The Misunderstanding

Ben and I attended a beautiful wedding Friday night, and initially just planned on bringing the kids with us. I was deciding what to wear, I had just settled on little sequined number, when I realized, "I can't carry Layla around all night in this dress. It won't survive her curious little hands..." And suddenly it hit me - call the Mimi! Why would I want to bring two small children to a fancy wedding where I'll constantly be shushing and pacifying and distracting?
And so my mother graciously consented to the last minute babysitting, and in hindsight, it really was a lifesaver. The wedding was at a STUNNING historic hotel downtown, and it turned out to be such a fun date with my man, in spite of the upcoming tale...

The aforementioned little number I had decided to wear that evening was designed in such a way that a strapless bra was necessary. I, however, do not encounter many occasions during this season of my life that call for such an undergarment. Therefore, the only option I had was an utterly uncomfortable strapless bra that I've had for a good 10 years. It was one of those bras with the clear plastic straps in the back (those are horrid, by the way) and was entirely too small. BUT it was the only option I had, and I think we know that the alternative (au naturale) would not work.

So, I sucked it up (literally and figuratively) and made the most of it, and it was working out just fine, despite the discomfort. That is, until the reception. We had just sat down at a lovely table with 6 very nice strangers, when I felt a dreaded pop on my back. And then a release of tension, which would have been welcome if not for the sinking realization that my bra had just broken and was dangerously close to exposing itself, and me. I discreetly whispered to Ben the situation and frantically looked around for a place to escape to. It was disheartening to think about rushing off to the restroom which was across the whole ballroom, through the lobby, on the other side of the building. I saw a door not far from us and asked Ben what it was. He said it was a little storage room that led to the emergency exit. We decided this was our best option and so he escorted me into the tiny room. I hoisted up the back of my dress so that he could fix the strap, which had not just come undone but had broken completely. He decided to tie it together. I was astounded to learn that the bra could actually get more uncomfortable. Just as he had fixed it, pop, it came apart again. We were in there a good 5 minutes.

Just as he was letting my dress back down, one of the servers opens the door to the tiny room. I will never forget the look on his face. First it was surprise and confusion, and then it turned into gritty realization. We both immediately began trying to explain what happened. I was mumbling something about a wardrobe malfunction, while Ben was enthusiastically denying any misconceptions. He didn't seem to believe us.

It was an embarrassing walk back to our table, and I couldn't help but giggle nervously. It occurred to me that our adamant explanations were probably exactly what people who were engaging in a salacious encounter might say.

I don't know what I would have done had the kiddos been with us. But, it all turned out okay. My uncomfortable bondage stayed awkwardly attached for the rest of the evening, and we came away looking like a couple of pervs. That's a successful Friday night if you ask me.

Two for the Price of One

Last week Layla had a stomach virus. One full day of vomiting up everything I cautiously tried to feed her. Pretty soon the diarrhea kicked in. Then, GLORY, I thought we were out of it.
And then last night happened. I was up feeding Layla around 4:30 because, well, she's not sleeping through the night yet (sigh) and I hear Jude crying. I thought maybe it was a bad dream. So I go tell Ben he's crying. From Layla's room I hear the cry-coughing. "Oh no," I think. And then Ben is quickly carrying the crying/coughing Jude to the hall bathroom. He didn't quite make it and there was orange vomit all over the hall carpet, bathroom floor and bathroom counter. I later came to the grizzly discovery that Cheetos were the culprit of the unusual color that still tints my carpet (that's right, haven't quite gotten it out yet). So, I put Layla down to help Ben clean up the vomit, and our son, when she crawls directly through the vomit on the hallway floor. After getting Jude cleaned and changed, and crudely cleaning the floor, I realize that Layla has had diarrhea, so I change her diaper. I proceed to breastfeed her and then put her down, and just as I'm setting her down, she starts the coughing. I have never feared the sound of coughing until now. And then she lets loose, and it is a lot. So, the cleanup process begins again.
As a side note, may I say that I am very thankful for a partner who does his part, and is happy to help. However, he is also slightly a baby when it comes to vomit. Instead of comforting the puking child, he saying things like, "EW!" and "Sick." and "That smells disgusting!" I find that this doesn't really help the sick child to feel better... but I digress.
After cleaning her up, Ben tells me to go to bed and he will put her down. I love that man. And as I lay there, I prayed that a) my children would be healed, b) that Ben and I would not catch it, and c) that they would at least not throw up anymore that night.
Thank the Lord, we didn't hear from them again until morning. Jude did wake up with diarrhea though.
We tentatively gave Jude a bagel this morning, which has since thrown up. But only after injuring his hand on the treadmill. Talk about kicking him when he's down. Poor guy. I hate watching my children suffer.
I am, however, so thankful for healthy children. It really puts things into perspective when I think about children with life-threatening illnesses. Father, heal them.

So, that has been the tale of my exciting week; you're welcome.

Navigating the Terrain

I remember what it was like to be up there. The wind whipping through my hair. The sun shining on my face. The freshness. The excitement. The brightness.

And yet, here I am again in the valley. I don't breathe quite as easily down here; the air seems stale. It's darker, and the weight of shadow keeps me from moving freely. I know I don't have to be down here, but I don't have the energy to fight my way back up to that mountaintop. So I wait for something to change.

I worry that it's not normal, moving from mountaintop to valley like I do. But, through it all, I sense this Hand holding me. Not holding me in one place or another, but surrounding me in unconditional love, allowing my change of location without allowing it to separate us. This is what makes the dryness bearable.

And what makes me certain that I will make it back up to that mountaintop. It's worth the climb.

What He Says I Am...

I can be selfish. I can be insecure. I can be lazy. I can be a respecter of persons. I can be judgmental. I can be guarded. I can be unforgiving. I can be stubborn. The list goes on...

BUT

I am a child of God.
I am the apple of His eye.
I am more than a conqueror.
I am in God’s Hand and none can pluck me out.
I am complete in Him.
I am accepted in Him.


He is all I need.

Missing Her

Sometimes it hits me how much I miss her. I don't think I fully grieved when my grandmother died. Perhaps it was the overwhelming entrance of a new life into my world, my sweet daughter, that overshadowed the loss of another life so dear to me. She passed two weeks after Layla made her appearance.

But it will strike me, slowly and sadly, when I'm riding on a country road, staring at the swiftly passing trees - this emptiness, a space left by her departure that can never really be filled, because there will never be another her.

There is some connection between these two ladies. I knew it the moment I saw my daughter's beautiful face. She looked uncannily like my grandmother; it was my first thought when we met. It was then that I knew her middle name would be Virginia, after my grandmother. And where did we rush to as soon as we were discharged from the hospital? To the nursing home to see Grandma, worried that she would leave this place without ever having met Layla. It meant so much to me to see them together. I'm not sure why, but it was important, necessary somehow.



And now, my darling girl wears another badge of likeness to her great-grandmother - her fiery red hair.
This is special to me. It's like a family heirloom that she carries with her at all times.



I guess the missing never really goes away. It seems to me the sadness gets replaced, a little at a time, by a fullness of love and gratefulness, for who she was and for what she left behind.