Just don't ask me to run around the block now

We're here.

Here means an elevation of over 10,000 ft in the Rocky Mountains.

I think I'm going to be dizzy for the next week. Every time I run walk up the stairs the room starts spinning and I gasp for just. one. breath.

I live at sea level, remember.

Oh, you mountain folk may laugh, but John is living proof that even if you grew up here, when you live way down with the commoners at a normal elevation, your lungs do indeed shrink and you can no longer run marathon-ish distances in little-to-no oxygen. It just don't happen, peeps.

Not that I'm running, mind you. I get all the workout I need just making it to the top of the stairs.

But, lack of breath-ability aside, OH MY WORD, how I love it here. I love it here. I mean, I really LOVE it here.

Just one breath (albeit shallow) of that crisp mountain air and I'm vowing I'm never going to leave. I'm going to lean back in the grass beside that front yard tree, gaze up at the snow covered mountain peaks on all sides, and be content.

So, people back home? If you ever want to see me again, you'll know where to find me. Sitting among the evergreens. Wearing Melanzana clothing.

But all that to say, our trip went well, we're safely in Colorado, the kids didn't do too much screaming in the 18 hours of drive time, and we never paid over four dollars for gas. We're in the mountains, fighting for oxygen, discovering the wonders of Grandma's house ("Look, look, Mommy! Oh! Look, look! Grandma's house!"), and we're surrounded by pictures both past and present of that guy we love.

What could be better?

I mean, a little more oxygen might be nice, but, you know...

Pack it on up

It is 8:00pm.

My boys and I, along with my mother-in-love who flew in last night, are leaving to drive to Colorado at 5am. I'll be getting up at 4am.

I have probably five hours worth of work to do before we leave.

You do the math.

This is going to be a short night.

So since I have very little brain left at the moment, I'll use this little moment of nursing the baby to employ the numbered list format.

Beginning presently.

1. How on earth does one pack for a month? I mean, I know I'm supposed to pack for a week or so and do laundry and all... but, seriously??? What if, on day 18, I decide nothing I have will look good and I'm pining with all my heart for that one particular shirt which will be hanging back home in my closet? What do I do then? Add that to the fact that this is JUNE in the highest town (in elevation) IN THE COUNTRY, which means that it could snow one day and be 75 degrees the next.

(You ask how I know? Remind me to tell you the story of my June wedding day sometime. The day on which we'd planned to get married on the lake shore amid the gorgeous trees, with the snow-capped Rockies as a close backdrop. The day we had to decide what to do as the dark clouds rolled in and the strong winds kicked up and our guests were being seated. The day we ended up getting married inside at the church while it hailed and poured and was completely black outside. That's how I know. Ahem.)

This would explain why I have packed just about everything else... except for MY clothes.

2. Does anyone have any miracle solution for shin splints? Because apparently it's not a good idea for a treadmill runner to take advantage of the fact that someone beside herself is at her house to watch her children and decide to run in the great outdoors. Which, in this case, means breathing the fresh air while running on the sidewalk. Apparently, the sidewalk is much harder on the legs.

Who knew?

Apparently, everyone except for the runner herself. Well, folks, she knows now.

She also knows it's not a good idea to trip down her stairs. Because the combination of shin splints and a twisted right ankle is not helping her tonight. She doesn't think it will help her while she drives a gazillion hours tomorrow, either.

3. Does anyone have the invention plans for the Magnificent Multi-Phasic Take-Your-Time-Machine? (HUGE bonus points to whoever can name the "inventor" of that "machine.") Because I'd like one right now.

4. I totally had several more things to say. But I have no idea what they were anymore. And besides, the baby is done nursing. And my currently un-packed clothes are beckoning.

Catch ya later, peeps.

Remembering...

There is a big difference between Memorial Day and Veteran's Day. Sometimes, in all of the three-day-weekend plans, people can get the two a bit confused.

On Veteran's Day, I'm proud. I'm thankful to my dad, my husband--both Marines--and the many, many others who have served our country and protected my freedom.

People hear that my husband is in Iraq right now and often they tell me a sincere and sweet thank you and ask that I would extend it to him. Every time I hear it, my heart swells and I'm thankful again for these guys (and girls) and thankful I can be part, in my holdin' down the fort kind of way, in this fight for liberty.

With Memorial Day approaching, I've received more of these kind sentiments than usual. I appreciate every one. I know what they are meaning--that my husband and other military guys are willing to lay down their lives. But I often wish I could say one thing...

I'm not one of the ones who truly needs to be thanked on Memorial Day. I hope and pray--with every breath these days--that I never am.

Because Memorial Day is more than just being grateful to our troops. They do indeed put their lives on the line for the rest of us. But it's really about remembering, truly remembering, the ones who have done more. The ones who have given their very lives to protect our freedom. It's about thanking their families. The families who are remembering them today and every single day.

So now I'm remembering... the heroes I've known personally or indirectly and their families. And I'm passing on some of those thoughtful thank you's on to them.

Tim. I picture you laughing. I picture you standing with me and two other friends around the piano because you decided to throw together a quartet for special music at the very last minute. I see you with a paper hat on your head, your arm around your mom, trying to make her laugh. Miss you, old friend. Thank you, precious Watkins family.

Dan. You were always good for a laugh, hanging out in our shared front yard, teasing your pretty wife, joking with John and talking theology. I re-read your final letter, which our President read to the American people, and I can hear your voice saying each line. Thank you, sweet Lisa--my first Marine Corps neighbor and friend.

Jim. You left a legacy among people you never knew. Thank you, Mel and the Holtom family.

I think of the guys from John's base in the Sandy Spot who just recently paid the Ultimate Price. My heart still aches and my eyes well up when I think of you and your families. Thank you to those families. We don't know you, but you're part of "the family."

...and so many more.

Remembering.

"See you soon," says the Daddy

Daddy Dolls

I have no idea WHAT Troy is looking at. Or why that Daddy doll's head looks a bit distorted. But, hey, it's the best picture out of, like , TEN.

When you hug each doll, he says...

Of course, Merritt's doll says his name instead of Troy's

But.

Deep breath

It looks like God is doing something awesome and "See you soon" is going to be sooner than we thought.

Deep breath.

Trying to stay calm here.

As with anything in the Marine Corps, plans can change at literally a moment's notice.

Obviously. The date for John to leave changed half a zillion times up until two days before he actually left.

But, as of right now, "the plan" is for this deployment to be shortened from 13 months to 7 months.

Did you SEE THAT?? Cut almost in half.

Deep breath.

It could change yet again. There's always that possibility. But for now, this is "the plan." And we're praying, praying, it stays this way.

Deep breath.

I'm trying to suppress the urge to scream. Or squeal. Or something.

So they've changed the plan on us again. And this time, we are more--MORE--than willing to acquiesce.

Ha. Understatement of the century right there, peeps.

More than you ever needed or wanted to know

The boys are napping and I have strict orders from my mama to not overdo it today, since she went home this morning.

(Oh, and her thanks for coming and rescuing us before I died (drama is my friend)? A cold. She woke up sick herself this morning. What's up with that?)

But since I'm sitting here, doing nothing (see Mom? I'm obeying. I'm listening. I'm being good. Shall we sing? Obedience is the very best way to show... oh, sorry.) I'm going to revisit some of those Q&A thingamabobs.

Heather asks: What is your favorite dessert?

Hot fudge brownie sundaes. The stuff dreams are made of.

A gooey, soft brownie (big one) with a big scoop (or two) of Breyers vanilla ice cream, with lots and lots and lots of thick hot fudge (Hershey's syrup is a joke) and a little bit of whipped cream and a ball of uber-dyed sugar maraschino cherry--it'll make any day the best day of the week.

Ginger asks: When did you get saved?

I was five years old and it was a Wednesday night at church. The concept of salvation was nothing new to me, but it "clicked" in my heart that night. I understood enough at five to trust Jesus for my salvation, and then He was gracious enough to continue to grow my spiritual understanding as I grew in years.

Sileena asked a whole SLEW of questions. I should do a whole post just for her questions. Or I could, you know, just answer them here. But, just so ya know, Sileena cracks me up. I think we'd have a crazy fun time if we spent a few hours together. I think we'd laugh. A lot.

Are you involved in any ministries in your church?

Right now, I serve in the infant nursery several times a month and do "little" things like taking meals and helping plan Sunday School activities. In the six months we lived here before John left, we were both in the choir and sang in one of our church's ensembles. And before that, at our old church, the list of things we were involved in would require a post all their own. But for now, with the season we're in, this is the involvement God has for me. And I'm doing my best to not let myself feel (wince) guilty for not "doing more." Although I don't always do a real good job with that one.

Did you always want to be a SAHM?

Well, given the fact that I was, ahem, nursing my baby dolls when I was two, I think it's safe to say that yes, yes I did. Until I was about ten, I also wanted to be a second grade teacher so I could teach children to read.

Because, in my mind, there would be nothing on earth as grand as opening young minds to the wonders of Beverly Cleary's Ramona Quimby: Age 8. Nevermind the greater benefits that go along with being able to decipher letters.

Where did you and John spend your honeymoon?

Alaska.

John had been saving his money from the time he went into the Marine Corps for two things--a ring and a honeymoon. This was his chance to shine.

So he planned a two-week honeymoon in Alaska--the first week at a bed and breakfast in Fairbanks and the second week in a tiny cabin in Denali--without me knowing a single thing about where we were going until we got to the airport the day after our wedding.

All I can say is that if there is a place on earth that gives a foretaste of heaven, Alaska is it.

What one article of clothing can't you live without?

Long, white tank tops. They cover a multitude of, well, skin in shirts that I otherwise couldn't wear.

Can I get an AMEN???

If you could live anywhere for a year where would it be and why? (JoyfullyHis also asked a version of this question.)

Whenever I read that question, I immediately think England. Just because I'm a hopeless romantic and, hello?? Is there any place more romantic than England?

But in all honesty, if given the chance to choose someplace to live, I don't think I could make a decision. I spent almost my whole life living someplace I loved, not at all because I would have chosen to live there--the desert would actually be one of the very LAST places on my wish list--but because it was home and I love the people there. So while I would, of course, love to live in England for a while, and I simply love, love Colorado and Alabama, and I'd like to think Alaska would be pretty nifty, I really would be happy to stay right here at the beach, for as long as possible. We've been here almost a year and love it. At the risk of sounding ridiculously cliche, I'd much prefer to be near family and people I love than to choose someplace new.

Anonymous asks: How do you and John pray together (when he's home and/or when he away)?

Well, we hold hands at the kitchen table, bow our heads and... oh, wait, I think you mean our more serious, deeper prayer times, right?

Up until the last few months John was home, our "plan" was always to have our family devotion time (i.e., the two of us) while I nursed Troy before he went to bed. John would read some scripture and often something from his own personal devotion time. Then we'd pray together, sometimes taking turns, sometimes just John, before we fell asleep.

That was the plan. Not always the reality. For a variety of reasons, we didn't always have the "formal family devotion time" we intended--it was later than usual, Troy hadn't gone to sleep easily, we'd stayed up reading individually too long, or we were just going through a period of inconsistency, which I think all families go through at times, whether they say so or not, ahem--and we'd frequently end up praying snuggled up before we fell asleep.

Sniff.

I miss those times.

Anyway. Moving right along.

All of that changed once Troy was weaned and started going to bed earlier, then I had Merritt, and then John left. We never really had a "plan" as things started changing, and our prayer times were almost always those before-we-fall-asleep times. We've had some true pouring-out-of-our-hearts and some really good mutual talks with Jesus during those times.

Now that John's gone, we share lots and lots and lots of prayer requests with each other. It's kinda hard to snuggle up and fold our hands over one another's when we're half a world apart. But often, the highlight of my day is getting an email from him that says, "Hey my bride, I'm praying for you today while such and such is going on."

Last week John asked me to order a children's Bible a friend had told him about (it has actual KJV scriptures instead of just paraphrases) to start reading with the boys. It's all different now that it's not just about the two of us adults! I have a feeling that when he gets home, "family devos" (as we call them) will be 5-10 minutes long with repeat-after-me-prayers and our serious, deep prayer time as a couple will always be snuggled up before we fall asleep.

Sorry, I have no idea how that answer got so long. It kinda sounds preachy. I don't mean to be preachy. I don't like preachy posts. We are not super-spiritual and we don't have it all together. But we do love Jesus. A whole, whole lot.

Okay, I think that was the last of 'em. Did I miss any? Let me know if I didn't answer your question. Or if you thought of a new one.

These things are fun. I get to ramble. And we all know I'm good at rambling.

Eating Humble Cheerios

Whew. Where to start?

Being sick is never fun. Having two bad piggyback illnesses, nursing a baby, caring for two children, and having a deployed husband isn't fun at all.

Don't ask me how I know.

I thought I should have been getting better from the virus I'd caught from Merritt. But the fact that my case of it was lasting longer than anyone else's in my family had was causing me to wonder. The extreme fatigue was bowling me over and when I woke on Friday with signs of infection and a bad cough--symptoms totally unrelated to the virus I'd had--I knew something else had hit me. I was getting worse by the hour.

Several people told me on Friday I needed to call someone for help. Troy had been at my parents' house when I'd been sick earlier in the week, which was wonderful during that time, but he'd come home when I thought I was getting better.

I was still fighting it. I didn't want to admit I seriously needed help.

But then I reached a breaking point.

I'd run upstairs on Friday to put my hair in a pony tail, hoping to go to my neighbor's house and see if she could watch the boys while I went to see the doctor. I walked back down the stairs and stopped short.

Before I went upstairs, I had left a box of Cheerios on the kitchen counter after giving a few broken up pieces to the baby. Troy had pulled the box down and done his best to give Merritt a few more.

A few more, as in, THE WHOLE ENTIRE BOX, peeps.

Merritt was sitting in his walker, completely covered in Cheerio dust and the rest of the little round pieces were spread all. over. the living room and dining room carpet.

And Troy was happily jumping on them. Singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to the baby.

So. That was the first inkling I needed some help. Badly.

After dealing with Troy and cleaning up the mess, I ended up calling a friend from church who graciously watched the boys while I went to the base hospital.

By Saturday morning, I'd been to the "urgent care" on base and sure enough, all my hacking up a lung was due to a nasty, icky case of bronchitis. I kept telling myself that if I could just get a little rest, I'd be okay. The doctor and my mom were telling me that if I didn't get some rest, and soon, I'd be in the hospital with pneumonia in real short order.

Honestly, I don't remember the last time I was that sick. It's been... a whole lotta years. My body was so incredibly worn down from the first bad virus I had and the continued nursing that I had virtually nothing left to fight this. On Friday night, I was literally crawling up the stairs on my hands and knees to get to bed. I was crying to Jesus for strength, but was still telling myself that if I could just sleep, I'd be fine in the morning.

Saturday morning came and I knew it would be pushing it to try to get rest with the two little kiddos. I was completely desperate. I was extremely weak and just couldn't care for the boys. I could barely lift or hold them.

But as always, the Lord proved Himself so faithful. So faithful--despite my silly thinking I could do it all on my own. He provided strength in the form of people who love me. My mom was able to come out Saturday, and, thanks to some dear family friends who drove two-and-a-half hours out here also to help me for a few hours, she was even able to still make it to my brother's fiddle competition this weekend. After the competition, my dad and brother drove out here and pitched in themselves. They've all been taking care of me, the boys, cooking, cleaning, going to the store, doing laundry.

Before John left, I assumed there would be some really hard times while he was gone. I wondered what those times would involve and how we'd get through them I tried to imagine the feeling of "hard." Would it be hard emotionally? Would it be hard physically?

I didn't realize sometimes it would be both. Neither did I realize that it would be so demanding on those close to us.

Thank you so much to those of you who read my mom's blog and were praying. I appreciate it more than you know. This whole deployment thing definitely isn't making for an easy time these days, but I'm so thankful for the support of so many of you who are carrying the load with us, either through direct help from those nearby, or prayer and encouragement from those farther away and those I don't even know personally. You peeps are the greatest.

I can say I feel about 95% better. A little tired now and then still, but definitely myself again. Although, I was telling my mom earlier that it's only now that I feel better I realize how just how very sick I really was.

But, hey, let me tell you this--there's not much that can make a grown mother of two little boys feel better than resting her head on her own mama's knee and feeling her mama's fingers running through her hair. I'll take that any day.

In which I reveal my Facebook "status" (Ha! Pun totally intended!)

Well, it looks like the ol' fever monster has finally released it's hold on me. I'm still feeling a little weird and I'd like to rip my throat out to kill the soreness, but, hey, as long as that fever is gone, along with the chills that accompany it, I'm a pretty happy camper.

I've been a not-so-happy-camper here on the couch for the past couple days, though. My poor living room is beginning to show signs of being turned into a temporary hospital ward in which the patient is both her own nurse and a baby's nursing mother. BUT, during my coherent moments, I was, in fact, able to do some things I'd been meaning to get done here on the bloggity. That's a fun thing.

You'll see (if you scroll down--next time I'm sick I'm setting up a third column. I think it's becoming needed) that I added the Feedblitz "Subscribe by Email" option for those of you who have asked for it. This way, if you don't use a feed reader, you can have new posts sent directly to your inbox.

I also embedded my Twitter updates. So, now you can have even more useless information about yours truly! EXCITING, I know!

Now I want to find out the same random info about what YOU are doing when you aren't blogging, so go sign up. It's fun. Lots of fun.

And, you know, it's becoming the blogger's version of the 1997 Tamagotchi Pet trend, which, of COURSE, means that if you don't have one, you are certainly not going be, gasp!, with it. Nothing like following the crowd.

That is a joke, peeps. Really. You are cool and nifty and all that whether or not you use Twitter. I promise. Like, totally.

I crack myself up.

I actually set up an account several weeks ago, but never got around to really using it. The great and wonderful thing is that I was able to sync my Twitter account with my Facebook status, thus killing two birds with one stone... and also thus fooling my Facebook-y friends into thinking I actually sign in over there more often than once a week every other week.

Am I the only person left on the face of the planet who isn't a pro at writing on Walls and leaving comments on pictures and adding applications and fielding five zillion requests for five million different things? Seriously now, I know I'm young and all, but I just can't keep up. (Although Facebook isn't just for the teens and college-age ones anymore!) I mean, give me some CSS or HTML and I'll take care of that right quick, but set me loose on Facebook and I'm utterly overwhelmed.

Sorry, folks, but it's all I can do to keep up with THIS internetty spot.

I think I'm part of a dying breed. "The Last of the Facebook Illiterate." I can see it now...

If this doesn't make sense, blame it on my 103.4 fever

I have an obsession with knowing exactly what my temperature is when I'm sick. And then I like to announce it to the world.

Ah, drama, thou art my friend.

So I always keep my thermometer nearby when I have a fever and take my temperature every hour. At least.

(Or, "temp-er-uh-toor," as my southern Grammie would say. Since I like to pretend I'm southern, I like to say it that way too. In So Cal.)

It seems I've been hit with Hand, Foot and Mouth disease, caught from my boys. Troy had it a couple weeks ago. Then a week ago, after we all spent a weekend together, my dad came down with it (or, at least, something like it--we're still not sure about what he had), then my brother did, and then, back here at our house, Merritt did. So I spent the second half of my bloggie break tending a poor, sick Baby Tiny.

He's all better now, but, me--not so much. Troy went to my parents' house for the night, so I actually only have one child--an infant who can barely scoot, at that. Which, if you're a mother, you'll know can be a helpful thing when Mama's not feeling so hot.

Er, uh, IS feeling hot, literally. Hot, only as in temperature, of course. The sweats and USMC sweatshirt make sure of that.

So anyway. Moving right along.

Here's my question.

Who on earth decided Mother's Day should be on a Sunday?

Because, yesterday morning, I was ready to talk to the President about switching it to another day of the week. Saturday would be nice.

I love Sundays, I truly do. BUT, the hour before we walk out the door is the absolute hardest hour (typically) of my entire week. It doesn't matter HOW early I get up, or HOW prepared I am. It's just always crazy right before we leave.

A few of us agreed during Sunday School yesterday that the reason it's on a Sunday to TEST us moms in our great and awesome mothering skills. Mmmhmm.

Because, let me just tell you, I was Top Mom yesterday. Oh yes I was.

I was Top Mom during that hour before we left. When Troy decided listening was optional and Merritt decided crying was mandatory. When we dealt with a meltdown and the "consequences" of said meltdown. Because we all know Top Mom would, of course, get completely frustrated, put the toddler in his crib just to contain him for a few minutes while she dresses the baby, grabs diapers for the diaper bag, answers the phone, and tries to find a pacifier, and then tell the baby that crying for no reason is just not acceptable in this house, fully expecting him to understand. Right?

And I was Top Mom after church, when I went in to check on Troy during his nap and found him asleep with his hand, once again, covered in poop.

Ahem. AHEM. A-HEM!!!

WHAT IS THIS CHILD'S PROBLEM??????

I was Top Mom as I cleaned his hand, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. This was the fourth time he's done this. FOURTH TIME, peeps. What on the face of the earth is he thinking??

He's been disciplined. He's been talked to. He's been checked on and his dirty diaper changed before he falls asleep.

And then, he did it again. Today. Only this time, it wasn't during his nap. It was in the middle of the day. He just came up to me, held up his hand and said, "Eeewy, Mommy. Hand diapie. Eewy."

I was Top Mom dealing with that one, too.

Fun times in our house.

Let me just tell you this, peeps. I know for a fact I'm anything BUT Top Mom. Oh, and what my mom said? Ha.

Ha. Ha. That's funny. REAL funny.

But Mother's Day is fun. If only to remind us that when all is said and done, and with all the gifts, cards, nice dinners with family, flowers from husbands in the Sandy Spot, hugs and kisses aside... we're still just moms. Just making the world go round. Up all night with feverish babies. Catching our kids' illnesses.

And wiping poop off the hands of sleeping toddlers.

Nothing like coming back with a bang, huh?

Little Sabbatical **Updated**

I figured something out.

It seems there's a cycle to my blogging. Every six weeks or so, I get burnt out. I start out nice and balanced, but then it snowballs until I'm in over my head and completely overwhelmed. My priorities get out of whack and I realize I'm logging way too many hours on the computer.

And I'm sure this is just me. I know NONE of you can relate.

Right???

Mmhmm.

Recently I spent a little time going over priorities, writing out a daily and weekly routine for us and making a list of things I need to accomplish.

During that time, the Lord really spoke to my heart about taking a little break every now and then. Not that I haven't done that plenty of times, as you all know, but I always feel kinda guilty and I usually just take a break from posting. I really sensed the Lord prompting me to plan for a break... a scheduled "week off" every six or seven weeks.

So this next week is going to be my "seventh week," by little bloggie sabbath. And this time, I'm taking a full break. I'm completely shutting down the computer. No posting. No designing. No reading. No commenting. No email.

Wow--it'll be like, you know, the early 90's or something.

I have a list of things to do this week. Stuff like cleaning out my closet, finishing the pile of ironing that's been sitting in the laundry closet since before John left, reading in the evenings and finishing a couple parenting books, braving the pool with our neighbors, the park and lunch with friends, and maybe even get Troy's toddler bed set up in his room. Without using nearly every nap time and after-bedtime to catch up with computer-y stuff, I should be able to get a lot more accomplished.

We'll see how much of that actually gets done, but I'm off to do my best. Tomorrow the computer is shutting down and being put away for the week.

See you next Monday, peeps.

ETA: (Wednesday night) Lest you all think I'm some sort of great and wonderful bloggie-break-ish-person, I must confess that my computer was turned off, but it's back on. And I've even actually been online a little. But only a little--mostly just to get phone numbers, check weather, contact my beloved and check my bank account. Mostly. Oh, and, obviously, allow my comments through. But this is still a HUGE break. I've really only been on here a few times, when I'm nursing and forgot to grab the book I'm reading... like right now. The other thing I'm realizing is that I can't entirely blame our crazy days on the computer, because they've been just as busy as ever. I'm just getting a whole lot of other stuff done beside computer stuff during naps and after the boys go to bed. So that's all.... just sayin'.

Be Still

It had been "one of those" mornings.

It was the middle of December--Christmastime. Things were crazy. Everything from the past two months seemed to have hit me that day--my newborn, my husband's surgery, a trip to Colorado, Christmas preparations, and a deployment date looming in the near future. This particular day was filled with a million little things, and I felt I was hanging by a thread.

In the late afternoon, I finally managed to find a moment to take a shower. I thought if I could just take a quick hot shower, it would wash away the craziness of the day and all would be fine. An hour passed, and between several phone calls and door-bell rings, I still wasn't in the shower.
A harried mess. That's what I was. I sat Troy down in my bedroom with a stack of books and a couple toys, put 6-week-old Merritt in his bouncy seat, and hopped in the shower.

But, unlike my expectations, the stress didn't wash away with the water. I could only feel the tension in my heart building as I ran my long to-do list through my head. I could hear the ringing of the phone--again. The baby was beginning to get fussy and Troy was tired of looking at books. It had been all of two minutes.

I pushed my hair under the stream of water, letting it rinse the shampoo out of my hair. As I wiped the water beads out of my eyes, I heard it.

Be still.

Gently the words came. I pushed them out of my head, trying to focus on the days, weeks ahead of me. There was so much to think about, plan for, keep straight in my head. How desperately I wished time could stop and give me a week to catch up. It was all just so much and I...

Be still.

So softly, that Voice spoke directly to my heart.

Lord, don't be ridiculous. Be still? Now? Not happening.

I heard the baby crying with all his might. Hurry. Rinse out the conditioner. This shower had taken long enough. Next on the list? Get dinner started and then I'd have to hurry...

Be still. Quiet your heart. Know I am God.

I sighed aloud. Okay, Lord. Okay. Quiet my heart. I've made a note of it and I'll be sure to do that. Maybe once the kids are in bed. Or something.

That still, small voice is persistent. Our little back-and-forth continued as I finished up my shower and went about getting ready.

Be still, and know that I am God.

Lord, my heart replied. I already do know you are God. Of course I do.

Be still, and know that I am God. Quiet your heart before me.

~*~
This evening, things were completely chaotic in our house. What was really only about thirty minutes felt like days.

We were on our way to our church's annual mission's dinner. I had made food, was scheduled to work in the nursery for the service after the dinner, and was hoping to catch some of the amazing man, Don Sisk's, preaching through the television screen in the nursery.

But my reality at that moment wasn't so rosy. Both boys were crying. This was not just fussiness or whimpering. Troy was sobbing as if his life was ending. Merritt was screaming with everything in him.

I was beside myself.

I hurried them both along. I tossed brownies on a plate. I ran in my heels to fill diaper bags. I replaced the binky. I consoled. I held. I got impatient and spoke too harshly. I walked into the kitchen, away from the boys and let out a long at-my-wit's-end-again groan. I put the baby in his carseat, directed Troy to the door, slung my purse and the diaper bag over a shoulder and picked up my plate of brownies, nearly forgetting to grab my Bible with that extra hand I don't have.

And then I heard it in my heart, always so soft and gentle.

Be still.

I was frustrated. Lord, this is NOT the time. I don't have a second for stillness right now. This is crazy. I feel like I'm falling apart. I don't even know what I was thinking in imagining I could go to this dinner on my own with the boys.

I locked the front door.

Be still, and know that I am God.

Lord, please, please... what are you trying to tell me? I DO know You are God. You know I can't be still right now. I don't understand.

My Jesus is so loving. You know I'm God? Do you really know I'm God? If you know I'm God, you know I'm capable of handling all of this. You know this moment would be better if you placed it in my hands. You know I will fill you with My perfect strength in this moment of weakness. Quiet your heart before Me. Be still, and know that I am God.

I was stopped at a red light. I closed my eyes. This wasn't a mere suggestion. It was a command.

Be still. Know I am God.

The boys were still crying. I told myself to never again try to pack so much in one long day.

I don't feel it, Lord. I don't feel quiet or still. But I do want to truly know you are God. Please let me see You in this moment, Jesus.

Are you weary tonight? I am. Are you frazzled or is your heart troubled? To say that there is ever time for real stillness in the life of a woman is nearly laughable.

And yet, He whispers...

Be still.

Know that I am God.

Until we're still... until our hearts are quieted before Him... until we stop waiting for things to slow down before really looking into His face... until we obey His command to be still, even when there is no stillness in sight, we can never expect to fully know He is God.

Be still.

Six Months Today

It seems he was born last week.

How can he truly be half-a-year old? That was one blink. One more and he'll be in college.

And I know it's true... I will be wishing I could rock him back to sleep.

Our little Merritt Will.

His eyes literally sparkle when he smiles--which is often. Last week Troy started calling him "Twinkle Eyes" out of the blue. Where he picked that up, or how he knew what it meant, I have no idea. So Twinkle Eyes he is.

He's also Mer-mer, Mer Bear, Mer-nitt Wee-oh or Wee-ote, Bebe, Tiny, Baby Tiny, and most often, Bubbie. Other than Tiny and Mer Bear, those were all Troy's doing.

Sitting up like a big boy now.

He's also taking a bottle of pumped milk now and then, which you can see makes his Grammie very happy, and Mama, too... Mama can actually leave him with special people for a little longer at a time.

His favorite toys... baby gym.

Being so big these day can make a little guy tired.

Tried a couple bites of mushy banana. Not too thrilled with that.

Milkies are just fine for now, Mama.

The bottom lip...

The sling--our best friend on teething days.

He's loving his binky less and less these days, but his big brother more and more. Snuggle times are his favorite.

He watches every move his big brother makes and laughs at his every antic. What a responsibility Troy will have...

Six months... sweet little Bubbie.

Quick--will someone please remind me that one day I'll miss these kind of nights? *Updated*

It was 10:20pm.

I was talking to John on the phone. I told him I had ten minutes until my self-appointed bedtime. I was also working on a design and nearly beside myself with bewilderment over a glitch. The day was long and full and I was more than ready for bed.

At 10:38pm, I hung up with John and started turning off lights and making sure the doors were locked.

Then I heard Troy stirring and whimpering. I waited.

Pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease. Go back to sleep. Please?

I guess I didn't ask sweet enough.

He apparently got some sort of real or contrived tickle in his throat and was soon coughing, hacking and crying up a storm.

Going into his room, I scooped him up gave him a drink of water and a hug, and then laid him back in his bed. I leaned over the side of the crib and patted his little round tummy.

I thought he was asleep when I slooooowly started lifting my weight off the crib railing. It creaked a little.

He opened his eyes for two seconds, saw me frozen, arm in mid-air, and closed them again. Good, Mommy's still there.

I tried again a minute later. This time I got my arm all the way out of the crib and was slowly standing up, about to take my first silent step toward the door. He opened his eyes again.

"Mommy. Mommy, hold you?" His groggy toddler words asked if I'd hold him. I could hear the tears beginning. Give him thirty seconds and they'd be wails--wails that would wake up his brother sleeping in the next room.

"Shhhh, baby. Go to sleep."

I leaned over and started patting his tummy again.

So it went, two more tries.

Then I did it. I actually got completely away from the crib and three slow, quiet steps toward the door.

And then.

The cat walked in. And meowed. Loudly.

(Why do we have a cat again? Because I'm beginning to think it's a bad idea.)

It is now after midnight. Troy is asleep.

His baby brother, on the other hand... well, he just thinks now is as good a time as any to be awake and fussy and clingy. Oh, and did I mention awake? Because he's awake.

Good times, peeps.

1:45am--Merritt just drifted off. Troy cried again, but this time, he went back to sleep on his own.

6:03am--Good morning, peeps. Merritt decided four hours of sleep was more than enough.

A night in the life of an ordinary mom. Ah, fun, don't we all agree?