Poured out

What is it like, you ask, to be the mother of a newborn and a two-year-old? Picture, if you will, me in my underwear (which, by the way, is not a pretty sight) and a stretched-out tank top covered in spit-up, attempting to nurse a screaming 6-week-old while a very cute toddler crawls all over my mountain of clean laundry with poop smooshing out of his diaper and a face covered in Malt-O-Meal. I lay the baby down to change the toddler's diaper and the phone rings. I'm expecting a call, so I leave the poopy toddler on the floor next to the screaming newborn and race to the phone, only to step on a toy airplane. I limp across the room and begin hunting through the diaper bag for my cell phone. By the time I find it, I've missed the call.


But then there are other moments. Like today, when I put on the painted rock necklace that Bright made me (with Grandma's help), and he squealed with delight to see it hanging around my neck. I wore it all day, even to the park where I held my precious sleeping Zion in the shade and watched my sweet, delightful Bright throw rocks in the creek. I wouldn't have traded that moment for all the world.

Sunday was my first day back in the pew since the baby was born. It was SO good to stand there, in cute clothes instead of my husband's boxer shorts, washed up and out of the house, worshipping the Father. We were singing a particularly moving song that resounded in my heart. The lyrics were, "Fill me up, so I can be poured out." That is what motherhood is, being poured out. And so I prayed, "Fill me up with You, so I can be poured out all over these children. Through my sacrifices day to day may they see you, and KNOW you, forever. Amen."

Growing Like a Wildflower

Four weeks ago Zion was only 4 and a half pounds. Now after much eating, pooping, spit up-ing, and sleeping he has gained 3 whole pounds! (Notice the unashamed use of the classic "before and after" strategy with these pics - I could do ad's for weight loss medication easily, and with some practice, maybe even age defying make-up.)

A good friend in Memphis, who has three sons of his own, taught me once that you can never let your sons beat you in anything. They need to know that Daddy is invincible. Well, I've been hitting the gym pretty hard for the past few months in an attempt to gain weight and my youngest son is already showing me up - I can't even touch three pounds... I guess even the ol' vitamin D whole milk doesn't stack up to momma's breast milk. And I don't even poop nine times a day.

Big storm come through a couple of days ago. High winds and heavy rain. Headed East on I-40 we passed a large sign, downed by the wind. Kayla pointed out that while the expensively engineered sign had fallen, all the little wild flowers stood around it like nothing had even happened. Peter and James were right, He is indeed opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble.

"It's rodeo time."

I can't remember the last time I went to the rodeo, but when ever it was, it wasn't as fun as tonight. We loaded up Bright and Zion, crossed the river, braved the crowds, and experienced the Ol' Fort Days Rodeo first hand. Well...kind of. The lines were way too long to actually get tickets to see the big show. But for a two year old, the big show is often something that we adults deem as rather small.

Thankfully, Grandma knew better and invested in a stash of tickets, resulting in much joy. While on our newly broken merry-go-round stallion, Bright spotted the "Jeeps! Jeeps!" I'm pretty sure he really thought he was driving. After riding the train and the miniture horses, it was time to go home. As I put him in the truck, I said "It's time for a bath." His response was instantaneous, "It's rodeo time."