Category Archives: Dave

I Regret Saying “I Love You”

Dave and I started off wobbly. That’s the best word for it. When I saw Dave, it was literally love at first sight. But Dave saw me as a friend. I broke up with a nice guy, because I was so in love with Dave. Dave went on living his life as normal, but added in my friendship. 

It was awkward. I know I came off as desperate. I was fearful that the person I wanted to marry would never want to marry me. 

After months of being friends, I decided to tell him that I wanted more. I had finished some book about being brave and not operating out of fear and who knows what else it said. So I told him I wanted to be more than friends. I told him I was interested in dating him. I will never forget the look on his face. It was a mixture of confusion and I-knew-this-was-coming and “Oh shit.” 

He was not in the same place. I thought I had been brave, but I had actually been cowardly in trying to make something work. 

So we stayed friends and it was everything I had feared. And I felt like a rejected loser. 

Later, Dave decided he did want to date me. Asked me out in a beautifully romantic way. A boy at my window at 2am. Asking through the screen, to a chorus of cicadas and crickets, if I would date him. I found flowers and music in my car the next day. 

But I was terrified he would change his mind. I had a difficult time enjoying those early days of finally being what he wanted. I figured he would snap out of it. Remember he didn’t want a relationship. Go back to his dreams of traveling the world, becoming an academic, sitting next to a fireplace, surrounded by books. A lifelong bachelor. 

But our first kiss told me he wasn’t playing around. When we had been friends, he mentioned in passing that he wouldn’t kiss a woman again if he didn’t know that he loved her and wanted to marry her. So our first kiss was more than lips touching. It was a proclamation. 

And it should’ve been enough. But my love language is Words of Affirmation. I was eagerly anticipating those three little words. And they were never said. Days turned into weeks. I started to get nervous. 

Certain friends didn’t help. Many of them weren’t mature when it came to relationships, and they planted seeds of doubt that I watered with my own insecurities. They said he was going to change his mind. He wasn’t committed. I was more invested than he was. 

None of it was true. Dave’s actions were the opposite of all those things. We didn’t kiss very often, but our kisses were indescribable. He planned thoughtful dates, with all the details screaming “I love you!” 

It wasn’t enough, and I ended up doing something I regretted from the moment it happened. And I couldn’t take it back. People I shouldn’t have been listening to told me he didn’t love me. So I planned a special date to get an “I love you” out of him. It was desperation. And it didn’t end up working. The setting, the mood, none of it. I sat there waiting for him to declare his love, and he couldn’t stop talking about the stars. So, I forced the moment.

“I love you.” I don’t know what I was expecting. But his eyes were sad. I had fabricated all of it. I meant what I said, but the timing was wrong. Everything was wrong. I had only done it out of fear. After several seconds, he said, “I love you, too.” And I could tell it wasn’t how it was supposed to play out. I had stolen something from him. 

I don’t know how long it would’ve taken him to initiate it. I regret that I basically butchered a milestone. All because I bought into a lie that his lack of words meant a lack of love. 

Dave doesn’t always say the words, but he always shows it. Always. His love language is Acts of Service. He can go three days without initiating an “I love you,” but he’s never gone even one day without showing me. 

I was too immature then to see it. I got caught up in needing to hear the words. I cringe when I think about how infantile I was about all of it. 

Dave says “I love you” when it matters. And he always says it back to me, even though I throw it around several times a day. He’ll be going to the grocery store, and I’ll say, “I love you! Be careful!” He will always respond, “I love you, too. I will.” He never withholds reciprocating the words. He just doesn’t usually offer them first. But, sometimes, when I’m leaving, he says, “I love you.” Or he says it completely out of the blue. And 33-year-old Lyndse knows whether he says it or not, that he does. He loves me. 

The week of Valentine’s Day 2009, we found out we were pregnant. Our first child. We were elated. One of the best days of our lives. He took me in his arms, kissed me, captured my gaze in his, and said, “I love you so much.” And it was perfection. 

Tagged

Thanks, but… | unedited thoughts on body image 

“Dave, a guy at Walmart hit on me today. Who on Earth would find this attractive? A stupid person, I guess.”

“Lyndse, you just called me stupid. I obviously find you attractive. I chose to spend every day of my life with you. I chose you over becoming a scholar with a gigantic library and a fireplace. I chose you over traveling the world. I chose you knowing you’d gain weight when we had babies. Every time you insult yourself, you insult me. Because I chose you.”

It was a turning point in our marriage. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. He couldn’t understand why I couldn’t grasp how beautiful he saw me. 

Later on, when the repressed memories of my abuse resurfaced, it started to make sense. It was textbook stuff at that point. After decades of abuse, any positive self-image had been altered. Destroyed. 

As I progressed on my journey of healing, I was able to start seeing what Dave saw. What he had chosen. When he would compliment me, I would thank him. 

In the early years of our marriage, I would pair a thank you with a but. 

“Lyndse, you look gorgeous today.” 

“Thanks, but I’ve gained so much weight.” 

“Sweetie, your hair is beautiful today!” 

“Thanks, but I look so tired. My face looks horrible.”

“Lyndse, your outfit looks so great on you.”

“Thanks, but these pants are a size bigger than I was wearing last month.”

The irony: my love language is words of affirmation. I craved those compliments from Dave, even when I couldn’t receive them. It was frustrating for both of us. 

In the last three years, so many things have changed for us. When he tells me I’m gorgeous, I say thanks and kiss him. When he tousles my hair and calls it cute, I thank him and smack his butt. When he comments on my outfit, I pair a “Thank you!” with a little spin. 

I don’t look much different, honestly. My weight has fluctuated about 75 pounds in our 10 years of marriage. Up and down. I’ve had seasons of amazing haircuts and seasons of us not being able to afford haircuts. My wardrobe has definitely improved, but I’ve always had stuff in my closet that worked. I just went from a few things to having an entire wardrobe that works for me. 

What’s changed is my heart.

I’m still changing. My heart is healing. I’m still learning to capture all the negative thoughts about myself and replace them with truth. But it’s happening more and more each day. 

I’m blessed that I’m married to a man who didn’t give up. On our wedding day, he told me, “You are so unbelievably sexy.” And I answered, “Thanks, but I gained 10 pounds last month.” But Dave never gave up. He never stopped trying to tell me the truth, when I couldn’t tell myself. 

After 13 1/2 years together, I see the same look in his eyes that he had when I was a size 0, well-rested, with zero stretchmarks, and perfect hair/nails/clothes. Scratch that. The look is different. It’s more. His eyes then were filled with wonder and new love and curiosity. Young and waiting for a wedding night. 

Now, he looks at me like a man who has climbed peaks and gone through valleys. A man who gave up dreams for new ones. A man who finds me irresistible, with stretchmarks and jiggle and dark circles under my eyes. Thousands of nights together. 

We’ve lived life. A life that’s unique to us. We’re the only two people on this planet who know what it was like to see Graham for the first time. The only ones who know what it’s like to parent Adelaide. The only ones who know the exact pitch of Bess’ voice. The only ones who know the specific hurt of burying Laurence and Flannery. And the specific joy of seeing Lewis inside my uterus, when we all feared he wasn’t. 

I still have such a long way to go, but each sunrise gets me closer to my goal of seeing myself the way my husband sees me. The way I see him. When I tell Dave, “You look hot today!” He smiles and thanks me. And gives me a kiss. And that’s the way it should be. Two healthy people loving one another. Growing older and wiser and getting wrinkles and buying jeans that fit without caring about the size on the tag. 

 

Tagged , ,

Elizabethan Quips | What Mommies and Daddies Do

“Hello, Mommy! How was your day? I worked on a computer and drawed things! And I eated food.”

“I changed diapers and washed laundry. And did Graham’s school. And played and rested on the couch for Baby Brother Lewis not to die.”

“Let’s make dinner, Mommy! We cook together and laugh and I spank yours butt!”

“Okay! I spank yours butt, too! We are so silly!”

“We will feed the kids and play with them and brush teeth and pray for them!”

“Okay, Daddy! Then we can watch a movie and do laundry and drink Sprite and eat crackers!”

“Mommy, I’m glad I love you! I love my family!”

“I’m happy! And I love robots!”

Editor’s Note: maybe Dave and I playfully slap one another’s butts too often. 

Tagged

I’ll Be The Waiter!

Me: “Daddy says we’re going to a restaurant! Let’s get our shoes on and be ready when he gets here!” 

Graham: “Yay! Were pretending restaurant tonight! Let’s get fings ready in da kitchen! I love when we do restaurant!”

Me: “We’re going to a real restaurant tonight! Let’s get our shoes on!” 

Bess: “I be the chef! I help Daddy make food! I love pretend restaurant!” 

Me: “I know we pretend restaurant a lot, but tonight Daddy is taking us to Cheddars! We are eating at a real restaurant tonight! Let’s get our shoes on. He’s almost home!”

Graham: “I’ll be the waiter! I love being the waiter! Let’s go get the restaurant ready before Daddy gets home!”

Me: “Does anyone understand that we need shoes? Daddy is taking us in the van to Cheddars! Please put on your shoes!”

Bess: “I make menus! You pick pizza?”

Me: “I give up. Adelaide, are you ready to go to a restaurant?”

Adelaide: [crawling to the door] “EAT! GO! EAT! READY!” 

Me: “One down. Two to go!” 


We had such a fun time! It’s our new October 31st tradition. The restaurant was pretty empty. Our service was amazing! Paxton, a lovely young lady, was so attentive and conscientious of Adelaide’s needs. She even brought treat bags to the kids. Tiny candy for Adelaide, allergen-free candy for Bess, and ‘big boy’ candy for Graham. 

Cheddars is one of our go-to restaurants when we do eat out, because Bess has no issues with their food, Adelaide has plenty of room, and Graham’s extremely loud ‘inside voice’ phases no one in a place so loud. 

What a fun new tradition! Even though we absolutely love our pretend restaurant nights. Our little people are simply the best. 

Tagged , ,

Pregnancy After Miscarriage | Semi-Coherent Thoughts

We’re having another baby. We found out in July, before the 6 month anniversary of losing Laurence & Flannery. And my first thought was, “What if I lose 3 babies in one year?” But Graham’s fears about becoming a Hermit-Man taught me some things about myself. Dave and I were equal parts elated and nervous-out-of-our-minds. We decided to keep it between us. 


We needed time to process. I needed to process that I was going to be pregnant on the due date of my dead children. Surreal. Or maybe I wouldn’t be. Maybe we would lose this baby and I’d be having another D & C on their due date. My mind was full of muddled emotions. 

With Graham, I was excited from Day One. With Adelaide, I was excited from Day One. With Bess, I was overwhelmed. Excited, but scared. Would my third baby also have disabilities? How would I handle that? A double wheelchair? How was I going to handle three kids, even if it didn’t have any abnormalities? Pregnancy hormones sent my brain in a hundred directions. 

When I became pregnant with the twins, I was happy and nervous. Because it never felt the same. My body was off. I remember feeling two babies quicken just days before we lost them. One felt strong, one felt weak. And then they were gone. 

This time, I found myself almost unable to celebrate. Still reeling from the trauma of burying my children in February. 

I decided to be proactive. Long gone were the days of showing up at my 8 week appointment and feeling normal. I requested bloodwork. Right away. They squeezed me in. 

One of my best friends dropped everything to watch the kids. Heather bought popsicles and set up a kiddie pool. No questions asked. 


And the first batch of bloodwork was great. 


We announced to family, but decided not to tell Graham. He has always had Baby Fever and I couldn’t put him through that again. We weren’t going to keep anything from him long-term, but wanted to avoid a repeat scenario of Mommy leaving the house pregnant and coming home, well, not. We decided to wait. If the baby died, we would tell him later. That was our plan. But we were starting to feel optimistic. 

Then my second batch of bloodwork came back with issues. There was talk of baby being ectopic. If not ectopic, my uterus was not doing its job to keep the baby. I needed to go on meds right away in order to give baby any chance of surviving the first 3 months. 

Basically, my fears had come true. They scheduled an ultrasound. We were expecting to see a tubal pregnancy or no baby or, my worst fear, a baby who had already passed away. We had family praying, but I told Dave I was keeping my expectations as low as possible. I bawled through church. Praying verses over my growing belly, hidden under my clothes. I cleaned my entire house, because I just knew I was losing my third baby in one year and our LifeGroup would bring food. That’s what LifeGroups do. You live life together. And you bring food when life ends. Our LifeGroup leader came to watch our kids. Knowing we were most likely getting bad news. That’s bravery. 

The day before, I took my first baby bump photo. Decided it was probably the first and last. The only photo from my final pregnancy. We had no idea if there was anything alive in there. 


We went to the appointment. It wasn’t all smiles and peeing in a cup and happy times. We barely talked while we waited. I had been praying Baby would make it, but I couldn’t bring myself to hope for it. We went through the motions and I was literally holding my breath as they put the gel on my belly. I prayed verses over Baby. And then we saw something. With a heartbeat. And she said, “There’s a fetus in the uterus!” 


And I’ve never been so overcome with joy by six clinical words. Dave and I were crying and laughing. Our worst case scenario visit had suddenly done a 180. They did measurements and checked everything: uterus, sac, umbilical cord, and baby. Everything looked exactly the way it was supposed to look. But I’m not naive and I knew there was still a chance for loss. The medication was working, but would it continue to work? We left and I got a Sonic drink. We were still in shock. We went home and had breakfast with Jenny. Our kids running around and playing. All of us just breathing a sigh of relief. 

And that afternoon, we got the call from the fetal specialist reviewing all our images and video. He was more than pleased. We dropped to a 3% chance of loss. 

And that should’ve been the end of my anxiety. But I focused on that 3%. Because pregnancy changes after miscarriage. I was still struggling with the fact that we would most likely have a child in our arms on Resurrection Sunday. But we might not. 

Graham was getting really suspicious of my growing midsection, but I didn’t want to tell him. And I tried to hide my belly from him. “I know you and Daddy are keeping a secwet fwom me.” Bess started talking to my belly and said she had a Baby Brother in there. 

On August 25th, I went to see my hair stylist. And she said something that changed me. “Lyndse, you could lose this baby. We can all lose babies. But if you don’t, and you’ve spent your whole pregnancy dreading the loss, you could be holding a baby in April, but full of regret from never celebrating your last pregnancy. Celebrate. And you’ll have good days and bad days, but live the days. Don’t regret not living them.” 


So we decided to go public that weekend. On the twins’ due date, we announced that we were having another baby. On the last Friday in August, I mourned two children and celebrated another. 


We were blessed with calls and messages and congratulations from so many people. Some people didn’t congratulate us. At all. Either dealing with fertility issues or loss or just didn’t care. I chose to focus on the people who joined us in celebration. They were the same people who had been there during our grief, and I was blessed by their commitment to mourn when we mourned and dance when we danced. Family, friends, and people we’ve never met. They joined us in praying over this Baby. 

We told Adelaide. She asked for fries. She’s definitely my daughter. 


Then we announced to Graham and Bess when they returned from a sleepover at Grandma’s house. It was something I will treasure always. 


Graham’s excitement and smiles. His questions about the twins’ death and this baby’s chances at life. “Mommy and Daddy can’t promise, but everything is looking good with this baby.” 

Bess was too tired. Proclaimed she didn’t want to be a Big Sister. But changed her tune about 40 minutes later and hasn’t stopped talking about the new baby. 


Everyday, Graham asks if we’ve lost the Baby yet. I hate that my 6-year-old says yet. Expecting loss. I keep reminding him that we celebrate. We can’t know exactly what will happen. 

Today, I went for another follow-up appointment. We were checking to make sure the medication was still doing its job. And I saw my baby kicking and moving and the heartbeat was thumping away. 


And everyone was so happy. Nurses were congratulating me. And I wanted to put that 3% out of my head. But then they said I needed to stay on the medication longer, just to be safe. “We’re not taking any chances.” But I fill the prescription and I keep celebrating. No matter what happens, I’m celebrating my last time carrying life in my womb. Pregnancy after miscarriage is a whole new world. And I thank the person who thought to put a box fan in the OB room. Bless that person forever. 

Tagged ,

The Ballew Orchard | My Unedited Thoughts On Our Due Date


When I was a child, I moved 13 times in 16 years. At our last house in Colorado, I planted a rose bush by the mailbox. I thought I could will us to stay put with those roots. Everything else I had ever grown was for a single season. Gardens full of fruits and vegetables that only lasted for so many months, before plowing them under. But the rose would ground us. 


And three years later, I said goodbye to that rose. And moved from magnificent Colorado to muggy Missouri. In an August heatwave. And I hated my life. I told the rose I would move back when I was 18. Dig it up. Take it to my new Colorado home. But I never moved back. 


I ended up loving Missouri. My birth state. I grew accustomed to the heat and the humidity and the mosquitos and a shocking lack of drivers who understood how to use 4-way stops. I fell in love with the trees and flowers and green everywhere. And I fell in love with my husband. At first sight. 


We bought our house ten years ago, and I wanted fruit trees. But I had this fear that I would plant trees, only to leave them behind. All that work for naught. So I pushed the thought out year after year after year. 


I’ve lived in my home for ten years. Which is twice as long as I’ve lived anywhere else in my life. Dave brought stability and security in a way I never imagined as a child. 


We came home from our honeymoon to this home. We learned we were pregnant with each child in this home. We drove from the hospital to this home. Three times with a newborn babe, and once with a condolence packet from the hospital. 


And that was when I decided this was the year for trees. Ten years. Five children. I was planting an orchard. 


After the twins died, someone anonymously gave me $100 and said I couldn’t spend it on medical bills, gear for Adelaide, or anything for anyone else. It was solely Lyndse Money. So I tithed and spent a solid 24 hours thinking of all the things I could do with $90 whole dollars. 


Earrings, clothes, haircuts, wall art, socks. My list. In that order. And in that 24th hour, I said, “Fruit trees.” And I tucked that money into a zipper pocket in my wallet and it sat there. Through medical debt and curriculum shopping and so many Adelaide needs. It was off-limits. 


I knew Mother’s Day would be difficult. I volunteered us to work in nursery, because I couldn’t stand to be in service when our sweet Pastor acknowledges all the moms who are grieving this year. I’ve always been the proud beaming mom during the part where he talks about what a gift children are. And now I find myself with a foot in each camp. The smiling mom, surrounded by adoring faces. And the weeping mom, with children in a cemetery. 


My children are buried in Mt. Hope. Hope. My word for 2016. For a year that was supposed to bring all things baby and so many joyful moments. And we’ve managed to find that joy buried in grief, but the year felt anything but hopeful. 


For Mother’s Day, I asked my mom to plant trees with me. We took that $90 and ended up with five apple trees, a watering can, pruning shears, flowers, soil, and a rose bush. 


What I realized was this: we could leave this house. Move closer to a children’s hospital for Adelaide. Relocate for an incredible job offer. We could lose this house. It could be flattened by a tornado. Destroyed by fire. But this house is like carrying a child. You don’t know what will happen. Sometimes you carry that baby for 39 weeks and end up with an emergency c-section after almost 20 hours of labor. Other times, you have an uneventful scheduled c-section to deliver a breech daughter who ends up changing your life at her 9-month checkup. And then you vomit every single day with your third. And you go into labor, but choose a c-section, because your track record isn’t so great in the pelvic department. You are surprised with a precocious mite who most likely could have been born without help. But you’ll never know. Other times, you go to the hospital to return empty-handed. Empty-everything.


My house. My trees. My children. I can’t hang onto any of them with tight fists. They could be gone in an instant. All I can do is enjoy the time I have. We don’t know how long our kids will live, but we still do the mundane with the majestic. I could argue that we don’t know Adelaide’s life expectancy, so I’m going to keep her home and enjoy every second of her life. But I don’t. I have hope that she can learn new things everyday. I send her off to school, where they try to teach her to hold a crayon. Because holding a crayon isn’t a necessary life skill. But it’s worth knowing. Or at least having the opportunity to try to know it. And I don’t spend 12 hours a day holding Graham and Bess, even though they could both die at anytime. Because they need clean clothes and vegetables and books. We spend our days doing a hundred little things and a few big things. 


And we planted trees. Not because I have the assurance of seeing them grow and bear fruit, but because I don’t have that assurance. None of us do. We planted trees to remind me everyday that it’s fleeting. But still worth it. There’s still hope in a 2016 that started with fireworks and onesies and then sputtered to an August Friday of remembering two children gone before they could breathe their first air. 


Five trees. One for each of my children. My Mother’s Day gift to myself. A gift I’ve wanted for most of my life. But too afraid to risk loving something only to lose it. But February 1st showed me that I had done it and survived. I had lost something worth more than any tree. Any house. Anything this world offers and screams, “You want this! Go buy it!” I lost life. Children. 


And Flannery’s tree has apples. I think they will be eaten by a bug this year and that’s fine. It’s fitting for her first fruits to be taken. It’s not the end of it all to lose some apples. Maybe it’s what I need this year. For Flannery’s tree to just be. But the trees are all staked and pruned and watered and lovely. This balance between caring for something that needs me and letting it just exist. Teaching a child to read, but mostly letting him play. Putting her in diapers just a bit longer, but making her put her pink cowgirl boots on the right feet. Taking a daily school photo before I push a wheelchair through double doors, when I would rather just soak her up every minute she’s awake. 


I ordered tags for the trees. From a college friend’s wife. Because each tree belongs to one of my children. Graham mentioned that he wanted to take apples from Laurence & Flannery’s trees to their cemetery bench next year and have a picnic. I agreed that this was a fabulous idea. But I wanted to give the caveat: if the trees make it. And then hoped that the trees weren’t lost to disease or drought or neglect. Because Graham has lost so much this year. A six-year-old who fell in love with a Baby Bump. But I need to teach him that we take risks. We love when we aren’t given any promise that it will be returned. We speak to a girl who may not answer back. We replace kitchen cabinet doors when a house may not be standing next week. And we learn addition facts and how to use a screwdriver and brush our teeth. And we continue to love babies in the womb, even though there is always a chance to lose them. And even if you do, you still get up from that hospital bed and brush your teeth. And you brush them everyday. Even on August 26th. Because life keeps going. 

Tagged ,

This Branch Deserves More

We were out at my mom-in-law’s house this weekend. Four generations just loving on one another. 

Celebrating Dave. 



Playing Mommy.



Playing dead.


Snuggling. She crawled over to her Daddy and let him know she wanted to snuggle by pressing her face into his. Happy Father’s Day for sure.


“I wear this dress for Grandma Tracy. Mommy, my beautiful dress is so beautiful. I’m so beautiful!” 


And we played and worked outside. 


Graham and I hauled a chopped-down tree back to the burn pile. These branches had grown together and then separated. 


A theologian would have a brilliant parable ready to go. But that’s not my forte. I often have more questions than answers. Not doubts so much. But wonderings. 

A country singer would have a Top 100 single. I don’t know much about Country music, but I think this song would include a high school romance, whirlwind courtship, wedding day dance, affair, a couple kids, failed counseling, and a house fire. 

A celebrity would go viral from posting it to Instagram with the caption #tree #trees #weirdtree #treesofinstagram #branchesofinstagram #foundthistreewheniwastakingabreakfromfilming #wedonthavetreeswhereilive #alltreesmatter #nofilter…or something along those lines. 

When I saw the branches, I thought, “This belongs in a short story. Or a poem. But I could never write it.” Why I immediately thought this branch deserved better than me is a sad commentary on my opinion of myself. I’ve never written a short story. But that doesn’t mean I can’t. Maybe I’ll write one about that tree. About this branch. About the pond it shaded. Or possibly a poem. Maybe I’ll channel Frost and pen a few beautiful stanzas about this set of gnarled and entwined branches. 

Or maybe I will just post it to Instagram and tag it #ThisBranchDeservesMoreThanHashtags and call it a day. 

Tagged , , , ,

I Need More Sidewalk Chalk

“Mama, why are you not happy?”

“Unhappy about what, Sweetie?”

“Everyfing, I fink. You are just sad all da time or you go huff and whisper to yours-self.”

  
It’s been a difficult few years. I didn’t think that I was letting it affect me that much, but I guess Graham is like those dogs who sense cancer. 

  
I am reevaluating a few things in my life. Not my marriage or my children or where we live. More like, “It’s time to get rid of all my scrapbook supplies since I haven’t scrapbooked in exactly seven years.” And I cut almost all added sugar last week, because I am gaining weight and can’t figure out why. And we’re not talking a small amount. I’m 75 pounds heavier than I was this time last year. 

But we just passed the one year anniversary of Bob dying. My only dad, who shared zero DNA with me yet loved me like his own. 

And we’re nearing the one year anniversary of my actual father going to prison. A man who sexually abused me for a decade. I worked with police and detectives and district attorneys and prosecuting attorneys to get a teensy bit of justice for what he stole during my childhood.

One month ago, we laid Laurence and Flannery to rest. Graham still talks about the twins everyday and now Bess is asking when she gets to be a big sister. I am reminded on a daily basis that I am a mom of five. 

Tomorrow marks three years since learning about Adelaide’s polymicrogyria. Her second sedated MRI at our Children’s Hospital showed us all her brain malformations. And even though we had known since the previous October that there were neurodisabilities, April 19th changed our lives. It was official. Adelaide was rare and unique and  undiagnosable and nobody could tell us what her future held. 

  
In the last 3 1/2 years, I’ve lost some happy. I’ve lost some joy. I didn’t realize it was so obvious, but I’ve slowly become a different mom. The grumpy one who gets caught up in all the mundane and feels hopeless. 

   
And I won’t do it. I refuse. Not just because my kids and husband and I deserve better, but because I know better. I know God will somehow redeem all this stuff. 

  
For now, I’m reevaluating what makes me happy. What gives me joy. And I’m not so sure that blogging is the right path. I won’t ever delete the last few years of painful revelations and joyful milestones, but I don’t think Writer Lyndse is in the cards right now. 

  
I’m taking a break. I have a guest writer scheduled for May, and then the blog will be silent for awhile. I don’t know for how long. Months, years, or if I’ll ever pick it back up again. The words will always be here, even if no new content is added. 

  
I don’t know what I’ll be doing. Maybe planting some trees. Or working on our house…we’ve owned it ten years and have been working on it since Day One. Maybe I’ll fill out the baby books. Or take up embroidery again. 

  
All I know is that I couldn’t answer  my son’s question. I don’t know why Mommy is unhappy right now, except that the last few years have had some not-so-fun things and maybe I focus too much on them here at Little House In The City. Or maybe I just need some more sunshine and less screen time. 

  
This week, I’m writing about where Laurence and Flannery are buried. And then I’m Spring Cleaning my bedroom and buying some hanging baskets for my front porch. Past that, I have no idea.

Lyndse XX

   

Grahamism | Daddy’s Birthday

“Mama, today is Daddy’s Birfday. He’s firty-five. We need to get him ice cream, make him dinner, clean da whole house, get dressed nice, and make it special. But not too special, cuz dat takes more dan one day and I didn’t fink of mine plan til today. We need to buy fancy pizza and fancy ice cream and maybe a pie and you can take a shower. He can watch me play wif mine new Luigi, cuz his fave-wit fing is spending time wif us and having fun. He’s da best dad. Not too old and not mine age. And he can read. And he’s always home wif us, cuz we’re his fave-wit people.”

image

image

image

Tagged , , ,