Rocky Mountain Heartbreak

When we put our townhome on the market, I can't tell you how many people said to me, "selling your home is the hard part. Once you do that, the fun begins!" As in, house hunting is fun. Maybe it is if you're on the show House Hunters, which by the way if anyone knows how to get on the show, we're all ears! But if not, I beg to differ, at least in the Denver market. For us, house hunting thus far has been little more than stressful and heartbreaking.To be honest, it reminds me a lot of dating in high school.

In our search for 'the one', we initially found several prospects. They possessed some of our desired characteristics, but were lacking quite a few others.  I tried to convince myself that they might be a good fit, trying really hard to envision our life together.  But let's face it, when you have to convince yourself that the love is there, it's probably not. Then there were a couple of homes, one in particular, that had a major "wow factor." You see, I am easily wooed by a nice kitchen. I get all lost in the granite and the stainless steel appliances, and the gas stove and ahhhh, I become completely blind, donning my beer granite goggles, blind to the many major flaws, like the cracks in the foundation, the shifting basement wall, the high potential for water damage...oh but the kitchen is sooooooo amazing. People tried to warn me that this was not the one, that it just wasn't a good overall fit for me, but I could only see what I wanted to see and that was the double pantry with the slide out drawers and the 6 burner gas stove and the double oven. But deep down inside I knew it. I knew that when my infatuation with the fancy kitchen wore off, reality would set in and I would be left with a home with major foundational flaws and the relationship, I mean the house would eventually crumble to the ground. So, as heartbreaking as it was, we ended the relationship with that sweet house on Arbutus St., trusting that there would be a better fit out there somewhere. It was hard to say goodbye. I was sad, it was a loss, and I needed to grieve. I also needed some chocolate.

Then there was the one that got away. Actually, there were two of those. The first was a beauty, I'm talking serious eye-candy as far as homes go! But it was more than just eye-candy, it had personality too. It was everything we were looking for and more, or so we thought. This one felt a little out of our league, but we took a risk and went for it anyway. Apparently though, some other prospect swooped in before us and caught the seller's eye, offering up a little more than we were willing to give. And so went our, "as close to the whole package as we've seen so far" property. Heartbroken again. This one called for more drastic measures, so I got myself a spoon and drowned my sorrows in a pint of Bluebell ice cream.

We really didn't believe that we would ever find another one as amazing as the one that got away. We just couldn't imagine anything better and that was discouraging. But people say that the third time's a charm, right? So, we held out hope and after a little mourning and eating of the Bluebell, we got back out there again. Not much time had passed when along came another prospect. This one didn't have the wow factor that the previous ones had. But we were kind of over that anyway, tired of getting all excited and wooed, only to be let down and dumped on our... Anyway, along came this new one, a little bit aged but young at heart and offering the promise of steadiness (and great views) that we longed for. This one came with all of the non-negotiables. It was solid, strong and had a lot of heart. We were in love. It was for real this time. This was not the infatuation of the past, but a real, legitimate, deep love. This WAS THE ONE, we were sure of it. So sure we were that I was already making plans for how we would spend the holidays decorate the living room. But apparently, God had other plans for us and we would not in fact be building a life together. Because when we finally got up the nerve to make a move, we discovered that someone else had already made their move...again. This one hurt...bad. I was devastated. I cried and I cried hard. Then I was angry. And then I was just sad again. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and not talk to anyone. And I was tired of this rollercoaster. How could this happen? This was the one, we were SOOOO sure of it! But it was not meant to be. And as with any heartbreak, there were lessons to be learned.

Right after the heartbreak, I didn't want to think about what lessons I was supposed to be learning from the whole ordeal. Maybe I didn't want to see them. I just didn't want to believe it was really over. But time does do wonders for a broken heart and after a few weeks and some more ice cream...and chocolate...and wine, I am finally ready to let go of that one. And I'm ready to acknowledged what I have learned. For starters, I was reminded to stay focused on the important things. I have to be honest, it took me a little while to see this last one for all that it was. I wish I had realized what a gem it was a bit sooner. Next time I will see it sooner and I won't be so hung up on superficial things. I also learned that if we see something we like, we need to move fast and I mean lightning fast. There just aren't a whole lot of quality prospects out there, so when we get that "this is the one" feeling, we need to go for it that day (in case you forgot, we're talking about houses here. I do not necessarily endorse jumping into the deepend right away when it comes to dating!). And in the big picture, I think there are two big lessons to be learned. The first is simply the reminder to focus on all that I have rather than on what I don't have, to be grateful and count my many many blessings. And the second big take-away, is the lesson that the right one is worth waiting for. Umm, I'm pretty sure I learned that one already in a big way nearly 5 years ago! But I guess someone wants me to learn it again. So here we are again, attempting to wait in hope AND live in gratitude at the same time. Somedays are harder than others. Somedays I still have to remind myself that it's really over with that last one and that I need to let go and look forward...forward with hope and gratitude and a bucketload of patience, trusting that the right one is somewhere out there waiting for us!

Release

Wow. So, this is what typing a blog post feels like. I forgot. A number of people have been asking me questions lately that go something like this, "Where have you been?" or "Are you ok? I haven't heard from you in a while" or "Did you stop blogging?" Well, I didn't stop blogging, at least not in my head. It's just that what was in my head never made it to the blog! And while I wish I could say that during the time that I haven't been posting anything on the blog, I was off on some crazy advenure or embarking on a new exciting project, but truth be told, I've been doing neither of those things. Or wait, maybe I have, if you are so inclined to think of changing a LOT of poopy diapers as an adventure, which believe me, it can be. Or if you think of trying to show and sell a home with two kids under two living there as an exciting project, then yes, that is exactly what I've been up to. I've wanted to blog so many times throughout the last 7 months (yep, it's been that long) and have had so many different thoughts whirling around in that head of mine, but I've had neither the mental nor physical energy to work them our on paper (bc yes, it's true, I still handwrite everything first that I eventually type!) And even if I did happen to have a burst of mental energy, it was often impeded by the mounds of pressure I heaped onto myself to transform whatever those thoughts were into coherent and profound sentences. And well, that's just not happening.

So, why today to start blogging again? Well, for starters, I have released myself from having to say anything coherent, let alone profound. I hope you will release me too. (Read: this might be somewhat meandering and perfectly raw and unprofound). More than in any other season of my life, as a mom I have come to recognize the importance of "releasing myself" from the highly unrealistic pressures and expectations I place on myself. I now call it the "bringing myself back down to earth" talk that I have been having with myself lately. It goes something like this, "No, Melissa, you cannot wash the dishes, stuff the diapers, make yourself lunch, clean up your lunch, check your email, spend some time writing, check your email, prep dinner, pay the bills, call 2 clients back, call your sister, find a condo to rent in Winter Park, upload the trip photos, and take a catnap during the 1.5 hours (at best) that you may have if (big if) both boys are miraculously asleep at the same time. You just can't!" I argue with myself, "But I need to get those things done. The kids need clean diapers, dinner needs to be made, the bills need to be paid, I need to call the clients back..." And the voice of reason stops me in my tracks, "You can't do it all, Melissa. It doesn't mean that you're a failure. That doesn't need to be cause for feeling overwhelmed. Think of it as your personalized invitation to prioritize. What is most important today, Melissa? Choose 3 things." I fight it with a toddler-esque whine (all in my head, of course), "But I..." "3 things, Melissa. Period. 3 things. Choose wisely." "Ok," I say to myself with a sigh, donning somewhat of a forlorn look on my face, "3 things." 

And so I go about choosing the 3 things that I'm going to do during whatever unpredictable amount of time I may have. And to be honest, I don't always choose the most healthy 3 things. I often either choose those seemingly urgent tasks clamoring for my attention the most loudly or those totally mindless time-drainers aka facebook. But today, I chose wisely. I chose to make lunch for myself AND to actuallly sit down and eat said lunch, to clean up from lunch, and to read and write a little. And literally, as I wrote that sentence, I heard the crackle of the monitor quickly followed by the dreaded cry signalling my time has come to an end. I didn't even finish the 3 things I set out to do. Imagine how defeated I would have felt had I had intentions to do all of those things I mentioned earlier in the post. 

But that is my current reality as a wife and mom of 2 boys who are only 16.5 months apart, mostly staying at home but also working two very part-time jobs. Everyone has their own reality, and no one reality or set of circumstances is in and of itself better than another, it's the attitude with which you see your reality and the way you respond to your circumstances that is perhaps more important. And I'll be the first to admit (my husband will most likely be the second) that I don't always respond in ways that I am proud of or would like other people to see. But the truth is, I wouldn't change my life right now. Ok, so maybe I secretly (or not so secretly) wish for a reality in which I got more than 4 consecutive hours of sleep at a time. But other than that...

You see, part of my journey as a mom so far as been about learning to accept my limitations. There is a lot of talk out there that says, "Reach for the stars! You can do anything you set your mind to!" And some days, that kind of talk is good for me to hear, motivating me to dream big. But other days, I feel like saying, "I'll show you where you can put your stars..." (exhibit #1 of not always responding so beautifully.) As much as we need that kind of hopeful, motivational, positive, "you can do it" talk in our lives, I believe we also need to be talking about how to gracefully accept our limitations, the things we simply cannot do. There are times when life calls us to reach hard after our goals and I believe there are times when what we really need is to reset our expectations and perhaps establish new goals, more realistic goals. Because let's face it, some days I have about as much of a chance of playing Center for U.S. women's basketball team as I do crossing off everything on my to-do list. No amount of 'setting my mind to it' is going to make it happen! Don't get me wrong, I'm a goal-oriented person and I like to, I mean really like to achieve things that I didn't initially think were possible. And I very much want to encourage my boys to dream big and to dream boldly AND I want them to develop realistic expectations, as in I really hope Ben (who is in the not-quite-0percentile) doesn't spend a whole lot of his time dreaming about being a linebacker. Because apart from a supernatural growth spurt, that's just not gonna happen for him. 

So, I guess all of this is to say that I'm finding that I need to make sure my goals are realistic and more importantly, that they align with my priorities and values. If not, then maybe just maybe I need to stop all of my frenzied movement in the wrong direction, release myself, and set some new goals, goals that are challenging AND attainable AND fulfilling. Therefore, today, I released myself from doing the laundry and calling people back and instead I ate, I wrote, and I conquered took the boys to the pool!

Ahhh, that felt good to write! And it only took a total of 4 days to get from my brain to the blog!

Wanted: A Brave Heart

Not long after I discovered that I was pregnant with my first son, I went out and bought one of those Pregnancy books/journals that provides a 'comprehensive' list of the gazillion items you 'need' to have before your little bundle arrives. But amongst all of the other baby items that start with the letter B, like Boppy, Bassinet, Bumbo, Bottle, etc...I'm pretty sure they forgot to include one very important 'B' item that is absolutely necessary for motherhood, a Brave heart.  Being a mom requires bravery. I sometimes have it, and often times I don't. This fact was flushed out recently during our "New Years Eve Adventure." I call it an adventure because it was neither planned nor predicted and through it, a new reality unfolded for me in a smack-you-in-the-face kind of way.

On the last day of the year, it really hit me that my kids are a gift. Yeah, yeah, I know every parent says that. But what I mean is that they are a gift in the sense that they are not mine, they have been gifted to me, on loan to me for an uncertain amount of time. They are not my possessions in the same way that my favorite shirt is my possession. I knew when and where I would buy my shirt. And now I decide when I'll wear it and with what I'll wear it. And I decide what that shirt will do each day, usually one of 3 options: hang in my closet, adorn my body, or hang out in the wash. Or the occasional fourth option, chill on my floor. And I choose when I will stop wearing the shirt and pass it on to its next home, aka Goodwill, where someone else will make it their own. A shirt can be considered "mine," but my kids, no, they are not mine. I did not choose when they would come into my life (although I of course had something to do with it). Had I had total control over that, the first would have come sooner, and the second, perhaps not so soon. And ultimately, I don't have control over what my kids do on a daily basis despite my deepest desires for said control. Of course I set parameters, model behaviors, and discipline for "bad choices," but if I could really control exactly what my children do, this:

aka our New Years Eve Adventure, would not have happened. And I certainly cannot control when my children will no longer be on this earth. This point, if I stop to dwell on it for any length of time, reduces me to tears and leaves me with a deeper ache than I know what to do with. No, my children are not mine to control. I can love them. I can guide them. I can teach them. I can discipline them. I can try to protect them. I can empower them. But they will make their own choices. They will fall. They will get up. They will be hurt and they will hurt. They will laugh and they will cry. They will try. They will fail. They will succeed. They will love. They will lose. They will celebrate and they will grieve. More than anything I want for them to love and love deeply with their hearts wide open, but this is a strong and courageous act. And that's not something that I can force them to do, only something that I can model for them. But that is of course, easier said than done. When the cruelties of this world aim their assaults in the direction of my kids, more than a brave face is needed, a brave heart is required.

Meuz Family - 1, Captain Kill-Joy - 0

I once read a book entitled, ‘Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff,’ and ever since I have been practicing letting go of things that aren’t really a big deal, sometimes with success, and sometimes not so much.  As I try  not to sweat the small stuff, I am also working hard to celebrate the small stuff. And in a season (that of 2 kids under 2) where small victories mean everything, I’d like to take a moment to enjoy a little celebration. You see, we’ve recently encountered a certain Captain Kill-Joy. Do you know him? He comes around every so often and tries to kill our joy in different ways. Lately, he hops in the back seat of our car (smooshed in between the two car seats) and taunts Tom and I, “ha ha, your kids rule your life, why even bother going out. You can’t do anything you like to do anymore. You should just stay home. They’re so little, they won’t have fun. Go home. It will be more of a hassle than anything. You’re too old and tired to do this.”  And on and on and on. Captain Kill-Joy, we’re not so pleased to meet you. Why don’t YOU go home.

Kids are in fact, a life changer, but one of the best life changers I've ever experienced. And it’s true, we are in a season where we can’t just hop in the car and go for a spontaneous mountain adventure like we used to. But kids bring a joy that is different than any I’ve ever known. It’s a joy that far surpasses any climb up a 14er, any kayak adventure around the Great Barrier Reef, any backpack trip along the ocean. And that joy comes in small, easy to miss moments, like when you ask Ben who loves him and he starts in on a montage, “mama, dada, nana, oma, opa, papa, bwake (blake), moon, Jesus, trash truck, tea, airplane…” or when you hold Blake in your arms and he looks up at you with his deep blue eyes and throws the tiniest, sweetest smile your way. Or, like this weekend, when you watch your kids' faces light up when you take them on a snow adventure.

All that to say, Tom and I are trying to find balance in it all. We don’t want to be those parents who act as if nothing in their life changed, who just keep on doing all of the things they were doing before kids, only now they haul their kids along with them. But we also don’t want to be the parents who stop doing anything and everything we love because our lives revolve solely around our children. We’re striving for a middle ground somewhere, a ground that allows us to take this season to focus on our kids while still making each other a priority and intentionally carving out time to do things that are life-giving to both of us.  That is the ground we’re looking for. And we may just have found that middle ground this past weekend in Breckenridge.


With Blake hitting the two-month mark, we decided to attempt our first weekend getaway to the mountains. Captain Kill-Joy tried to thwart our efforts. And as I was packing (Tom was out of town the 3 days before we left), the Captain whispered in my ear, ‘is all this effort really worth it?’ Well, as it turns out, it was. Take that, ya lil captain. Moments of playing on the floor with cars and trains were interspersed with moments of sipping hot beverages, while gazing out at the snow-capped mountains.  There were of course some tears, thankfully belonging only to Ben and Blake, but there were even more smiles and laughter to boot. We limited our agenda to one outing a day, the Snow Sculpture festival one day and snow-shoeing the next. And with a little side trip to a coffee shop to warm up after our snow fun, we got the added bonus of the cutest (we’re biased) hot-cocoa face you’ve ever seen.

In an attempt to avoid the horrendous I-70 traffic and maximize the kids’ sleeping time, we decided to go to dinner in Breck before leaving around 7, which is the boys’ bedtime. Captain Kill-Joy made one last hard core effort to take us down as both boys cried through all of dinner. We probably should have asked for to-go boxes right away and bailed, but we stuck it out. Then we hopped in the car, 1 out of 2 boys still crying and headed for home, only to be greeted by the bright red glow of brake lights. What? 8pm and there’s still crazy mountain traffic, you’ve got to be kidding me. But we cranked up the music and decided not to let the ole Captain have his way with us. We rolled in at 10pm, tired but not defeated. We looked at each other and said, ‘that was a fun weekend and totally worth it. When can we do it again?’

Meuz Family – 1, Captain Kill-Joy – 0.

Lessons Learned: You CAN do things you love even with young kids, it just may be a tamer version; Keep it simple; Always be prepared to bail on a plan; Always have good music in your car; Hot beverages can bring an ounce of calm to even the most chaotic of moments; Choose joy...always.

12 Intentions for 2012

12 Intentions for 2012
I am a goals person. I love setting them. I love reaching them. And I love the journey in between. This year, I have a plethora of goals, perhaps too many. I may not reach some of them and I'm actually ok with that, because holding loosely is the constant goal of my life. So, this year, I thought I'd start with some overarching themes, things I'm aiming for, aiming to be, aiming to live out in my daily life, followed by some specific goals. I'm simply calling them my intentions and here they are, in no particular order:

1. Love in tangible ways - Kiss 3 guys every day (my 3 guys, that is) and get down on the floor for some fun, silly time with each boy, each and every day.
2. Call it like I see it - Choose to see the positives and the strengths and the qualities I appreciate in Tom and call them out to him on a daily basis
3. Come to the table - Eat meals sitting at the table with Ben, helping to make mealtime one of the most fun times of the day.
4. Speak life and possibility into the lives of those around me. Enough said.
5. Choose whole foods - eat foods and serve foods to my family that do our bodies good, foods found in their purest form. Try new and creative combinations.
6. Turn and look upwards, often - Engage with my maker all throughout the day.
7. Make a S.H.I.F.T. - Strong, Healthy, Inspired, Fast, Toned (Stroller Strides 3x/wk, Run a 1/2 marathon, Olympic Distance Triathlon)
8. Write from the inside out - Write often, short, long, about nothing, about everything, sensical, non-sensical, profound or insignificant, unedited, just write.
9. Be not afraid to expand my horizons and explore new possibilities - Get Stroller Strides Instructor certification.
10. Be a mover not a shaker - Sell our home and move into a new home w/ a little more space and closer to the people and mountains we love.
11. Get my green groove on - Create a garden and grow some goodness (dependent on #10).
12. Chronicle my journey with authenticity and joy - blog 1x/week

Always Darkest Before the Dawn

For those of you that read my last couple of posts, you might have thought I was falling apart a bit. That's ok. I'm ok. More than anything, I'm just aiming to be honest and authentic about my journey, the sweet, amazing parts AND the disappointing, trying times. What I've found to be quite fascinating is that these often occur together, side by side. I sometimes feel like I'm living in a circle of paradoxes.Tears adorn laughter. Frustration dances with contentment. Anger smack dab in the middle of love. Energy in the midst of exhaustion. Beauty in the midst of struggle. Connection alongside loneliness. Fear intertwined with trust. As a mom, my love for my boys feels both euphoric and terrifying, for it runs that deep. But my appreciation for those paradoxes is growing, maybe not always in the moment in which they are occurring, but in the end. I believe that they provide a contrast that truly enriches us. I know loss because I know love. I so greatly appreciate a good belly laugh because I also know gut wrenching tears.

In the last two weeks, I feel like I have turned a corner. As Florence (and the Machine) has so wonderfully reminded me in her song, Shake it Out, it's always darkest before the dawn (By the way, that song makes me want to dance, dance all the darkness away. Check it out!). I wrote the last two posts about 3 weeks ago and since then it feels as though the dawn has come. I feel brighter. I feel the strength and grace of my Maker. I don't know how else to put it. Perhaps those crazy hormones have died down a bit. Perhaps it's because I've begun to find a rhythm and establish good routines. Perhaps it's because I'm figuring out just how fabulously helpful one deep breath can be amidst two screaming kids. Perhaps it's because I'm getting slightly more sleep. I'm guessing it's a combo of sorts. Regardless of the whys, I am grateful and hopeful and joyful. That's not to say that every moment has been perfect or gone smoothly, but it is to say that I feel much more calm, hopeful, and strong in the midst of those moments gone wrong. Maybe I'm learning to live a little better in the paradoxes of daily life. So, today, that's what I celebrate, the good and the bad, the easy and the hard existing side by side and me aiming to stand with a hopeful posture, right smack dab in the middle.

Discoveries and Observations

A random collection of things I'm learning and want to hold on to when the circus that is my life kicks into high gear:

- I love mornings. Not so much those initial moments of morning when I am suddenly awoken from my dream-filled sleep by one, often two children crying, children whose needs are immediate or so their cries would indicate. But once I’m up, remember who and where I am, and am moving around…then mornings are a time bursting with energy and new possibilities. Mornings bring with them a clean slate and provide what sometimes is a much needed ‘do-over.’
- Choosing an attitude of patience, love, and joy first thing in the morning is directly correlated with how the day unfolds.
- I’m worthless in the afternoons, exhausted, ‘fall asleep washing dishes’ kind of tired.
- Lack of good mommy time = Ben acting out, as evidenced by his attempts to whack his brother in the face, pull ornaments off the tree and furtively place them in the trash can, and push all the buttons on the dvd player so as to mommy-proof it.
- Talking to other mamas and reading mom blogs is both life-giving and normalizing for me. Both keep me sane and remind me of why it’s not a good idea to get in my car by myself and drive to a far away beach, despite my momentary yearnings to do so.
- I see parts of my personality in my kids. This is both rewarding and terrifying.
- I feel sad when I think about Ben’s allergies, thinking about how he will never be able to just go out and enjoy a meal at a restaurant without asking a multitude of questions, or go to a birthday party without my specially made cupcakes accompanying him. As silly as it may sound, I think I need to grieve this. And soon, he will probably need to grieve too, in his own way.
- 4:00-6:00 are my hardest hours, the witching hours, as I call them. Usually both kids are awake and cranky and I am exhausted. I need to be intentional about remembering the the sweet moments of my day before Tom gets home, so that he hears the positives and doesn’t think the whole day looked like the 4-6 hour circus.
- A deep breath can do wonders.
- The swing was a magical, wonderful, worth-every-penny purchase.
- Look upward throughout the day, there’s grace waiting to be had.
- This is a season. I will not feel this tired forever.
- Hold loosely. The kids are constantly changing, thus our routines will constantly change.
- Bonding with and pouring love out on Blake doesn’t diminish my love for Ben.
- Blake has beautiful big blue eyes and a dreamy little smile.
- Ben takes a little while to check things out and warm up in a new situation. I can think of this as clingy or I can see it as cautious and observant. I choose the latter. And once he’s observed and feels comfortable, he goes at things wholeheartedly. I see this as brave and passionate.
- Cleaning needs (if it really needs to be done, which is still up for debate) to take place in the early morning, when I have the most energy and when Blake is sleeping, after I’ve had good playtime with Ben.
- God will not give me more than I can handle, right?
- Things go much much better when I let my husband figure things out and do them his way rather than tell him how to do everything related to the boys.
- I am much more of a routine person than I ever thought I was, or at least than I used to be. Routines play a huge role in whether I will thrive that day. Of course, so does holding loosely to said routine!
- Ben is mastering various word sounds. The latest sound is “oo,” which he practices by saying the words, “moon,” “Boo,” “Moo (milk),” and “choo choo” what seems like 100 times a day. It would be annoying if his voice wasn’t so dang sweet. I hope I never get annoyed by his repetition of words, but I’m sure I will when all I hear is ‘mommy’ all day long.
- Ben loves to climb anything and everything. I wonder how small they make climbing harnesses? Let’s get this energy harnessed in a productive direction, shall we?
- Ben loves music and books and he has a curiosity that I’m jealous of.
- A walk does us all good.
- An outing between 3-5 is essential. It doesn’t matter if it’s to the park, the museum, the grocery store, or just to drive circles around the neighborhood. WE NEED TO GET OUT.
- I love my boys more than I could have ever imagined and I want more than anything for that not to get lost in the tense, whine-filled moments of an afternoon.
- My husband and I are a team. We are on the SAME team (a key thing to remember when things hit the fan) and when it comes down to it, we make a kick-a$@ team, if I do say so myself.

A New Life, A New Landscape

Wow, this is the longest stretch I've gone without a post since I started this blog. I suppose that's indicative of the season we're in, one in which free time is a rarity. This year was a year of great change and great blessing. The biggest blessing came on Thanksgiving Day, when our beautiful new son, Blake Hendrik was born. Born at Mountain Midwifery Center, my labor and his birth were completely different than that of Ben's, a strong reminder that Blake is his own unique person, with a different set of looks and his own special personality. And even as we are adjusting to being parents of two boys who are very close in age, less than 17 months apart (more on that rollercoaster ride later), we are eagerly anticipating watching his personality unfold.

**(Photo credit to Sara Lazio w/ Lazio Images. She is amazing!).

These days my brain most closely resembles a bowl of mush and I'm rarely cognizant of what day it is. I haven't written much because I feel like I can barely string together a coherent sentence, let alone a whole paragraph that adequately expresses the stirrings inside. And my body, oh my body has never been so exhausted, so tired, so achily fatigued, not even after any of my 4 marathons, not after my toughest weeks on the trail as a backpacking guide, not following the births of my sons. One month after Blake's birth and I am the most tired I have ever been. Sure, the sleep deprivation is a big part of that, but I that on top of the physical exertion required to constantly hold one baby, sometimes a toddler too has brought forth a fatigue that a month's worth of sleep couldn't cure.

But one thing I am reminded of often is this is a season.  And seasons change, whether we want them to (and sometimes we desperately do) or not (and sometimes we desperately wish for them to stay). Each season has, as I call them, its beauty points and its buggers. Just as summer brings with it sunshine and long lit days, it also ushers in a bounty of mosquitos. Right now the landscape of what seems like a bazillion poopy diapers a day, sleepless nights, and groggy days is also dotted with soft, sweet, milky breathe, tender little coos, and melt-your-heart first smiles. I'd be lying if I said, it doesn't get any better than this. I'd also be lying if I said I loved all four seasons equally. But, I can say in all honesty that there are aspects of every season that I do thoroughly enjoy, so in this season of juggling a teething toddler and crying newborn, I'm clinging to the little things, the sweet tender moments that pass in the blink of an eye. As for the rest, let this crazy rollercoaster fly on!