Well, I have officially reached the last year of my twenties. If you would have asked me 10 years ago, where I thought I would be in 10 years, I’m sure the answer would have been something to do with my career.
My “career” sure isn’t the first thing I would talk about today. It’s amazing how you think your life is heading in one direction, but God always has a path for you. Even when my life had zero direction after college when I couldn’t get a job, I still had a path. I just never could see it or understand it.
Today, I work in the field in which I got a degree. It doesn’t define me like I thought it would. I’m not this hard-hitting journalist running around the world chasing stories. Instead, I’m a hard working mother who chases my 20 month old around the house and yard. I am completely okay with it. I keep this blog to keep my sanity. I still have dreams for my career. I’m still working towards those dreams. I will never give up on them. They just are nothing like the dreams I had 10 years ago. I am okay with that because I can accept things and still be happy and grateful for what I have. I have a loving husband who took a new job so he can be home every weekend. I have a happy and healthy boy and another little boy on the way.
I love feeling him move inside me. It reminds me everyday that God has given me so much to be thankful for. I go to bed every night knowing that my life may not be what I dreamed it would be 10 years ago, but it is more than I ever could have imagined. Thank you Lord for my family and thank you for another day I get to spend with them.
It’s 4:30 in the morning, on Valentine’s day. Why am I awake? I think my body is preparing me for baby #2. I wake up every morning between 2:30 and 4:00 a.m. Typically, I go back to sleep. This morning, I checked my email and I had am offer for 5 free baby leggings. So, I went shopping!
Since we don’t find out until tomorrow if this babe growing inside of me is Cooper’s baby brother or baby sister, I ordered a few pairs for each gender! I got some really precious purple ones for a girl (hey, a momma can dream, can’t she?).
Cooper’s babysitter is the sweetest lady I know. She also happens to be my good friend Yolanda’s mother. We call them our Mexican family. “Yaya” is our babysitter. I like to think of her as the “baby gender predictor.” She told me Cooper was a boy. She closely examines the shape of my belly. She is also predicting this baby as another boy. I am surrounded by them already…so what is one more? She always tells me that she hopes this next one is as sweet as Cooper. I get updates everyday about how he is such a sweet boy. Yesterday, Yolanda stopped me while I was picking him up from Yaya’s. She said two ladies that are friends with the family stopped by Yaya’s house today. She said Copper ran to the door and greeted them both with a hug and then ran back and started playing again. My friend Terri, who also sends her kids to Yaya’s, tells me all the time that Copper tries to leave with her when she comes to pick up her two girls. I just laugh at these stories. He gives the best hugs and the best kisses. I’m not even jealous that he gives them away so freely to everyone. If he brings a little joy to everyone’s life that he sees everyday, then I don’t mind sharing him.
On another note, my hubby moved to the Houston area and started a new job this week. He will have weekends off from now on and he is only 2 1/2 hours from the house. Yay!!! Happy Valentine’s Day to me!!!
Oh, if anybody wants the free leggings ,
just put five in your cart and use code “Family2014″.
I could have a million excuses for why I haven’t had a post the last few months. The truth is, I haven’t felt inspired. Not that things, wonderful things, haven’t happened. Wonderful things have happened. I started a post about family because of Christmas. I never posted it. It didn’t feel right. Lately, I have been thinking a lot about bonds we build with people. People we knew lifetimes ago. People who are our family. People that we see every day.
I am in complete awe of a family that I know personally. Over the past year, the father of the family has been struggling with kidney problems. As I am sure anyone can guess, it has been a long and challenging time. The doctors did not know what was wrong at first. After they figured out it was his kidney (lots of tests and process of elimination) they determined he needed a kidney transplant. He had to be approved by a round table of doctors in order to be a candidate for the surgery. Then, the search for a donor began. His wife did not share the same blood type. There was the possibility of an “organ swap.” In this situation, the man’s wife would give one of her kidneys to a stranger who was a match with her and when one that matched her husband became available, he would get it.
The family has 4 children ranging from early twenties to early thirties. We are friends with all of them. They are all wonderful, beautiful people. They all got tested to see if they were a match for their dad. Two of them were. Yesterday, their oldest son and the dad underwent organ transplant surgery. That’s right. This family kicks ass. They stick together. They make sacrifices and they believe in God. I 150% admire them. I admire the son for the love and respect he has for his parents. I admire the son’s wife for being a strong woman. I admire the whole family for putting their trust in God. They are an inspiration to me. They are an inspiration to our community.
Something else happened to me last week. It could be my pregnancy hormones (oh, yes…I forgot to mention that minor detail) or it could have been triggered by something else deep in my subconscience. I lived with a roommate for two years when I was 19-20. We worked together, lived together and hung out with the same group of friends. We were inseparable. As things often happen when you are that close with someone, for one reason or another, we started to not get along. I moved out and our friendship stayed on a steady decline afterwards. It was my fault. It was her fault. It was just sad. Anyway, fast forward through 7 years. We would see each other in similar social settings. We would be cordial, but that was it. She moved to Virginia. She went through life changes, failed relationships, successful job changes. I did the same. I had failed relationships, I graduated from college, had crappy jobs and moved to Texas. Now, we are far apart. We are both married and both have a child.
Last week, I had a dream about her. It was one of those dreams that stays with you well after you wake. It gave me this overwhelming feeling that I needed to talk to her. I have felt that way about my husband, my family and some of my very close friends. I have never felt that way about someone who I haven’t been close with for a very long time. Anyway, I ended up texting her later that morning and just telling her that I had an overwhelming feeling that I needed to talk to her…so we did. I feel good about it.
If there is anything that these two situations have taught me, it’s that life is short, you need to make the best of things. You should always be thankful for what you have and never doubt God. He will show you qualities you might not know you possess.
Sometimes the things we need to hear are very simple. Or so they seem simple.
What we secretly beckon from the mouths of others will always remain a mystery. Weather it be praise from a boss, sweet nothings from our spouse, or words of encouragement from friends and family, the trouble is, it has to be their words. I like to remind myself of this truth often. The things you think would be easy to say, may very well be a challenge for some.
It will never be sincere if you have to persuade it from their lips. Inside you are dying for these words. We put the whole weight of our being on these words we would die to hear. We convince ourselves that we will die if we don’t hear them from a certain party’s lips. Or is it that we have made ourselves believe these words? We believe we are brave, beautiful, sincere, generous, loyal, a hard worker, a good person, dependable, ect. The list goes on and on in our sub-conscience. We waiver between the fog of who we believe we are and the haze of how others truthfully see us.
Why can we allow how others communicate make us doubt all the lists of things we believe we are? Is it because we don’t hear the words we want to hear come gargling up their throat? The kind, soothing reassurances don’t melt off their tongues. The sweet serenade does not pour from their lips. So, therefore, we doubt. We doubt our worth. We doubt our being. We doubt that dreaded picture we have painted in our minds of that person who we believe we are. All because of words. Not our words, but words from people who don’t have a clue that we need anything from them. Words that don’t belong to us. Words for which we have no claim.
What does he dream in his sweet baby dreams? Is it his daddy? Does his slow, rhythmic breath mean he is happy? Does the meaning of time resonate in his mind? Can he feel how loved he truly is?
I told someone the other day that I feel like my pregnancy was such a long time ago. It’s true, what they tell you after you give birth…you do forget. You forget what it’s like to have another person growing inside of you. You forget all the sick, tired days. You forget the waddle and struggle of it all.
This morning, he woke in his crib and yelled out “Momma!” Just hearing that tiny voice makes me quiver. I went in to find a smiley, happy, boy. One day, I will drop him off at elementary school. I will take pictures at his prom. I will watch him leave for college. There will be conversations he will have to have with his dad. His grandpa will have to teach him how to fish and hunt. His dad will show him how to rope and ride. Although these are things I can not teach him, I hope some of what he learns comes from me. I pray he is a man of God. I hope he has an honest and true heart. I hope he has a strong work ethic and that he is a loyal and a good man one day.
When we found out that our baby was a boy, I felt a little afraid. I never had a brother. I was not close with any males my age growing up. I felt like I was stepping into a world of the unknown. I dreamed about having a little girl to dress, teach things to and share womanly things with when she was older. It never dawned on me that God might have other plans.
Here we are, 16 months later, and I can’t imagine life any other way. I’m still leery about what the path has ahead for me as a mother of a boy, but I feel blessed everyday that he is mine.
There is no doubt that he reminds me of his daddy. He might have my eyes and my skin tone, but he has his daddy’s smile and charm. And, just like his daddy, he has my whole heart!
There are so many things I wish to be in this life. The list is never ending. I read something today that really made me think about things with a whole new perspective.
I find that in most cases, this seems to be true. I am always afraid of the unknown. I find that changing who you are under that hard shell that you present to the world is very difficult. You can be whoever you want to be on the outside, the inside is a completely different story. I struggle everyday to find meaning in my life. What does God intend for me? What do I intend for me? How can I balance the two things?
Today, I have decided to become whatever I want to become. I’m not going to let reality, hardships, heartache, failure, fear, responsibilities, other people’s words or disapproval hold me back anymore. Sometimes you need that push. You need that awakening. I want to write a book. I want to have a successful blog. I want to get freelance jobs. I want to learn new things. I want to be a sponge. I want to feel fulfilled.
My mom sent me an article a few weeks ago about a girl from the town that she lives in who is a final contestant in a contest to make her lifelong dream come true. Forgive me, but her particular dream escapes me at the moment. I do remember that she enjoys composing personal love songs for couples who are getting married. The article was interesting to me, but the handwritten note that came with it from my mother was of more interest. She was telling me to follow my dreams. She was telling me that sometimes in life, you have to wait to follow your dreams, but if you want them bad enough, they will happen. It just might not be in the timeline that you had hoped. She told me about how her dreams were wait listed until after my sister and I were grown. I love you mom. I love you for still handwriting me notes. I love you for all your advice, love, and kindness. With that being said, I am going to respectfully disagree. I’m not going to wait. I am going to grab the sun from the sky. I am going to pull it close to me and I am not going to blink. I want it all. I want everything this life has to offer. I refuse to wait. I refuse to let life take me down. I refuse to die unfulfilled and unscarred. I will wake at odd hours and dream with my eyes open. I will work hard to find where I fit and then work harder to not fit there anymore. I will not give in, I will not give up.
Sundays are my favorite day of each week and my least favorite day. First, they are great because we have had all day Saturday to rest, recuperate from the week and just do what makes us happy. For instance, college football. College football, sleeping in, laundry and the house smelling like something warm and savory coming from the oven. That’s what Saturdays are for me. Sundays are different. Sundays are sacred. They are The Lord’s day. They are a new beginning to the new week. They are a new chance at being positive. They are a reason to smile and be thankful. My Sundays generally look the same these days. We go to church, we have lunch and we take a nap. After that, the possibilities are endless (well, as far as my 15 month old is concerned). We enjoy playing outside. We take a stroll around the yard in our wagon. We slide down our fun, plastic slide. We visit with the horses. Lately, our favorite thing to do is play in the watering trough.
Some of you may think it’s disgusting to let your baby play in the water that horses drink from. I say, it’s just my son being a boy. I will not apologize.
We usually come inside before the sun goes down. We finish the laundry and as the last load is drying, we sit picnic style on the kitchen floor. Together we enjoy a meal and I listen to him as he babbles on. He is perfect. I could not imagine a better date.
Sundays are also the worst day of the week. If my husband has been home for the weekend, it’s the day he packs everything back into his bag. It’s the day we take a long time getting out of the bed. Every inch of sunlight that sneaks through the blinds brings us minutes closer to the inevitable fate that awaits us.
When I was pregnant, I could not hold my tears in, I would bawl as he pulled out of the driveway. I have learned to be much stronger. Today, after daddy left, we went to church. We went to lunch. We came home and Cooper took a nap. That’s when I quietly cried. While my baby slept away his long morning, I sat on our bed. I closed my eyes and opened them. When I opened them, his face was right there. It was right where it had been hours before. I could see the curves of his face and feel the heat of his breath. I closed my eyes again. This time, he was gone and streams of heat rolled down my face.
Sundays are special days. I live for them and sometimes dread them at the same time. I pray for strength and thank God for letting me wake up to see another one.