She's so HEAVY

Take a good long look, people. This is the part of the twin pregnancy that looks cute. It's not going to last long.

9.5 weeks, baby. Babies?
Bring on Monday and we're a quarter of the way through this thing.

Give me a few more months and we'll all be singing together: She's a (BRICK!) Hoooouse! And then I will become a permanent fixture on my couch, answering only to "The Blob", until the babies come. At which point it will take several more months before I look this good again. Twins are fun, guys, twins are fun.

But really, this week I successfully transitioned a sleeping Tiny from the car seat to the crib, so I am, as Littles would say, the Bomb.com, which means that I should be screaming from the rooftops: Bring it on, Twinadoes! And I am. But the neighbors are complaining to the cops, and the Man isn't here to protect my appropriately defamed name.

Finally, no. I'm not going to post weekly pictures of the growing monstrosity that is me. I want this pregnancy to sneak up on you and then all of a sudden, around week 20, BAM! I hit you with a new picture and your eyes never recover from the scarring of seeing me with a small, outlying planet shoved up my shirt. Most likely, said planet will be Pluto since it's not currently serving any other purpose. At any rate, wait for it....

Silliness (Part Three?)

To close out our three volume novel ("of more than usually revolting sentimentality"), I will give you the last reason all has been quiet on the western front. Did you like that? Two completely unrelated book references in one sentence. ONE! That's skill.

Anyway, quite simply, the Little Man has started getting himself dressed, and fashion monstrosities like this have begun to occur, and I just cannot survive the horror:

Angry Blue Steel

So I've been recovering from the trauma and resting my bleeding eyes in the hope that one day he will stop wearing those boots everywhere and realize that red and green should never be paired together--even at Christmas.

And I share this with you now, why? Simply because today has been exhausting in every way possible, and I'd rather laugh than cry. I'd also rather take a shower than write, but that would require getting back up off the bed.

I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can!

Substance (Part Two)

For those of you who haven't read Part One, you can find it here. For those of you ready to continue on, let's do this.

The other reason I haven't been writing as much lately is because I've just plain been tired. Part of it has been because of Thing One:

If that face is not diabolical, I don't want to know what is.

And another part of it is because of Thing Two:

This is what he did when I told him to smile.

But the most significant chunk is because of Thing Three and Thing Four, who, along with wearing me out, have lovingly helped me spend a good portion of my time with my face in the toilet. Here is a picture of Thing One holding a picture of Things Three and Four. Their little legs are already kicking up a storm.

Littles is voting for two boys.

The Man and I wanted to wait to share our news until we'd seen a doctor. We thought we'd be telling you this really funny story about how we were done having kids and then God cheerily bestowed upon us one more who was going to share the same birthday week with the boys. We thought I was going to be writing about giving birth yet again while the Man is deployed. We thought we'd be sharing about God's sovereignty and trusting that He is always in control, yes, even of two-legged surprises. Now we're just doubling all of that.

Because, really, why have one baby when you can have two?

Right? Right???

At any rate, now I am really sad that I can't remember any of the fantastic twin jokes I've been coming up with in the middle of the night for the last four weeks. But at some point, the shock will wear off and I will remember them and you will be so sad that I did. You will also grieve the fact that I can now air all of my pregnancy cravings loudly and exuberantly from all corners of the internet. It's hard to be you. But then again, you get to enjoy watching me swell up to the size of a two bedroom house with these kids, so sit back and enjoy the ride.

Anyone for a Part Three? Anyone?

Silence (Part One)

As many of you know, the Man is heading out for deployment again this summer. I was feeling pretty good about this, to be honest. Not that I wasn't going to miss him, and not that I didn't expect more than a few road bumps, but I had a plan, and it was doable. If you'd asked me about it, I would've told you that the boys and I were going to totally rock this deployment.

Then around four weeks ago, something changed, and I didn't feel quite so sure of myself any more. I started having days when I wonder if I could do it on my own. I am snapping at the boys for the smallest infraction because I feel insecure in my future role as solo parent. I stopped writing because I am afraid to be weak right now (and writing, for me, is almost always about weakness). I want to be resilient.

On Wednesday, we found out that the Man's pre-deployment training had been bumped up a month. So he's leaving this Tuesday, as opposed to next month, and while that doesn't really change much (he'll be home July and August before he heads out for real), I had to do a quick rearrangement of my plans and expectations for the month. He's spent the last few days vacuum sealing gear and scalping the grass and trying to get one month of preparation squeezed into three work days.

And then today, I'm just being honest, I hit full blown panic. The kind where you find yourself crying in the laundry room but you're not actually doing laundry. The kind where you open the fridge and then realize you were supposed to be getting dinner out of the oven. The kind where you think you might possibly, just a little bit, potentially be going crazy (but please, God, don't let anyone notice).

With all of this, I'm not sure it will come as a surprise to say my routine has been thrown off a bit, and that's why this space has been a bit more silent than usual. That and the aforementioned fear. But as one of my dear friend's reminded me last week, it sounds like I'm getting a lot of writing material as we go through this. And I can't help but think: waste not, want not. So here I am, not wasting my stories.

There is a second part to this blog that I'm hoping to add tomorrow, but I want to close for now with this.

Military spouse, whoever you are, it doesn't matter if it's your first deployment or your fifth. There are always new struggles and the fear of the return of old ones. It is hard to send your husband halfway around the world (whether to a war zone or not). It is hard to do this thing called life on your own while always wondering if the other half of your heart is okay. It is hard to daily die to self knowing that God has called you to the life that you are in. I won't tell you to be strong or put on your big girl pants or Just Man Up (although those are all things I have told myself). I will merely say this: our only real problem [is] forgetting how great our God is (Sally Lloyd-Jones, Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing).

And I forget all the time.

Please help me to remember.

Brought To You By the Letter "S"

The hundred degree weather has hit already, but with it, a silver lining. The turtles are back in our creek! I realize this may be a weird thing to get excited about, but the boys and I could spend hours on the bridge watching these guys. Going for walks is now again the highlight of our day (it helps that we're not freezing to death in the 20 mph Oklahoma wind--instead, it's a free hair dryer!).

Anyway, you know what one of the best things about having kids is? I realize how much more I should've paid attention in science class. Today, thanks to my smart phone, we learned that our snapping turtle probably enjoys a healthy diet of minnows and crawdads, and that the long fat tail protruding out of his shell is not a sign of advanced age but of gender (he really is a he!).

Anyway, today, just saying thank you for silver linings, summer, snapping turtles, sons, smart phones, and science. And also the Man who got me Mexican food for dinner and is the only reason this blog has a picture--but that kills my alliteration.

PS Our snapping turtle likes us. He would probably like our tasty fingers too, but we won't get close enough to find out.

Tangled Mess

While we were gone, my wonderful friend who pet sat for us discovered this tiny little nest in our (now dead) hanging basket. She had a brief moment of wondering if I had placed the nest and eggs there as a decoration and then hours of spontaneous laughter at the thought. Since we've gotten back, the boys and I have been checking on the eggs multiple times a day (and scaring the mess out of the poor momma bird). There's something encouraging about those four tiny eggs cocooned in the middle of my Oklahoma-killed flowers. They remind me that:

Sometimes, in the midst of our tangled mess, we discover new life.

For the Moms

And above all, I need to remember that "good" motherliness has nothing to do with how God sees me. Nothing. I am pleasing to Him on my good days and my bad days. His love for me never wavers...and never will. Because I am His.

Desperate: Hope for the Mom Who Needs to Breathe, Sarah Mae and Sally Clarkson

Littles, happy to be home with Trig-Dog

We're home! And I have been duly celebrated with orange-pink tulips, fried chicken, and a freshly vacuumed car. Plus, Tiny shared a grapefruit with me on the couch today. So, there may be dog hair and dust everywhere, more laundry that needs to be done, and a to do list a mile long, but there is a new nest in my now dead hanging baskets, and the Man cooked brinner and cleaned up the kitchen for me while I read to the boys from the stack of hand-me-down books their Aunt sent home with us.

Anyway, in honour of Mother's Day, I would like to give a tip of my hat to my two wonderful mothers who love me and encourage me and challenge me in the Lord. I am spoiled to have not one but two wise women pouring into my life (and that's not even counting all the other great ladies, with or without children, who have taken time to "mother" me in their own ways--you know who you are--thank you).

As a tribute to them, I'd like to share with you a book that I read this last month, Desperate: Hope for the Mom Who Needs to Breathe by Sarah Mae and Sally Clarkson. I've spent a lot of time talking about this book with my mom, and the Man's mom asked me to mail my copy to her once I finished writing about it, so I feel that it's appropriate to talk about today. Plus, it's about mothers. Obviously.

This book has been on my wish list for a while. The Man's mom introduced me to Sally Clarkson after we discovered our first in utero surprise (and Littles sure was an unexpected blessing), and I kept running up against positive reviews of Desperate. So when I found a $15 Barnes & Noble gift card that I had completely forgotten about, I put it to good use. And it didn't disappoint.

Tiny, making my Buster Daddy laugh

There was a lot in this book that was both applicable and encouraging. The authors don't try to provide legalistic, you-must-do-it-our-way parenting advice. Instead, they give general principles that gently lead a mom and her kids into Christ's presence. The book is written as a dialogue between a young mom and an older, more experienced one; it gives insight into the short term struggles and the long term end game.

My favourite quotation was when Sarah Mae is talking to her child and says, "Mommy needs help just like you. I need Jesus every day because I mess up, but He is gracious to love and help, and He will help you too. We're in this together." So often it feels like it's me against the kids as I try to mold and shape their behaviour and hearts. Really, though, we are a team as we mutually fight against the sin that desires to control us and instead stand firm in the presence of Christ.

There are so many other great quotes I could share with you (my mom sent me an email full of them as she was reading through the book), but what I would leave you with is this: if you are a young mom, find older, wiser women who want to pour into you--you don't need to do this on your own. And if you are an older mom, please don't forget what it was like to be unshowered for days, covered in someone else's excretions, and completely exhausted--take the time to mentor us, to walk beside us, and to remind us that it gets better.

As I read Desperate, I wanted to buy six dozen more copies and hand them out to all the moms I know. That's how strongly I feel about this book. I was crying in the first chapter, and you guys know I don't cry. Well, not that often. But, warning, if you are like me, Sarah Mae's incessant need to refer to her children as "babes" will get on your nerves--resist the urge to let it ruin the book for you and instead blame the editor who should've delicately suggested that she choose a less archaic and awkward term. I'm just being honest.

And now I'm going to go hang out with the Man, who somehow talked me into letting him bring his mounted squirrel home from his parents and thinks he's going to hang it on a wall where people will actually see it. Only if I get to put a little Security Forces beret on its tiny rodent head... Obviously, pre-deployment is getting to me.