Bittersweet Birthday

Welp, here we are.

My baby turned one.

*Sigh. We did it. We made it through 4 stints of babyhood. Sleepless nights... the zombie-phase. The gassy nights, the screaming nights, the "I just don't wanna sleep, so I'm gonna keep you up with me" nights.

I look at those moms that are ready to give birth at any moment with their first baby, or are cradling their newbies with pity. I don't ever have to do that again. But at the same time, that moment when you first see your baby and realize just how fragile life is and how much you are responsible for from here on out... My favorite moment.

I'm overjoyed and saddened. I want to press the pause button on the day and relive the moment I walked into his room this morning when he awoke and started bouncing up and down in his crib. It's true what they say, it went by fast. Really fast. But I do feel like I took in every moment, cherished it, and stuffed it deep down in the crevasses of my brain so that those moments, the ones I don't ever want to forget, will always be there. It might take some gingko biloba to access them, but they're there.

So here's to a day of celebrating the birth of by far, the happiest baby I've ever had. With the biggest smile, and head rocking excitement, he will melt many a girl's heart someday. But for now, he melts mine. I love you Mr. Gibbers.

Happy 9th Anniversary Tony!

Employed.

As most of you know, I had a job interview last week to be a barista at a coffee shop.  The interview was interesting. For starters, I had never been on the opposite side of the spectrum, in terms of age. The interviewers were in their mid 20's, and here I was, trying to hide my gray hairs. It went smoothly, they seemed like really sweet people. Perhaps a bit too hipster for me in that the experience of drinking coffee has brought them to tears before. But who am I? I've seen credit card commercials that have brought out the shaking sobs in me before. 

I left feeling confident. I'd spent most of my early twenties making and serving coffee. I can do it in my sleep. And the sheer thought of doing it again reminded me of my youth, and a more simpler time. Jim with his decaf orange spice tea, Tom with his huge world mug filled with our drip of the day, leaving about an inch of room for cream. Jackie with her one shot decaf, extra hot, extra foam, nonfat chai tea. The regulars, the conversation, the feeling that I am an important part of those people's days... Okay, I'm not in complete denial, we all know it was the beverage that was the important part, but still.

3 days a week. Two weeknights 6pm-midnight and Sunday mornings 8am-2pm. Those were the hours they threw around when talking about the position. I could do that. Tony would be home and I wouldn't have to worry about someone watching my kids. Lets be real, the job wouldn't pay for someone to watch my kids! I got home and cuddled with my baby. As I say there, something stirred in me, I shoved it down. I was excited. I could potentially have a life outside of my children. Which was something I somewhat longed for. I love my kids. They are my life. But I didn't want to lose who I am and the. Wake up 18 years from now with an empty nest and an identity crisis.  

Later that night as I put Declan in his jammies and sat down to cuddle and rock with him before laying him in his crib, that thing began to stir again. Maybe it was the Beatles lullaby music on the CD player, or the burrito I had for lunch, but this time I didn't ignore it. What was I doing? Sitting here, snuggling this little man, giving him my undivided attention, was one of my favorite parts of the day. Wy would I give this up? He's not ready, I'm not ready. What am I doing? 

Now I know there are moms out there who are thinking, "it's guilt. Don't you think if you just weaned him that he would be fine?" Yes, I could wean him, and he would be fine, but that's not the point. It's not even about nursing. It's about the fact that when I had one baby, sure I could wean him and go out and get a part time job and have little problem knowing Daddy was home putting him to bed at night. But he isn't my first, or my second, or even my third. He's my fourth. And do you have any idea how nonexistent his one on one time with me is? That time before he goes to sleep at night is the one and only time during the day that he gets me, all of me. It's sacred and I'm not willing to give it up. Not yet. 

So I made up my mind, unless the job was one shift on Sunday morning, I wasn't going to take it. 

So when the call came on Saturday and the guy on the other end said, "so you want a job?" My response was, "It depends. What hours are you offering?" And to my surprise, he responded with, "What hours do you want?" 

A short conversation later, I'm happy to say, I will be a contributing member of society on Sunday mornings. Call it a blessing, call it what you will, but I didn't compromise what I thought I wanted for what my family needed. And I'm okay with that. In fact, I'm more than okay, I'm happy. 

Raising four children doesn't pay in cash.

I have a job interview today. Why? Simply put, like every other stay at home mom, I don't make any money. In a moment of disparity, I went out of my comfort zone and put my resume in at a local coffee shop. When they asked to meet me and then called later to schedule an interview, my stomach churned. 

What have I done? 

I have this great gig where I don't have to wear pants, why on earth would I want a job where I have to act like a grown up?! There are so many moms out there that HAVE to go to work to make ends meet. That HAVE to say goodbye to their sweet babies every morning in order to pay the bills. And I am beyond blessed in that I am not one of those moms. I do not envy them. what they have to do is heartbreaking and sacrificing and I am in no way devaluing what they must do. I get to see every smile, every laugh, the first time they crawl, walk, run, sing... I've kissed every owie, heard every joke, received every hug, and at the exact moment in which they wanted to give one. And now I sit here with knots in my stomach, wondering why on earth I would want to trade those irreplaceable moments in for minimum wage.

And this is where it gets dicey. Our medical insurance sucks. There, I said it. We have four kids. They get sick. Heck, I get sick. A LOT. We are paying far more than we ever did before. I used to be able to buy a box of cereal for less than $2 but since moving to Arkansas, that price is no where to be had. Milk is a dollar more than it is in Oregon. We pay a $50 fee every month on our water bill to help protect some dumb endangered cave fish (Disclaimer: I apologize for saying dumb, I appreciate endangered species and know that we need to do our part to protect them, but in this instance, I'm merely complaining about the extra cost I wasn't planning on paying when I moved across the country). I know it's not huge, but it adds up. These are all costs we didn't calculate when my husband took this new job that I feel I need to compensate for. 

But let's get real people, I have always felt the need to contribute monetarily since I had my first baby almost 8 years ago. I've been making and selling headbands, accessories, dolls, whatever I can, for years now. Every day when I have a free moment to myself, I think of ways I can make money. I have a website, I will go ahead and plug it, no shame: Http://www.thepaisleynderground.com, where I sell the stuff I make. I even have a DIY blog that links to my website that I created in the hopes of getting enough traffic that I can make money off of google Adsense. In fact, yesterday I was brainstorming ways I can sell tutorials on Etsy, on how to make the things I make so that I can make some extra cash. And I love creating, I do. But the real reason I create these things and sell them... Because I feel inadequate. Because after all of the hours I put in, at the end of the day, I don't see a paycheck. Don't get me wrong, the hugs, the kisses, the smiles, giggles, "I love you"s... They are totally worth it, but they don't pay the bills. 

There was a time when women were expected to stay home. When a Homemaker was a proud title to have, not something people saw on a medical form in the "job" area and said, "oh, so you don't work?" 

Sometimes my reaction is defensive... 

Do you have any idea how much I DO in fact work? How about I trade you "jobs" and we see who works? I have one of the hardest "jobs" there is, making sure that these four small souls grow up knowing how to be patient, kind, loving, smart, hard working, positive contributors to society, all while they scream and throw food at me.

Other times my reaction is one of embarrassment. 

You're right, I don't work. I don't make any money. I don't pay the bills. I. Am. Worthless. 

My husband makes good money. I don't NEED to work. I don't NEED to contribute. But there's this gut response every time I go to the grocery store, pay the bills, buy a coffee (because I was up for two hours and couldn't sleep and then the baby decided he wanted a midnight snack and I can barely function)... It's guilt, it's a knee-jerk reaction of "I don't make money and therefore I can't spend money."  I don't think I've ever met another stay at home mom who hasn't felt this way at one point or another, if not all the time. 

I'm not here to tell you that society is wrong. That you have value, that what we endure while staying home, raising our children to be people of worth is one of the hardest jobs there is. You and I already know that. No one has to tell us that we are valuable. Our children tell us. Maybe not in this moment, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in words, but in the way they treat others, in the way they love, in their hugs and deeds and ability to function outside of us, in a chaotic world...  THESE are our reminder that we are of something more worthy than money.

It doesn't mean I don't have days like the other day when I haphazardly took my résumé in to a coffee shop thinking to myself, "heck yes, a job... I will make money. I will be worthy. I will get a break from the screaming and the fighting and the food throwing."  Those days happen... a lot. The grass is alwats greener... There are days when my husband comes home and I tell him, "I quit. It's your turn with the crazies... I'm gonna go get a job." Maybe I'm bipolar. But what mother isn't? It's a coping mechanism. How else are we capable of being the disciplinarian and the fixer of owies at the same time?

So today I am in a unique situation. Instead of going into this interview wanting to wow them, I have the opportunity to go in with the mindset of, "this job must wow ME. It has to be something I love to do." Because I already have a job that I love. A job where I am irreplaceable. A job where I am of the greatest value. 

I'm inadequate.

So my daughter Lucy turned 3 about three weeks ago. And every day since then I wake up saying to myself, "crap, I suck... I was totally going to update my blog and write some cute thing about Lucy and her birthday and how much I love her. And I didn't... I'll do it today." But then I realize the reason I woke up in the first place, the 11 month old is crying upstairs in his crib because he awoke and there wasn't a boob in his mouth. Sidenote: He loves the boob, more than any of my other kids did, what can I say? So I run to the bathroom because I know that I won't have another chance to go for another two hours- when he goes down for his first nap. I then spit my retainers out and rinse them off because, you know, I've had braces a million times and I've become this crazy rule follower since becoming a mother, and braces cost money. I run upstairs because the faint cry that was coming from his room has become more of a wail and I open the door to not only the near-one-year-old jumping up and down in his crib because he's half excited to see me and half pissed that I'm not already topless, but The poor 7-year-old is moaning and whining with the pillow over his head because this was the one day he decided he wasn't ready to wake up yet and his brother woke him up. And we all know that if we ourselves make enough noise, we can drown out the source of the noise we are trying to avoid, right? 

And down the stairs we go. I fend the baby off just long enough to help the kid pour his bowl of cereal. I sit down and the baby immediately starts moaning at my shirt in this, "I'm pretty sure you know what I want, but I'm gonna be extra loud just in case you forgot" sort of way. And just as he starts in, down the stairs traipse the 3 and 5 year old beauty queens with their blankets in tow and their curly hair matted up in fluffy rats nests plastered across their faces. 

"Good morning Beautifuls," I say, as the oldest plops herself on the couch, but mostly on top of me, and starts loving on her baby brother, who is totally distracted and yanks away to smile at his sister as my plethora of milk squirts halfway across the room. I get him redirected to the task at hand just as the 3-year-old looks me point blank in the face and says, "I want breakfast," and continues to utter the exact same phrase over and over even though I've already explained to her just as many times that I can get it for her when her brother is done nursing. I love her, but she's the result of that phrase my mother told me over and over as a child, "I hope you get one just like you." Apparently mothers have that sort of control in life. I got one just like me. And she wants what she wants when she wants it and she wants it now.

So I plop the baby in his chair at the counter and immediately dump some cereal in front of him in hopes of distracting him for a couple minutes so I can get the girls some breakfast. That works for about 20 seconds. I flip the switch on my espresso machine, because I have one now you know. The girls get settled and I sit and start to feed the baby some food while I try and shovel some cold cereal into my face and end up feeding the baby half of it because he's the size of a two-year-old and eats more than I do. Meanwhile, whatever food I've given him that isn't mind, he throws on the floor. I guess that means he's done. I wipe him down and take his banana covered clothes off and change his diaper. In his cleanliness he decides to go sit in the middle of the food he threw on the floor and starts to eat his 2nd breakfast. 

He's occupied, the 5-year-old is still eating, and the 7 & 3-year-old's have their noses in a book, nows as good time as any to get me some coffee! I enjoy coffee and today I'm gonna have an Irish cream latte. The whirring of the steam wand in my milk is comforting. The smell of the pulled shots bring me back to a simpler time in my life. I finally get to sit down on the couch to drink my liquid comfort and the 3-year-old comes over to announce she's hungry. You see, she eats about three breakfasts a day because every single night, whether the food is something she actually likes or not, she refuses to eat her dinner and is probably starving every morning. I reach around to give her a hug and realize she's wet. Awe... Crap. She must've peed the bed. She's potty trained mind you, but sometimes she just cant make it until morning and decides to NOT share the fact that she wet the bed. 

Let the cleaning commence.  I send her upstairs to go stand in the bathtub while I find and clean everything she's sat on. Then I head upstairs to take her bed apart and throw it in the washing machine. I go and have a talk with her about telling Mommy when she's had an accident and I decide to not just rinse her but give her a full on bath since I can't remember when the last time she actually bathed was. Oops.

I throw a yogurt on the table for the newly bathed and dressed child and by the time we are done, the baby has had it and needs some attention. We hang for a bit, play on the floor and soon it's time for his nap. I get him to bed and I sit my butt on the couch just to realize my epic cup of coffee goodness is cold and nasty. So I nuke it and the count down timer in my head starts... An hour and 25 minutes, tops... I take a couple of sips and set my sights on getting the other two kids dressed and ready for the day. That's a twenty minute fight... 1 hour, 5 minutes... The 3-year-old wants her third. Breakfast. I brush everyone's teeth and jump on the treadmill for a quick run. I'm sweaty, I'm gross... 30 minutes left, just enough time for a shower... And he's awake. Crap! 

I bribe the older kids to play with and distract the baby with half empty promises of greatness so I can shower. I clean myself in less than 3 minutes, pack the kids some lunch, and we jump in the van and head to the library. We pick books, we check them out, and I need to run to the grocery store cuz we're out of milk... And yogurt, and probably a hundred other things I won't realize we are out of until I walk down the aisle and go, "oh yah, we need that." The kids eat their peanut butter and honey sammies in the van while I starve and by the time we get home it's time for nap number two for the smallest of the small fries. I get the baby to bed and for two seconds, the kids are playing nicely. I sit. That's it. I sit. And the longer I sit, the more inadequate I feel. 

I need to be productive.

I need to make something I can sell since I don't have a job and I need some source of income because we have four kids and raising four children doesn't pay in cash.

I need to come up with some awesome craft to do with my kids like all the moms on Pinterest do. 

I need to plan some child's birthday party with handmade invites and streamers made out of all of the old newspapers I've saved. Oh wait, I don't get the paper.

I need to document and blog about the latest wonderful thing one of my children did, like turning 3.

I need to go bake something delicious and gluten/sugar/dairy free because that's what good health conscious mothers do.

I need to go for a run because I'm not as thin as I could be and there is this mom down the road that is gorgeous and teensy. Why did I have to be the one with the slow metabolism and big bones!?

I need to create a handwritten treasure map and clues to the map and go bury treasure that I happened to have hand made in my free time the other day in some obscure place in order to entertain my kids because I was put here on this earth to entertain them.

And oh crap, I need to defrost some meat because I need to have it thawed for that dinner I pinned onPinterest  that I need to have on the table when my husband gets home at 5:30.

And I am overwhelmed. Completely overwhelmed.

And I realize something: I suck. I'm inadequate. I'm not a good enough mother. I'm not the best mother, far from it in fact. And so I sit. Then a child cries. And another one yells and I jump up out of the fog of self appointed patheticness and I run upstairs to break up the fight. And I go downstairs and I sit on Facebook and see all of the wonderful and amazing things all of my friends are doing. I see all of the pins on Pinterest I planned on doing or making and I decide to start a project, or sweep, or vacuum, and a child cries. And I repeat the process. Until the baby awakens and I realize I never finished anything. The floor is still filthy and only half of the dishes are put away and we didn't do a treasure hunt and why am I so dizzy? Oh yah, I didn't eat lunch. So I grab a handful of leftover raisins from the kids' lunch and I get the kids a snack. 

Some days we go hang out at the pool because I don't have the energy to do anything else. Or we will have dance parties or make forts or play games. But a lot of the time I just play referee. The husband gets home and most days I'm like, "welp... I didn't make dinner." And my husband, being the saint he is, will whip something up. Part of me just doesn't have the heart to make food for a bunch of people that just yell at me and tell me how much they hate it. I guess there's no joy in that. 

So after we spend the better part of the evening trying to convince four small people to put a nourishing substance in their mouths AND swallow it, we spend the last bit of daylight wrestling them into their beds. And we get slandered while we do it... Like the time my husband told our 3-year-old she can't sleep with the tape recorder and she yelled, "STOP BEING MEAN TO JESUS!" at him. This is the point in time I tell them, "Mommy is done. Do not come out of your room unless you are on fire or have to go potty." And yet they somehow make it down the stairs a few more times to get a book, or tell me there's a bug in their bed, or just because they wanted to tell me a random fact about a Pokemon character they know before they all finally pass out around 9:30pm. And at this point the very VERY last thing I want to do is well, anything... Especially write a blog post about the wonderful antics of my newly three-year-old daughter. But I do it. And why is that? Why do we feel this overwhelming desire, as mothers, to make all other mothers think we are the healthiest, craftiest, most put together one of them all? 

It's tiring, it's relentless, it's the farthest thing from glamorous, but it's the job. And we do it because we love them. And I know a lot of times people think I have it all together, which at times I do... But most times I don't. And that's okay. I'm sure I'm not the only one that has days when I'd rather sit, pantless on my couch, without makeup and my hair pointed sideways with food all over my floor, and everyone in their pajamas, than expend the effort it takes to leave the house. Or at least those people are better at hiding it than I am.

I miss.

Drive thru coffee stands

Dutch Bros

Kickers

Cash and Carry

Dry heat

My neighbors

Wine Wednesday

Laminate floors

Date night

My mom

My family

My church family

S@t6

Cartography

Fellowship

My friends

Thai

Fred Meyer

Mongolian Grill

A.T. Nails

Piercings

Coffee dates

The French Press

The beach

Pine trees

Mountains

Friday nights I had something better to do than this. 

Tazey Eli

Tatum is 5. That went by far too fast.

I still remember how desperately I wanted her, crying and praying, thinking that Spencer would end up being an only child. I was heartbroken... NOT that Spencer was my only child, but that he would never know how amazing it was to have a sibling. I am so very grateful to have grown up with 3 fantastic brothers and I wanted that for my child. Brothers, sisters, didn't matter. Someone to grow up with, rough house with, play with, laugh with, fight with... And I thought Spencer would never get that. It wasn't until I gave up trying that God blessed me with the sweetness that is Tatum.

It's almost as if Tatum herself is an embodiment of my struggle to have another child. I tried so hard to have another baby, just like I tried so hard to get Tatum to be mobile. But just like God was waiting for the right moment to grant me another child, she was waiting for her exact right moment. She moves at her own pace, a perfect pace for her. You can't force her to do anything, never have been able to. But if you're sweet and kind to her and always loving, she will return that kindness and love tenfold. God does the same, turns out.  He is continuously teaching me through Tatum. I am so grateful he gave me her. I suppose there were some lessons I needed to learn, and He continues to teach me every day.

She was by far, my easiest baby. That's why I always encourage mother's who are scared of transitioning from one baby to two, not to worry because that was the smoothest transition from baby to baby I've had. It might be Tatum's calmness, but I could set her down to go deal with her ruckus causing brother and come back to a completely content little girl. Almost too easy.

When Lucy was born, Tatum took to the older sibling role like an absolute professional. At 2 she would sit and hold her baby sister and soothe her to sleep. It was insane to me. Spencer, would just try and leave Tatum (when she was a new baby) where she was if she started to cry, (while he was holding her) and he was 5 months older when Tatum was born. But not Tatum, she would shoosh Lucy and give her a binky to calm her. It was the most amazing thing to watch such a little person have such patience.

At three, Tatum's personality really started to blossom. She loved everything pink and frilly and girly. Still does. Still "shy" but when you were blessed enough to experience the moments where she came out of her shell, it was like magic.

Then 4 hit and this adorably snarky little thing, with the quirkiest sense of humor emerged. I give credit to the little girl down the road that she would play with. She talked baby talk to Tatum, told her what to do, and would call Tatum shy. Tatum wouldn't stand for it. And I seem to recall a time or two when Tatum told her "You're not my boss, and I'm not shy. I just don't want to talk to you." I was probably more proud of her than I should've been. Since then, there's been no looking back. She is growing into a strong, independent "Little Mama." Or at least that's what we call her because every time her baby brother wakes up, she asks, "can I go take care of him?" 

She's growing up so fast. Literally, she's only a few inches shorter than Spencer. I have a feeling she's gonna pass him up in the next couple of years. 

I love you infinity Tatum and thank you for always cuddling with me when I ask and giving me my kisses and squishes. You are more than I could have ever imagined could be possible.

We are not in Oregon anymore...

I'm starting to notice a lot of things that are different here in Arkansas...

There is land. Land is everywhere. And yet there is not enough room to add a shoulder on the side of the road.

Everyone has wonderful manners, but not everyone is nice. Just because you use the phrase "yes ma'am" or say please and thank you, it doesn't make it nice if you say it rudely. Yes, I'm talking to you Ma'am at the front desk of the doctors office yesterday.

There's a whole lot of talk going on down here and very little action. We've received many offers for "help" but no one has actually gone so far as to even come introduce themselves to their new neighbors. Whereas in Oregon, people don't offer, they just help. I miss that.

Women my age wear workout attire when they go shopping. It's odd to me. They all wear makeup and have their hair done all pretty but have clothes on like they just went to the gym or are going to go. But I find it hard to believe that every housewife is just headed to the gym every where I go because its obvious no one just left it.

No one honks. Ever. Even when we watched a man drive his delivery truck straight into a guy's pickup truck and crush his front end. Everyone just sort of watched and smiled.

The weather is bipolar. In Oregon it can snow, rain, hail and have sun all in one day. Here it goes from rainy and cold one day to 85 degrees the next to near snow the day after.

The lack of environmental concern kills me. There is no where to recycle glass, there is no bin for grass clippings, and there are styrofoam cups everywhere. The Oregonian in me cries a little each time I drink my tasty, always cold, beverage from my styrofoam cup.

And every neighborhood is secluded. There is a fence that encloses every named neighborhood with only one or two entrances. So when you're near residential, it's just fence every where as you drive.

Oh and I almost forgot the cows. If there isn't fence, then there's cows. Cows are everywhere. But not smelly, muddy cows like in Oregon. They are the kind you see in books... Eating grass in a huge pasture and just hanging out.

It really is beautiful here. Aside from the lack of mountain scenery, the land is just breathtaking.

The Quiet

The kids are all still sleeping after their 15 hour day of traveling. Tony's in the shower and I'm fully dressed and ready to rock sitting on the only comfortable thing in the house... The stairs. When I awoke this morning at 9am, 7am Oregon time, it was quiet and all I could feel was the pain of my pounding headache. After I stumbled down the stairs and took a bite of one of the last granola bars from our trek across the country, I started to peer out the blinds through the windows. I realize I probably looked uber creepy to any passers by but I didn't care. I felt like a zoo animal taking in its new environment for the first time after being caught from the wild. Cautious... So this is Arkansas...

Flat, not a lot of trees and quiet.

Traveling with Tots

Well I'm sitting here on the "hair plane," as Lucy calls it, and I'm realizing in my attempt to keep the kids entertained on our flight, I completely spaced bringing anything to keep me from getting bored. Lu & Tate are watching "Wreck it Ralph" on my laptop, Spencer is playing his DS, and Declan is asleep on my lap. So here I am, alone with my thoughts.

I now realize why we have never gone on vacation with all 6 of us. It took us forever to check 3 bags, bag and check 4 carseats and then get to security. Fortunately, since we are a large brood, we were able to bypass standing in the security line and head to the front. But oh my goodness... That was fun. We had 3 backpacks, a purse, a computer bag, a carryon, a ginormous stroller, and a 2 year old who refused to relinquish her sippy to the X-ray machine.

After taking the ten minutes it took to get everyone put back together, we headed towards our gate. I needed my venti iced caramel macchiato and made a beeline for Starbucks with my gift cards my fabulous friends bestowed upon me. The wait was a little long and I had to hustle it back to our gate as we were starting to board.

It's been a pretty uneventful trip thusfar but then again, this is only the first leg of the trip. After having to get the engines jumped on the Tarmac before taking off, we were delayed a bit. Praying we still make our connecting flight in Chicago. I would really rather not have to run through the airport with 4 small children.

Still hasn't completely set in that this is a one way flight. Lucy asked to go home again. Hurts a little less each time. I told her we were going to our new home to which she replied, "I want a gator house." She cracks me up.

The Big Ugly

You ever get that feeling that you really need to cry but you're afraid that if you fully give into the cry that you'll never stop? Don't get me wrong, I've cried... A lot this last week. But every time that huge lump wells up in my throat I stop myself. I know this is supposed to be an adventure that we are on but the adventure part seems to escape me at the moment.

All I can think about is : The Stress... Getting 4 kids up and ready at 6:45am, getting all of them through security at the airport, making sure no one goes number 1 or 2 in their undies on the plane, feeding them, making our connecting flight, etc. I've only ever flown 4 times, which brings me to...

The Unknown: I've never even been to Arkansas. What if I hate it? What if I'm miserable? What if our stuff doesn't fit in our house? Even worse, what if my kids don't make friends? Tatum's birthday is in 2 weeks and it will be her first without family or friends to help celebrate. I'm afraid that she will be sad and it breaks my heart.

Leaving our Friends and Family: I can't even start to go there. I started to think about it last night and was overwhelmed with emotion. I'm angry. But I don't know where to focus that anger. I'm hurt and broken. I know that I shouldn't feel this way in my head, that I'm being illogical and that I'll make new friends, but I don't want to listen to my head. My heart says I've reached my quota. I'm 30 and I have the most amazing friends and I shouldn't have to start over, and yet here I am.

I like to think I'm a very organized person. I'm also a planner. I like to know how things are going to go, so I work out the details beforehand. But my belongings are caught in a snow storm somewhere between here and Arkansas and my van won't get to our destination until we've been there a week. So here I sit, squatting at my parents house while my world is turned upside down.

"God is in control... God is in control..." I have this on repeat in my head as I rock back and forth in the fetal position...

Help I Need Somebody.

Really feeling the love today... Too many friends and family members helping out to name, but their actions are more than greatly appreciated. From feeding us, to lending us stuff to sleep on, giving us rides, a home to hang out in and care packages for our kids... It is going to be excruciating to say goodbye.

Adventure time.

It's our last night in our home before we take off on our new adventure (or at least that's what everyone seems to be calling it). We've only been in this house for three years and yet it seems like we've been calling it our home for much longer than that. Laying here on the blowup mattress our friends & family so graciously lent us, it's hard not to think about all of the lives who've touched us in these three short years. Friendships were made that are irreplaceable. I keep replaying the "make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other's gold" song from my Brownie days over and over in my head. These friendships are gold and no matter where we lay our heads at night, whether it be in Oregon or Arkansas... They will be lifelong.

I truly haven't had a chance to fully feel what is about to happen to our family, as I've been busy trying to one, keep our house spotless while my husband is bacheloring it up without us so we can sell it, and now, trying to keep calm as my entire home is packed into a semi truck. I'm playing the part of excited mother so my kids will enjoy their last moments with friends and family.

Looking around at the house we bought and made our own, I'm somewhat relieved that it didn't sell. We have found wonderful people to rent our home to while we are away and I feel God has put a sense of peace in my heart knowing that some day, when we want to return to Oregon, we will have a home to come back to... As well as friends with open arms.

Tooth Fairy

I'm having a moment. I'm really hoping I'm not alone when I share my feelings, because quite frankly, I'm feeling a little insane. My 7 year old, Spencer, has had his very first loose tooth for a couple weeks now. And it wasn't until he walked down the stairs a few moments ago, to show me his teeny tooth hanging on by a thread, that this overwhelming feeling of complete sadness washed over me.

You see, it was that little tooth that kept me up for many a sleepless night, caused my baby so much pain, and took nearly five months to break through. And when it did finally make its way into the light, it mysteriously went back down and came back through a handful of times before taking permanent residency in my first born child's mouth, forever robbing him of that sweet, toothless grin that stole my heart over seven years ago.

When he does finally lose it, I fear that I might as well. I feel this overwhelming need to keep it forever to remind me of that babyhood with my firstborn that I'll never be able to have again. It will remind me of the journey the two if us took together and how lost I was that first year, attempting so desperately to gain footing on what it meant to be a mother.

I know it's just another step towards Spencer growing up but it's all so heart wrenching. If only I could go back and replay it all I wouldn't feel like I am slowly forgetting what his chubby face looked like as a tot. The more I look at him, the more I see the man he's growing up to be and although I am so proud of who he is becoming, I fear that I am becoming less to him.

And there it is... the sadness.

Limbo...

I'm having a hard time being articulate today. I just deleted an entire post because I felt like I came across as a bit of an idiot. Life is crazy. Scratch that, life FEELS crazy sometimes. Right now it definitely does. But in all honesty, not much is going on. Does that even make sense? Here I am, in my pajamas, sipping on my luke warm coffee while my husband is at work, one child is at school, one is napping and 2 more are playing "nicely" upstairs. Not much going on so it would seem... But in my head, I can't turn off the crazy.

Even when I'm not actively thinking about all the things that could happen to our family in the next, I don't know, month, it's going on in my head without me and it's making my skin crawl. 

I think I might be a control freak.

Which is completely ridiculous because I KNOW I don't have control. 

God is the ultimate captain on this ship called Carrie, sailing through the waters of life. 

*Sidenote: That was an awesome analogy and ALMOST made me feel like I am still smart and that having 4 kids hasn't sucked every last bit of intellect from me.

Something big might be happening to our family. Not bad, just different (no, we are not having any more babies). I can see it on the horizon and I'm torn between terrified and ecstatic. I've battled the pros and cons and the only thing that I've come to realize is that either way, God has control and whichever way the wind blows us, he will protect and care for our family. Now if only I could get my body and my brain to settle down and let my heart remind me of this every minute of every day. That's the control freak in my taking over. I feel like I'm one step away from going complete OCD on everyone.

Who am I kidding? I have 4 kids. The control freak doesn't stand a chance. And therein lies the constant battle between letting go, and letting God and trying to make plans. I am also a planner, you see. And when I don't have control of situations to even know what's going on, I can't PLAN for them. So here I am, my brain is planning through all the what-ifs, but there's nothing actually happening. Insane, right?

This entire post is mostly for myself, if you haven't noticed. Because I'm pretty sure it makes little sense to you... Perhaps the next post in the weeks to come will offer some clarity to both you and I. :)

My Bucket is Seven.

It was 7 years ago today that this tank of a baby who resembled a four month old with his black hair, tiny dark eyes and ginormous cheeks, made his way into the world and made me a mommy for the very first time.  I wanted him so very badly, but as every new mother knows, he wasn't quite what I expected. He was so much more... From the beginning he's kept me on my toes and I'm so proud of the young man that I catch glimpses of him becoming, and that I get to call him mine. He is such a sweet, smart, handsome, bighearted kid and I cannot wait to see what his seventh year brings... Love you Spencer!

 One:

 Two:

Three:

Four:

 Five:

 Six:

 Seven:

Declan Grant

How is it each and every time you have a baby the feeling of complete awe and elation when the baby is finally here never ever gets old!? How does that happen? You'd think after 3 babies the fourth would come and it'd be less exciting. Nope. Never gets old. Especially when the doctor that delivers your baby grabs the baby's "special purpose" and points it towards your face as he is having his first potty.

At 9 pounds 15 ounces, Declan was my 2nd biggest baby and the most original birth I've had. With all 3 other babies it's taken me all day (with the help of pitocin) to get to 5 cm then 20 minutes to transition to 10. Tony joked with Lucy that once I cried and shook I was ready to rock, which I was. So when my water spontaneously broke around 3 cm (first time I haven't HAD it broken by a doctor) and then I shook for a good hour, we didn't know what to expect. We got stuck around 5 and then it took an hour to get to 6, another hour to get to 7 and yet another to get to 8. At 7:30pm, my doctor headed home to get dinner and only 15 minutes later I was ready to push. So we sat there for 15 minutes while I was told by the nurses not to sneeze or laugh. Easier said than done, when a 10 pound baby is making his way towards the exit sign. When my doctor finally sauntered in at 8pm, to say I was a little bit irritated would be an understatement. 

At 8:06 I was finally given the okay to push. A couple seconds later, his head was out, and another push later, so was the rest of him at 8:07pm on August 25th, 2012. 

With all of my other babies, just like this one, there was the immediate sense of relief. That feeling of total euphoria where all of the pressure, the pain is immediately gone. I totally had that feeling. The other feeling I had with my other babies of "I could totally do that again," however, wasn't there. It was replaced with another sense of relief... A relief that this was it. That my family was complete and I didn't have to go through that pain again. 

I know things change and who knows what God has in store, but at this moment I feel completed. That this stage in my life is done and it's time to move on to the next... Enjoying watching my children grow and teaching them to love one another...

 Spencer was so excited to see his little brother.

As was big sister Tatum.

Even Lucy came into the room yelling, "I hold it! I hold it!" When she finally did, it was so sweet and unexpected, since every baby she'd seen til now she refused to even look at. It did only last about 20 seconds though before she proclaimed, "all done." 

Our first family photo with all 6 of us.

I am so excited to have our precious little man finally with us. With all of the emotional and physical ups and downs of this pregnancy, I am so very glad for it to be over with and for us to have our last little one with us, healthy and happy. He's such a sweet little man who only cries when he's hungry, poopy or has a bubble. Otherwise, he's totally content to look around and explore his new world. He has Tatum's cheeks, Spencer's mouth and Lucy's ears. He's a perfect mixture of all of us and I am so happy he is here and ready to rock this world as the last little baby Jones.

Happy belated birthday Lu...

It's so hard to believe that I once had a brunette baby girl. I cannot believe that it's been 2 years since this sweet little thing was born. She was the most petite of my babies and still is. She had the teeniest little buns and was the only baby to ever wear size newborn diapers. She was so calm and would go to sleep simply by me stroking her soft brown hair. 

Then her and her sweet soft brown hair somehow turned into Lyle Lovett when she was one. She looked just like her mama, down to the dark brown eyes and crooked little smile.

 As Lucy grew, her personality seemed to grow to match her hair. Wild, crazy, with a mind of her own and apparently blonde. My mother always wished that I'd get a child exactly like me, and guess what... Here she is. She definitely has a personality far different from her siblings, but as a 3rd child, I know that that is exactly what she needs to forge her way in a family of 6.

 She is by far the most vocal and opinionated child I've had thusfar, but I'm so glad she has a mind of her own. She has been speaking in full sentences since before she turned 2 and frequently says, "I got it" when asked if she needs help with what she's doing. Her favorite phrase as of the last week has been, "Baby's eatin' your booby, Mommy" when her new baby brother nurses. I can't help but laugh and agree. She thinks she's 6 and tries to boss her big brother & sister around. I can't wait to see who she becomes as this next year as a big sister goes by... I love you Bean!

Nerves...

I've known this day was coming for nearly 10 months now. And yet here I am, unable to sleep with butterflies in my stomach. Going in to have a baby is like Christmas morning regardless of whether or not you know the gender. What's he going to look like? Will he have hair? How long is it going to take? Will he sleep well? How big will he be? Will he look like me? Daddy? Both of us?  And then there's the more technically questions floating around... Will they tell me all the beds are taken and turn me away? Will I progress fast or slow? Will it be easy? Should I get an epidural?

So here we are, it's Baby morning and I'm a nervous wreck.

May God grant me peace and serenity and the strength to make it through what most likely will be a ridiculously long day of waiting and watching Red Box movies.

Nesting...

I know every time that I'm pregnant it is inevitable, the nesting... But I never imagined how insane I could possibly get with this last one. My poor husband. I have so many more projects in my head and only have the ability to do about 20% of them myself. I've cleaned and organized nearly every inch of this house and as I do I keep adding to the "honey do" list. It's not like any of the projects I have can't get done AFTER the baby is born, but it's that insane overwhelming need to get it all done NOW. Why does that happen? It's not like life stops after you have a baby. It's quite insane really. I know you're down for the count for a little while, and you're sleep deprived, and your house never gets clean and you don't have the ability to do much other than stare at the new little life you created... Oh wait, I just answered my own question.

It's been a long pregnancy, but I honestly haven't felt like I'm really pregnant. Let me explain. I have felt more like a chronically ill, obese, miserable person that has the inability to bend over, get up off of the floor, or hold my bladder for more than 30 minutes at a time. My back hurts all the time and so does my crotch. Sorry for the vulgarity, but it's true. I still don't feel like this misery will end in a baby in my arms. Perhaps this is God's way of telling me that I really am done. I know we decided that this is our last baby and I've tried so desperately to appreciate the pregnancy because of it, but the opposite has happened. It's made me realize that I would rather not physically or emotionally go through another pregnancy. Obviously, if God has other plans, then I can't stop them and will gladly accept whatever miracle he gives me. BUT it's been a rough road. I guess I just can't wait to meet this new little man of mine and know in my heart that our family is complete.

Disclaimer: Please don't take this post the wrong way. I am SO VERY GRATEFUL for being pregnant and being blessed with the ability to create life. I can see this post being misconstrued. I will reiterate: I am so very blessed. And despite all of the pain and emotional turmoil, I would absolutely NEVER trade any of it in because it means I will get to hold this beautiful baby in my arms in the end.