a cemetery plot and headstone already set up for yourself at 35 years old! I've been trying to figure all of this out for about 8 years.

It's hard to believe we accomplished all that we did in that one week between her death and her funeral, but choosing a cemetery for Eveyn to be buried in was one of the first things we had to do. We traveled all over three counties in the area in search of a peaceful, beautiful spot that could match her own peace and beauty. We found that place in one of the last cemeteries we came to. A peaceful little hill in the back of a beautiful, old cemetery, under a young oak tree. Immediately, I knew that was her spot. What a strange thing, to be excited over a spot in the ground to place your child. But God gave me that place, and he gave me joy and peace in it.

I remember walking through the cemetery with the representative/salesman as he showed us around, told us about their rules and regulations regarding headstones. In the specific section Eveyn is buried, we are required to have an upright headstone, not one that lies flat in the ground. He told us we could take as long as needed to have one installed, and that some people never actually get one done because of crazy family feuds, or indecision, or just lack of money to have one made. I remember thinking, "How sad. How could I let Eveyn be here without any marker or indication that she is here, that she existed?" I wanted to have this headstone designed and installed by her first birthday at the latest. Little did I know the amount of grief, depression, and life that lay ahead of me that would prevent me from doing so for 8 years.

In my first attempts of planning Eveyn's headstone, every time I thought about it, I would quickly push it away because having it completed was the final step. It was a type of closure that I didn't want. As long as there were open-ends, it allowed me to hang on to her and be closer to her. This was the last undone item. After her headstone was installed, I would have nothing left to do, nothing left to work on. Having her things to take care of meant taking care of her. An innate desire and need to take care of my little girl. I know logically she doesn't need me to take care of her. It's the same reason it feels impossible to leave the cemetery every time I go out there. It's just not natural to leave your child all alone as you drive away. I ache, heartbroken every time. A mother's need to care for her child never leaves, whether they are 4 years, 40 years, alive or dead. It's always there.

Now the last task has been finished, and now I have to just sit in the knowledge that she really has never needed me to do anything for her beyond those only 9 months of her life; but I have needed her. I still need her, but I will have to find a new way to allow her to remain with me while not hanging on too tight. A new phase in this lifelong journey.

So here it is.

Unfortunately, I had a serious shadow on the front that makes it harder to see, but it's the best I could get.

Each aspect of this headstone has a purposeful design and reason to it. First, the color of the marble is a peach/sunset color because I wanted to reflect the delicacy and beauty of Eveyn when she was born. We asked everyone to wear pink to her funeral, because I never wanted any dark, somber colors to have anything to do with her life. And I wanted the same thing represented in her headstone - no gray, black or other heavy colors.

I wanted the foundation of the artwork to be the peacock in the tree. The peacock has long been used in art, and specifically in Christian art as a symbol of Christ. It was originally thought that the peacock was an immortal being, whose flesh did not decay, hence the reference to Christ and eternal life. When Eveyn died, we had a priceless gift given to us. We had some friends commission a painting for us which was created by an artist who is a mutual friend. In this multi-dimension painting, he depicted Eveyn as a white dove (her spirit) flying with a white peacock (Christ). This painting continues to hold a prominent place in our home and in my heart. Our neighborhood is also full of real peacocks, strangely enough. I love going on walks just to find them and marvel at their beauty and reflect on this eternal, mortal and immortal life we have in Christ. God gives some people rainbows, others butterflies, and others sunsets as reminders of his promises and love. He gave me peacocks, and I love them.

The flowers at the base of the tree are daisies, forget-me-nots, daffodils and chrysanthemums. Daisies are the birth flower of April and they also symbolize innocence and child-like joy. Forget-me-nots symbolize just that. They are a simple flower of remembrance. Daffodils represent rebirth, and the chrysanthemums are a symbol of optimism and joy. All of these things are the things that my heart simultaneously experiences and knows when I think of Eveyn, see her picture or hear her name. She was a beautiful little flower of peace, innocence and joy.

There is a plain little butterfly above her name that is simply a picture of her new life, as a new creation. Below her name it states "Born into the arms of Christ." I wanted to have something written, other than just her birthdate, since normally on a headstone there is a date of birth, and a date of death. In her life, it was the same date, so I wanted to say something that reflected this. I had seen something similar stated somewhere else and thought it was just right and spoke the truth of her birth. When I delivered her, she was alive for mere moments before her spirit was welcomed by God. She truly was born into his arms before she ever graced mine.

On the back above the verse we chose to use a trefoil instead of a cross because I wanted to emphasize the work of the trinity as a whole in our lives and the life of Eveyn.

And finally, there are two verses on the headstone. They are both verses that speak of the most important aspect to all of this: We WAIT in HOPE. Waiting and hoping. God is our only hope in all of this. We know he will make all things new and right. One day, it will all make sense to this feeble heart and mind. But until that day comes, we wait. Joyfully, and expectantly, we wait knowing that God's compassion and mercy lead us and follow us every step of the way.

A Different Life

I thought by now I'd have about 6 kids running around, a couple of them adopted. I thought I'd have a creative, home-based business that would bring in some extra income. I thought my husband would have stable employment. I thought I'd be 20 lbs lighter and still be playing basketball in some amazing mom league.

Instead, I have three kids running around, 1 kid in heaven, and no adoptions. Instead, I have found myself being a homeschooler with no time or brain space for a business. Instead, my husband has been under-employed or unemployed for a year and a half. Instead, I'm in a constant battle with my body and time to lose those 20 lbs., and there seems to be no such thing as any women my age who give a flip about basketball.

Or, I have three incredible gifts from God with me, 1 gift waiting for me in heaven, and the plan for future adoptions. I have been blessed with the opportunity to teach my kids each day while using my creativity and brain power to learn and grow alongside them. I get an incredible amount of time with my dear husband every day while he is working hard to find income. And I am thankful for the healthy body God has given me after carrying my 4 babies, and I embrace the beauty marks they have given me. ... I still haven't found that basketball league...

Life can be disappointment, or life can be different. There are things I don't like. Some of those things will change with time, or work, or just grace. Some of them won't ever change.

My life continues to be different than I thought it would be. But when I let life be different, that is when I find joy, peace and grace.

It's Not Just a Number

I recently realized that I had been struggling with an aspect of where Eveyn fits into my daily life. One of the most difficult areas to navigate in losing a child is the question of how many children I have. It seems simple. Why would that be a complicated issue? It's complicated for several reasons. It's complicated because I am a people-pleaser that doesn't want to make others uncomfortable, because the rest of the world gets weirded out when you talk about your dead child, because my heart is constantly telling me one kid is missing but the rest of the world sees me with "my hands full", because I don't want to have a dead child, but I don't want to deny her either.

How many kids do you have? What were your pregnancies like? Do I talk about all four pregnancies and babies, or just the three that are the most comfortable? I feel like I am in a constant battle with myself of living life on the outside like my heart feels on the inside and keeping my second child, my first daughter a secret in an attempt to make sure others feel comfortable. I started to feel that Eveyn was being left out of my life. I felt like I was putting her on a shelf in a closet because it was just too complicated. The worst part is that I wasn't even doing it for my own needs through some stage of grief, but I was hiding her life for the sake of other people and my assumptions about their ability to handle it. I realized that my new feelings of sadness and anger when I thought of Eveyn were based on the fact that I felt like she was being pushed out of my life, and I was to blame.

After realizing I had allowed myself to become very isolated in this struggle, I posted a question on one of the groups I am a part of on Facebook. I asked other mothers if this has been a struggle for them. I asked them how they respond and how they include or exclude their missing child in conversation with others. Through my question and the many, many responses I received, I rediscovered the power of community. I have had 80 responses to my question. As I write this, I am still receiving more comments, encouragement, inspiration, and wisdom from fellow moms who are living each day without their children. I am so thankful for this community. As easy as it is to isolate myself and believe the lie that I am on my own, I know the truth - we are many. We do not know each other, but we are connected and know each other's pain.

God is gracious in his provision, and it comes in all forms. One of the gifts he gives is community. I've told other moms who have lost children, that it is never a community we would choose to be a part of, but it is one that we are thankful to have by our side in the dark times. Through that gift of community, we receive further gifts of encouragement, wisdom, comfort, friendship, love, and guidance. He is gracious even in our times of pain.

So today I have received these gifts of encouragement, wisdom and care from other moms who share this journey. If someone else is uneasy or weirded out by the fact that I talk about my sweet baby, it is of no concern of mine. I cannot deny this child that I knew for 10 months. I cannot deny the baby I held in my arms for 6 short hours. I will not pretend that I didn't bury her little body or that I regularly visit her gravesite. She existed and I live each day with her.

I have four children. Eveyn is my second child. I have had two natural labors and two c-sections. She would be 7 years old if she were here with me. Eveyn is a part of our every day life in our home, and I will not exclude her from that when I step out of my front door. She is my daughter, she always will be, and I am just as proud of her as I am of the three I have here with me. If I believe her short life was one of meaning and purpose, I cannot hide her from others. I will share her and expect God to do great things through her.

To My Sweet Eveyn,

Today is your 7th Birthday. As I write this, I am sitting in the place where I feel closest to you - with your brother and sisters. Elijah, who at the tender age of 20 months old, cared for and comforted his mom more than he may ever know when you didn't get to come home with us. Ella, the gracious gift of hope that God gave us a mere three months after he took you home. And Emerson, who is still eagerly learning and asking about her big sister Eveyn that "gets to be with God." They are all so uniquely their own, and they each have a special connection to you in their hearts and minds.

Elijah, just like in all of life, is very matter-of-fact with you. He can't remember a time when you were not a very real part of his life. He had to spend so many hours of his little life caring for me, and checking on me, I was concerned that it would ruin him. I feared that my grief would stain him. I now know this isn't true. I am convinced that Elijah is the caring, kind soul that he is because of his relationship with you, and his love for you.

Ella is the most carefree, dreamy spirit. When she talks about you, it is with joy, affection and care. She thinks it is the most wonderful thing in the world that you are with God, Jesus and the pure peace of heaven. She always says that you are the third person she is going to go find and hug when she gets to heaven. First God, then Jesus, and then her big sister. Ella has always been connected to you and genuinely happy when she thinks of you.

Little Emerson wants to know more about you. She is the most distant from you, but she is so intrigued by your life. She talks about you often and asks questions about when you were in my tummy. She has told me a few different times that she wished you could come back for your birthday or to be in my tummy again so she can see you. She so desires to know her big sister more.

I echo her sentiments. Oh how I wish I could see you now. Not as I saw you last, but where you are now. I make no claims to know what heaven is like. I wonder all the time what your heavenly body is like. How beautiful you must be.
I don't know if we will be reunited, as Ella talks about. And Elijah, Ella and I agree - how can we possibly have no tears in heaven if we don't get to see you again? There are many great theological minds that will tell me what it is like, but I don't know that I need to have all of those mysteries figured out. I have searched and questioned God long, deep and hard over the last seven years, and I know one thing for sure. You are in the full presence of God with joy and praise. For a mother there is no stronger desire than to comfort my children. You are in the ultimate hands of comfort, and that gives this mother's heart peace.

But my dear Eveyn, even with peace in my heart, I miss you terribly. The words, "I miss you," don't quite do it justice, but they are the best ones I can find. You are loved, you are missed, and I am thankful to call you my daughter. Happy Birthday. I love you sweet girl.

Five Senses of Hope

On a perfectly beautiful spring day last week, my wind chimes started singing. They make music every single day, but on this day it signaled something different. The time of year I love the most, the days of spring that I cherish. It's fascinating how God does that. How he turns our ashes into something beautiful.

I have always loved Spring in Texas, and especially April, the month that really signals change. April, the month that pushes the short Texas winters away for another eight months, that ushers in thunderstorms, and calls the bluebonnets up out of their rest, is what I always look forward to each year. Seven years ago I was enjoying the fruits of another lovely April while also anticipating the birth of another kind - the birth of our first daughter. But my coveted springtime became a very dark winter when our daughter Eveyn passed away later that month.

After that, I thought springtime would be the time of year that I always dreaded, but the opposite has come true. It is the time of year that I feel closest to her. The warmth of the air, the shine of the sun, and the sound of my wind chimes gently swaying all take me directly back to that April seven years ago.

When we first came home from the hospital without Eveyn, the weather was beautifully springtime all week. I spent many hours laying on my couch in a quiet living room, in between discussions about funeral plans, staring at the beautiful simplicity of the sunshine out my window and listening to the soothing music of my wind chime. It was such an amazing contrast I was experiencing in my heart. While there was so much darkness within me, there was the constant bright, hopefulness of spring all around me. This was a saving grace to me. It gave me hope, it gave me a promise of tomorrow. (At least in those first shocking days, anyway. Grief is a very long, complicated process that many times feels very hopeless). But he gives us reminders that even during all of the bad, difficult things, there is still so much good. Beautiful glimpses of eternity, right here in this often times mucky world. Hope.

God gave me so many gifts of the senses in that first week that I carry with me to this day. From the moment I held Eveyn for the first time and smelled her freshly-birthed skin, God was building those memories into my heart. As strange as it sounds to others, God understands and smiles with me when I smell freshly laid mulch in the spring. He knew what was happening when the little girl across the street was born exactly one month after Eveyn, and I would get to watch her play and grow each year. He knew what memory was being laid when I first felt the warm breeze and bright sun as I stepped out of the hospital. And he knew how that first time I heard my wind chime in my quiet home would be a blessing to me the rest of my life. He knows my senses and how I'm blessed by them. He created them in joy.

We all connect so much of life, memories, and love to the senses that God has given us. What a gracious, kind and generous gift to give us. We not only get to remember with our minds, but we have the joy of tasting, smelling, feeling, seeing and hearing our memories as well.

It's what allows me to feel close to her still. Without these sensing memories I have of Eveyn, she would feel so much more distant with each year. But God has allowed me not only to simply remember her, but to keep her very close to me. What a blessing. And a hope.

Dirty Feet

Washing the feet of my children was surprisingly moving and profound. I did not expect the emotional reaction that I had.

Maundy Thursday is a long celebrated holy day in the church. It commemorates the last sharing of a meal together between Jesus and his disciples. It is the night before he is put to death, the night that he is betrayed by two of those same disciples that shared the meal with him. It is the night that Jesus takes the posture of a servant and with unfathomable love, stoops down to each of these men and washes their feet - even the ones who would betray him. He washes them in order to show them how much he truly loves them, and also to show them how to truly love others.

This story of washing feet doesn't really resonate quite the same until you have washed and been washed yourself. I never really understood the true depth of the message of love and service until I allowed myself to live out the story this Thursday.

I've been to church services before where there have been foot washings. But it has always been something that I have watched others do in front of the church. Never have I been an active participant in the story. It is profound.

My little family of five went to one chair in the back of the church set up with a couple of bowls, a pitcher of water and some towels. Many other people were there, doing the same thing with family members, friends, or perfect strangers at different chairs throughout the room. But when I was there at our chair with my family, it became an intimate moment between us. My little Emerson was the first to enthusiastically hop up on the chair, excited to see what it was like to have cold water poured onto her little feet. As I knelt down in front of her, and saw her wiggling toes through the running water, I was struck with my deep, unashamed love for this little soul. How much I truly love her - each of my children. In a way that could never be expressed in my words, but was so profoundly expressed as I carefully wiped and dried her cold little feet.

I looked up and saw her sweet, smiling face. But I could also see a twinge of embarrassment and even confusion. She was happy, she was satisfied with what I just did, but she also didn't fully understand it. There is a depth to my heart that she can't fully see or understand. And she won't really know how deep my love is until she is a mother herself. And I realized, maybe for the first time, that this is how Jesus loves me. He loves me, all of us, with such a profound depth, that I really don't understand. As Jesus knelt next to his disciples to wash their dirty feet, they were uncomfortable, embarrassed, confused. They didn't understand the depth of his love for them. They didn't fully get it. And neither do we. We know Jesus loves us, cares for us, petitions the Father for us, even died for us. But we still don't really know the absolute depth and fierceness of his love for us. And maybe we never will, until we see the completion of the story in eternity, and see him face to face.

We continued with washing feet as a family. I washed Ella's and Gavin's. Gavin washed mine and Elijah's. I spend each and every day serving the blessings that God has given me. It's what I do. I am a mom and a wife. It is my responsibility to take care of these people that I have been given. Some days it feels more like a chore than a joy. But when I washed their feet, just the simple act of getting on the floor, below them and in a physical posture of servanthood, the chore became a joy. It is this way when we serve in the way that Jesus exampled. Whether we are serving our own children, close friends, complete strangers, and even those that are put in our life that we would never pick on our own, we are called to humbly serve with abandon by taking the posture of Jesus. Jesus takes JOY in loving and serving us, and he allows us that same deep joy when being a servant to others.

“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you."

New Life

I have had a dead tree in my back yard for several months, with no intention of pulling it up and trashing it. This tree happens to be the Japanese Maple that was given to us as just a little sapling when Eveyn died six years ago. When I realized it was not blooming this past spring, I was heartbroken. Gavin got on the phone with several tree experts to get opinions, and they all agreed there was no saving my poor little tree. As a last ditch effort, we had a guy actually come out and look at it to make sure. The guy understandably had no idea the significance of my tree, or the level of emotion that he was unfairly walking in to. Once he said the words, "that thing is firewood. I'll rip it up and get rid of it for you," and I started to cry and felt like I could punch him, I knew that it would absolutely not be pulled up until I had a plan for it. So, I've had a dead, abandoned and sad-looking tree just sitting and waiting for me to do something with it. Waiting for it's new life. Along comes Ann Voskamp and my little Eveyn tree has a new life. I knew that something would come to me to let me keep this sweet tree and reminder of our thankfulness for Eveyn's life.

The kids and I set out this morning with a saw to finally cut down the branches. It is still rather big to have in the house, and I need a much better vase or container to put them in, but it works for now. We cut out the paper leaves, read the verses on each one, and talked about our thankfulness for so many things. We are abundantly blessed.

Even though it's still just a grouping of bare branches, I can't tell you how much life it now has with these lovely leaves of thankfulness on them. I am truly thankful for this new life for my little tree.

I will also use my tree for a Jesse Tree for Christmas, and an Easter tree in the spring.

Dinner Conversation

My kids love the Dinner Question Game. It's not really a game, but a box of questions that I bought before I ever had kids. We've hardly ever used it until this year, but it has become a family favorite.

Gavin is a conversation starter, in case you didn't know. When the places are finally set, food is on plates, when the trio of noise has pulled up to the table, and a hungry prayer of thanks is said, dad is always eager for the conversations to begin. It started tonight with Eli miserably complaining about the homemade mac and cheese and green beans that were in front of him, because apparently the boxed variety is much tastier. He chose not to eat it. Fine by me - as long as his ravenous belly doesn't wake him up at 6:00 a.m. ready to be filled. Gavin, ever the encourager and optimist, instead of engaging Eli in a discussion about his distaste for this lovely meal, used it as a conversation starter.

"It's ok if you don't like it right now. Can you think of something that you used to dislike eating that you really enjoy now that you're older?" It worked. He immediately got out of his "I don't want to eat this" grumpiness and enthusiastically started listing foods while munching on his green beans (something that used to literally make him gag).

As we usually do with these conversations, we go around the table and take turns getting each person's opinion so that no little person or little voice is left out or talked over. However, when we got to Ella, she was bored with this topic of food likes/dislikes and instead went and picked up the question box. No matter how simple or boring the question is from the box, Ella gets excited about it. I think there is a bit of mystery to it for her that makes her enjoy it so much. Or it may just be the fact that it comes from a cute little box instead of her dad who asks her questions all the time.

Question #1: If your house was on fire and you could only take one thing with you, what would it be?

Well, this question totally threw them off. "What? My house is on fire? One thing?" Their answers reveal so much about their little minds, personalities and development at each age.
Emmie: "Flowers. And my Tangled flip flops." Makes perfect sense.

Ella: "I would just take a hose so that I could spray it on the fire." Clever. But if you can't take the hose, you have to take something that is important to you, that belongs to you. "OH! Then I would take my lovable Simba!" What if you couldn't get Simba because he's already out? What favorite item would you take? (I have no idea why we kept asking her for different answers when she clearly has already given us two very good answers).

Before Ella could try to answer, Emmie broke into tears since she had concluded from our interrogation of Ella that Simba was going to be left in the fire. I thought she didn't even like him! Apparently her attitude toward him has all been a sham, and she cares very deeply for him. I am touched. And we assured her that we would never leave Simba in a house fire.

Eli's analytical mind was tortured by this question. "Only ONE thing? I DON'T KNOW!" So Eli passes. Next question.

Question #2: If you could spend a day with a famous person, who would it be and what would you do?

Emmie: "Nana! We would sit and pet Bluebell all the time." Done! Check that one off your list! What an accomplishment in your little life.

Ella: "Pop! We would go to the fair or the circus all day!" Again - Check! Move on to the next big dream in life. (Am I being too sarcastic with their sweet little minds?)

Eli: Said with such certainty and enthusiasm. "Roger Federer. We would play tennis all day."

A little peek into my sweet kids' minds. I love the way they work.

Thankfulness

Either race car driving or pod racer driving. Either way, they were racing.


Today I am thankful for the creative genius in the heads of my kids. We spend a whole lot of time outside of the house running errands, playing tennis, seeing various family members, going to church, friends' houses, etc., etc., etc. But, as a homeschool family, we also spend a good amount of time at home doing chores, reading, writing and being "bored" with down-time.

I love the "I'm bored" state that the kids get to. It's in this state of boredom where their true creativity and thoughtfulness comes shining through. It only takes about five minutes of realizing they have "nothing to do" before they realize this actually isn't true. The melancholy voices and glum faces are quickly faced with a mom demanding a list of things they are thankful for. There is an amazing transformation that occurs with this practice. Their selfish boredom gives way to thankful creativity, which in turn makes this mom very thankful!

Lost Time

Yes, here I am again...3 years later. Amazing. I am writing again with both enthusiasm and apprehension. Enthusiasm because I am motivated to start recording the happenings of our little family again - if only for myself to be able to have my favorite memories recorded. Apprehension because I am very critical of myself on many different levels, and to once again put myself out here feels kind of like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff. I realize most of the time my entries here consist of tales from the lives of my little people, however I have been consistently prompted and lead to write about some of my more personal journeys in life.

I have told myself over and over that I don't need to put that stuff out there on my blog, but I don't really think that's true. What I have discovered that I need most (and I really do mean "I". This is a personal journey, which everyone does differently) is to share these things, these issues, struggles with others.

It's difficult for me to describe the amount of anxiety and panic I feel when I encounter someone who I feel could benefit from and be ministered to by my own experiences and trials. I want to share openly so very badly, but I just can't. My heart starts pounding, my head gets light and dizzy, my stomach starts turning and I get about one step away from passing out. It's crazy!

But here's the deal - I'm convinced it's gotten worse each month, each year that I keep it all to myself. I cannot change the fact that certain struggles and trials have been brought into my life. Some of them make some sort of sense, some of them I have no clue what the point of them are. But one thing I can't deny is that God has allowed them to be there. I believe strongly that the trials in our lives have two general purposes - 1) for ourselves to learn, grow and change, and 2) for someone else to learn, grow, and change from our experiences.

I have been half-way allowing the first part of this to take place from my experiences. I am half-heartedly trying to learn, grow and change from my struggles because there's a part of me that is fighting the fact that they are in my life in the first place. And the second part, the part about letting others learn, grow and change from my experiences, I'm not doing at all because I'm keeping it all to myself. And I think this is where the anxiety really comes into play. If I am completely open and honest with others about where I'm coming from, what I've struggled with in life, then I have to fully admit and accept that it's a real, present part of my life. Ouch!

I have recently been distantly introduced to a family that lost their almost full-term baby girl a few weeks ago. My heart breaks for them. When I first learned about it, I cried for them and their loss, and had an instant desire to make contact with them. And then immediately following that, I cried for myself and my absolute panic when I think about talking to this other grieving mother. An instant wave of emotion and grief came over me as if Eveyn had just died. How could I possibly be a voice of experience, comfort or wisdom if I'm in this emotional, panicked state? And how could I not reach out to this hurting woman simply because I couldn't pull myself together emotionally?

It was an epiphany moment. And a very scary moment. I have known for a while now that I have never processed through my grief over losing Eveyn. I'm emotionally stuck just a few weeks past her death. I have been half-heartedly trying to move beyond this point, because again, if I really start moving forward in this, I have to really accept that it's there. Yes, that one stings.

So, here's what I have decided. This blog is one where I want to and NEED to record my memories with my funny kids and dear husband (which I have apparently missed the last three years of!). But it also needs to be a place for me to process through bigger issues and allows me to get them out in the open. My thought, and my hope is that as I write them out here, it will not only be therapeutic for me, but also a first step in sharing them with others. And then, just maybe, I won't feel like I'm having a heart attack when I need to actually talk to someone in person.

Homeschooling Thoughts

This is an entry I found through the Pioneer Woman blog that I follow (the author is not the Pioneer Woman, but another author named Mrs. G).
I love it. It is so true that the number one question and/or comment from anyone that finds out you homeschool is about the socialization of your kids. I will just add my response to that topic: Public school does not equal "socialized and normal kid." I think we can all think about kids we know or knew growing up that have/had socialization issues in various ways. And secondly, homeschool does not equal "socially awkward kid that never gets out of the house." All we are doing is teaching our kids during the day, which actually usually only takes up about an hour or two instead of 8-9 hours sitting in a class. We're not boarding up the windows and creating a compound where no one may leave or enter. In fact, we often do school OUTSIDE, possibly while even out in PUBLIC living a normal life. Scary, I know. Anyway, here is the post. And sorry, but you will have to put up with the author writing in the annoying third person.

The Oldest One in the Book

Mrs. G. has been in the homeschooling business for fourteen years and she has taken great pleasure in watching it become more mainstream and garden variety. She can’t visit a Barnes & Noble to this day without stopping by to visit and admire the homeschooling section. Back in the day, Mrs. G. ordered some homeschooling how-to books out of the back of Mother Earth News that were photocopied and stapled. We’ve come a long way friend.

And yet, Mrs. G. notices that it is still, all these years later, almost impossible to have a homeschooling discussion without more than a couple of people (usually blood relations) bringing up that one question, the question that has plagued homeschoolers since that first brave mother threw on an appliquéd denim jumper and sent the school bus on its way without her children on it:



What about socialization?

Mrs. G. has dealt with this question so many times that she is going to have to take a moment to whack her head on her desk three times to call herself back to order. Hold on a sec…
She’s back.

What about socialization?

Mrs. G. is going to start out by taking you back to a crisp fall evening in the early nineties. The G. family was invited to dinner by a woman named Linda who was in Mrs. G’s food co-op. Linda and her husband had four kids, ages 7, 9, 14 and 16. The two families sat around a big table eating lasagna and talking. Dinner and conversation went on for over two hours, and Mrs. G. couldn’t help noticing that Linda’s kids, particularly her two teenage boys, were the most polite, interesting and respectful kids she had ever spent an evening with. They were comfortable discussing all the things they were up to (writing and illustrating comic books, gardening, filming high school football for a local cable access channel, playing guitar, dismantling computers) and seemed so confident and at ease. When Mrs. G. brought up how she was looking into kindergarten for her daughter, Linda mentioned that her kids had never been to school though her oldest was off to college in the fall. Mr. and Mrs. G. were slightly scandalized. No school school. They had never heard of such a thing.
Driving home that night, Mrs. G. remembers thinking that she hoped her kids, small potatoes at 5 and 1, would turn out half as likable as Linda’s crew. A couple of months later, she found book of essays on homeschooling at the library and that was that.

Mrs. G. isn’t sure when “socialization” became such an urgent and determining concern in shaping a child’s future, but she’s got to tell you, loud and clear, that she thinks the idea that a public school setting fosters a higher caliber, gold standard set of cultural skills, habits and norms is a used and tired bill of goods. It’s a crock. She’s feeling unusually strident and squawky on this subject, because last night she had to swill a gin & tonic to come to terms with the letter her son brought home in his backpack, yesterday, on week three of his first-time-in-public-school experience.

And just because we’re all friends here and this has nothing to do with the topic at hand and this is the way Mrs. G’s mind works, Mrs. G. is going to confess that she has some serious misgivings about her son wanting to give their local high school of 1700 students a try. She isn’t concerned about the quality of his education. He’s loving his classes and all of the opportunities a huge school has to offer. She’s concerned that his fourteen years of experiencing the luxury of the freedom and time to become who he really is is going to be undone by four years in a school where pop culture and cliques rule the roost. Laugh if you want, but Mrs. G. has invested years in raising a young man who is gentleman and she knew exactly what some of his homeschooled girl friends meant when they registered alarm that he was heading to the big leagues of high school. I hope they don’t ruin him, one of them whispered. His own older and wiser sister bit her lip at the news and said, oh lordy, he is in for some culture shock. He doesn’t do the whole crude thing.

Mrs. G. isn’t suggesting that children can’t thrive in public school, because, of course, she knows they can. She did. And she knows that public schooled kids are perfectly wonderful in general. Kids are just plain wonderful in general. She has spent a considerable amount of time living and working with kids of every educational stripe and she knows there is no one formula to successfully raising and educating children, there are infinite formulas. And here’s the rub: she and homeschoolers at large are only asking for the same benefit of the doubt…don’t assume it takes a school to produce a kid capable of successfully functioning socially in the world.No doubt, the socialization question is the byproduct of not understanding that most homeschooled children aren’t spending their days chained to the kitchen table with their fourteen other siblings while their overbearing, oversheltering mothers drill them all day with grammar or math facts, making special efforts to assure they have no thoughts of their own. Mrs. G. can’t speak for all homeschooling mothers, but she has to tell you that along with the work they did at home and the planned and spontaneous field trips they took weekly, her kids took classes, volunteered at the Humane Society or food bank, played with friends, babysat, dogsat, lived at the library, glued things, grew things, the list is endless. At least once a month, Mrs. G. would stomp her foot and say, we are not going anywhere for two solid days. We need to get some stuff done around here! Mrs. G. had to occasionally curb socialization.

Mrs. G. isn’t sure when we decided that it was more important for kids to spend most of their time with their peers rather than society at large. She’s got to tell you that in this arena, she thinks homeschooled kids are the victors; they tend to be unusually comfortable and secure in dealing with people of all ages. When homeschoolers get together, you can be sure that there will probably be babies, toddlers, little kids, big kids, bigger kids, moms, dads, grandparents, a crazy aunt… and Mrs. G. loves seeing all of them interact. She remembers many sunny homeschooling play dates at the park where at any given time you might see a group of teens playing football using a toddler as the ball (they never spiked the little cuss) or a group of silly girls teaching someone’s Papaw how to braid a friendship bracelet or a couple of seasoned moms giving a young mom a tutorial on how to deal with tantrums at the grocery store. This is life, healthy life—interacting with all people, not just 300 of your peers, 300 kids all trying to grow and figure out life at the same time.

Mrs. G. is going to bring this communique to a close, because she know she’s been all over the place in this post. She’s hotblooded on this subject; she gets worked up. There are some legitimate reasons to be skeptical of homeschooling but the issue of socialization is certainly not one of them.

How do you spend time at Wal-Mart when you have to wait 2 hours for your car to get fixed? Play with every size funnel in the automotive section.

Wow, it feels good to be writing again after four months of NOTHING. So, here's what I know about myself. I am a perfectionist. Not a perfectionist in the sense that I look like I have it all together, and I never stop working - that would be my dear husband. My style of perfectionism is debilitating. I allow many things to be left undone because I am fearful that they won't be done exactly how I want them to be. Thus, no blogging for four months at a time. But fear not - I am working on this and plan on contributing to my blog much more often than I have been.
So, what's been going on in the last four months? Really the last nine months since I haven't truly posted anything of significance since Emerson was born. Oh my - I've just realized I have fulfilled a stereotype of the third child. Isn't that the child that's always left behind and forgotten? Now I've let her entire first nine months of life go by without any updates, stories, or pictures on here. I must get better at this.
Back to the update - what's been going on with us? A lot. The last shall be first, right? So I'll start with little Emie Ray (which she is so affectionately referred to as by everyone in our house). So hard to believe she is nine months old! I am really enjoying seeing her own personality start to come out. She absolutely adores Elijah and Ella, and they are pretty smitten with her as well. Emerson usually spends the day chasing them around the house and playing with whatever they are playing with. I honestly don't remember the last time she played with any of her own baby toys. Which reminds me, I need to put them away somewhere instead of junking up my living room for no reason.
She hasn't made it to her 9 month check-up yet, but I'm very curious to see how she's weighing and measuring. I'm pretty sure she weighs about the same as Ella now who is 2 1/2. To set anyone's mind at ease, Emerson is not as big as a 2 year old, I just have a very skinny and petite little girl in Ella.
So, on to little Ella Bella. Wow, she is a two year old in every way. She is silly, happy and wants to do everything her way and in her own time. And she is so sweet and generous. It is also very obvious to many that she is just like her mom. I like this because it makes it very easy for me to relate with her and I feel like we've got a special bond through that. But, there's definitely a part of me that isn't so thrilled about it because I know what a tough road it can be at times with some of those traits.
I'm pretty sure that the last time I wrote anything about Ella she wasn't walking or talking yet. Once again, she did things on her own time. She started walking at 18 months. LATE, I know! She was 2 before she started saying much more than a handful of words, but now she is speaking full sentences non-stop, all day long. She still has some things that can only be understood by me, but for the most part she is understandable. Which brings up another aspect of her personality. I remember Elijah would try to tell me something one or two times and if I didn't get it, he'd just move on and forget about it. Ella is persistent. And loud. She will say something over, and over, and over and get louder with each attempt as if you can't hear her. It cracks me up because she absolutely will not give up until you get what she's saying.
And last but not least, Elijah. Elijah's only terms of endearment these days are Eli, dude, bud and babe. He's not real into being called by any other nickname like the girls. The best way I can sum up Elijah is that he is just like his dad. He is really into telling jokes and hearing jokes, but the poor kid tries way to hard to understand the entire situation surrounding the joke that has no relevance what-so-ever. Like, why did the elephant cross the road? Because it was the chicken's day off.
Elijah: "so where was the chicken?"
Me: "I don't know. Maybe at home resting."
Elijah: well, where does the chicken work and why was he taking the day off?
Me: I don't know. that's not the point of the joke.
Elijah: well, it would be funnier if it went like this. why did the elephant cross the road? because the chicken had been working a lot and he was really tired from crossing the road all the time, so he asked the elephant if he could cross the road that day, and the elephant told the chicken, you can take the day off and go play at home!
So, we are working with Mr. Analytical, Jr. on how to tell jokes. He is also FIVE now! And he eats like he's 25. We're going to have to start taking it easy on the food and keep that in check. Like he said today after asking if he could eat Ella's cheeseburger after already finishing his, "This is kind of like junk food, and if I eat too much food like this, I'll end up like a Sumo Wrestler wearing one of those diapers they wear." Still not sure if he's got that whole cause and effect relationship quite right since it sounds like he may be equating over-eating with Sumo wrestler loin cloths?? Not sure.
We will also be starting his school with him next week. He is excited about it. I will post pictures and more info once we actually get started on it.
Also, in the last four months Gavin has completed a very taxing summer of Greek I, II, and III that we are ALL thankful that he is done with!! He has also started a job as the ministry assistant at our church, in the last week lost that same job due to finance issues with the church, and gained a new, more stable position at another ministry. A lot has gone on and continues to come about in those situations, but we continue to be thankful and in awe of God's providence and protection over us. Gavin will start his new position October 1 and is starting the fall semester at school this week. Done with Greek, now on to Hebrew. Fun times.

So, here I am. Still alive, just very busy and with a major writing block. I'm not sure why I feel I have little to write about with all of the material that I get from the kids each day, but somehow I have let 5 months pass since my last post. And even that wasn't a real post - just pictures. So, I know all five of you who actually read this are super excited to be reading about my life again (blogs are so self-righteous aren't they?!), but beware of the following content. If you don't have a dark or inappropriate sense of humor at times, you may be offended by parts of the story below. Just fyi...

Today we decided to celebrate Eveyn's birthday a day early. She would be 3 years old tomorrow. However, tomorrow is Monday and I wanted to be able to go out to the cemetery with all of us together and knew that would be much easier on the weekend rather than during the week. So, after church we grabbed a quick lunch at Jack in the Box and then headed out to the cemetery where Eveyn is buried. Well, it was supposed to be a quick lunch, but since Elijah has to either tell a story or demonstrate something after every few bites, it was not as quick as I had hoped. But that's beside the point.

Ella of course had no idea what we were going to do, but Elijah did and he was excited about it. He talks about Eveyn all the time and tells me how much he misses her and wishes she was still here with us. I have written about this before, but I just love the things he says about her and the way he sincerely misses having his other sister with him. Now, he hasn't been out to the cemetery in a very long time, so like I said he was pretty excited. On the way there he started talking to Emerson and telling her what we were going to do (Ella was asleep at this point). He told Emerson in his happy little sing-song Elijah voice/baby talk voice, "we're going to visit Eveyn's graveyard! That's your sister, but you can't see her because she died! But we're going to her graveyard! Isn't that fun?!"

Once we arrived at the cemetery and before we got out of the car, I told Elijah that he couldn't run around and act crazy because he needed to be respectful of other people that were visiting people they loved also. He did well with this most of the time, but he was pretty happy since we were having cupcakes. As I was trying to secure a wreath that I had bought, Elijah took a break from asking when we were going to eat the cupcakes to ask a more important question. "When are we going to dig up Eveyn?" I'll just write out the rest of the conversation:

Me: "Dude, we aren't going to dig up Eveyn."
Eli: "Why not?"
Me: "Well, remember how we've talked about what happens to our bodies once we die?"
Eli: "Yeah, they decave."
Me: "Right, they decay. And Eveyn's spirit, her true self, is with Jesus in heaven. Eveyn's body is not alive anymore, so you wouldn't want it here with us now."
Eli: "Yeah, I know that mom. But we could dig up all her bones."
Me: "Why would you want to do that?"
Eli: "Well, I could give them to my dog someday."

And at this point, you just can't help but laugh. A lot. And Elijah doesn't get the joke, but he really likes that he has somehow said something funny. And sorry Pop, but he went on to tell the same "joke" about feeding Pop's bones to his dog someday too.
Once the totally inappropriate joking was over, we sat on the grass, enjoyed cupcakes together and talked about what we thought Eveyn would be like if she was still with us. Elijah became more serious and real quietly said, "yeah, I think she'd be pretty cute right now." It's hard to imagine what she would be like as a three year old, but I agree with Elijah that she'd be pretty cute.
Happy Birthday Eveyn

More pictures of Emerson

Pop, Uncle Steven, Elijah showing Emerson the bear he made for her at Build A Bear



Ella and Elijah taking a good look at Emerson for the first time with Gavin



Elijah and Ella watching Emerson get checked out and have a bath in the nursery




Nana and Emerson


Pretty blue eyes

Emerson Rae

Here are pics of baby Emerson!
















She was not happy to come out of her warm, dark home! She started screaming before she was even all the way out! She has adjusted well now and has become very fond of cuddling - see the picture of her zipped up in Gavin's jacket.
Will post more pictures when we are home. Should be going home Saturday morning.