A Bittersweet Farewell

We have been experiencing some changes at To Each Their Own. With the school year returning and the holidays setting-in, our lives have been picking up and our posts have been slowing down.  After some heart-to-heart talks between all the authors, two of our sweet writers have had to step down and refocus on their families.

Bianca started To Each Their Own a couple weeks later than the other authors, but her posts have been sweet and inspiring- full of sunshine and heart-warming thoughts.  While she is leaving to focus on her cute little family, she will also be continuing her Etsy business Guavaloo.  Feel free to click the link and enjoy some of her "unpredictably fun" clothing and accessory pieces.

 

Sarah has been one of the founding-"mothers" of To Each Their Own from the beginning.  It was Sarah who originally brainstormed our name after hearing the concept behind the blog, and she was responsible for initiating and running our facebook page.  Sarah's posts have been both raw and touching on a personal and spiritual level.  She opened her heart to us and we are sad to not see her thoughts regularly gracing our page anymore.  Sarah's husband and three handsome little boys are lucky to have such a beautiful wife and mama.  We wish them all the best.  

Bianca and Sarah will be deeply missed on To Each Their Own, but we are excited for what the future holds for them and we look forward to seeing where life takes these stellar mothers and wonderful women.  

Please click their pictures to read through some of the posts they have written for us here on To Each Their Own- and remember to comment with your words of encouragement as Bianca and Sarah make "their own" way.

-To Each Their Own

Motivation Monday: Tailored Trials

Your trials are tailored to you. My trials are tailored to me. Trials can't be compared. 

We will each have moments of desperation in our life where we fall to our knees and beg for change. These moments might be brought on because of infidelity, death, or the recession. They can also be brought on because of a wayward friend or child, a depressed spouse (or self), or a stuffy nose that is seriously just kicking your trash on an already difficult week. Everyone has trials; some trials are more visible than others. But everyone is fighting a battle. 

Why? Because we can't know joy without experiencing sadness. We can't know success without experiencing failure.

Your trials are important. They are big. Please stop comparing bananas to oranges. Both are fruit, but they are not the same. Neither are your trials when compared to others. The principle behind the mountains in our lives is the same, but the experiences itself is not:

I have had cancer. You have not. But you have a spouse who is addicted to pornography and I do not. I have body image issues. You do not. But you struggle with reading and arithmetic and I do not. Who is to say which trial is easier? Who is to say that which troubles are more "valid"? No one.

Your trials are legitimate. Please don't discredit your own personal struggles simply because it appears that so-and-so has it better or worse.

Love, 

Tackle it Tuesday: Budget Birthday

Today my husband celebrated his birthday. The weeks leading to this day have induced stress as I pictured the bills lying on my counter and realized that all the gifts I'd love to give are unobtainable at this point in our life.

At first I gave into the doldrums. Then I spent a few days thinking, I could always use the credit card. Finally I decided to stay positive (which has never come easy for me), stay within our budget, and "make it work" (channeling my inner Tim Gunn, of course).

And I am thrilled to report that Brandon's birthday celebration was the best we have ever had. By not being able to use a large amount of money I had to put more thought into every decision. Would x, y, and z make the day more special or would they just be a waste of money? By truly deliberating on gifts and activities money was saved and the day became far more meaningful than previous celebrations.

So here's what my kiddos and I did:

1. Inexpensive cards- my boys loved taking scrapbook paper and decorating cards for their daddy. My oldest spent over 45 minutes drawing a detailed "storm" and "robots". I am loved tailoring my card to hint at what our celebration was going to entail.

2. Heartfelt gifts- what does your spouse/child/friend truly love? What are their hobbies? For my Love he enjoys acapella music. I scoured the internet for weeks hoping to find tickets to a concert. Finally, I found a FREE concert that is planned for mid-October at his alma-mater. I personally don't love acapella music, so being willing to plan and participate in this type of event meant a lot to my husband.

My boys and I threw a little flour, salt, water, and food coloring in a bowl and made casts of their hand prints for my husband to display on his shelf at work. Brandon is not that sentimental--I always love "hand made" more than he does--but he truly loved the boys' gift to him.

Lastly, we mixed up our breakfast with "I {heart} U" shaped pancakes and surprised Daddy in bed. My kids loved making these!

3. Keep it simple- I cringe every time I see over the top birthday parties. My kids never remember the decorations or games. My husband most certainly doesn't care if his drink is served in a mason jar, a long-stemmed glass, or a plastic cup. The celebration should be about having fun, laughing, and enjoying one another's company.

Today, Brandon and I did just that. I had a friend watch my children at her home. Once they were gone I cleaned the house and called my husband saying, "Place an order at your favorite restaurant and pick it up on your way home." (side note- always scourer the internet for coupons. We scored a free appetizer by doing this!) I then set up a picnic in the family room--complete with random candles I could find from around the house and enjoyed an at-home date with my hubby. We spent three hours together, and it was wonderful. The activities were fun (we played a little Truth or Dare and then watched my new Netflix addiction: New Girl). Once we picked up my boys we sang happy birthday and ate dessert.

Simple, inexpensive, and heartfelt. Best birthday ever. Happy Birthday, Brandon!

Embrace.

Last night as we wandered Target (a favorite past time) we found ourselves in the electronic section. Brandon and I had a good laugh when Payton (4) and Derek (2) ran to the TV displays and started poking the screens as if they were touchscreens. The world they live in is amazing.

_________________

I remember in my elementary school when we received the most beautiful colored MAC computers in our library. I thought my school was so cool!

I remember not too many years ago when Microsoft announced it was making a touchscreen table. I was blown away.

__________________

Now, suddenly my children think everything is touchscreen because this is the new “norm”. And, quite frankly, I have no problem with an influx of technology in their lives. While there are pitfalls and there can be downright Evil when it comes to technology, this is our world. Technology is our world. If I don’t let my children participate (in appropriate ways) they will resent me and go behind my back.

Instead of hiding them from the evils of our day (which try as someone might, is not possible), Brandon and I choose to rear them to be aware of the bad and to cling to the good. We set limits. No phones at the dinner table. They only typically play Angry Birds when I’m making dinner or we’re at a doctor’s appointment. And if I really need them to be quiet (sounds terrible, but you moms know what I mean) and they need to be distracted for longer periods of time, I have downloaded educational apps on my tablet. We do not have smart phones yet. I try to avoid Facebook and Instagram except when sitting down to feed my baby (which at this point in my life happens a lot!). But, GASP!, we let our 4 and 2 year old hold an X-Box controller while Daddy plays non-shooting games. This is one way my boys bond together.

These are some of our “rules” but everyone, every family is different. And that is okay. Throughout my journey as a woman, and especially as a mother, I’ve learned that we can’t judge. I used to be that person who would cringe in the grocery store if I saw a kiddo playing on a Nintendo DS. And, now, I get it:

To Each Their Own.

Sometimes I am at a breaking point. Baby is screaming, groceries are melting, cart’s wheels are crap, 4 year old is whining, and my monkey of a 2 year old keeps escaping the confines of the shopping cart. I dangle my tablet in front of them and say, “Who wants to play Angry Birds?”. Immediately two of my three kids are pacified.

You do what you got to do. Set boundaries. Set limits. Set standards. Set an example. But be flexible and embrace technology! 

Dirty Laundry

I hate laundry. I hate the piles of laundry on my bathroom floor. I hate the spoiled laundry in my washing machine that I forgot to put into the dryer the night before. I hate spending money on detergent. I hate treating stains. I hate matching socks. I hate ironing. I hate putting clean clothes away.

But my kids? They LOVE laundry "day" (day being a general term as this "day" often exceeds a 24 hour period). They love to push baskets of dirty clothes to the laundry room. They love making the washing machine their "hoop" and the dirty clothes their "bee-kit ball". They love filling the dryer with wet clothes. And they absolutely love climbing on the mountain of laundry that awaits folding.

Many of their play time hours revolve around this monstrous pile of laundry on my couch. Two weeks ago it was their castle. Last week, their wall filled with pipes that needed "fixin'". This week, a cliff to jump off of into the water (the floor). They simply love laundry day. They don't view laundry as tiresome, an eyesore, or just another "to do". Their perspective (which, yes, is innocent because they really don't have the responsibility like I do) allows them to enjoy something that their Mama so thoroughly despises.

While true literally, each of us also has figurative dirty laundry. It is a fact of life:  there will be adversity. Mountains of troubles. Stains of transgressions. Stench of afflictions.

One of my biggest "dirty laundry" moments has been cancer. I have now dealt with thyroid cancer twice in the last two and a half years. The first time I was diagnosed I had a "bring it" attitude. I was upbeat. I was peace-filled. "Bring It On". I fought that cancer. I learned from that cancer. I put that cancer behind me. Or so I thought.

When residual cancer was found in my neck after my newest babe was born I was devastated. I had the world's hardest newborn and I had cancer. Again. What the heck? Who does that? Why me? What was God thinking? I was angry. I was in denial. To make matters worse I had postpartum hormones surging through my body and past knowledge of how hard surgery and radiation can be. I was no longer naive to the trial of cancer. I was no longer naive of how much harder a newborn was going to get before he got easier.

I felt beat physically, emotionally and spiritually. My perspective, my outlook, was poor. The lessons came slower and much, much harder. The peace was fleeting. The fears were overwhelming. I was Mrs. Pessimism (and, on some days, rightly so)!

It wasn't until two weeks after my surgery that I met a lady at church named Jane. She had sought me out because she had just had a diagnosis of thyroid cancer. She wanted to know my story. She wanted my advice. She needed my experiences in order to get the help she needed.

After conversing with Jane my heart broke and soared all at once. I mourned for her and the trials she was about to experience. But there was a pep in my step knowing that I had helped her in a small way. In that moment, my perspective shifted. I once again embraced the adversity. I thought an exhausted "bring it on if it means I can help someone else." From that day this journey has been easier. I still find my chest constricting with worry over next week's appointment where I find out if I need another round of radioactive iodine. But good has come from my trials thus far. This will continue if I will but believe in God, in myself, and in this eternal plan that I am walking.

My "dirty laundry" is being made clean. It's hard work. But I'm tackling that mountain by focusing on my perspective--the one thing I can control.

To read more about my journey with Papillary Thyroid Cancer i n 2011 click HERE.

Toasted Perfection

109 degrees.

That is what the intersection's large thermometer read today.

Thankfully, Dallas has lucked out so far this summer and has had almost no humidity. 

It's amazing. 

I can so handle 109 degrees if it's humidity free. 

Actually, I can also handle 109 degree summers, even with humidity, if it means 60 degree winters. And sunshine. And no snow. 

See, not only do I typically struggle with Postpartum Depression, I have SAD:  Seasonal Affective Disorder. And snow with SAD? Well, they go hand-in-hand. And not in a good way. 

Here's the thing with lawyers, they have to take "the Bar" in a particular state, and if they pass the Bar they are certified to practice law in that state only. Brandon and I were faced with an interesting dilemma during the middle of law school:  where did we want to live for the rest of our lives? (well, the rest of his working career). 

Because the California blood runs deep in my husband he is not a "snow person". (Frankly, can a man get more attractive? I think not). I, having grown up in the nastiness that is snow and finding myself sinking into deep despairs during winters in Kansas (where my husband went to law school), knew that I, too, am not a "snow person". This fact helped greatly in our choosing of a state in which to live. 

Texas summers may be a bit brutal, but come October November things start to cool off and this becomes a glorious land. I'm willing to sacrifice some sweat and wilted hair if it means t-shirts and jeans in January. 

My summer tip revelation? No one place is perfect all year round (although Monterey is about as ideal as it gets). Embrace your home. If you truly can't handle cold winters, then be prepared to get crisp in toasty summers. And if heat isn't your thing, buy some snow shoes and move to New England. 

Choose What You Love

Love What You Choose

For our family we greatly sacrificed being near any extended family and countless other things just so this Mama could stay warm and happy. (Because if Mama ain't happy...). People are faced with decisions every day, some big while others are small. Regardless, trust your gut. Trust your experiences. Nothing is ever perfect. But Texas is mighty close. So I suggest you move here. Pronto.

So...there's this blog...

So there’s this thing called a blog. A blog that I’m supposed to write for every Wednesday. A blog that has a theme each week. This week’s theme (summer recipes) should have been a piece of cake (pun intended) for me since I love cooking.

But there’s also this thing called life. And a dog. Yes, we got a dog. For a whooping six days… Today (Tuesday) she went back to the shelter after agonizing over the decision all weekend. I’m gonna miss my girl. But she, sadly, wasn’t the right fit for us. One day it won’t be so sad, but today it is a sad day for our family.

With all this said, recipes just haven’t been on my mind, let alone finding a moment to take pictures of me making something.

BUT I do love to cook so I figured I could, at the very least, share a couple of websites that I frequent, well, frequently to build my meal plans:

Skinny Taste—Gina creates all of her own recipes skinny style. Each recipe also has Weight Watcher points all figured out if you’re into that sort of counting :). I have yet to make something of hers that wasn’t amazing. Seriously, my mouth waters just thinking about her website. Her chicken enchiladas and cilantro lime rice have been a staple in our home for years.

A is for Abel—one of my dear Texas friends, Courtney, created this blog. Basically, I hate her for it because her pictures and stories make me drool. Just kidding, I also love her because she feeds me yummy food all of the time J. Want a heartwarming story? Check out this post.

100 Days of Real Food—confession:  I like organic and healthy things. Well, not enough to not buy McDonald’s pancakes. But enough to Google “low calorie” or “healthy” or “dairy free” or “no GMOs”. And enough to try and prepare meals that are as unprocessed as possible without going insane. This site helps me do just that. And although they don’t curb the Mickey D pancake cravings, her Whole Wheat Banana Pancakes are gulped down even by the banana hater in my house. I also love making her slow cooker whole chicken and subsequent homemade chicken broth.

Well Folks, that’s that. I now declare a week of rest for this tired (physically and emotionally) Mama. Ha, if only!

God Given

Preface:  my husband read this before it posted and said it was extremely serious, more like a sermon than anything else. To that I say:  this is a hard topic for me and the only way I've found any sort of peace is through God.

Amen and Amen.

________________________________

The other day I was gutting my walk-in closet to create a makeshift room for my 4 month old. While rummaging through boxes I came across a journal from my sophomore year of high school. In it I wrote that I was “15 years old, 5 foot 1 inches tall, and 105 lbs”.

Holy cow. Well, not cow. Holy Stick.

I am still 5’1”, but I am no longer 15 and I am definitely no longer 105 lbs.

It’s hard, at times, to not beat myself up over this fact. I know I’ve had three babies, love to cook, and have dealt with thyroid (which controls metabolism) cancer. But I, like so many other women, fight my body.

I want to please God. I want to “glorify God in (my) body” (1 Corinthians 6:19-20).  But I want to feel attractive, and the world has taught me that the more skin I show the more beautiful I will be.  Thus, there are these internal battles in my head. There have been times where I forget that my body is sacred, that it is a gift from God. God’s spirit inside of me whispers you are enough but the world yells change this, pluck that, wax here, tighten there.

I’d like to say I have this whole body image, modesty topic figured out. But motherhood? Well, it changed my body and I have since had to try and accept these changes:

Expanded hips because I vaginally birthed three beautiful boys.

Wilted breasts because I nursed two babies.

Flabby mid-section because I now really need chocolate

Let’s take a moment, though, and answer the question, “How has motherhood positively affected my body?”

Wide hips for my babies to sit on

Strong arms from toting a car seat every where

Toned legs from squatting to pick up things while baby wearing

Happier stomach as I actually pay attention to what goes into my mouth and my children’s

Bridled tongue—well, at least I try for it to be

Quick reflexes that snatch little hands as they try to run into parking lots

Bigger heart that bursts each day when watching my children play

Increased stamina. Who knew you could survive on 3 hours of nonconsecutive sleep?

Better nose. Yeah, I can so tell who’s poopy just by their individual smell.

Our sense of self is what we make it—what we dwell on, what we tell ourselves over and over. I pray as women that we remember the positives more than the negatives.

____________________________

When it comes to modesty two questions have been lingering in my mind the past few months:

1.       Why do so many women feel the need to flaunt their bodies?

2.       Where is the “line” between dressing appropriately and not being responsible for other’s sinful thoughts?

To answer the first, I think our culture has taught us that the more skin we show the more beautiful we will be.  This makes me mad.

I know a woman who struggles to see her beauty and to accept herself. Her heart is so tender that she believes her husband (who is a great, God-fearing man) will one day leave her because she does not look like a supermodel.  She also feels she needs to dress revealingly so that her husband will only be enticed by her. This husband does not support these claims (or so she’s told me) saying that he loves her for her whether or not she has small boobs, big boobs, a six pack or a muffin top.

I pray that with time and therapy this friend will overcome these feelings of self-loathing. I pray that she will realize that God made her body. It is perfectly His. Whether a woman is 5’1” or 6’1”, big booty-ed or small booty-ed, she was formed by and loved by God:

“The Lord (hath) made thee, and formed thee from the womb” Isaiah 44:2 

“Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee” Jeremiah 1:5

Next, where is the line between dressing appropriately and not being responsible for other’s thoughts? Growing up I was taught that I needed to be a good Christian girl and keep myself covered as not to cause sinful thoughts in the opposite sex.

What a heavy, wrong burden to bear.

Other’s thoughts are not my responsibility. I choose what thoughts I let linger in my mind.

HOWEVER, there are woman—my former self included—who have pulled up that skirt and lowered that neck line for the simple fact of tryingto get attention. Woman can and sometimes do intend to entice men. (Potiphar’s wife anyone?) If this is a woman’s state of mind then I believe that she is making a “poor choice” (as my 4 year old calls wrong decisions). Short skirts aren’t necessarily wrong. But the thought behind them can be. And that is where a woman’s responsibility lies:  her motives.

_______________________________

When this life is said and done I do not believe God is going to ask me if my inseam was 3 inches or 12. I do not believe He’s going to inquire about the sleeve length of my senior prom dress. He is going to look at my heart. He is going to ask if I accepted, respected, and loved the body He gave me. I hope when that time comes I can, with assuredly, say “yes”.

Tainted Summers

Bell rings, students jump, papers are left forgotten. School’s out! Summer has arrived.

I remember those quintessential last days of school easily because that final bell always seared multiple emotions on my heart including relief (that the school part of school was over momentarily) and anxiety (over summer plans).

You see, a lot of my summer memories are tainted.  

Yes, I can recall the late night games of hide-and-go-seek, swimming, mosquito bites, and reading the new Harry Potter books. I remember band camps, friends, and plums (my favorite summer snack). Those memories are not to be sweep under the rug. I had good moments. I had some great friends.

circa 2004???
(that's me on top! My dear brother and BFF on the bottom left)

But, in general, summer time—the memories of my summers—are not all pleasant. Thus, when I was asked to write about “favorite summer memories” I honestly felt like I should take a different approach—my real approach. My actual story.

My parents divorced when I was 3 (or 4?). It was not an amicable split and as the years progressed I often felt torn between two families, two completely different worlds. 

I spent the school year living with my mom, but then suddenly I had to go see my dad for at least 6 weeks each summer. New friends (or I should say “no friends”). New home. New church. New rules. And sometimes even a new country (my dad was military).

It was never easy. It was never easy leaving my mom. It was never easy getting into a routine at my dad’s house just in time to be flown back to West Virginia. For the tween and teenage me, it’s no wonder I often felt depressed and codependent, and why I would spend the weeks leading to summer break unable to eat anything but rice because my stomach problems and my acid reflux were so severe (not exaggerating).

My mind, as a 24 year old, still has to wrap around the ramifications of a shared summer. In many ways, divorce steals a child’s childhood. I didn’t always feel safe. I didn’t always feel loved by certain parties. And I most certainly didn’t enjoy the back and forth visitations and quips between parents, even though I loved my parents completely. 

It was easier during the school year. Most days I was tucked away in quiet West Virginia staying overly busy with school projects and activities. Yes, every other Thanksgiving and Christmas my brother and I packed our bags and headed to my Dad's home. But those were one week visits. Summer time? Much longer. I'm not saying that kids shouldn't visit their "other" parent! I know (now) that it was important for me to visit my father. However, I do believe the transitions and the time frames of visits could have been handled better by everyone involved. 

Being divorced has worked out very well for both of my parents (they both remarried quickly, and I love my step-parents just like I do my mom and dad!), and I now have amazing relationships with each of my parents. Truly, I do. But if my summers taught me anything it’s that I never want a divorce. Do I believe there can be a valid reason for a divorce? Yes (abuse), but I know my gentle giant of a husband would never succumb to that. I’ve learned for myself how raw and heartbreaking divorce can be. It was the summer fun sucker!

Now, don’t get me wrong. I had a pretty good childhood. It could have been extremely worse. And, like I said, I love my parents. But summers? They weren’t always that fun. Yes, I had the camps and sleepovers but as I’ve grown older (and maybe more cynical, ha!) the “fun” memories fade a bit and, more so, I can recall the trials. I don’t view this as a completely negative shift in my thoughts, though. The Lord in His tender mercies has turned—and is turning—these trials into experiences for my growth and well being. Since marrying Brandon I have used the safety of our relationship to open up and work through many emotions that connect back to the trial of my school-age summers. I am learning to give my heart to the Lord, and I’ve learned that if the past has me down He is the only true way to real peace and happiness.

5 "Must Haves" When Potty Training

I’ve potty trained one boy and am in the midst of potty training another. They are taking two entirely different approaches (one was completely self-motivated, the other has needed a million M&Ms + a fire truck sticker chart as motivation). However, I’ve found that the following five things are necessary when it’s time to get down to business regardless of what playbook you are using:

1. Sani Wipes- Look I am pretty much a cheap, “all natural” type of girl (vinegar, water, and spray bottle), but when it comes to potty training, especially little boys, buy the Sani Wipes in bulk (heck, you should probably buy stock in Sani Wipes). You won’t regret it.

2. Stool- Not only does your wee one need to reach the sink to wash his/her hands, but I have found that I need somewhere to sit while waiting and waiting and waiting for the Littles to do their thing. Also, my kids have a hard time learning to poop on the toilet without being able to push their feet against something (we use a seat that sits on top of our toilet). So, when it’s time for #2 I get my lazy bum off the stool and slide it under their feet. Counter pressure does wonders.

3. Elastic Pants- Zippers? Snaps? Buttons? No way. Speed is everything when potty training. Stick with elastic easy on/easy off bottoms

4. Hand Sanitizer- duh.

5. Flushable Wipes (or if you’re lucky like me and your toilet handles it, regular baby wipes)- The first few weeks of constant toileting those bums still need soft wipes! They've never been exposed to coarse toilet paper, so without the usage of wipes things get a little red. Happy bum = happy toddler = happy mom.

Good luck! 

Au Naturale

This post was written (on my personal blog) a few hours after our sweet Aaron's birth in March. 

Enjoy!

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It’s 4:30 in the morning, just a little over 3 hours since our sweet Aaron was born. I can’t sleep, even though he is peacefully sleeping on one side of me while Brandon rests on the other.

My mind is filled with so many thoughts, and I just might burst if I don’t write them down right now.

I feel such peace, relief, and amazement at what has transpired in the last eight hours. I did it. I gave birth “naturally”. It was SO painful! But it was also incredibly fast and I am already recovering far quicker than I ever have. I went from 6cm to 10cm in less than 20 minutes, and I barely made it into the bed before our baby came out. My doctor didn’t even make it to the delivery! I had the most wonderful nurse, though, who encouraged me the whole time.

More so, though, I had Brandon. He was my rock. I will forever be grateful that I have someone with whom I can trust so much and who loves me so much. In the moment, things were tough and at the end I was literally screaming in agony, but he kept calm; he believed in me. I think he also realized that this was moving far quicker than I realized, so he was able to be hopeful.

Tonight was a sacred experience. I felt things I never knew I could feel. I did things I never do I could do. I was so that lady that yelled like a primate and stood naked with no thought about who walked in the room.

such RELIEF when he was delivered!

The night started when my water broke, as a big gush, at around 9:15pm. Brandon was at school but immediately left class when I emailed him. My surrogate mom here in Texas came over to stay the night with Payton and Derek. We arrived at the hospital around 11pm, and tiny Aaron was born at 1:05am weighing 5 lbs 12 oz, and he was 19 inches long.

While I waited for Brandon to come home I started contracting every 6-8 minutes. They hurt but weren’t bad at all. By the time we got to the hospital I was 4cm and contracting every 4-5 minutes. Still the pain was manageable. However, the room with the birthing tub was being used!  Best laid plans… The moment that I learned this I started doubting my ability to proceed with a natural birth, but decided to just see how the night went. My hope was that it would be a fast delivery and I simply wouldn’t have a choice. (My other two births were complete with epidurals).

I got my wish.

I first began by walking, but as I found myself squatting in random hallways with each contraction I decided it was time to move to my room. From there, I tried a birthing ball—which helped a lot. But for only a little bit before I told Brandon I needed the nurse to check me now because the pain had intensified so much. I felt like my hips were being pried apart violently. It was the most insane, intense, overwhelming feeling. I couldn’t help but constantly bear down with each contraction, and I found it best when Brandon rubbed my upper back to give me something else (a different sensation) to focus on. Regardless, things were getting intense.

My nurse checked me and I was only at 6cm! What?! I thought for sure I was closer. She recommended though, based on my pain level, that I get in the shower. Sweet blessing! The shower had a chair and multiple jets that we were able to spray directly on my hips. The next few contractions were so much better and, for a moment, I thought “if I can just labor the rest of the way in the shower I will be okay.”

However, the contractions ended up intensifying to in an indescribable level. I started moaning a lot. And then I was yelling. I got nauseous. I was shaking. I was transitioning.

I begged Brandon to tell them I wanted an epidural but I was told it was too late for any sort of pain meds. For a moment, that thought sent me into a panic, but before I could even comprehend the fact that there was no going back, contraction after contraction was taking place. At one point I stood up in the shower and yelled “he is coming!”. Two nurses and my husband were then helping me out of the shower, towel drying me and telling me I had to get into bed ASAP. Honestly, I couldn’t understand their rush—even if I had just yelled at them! My doctor wasn’t even at the hospital yet, and I wasn’t allowing myself to hope that it would all soon be over.

It just hurt so badly. I kept trying to breathe, to look Brandon in the eye, but all I could think about was the fact that I literally felt like I had an elephant sitting on my hips and I was going to break in half. It did not feel good! Before I could even make it into the bed I was pushing…and peeing and bleeding {and, ahem, possibly pooping--labor is gross} all over the floor and Brandon’s shoes. Poor guy! Nurses were scrambling and everything was a blur, but I clearly remember being told Aaron's heartbeat had dropped with the last contraction. He needed out!

I finally was able to get in the bed, which ticked me off. It hurt to lay down. And I was yelling. Boy was I yelling. My body took over and there was nothing I could do but surrender to the urges to push. Within a moment (maybe only two pushes) my nurse delivered my baby, and he was placed on my chest.

He was so, so tiny. Smaller than my other babies. He also smelled so sweet. Breath of Heaven. I was able to have skin to skin right away, which I have never had with my other boys. It was priceless. All the nurses were cheering, and Brandon just kept telling me "You did it!!!" I would say, "No, WE did it!" But he refused to take any credit. I couldn't have done this without him though. Seriously, I am so in love with my husband. 

Immediately I knew his name was Aaron. It is the name I’ve loved my whole pregnancy, a name I’ve studied and pondered greatly. I softly whispered his name to him, felt him pee on my belly, kept thinking “your brothers are going to love you”, and just enjoyed the moment while I delivered the placenta.

He is a miniature version of his brothers, with the same nose and lips. But he has brown hair. I’d been telling Brandon it was time I got a brown haired baby! He squeaks constantly and is just so sweet and tender.

I am in love. In love with Brandon. In love with Aaron. In love with my Father in Heaven.

I did it. I delivered naturally. But I didn’t do it alone. The forces of nature—of God—assisted, as did my wonderful husband and nurse. I am grateful for this night.

Getting Hot in the Kitchen

I know I am suppose to post on Wednesdays, but due to some technical difficulties Jess and I are switching our days this week!

Believe it or not, I was the one that came up with the theme this week.

Gulp.

And I still don’t know exactly what to write. The topic (Me Behind the Mom) is something I have been pondering for years.

See, the thing is, I got married young. I had kids young. Many have implied, or flat out said, that by doing so I never “found” myself.

In some ways, they are right. But as Jenny wrote earlier this week, by having kids I became me. I too believe I was meant to be a Mama. And even though I constantly have circles under my eyes and split ends from a newborn who uses my hair as his own personal Lovey, at the end of the day I wouldn’t change my role of being a stay-at-home mom...

my first born, who made me a "teen mom" because he came a month early
thanks for that merit badge.

But let’s be real. Motherhood can be boring, tedious, redundant, and hard.

About a year ago I moved to Texas. It was a big move for our little family, and I dreaded those first few months with the standard, “so what do you like to do?” type questions. Umm, what do I like to do, or what do I do? Because I spend a whole lot of time cleaning dishes, wiping butts, and breaking up fights, and the things I like to do are often forgotten about.

I take the question of “what do you like to do” kind of personally. I shouldn’t, but I see it as “what are you good at?” Well, dang, I am good at changing diapers (cloth diapers to boot!) and I can clean a toilet like no one’s biznass. But who wants to know that?

I used to be good at playing the flute and piano (got burnt out and quit), journalism (former major), and…well, geez, see mom brain strikes again and I can’t even think of some of my former hobbies/habits/talents.

And this is where it gets tricky. My inner me (which is not a very nice little person) starts saying things like, “well, who the H-E-doublehockeysticks are you? You aren’t talented, attractive, or interesting!”

Insert downward spiral.

Let's regroup...

Who am I really?

I am a Mom. But am I only a mom? Some days, yes, I am only a mom. In case you didn’t know, it’s pretty dang time consuming. I am my kids’ world. I’m not a perfect Mama, but we do the best we can (with a little help each day from Pixar) and I know I’m not screwing them up too, too badly.

But I want to be more than a mom. I want to be me—the woman who makes pretty things, cooks exciting meals, feels smart again (motherhood dulls some of my senses while heightening others), and has an identity outside of my children’s rock star view of me.

But how do I get there? I’m a little busy holding the 12 week old, wrestling the disobedient 2 year old, and trying to teach the 4 year old his ABCs. Not to mention my health is a mess. You know, not so little things.

don't let the momentary look of "angel" fool you. 

However, I can’t neglect me any longer. But I don’t have money (or time) for weekly pedicures, shoe shopping, and trips to Barnes and Noble (ahh the smell of books and coffee!).

With (what started out as gentle and turned to firm) nudging from Brandon, my husband, I have really tried to figure out what I like to do while still being realistic.

Recently (like five days ago recently) I figured something out:  I like to cook. I like to study nutrition. I like creating new flavors and seeing my kids try my concoctions. I love to entertain. The inner voice still gives me crap when my recipes flop, and many a nights I sit at the dinner table in tears with apologies falling from my mouth. But when I do succeed in the kitchen I am happy and my self-esteem soars (at least briefly. Still working on conquering that whole negative inner voice thing).

As you all know, since having our newest edition I was diagnosed again with thyroid cancer. Life is what you would call hectic. Meals (if we even eat at home!) go like this:  open freezer, stand on tip toes (I’m only five feet tall), remove a box, read back of box, turn on oven, put food in oven, set timer, listen for timer, remove food, eat with baby attached to the boob if no one is bleeding or screaming.

That line up has fit our needs for three months. Some days I kicked myself for not trying harder to be nutritious, but something had to give for a few weeks. Slowly, I am now regaining my strength and, by george, if I have to put Aaron in my Ergo and give him a bottle to get dinner fixed I’m going to do it. Why? Because I really like to cook. Other things can now “give” (like cloth diapers) and I can take the little time I have to make a meal plan, go grocery shopping (kid free, please? Pretty please?), and cook...oh and, Brandon, before you get too excited about my new revelation, I’m not doing the dishes. I gotta draw the line in the sand somewhere.

Cooking. It’s my revelation. It’s my focus outside of mommy-hood (which, ironically coincides with taking came of my family!).

What’s yours?

Worth It

Hi Ya’ll! (that’s what I feel I should say now that I have lived in Texas for nearly a year!)

I am Sarah-

a young mama to 3 teeny boys

a lawyer’s wife

a lover of yellow

a two-time thyroid cancer fighter

a daughter of God and divorced parents

a girly girl who doesn’t mind if her little boys get dirty

a West Virginian turned Kansan turned Texan

a stubborn soul

a crier

a chocolate chip cookie addict

a student (surprise, I’m starting my college education again this fall)

a lover of music from classical and country to rap and rock (current favs:  Fall Out Boy’s “Light‘em Up” and Amber Carrington’s version of “Sad”)

a little naïve

a hater of washing dishes

a Mormon

a friend, I love GNO!

a DIY’er

I am on a journey to rediscover myself now that I have three boys four and under! My newest edition, Aaron, is 12 weeks old today. My oldest, Payton, turned 4 in April…so for two weeks I had three kids three years old and under!

Basically, they are my world. Sometimes this is a good thing. Sometimes it drives me crazy. But, always, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I am married to this man, Brandon:

It’s been a hard, but blessed, five years of marriage. He is my best friend.

Brandon is a smarty pants and just graduated with an LL.M. in tax law. Now he is on the hunt for a nice-paying job (three kids = $$$). In the meantime money is tight as he clerks for a local law firm.  

I truly believe that my life comes in waves:  waves of ease and waves of trials. My pregnancy with Aaron and that time in our life was pretty simple. It was not trial free, but it was doable. Then we had the fussiest-least sleeping baby on the earth, and then Brandon graduated and needed a new job...and then I was recently re-diagnosed with Papillary Thyroid Cancer. Previously, after Derek (age 2) was born the cancer was discovered and I went through surgery and a type of radioactive treatment called I-131. Sadly, at a routine checkup after Aaron’s birth, the cancer was found again in lymph nodes in my neck.

Two days ago I had surgery to remove those lymph nodes. And, lucky me, an MRI showed still more lymph nodes that need further investigation. Soon I will have more biopsies and probably more surgeries.  

But, today, I feel peace. Life is not easy but cancer doesn’t define me. It adds to me. Motherhood also doesn’t define me; it too adds to who I already am. When it comes to motherhood…well, I have a lot to learn. I fail at it every day. But, you know, I also triumph in little--and sometimes big-- ways. Each of us does.

So breathe, try to be happy, let your kids get messy, and to be easy on yourself. At the end of the day this motherhood thing, this life thing, is not easy but it is worth it.

keepin' it real
this is what my family pictures typically look like

I’m excited to blog for “To Each Their Own”! Selfishly, I’m happy to have something to think about other than cancer, cloth diapers, and cleaning!

So here’s to this new adventure!