Birthdays for days

Confession:

    I have spent the last 5 week and 72 hours trying to capture my kids in an Instagram worthy pose for their consecutive birthdays.  God in his wisdom and knowledge knew that I fear and tremble about birthdays; the parties, the presents, the cakes/cupcakes and the decorations (or lack thereof).  Even typing this I feel the anxiety rising into my throat.  Urgh...Birthdays....soooooooo stressful!!! But so fun for kids.  And I have to admit I have sucked the fun right out of many many memorable moments the past month or so trying to make them “better.”  

Kids, listen, I LOVE YOU.  I don’t say it enough because I’m weird and a New Englander and I have a serious complaining habit.  But I. LOVE. YOU. 

JWynn, I love your curiosity!  You ask such good questions, and draw hilarious conclusions.  For example, let it be written that you informed me just the other day, “Snakes have fangs to protect themselves from creditors.” Hmm. That could very well be true in addition to protecting themselves from predators.  

Shout out to Monkey King Tea. (#mkt)  You make our week.
Thanks for putting up with our Thursday morning invasions:)

I am honestly and totally amazed by your constant and superhuman levels of energy.  You are incredible.  You can probably run a mile faster than I can and then want to play tag afterwards.  Even I, your mother, am still shocked by the things you manage to climb (the built in pantry shelves for example.)

You love Jesus and really trust him.  I am convicted whenever I tell you something sad because you want to pray immediately.  It’s true, there is no reason to wait to pray. And whenever you get hurt you always call out for God’s help even before me or Dad.  I love that, because I won’t always be there but God will.  

Falling Hard

Princessa Harpinha...where do I begin?  If I was three I would ask you to be my best friend because you are so fun and funny.  Where do you get this comedic timing or these sarcastic faces?  Please forgive me for not disciplining you consistently due to the fact that you make me laugh too hard. 

And yes, your hair really is as beautiful as you think it is.  Don’t get vain about it but it literally does “gleam and glow” (as you’ve informed us through song- thank you Tangled soundtrack).  You are incredibly patient as I brush it and attempt to braid it every morning.  

I think what I thank God for the most though is your affection toward others.  The fact that you always ask your brother, “You okay bud?”  when he falls down.  Or stuff a binky in your sister’s mouth when she is crying.  You look out for others and want to make sure they are as happy as you are.  Thank you for your infectious joy.  

Olivita, my baby. It’s hard to describe how much I just adore your face!  Your smiles are the best part of any day.  You light up a whole room.  

Where did she even find this clementine? 

Your endurance amazes me.  You have let more doctors and specialists poke and prod you than I ever would and you remain sweet despite it all.  I know you are hurting a lot of the time but you have a joi de vivre that inspires me.  

I wish I could make life easier for you but I am comforted by the knowledge that you will always be strong and brave. I can;t ait to see you blow all our minds when you figure out walking and talking!  It’s always an adventure with you. 

So, happy birthday one and all:)

The Animated Kiss

One of the most enjoyable parts of raising children is reliving what have become mundane everyday events as exciting “firsts.” 

I remember a friend telling me how awesome it was the first time her son saw a dog.  I mean, yeah, dogs are crazy creatures and so getting a glimpse of a lab for the first time must have blown his mind.  So, I try and watch out for these moments and while the trash truck is no longer the highlight of my oldest's week I am surprised by the things I forget he has never seen.

For example, when we watched his first Disney animated film with him , I, of course, picked my favorite; Beauty and the Beast.  I want to instill at an early age that brains are better than brawn or beauty.  I also wanted it to be extra educational so I rented it from the Library in Spanish.  This was very confusing since the story is set in France.  So we have like Frenglish going on.  I’m pretty sure that most of the story was lost on him.  But he loved the fight between Gaston and the Beast.  He has a strong sense of justice but a tender heart so the Beast exposing Gaston for the coward that he is yet not dropping him to his death was just right to him.  (Oops sorry spoiler alert).  

But then, Gaston sneaks up on the Beast and stabs him to death.  At this point I am a little uncertain about my choice to let him watch this.  But it’s okay because Belle is by the Beast’s side and tells him she loves him before the last rose petal falls.  Then, magic.  I am not sure how to explain this to a (then) three year old, so I said it was a type of special medicine where they shoot light out of your extremities until you get better and an added benefit of this medical procedure is that if you are a Beast the light therapy transforms you into a long haired French prince.  Again, keep in mind the movie is in Spanish and my son is 3 and not bilingual.  

Next comes the part that I had totally blocked from my mind.  G rated movies allow....gulp...animated kissing!  Horror.  What am I going to tell him about that?  My husband and I are not the kissing in front of your kids or anyone or ever type so my palms are sweating like crazy.  “Ugh No!!!”  I inwardly cringe and imagine all the awkward questions that will likely ensue.  All this as the Prince/Beast is spinning about.  

And then Belle holds his face, and he brushes away a stray lock of her brown hair.  The music crescendos.  Inwardly, I am in a fetal position trying to think of a distraction but I can’t seem to find my voice.  And then they kiss.  And somehow Disney makes the animated kiss just as sensual as a human one.  Their faces are practically one.  It seems to be lasting for at least 10 minutes.  I still can’t think of anything to say.  Then, at last it’s over and everyone is happy and all I can mutter is, “Why would they do that?” Like I don’t know what a kiss is. Like I haven’t conceived three children.  My approach is to play dumb.

What is that weird face smashing?  Must be part of the strange firework light therapy.  

Let’s never speak of this again.  

(Probably another bad mom moment)



Based on Prompt #2 from my writer's collaborative...Say It With a Kiss

Kissing uses all five senses, which makes it an extremely sensuous act. It is a beginning and an end—the kiss hello and the kiss good-bye. There are a variety of romantic puckers (passionate, wet, teasing, rough, slow), as well as thrown-across-the-room kisses, tentative kisses, friendly pecks, and the reluctant ones that children give relatives or parents' friends. The poet Tess Gallagher's book Portable Kisses evokes a buffet of smooches.

Your first kiss is often etched in memory, and so is the solitary, experimental kind that you may have practiced on your arm, your pillow, or up against the mirror. Do you remember when you first found out French kissing involved touching tongues? I thought I would gag if I tried it, and I couldn't figure out how adults, who were forever concerned about germs, would willingly do something that seemed even more likely to spread a cold than drinking from someone else's soda bottle.

Write about kissing. Besides being fun to write about, it is an especially good practice for writing scenes between two people. (Approximately 500 words)

Bad Mom

Prompt #1 from The Writing Collaborative

"Word Choice: One Syllable Words

Write a response (fiction, nonfiction, a scene, a description of a person or place, ect.) that is roughly 500 words and is made up of ONLY one syllable words. This exercise highlights the importance of word choice and pushes the limits of your vocabulary. You may even have to break out a thesaurus! "

When we walk, arms full of books, I try to keep my kids with me.  But right now the boy is out in front and the girl is way far back.  I am torn in two.  I yell at the far one, call to the slow one and then turn my eyes to the baby I hold and my phone.  

       Her eyes are closed.  A smile plays on her small lips.  I grin and try to take a shot of her sweet small face when an old maid walks by.  Her hat is fur and her eyes dark lined. 

“Get off your phone and get your kids!”  She snarls my way. Her paint red lips look cracked.

I look in front, I look back.  Where I saw smiles and slow walks I now see the rush and threat of the busy street.  My heart beats with shame.  

“Witch,” I think (but with a B), but I know she is right and it hurts.   My shame grows.  I feel the title mom turn into the curse “fraud.”  I cringe and call once more to my small one who has run out in front. I turn off my phone to grab the one in back.

But, a new plain clothes judge gets off the bus and shouts, “Whose kid is this?  Where is her mom?  It is a shame, a shame the way some moms don’t seem to care.”

“She’s with me,” I call, “She’s okay.”  My girl smiles and takes short strides my way. But she is too close to the bus.  She may fall or worse this new rat may snatch her up. 

“It is not okay” comes the reply from the cavy queen.  She vents her shock and rage.  I reel from the force of her cold call down.  Much of what she says is true.  Risks I can not count come to mind.  I can not keep them safe.  Three is more than I can watch all at once. What can I do?  I am flawed.  I fail.   At last, she gives me a shake of the head and a silent boo. 

I can not move.  A pain grabs my heart and my breath is short and weak.  

My kids still smile and make their way at their own pace.  The fast boy stops in his tracks at the red WAIT hand and the slow one hops over each crack.  I love them all so bad it hurts.  

I start to breath a slow plea to God to give me grace, to help me just to be.  I ask the Son of God to let me take one step and then the next.  I ask Him to take the blame, the guilt, the fear that hold my feet in stone blocks.  

And He is there.  He is real.  I pick up my small girl and hug her tight.  I walk to my first born son and hold his hand.  I look at my baby’s face and her eyes are still closed in peace and sleep.  

Heartland

I have this problem.  Well, my husband sees it as a problem...I see it more as a strength but... it can be a problem.  

I put myself in whatever book, movie or TV show I happen to be watching.  Hence, I may get a little too attached to the characters.  

So when my mother-in-law and sister-in-law introduced me to Heartland.  I immediately decided the spunky, talented and beautiful protagonist Amy could be my alter ego for the show.   Amy has an incredible gift of listening to horses and understanding what they need to be trained properly. 

The show is really very wholesome (it is Canadian after all).  And I just love to watch myself....I mean Amy.... work with the horses.  I love how she gets a random idea and tries it.  

I love how she listens. 

I want to listen like that. The thing is, I have no horses.  

I do however, have small children.  

So what would it be like if I really listened to my kids?

Here are some notes I took on Amy’s “method" and then applied to my kids, my husband, even to my relationship with God. (Heck yes I take notes when I watch TV.... lay off I have OCD.)

1. Amy pays attention to everything.  The smells that calm the horses, the food they like, the places they like to spend time.  She notices details.  A lot of the scenes are just her putting her hand on the horses neck or back.  (This may be why some family members aren’t as huge fans of the show as I am:)  

~Do I listen to my kids this way?  Do I give them hugs, do I let them sit on my lap? (even though it feels like I’m being smothered to death)  

~Do I listen to my husband at all?   I know he loves lemon chicken but I HATE making it, so I usually don’t.  (FAIL.) 

~ Do I set aside time to just be? To listen to God.  Not to laundry list pray about all my worries but to hear God? 

2.  Amy’s process is not linear.  It takes time.  She doesn’t rush or try to make the horse into something it is not.  She has to come up with tons of different ideas for each unique horse.  

~ Am I willing to SLOW DOWN? Ann Voskamp says, “Hurry hurts kids” and I find that so convicting because “hurry” is my default speed.  

~Am I willing to make a point to spend time with my husband?  Not time with an agenda where I barrage him with the info from the day that I have to pass along.  Time simply together. 

~  Am I willing to read the Bible slowly?  Not just get it done because it makes me feel better to know I did something “good” today (amidst all my failures) but to soak it in.  

I may never be a horse whisperer in real life... but I truly desire to become a better listener...and learn how to rock the heck out of cowboy boots.

Guest Blogger: Koi and Momas

Today our guest blogger is my good friend Stephanie.  She is the author of the blog http://koiandmomas.blogspot.com (which I always enjoy reading) and the mama of two precious little ones.  I'm so grateful that she'd share her thoughts here.  Hope you enjoy them as much as I do:)

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Last week, over a shared meal that never disappoints to bring up random conversations, the subject of labels entered the scene.  One of my friends who raised three boys through high school diplomas said, "Isn't it funny how you say you never want to give a label, but then it just happens anyway?"

We spent the next chunk of time laughing and giving examples of how true that is.  Beucase... well... people sometimes just ARE certain ways!

Koi has always been more of an introvert and keeps to himself while Momas says hi to everyone in his path whether we are going on an after dinner walk or just waiting in the chiropractor's office.

Koi is more cautious and meticulous about things.  He was perched on a stool helping me in the kitchen since he could stand with a decent amount of balance.  Momas thinks it's hilarious to do a side-step-bounce over to Koi's neat line of cars while picking his foot up and giving a raised eyebrow glance to Koi.

Koi HATES loud noises and takes a while to recover from being startled while Momas may or may not hear a noise and dismisses it as quickly as he heard it.

The question I've been asking myself lately is, "Is it nature or nurture?"  So far my answer is that it's a bit of both. 

I do think that their are certain qualities we are born with.  Koi wakes up with the sun and has more of a difficult time staying asleep at night, and I'm usually waking Momas up for the day around ten.  We didn't do anything drastically different with their sleep aside from Momas being in our bed longer.

I definitely think Koi's introvert personality is something he was born with, and we help him find his words to address people while making sure he's not too overwhelmed in crowds.  He could also be more comfortable in the kitchen because he is the first born and I had the undivided attention to teach him how to stay on his chair and pour and mix ingredients.

It's easy to feel like I'm depriving Momas because he's not getting the same one one one attention as Koi had, and the guilt can creep in when Koi's big plans for playing get interrupted by "Tomzilla", as we affectionately call Momas.

Instead of letting the guilt become paralyzing I choose to look at what they each bring to our family.  Koi teaches Momas that things have a place, and loves when he can be the one to sit down and read Momas books.  Momas leads the way in saying hi to people and, if the reaction is positive, Koi is right behind him.  Yesterday the loud revving of an engine sent Koi bolting into the house in a hysterical state that took me at least five long minutes to calm him down.  Those five minutes preceded ten minutes of Koi asking me if it was going to happen again, and not wanting to go back out to play.  He finally found Momas and sweetly asked him if he wanted to go out, too.  Momas happily followed Koi outside and Koi was happy to have his brother there as a buffer from the noise, should it happen again.

Instead of trying to steer clear of labels, I think we should embrace the way we were created and celebrate our differences!  Instead of ignoring the differences in our children we should help them put a name to things, and affirm them for who they are and the qualities they have.  In a positive way, of course.  I can give some examples of labels I was given, unintentionally, that I played into because I thought that was just me....but we don't need to go there. :-) 

How sad would it be to realize you never helped your children, or those around you, reach their fullest potential because you were afraid to put them in a box so you steered clear from calling out their strengths and helping them see and work on their weaknesses?

Let's be quick and genuine to affirm.  

Let's be even faster to apologize when our words hurt.

Let's love and build up those around us.

Let's teach our littles how to appreciate the differences in others!

Snowmageddon 2015

I know I said I loved the snow, and I do.  However, today really put that love to the test.

Today, I knew we needed to go to the store, since there has only been a day between the last 4 blizzards, so stocking up is necessary.  However, I had heard that the windchill was going to make it feel like -25.  I pride myself on being a born and raised New Engander and I didn’t want my little one’s faces to literally freeze off (they are already windblown and eczema covered as it is.)  So, I checked and between 10-1pm it wasn’t supposed to be in the negatives.  I, then, checked that the store where we were headed was indeed open despite it being President’s Day.  It was opening in the next half hour.  Thus, I bundled them all up (with far less grace and love than I could have... but I did it) and we set off.  The cold was enough to make a grown man cry let alone a 2 and 4 year old.  So, by the time we were all “strapped in” things were already pretty emotional in the car.

These days in Massachusetts, there are only shades of white, grey, blue, brown mush.  There are no more lines on the road.  The medians are 15-20 foot walls of snow. Everything looks like a shell of whatever lay beneath before the storms.  But hardly anyone ventured out today so the driving was not too bad.

We reached Costco. (I use the name only to warn you it is closed... I still like and depend upon the store.)

And it was closed (as I already mentioned.)

Yup, no sign, no explanation just closed.  It totally baffled people; some drove by several times just to make sure their eyes did not deceive them, some were just waiting in their cars.  I felt brave enough to get out and look inside.  It looked abandoned, grates fastened shut, no one in sight. I retreated to my car and called the administrative line because I’m nosey and easily annoyed.  A very polite man informed me that it was closed due to snow...hmm...snow.  Mind you, it is not snowing today, and yet the sheer amount of snow still was causing some unseen problems that closed down a whole warehouse without warning.


My 4-year old son overheard the conversation and his response was, “Oh great,
now all the people need food and no one can get any.”  Ok maybe he is a little extreme (like me?) seeing the apocalypse in every closed grocery store.  Anyway not to be deterred we headed over to a smaller although still “Super” store.  I mean “the people” needed food and we were gonna get it!

The shelves and aisles were as expected, pretty empty.  I had to scrounge around for the potatoes I wanted and they were out of the bread we like best- not a huge deal.  Still, the kids became restless, I became dissatisfied and annoyed.  So finally and carefully I reassemble their hats, mittens, and coats. Then, I thoughtlessly push out into the parking lot.

Almost immediately, the cart tipped over.  I could feel it but my 9 month pregnant body just isn’t as agile or strong as usual (despite what my guided relaxation tapes may tell me.)  I was using my entire strength to make sure my son did not get trapped beneath this monstrosity, which was essentially in the middle of the road.  My daughter’s hat had flown off and she was hanging parallel to the pavement slowly slipping from the metal seat in front.  I thought about trying to reach out to grab her but the cart started to slide again.

Then, something great happened.  Strangers came to my rescue.  This was SO not a typical New England response.  I was shocked.  One grabbed my daughter, another pulled my son out of harms way and someone else helped me right the cart.  None of us spoke the same language, which on one hand I regretted because I wanted to thank them for saving me, but on the other hand was grateful for because I was afraid they would point out what a thoughtless move I had made.  However, their faces were so kind- windblown and frozen- but kind.

And so, now that we are all warm and recovered, I still love snow.  Maybe even a little more than before because it forces us to work together, to rely on each other.

Winter Storm Linus

I love seeing the snow accumulate through the night.  I know  it seems a little excessive lately.  But, I don’t mind waking up to the muffled scrape and rumble of plows.  It never fails to amaze me how the billions of flakes shape the dead sticks and stones into a marble masterpieces.

Lately, James’ favorite song for me to sing to him before bed in “Nothing but the Blood”  

The repeating question is gruesome, for an almost 4 year old; but it’s the question our heart asks each one of us:

“What can make me white as snow?  Nothing but the blood of Jesus.”

And that is the gospel truth. Somewhere deep down I don’t want to admit it but I know I’m not okay.  I know that my mistakes, my sins, my hatred are heavy and deadly. If I got perfect payback it would kill me.  And so, I frantically search...

“What can make me okay again? What can turn the ugly parts in my life beautiful?” 

It’s what a famous theologian (whose name I should definitely know) calls “The Great Exchange.”  Jesus takes all my baggage and I am credited with his perfect life, all of his goodness.  My debt of death is paid.  

As the song says, we have been “white  as snow.” Fortunately, this is an eternal truth.  Here, snow doesn’t stay white for long, and we wouldn’t either.  

But God fills the craters of self hatred...forever.

His grace and power give a sheen and sparkle to the most drab and hopeless things about us.  

We are continually covered by his sacrifice and made into masterpieces.  

The season to be sick

I apologize that I haven't written in eons.  I am much much improved but still visit the doctor at least once a week to be poked and prodded.  I am grateful for this actually because I get to be extra vigilant in watching this baby that I worry so much about but cannot yet see.  Today I just wrote a stream of consciousness and then it felt a little like a post so here it is...

It’s times like this that I am totally floored that I am the adult in the situation.  When my 20 month old daughter sneaks 2 cupcakes and then throws them up in the middle of the night.  When everyone is miserable and has a fever. And I don’t even know how to clean.  Do I spray everything with Lysol?  Is that stuff hazardous how far do throw up germs sink into the fabric of a bed or pillow?  Are there such things as “throw up germs?”  If so, what are they really called?  Should I keep everyone at home?  What could we possibly do for 12 hours without hurting each other?  Don’t we need fresh air?  Am I a terrible person for bringing them into public and sharing said, “throw up germs” with the world?

So, because I feel so overwhelmed and pregnant I finish off my half gallon of milk for the day and lay on the couch to watch a mystery that can be solved in 53 minutes.  

Wow, I need God and yet I am so slow to turn to him, so weak in my passion for him.  I am truly grateful for him and all he does to take care of us, but have I yet discovered that he is beautiful? I pray that I do.  

Bed Rest

Bed rest doesn’t seem like a bad thing at first.  It seems like a good thing and it is.  With my first baby, I spent my time of confinement learning sport stats to impress my husband and watching re-runs of Walker Texas Ranger.  

With my second baby, my friends (who are also saints) watched my toddler and I indulged in long naps and re-runs of Murder, She Wrote.  (I hope you’ve noticed my fine taste in television.) Still, the days seemed to last for weeks and the minutes for hours, just waiting for time to pass.

This time around, everything was more intense.  The “morning sickness,”  the lack of independence, the fear of having to survive another day.  It was hell.  Then, one day I dragged yourself to the door and my neighbor was there, she was taking me to the ER.  I was to weak and confused to argue so I went.  As it turned out I have/had hypermesis gravidarum. I was super dehydrated and losing weight at a frightening rate.  

Hypermesis gravidarum has been made famous by Princess Kate, Dutchess of Cambridge who had it with her first born.  Ironically, Charlotte Bronte (my favorite author) also suffered (and eventually died) from it.   All this to say, I was in bad shape.  But it seems to me that it is when we are in the worst shape that we see the best in others.

Here are some examples and thank you’s (certainly not exhaustive) of the love I’ve received:

-My neighbor baking me cookies, buying ginger ale, and lollypops that somehow really do magically take away the nausea for a little bit.

-Friends who coordinated so that every day one of them took my kids, changed their diapers, dressed them, fed them breakfast and lunch and often dinner too!

-Get Well cards, flowers and balloon.

-Someone to pick up all my multiple prescriptions.

-My brother driving me home and making sure I kept my electrolytes up with gatorade (electrolyte imbalance is the #1 threat to the baby)

-My sister letting me drink all her gatorade while juggling a job, another job and oh yeah another job.  

-My other sister holding my hand and telling me it was gonna be ok, plus changing innumerable diapers and “accidents.”

-My parents for watching over me and cajoling me into actually going to the doctor.

-My friends who did my dishes and cleaned my kitchen.

-My friends who sent me music.

-Those who kept me amused with their blogposts, instagrams, and tweets:)

-My whole family in CA for offering to take the kids and for flying my sister in law out to take care of the kids, the house and me.

-All the offers I didn’t even get to take people up on because I was so flooded with help.

-THE PRAYERS, life is a miracle.  This little one inside me and my own because I know I would have died on my own.  Thank you all!

Asking for help is hard.  

But it is worth the risk.

People probably care way more than you can imagine  (especially if they know Jesus because that is exactly what he was like...he cared and he did something about. )

Dancin'

First,  I apologize to each and every one of you for going MIA for over a month, no phone calls, no email, no posts, heck...besides my kids and husband I doubt I've seen many of you.   It's a long story that will have to be told in installments but the short version is...I'm on strict bed rest and the meds I'm on make my mind almost incapable of writing.  (Imagine how random I am anyway times 100.)

The good news is that I'm okay:)  I'm just having another baby!  Yikes.  It definitely doesn't feel real yet.

The other good news is that I made this video when my son found some old tap shoes to cheer myself (and hopefully everyone who watches it) up:)

http://youtu.be/5By_bAM0euo

...I wonder where he get's his unbelievable skills?.....

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSrECk5p0Bo

....oh yeah, like father like son.

More of our love story

Ok, reviewing the “love story” posts I’ve written for the blog I realized that I missed a pretty crucial part of our relationship...right in between when I found out David’s name and when I left for the East Coast.  

Someone told me once that the song “Ironic” was misnamed and really all the frustration Alanis Morsette spends 4 minutes 6 seconds outlining are really just “unfortunate” events not ironic.  As an English teacher I have to disagree.  There is some amount of dramatic irony in a man overcoming his Pteromerhanophobia (fear of flying) only to die in a plane crash.  Although I admit that the irony of finding a black fly in my chardonney still eludes me.  In any case, the tragedy that struck David Lauda only weeks after I met him makes the misfortunes of Ms. Morsette look like mere annoyances.

Probably a month after I first laid eyes on David our church held baptisms.  Now, the church connotes a whole host of images, from cathedrals to big tent revivals.  Let me assure you that whatever you are picturing is not what our church was like.  We met in homes, on the beach, in a theater, wherever people let us really.  We were a band of college kids and young adults on fire for Jesus.  We’d worship anywhere and everywhere.  So, these particular baptisms were held in a friend’s backyard in his hot tub, which was exactly as awkward as it sounds.  

The first thing that amazed me was how many people wanted to baptized.  We held baptisms every season and each time there would be 5-10 people whose lives had been completely turned upside down by their new faith.  The second thing that amazed me was that David chose to wear tie dyed zebra print short shorts and what James refers to as a “hoop ball hat” (aka a sweatband).  I’m not sure if anyone had told him that this was not traditional baptismal attire but he stood up there without a care in the world.  

Oh yeah, those are the shorts..yikers:)

Finally, it came time for the people getting baptized to give their testimony.  People had a variety of long (really long in some cases) stories chronicling how they had made this decision.  Then the pastor called David up.  He asked David for his testimony.  David looked out over the crowd, “My testimony?” he asked.  I waited with baited breath because I heard that he had a very dramatic conversion.  “My testimony is that I am a terrible sinner but Christ died for my sins.”  Boom.  Just. Like. That.  #Truth (although this was like 15 years before hash tags).  

After the service was over I somehow I finagled a way to get a ride back to school with him.  On that 40 minute drive he talked more than I have ever heard him speak at one time.  He told me all about his faith and his family.  He told me that since becoming a Christian he had forgiven his dad and was back in contact with him.  In fact, his dad was getting released from prison in only a few months.  He was super excited because he and his dad had been inseparable before the 10 year sentence came down.    

I got back to school and I got caught back up in school...obsessing about making B+s into As.  I didn’t forget about David, in fact every time I saw him I felt more and more amazed and taken with him.  But we didn’t get a chance to talk.  Until I was talking with a friend, weeks, maybe a month later.  “Did you hear about David Lauda’s dad?”  she asked.  “No,” I answered hoping that maybe his release date had been moved up and I could meet the man, the myth and the legend Jim Lauda.  

“He died this week,” she announced.  And I felt sick to my stomach.  Just before getting released?  It couldn’t be true, she couldn’t know this.  But when I saw David later that night I knew it was true.  I didn’t know what to say or do.  We were all acting like he had the plague...too awkward to ask about it, too big a deal to not ask about it.  I finally ended up talking to his sister and he came over.  I held my breath. “You know what song   I have stuck in my head?” she asked him.    “Don’t pull on superman’s cape, Don’t spit into the wind and you don’t mess around with Jim.”   Kalli quoted.  David laughed. 

It took days, weeks, years to piece together Jim’s death.  He died fighting wild fires in Northern California (Inmates on good behavior can volunteer to do that in emergencies).  I wasn’t close enough to go to the funeral.  But I was at the spreading of his ashes the next summer.  We built an ebenezer of stones up at Lake Shasta so as never to forget him.  5 years after that our first son was born... James, after Jim.  

But back then, back when the grief was so fresh and raw, I could only marvel at David’s courage and faith.  Two qualities that only those who've lost loved ones can understand.  They are what held us together that long summer and our first year of dating.   They are what hold us together still.  

A picture is indeed worth a thousand words by Rochelle Stewart Rubino

I take a lot of pictures on my iPhone. I love the ability to quickly grab my phone and snap away at some of the fun moments of mommyhood. I think they tell a pretty interesting story. Sometimes, I post some of them to Facebook, but at other times, I don’t what to inundate my friends’ newsfeeds with photos of my little darlings. So, without further ado, here’s a photo blog of some everyday moments in life with my children.

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I love free events that provide entertainment for my children, so when I heard about Melrose’s DPW day, I didn’t delay! Gianna was thrilled to bounce in all of the bouncy houses provided and enjoyed sitting in plow trucks galore. She even had her first ambulance experience (one that did spike mommy’s blood pressure!).  Vinny was content as ever to sit in his stroller, just taking it all in while munching on his hummus sandwich.  Add sunshine and some good friends and you’ve got the makings of one glorious morning.



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A backyard, nice weather, children, and a new play structure give a few mommies the chance to sit at a patio set and enjoy a glass of wine. Yes, the kids started off having to learn to share and take turns on the swings, but eventually the toddlers ironed out the kinks and played together happily. And even Vinny “played” with the kiddos.

Check out more of Rochelle's thoughts at http://enteringmommyhood.wordpress.com