Merry Christmas

A belief in a holy birth.

Tiny hands carefully placing cookies for Santa.

Candles raised during Silent Night. 

Little eyes full of wonder and hearts that believe. 

This is Christmas. 

That is what we celebrate. 

Wishing you the merriest of Holidays.

The Crib.

Seven years ago, I bought a simple, understated yet pretty cherry-stained pine crib to place my new baby in. Last week, Justin placed the crib in the back of his truck and drove it away… 

Jack's small bedroom had been quite crowded. For many months, it had housed both a twin bed and a crib. Jack wasn't quite ready to make the move from a caged animal to a free-wheeling tyrannical toddler so we had decided to let him make the transition gradually.  

We placed Jack in his new bed a few times but he would tell us, "I go der" while pointing to his crib. Awww. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe I had bought him a new bed too soon. I thought maybe I'd just keep him in his crib - at least until he was old enough to vote. 

However, as weeks passed, I knew I held borrowed time. My "baby" would soon be moving out of his crib. My borrowed time collected quickly, and soon Jack's nights in his twin bed far outnumbered his nights in his crib. It came time to let it go. 

Seeing as that I did not want to be featured on Hoarders huddling in a corner holding everything from old baby socks to baby's first banana peel, I decided that having a crib when I no longer had babies seemed ridiculous.The crib was done. There would be no more babies to put in it. At least not any babies of my own. The crib would be going to another family who was expecting. 

As Justin drove the crib away, I felt sad. How would it be over? How could those three babies have grown so quickly? 

Hadley...It was her bed first. I chose it for her. I hung my tired body over the rails and watched her breathe. Terrified, as a new mother, that she would stop breathing if I left her side.

Cameron...She would hug my shoulders as I hunched down next to the crib to say good night. "Ding gong!" she would say, and I'd sing her a goodnight song. 

Jack...He loved his crib more than the girls. Perhaps he took his cues from his sentimental mother, but he never really seemed sure he wanted to leave his baby bed. He'd often hoist his leg up over the rail like he was going to go up and over, but he never made the climb. We, eventually, made this climb for him and moved him to the bed.

Today, Jack seems restless in his big bed. He tosses and turns - trying to make his new bed seem like home. He's trying to find his place. I watch each restless kick on the monitor as I too am unable to sleep feeling as though something has been lost. 

Rolls, Rice, Jesus and Love

From my little Turkeys...

Jack...A turkey he made at Sunday School. He was proud. So was I. He gobbled. I laughed.

From Hadley....A card she made at school. This is amazing. This fills my heart with gratitude. This is Thanksgiving. 

From Cameron...A Pilgrim. She wrote what she was thankful for across the cap. I think my job with Cameron is done - I think she's pretty much got life figured out. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Dear God, It's me Abbie.

I heard a car horn honk in my driveway. My friend had arrived to pick me up. It was time. I walked slowly out the door, feeling every bit as if I were walking the green mile to my death. I was headed to boot camp. Dun, Dun, Dun.

We arrived, and all of the boot campers seemed happy - way too happy. They were laughing and joking around like it was happy hour at the bar. WAIT! Had I missed cocktail hour? What were they so damn happy about? Did they not know that mountain climbers were surely in their near future?

This was no time for jokes. This was time for prayer.

Dear God: Please give me the strength to survive the next hour. Also please strengthen my bladder and restrict my gas. Amen. 

I scoured the room looking for the boot camp sergeant. Having no idea who she might be, I was looking for a real bad-ass. Then there she was - all 80lbs of her. Nothing about her was remotely intimidating. She looked sweet like maybe we could be friends. Then she told me to go weigh myself - ok, forget it, I hate her. 

She then handed me a measuring tape and asked for my measurements. Would that tape work to hang myself? Death seemed preferable to wrapping it around my hips and reading aloud a number. Then to drive the point home  - that I was indeed chubby and needed her help - she had me place my hands around a device that provided her with numbers to officially deem me overweight. 

Dear God: Please help me shrink those numbers. I do not know exactly what they mean but the skinny boot camp sergeant recorded them in my chubby chart. Oh and please help me eliminate the need for a chubby chart. Amen. 

Then it all began.  A blur of leg lifts, jumping jacks, push ups and planks. I remember it starting, but I think I must have slowly lost oxygen as most of it is hard to recall. The boot camp sergeant barked orders at us to go a little faster - to lift the knees a little higher and I admired her bravery. But feared for her safety.

Dear God: Please protect the tiny bootcamp sergeant.  She does seem nice. She's screaming at a bunch of overweight, out-of-breath women and I'm afraid at any moment they might revolt. The sergeant, I fear, is in danger. Oh and I might be dying - so see you soon. 

Then it was over. I had lived. I was proud I had made it through and terrified that I had 6 more weeks to go.

In the days that followed, I lost function in both legs. I had pulled muscles so badly that I was unable to put on my pants without lying down on my bed. I was unable to lift my legs up. I had been greatly wounded in boot camp battle. A purple heart? No thanks, but I would take a Big Mac. 

Dear God: Please help me make it through bootcamp with the use of all of my limbs. Also, if it's not too much to ask, please remove all calories from Big Macs, Bud Lights and chocolate. Amen.