Intentional 

Holding my breath as today marked the first official week of school in the beautiful Evergreen State. Okay, it’s only pre-school for a few hours, a few days a week, but somehow I still feel like I’m losing an appendage for the next 9 months. Mom’s you feel? I looked at them, waved goodbye and already pictured them at 18. Being a parent is not for the faint of heart. 

As much as I’m sad to see Summer go, I really am excited to see what this next season holds for our family. For me, every passing season always seems to bring a fresh shift in focus and perspective. What did I learn/gain/accomplish the past three months? And what can I anticipate going into Fall? 

(Besides hello, the obvious obsession with boots, scarves, pumpkin spice and everything nice…OMG, there is nothing better than Fall in the PNW. CAN I GET A WITNESS?!) 

I am already the proud owner of two new sweaters. Bless.

BUT, what I really want to talk about for a minute is Summer…because let’s be real, I think I get around to jotting my thoughts down about every three months anyways (err…sorry) so I’m overdue to tell you. #badbloggersyndrome

[Rewind]

Summer was incredible. One of the best I can remember. And yet, while most people were planning their vacations, I was transitioning into a full-time working mother. I was grateful for a new opportunity, but deep down I was aching for those beautifully warm months with my kids. I didn’t think I would get to enjoy, let alone see, much of that big ball of fire in the sky. And well, I was wrong. Really wrong. Because the reality is that transition brought out a new shift and fresh perspective in my way of thinking. I recognized my time was going to be more limited and therefore, I needed to figure out how to live Summer with more intention. 

So I did. 

We saw more sand and water than I can remember. But mostly sand…because sand. Everywhere. Forever. And we spent every extra minute we could soaking up the sun because it was more than generous to us this year. We filled our extra time with less stuff and more people, places, and things that really mattered. And sand. I’m still finding sand. 
  

And we got to fit that all in despite the busyness that is life because- intention. 

  
I’m sure there are a million different articles and books out there in regards to living life with more purpose and intention, but there were a few areas of my life that I really wanted to give more devoted time and attention to: 

1) Being present. Not just physically present but aware. Especially with my kids. This meant being intentional about putting my phone down. A lot. Actively listening, approaching, engaging in the big and small moments of their day. This meant being aware of how they were emotionally. If they were acting out, it was usually a good indication something else was going on and I needed to be intentional about understanding and being responsive to their feelings. Big and small. 

2) People. People are everything. I’m so thankful for new friendships this past season, and how especially important it is to have people in your life that cultivate and foster vulnerability. It’s so important to be intentional about your peeps. Relationships are key to survival- in parenting, partnering, and faith. Two cents- Recognize who God has put in front of you, and take care of them. When you do, it will create a friendship that will take care of you in the process. 

3) New skills. It is possible to teach an old dog (hey thirties) new tricks. The past three months I decided to try my hand at a few new things because what the heck, just start somewhere. #noregurts. So I became a back up dancer for Beyoncé (in my sleep). But really, be intentional about going after something you’ve always wanted to do. I started taking a few photography lessons from a friend and I never realized how enjoyable it could be. I also never realized how much it could annoy my kids in the process. #paparazzimom 

4) Simplicity. Life is hectic and hurried. It’s important to be intentional about taking a step back and simply embracing and evaluating your season. Less is always more. We didn’t go anywhere extravagant, although we hope to someday. Instead, we found fulfillment and joy in the every day things. I’m so thankful for my boys who slow me down (and hurry me up) to enjoy the moment, round all my rough edges and keep my life in perspective.

And we had watermelon. Always have watermelon. 

So as we kiss our sweet Summer good bye (and our sweet babies at the door of their classrooms), what are some things you want to be intentional about this next season? 

Besides the obvious flannel, scarves, beanies and boots. PRAISE HIM. 

“If you must look back, do so forgivingly. If you must look forward, do so prayerfully. However, the wisest thing you can do is be present in the present…gratefully.” -Maya Angelou 

    
    
    
 

  

The 4th and All the Feels 

Ask my husband and he will tell you that on the eve of July 4th, I threw the biggest whiny baby fit on my couch. I am 31-years-old, ladies and gentlemen. 

The emotions had finally caught up with me that my family was in fact, not all going to be together for the first time on one of my most favorite holidays and we are always together for this. My siblings were living across the country and traveling out of the country this year, and welp, there was me on my couch having a little less composure than my toddler. 

I’m a homebody, family girl. And holidays without family are hard. Last year our babies all screamed in terror over sparklers and we got it on video. Because everything is funnier when we are together (even if we are bad parents sometimes). We often break out into song at obnoxious volumes because we think we are hilarious, and because hello, ‘MERICA. But I came to terms like a big girl that this year was going to be different, but that “every little thing gonna be all right.”

So, with no impending holiday plans and a little help from my husband who kindly pulled me back into maturity, we decided at 9 pm the night before to go shopping for all things Independence Day. I bought my boys shirts because they’ll coordinate outfits until the day I die, so help me Jesus. #embarassingmomprobs. And then I made the mistake of opening up my Pinterest app right in the middle of Target sooo…. 

[please, let’s all have a moment of silence for Nathan who is very patient with me] 

I think I made enough pasta salad to feed a small village. And cake, and hot dogs, and watermelon and all sorts of things, and the 4th was on like Donkey Kong. Our home was open and I was on mission to feed everyone in it. We invited friends, and left our door open to our neighbors. And you know what? They came. 

I often feel convicted because God commands us to love our neighbor, and truth is, that’s tough to do if we don’t ever really take the opportunity to get to know them. I learned a lot about the single mom next door. She even invited my kids to bake cupcakes with hers. And everyone was messy and had a great time, (and realistically could have been pressure washed with a hose) because #community. I need this. 

At the end of the day that’s what it’s about; loving God, loving people and being intentional with those placed within our reach. Right? We make it so complicated sometimes. I was humbly reminded that in the midst of heartache there are still incredible people out there. Incredible people who live next door and need us to be available. Not perfect, just available.

I seriously loved every bit of our fourth and am so thankful for how it turned out despite my pre-holiday pity party. We celebrated our nations freedom and independence with all sorts of good (and unhealthy) and really loud things. My boys handled sparklers like a boss this year and not one tear was shed. We almost caught a car on fire (not even kidding) but we are going to go ahead and blame that one on the wind. 

[awkward smile here]

Hope you all had a happy and safe 4th with the best company. I hope you were reminded of the awesome freedom we have as a country, but also how cool Jesus is and the amazing freedom we have in Him. 

Here’s a few of my little Patriots…
   
    
    
   

Toddlers & Tulips

Blog? What blog? 

Oh funny, my calendar also says it’s June. Weird…

I really have wanted to write. It seems lately there has just been something in the air that calls me to my pillow at its earliest nightly convenience and I can not escape from it. It is the craziest thing, y’all. #parenting. How some of you amazing people keep up with writing, working, chasing kids, chasing dreams, while managing to clean, eat, sleep, wash your hair (Dear Dry Shampoo, be mine forever), keep your kids alive, a husband happy, *attempt* to ditch your cellulite at the gym, and can still breathe AND blog is beyond me. Y’all deserve a Nobel Prize. 

[insert 3 months rewind here]

So, Spring happened and I am like, “Big gulps huh? Welp…see you later!” #namethatmovieorwecantbefriends

Is it really Summer?!

Another season has come and gone and it has me looking around at the people I love so fiercely and how badly I want to freeze time with them (unless it’s potty training season, then move along sister), and I am over here wondering what the heck just happened. Because right now I’m signing my kids up for swimming lessons and yesterday they were jumping puddles in the rain. Although, that might have really happened yesterday. #hellonorthwest. Who keeps hitting the fast forward button on life? Sometimes I feel ready to curl up into the fetal because my kids are growing at lightning speed and I can’t stop it…unless I stop feeding them. Then I can stop it. #kidding. Thank you baby Jesus for Costco. 

It’s possible I’ve been feeling extra sentimental lately. 

“The days are long but the years are short.”

Whoever said that, “preach preacha.” I didn’t always believe people when they told me how fast it goes. Like every blink from every mother took their baby from infancy to College. And I didn’t believe them. Because the days ARE long, and although they are tiring, they are filled with good things. And it has me thinking a lot about my relationship with my kids in terms of their memories. What kinds of memories I’m creating for them, and what they will carry with them as they go. 

Spring was good to us. Real good. One of our highlights every year is to visit the Tulip Festival. Because nothing makes me love Oregon more than colorful fields bursting with acres of tulips. I might as well be Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. But in Holland. But really Oregon. 

  
 

The boys love it too. Which is usually why I bring a friend with me in case they decide to divide and conquer the fields like Braveheart. Thanks Val! She was a trooper. Our first order of business is always to ride the cow train. They go crazy for this ride. I paid for 3 people because OBVIOUSLY my baby (he’s almost 3, but whatever) needs me. Except he didn’t and confidently assured (threw a fit) that he could do this on his own, and with his brother. So he did. And just like that, there went my baby. Riding that aluminum cow valiantly into the sunset (like 2 pm). He’ll change the world someday. 

I think they enjoyed the mud more than the flowers, and that’s okay. They boys. I did however, try my hardest at wrangling them in for a few pictures because of my annoying need for tangible evidence of our memory making. I think I did alright. 

  

Sometimes, there’s what we want it to be and sometimes, there’s just what it really is. 

  

And what it really is makes the best kind of memories because what it really is, is real. I wonder if he’ll remember me trying desperately not to giggle in his miserable moments. I mean, LOOK AT THAT FACE! Maybe these types of memories will help him become a fairly decent composer of melancholy love songs? Country singer? I have yet to hear a song about a cow train.

Excited for more adventures with these ones and looking forward to all that Summer brings. I hope to freeze it in time and not take 3 more months before I write about it. 

“Truth is they won’t remember (nor do they care) how many baths they took, what they ate for supper, if their clothes were folded or even clean. They will remember how we love them.”

-Charlie Collier
   
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
   

Trench Sisters

Lately a few people have asked why I haven’t written anything in a while. I’m sorry I’ve abandoned you on the interwebs. I’ve been really busy being a mediocre, grouchy mother. True story. And let me preface, I love my kids til Kingdom freakin come. But man, parenting is hard. Toddlers are hard. Not loosing your ish in the middle of Costco is hard. And not everyone tells you how hard it is because if we were all completely honest and unfiltered about children we would never reproduce and the human race would die. So for the sake of humanity I will continue to do my responsible part and Instagram cute pictures of my kids doing cute things. And I will not tell you about the time my throat hurt from yelling bloody murder. Or about the time I told them if they didn’t stop acting like gremlins I was going to find them a new mommy (not serious, but still…).

Parenting: NAILED IT.

This past week was not my finest as a mother. Maybe past month. #honesty. Sometimes things are just better worked out with boxing gloves…kidding. #sortof. My boys are 2 & 4. They are the most handsome, dirty little creatures and I am obsessed with them. But I swear to you, something in my Brita filtered water (WEIRD) has turned my house into Lord of the Flies lately and I Just. Can’t. Deal. Someone call child services and save me from my kids. 

(I’m kidding about that part though. Don’t actually do that)

I reached a breaking point this week. I had a cry it out moment. By myself. Ugly, snot crying, glory tears. Spiraling thoughts of “I AM DOING EVERYTHING WRONG.” My house is a mess, my children are possessed, I am SO tiiiiiired. Overwhelmed. I just want to eat everything that’s bad for me. The TANTRUMS. The fighting. The breaking of things. For the love.

WHERE IS THE CHOCOLATE??!!




I just…have some feelings.

Sometimes my grateful but overwhelmed heart needs a good cry. And some chocolate. And a friend. And Jesus. All good for the soul. And sometimes it’s just nice to hear that you’re not alone on the road that doesn’t always feel so straight and narrow. The road that often seems more bumpy, tiring, and muddy.

Allow me to calmly and collectively gather my thoughts now…

The trench years are hard. Beautiful, messy, and hard. I don’t always have the right response. I’m not always the most patient, or scheduled, put together or consistent. I don’t always have the best advice or give the greatest encouragement. But I will tell you this- Mom of those wild things, you are enough. And there is room in this trench for you. Because we are in this motherhood thing together, you know? My kindred spirits. My trench sisters. And we can sit here all day laughing because the makeup on our face is mud, and that’s okay. We can at least find some rest here. 

And while we are in this mess, let me also tell you about this story…

John 9- 

As Jesus went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him”….

After saying this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. “Go,” he told him, “wash.” So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.

Oh man. Pass me the Kleenex please. The whole box. Because I am a goner. Here is Jesus, using the messy, dirty, ridiculous things of the world to bring healing, wholeness and sight. This man was totally in the dark and Jesus heals and transforms his life with spit and mud. What??!

I don’t know about you, but I have spent a good amount of time wandering around in the dark, beating myself up over my shortcomings or how I could have handled situations differently. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled”

“I should have been more patient”

“I shouldn’t have fed you that (insert non-organic, really unhealthy food that I am feeling super guilty over)”…

Whatever it is. 

And then comparison starts to rear it’s ugly head, leaving us insecure and vulnerable or with thoughts that maybe everyone else does it better. Whatever ‘it’ may be, too often steals our joy and leaves us feeling alone and in the dark. 

Maybe I’m preaching to the choir. Maybe it’s just me.

“Parenting is easy!” Said no one ever. 

Mom of littles (myself here), be encouraged. Jesus loves you in your muddy trench. In that beautiful mess. You are not alone in there. There is so much love and healing to be found. In the exhaustion, frustration, non-finer moments of motherhood. You are still enough for them. And THANK GOD, he not only helps you work in it, but through it. #glory

Those adorable little hell raisers love you to infinity, you know. Even when you are growing horns out of your forehead and act like Madea. I like to think they aren’t surprised by our mess. Because they are messy too (maybe the messiest). We’re all muddy. We all need healing, forgiveness, grace and love. And we can receive that. Because beautiful things come from the mud and mire. 

Jesus makes this so. 

“Know that there is enough. Know that you are enough. Know that you have enough.” -Momastery

Psalm 40:2- “He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along.”





Photos by Jenn Davenport Photography

Sometimes Monday

I don’t always wake up awesome, but when I do… it’s not today!

Yep. Not even close. My Monday game has been totally sub par lately, which is weird because I normally look forward to Mondays (DON’T INTERNET FLOG ME). All you normal people with normal jobs. Relax. It’s my day off. I look forward to a day with my kids. I also look forward to (hopefully) getting some things accomplished. I am thankful for this day that The Lord has made. I WILL REJOICE AND BE GLAD IN IT.

Although, sometimes…I think I’d be a little more “glad in it” if Monday didn’t start by running out of coffee. #firstworldprobs I know. But parenting is serious biz. Somebody help a sister.

Because sometimes when you’re tired (because of work, kids, marriage, life, ALL the things) you sometimes accidentally doze off on the couch (FOR LIKE FIVE WHOLE SECONDS) while your children are watching an episode of Thomas and Friends.

And sometimes you wake up five whole seconds later to mischievous little boys giggling in the bathroom. And sometimes you discover half a roll of toilet paper stuffed down the toilet.

Sometimes Monday needs a plunger.

Then sometimes, because you spent too much time plunging your toilet, you hurry up to dress and rush your kids out the door at lightning speed as to not be late for pre-school.

Funny thing though, because sometimes you forget (on this particular Monday) that it is in fact a holiday and there is actually NO PRE-SCHOOL. Sometimes you show up and well…that’s awkward.

Sooo….sometimes your child gets REALLY upset when you tell him that there is in fact, no pre-school (and he LOVES pre-school so you are totally in the dog house). Sometimes you need to come up with a good explanation to save yourself, but all you can muster up to explain is that Mommy is tired, forgetful and sometimes makes mistakes. Sometimes these reasons are insufficient to a 4-year-old.

But never fear because sometimes you come up with a brilliant Plan B………AND TOTALLY REDEEM YOURSELF.

Sometimes.

Sometimes plan B doesn’t work because when you arrived to the location of plan B, you discover your plan B is ALSO closed due to said holiday.

Sometimes Monday needs a face palm.

Sometimes there are just not enough apologies you can give on Monday.

Sometimes Monday needs a handler.

WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS, sometimes you have to come up with plan C. Plan C certainly can’t fail you. No way. Plan C is the park. And we LOVE the park.

Except for when it starts to downpour. Sometimes that happens. Which it did. This is the Northwest. I should know better. Sometimes.

Sometimes Monday needs a do-over.

Sometimes Monday lands you back on the couch watching Thomas and Friends.

Sometimes Monday requires a little extra TLC. And by TLC, I mean world’s biggest cookie. Which I gave them. And lots of hugs, and “I’m sorry’s” and tomorrow is a new day.

WHICH I WILL REJOICE AND BE VERY GLAD IN.

Sometimes Monday is a person.

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Only 347 Days until next Christmas

Happy New Year!

I realize it’s January but my wreath is still on my front door, my Christmas decor is still up and I might be humming the tune to “it’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.” My neighbors must think I need counseling. So to ease my post holiday blues, I thought I would write about a few 2014 recaps. Also, my blog is just a sweet little newborn baby and needs some love, so l’ve decided to tell you about December.

December is always a wild ride in our house. It also makes me crazy. My brain already operates with at least 8 million open tabs running at the same time (it’s exhausting and terrifying) the other 11 months out of the year.

For us the holidays usually follow the same sort of routine, but don’t always produce the same results. It also ‘usually’ means I should have started planning for next December yesterday because it is a giant piece of work. By the end of it my heart (and stomach) is so full. You can also simultaneously find me curled up in the fetal position about ready to suck my thumb. “Honey, I’m going to need you to throw chocolate at me. Also, a blanket and a good movie. Don’t ask questions. Just do it.” December is over. I’m taking a vacation from myself.

The cycle that plays out every year usually goes something like this:

Beginning- Christmas anticipation is high. Like Buddy the Elf high (we LOVE that Elf). Like I have been listening to Christmas music non-stop high. Don’t you dare change my radio station. This is the best time of the year. Pinterest has me going holiday crafty like it’s going out of style.

Middle- What?? I remember that I work in retail and start developing sort of a nervous twitch in my right eye. This time it lasted two weeks. TWO weeks. The extended hours, the lack of sleep. There has got to be a bunker I can crawl in somewhere, strap a helmet on and yell “SURVIVE!”

(Thank you baby Jesus for your goodness and for Starbucks across the street)

With this time, we also have our beloved kids Christmas pageants *fist bite.* I shared some thoughts leading up to these events, and was told I needed to re-publish it, so here I am somewhere in the middle of December. I will title it: Christmas Pageants Chapter 1:

Tomorrow is our kid’s Christmas program at church. I know this because I set about 18 reminders in my phone. Why did I do this? Oh you know…because last year I maybe forgot. Completely. And nothing says, “you’re winning at parenting” like forgetting about your kid’s Christmas program. And nothing shows off your child’s “Christmas best” like putting them on stage last minute in jeans and a baseball tee (we’re classy in this house). So this year I AM ON MY GAME. We’ve gone over the songs. Their Christmas sweaters are even laid out. Because listen- MAMA AIN’T GOIN DOWN LIKE THAT.

So what’s different about this year? Well, there is Asher. Who is two. And also now old enough to participate. And by ‘participate’ I mean there are a few likely scenarios that I’ve played out over and over in my head that may or may not have a decent probability of happening:

1) He will decide that Christmas Carols are for the birds and will want to take on a more desirable role, like becoming naked baby Jesus.

The probability of this is high. The probability that I will want to take a Valium Sunday morning is also very high.

2) He will be guided towards the light and shiny things and sound equipment and anything that doesn’t require him to be still. And I will immediately feel a sense of urgency to blow a dart in his neck and sedate him from the shadows of my pew. And I really don’t want to have to do this because blowing darts in your kids neck *might* be frowned upon in church. And *might* make me a bad mom.

3) He will be perfect. And so adorable that I will cry tears of joy that are bigger than he is. And I will go so paparazzi mom that even the paparazzi will be jealous. And I will celebrate. And I will put my hands up like the ceiling can’t hold me.

And a sweet voice from heaven will say unto me, “well done good and faithful mother. You survived Christmas.”

Chapter two is on reserve until next December. But you know what? I survived. And so did Asher. Because he went with option 4, which was to participate from the foyer after the floodgates of tears were released from his eyes. Being two is hard. He did however, catch up with his big brother as soon as it was over, which *stop my beating heart* is all he ever wants. They held hands (bless), walked back to class and we will try again next year.

So here we are at The End of December- THE HOMESTRETCH. Presents are mostly wrapped. It’s Christmas Eve and the Candlelight service at church has me about ready to bawl my eyes out.

“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn”

This is Christmas. Every wrong made right with Jesus. Our hope. The reason we celebrate.

I could go on forever about this. Sometime I will.

As soon as service is over we head to my mother’s house (per usual tradition). We stay up late. We snack. I hoard a whole bowl of peanut m&m’s to myself (don’t judge). We laugh like our abs are about to bulge into a six pack. There are at least 3-4 people playing guitars. This is family. This is how we jam. Literally.

The only thing different about this year was that while we were laughing ourselves into a new six pack, my sweet husband went outside to chop some wood for a fire. He’s manly like that. Mind you, an hour previous he was leading beautiful worship for the masses at Candlelight service and was still in his church clothes. It was dark outside and well, he nearly cut his finger off.

Sooo…

From our family to yours,
“Merry Christmas from the ER.”

He’s fine now. Bless his heart. Nothing some fine stitching couldn’t fix. I think it was all over around 2 am. Which now brings us to:

Christmas Day- Perfection. No traveling this year because Christmas with the in-laws was perfected two days earlier (also complete with 14 grandkids under one roof. Lawd). It was wonderful, heartfelt and chaotic. No toddler got a finger slammed in a door this year (see file under ‘Last Year’). So today means pajamas ALL DAY. And cinnamon rolls. And little boys in complete train set heaven. And hugs. And bliss. And wine. I can breathe again.

Day after Christmas- I am back to working retail and am ready to crawl back in my bunker. GOD SPEED.

5 days after Christmas- Our big boy Logan turned FOUR. Oh the feelings. So much to say about this kid but will file it away under [Logan Turns 4]. I had just enough energy to muster up a Dino birthday party in less than 48 hours (don’t tell him). It was a total success and he was so loved.

But someone PLEASE remind me to never have a child around Christmas ever again!!! Thank you.

So this is what December is like in our house. We still haven’t taken all of our decor down because I am still in denial. There is just something about the Christmas spirit that makes you forget about your crazy twitching eye or that your month was like a sequel to The Fast and The Furious. And then your brain will say something funny like, “I CAN’T WAIT FOR NEXT DECEMBER!!!”

Only 347 days until next Christmas.

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A new year. A new day.

It’s 2015. A new year, a new day. A time for fresh starts, fresh ideas, letting go of fear, chasing dreams, chasing babies, and getting over myself. So HERE. WE. GO. *fist pump.*

Y’ALL! Welcome to my first blog post of 2015! Also, my first blog post of ever. Also, I can say “y’all” now because I lived in the South once. And I’ve found that ‘once’ is enough to officially Southernize you. I think. Roll Tide y’all. Whatever.

You know what I think is a funny word? Blog. Like, I have a blog. I’m feeling bloggish. Someone get me some Tylenol.

On Christmas morning my husband made me solve a word puzzle (who does that?!). I think I had only taken about two sips of coffee and my mind was already reading, “Dear puzzle, ain’t nobody got time fo’ this. Sincerely, it’s early.” But because I love him, and he wore matching plaid pajamas (presh), and a lot of effort was put into racking my brain that early, I was going to complete the task. So I did….after I had to ask someone else for help. Oops.

The puzzle spelled out the title of this website. Something I’ve only thought about, talked about, day dreamt about but have always been too afraid to go there. Plagued by thoughts of criticism and defeat, I can wilt like a flower. “Someday I’ll do it. Someday I’ll write.” So what does this crazy man do?! Publicly makes me responsible. Rude! And sweet, and thoughtful, and creative! And I have a lot of feelings. And hold please, I think I just swallowed my stomach.

Guys, I swear sometimes I feel like I’m married to Oprah. But we call him Nathan. He gives joyously and generously, his time and energy, always making people feel loved and important. If you know him, you know just that. Every year he goes above and beyond. Every year he finds a way to out-do himself. But if we’re going to get crazy, why couldn’t he just buy me a new car?! You know, like the Lexus Christmas commercial where my sweet new mom ride rolls up with the big red bow on top? Also, conveniently placed in front of my dream house in a winter wonderland. I would look AMAZING in one of those! I would drive that brand new all white, beautiful silver rimmed (I haven’t been dreaming) SUV like a BOSS. Because boss mom. That’s me. But no. He spends countless hours putting things together that reach depths of my heart and says crazy things like, “I believe in you. Stop dreaming and start doing. You have something to say.”

See, I told you. Crazy man.

So I’ve made a commitment to him, and myself, and any of you kind friends that choose to read this. I am no expert on marriage or motherhood, or really anything that pertains to life. Dr. Phil doesn’t exactly have me on speed dial. I could probably take a class or two in wife school, and on my way catch a ride on the hot mess mom express. But I do enjoy the perfectly imperfect life I do have. And if sharing it with you blesses you then I have succeeded.

I will tell you some stories from some times and from some places. Funny things because things are funny. And serious things because I’m serious about serious things. I might tell you about the time I was dared to wear fleece footie pajamas on my wedding night (and did). I might tell you about the time while I was making lunch for my boys, they snuck out of the backyard and high tailed it on their tricycles for “the beach.” (They made it about one whole block before I caught up with them and almost went into cardiac arrest). I might tell you about Logan’s first day of pre-school where he went to use the restroom and walked back to class without pants. I will tell you some things.

Lastly, I will tell you about Asher. Who at the sweet age of two is a constant reminder to live life a little more fearless and free…with the exception of running away on tricycles.

…Although, sometimes a mother gets desperate. Don’t judge.

2015 is going to be a great year. I feel it. It’s a new day. Time for new things.

My kids are still wishing everyone a Merry Christmas.

Bless.