Kids just have no idea how giddy they can make their mama when they simply get along. Look at our little ones, holding hands subconsicously, she seeking protection from him, he offering it. I could never get enough of moments like these.
It's the moments of her squealing at him teasing her that wear me out.
At some point yesterday, I captured each of our four kids in a quick iPhone shot, to document their first day of homeschool 2012. I haven't always remembered to take these pictures, but this year is special: we have a senior in the house!
Senior, Freshman, 7th grader, and 4th grader. No, I don't know what I'm doing most of the time. No, I don't know enough to teach them; we must learn together. No, I'm not special for trying.
When our kids say something negative about a sibling, they have to then say three positive things about that person. Tim (the hubs) was giving me a hard time about something or other recently -- it wasn't a serious offense - he was joking - but it was just enough for me to say, "You have to say something positive about me now! No, wait, write it for all to see."
I've finally found my voice on my Just Pure Lovely Facebook page. Over there, I post Instagram photos of daily life, thought-provoking quotes, helpful websites, and now and then a little blurb about what's going on in my little world.
You're welcome to visit any time! (I hope you will!)
Fifteen years ago, I was twenty-something. My life was full -- we had a two year old boy with bowl-cut light brown hair, and I'd just delivered the most beautiful black-haired, light-skinned, rosy-lipped little girl the world has ever seen. She was Snow White in person.
A few hours after bringing her into the world, while still in the hospital, I collapsed in the shower. Blood surrounded me, my body was shutting down, my blood pressure plummeted. I saw the infamous white light.
Someone shouted. Hurried footsteps. The nurse's aide who found me panicked, nurses came, two doctors ran - one from his office, one from the emergency room - to see who would get there first, the head nurse told me to focus on her eyes -- I remember her face clearly; I thought she was my dark-skinned, brown-eyed angel.
She blurred and disappeared. Falling, falling, falling, falling....letting go of all but a thread.
A bit of sadness: his graduation, her wedding day.
Overwhelming peace. Peace and clarity of thought: I was okay with this.
Grateful. My baby was healthy. I was the one hurt; she wasn't.
Thankful. I'd given my husband a little boy and a little girl. They could only improve this world.
At some point, God said "not yet," and the doctors and nurses won the battle. I could see again. I searched for my husband. His panicked face is another image I will not forget.
I was too weak to hold my baby; it took weeks to make more blood so I could be strong again. But I survived and I did grow strong enough to enjoy her little girl years, her awkward stage, and now her teen years.
One thing has remained true for 15 years: I'm grateful and thankful for my baby girl.
This week, our ballerina turns 15. Feeling nostalgic, I created a little mosaic of moments from her 14th year. One of the reasons I take photos of the children is because I have a terrible memory. Looking back, I often forget moments, or I only remember the moments that went badly, like when I disappointed her or when I was too snippy at her.
But when I look through the photos of our everyday moments, I remember, She really is happy. We really are doing all right.
If you'd like to use any of the photos and writings on the site, I'm blushing. I'd love an email first if you don't mind: email@example.com. This website's content is copyright protected, but I'm not stingy, so please ask away!