Beautiful Inside

There's a birth mom community that I follow on Facebook called BIB. A birth mom posted this video this morning, and it made me cry. I've never been in a birth mom's shoes...but I imagine it must be hard facing the sometimes harsh judgements of others. This is what this birth mom said about the judgement of others...

"As the tears flow down my cheeks I think about my own life and how often my choices have been judged and debated. I am amazed that what I do in MY LIFE so greatly effects others, others that don't know me...why they care so much I will never understand! This video is so powerful. You NEVER know the battles that a person is facing, why they make the choices they do. Live YOUR life. You were made to be beautiful...don't let the words and judgement of others dull your sparkle! You have great beauty inside!"

Dear birth mom...you are so loved. You are beautiful.

If I Could Talk to You...

I've been thinking about you again this morning dear birthmom! I hope all is well, that you are happy, healthy, and that you feel loved! If I could talk to you this morning, this is what I'd say...

You're My Favorite

I probably tell Steve "Gosh, you're my favorite!" at least a couple times a day. And I mean it...that boy, he is my favorite!

One of my favorite things about him is how happy he makes me. When I'm around him...I can't help but smile. He is constantly making me laugh. Our house is filled with laughter. Sometimes he makes me laugh so hard that I snort (it's attractive, I know). He sings me funny songs. He dances funny dances. He's downright goofy. Our kids are going to have one fun dad!

I found this quote the other day, and it's the truth!  I have no doubt that when we're old and squishy, he'll still be making me laugh.

(Steve made me this video the other day...made me laugh pretty good! It's pretty much how we dance around the house...)

Tradition, Tradition

 I’ve been pondering a lot lately about fatherhood, thinking along with that, of the examples of fathers in my life.

I had three grandfathers; two passed away before I was born; the third, my maternal grandmother’s second husband, passed away when I was three. The only memory I have of him comes from a picture of one of my earliest birthday parties. He was standing behind me and smiling, so I’ve chosen to remember his kindness.

I’ve had many other examples recently, especially from very close friends, of men being really good fathers. And of course, there are the memories of my own father.

The earliest memory I have of my father is sneaking away from family gatherings together. It was hard to sneak because of the creaking sound that came with the second-to-top step of our two-story-home staircase but usually we got away unscathed. The staircase led to our parents’ bedroom where a recliner awaited him and a little cubby in front of their bed awaited me. He would dig a wooden bowl into the secret second batch of popcorn he had made just for us and would hand me my first portion. I would probably crawl back for seconds, thirds, and so on, but this would be enough to hold me over for at least the introduction. You see, this early memory of my father was our weekly tradition of watching Mystery! on Sunday nights. We had to get in our spots at least five minutes early or we risked missing one of the best parts, the Edward Gorey animated introduction. The quirky, musical cartoon would depict the typical opening credits while poking fun at the whims of murder mysteries: the cocktail parties, the mysterious family members, the body slipping into the pond, the note-taking detective, the foolish police, and the crying damsel in distress. And then there were the hosts. The camera would rotate and zoom in on the quaint host who would usually approach your television screen from within the walls of an old home or dining room. They would welcome you to the show and produce an introduction to the evenings’ story, while portraying the struggles of the protagonist and leaving you begging for the plot to begin.  The main man from my youngest years was the raspy and eyeballing Vincent Price, who was then replaced by the elegant yet mysterious Diana Rigg. These personas along with those in the stories, like Jeremy Brett in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, David Suchet in Poirot, or John Thaw in Inspector Morse, made up the heroes and the fantasies of my childhood. If I read books at school or watched other shows on tv during the week, I was often disappointed with how the characters never compared. When Thaw and Brett passed away, seemingly ending their respective series, pieces of me died with them. When I had grown up and Kevin Whately decided to continue the Morse series as Lewis, while Suchet started making more episodes of Poirot, part of me healed. I’ve since collected pretty much every DVD and episode of all of these shows, I have developed quite the obsession of all things Sherlock Holmes, and I have even built quite the collection of old Vincent Price movies. A huge part of who I am as a person and my quirky interests as a teacher and writer come from the memories and traditions I built with my Dad.

Jamie has tried. She really has. But I don’t think she loves these shows as much as I do. We have our own tradition on Sunday nights. We’ve continued with the popcorn and what is now Masterpiece Mystery or really anything PBS for that matter, and I know she can see how happy it makes me. Not just because of the qualities of the shows, but because of the traditions.

But something inside of me is absolutely dying. Dying to make traditions with my own son or daughter. Dying for them to take a piece of me that they can hold onto forever.

I need to build new traditions with my own kids. I want to hold them in my arms and calm their fears; feed them when they are hungry; rock them back to sleep. I want to build forts in our basement and watch movies or read stories and create our own adventures together.

I don’t know what parts of me they will latch onto. I probably wont know it when it happens. I don’t know what they’ll treasure the most about their time with me but I want to give them as many options as possible.

My Dad and I don’t have a ton in common these days, but I love the fact that if I want to call him up after a long day, that we can always talk about current and past episodes of Mystery and how those night of sneaking away really made me smile.

Steve

Love

What is love? 

No, no...not that cheesy, fantastic 90's song by Haddaway (though I do have an image of Steve singing and dancing to that song stuck in my head because that's something he would do to make me laugh...)

To me, love is putting others before yourself, lifting them up, cheering them on, giving them hope, and making them feel valued. You don't have to have a valentine to feel loved today (or any day). Love is everywhere in our lives if we just look for it! "There are as many forms of love as there are moments in time" (Jane Austin, Mansfield Park).  Just this past week I've felt love from complete strangers, love from friends, love from family, and love from Heavenly Father.  I'm so grateful for love! 

(I'm grateful for Steve, and how he loves me. Sometimes I wonder...how did I get so lucky to have him?!  Oh how I love him!)

The Gift

There is always HOPE.
 

Roller Coaster Ride

Everyone has told us that this journey is going to be a roller coaster ride.  You know what I think about roller coasters? They're awesome! They're an adventure! Of course there are ups and downs...but that's what makes the ride, right? A roller coaster ride that was just smooth, steady and flat wouldn't be any good!

I choose to see this as an awesome adventure. I choose to be happy on this ride. With every setback there's a chance to comeback and rise.

I was reading this morning about a young girl in southern Utah who's on a roller coaster ride,  she's fighting cancer. The cancer at this point has taken over her body at a rapid pace, and they have nothing left to try and fight it. This is what her mom said about her...

"Make no mistake, Jayci has won her battle with cancer. She has never let it change her. She has been positive and strong. She has done all that has been asked of her and done it with graceful determination. Even when doctors and specialists thought there was no way she would/could tolerate another brutal treatment, she did it. And she did it with a smile on her face. She never let cancer into her spirit. Jayci has cancer, cancer does not now and never will have Jayci."

This girl inspires me. I want to be like Jayci. I want to live life like her. I want to see the "down" parts of the roller coaster ride the way she sees them.

I've been thinking about who's on this ride with us right now.  You see...this part of the ride, it really isn't about us. It won't be for a while...and that's okay. Right now it's about you, birthmom. And you, birthdad. It's about your families. And it's about this little baby.  You are in our thoughts and prayers everyday. We just want to cheer you on, lift you up, and help you through the roller coaster ride too.