Santa ruins everything.

If I could have a do-over, I think I would rethink the whole Santa Claus thing.

I asked my older two, yesterday, if they had a good Christmas.

They both said yes but not convincingly.  When I asked further, they both said it's just not the same.

The magic is gone.

They've both known for years that Santa is a tradition and not the stalker who breaks into our house once a year.

I remember the year I found out, too.  It was hard.  I think it's been hard every year, since, too.

I posted about my struggle with finding Christmas and how I was looking in all the wrong places for it.  It was still hard.  I couldn't truly get into the Christmas spirit until later on Christmas Eve.  Then all day Christmas, I kept trying to find the joy that wasn't whole-heartedly there.

Someone mentioned on Facebook how their kids were grateful for what they got and how that really added to the specialness of the day.

I think my kids were grateful.  But they were focused on the "getting".  I was always focused on the getting, too, when I was a kid.  I think most kids are.  Even as an adult, I don't get many presents (sometimes none) and it makes me sad.  I would think and hope that giving my children the perfect gift would be enough - and it should be.  And it has been in the past - I love seeing their reactions when I feel like we found just the right thing!

I think having a belief in Santa Claus causes one to mostly focus on the "getting", though.

I loved Christmases as a child.  I have so many fun and wonderful memories! We had fun traditions and spent time with family and ate great things and listened to great music and my dad always went out of his way to keep the magic of Santa alive.  (My mom tells me he still runs around the house of my nieces and nephews with bells on Christmas Eve.)  I was always so excited about Santa coming and waking up to loads of material goods in and around my stocking!  Christmas as a child was magical!

But then Santa went away and I was left with trying to find the magic, anyway.  My parents raised me well - they took us to church and taught us the true meaning of Christmas.  We even did the 12 days of Christmas to people most every year (bringing gifts to their doorstep and running like crazy so we wouldn't get caught).  I was definitely taught it's better to give and how God gave His only begotten Son.  I was taught that the first and true gift of Christmas is love - more specifically, a parent's love for His children.

Every year I'm tempted to tell my youngest two the truth about Santa.  I want to help them alter their focus every Christmas season to "What can I do for others?".  I want them to want to make it special for those around them instead of keeping the magic to themselves.  I want them to look forward to the response of those they chose the perfect gift for.

I was watching an old home movie, last night, of a Christmas from my childhood.  We used to draw names amongst each other as brothers and sisters.  We would then separate and buy that person the perfect gift.  My youngest brother had one of my sisters and he bought her a pocket watch.  He was so proud of that gift! He was five, I think, at the time.  My sister had me and got me some things I still have to this day.  They were so special and uniquely chosen, just for me.

As I remember these things, I'm thinking I just need to do a better job with my own kids so we can feel the magic every year without Santa being the main source.

I'm so glad Christmas comes every year so we can get that do-over.  It's been a good holiday season.  It's hard to say goodbye but I'm looking forward to a new year and celebrating every holiday and every day all over, again.

Where Are You Christmas?

Every year, I fight this inner struggle - I try to ward off any guilt for not being or feeling or doing enough Christmasy celebrating.

Last year, I felt satisfied.  I was perfectly ok with saying goodbye to Christmas and the season - I felt like it was enough.  I wish I could remember what it was I did to make it that way because this year, I'm struggling.

There's a campaign going on, right now, that pretty much every Mormon knows about - #LightTheWorld.  I have two calendars with ideas and didn't do a one.  I've been plagued with guilt about this, especially as I see others posting about it all over social media.  But, it occurred to me a couple weeks, ago, one doesn't need to follow a calendar or post every little act of service to be lighting the world.  There are things I've done.  I didn't post about them because I don't think service should be something you really post about unless it's something that's helped you grow spiritually and truly touched your own life or helped your testimony grow.  I did feel like I was making a difference, though, so that helped me feel less guilty about slacking in the organized service area of my life.

Speaking of organized service, I usually try to fill our advent "calendar" (it's a train with doors) with acts of feeling or spreading good cheer.  I didn't even unpack the train till sometime after December had long since begun.  It still sits empty and thinking about it makes my heart sad.  My family's complained about this tradition I've tried to uphold and I swore I would never let that stop me from doing it.  This year, I just didn't plan very well and didn't get it out in time for December 1st. 

I usually delight in putting up what little Christmas lights I have on the outside of my house... but this year, I didn't do that, either.  I got them out, found 3 of the 7 strands I have are the only fully working strands, got overwhelmed with where I would put them and now they just sit in a pile on my front porch.  Then I talked myself out of doing it because it would only be a couple weeks before I had to take them back down.

To be fair to myself, something rather stressful happened at the end of November and then my family started getting sick, one after the other, including myself.  I was pretty worn down for a good part of the first two weeks of December.  The germs starting amassing right before Thanksgiving and haven't relented pretty much since.  We usually decorate the weekend after Thanksgiving, but for some reason, we just didn't.  I blame the germs.

Speaking of germs, we bought a real Christmas tree at the peak of my own sickness - I couldn't even smell it.  I fought my husband to get one for that very reason.  Now the smell is gone and it's quit soaking up water... it's ready to be retired.  Good thing we're only a couple days away from Christmas.

I feel like depression is looming and I'm desperately trying to find ways to keep it from winning me over.  I've been trying to lose myself in Christmas music and books and movies and activities... only to resurface and still find it there waiting for me.

A friend of mine mentioned on Facebook how she's having a hard time feeling the Christmas spirit, this year, too.  She then mentioned her realization that as she's been listening to Christmas music on the radio, it occurred to her not one had mentioned Christ, so far.

I've always been a secular celebrator.  As a child, this was always enough... the sights and sounds and smells and memories... they all made Christmas feel so special and wonderful.

As I adult, I've been finding these things less and less satisfying. 

As I pondered these things this morning, a song played on the radio I've heard plenty of times but never really paid much attention to:

"Where are you Christmas?
Why can't I find you?
Why have you gone away?
Where is the laughter
You used to bring me?
Why can't I hear music play?

"My world is changing,
I'm rearranging.
Does that mean Christmas changes, too?

"Where are you Christmas?
Do you remember
The one you used to know?
I'm not the same one,
See what the time's done.
Is that why you have let me go?

"Christmas is here...
Everywhere, oh!
Christmas is here...
If you care, oh!

"If there is love in your heart and your mind,
You will feel like Christmas all the time.

"Oh, I feel you Christmas...
I know I've found you.
You never fade away, oh!
The joy of Christmas
Stays here inside us,
Fills each and every heart with love!"

It's from the movie, "How the Grinch Stole Christmas".  I saw it for the first time, this year.  Cindy Lou Who asks the adults in her life what the meaning of Christmas is... and she's told it's all the secular celebrating - the presents and shopping and hustle and bustle.  She doesn't buy it.

At the end, of course, the Whos all realize what she'd been trying to say the whole time, "Maybe Christmas...doesn't come from a store.  Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more."

I received this article in my email, today, and it made me think of a Nativity set that was gifted to me.  It's missing the centerpiece - the baby Jesus. 

I've been looking at thrift stores for a random piece I could replace it with, but after today, I think I'm going to turn my search, elsewhere.  I took this from the article and am printing and laminating it:

To all who wish to understand who we are as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I would like to offer a starting point defined by these three words: We seek Christ.

We seek to learn of Him. To follow Him. To become more like Him.

Every day throughout the year, we seek Him. But especially at this time of the year—Christmas, when we celebrate the birth of our beloved Savior—our hearts are ever more inclined to Him.

Throughout the year, and perhaps especially at this Christmas season, it would benefit us to once again ask the question “How am I seeking Christ?”

During this Christmas season and throughout the entire year, may we seek with our hearts and souls our beloved Savior, the Prince of Peace, the Holy One of Israel.

I am going to lay it in the center of this set every year, now.  I've been looking for Christmas in all the wrong places. 

It doesn't matter that I haven't been following a calendar of good deeds and posting about them for the world to see.  It doesn't matter that I haven't filled my advent train or put up my lights or watched every single movie I've ever watched at Christmastime, ever.  It doesn't matter that I couldn't smell my "real" tree or didn't decorate my house when I normally do or that we haven't done half of the things we normally do this time of year.

"Somehow or other, {Christmas}{will come} just the same!"

These things don't make Christmas.  They'll never fully satisfy.

I've been looking in all the wrong places. 

Christmas is found by seeking Christ. 

Leading My Horses to Water

I learned something, today.  Or, more accurately, the Lord helped me understand something more clearly, today.

My anxiety is triggered by my fear of losing control.  I'm a control freak, so this is a daily occurrence.
I hate messes.  I hate, hate, hate crumbs.  Clean surfaces, orderly organization, things saved and not used, no excess papers, clutter-free rooms... oh, how I love these!

Enter my four children.  And sometimes my husband.

Daily.  Occurrence.

One thing that has been plaguing my mind, lately, is guilt.  I suck at being a mom.  Or so my thoughts have been saying.

Why do I feel this way? I literally work from morning till night and then some to do and be and teach what I know is right.  Always, always, always, I pray for guidance and answers and more guidance.

So why aren't my children doing exactly what I teach them to do? Why don't they clean the way I do? Why don't they choose what I choose or like what I like or be how I am? Why don't they love what I love or serve the way I serve?

I'll tell you why.  Agency.  The bane of every teenage parent's existence.

I can't dang make my kids be who I want them to be or think they should be.  I can't control this.

The Lord helped me understand, today, that I am doing what I can.  I need to keep doing what I can.  I need to set the example.  I need to teach and do and love and serve and guide and be as I know to be true and right.  That is my job.  And I am doing that job.

My kids' job is to choose for themselves, just as I had to do once upon a time.  I certainly haven't followed in my own parents' footsteps in a lot of areas.  But they taught me well.  I saw their examples.  I saw the things I wanted to do differently or better or my own way.  I don't think I turned out too shabby.  They taught me to be smart and choose wisely, following my heart and using the Lord as my guide.  I saw them do this.

My kids see me do this.  They're not going to fit into my mold.  They're not going to be me.

What I learned today is that this is ok.  I have no reason to feel guilty unless I fail to do my aforesaid job.

I've even come to realize I do this in my own marriage.  It's caused unnecessary struggle over a lot of years.  I'm grateful to be learning this, now, so I can make it better, now.

I'm so grateful for this lesson, today.  It's been weighing so heavily on my heart.  I feel that has been lifted.  I'm making a record of it so I can have it as a reference as I'm sure I'll need a reminder from time to time.

It Takes a Village

It has been said that it takes a village.  It takes a village to raise a child.

If my child was homeless, if my child was lost, if my child was hurting... Oh, my heart would ache.  I would want to find them and comfort them and just hold them.  

I'm thinking of a grown-up child.  I can't imagine not knowing where my children were, or them hurting without me being there to hold them and comfort them.

I saw this music video, this morning.  It broke my dang heart.

There are so many people who are hurting or lost or homeless - even if only in their mind.  And their mothers might not know.  They might not even be alive.  They might know and don't know where their child is.  I'm telling you, my heart just broke at the thought of this.

If my child were one of those, and I was not able to be there for whatever reason (please, Heaven forbid), I would so so hope that someone else would fill my shoes.  I would want so badly for someone, anyone, to be there for my child.  To find them and hold them and comfort them.  

I can't imagine Heavenly Father feels any different.  Or our Heavenly Mother, for that matter.  I can't imagine Jesus feels any different, either.

We need to be that person who steps in.  We need to be there.  We need to find and to comfort.   

We need to take care of each other.  We need to love each other.  We need to lift each other up.  

We need to be the village.  

He sees me

I have two teenagers.

Those who've been there or are still doing that understand what a fully loaded statement that can be.

I've been riddled with guilt and heartache, this morning, as I feel I'm failing mine in some way.  I feel I'm not doing a good enough job with them because I feel they have little respect for me.  It's been a rough morning.

I try to do all I can to keep the company of the Spirit with me while alone, during the day.  One sure way that takes place is the music I choose.

Heavenly Father knew of my sadness, this morning.  He had a very clear message for me as I sat at my desk feeling quite low.

This song started playing and I knew it was from Him.

I'm so thankful He see's me and knows my worth.  I'm so thankful He reminds me of that worth when I forget.

I know He loves me.

The Answer

I want to share this.

I've had a very specific prayer in my heart for a while, now.  I've had small answers, here and there.  More like pieces to a puzzle, I guess.  But I didn't feel I was getting the whole picture.  I still felt like there was more to be said.

I have a habit of keeping things for later.  Projects, books, random gift bags, recipes... I'm very good at, "I'll get to that, later".

I received an article in my email about two and a half months, ago.  I fully intended on reading it... eventually.

I don't know why I chose today; there was no premeditation to my action.  I just opened it without thinking and started reading.  It didn't take long to realize this was the answer I had been looking for.  It completed my puzzle.

God hears and answers our prayers.  He spoke directly to me, this morning.  I have felt so desperate for what He had to say, I knew I needed but to listen.

Or read the article that's been sitting in my email for two and a half months.

{In case you're wondering, here's the link to the article that I'm sure will change my life for the better.}

Refining Process

I just had a parental realization.

I was sitting here thinking about my children and their personalities and the way they interact with others.  My children are perfectly flawed, as any child is.  As any of us are, really.  But there are certain things they do or views they have that have me fearing I've failed to teach them the correct way*.  Then, I took into account that they don't just watch me.... my husband has an influence on them, too.  He and I are SO very different in SO many ways, especially when it comes to how we interact with others.  I think the way I do it is better.  That's not me trying to put him, down.  That's just me thinking I like the way I do things better than the way he does things.

So, as I sat here thinking, I thought - dang.  They get a lot of their ways of doing things from their father.  My killer control-freak instinct jumped right in and freaked out about how I wish so badly I could just change that.

But, I can't.

Then I remembered - I wasn't always a peach when it came to peopling.  {Yes, that's my own word.}  I was judgy (or so I remember my mom telling me).  I was superbly opinionated and so insecure in my own way of seeing things that I felt threatened by the way others thought, should it differ from my own.  I was awkward, too, I'm sure.  And maybe easily intimidated.

Now, I'm not saying my people skills are so stellar, I have no room for improvement.  But, I do know how to handle myself when it comes to social interactions.  I've had many jobs in the customer service field - both over the phone and face-to-face.  I've had many opportunities to fine-tune my skills.  I've had to learn and practice.

My kids are not only going to be influenced by their parents.  The world still gets a go at 'em.

I just hope I've instilled enough confidence in them and their abilities that they recognize and choose to soak up the good stuff.


*My way.

The Last One

My heart is filled with all kinds of emotions, today.

Today was the last time I'll have to say goodbye to my new kindergartener on their first day.  

We decided to stop having kids after two.  The second one nearly killed me.  For real.  

When she started kindergarten, I had a job lined up and was ready to start the next leg of my journey as a mom - the everyone's in school now, leg.  I was ready and excited and looking forward to the new adventure.

But then...... 

Quin.  The encore.

I had to start over.  I had the sweet opportunity to experience so many firsts, all over, again.  

He's in 3rd grade, now.  And his little brother, the grand finale in our brood, is experiencing his very first day of kindergarten.  And here I am, again.  The everyone's in school now, place.

Summer wasn't long enough.  Never is. 

My heart and the rooms of my home feel empty.  My oldest two have yet to start their school year... that I am certainly not looking forward to.   

A quiet house with no kids is just depressing.  

But these tubes have done been tied.  No more encores or grand finales, for this fam.  So, I just need to suck-it-up-buttercup and keep moving forward.  

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wipe my tears and try to get some work done.

God's Hands

Something happened, the other day.

I was headed to my older kids' new school to exchange some uniform shirts - something I almost didn't do, that day, because of the distance and my current gas situation.  But, I felt the need to go, so I did.

As I was waiting in traffic, I noticed the car two cars in front of me was stopped.  Everyone, else, was going.  My first reaction was frustration - I was on a bit of a time crunch.

That's when the driver flew out of the car, throwing her ice cream cone (poor ice cream cone).  She turned to us (the cars behind her) and mouthed the words, "Help me!", wildly gesturing with her arms.

Immediately, I put my car in park and jumped out to run to her.  She was trying to get the back door of her mini van to stay open (it was an electronic-sliding door).  Her husband had fallen out of his wheelchair in the back of her van and she couldn't get him back in, by herself.  She was freaking out - worried about the traffic and not being able to find the hazard lights button.  I told her traffic can wait.  Between the two of us, her adrenaline, and what strength her poor husband could muster, we were able to get him back in his chair.

As I walked back to my car, I noticed the car between us just took off.  Didn't even ask if we needed help.  Unbelievable.

No one, else, stopped.  They had plenty of time to, and they didn't.

I cried all the way to the school, making it in record time (they were about to close).

I was God's hands, that day.

He sees us.  He knew that lady would need help and that He couldn't be there, in person, so He would need someone to stand in His place.

I got to be that person.

He sees our needs, even the small ones.  He's our Father and wants to do what any parent would want to do - help His children when they're hurt or scared or need help lifting their heavy husband.

When we need a hug, He wants to give us one.  When we're crying, He wants to comfort us and tell us everything will be ok.  When we're happy, He wants to celebrate with us.  He wants to be here.  And He can be.... through us.  That's why we're here - to be His hands.  I so love that I got to be.

I hope she got to replace her ice cream cone.  💙

Existential Crisis

I work from home.  People tell me how lucky I am to have found such a perfect thing. After all, it pays relatively well, I get to (sort of) choose my own hours and it's not hard work.

It's medical billing, though.  And not just any kind of medical billing, the kind where I get to call insurance companies all day and find out where the docs' monies are.  A lot of times, the docs were already paid and cashed the check.  How they lost track of all that money and how it happens time and time, again, just blows my mind.  A lot of times, they "never received the bill".  I could go on, but what it comes down to is it's either extremely boring or really frustrating.  Sometimes both.  I certainly do not love it.

So, as I've been going through a lot of things in my brain, lately, this has come to mind quite a bit.  Why keep doing what I don't love? I'm not the major bread-winner, in our home.  My funds are needed, but not so very desperately.

Read: I am not quitting my job because I don't like it.  My dad taught me better than that.  I will continue with it for the foreseeable future.

However.  I do want to do something I love.

So

I stepped out of my comfort zone.  I applied to be a copywriter.

"How is that stepping out of your comfort zone? That's what you do - and you're good at it!" is what my husband said when I told him.

The only writing experience I have is my blogs.  I won't be surprised if I don't get the gig.

The point is I did it... I took that step.  And I'm going to keep taking steps in that direction until I've accomplished what I'm setting out to do.  I want to be a writer.  In particular, a ghostwriter.  I love love love people and have a flair for the written word - what better thing than to combine the two?

You never know how many diems you have left to carpe, so there's no time like the present to do something that makes you happy.

Lasts and Firsts

Today was the last day of preschool for my last baby.

It was hard not to cry as we were driving away.  Though, I was headed to get gas - I'm quite sure people would've totally taken my tears for having to fill up a Suburban.

I told him he's getting too big.  He said, "I'm still five", like - duh, Mom.  I'm not that big, yet.

He and my other youngest son are watching a movie, right now - Gnomeo and Juliet.  I love that movie.  As a song started playing in the background, I was brought back to the days when I could only watch certain shows without having a smallish breakdown.  I truly hated postpartum depression.  Still do.  Even though this movie was one of the few that didn't bring me to tears in a bad way, it still brought back memories of having a fragile psyche.  But, I digress...

First smile.  First giggles.  First steps.  First time on the potty.  First time riding without training wheels.  First day of preschool...

Of all the lasts I've had with my kids, I have had a lot of firsts.

First time they told me they loved me.  First time they told me they hated me.  First time they talked to a friend on the phone.  First time they went to a friend's house.  First day of school.  First time they tied their own shoes.  First time they showered by themselves.  First time they did their own laundry.

And I get to embark on all of those firsts, again, with my last.

My last.  I've had a very strong feeling that I need to hold on to this one as long as he'll let me.  I've had this feeling since I was pregnant with him.  For most of his life, I had a sinking feeling that this was because I wouldn't have him for very long.  (I've had several heart attacks over the past five years.  I'm glad he's my most cautious child.)  I haven't actually told many people that.  I don't know what the future holds, but I do know this:  I've been given a gift in this urging.  I've held onto every moment I can.  I've held him any time he would let me.  I wish wish wish I would've held him more, as a baby.  I hate hate hate that I didn't even want him awake most of the time.  I'm quite certain I experienced part of what Hell is.

This will be the last summer before he enters the real world of school.  There will be friends and homework and bad influences, a plenty.  I'm excited to see how his personality develops.  It shall be an adventure, that's for sure.  This boy's all confidence and has no qualms about talking to pretty much anyone.

I'm grateful for all of the lasts, because that only means there once was a first.  I'm glad it won't be my last "last".

He's having his "moving up" from pre-K to K party, in two days.  I'm bringing tissues.

All in.

Lately, I feel like I'm too busy being a mom to have time for my kids.

The day started without me, this morning.

My son wasn't able to go to seminary, this morning, so I overslept.  I somehow unplugged my phone from across the room and brought it to my night table.  Somewhere in there, I turned off my alarm.  I don't remember any of this.

I was awakened by a panicked little 8 yr old who was to be ready for school and hadn't even had breakfast, yet.

We hurriedly got his lunch ready and some things gathered for a school project that was due, today, and he ended up leaving with an empty stomach.  I prayed hard for his tummy to feel full and he'd have the energy he needed to focus.  I felt like Mom of the Year.

I'm currently (supposed to be) working.  I work from home.  This is necessary for us to survive, financially.  We don't need much and we're working on paying off debt so we can survive without my income, should we have to.  But I like working.  I like using my brain for something other than the following, which happens to be my to-do list, today (in no particular order):

Get the boys' laundry done (and put away).

Make sure dinner is in the works and actually gets made.

Make sure my kids are up to par on their schoolwork.  

Make a meal plan.

Form a grocery list.

Get said groceries.

Take my son for a much needed haircut.  

Do my share of the chores I've divvied out.  

Make sure the kids do their share of the chores I've divvied out.

After school carpool.

Son's baseball game.

Fax an immunization record to my kids' new school.

Finish the get-in-shape chart I fashioned for one of my children.  

Get kids to bed on time.

Get myself to bed on time (harder than you would think).

And my husband's out of town, so I'm doing this a la Han Solo, but without the Han.

I look around and see my super messy room.  It's in the middle of several projects; cleaning the room being one of them.  I think of the mess on my desk and the mess in the kitchen and my son needing socks and my other son needing underwear and my other other son needing a hair cut and the opportunity I have to earn a little extra money on my birthday and the time it would take from my day and the fact that I haven't eaten breakfast, myself, and my brain just goes into overdrive.

Yesterday, I was hardly home.  My kids had to make dinner.  Someone else had to get my son to Cub Scouts.  My 5 yr old had the opportunity to go to daycare, but he opts not to on account of his friend not being there and I opt not to because it saves us money.  But that means he stays home and watches TV and whines about being hungry and not getting attention and...... 

I don't know what to cut out of my day.  I don't know what I can cut out of my day.  I try to tell myself to just focus on one thing at a time, but my brain's very "all or nothing".  I keep telling others that, which is probably why it complies.  I believe in that sort of thing.

I know I'm not the only one who has days like this or thoughts like this.  I'm not entirely sure why I posted this.  Maybe to get it out of my head and out into the cosmic void that is the internet.  I feel like, if I write things down, I don't have to think about them, anymore.

Yeah, right.  haha

Breakthrough

I've been doing a lot of soul-searching, lately.  I'm coming to realize that some things I thought were, might not actually be.  But, that's a story for a different blog.

Part of it, though, is thus:

I'm a hoarder.

Let me explain...

For the longest time, I thought it was because I was a flake, a failure, an idea-haver but not an idea-doer, a project-starter, but not a project-finisher.

Every time I see a Women's World magazine boasting of some miracle way to lose weight by drinking water or walking, I buy it.  I have a bunch of them.  I've never actually followed through with any of these seemingly amazing feats.  I do the crossword and sudoku, though.  I'll even read the articles.  I buy them with the intent of losing many, many pounds and maybe even being awarded a sum of money for their choosing of something I wrote to publish in their awesome magazine.  But I've never done it.

I have buckets and totes of fabric.  I've nabbed up-for-grabs material off of facebook.  I have quilting patterns and books and notions of all sorts.  I have the sewing machine, a sewing table with two long, folding leaves for making of great things.  I have thread and zippers and buttons and a cool peg board in which to organize my "tools".  I even have a list of items I can make and possibly sell.  But I've never done it.

I have yarn.  Lots and lots of yarn.  I've self-taught myself crochet and knitting.  I have patterns and books and needles and hooks (now I'm channeling my inner Dr. Seuss).  I've bookmarked things on the internet.  I even have a sweet chair in my very own sewing/craft/office room, for those moments when others are occupied and I have time to myself.  I've added to my list things I could make and possibly sell.  But I've never done it.

I have yoga paraphernalia.  Yoga mat, bricks, belt, DVDs, books, a yoga bible, even... I have it all.  I found several programs through a friend and online where I can learn to be a yoga instructor.  But I've never done it.

I have so many workout DVDs.  Yoga, pilates, cardio, hula, dance, Beachbody of all sorts, kickboxing.  I buy them thinking, this is it - this will make the weight problem go away.  But I never stick with them.

I have receipts and various filled pages in notebooks and random pieces of paper with my book ideas.  But I've never written them.

I bought a guitar.  I bought a piano.  I even have sheet music from my favorite artist.  But I've never learned.

I used to have a book for learning sign language.  I have water colors and a full book of water color paper.  I have a blank canvas.  I have a very expensive camera I haven't used in years.  I have a calligraphy book and pens.  I have shelves of books I've never read.

All of these things.  I collect them.  I never do anything with them, but I keep them, just in case.  Someday I'll do something with them, right? I keep adding to them, too, like what I have isn't enough.

It didn't occur to me until recently.  I hoard them.

I'm a hoarder.

I hoard good intentions.

The Middlest Child

When I found out I was pregnant, I was afraid to tell my husband.  I told my best friend, first.  I don't even remember how I told my husband.  We weren't trying for a baby.  We had a miscarriage less than a year, earlier.  I can tell you what day it was likely we conceived.  (July 13, 2008)

I was scheduled for a c-section March 26, 2009.  I went to the ER with real contractions, before that, maybe a couple weeks? I wasn't progressing, cried a bit on the phone, with my mom, then went home.

A few days before I was to have him, it snowed.  Like, a lot.   I was panicked.  And pregnant.  And full of anxiety.  And bossing my husband by quite seriously demanding he go start shoveling.  All worked out, though.  We were able to get to the hospital, as was my doctor.  And the c-section was uneventful.  

Then came the postpartum depression.  If you backtrack through my blog around that time, you'll see much evidence of this.  I don't care to remember - you'll just have to read about it.

Many years of sleepless nights and bed-wetting, later, we find he has sleep apnea.  One surgery and two very long weeks, later, that problem is fixed.  

A small year after that, he started Kindergarten.  He was only slightly hesitant and held back the tears.  And he did great.

Then we moved to a new state (third one he's lived in, in his short life) and he experienced major anxiety issues when it came to school.  Again, you'll just have to read.  I've already talked about it and made my peace with it - no need to dredge it up, now.  

He's in a school he loves, now.  He has friends he loves, now.  He's been playing sports he loves, now.  He's growing grown-up teeth and eating like his body is growing, too.  He's super smart and so very sweet and loves babies and his brothers and sister.  He loves trains and hot dogs and soccer and video games and avocados and onions. Onions! He dislikes reading and watching TV and hard candy and steak.  Steak! He wears glasses because he's got his mama's eyes.  And his mama's nose.  And his mama's face.  And his mama's feet.  And his mama's mouth (and, unfortunately, his mama's teeth).  I predict he'll have his mama's lack of height (5' 9" is my official guess).

And now he's eight.  Which is a big deal for folks like us.  This is the age of accountability.  (Mostly.)  When a child turns eight in my church, they have the opportunity to be baptized.  He's choosing to do so.  We've been doing our best to prepare him and teach him and guide him in what we believe to be right and true and good.  I can't believe we're here.  I still remember, quite clearly, praying and praying and praying that he would just sleep.  For the love of all that is holy - JUST. SLEEP.  I remember being comforted by my Heavenly Father during those tender moments.  I say tender because that's what they were.  They were opportunities for me to love him, to hold him, to rock him and sing to him and just be us.  Yes, I was tired.  But those moments are not there, anymore.  I had so many opportunities to hold him.  I'm grateful for the gentle reminder that one night, a little less than eight years, ago, that this is special.  This won't last forever.  It won't.  One day - these days, to be exact - he won't need me to hold him and rock him and comfort him.  These days, he has a little brother who usually tags along and gets most of the attention.  These days, he's gaining on me, height-wise, and holding him on my lap is awkward, to say the least.  These days, he sleeps.  

I remember quite clearly how I felt about his spirit before I was able to hold his little body.  I felt him as a strong, silent leader.  When my husband told me his name (he picked them all out), I felt it, again.  Quinlan Thomas Hamblin.  

For now, he's still my Quinnie.  His cheeks are still squishy and smoochable.  He still lets me smooch them, too.  And he loves hugs.  My sweet boy.

My Littlest Little

My stinky little dude is five, today.

He's the life of the party.

His favorite color is pink.

He loves kitties and puppies.

He calls all meat chicken and loves to eat it with barbecue sauce.

He's been able to ride a bike without training wheels for some time, now; better than he was ever able to ride it with them.

He's not so scared of things, anymore.  (He used to be afraid of the night sky and water.)

He doesn't like heights, but he's getting braver.

He's good at making people laugh with things he says.

I haven't met someone, yet, who doesn't get a kick outta this kid.

I've been blessed with a keen awareness that his little won't last very long.  I can still hold my "little ball of boy" and he still "loves me so much".

But, he's five, today.

He's all registered for kindergarten and has had (and hated) his shots.

He doesn't like to wear shoes with socks, like his mom.

He has a super kind heart and will share with anyone.

He still sees things that bigger people don't have time to notice.

He's always more than happy to "have the rest" of whatever it is you're eating or drinking.

He still loves his soft blankies - the ones we used as burp cloths.  He was so pukey, he attached to them because we always had them when we had him.

He loves to make people notes and stick them in envelopes.

He still gets excited about stickers and play-doh and bunnies in the backyard.

He loves whatever music his sister loves, and whatever computer games his brothers love.

Oh, he's such a sweet little boy.

And he's five.

Slow down, time.