Slow and Steady

We went to the March for Babies Family Team kickoff last night.  Unfortunately for the sweet girl that planned it, only two families showed up despite about fifteen families saying they were coming.  Maybe it's the Southern in me, but I still don't understand why people RSVP to say they'll be somewhere and then don't show up.

Just as well, as it basically meant we had the run of the place, and Thomas ate up all of his time in the indoor bouncy, slide, and playground.  He had a blast, and took to that 90 degree angle slide like it was his job.  I was so proud of him.  And a little freaked out, all wrapped in one.

So while BT and Thomas played away, I sat and talked with the other family and the MOD staffers there.  They talked about how impressed they were with our fundraising so far, and then asked why we were walking.  You see, they knew the team name, but that's about all they knew. 

I was prepared for that, so then, for the very first time, I calmly and delicately explained the life of our little girl to complete strangers, without a tear, without fear.  For the first time, I did not concern myself over how they would react.  I just took ownership of our story, and told it. 

I found myself uttering the many words that have become all too familiar:

'polyhdramnios'

'non-immune fetal hydrops'

'chest tubes'

'ventilator'

'mystery'

'exhausted'

'spontaneous intrauterine rupture of the thoracic duct'

'12 days....'

And it was all okay.  We just talked.  And the other family just nodded their heads in agreement that there's nothing to say, because it just sucks that bad.  And as their little girl played with Thomas, and I saw the look in their eyes, it all made sense when I learned they had lost their twin babies.  They got it, and it was nice to be with people that just could nod and understand. 

So we talked, and we played, and our kids had a blast. 

When we left, BT said, "thanks for making us go to this tonight."

"You're welcome," I said.

And I breathed a deep breath.

And we went home to our little perfect world, our home, and went to sleep.

Tellin' Stories

Now that's he's really turning into a talking, funny little dude, I'm going to do one of those cheesy mom posts that no one actually cares about but me and BT and the grandparents.  It's true, we sit there and talk about how funny Thomas is all the time, like every night after he goes to sleep.  How did we make such a funny, smart kid? 

I realize every parent says this.  I also realize we are the only ones that are being truthful when we say it :-)

Lately, Thomas has been really into storytelling.  Others might call it flat out lying.  But we call it 'telling stories' right now, since in my head lying involves some sort of selfish/malicious intent, and there's not a malicious bone in this kid's body, at least not right now, and at least not in his momma's eyes. 

Sunday afternoon, I ran Thomas over to the library to turn some movies in and check some more out (is it bad he thinks the library is where he goes to get movies and play puzzles?  I don't think he's ever even noticed the thousands of books there...).  We were looking at the movies when he saw one displayed that had a couple of cartoon cowboys on the front.

"I want this one," he said.

"You want this one?  I don't think so, buddy."

"Yes," he said, "I've seen this movie before." 

"Where have you seen this movie?" and I got a little concerned as it was too old for him.

He thought, very seriously for a few seconds, complete with putting his finger over his mouth like he was in deep thought....

"hmmm...I know, I know!"

"At the movies.  I saw this one at the movies."

As we don't go to the movies EVER, and as he has never been to the movies, I asked, "Thomas, are you telling a story?" 

"NO MOMMY.  I have seen this at the movies."

Our friend Emily said last night, after Thomas told her an elaborate story about playing with a fox at school, that he should be a politician because he is totally believable. 

BT absolutely loves this, because a while back he read THIS story. 

I am a little less excited over this possibility, but love the creativity it shows he's got. 

So yes, it's a mom post.  I haven't done one in a while.  And this is by far my favorite age so far.  Even though I'm pretty sure I've said that this entire time :-)

When Bad Things Happen (not to good people, just when they happen)....

You know, I've been doing alot of thinking lately on something.

These days, social media, blogging, email, and text messages have sort of made it impossible to keep to yourself in a bubble.  Obviously, there are good parts and bad parts to this.  One of the good things is that these avenues of communication are being used more and more for sources of information for people who want to connect with, pray for, and help those going through a rough time.  Specifically when it comes to sickness or medical-related issues. 

Ever since Kathryn was sick, I have been even more in tune to the MULTITUDE of pages, blogs, etc. that are dedicated solely to people asking for prayer for certain things: for a child to be healed, or a woman experiencing difficulties, to a relative who may have had an unexpected accident of some sort. 

It's really pretty fantastic to have such an avenue to solicit prayer, ask for encouragement and help, and for people to keep up with a person's progress. 

But then something happens: sometimes, despite all the prayers, despite all the pleas for help, somebody gets let down.  Or maybe, someone dies, someone might lose their battle, or they may not get the result they prayed for.

And then, here's where it gets interesting: those that do get what they were praying and hoping for, well, they attribute it to the prayer, to all of the support and prayer they received, saying God is the only one that could make that happen.

Certainly, as a Christian, I believe that's true.

But what about the people that didn't get what they wanted?

I'll be honest: every time I see a post or an update about a child or a baby that is healed because of the power of prayer and because God made it happen, well, frankly I may as well have been slapped in the face by someone yelling 'nanny nanny boo boo!'

Because if that's true, then what about my daughter?  Were my prayers not strong enough?  Was I not good enough?  Did my friends and my family not want it enough?  Or did others simply pray harder and want it more? 

I understand what is being conveyed: God is the great healer, the great physician, and the one in charge. 

But I think sometimes we neglect to acknowledge that He is also the one that lets the world be.  And that all of our prayers don't get answered in the way we want, and that most of the time, it has nothing to do with how hard or how long we prayed, or how many people we had praying for us, but everything to do with just how things are, the recognition that we simply live in a broken world.

People don't like to admit this.  It's takes away the control they feel they have over their own prayer life.  Because really, what you pray, how often you pray, and how long, well, sometimes it doesn't have much at all to do with the outcome.  Don't misinterpret me: I am not discounting the power of prayer.  What I am challenging is that perhaps prayer is much more for us than it is Him.

One of my favorite verses is from Hebrew: "During the days of Jesus' life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries, and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission." Hebrews 5:7

What comforts me in this verse is the phrase "he was heard." 

It's taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that being 'heard' doesn't necessarily have anything to do with getting what we want and what we desire.  But it has everything to do with being understood, being comforted.

I believe God has a hand in every part of my life, but I also believe there are certain things that just have to be let alone.  I was never promised a perfect life, as I am so very far from perfect, and as this world is just so broken.

What I do know, however, is that I am heard, I am comforted, and I am loved.  Regardless of the outcome. 

This, my friends, is the beauty of GRACE.

I love a story of healing.  I love to feel like my prayers changed an outcome.  I wish they could have changed Kathryn's.  But sometimes, as much as I hate to acknowlege it, they just don't.  They can't.  It's not for us to make the call.  It's for us to know that we are heard and understood regardless of what the call is in the end.

Spring Fever

Seriously???

Have I really not posted anything since March 5th? 

BT says I need to get on it because how are we ever going to make any money off this blog if I don't post every two days :-)

Obviously that must not be what I'm here for. 

What a fantastic spring so far.  We've just been really busy.  Work is busy, life with Thomas is busy (see post below on swimming), and we've been having a whole lot of just. plain. fun.

Two weeks ago, I took Thomas to have a little play date with his buddy Allan at the playground.  Hard to believe these two have been chumming around for two and a half years now.  Best part about it, though, was that it served as excellent catch-up time for the mommas. 

So while we caught up, these two had big fun:

I'm not quite sure what this was about....



Silly



Big slide all by himself

And later that afternoon, Thomas was a huge 'help' in the yard.  We had some major spring yard work to tackle. 

Then this past weekend, Thomas went and stayed the night with his Gramps in Montgomery.  He got in a ton of great playtime with his Memphis cousins, and BT and I got a real live actual date night.  We went to dinner HERE first, and it was really good. 

Then we went to go hear these guys. 

What a great show.

Then, even though we had been all talk about how we were going to go out afterwards for St. Patty's day, these two were ready to head home and call it a night at 10pm when the concert ended. 

I guess times they really are a changin' and I'm really just a-okay with that.

So all in all, a perfect Spring weekend.

The hostas are starting to bloom in our front yard.  It's my favorite part about our house.  It's just something about those things sprouting up by our walkway that make me feel like life goes on, and that the entire process can be beautiful.  That even if I can't see them in the winter, I know they're there, and that I'll see them again.

And pretty soon, it'll be April.  We'll celebrate five years of marriage, and at the end of the month, our family and close friends will walk together in March for Babies, in memory of baby Kathryn.  I'm not going to spend time here hassling you to donate, but if Kathryn has touched your life, and if her story has made you appreciate your own life and your own children as the gift that they are, even just a little bit, then I'll ask you just once, to consider giving to our team.  You can do so by clicking the link to the right at the top of the page.

And April turns into May, and then to May 13th. 

Mother's Day.  Kathryn's Birthday.

But for now, it's March. 

And all is just more than okay.

Treading Water

"We never know the worth of water, 'til the well is dry..." ~ English Proverb

I'm not having the greatest of days. 

Feeling fairly sorry for myself, a little overwhelmed, and a lot out of control. 

So I straightened my hair. 

Hint for those of you who may not know: when this girl feels out of control, she straightens her hair.  Makes me feel somehow like I have a little bit of a say in what goes on in my life, or at least like I can pretend it. 

It's a pity party sort of day, where I'm feeling down, knowing that's just how it is, knowing it's justified, but hating that it is.... 

Thomas had his first swim lesson on Saturday with his friend Chloe.  Heather and I were pretty nervous, not knowing how they would react. 



Thomas & Chloe before Swim Lessons



The first five minutes for Thomas were tough.  He was pretty freaked out.  Never cried, but whimpered, yelled a little, and was CLINGING to me so tightly.  I could tell he was really scared.  The pool was big, the water had a little chill to it, and something that he thought was going to be like second nature, he let some fears and doubts enter into play.

It wasn't until I stopped to show him that my feet were touching the ground while I held him, that I was walking, and he was safe, that he really calmed down. 

And then, well then he had a complete BLAST.

It's sort of how I've been feeling lately, what I need to remind myself: I'm not in control. 

But I'm not going to drown either. 

I'm going to hold on, to tread water, and learn to kick and blow bubbles as I go, because something, someone a heck of a lot bigger than me, has it all under control. 

When that happens, and when you come to that realization, it makes testing out the waters much easier. 

I'm not going to drown. 

I may get a little choked up, I may get tired, and there may be days like today that I just don't want to try to pretend like I know what I'm doing anymore.

But I'm not going to drown. 

And in the end, if I'm lucky, I'll have a big smile on my face like these two.