We hosted a church St. Paddy's day party at our house on the lucky day. Here are a few shots.
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| cute picture of Amy bearing gifts of green cupcakes |
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| all of the kids had to sing for their cupcakes |
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| some of the group inside |
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| I painted their nails |
Wednesday, March 23
St. Patrick's Day
Tuesday, March 8
Springtime is arriving in the Central Valley
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| Loves the camera. Tries to eat the lens. |
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| mini project - spray paint the wicker furniture. |
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| work in progress |
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| Plum tree blossoms. |
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| Nectarine tree blossom. |
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| humming bird feeder! |
Worth it.
Sometimes children say the darndest things. Sometimes children are so much wiser than their tender age.
I began working at a local elementary school about two months ago. I mainly interact with 1st, 2nd, and 3rd graders. It's interesting to see what a seven-year old's world view is, what their concept of reality is. I have had many children ask: how old are you? are you married? do you have any kids?
The first two are easy. I don't mind sharing my age with seven and eight year olds - they have no concept of age and think 26 is old anyway. They are probably beginning to to place age and roles in boxes (ie -at 15 you are in high school, at 25 you are married with children). A good number of the children will respond, "My mom is 26, and she has thee kids." Good for her, kiddo, go for her... That's usually how I respond, too, "Well, that's cool."
About two weeks ago I had this same conversation with a first grader. And for some reason I just decided to tell her. I was interested to see how a seven year old would process the information. Here is how our conversation went:
"Ms. Wiggly, do you have a husband?"
"Yep."
"Do you have any kids?"
"... Well, I had a baby, but he died."
"Why?" (Duh, should have seen that coming..)
"Well, because he's waiting for me in heaven now."
"How big of a baby was he?"
"Just a tiny baby."
"That happened to my brother. My older brother died when he was just a tiny baby. He's waiting for me in heaven, too."
Gosh, it just made my day - my week - for several reasons.
1) She didn't cry.
2) She processed it well.
3) Something like this had happened to her family.
4) Most importantly, something like this had happened in her family before she was born and her parents made a conscious decision to tell their later daughter about her big brother.
5) She called him "my big brother." I love that she referred to him as a member of her family.
It was so refreshing to have told a student. Not that she remembered ten minutes later, but still. I had shared with a student and it hadn't backfired. If you'll recall, I have had some issues sharing about Noah with the wrong people in the past. She had not only taken it well, but had a story to share with me. It made me feel a little bit more normal, and it gave me hope. A tragedy had happened to her family, and while I do not know the details, her family (probably) grieved, still grieves, and continued to believe in having a family.
Because when it comes down to it, it's worth it: the terror of losing another child is worth it for the gain of having a child. Children are worth it.
I began working at a local elementary school about two months ago. I mainly interact with 1st, 2nd, and 3rd graders. It's interesting to see what a seven-year old's world view is, what their concept of reality is. I have had many children ask: how old are you? are you married? do you have any kids?
The first two are easy. I don't mind sharing my age with seven and eight year olds - they have no concept of age and think 26 is old anyway. They are probably beginning to to place age and roles in boxes (ie -at 15 you are in high school, at 25 you are married with children). A good number of the children will respond, "My mom is 26, and she has thee kids." Good for her, kiddo, go for her... That's usually how I respond, too, "Well, that's cool."
About two weeks ago I had this same conversation with a first grader. And for some reason I just decided to tell her. I was interested to see how a seven year old would process the information. Here is how our conversation went:
"Ms. Wiggly, do you have a husband?"
"Yep."
"Do you have any kids?"
"... Well, I had a baby, but he died."
"Why?" (Duh, should have seen that coming..)
"Well, because he's waiting for me in heaven now."
"How big of a baby was he?"
"Just a tiny baby."
"That happened to my brother. My older brother died when he was just a tiny baby. He's waiting for me in heaven, too."
Gosh, it just made my day - my week - for several reasons.
1) She didn't cry.
2) She processed it well.
3) Something like this had happened to her family.
4) Most importantly, something like this had happened in her family before she was born and her parents made a conscious decision to tell their later daughter about her big brother.
5) She called him "my big brother." I love that she referred to him as a member of her family.
It was so refreshing to have told a student. Not that she remembered ten minutes later, but still. I had shared with a student and it hadn't backfired. If you'll recall, I have had some issues sharing about Noah with the wrong people in the past. She had not only taken it well, but had a story to share with me. It made me feel a little bit more normal, and it gave me hope. A tragedy had happened to her family, and while I do not know the details, her family (probably) grieved, still grieves, and continued to believe in having a family.
Because when it comes down to it, it's worth it: the terror of losing another child is worth it for the gain of having a child. Children are worth it.
Monday, February 28
HTIP
From January 2011 - from http://lostbutloved.blogspot.com
Not a day goes by that I don't find a reason to cry. (Though I don't cry every day [anymore].) I just seem to be much more sensitive to just everything - nothing in particular - just everything. Every sermon at church just seems to hit home more so that it used to.
Of course there are things that am obviously more sensitive to: new borns, babies, pregnant women, the baby aisles and sections at stores. It still hurts. And while it still hurts, while I'm still irrevocably sad about losing Noah, I've arrived at the point where I can look at those baby onesies and say, "Some day that will be me picking out onesies."
Yes, we've arrived at the point where we are actively trying to have another baby. We were probably ready about two or three months ago to start trying, but I refused to get pregnant in December because I knew I wouldn't be able to handle our new baby having the same time line as Noah - the same week for the 12 week ultrasound, the 18 week tests, the 20 week sonogram. It would be too hard for me, and seemed unfair to Noah: That was his time.
But being ready to be pregnant is so hard when you're not actually pregnant. I know we are blessed - so blessed - because we know that we can conceive naturally, that my body can handle being pregnant and a natural birth. However, we wanted to have already had a baby by now (which we have, just not with the outcome we had expected) - we wanted to be working on child #2 (which we still are, again, just not how we had expected). We were ready eighteen months ago to parents (which we are, though not in the way we had hoped), and so each month that ticks by is like an eternity.
What complicates matters even further is the Navy. I remember telling friends in college who looked at me cross-eyed when I'd answer, I don't know where he's moving, "Being married to [or in a relationship with] someone in the military is like being in a relation ship with three people: You, Him, and The Military." We can't have the control over things that many civilians have. As a result, we have about five months of "attempts" in the next year and a half.
Stressful.
The only thing to do is to take a deep breath and remember: His Timing is Perfect. HTIP.
Not a day goes by that I don't find a reason to cry. (Though I don't cry every day [anymore].) I just seem to be much more sensitive to just everything - nothing in particular - just everything. Every sermon at church just seems to hit home more so that it used to.
Of course there are things that am obviously more sensitive to: new borns, babies, pregnant women, the baby aisles and sections at stores. It still hurts. And while it still hurts, while I'm still irrevocably sad about losing Noah, I've arrived at the point where I can look at those baby onesies and say, "Some day that will be me picking out onesies."
Yes, we've arrived at the point where we are actively trying to have another baby. We were probably ready about two or three months ago to start trying, but I refused to get pregnant in December because I knew I wouldn't be able to handle our new baby having the same time line as Noah - the same week for the 12 week ultrasound, the 18 week tests, the 20 week sonogram. It would be too hard for me, and seemed unfair to Noah: That was his time.
But being ready to be pregnant is so hard when you're not actually pregnant. I know we are blessed - so blessed - because we know that we can conceive naturally, that my body can handle being pregnant and a natural birth. However, we wanted to have already had a baby by now (which we have, just not with the outcome we had expected) - we wanted to be working on child #2 (which we still are, again, just not how we had expected). We were ready eighteen months ago to parents (which we are, though not in the way we had hoped), and so each month that ticks by is like an eternity.
What complicates matters even further is the Navy. I remember telling friends in college who looked at me cross-eyed when I'd answer, I don't know where he's moving, "Being married to [or in a relationship with] someone in the military is like being in a relation ship with three people: You, Him, and The Military." We can't have the control over things that many civilians have. As a result, we have about five months of "attempts" in the next year and a half.
Stressful.
The only thing to do is to take a deep breath and remember: His Timing is Perfect. HTIP.
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