Praying for real. Praying now.

I am a daughter, sister, friend, neighbor, wife, and mother.  It is all of these things that I am, that bring me to tears for the those that I have spent the past 2 days seeing on TV.  If you are any of these things, or those of your own, that gives you a connection to the world of human beings, your heart will ache.  Mine does.

I had a recent drive in the car for preschool drop off.  As part of our regular routine, we pray in the car, out loud, for whoever it is that we will be dropping off.  If I forget to pray, my four year old is my prayer alarm.  He may not always join in, or say the “Amen” at the end, but I know that even in his four year old little heart, he takes comfort in his mama praying for him and even greater comfort in the Lord, who we humbly ask to watch over us.  And when that alarm sometimes does not go off, I am left driving away, emptiness in the seats behind me, without having offered a prayer.

I do not forget to pray because I am a bad person or mother.  I don’t even forget because I am too busy, since I am literally sitting, belted into a seat, driving to a certain destination that gives me the same amount of ample time to pray each day.  There is no really good reason for forgetting.  But I do.  Then something happen recently that had me thinking about my prayer time for my children.

I now have a kindergartner   He leaves me each morning.  He steps onto a bus and goes into a world beyond my control.  Oh, I've tried to control it, by where we live and carefully deciding which school would be his.  By trying to plan play dates with the families that will share in his world.  By treading lightly, but asking as many questions about his day that I can.

And then one day, recently, he told me something that had happened at school that upset him.  My heart hurt.  It was nothing earth shattering.  He was happy and eager to get back on the bus the next day.  But it was earth shattering for ME.  Because in that little moment of heartache that I had for my son, I came to a realization.  I could plan and want and hope and try and try and try.  I can love and love and love some more.  But I, am not in control.  Ultimately, my babies are children of God.  It doesn't matter if I home school, or send them off, take them to the mall or stay home, go to a weekend movie, or rent one on TV.   They are God’s children, sent to this world.  A fallen world.

I started to think, “have I been praying for these babies of mine?  Really praying?”  Of course I had.  Right?  I'm a Christian.  I say their prayers with them at night.  I “like” lots of  bible quoters and preachers, and church pages on face book.  I get their updates frequently and stop to take it in.  I talk with God when I’m cleaning, or nursing, or drifting off to sleep.  I intend to daily devote, although slack at it.  And I do pray for them, but it seemed to have taken on a monotone.

I thought about all of the things of this world that I concern myself with throughout the day and week.  Whatever I came up with, these little people trump it.  They are more important to me than my home, or phone, or workout, or facebook.  Way more important than that pinterest project/recipe that clouds my mind, that I will probably never do anyway.  Its not horrible to allow these things into your life.  Some of them are fun and at times joyful.  But the priority needs to be set.  God above all else.  Prayer, prayer and more prayer.  

I was literally thinking to myself that I needed to bring all of the things, I could not control about my children, to God.  I needed to pray to him to help me as a mother and a decision maker, but more importantly FOR my kids.  Each one of them.  By name.  For protection.  For safety.  For health.  For their path in their own lives in this world that is wonderful, yet dark.  Because darkness is real.  I needed to pray from the bottom of my heart, on a Tuesday, just because it is Tuesday.  In the afternoon, just because I am passing by a window and happen to see the great sky.  I have to continue to pray and be thankful, with all I can muster while they are driving me a little crazy, or when we are outside having a great day.

Because its NOW that matters.  Now.  I didn't want to end up only doing it for real, because I am brought to my knees, with no where else to go, pleading out of sadness or grief.  All of our roads bend.  We don’t know what is around our corners.  No amount of “control through the best decisions you can possible make”, will rid evil from our midst.  And so we are left with giving our faith and trust to God.  All of our worries and concerns about these little ones that He has given us, goes right back to him.  

I grieve.  Truly grieve  for these families who now cry, impossible to imagine, tears.  I don’t know them.  I have no real life connection to them. But, their daughters, sisters, friends, neighbors and wives are gone.  Their BABIES are gone.  Little boys.  Little girls.  Gone.

This I connect with.  I can’t hug them, or smile at them, only cry from afar.  If nothing else can come of their deaths for us, let it be this.  Pray.  Pray for your little boys.  Your little girls.  Your big boys and big girls.  Pray out loud with them.  Pray quietly for them.  Pray for them by name.  Pray feverishly.  Pray so much and so often that the weird feeling you might have in doing so, is shut down, by God’s power.  The words will come, trust me, they will come.

These little children would not have died in vain.  You can make this statement true.

Lord, have mercy on the souls of those who were taken.  Look down on those left behind.  Bless their community, homes and schools.  Bless teachers and students everywhere.  Guide parents and their words through these times.  Help them find a rock in you, that steadies them through the days ahead.  They need you.  I need you.  I pray that someone will find you in this chaos, since your hand is right there, waiting, and gently providing.  I pray for my family and for the one that may read these words.  In Jesus name, Amen.

See.  The words came.

With love and a heavy heart.    ~K      

The End is Near

It was one of those leftover cold days at the end of March, although the sun was shining. I managed to throw my husbands flannel jacket on over my pajamas, that were now on day 2. I opened my garage door and slipped into my snow boots, since they were the first thing that I saw. With more effort than I had, I got my 2 year old into his car seat, thanked God that my almost 4 year old went to work with daddy, slid into the driver seat, glanced into the rearview mirror at the bun of hair that hadn't been touched since probably the night before, and drove off.

It was a self-conscious drive. I was sure that people were staring, even if it was only the top half of me that was noticeable. I was hoping that they were all strangers since I wasn't yet prepared to explain myself to anyone that I knew. I ended up at McDonalds drive thru. "Bacon, egg and cheese biscuit please." I may only eat once a day, or every other for that matter, but this was my staple meal. So this drive thru was where I found myself. Eating like this would make anyone sick. I have no rhyme or reason for this method, but I could only do what my body would allow.

This, my friends, is what they call, The First Trimester.

Yes, it was true. I was pregnant. Baby #3 was on the way, and I was in first trimester misery. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't function in any normal matter. Couldn't smile, be happy, be thankful, or even attempt to be a good mom to the 2 I already had. What I could do was vomit every day, and only in the trashcan in my room, as anywhere else, including the bathroom, would just make me sicker. The frequency was such that my 2 year old started imitating this behavior when he would see my trashcan. Yes, my poor little guy would pretend to throw up and then say "like mommy." I could also lay in my bed for endless hours, waiting for life to pass me by, knowing that I would only be doing the same thing tomorrow. I could only dream of the day that this would pass, where I wouldn't need medication to leave the house or get through an event such as t-ball practice.

The truth is, it hasn't been easy. Yes the beginning came to pass, only to give way to the middle, which came with migrane after migrane. Those things are always so much fun, especially when you still have to take care of 2 small children in the process. I was sure that my already born babies would be scarred by my lack of care-taking. I was sure that this would just never come to an end. I was sure I would never be able to be happy and smile and tell people that I was over-the-moon excited. But, as time does, it went on. And now here I sit, 38 1/2 weeks pregnant. And although, the end, for me, only comes with its own list of problems, that shall remain nameless, for any readers sake (and if you have made it here yourself, enough has been said.) I am happy. I am excited. I am thankful. I am about to go through and incredibly hard, painful and scary, process. I don't know when or where it will begin. I don't know how I will get there or the impact it will yet have. But I do know, that the blessing that awaits at the end, is one that is unimaginable. Even while trying to picture the moment, you can't wrap your thoughts around something that will contain as much love as the birth of a child.

This will be my last. I will only sit here late at night with a round belly for maybe days more. This is my last time to feel squirming, kicking and rolling, right inside of me. To feel a tiny little heel roll on by, or to see what may look to the unkowing eye as an alien invasion of my body, knowing its just the outline of my wee little one. I am still attached. I know every single move, every awake and sleeping time and every hiccup. I have had my share of unwanted comments about the shape of my ever changing body, but also my share of well wishes from loved ones and strangers that know exactly what is to come.

Yes, I am cherishing these last days as a glowing, pregnant mother. The last days of my boys rubbing my belly and saying goodnight to baby. The last moments of silent bonding between movements and my hands that rest atop of them. The last moments of wondering what is to be. The last time we arrive as a family of four. The future, as always, is in God's hands. I have no control over the details, not even knowing whether it is a boy or a girl. But I do know, that I love my boys more than is describable. And, although, not seeming possible, that love, is about to grow.

Jelly and Meatball chocolate

Spring: (1)the season of growth; (2) jump. move forward by leaps and bounds.

Its a simple word. Its a season you can always count on. And yet, in its definition, its the perfect analogy for toddlerhood. Its what every parent experiences on a daily basis. So much so, that at times it can be taken for granted. It seems almost incomprehensible, the amount of growth and change that comes out of children in these early years. I can only imagine that these changes will continue to unfold before me. But a mother's heart, as a mother knows, is big enough to take it all in, to appreciate it, and to love it. (oh, and a father's heart too! It just happens to be me thats writing it down:)

It was a rough winter, here in the Mid-Atlantic region. Sickness and weather took its toll on my family. So, I will give myself a pass on my little writing hiatus. And when I say weather, I mean blizzards. And when I say blizzards, I mean total whiteout, no electricity for days, digging ourselves out of it for weeks, holy moly if I ever see snow again I may move to Ca. type of blizzards....and yes, plural....as in more than one time!!!!! So, as you can imagine, Genesis 8:22, took on a whole new meaning. Yes God, thanks to you, at least I knew Spring was coming!!

And with this refreshing, renewing season, came such change. I went into hibernation with a newly one year old and a 2 1/2 year old. But what emerged was vastly different. If you think in terms of spreading thier wings and flying away at 18, then I guess for now they are earning thier feathers. And my babies did just that! Johnie emerged on his little Harley tricycle, as a rider! Yep! He got on.....and off he went. I even had to move the seat back so he had more room. It was one of those moments I stood there and thought, wow, just like that huh? They will grow in the blink of my eye. And of course little Luca bear, is right behind him. He came out of the dark and the cold and into a warmer world of walking...and running! It took only a couple of weeks for him to master the porch steps, onto the grass and into the world of fast mobilization. He took off, and stops only to eat and sleep, which for anyone who knows him, knows he will always stop to eat.

Of course I still have an early role call. You know that call that comes way before you really want it to. It specifically calls my name. Mooooommmmyyyyy. Its always the singsong version of my name. I am not a fan of singsong in the morning. Or of anything before 6:30. But there I go, to start our day. And the days have been flying by. Johnie turned 3. What an age. I mean who's 3? Still so new to the world. A week later, he told me "I don't want to wear that," in reference to his diaper. And, that was that. No more diapers. Onto big boy pants. It didn't require any library rentals, no bookstore trips. I didn't even do internet research....as in posing the question to my facebook friends. It was good ole' child development. You know, the natural way things are done that we sometimes forget about in our quest to be the best (parent.) He was ready, which is becoming a familiar subject around here. Being ready. "I can do it by myself" rolls right of his tongue these days. And suprisingly he can. And knowingly, he can't, depending on the task he tackles, but nonetheless, its for my viewing entertainment. Oh, the smiles this boy puts on my face.

Luca has become a sentence talker. Which, still, every time, amazes me. I think, did he just say that? But he does. Which, I have found out the hard way, they really do say everything they hear. Note to self: give up ALL cursing. But curse words are my best friend, in a fit of frustration. Heck, darn and frigin just don't cut it. Like at all. But.....mommy power must kick in and out of my vocabulary the bad words shall go. But unlike my choice of words at times, thier words really ARE funny. Since I put jelly on thier toast sometimes, Luca calls bread slices, "jelly." If he sees the bread isle while shopping he yells out, "ooohhh, jelly!" So thats our new word for it. Like, "hey John, do you want a piece of jelly?" This is our normal. And when Johnie was very quiet, for too many minutes, one afternoon, the million dollar question was, "what are you doing?" That pause before the answer is always the time to think, do I have a clear path to run to him? But the answer was relaxed and was, of course, "I'm having a meatball chocolate." And like you, I thought, a what?? I followed the direction of his voice. And he clearly had eaten some chocolate. When I asked what a meatball chocolate was, he took my hand and said "I"ll show you." Now the taking of my hand so he could teach me something new, was in itself, worth his chocolate ingestion. He walks me over to the decorative bowl that I hadn't really thought about, that had been out since his birthday party. It was filled with hershey kisses. "What are these?" I asked. "Meatball chocolates mom." Of course they are.


A month past three years old. Nineteen months old. These are the ages of my once little ity bity babies. I now have two toddler boys. I have days of trucks and dirt; climbing and bruises. I have excitment in the morning, just because its morning. I have more hugs than I can count, since they love me just because. I teach my two little companions on a daily basis. Little do they know how they have taught me. I respect the world more, because its the one they will be a part of. I love my neighbor more, because its the stanger they may meet. I am in awe of the flowers because they have made me stop, to literally smell them.












The laundry has continued, but the conversations have increased. The time-outs have, well tripled, but the playing overshadows it all. For every annoyance I have, and sadly I will admit they I do get annoyed by my darling children from time to time, there is double the amount of moments when I amazed that the Lord has given me this responsibility, this joy, this laughter, and this love. The spring air has been fresh, appreciated and enjoyed. It has brought forth growth in all of the creation that I see, especially the two creations that mean the most to me. Yes, my little men are earning thier feathers, and I am enjoying be a witness to it all.

I Love You Mommy

Early rising, check. No naps, check. Freezing cold weather that enables us to stay inside ALL day, check. One sick baby, check. A trip to the pediatrician's office acommpanied by an hour long wait...you guessed it, check. Oh and add into the mix, crying through dinner. The countdown to bedtime is on. Well, really in my mind, it may have been on all day. It is one of those days.

Oh you know the days. The ones where you summons the patience that sits inside of you somewhere, just in case. Patience you would otherwise never use, not even when the line at the grocery store is too long. Not even when the person currently being served decides to ask a couple of questions and argue price on top of his difficult transaction. No, mom patience is much different. Being patient with a child, at the height of your desperate need for a good scream, is, well, a gift from God. It has to be.

My little Luca buca can't talk, so he just cries and/or bites. Johnie can talk, and very well. Talking while crying is his specialty. Its a lovely kind of sound. And tiredness is a sound all unto its own. But, they are my loves. My snotty, crying, wet diapered loves. Yes they are. And off to bed they go. I really love them at bedtime.

Well, the baths are accomplished. Jammies are on. The baby boost episode is finished. The books have been read. My last nursing seesion has ended. Prayers have been said. A back has been rubbed. And whats that sound? Just breathing. Just little toddler breathing. Little closed eyes, that know not that thier mommy stands over them. Just to hear those breaths. Just to witness what all that "I love my babies" fuss is about. Just to remember why I have such patience. Why I smile in the midst of chaos. Why I carry a very unhappy one year old and cook at the same time. Why I go about my day with a two year old hanging on my leg as if it were the latest style. Why I punish with a soft caring voice, well stern when neccessary. C'mon, I'm not a pushover! Why I look my children in the eyes, each and every day, multiple times a day and say the only thing I can think of that could possibly explain it all to them....I love you.

I am going to bed now, wait, no, one more load of wash. One last sippy cup to clean. Oh and that asparagus that is now marinating my floor in green. Oh, and organizing the toys now would make for a much more pleasant morning. Is there enough milk for tomorrow? Should I look up a recipe or something so that my kids can eat creative dinners that might make Martha Stewart proud? Call a friend? Ugh, no calling. So thankful for facebook. Well, that reminds me, catch up on facebook. Ok, now going to bed.

Ah. My pillow, my warm, warm covers on this cold, cold night. So comfortable. So nice................whaaaaaaa, whaaaaaaaaa. Out of bed, into babies room. Pick up baby. Change diaper, hold, rock, kiss head and say I love you. Tiptoe, as if I do not exist, back into my room. Back into bed. I made it. Once again warm. Let my heavy eyes close. (cry) maaaaaa (cry) mommy (cry) maaaaaaaaama. Bolt into toddler's room. Reasurre that all is well. Go back to my room. Wait a couple minutes for the ever expected follow up. And......there it is. To his room and back again. Down to a science. Now, for some sleep. Its been an hour. A whole long hour. My body is at rest. My dreams are a dreaming. And then.........(loud toddler cry) maaamaaaa, (repeat). Jolt from sleep, fly out of bed. Lay in bed with my boy and let him know that there is no boogy man strong enough to take me on. And belive me, a tired mama is not one to be messed with! Ok, back to my bed.

I will find another comfortable spot. I will again be warm. I check the video monitor at my side for reassurance. I will wait for sleep to find me once more. I wait. I close my eyes. But what comes to me is not the quiet rest that I long for. It is the short little man that I live with. It is the boy who learned to fear the night. The boy that needed, uhm, I lost count of the amount of time outs he may have needed today. It is the boy, who above all other humans on earth, looks for me. He climbs into my bed, takes over my pillow, not to mention my comfortable spot. He requests a pass. A pass from the scariness. A pass from the "i'm all by myself feeling." A pass from growing up. And I give it to him. He snuggles his mama. He waits to drift off to the rest that his little body so needs, to help him grow up into a boy, that can one night hold his own in the world of scarey things. But before he does, he says "Mommy, I love you."

And that my friends, my readers, my whoever you are, Makes my whole life worth it.

Turning One.

You know its coming from the moment they are born. You count them in days then weeks. Then when it sounds to funny to say "oh he's 13 weeks old," you switch to months. Moms are proud to announce the youngest of answers, of course, because what mommy is not proud of their new arrival. Then, as the months go by, it becomes a different kind of proud. It becomes "oh he's 6 months....look what he can do." As the number climbs, a mother treds on the time tightrope. She enjoys, no... savors, every new move, every new reason for a giggle. But, trying not to blink, for fear that they are growing fastly before her very eyes, she anticipates the big one, literally, the big 1.


Yes it is here. My little Luca bear. My little newborn who desperately wanted his thumb that he enjoyed while in my belly. My little sleeping so good baby. My little screamer at every middle of the night change. My little thumb-is-my-best-friend boy. My little crawler, who was so proud to finally follow his brother. My cruiser, who finally annoyed his brother. My nurser, attched to me literally for twelve months, twirling my hair, touching my face. My smiling, funny, walker. My snuggler, my bear-bear, my boy. Luca is 1.

How did it happen? Oh...it happened. I have 12 months of no sleep, not including the lovely loss of sleep of pregnancy, to prove it. I have double the amount of kid wash to fold and put away. I have sore boobs...and completely GET OVER the fact that I have included this. I have a messy, "how did it get stuck over here" food to clean up after every meal. I have a packed to gills diaper bag, every time I leave the house, which by the way, always takes forever to do. I have an added passenger in the car for every drive, that I have to tend to. I have an ALWAYS interuppted workout (the gym guy knows my name). Oh, and I have a lovely bit of "i had a baby" weight to work on.

But....none of that really matters. You see, because when you have a little man, as I do, you GET to do those things, well lets leave the weight part out of it. But you do. I got to stay awake for the past twelve months, nursing, studying his face, stroking his hair. I got to take care of the clothes that kept my baby warm and watch as the sizes increased, which in his case, was quite often! I have been completely blessed to be with him for every meal. See his funny faces at the first taste of peas, and his enthusiasm while eating every cookie. I got to clean up after a baby I call my own. I get to rarely be alone. I always have my two little companions. It takes some preparing for sure, but they are my company. And well, working out will come, maybe just not in this season of my life.




I have had the privelage to be Luca's mamma. As tiring and as messy as it has been, I wouldn't trade anything in this entire world for the days I have had with my baby boy. How did it happen? I don't know. I look back and its 365 days of memories, precious pictures in my mind, that are, now, a flash in time. I miss them, I loved them and I look forward to many more. I love you little Luca buca bear.

My first blog

I though it only fitting to pick this night to write my very first blog. It has, after all, been a day of "firsts" around here. Johnie, my little man, my first born, my "i thought he would be a baby forever", had his first day of school. Luca, my now baby, my "i hope he is a baby forever" took his first steps. 4, simple, going newhere in particular, smiling steps.

It is in these moments. It is in these days. That my life is truely defined. I revel in and am proud of the glimmer in my soul that sets me soaring when these moments arrive. A step, a simple baby step. Excitement erupts, clapping begins, laughter, and of course my tears.

I no longer wonder what heaven might be like. In my short almost 2 1/2 years as a mother, God has given me plenty of oportunities to feel it and see it through my boys.

Now that I have painted of picture of me floating on clouds, loving my boys, happy as a lark. Scratch that. Johnie freaked out at school. I stood in the hallway for 20 minutes while I listened to his desperate attempt to get his classroom door open, while he called for me. I left. Ugh, i left. That "i" doesn't deserve to be capitalized. I came home to laundry that I forgot was in the washer. It was too late to save it. ugh. I swore it was waiting for me in dryer.

These are my early days with my boys. Mostly, ordinary, un-tabloid worthy days. But they are my days. They are our days. They are treasured days. I would love to share with you what I learn along the way.