Mr & Mrs: A(nother) repost

Happy 11th Anniversary to my wonderful husband! Here's a repost from our anniversary in 2010. Almost 2 kids later and I wouldn't change a single word (except to maybe add a few).

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It is a big church. The most grandiose in stature in the entirety of our small town. The dramatic roof lines and towering steeple sit perfectly atop rock and brick walls adorned with stained glass windows, all situated on the precisely manicured lawn.

It's a beautiful church. And every time I drive by I think about what happened inside.

I stand behind two huge wooden doors, stained to a perfect deep brown, waiting to walk down a burgundy-carpeted aisle. So much awaits me on the other side of those doors. Love. Commitment. Beauty.

The wedding coordinator adjusts my veil and the train of my dress.

Deep breath.

The organ begins to play the non-traditional melody of an Scottish tune, reminiscent of our college Alma Mater. The doors swing open, everyone stands up.

I blink.

It's 8 years later. And here I sit, mother to 6, wife to a man who loves me in spite of who I am. A husband who loves wholly, sacrificially and beyond my understanding.

In our counseling session at Candidate Week we reviewed the many statistics associated with our personality inventories, marriage surveys and some other psychological profiles that we sent in ahead of us.

"You have an over-idealized view of your marriage," the gray haired counselor told me, over the rim of her glasses.

I sat back in my chair, turning her words over in my mind, trying not to be defensive.

Really? Because I'm pretty much a realist in every other area of my life.

At the end of the session, she agreed, my marriage is not over-idealized in my very matter-of-fact head. Rather, I understand that I am blessed. Beyond what I deserve.

Blessed with a man who guards the purity of our marriage so fervently that he refuses to be alone with other women, even in the context of work, where such a conscience is often considered ridiculous.

Blessed with a leader who fears the Lord and seeks, with his whole being, to serve him, even if it makes our family uncomfortable and unconventional.

Blessed with a confidant, someone I can pour my soul out to, the nasty, dirty, raw and often ugly parts and he draws me close and prays over me.

Blessed with a protector, a guardian of our home and our children and someone who takes that role so seriously, he is willing to risk it all for the glory of the Lord.

I smell the familiar smell of the church and take in the pews, full of people. I look to the opening in front of me and see him, standing at the end of a flower strewn aisle. He smiles at me. My heart flutters in my chest. I reach the altar unsure of how I'm standing there since it seems as though my feet hardly moved.

We exchange vows and rings and we both cry. I wipe his tears. More sniffles echo through the rafters of the magnificent sanctuary.

We turn and face our family and friends. We are Mr. & Mrs.

We celebrate. It's glorious. Even 8 years later. It's glorious.

It's no fairy tale and my days are certainly mixed with their fair share of meltdowns and tears. And some days the kids cry too. :)

But we've come through so much. We've endured hardships and know that more are coming. We laugh together often. We love much. He still dates me. He still stops, through the bustle of our home, to wrap his arms around me and let me bury my face in his chest.

We argue, annoy the crap out of each other and forget things that are important to the each other. But we chose love above all else. We chose to bind our hearts together with God as the glue.

We walk out the front doors of the church, and the cold air hits us like needles. We climb inside the magnificent limousine and the driver shuts the door. I look at my husband.

It's over. Man, that went fast, I think to myself.

I adjust my dress. He grabs my hand. We kiss.

The driver starts the engine.

And then, the journey begins.

The photographer's apprentice

A while back, as sort of a half-hobby, half-distraction from grief and life, I started a photography business. I still have LOTS to learn but I've enjoyed getting to know more about light, editing and learning more about my style.

For her 8th birthday, we got Elizabeth a little point-and-shoot camera. Since I bought my new camera a few months ago, Elizabeth has been saying that she wants to learn to be a photographer, like me. It's cute but I tell her over and over and over again that the best way to become a better photographer is to take lots and lots and lots of pictures.

Then, a few weeks ago, Luke had the idea for me to take Elizabeth, and let her have a maternity photoshoot with me. So, today, while the littles napped, Ashlee was at a friend's house and the boys were at karate, we did just that. I showed her the basics of working my camera, made sure the camera strap was nice and secure around her neck then handed it to her, gave her a few instructions about shadows and direct sunlight then told her to take over.

I'll admit, being 38+ weeks pregnant I don't enjoy being on this side of the camera. But, I also know that 25 years from now, when Baby #8 is likely starting her own family, she'll like seeing photos of her Momma's large belly with her tiny self squished inside. Here's my little photographer's apprentice's debut photos. I did the editing, but the photos are all hers. During my wardrobe change (read: I got cold and changed shirts) she took a photo of our school table,

and our pet bird, Alex.

She really got into telling me to look at my belly, where to put my hands and which side my hair needed to be on.

She told me that I'm not good at doing a real smile, because all my smiles looked fake. Ha!

Overall, for a 9.5 year old, I think she did pretty well! And, it really was fun spending time with my oldest girl, allowing her to feel the weight of the camera in her hand and having some creative freedom.

So there I am, in all my 38+ week glory. Y'all have a great Christmas! Hopefully, the next post will be one of a baby on the outside.

Simply Remember

I feel like I've spent a lot of the last 9 years of my life trying to remember things.

Return those library books, don't forget to get a gallon of milk on the way home, so-and-so's birthday is tomorrow, send a follow up email about such-and-such, don't forget to ask so-and-so about that thing, take the trash to the curb, take a meal to this family, etc, etc.

But then there are the important things. Don't forget the way Elizabeth said the word "juice" the first 5 years of her life. Don't forget the way Lucas and Ashlee liked to trade plates when they were still chubby-faced toddlers. Or the way Ashlee hid food under her leg and would eat it all at the end of her meal. Or the way Olivia would dance to any beat from the age of 6 months on. Or the way Aaron held his pacci in the side of his mouth like a cigar when he was learning to crawl. Or how an 18 month old Ella could be pitching an epic fit one minute and belly laughing the next.

That's the thing when you add 1 or 2 babies every two or so years, you tend to be caught up in the busyness of the day to day and you forget a lot of things. Luke says the first six months of the twins' life is a complete blur to him. I say the first three months. I remember getting up one morning a few days after the twins were born. I walked into the living room and my Mom had swaddled two of Elizabeth's babies up. She was pretending to nurse them, sitting there in just her underwear. All of the sudden she seemed SO BIG. And I just started crying.

I'll never forget this though, the twins were tiny, less than a couple months old. I was getting Elizabeth ready for bed and I stripped off her shirt, pants and undies. The stench that came from her small, 2 year old body was enough to make me recoil. I looked at Luke, shocked, and asked, "When was the last time we bathed Elizabeth?" We both thought for several minutes and we could not remember. I'm sure it had been over a week.

I've always taken a lot of pictures. I guess somewhere subconsciously I knew that those pictures would be the lifeline to my memories. But with the purchase of our smartphones and the conception of my photography business, using a real camera on my own kids is something that's sort of slipped onto the back burner.

So yesterday, when Abigail was upstairs "helping" me make lunch while the other kids were happily entertained with the electronic babysitter, I could have gotten swept up in the moment of hungry kids, lunch time, my pelvis begging me to sit down, my bladder beseeching me to empty it's contents. Again. But instead, I noticed my sweet 21 month old, in a princess dress that she INSISTED on wearing, standing on top of our shoe bins, eating a banana and completely captivated by a squirrel doing only-a-squirrel-knows-what in our front yard. The light hit her face and I moved as fast as my feet could waddle me to grab the camera. My real camera.

Because THIS is what I don't want to forget.

This girl, a cheek full of banana, pointing at a squirrel, telling me to "come 'ere," giggling when I say, "That's not a puppy!"

Her dimple on that one side. It's becoming less obvious the bigger she gets. I've seriously prayed it will stay forever even though she'll probably hate it as a teenager,

sticky, slimy banana finger prints all over my window sill,

her amazement at how fast that little squirrel ran away when she knocked on the window,

and how I wouldn't let her stand on the microwave, so she would stretch a tulle covered foot over there, then look at me over her shoulder and grin.

And how after she realized the squirrel wasn't coming back, she spent the rest of her time "helping" me make grilled cheeses by licking the butter when I wasn't looking. For me, it's less about not forgetting and more about remembering the little things. Savoring the details, letting go of the things that are suppose to be these big memory makers and just enjoying my kids exactly where they are. Breathing them in and trying my best to simply remember.

6 things and a Jesus question

1. It would happen that as soon as I did a two part post on our chore system, Olivia would proceed to lose all but one of her chore button things. Naturally. Because my life is nothing if not ironic.

2. I found this in my fridge last week. I really need to blog about a certainly blue-eyed, curly headed, girl in our house who is on a kick of raiding our fridge like a person who hasn't seen food in the last 24 hours. If it weren't so insanely hilarious it might drive me crazy.

3. This homeschooling thing, it's a balance. On Monday, our kids watched WAY TOO MUCH TV while I laid on the couch nursing a headache. I also rocked Abigail three times before she decided to stop protesting a nap and also dealt with a 7 stage meltdown from one of our other children. So, at 2:00, instead of being mad and forcing our kids and myself to pretend like school was going to happen, I gave up. It was Thanksgiving week, right?

4. Our kids are obsessed with Woody Woodpecker. I'd rather him take a battering ram to my skull than watch one more episode. But, Ella now tells me that her favorite to watch is Woody the Pecker and that alone makes me laugh out loud.

5. For the third year in a row, I had a stomach virus on Thanksgiving. 36 weeks pregnant plus a stomach virus is no fun. Ever. It was short lived and seemed to only hit 2 other kids in a super mild way (I'll let your imagination do the work there) so I really can't complain. And, on Saturday and Sunday I gorged myself on Thanksgiving leftovers.

6. I was in the dollar store on Saturday getting some last minute craft stuff for our Jesse Tree. (I'll blog about that later, I hope.) It was packed. There were some crosses and other Christmas items on display and a young boy (maybe 5 or 6?) was eyeballing them. He turned to the woman with him (his Mom or grandma, I'm guessing) and said, "What's that?" and pointed to the cross. The lady said, "Oh. That's a cross. That's what Jesus died on." to which the little boy asked, "Who is Jesus?"

I lingered and listened as I looked at some stickers. She said, "Oh, Jesus is VERY important. We need to talk about him sometime," and then she casually went on down the aisle as they talked about the other things on display.

I have my own thoughts about this conversation, but I'd like to hear yours.