Full Disclosure

I knew my pregnancy with Nils would be my last pregnancy. Not because I don't want more children, but because, as it turns out for me, pregnancy sucks. With all of the vomiting, and migraines, and bed rest, and blood pressure concerns, and failing organs and all that jazz... I just can't do it again. I would love to have another child, but my health is more important. Taking care of the two beautiful little munchkins I already have is more important.

And when I came to fully realize that, I found that I was crushed.

And no, not crushed in the CRushD kind of way that I love when I combine my initials and my maiden name.

Crushed.

I spent most of last year crying. I'll tell you what, crying every day isn't as glamorous as it sounds. And then sometime in the fall I decided it was time for another Kellying. It was time to rally and pull myself up by the bootstraps. A new haircut, weekly workouts, more makeup, a fresh take. Except, when you're facing something so deeply difficult, sometimes that just isn't enough. Daily prayer led me to daily thanksgiving. I decided to be happy and thankful for what I have, rather than sad and pouting over what I want.

What I want is to be pregnant again and have it be easy. That isn't going to happen. So I might as well change what I want and want what I have: two wonderful children.

Giving thanks changed everything. It got easier. I cleared out all of our baby clothes and got rid of all of the things Nils has outgrown. That was surprisingly freeing. They were like shackles around my ankles. Getting rid of all of that stuff has allowed me to move forward. I think it was around that time that I stopped crying. My last infant has been weaned. Our bottles are gone. We are moving forward to the next phase of life, and I am excited to see what this new phase holds.

Overall, I'm doing okay. In fact, I'm better than okay. I'm doing pretty great. As it turns out giving thanks changes everything. And if I find myself in a moment that is rough I go visit this picture of Leona and her two... and I smile.

This Little Light of Mine, I'm Gonna Let It Shine

As I recently confessed, I'm in the discernment process of what to do with my love for writing. Don't you love that phrase, "the discernment process"? It gives the impression that I am meeting regularly with a spiritual adviser, working diligently behind closed doors, and having discussions with an editor.

I could let you go on believing that is what my discernment process looks like.

Oh, who am I kidding? No one believes that! Anything that orderly isn't part of my world. To me, it merely means that I've been writing and teaching (intermediately) for the last six years (six years!) and over that time have found that I love love love to write and teach. So, who cares? What should I do about that?

With some encouragement from others, I've decided (for now at least) that I am going to start working on some small group curriculum and devotionals. I've had numerous requests for such work over the last few years and have decided it's time to start more actively pursuing that. So, step one: write, write, write. What comes after that? I have a few ideas. First I'd better concentrate on writing. And writing. And writing.

I thought about (and even started penning) a book but have quickly discovered that my Slytherin tenancies are just too pronounced. I need to add good into the world and not humor at the expense of others. Although, that cookie monster story really is priceless isn't it?

So, wish me luck! If you need me at 5am I'll either be working out or right here in front of the old laptop. Typing away with a cup of boring decaf tea nearby my cute new houseplant and yummy smelling candle from Kel.

Extry, Extry, Read All About It!

And when Carolena said, "Let's listen to Newsies on repeat" it became the happiest day of my life.
I have succeeded as a mother.

Hope for Healing

I started getting migraines fourteen years ago. Fourteen years.

I'm really struggling with them lately. I've had four migraines this February. Four. In the last three weeks.

When I say "migraine" I mean pain so severe I literally cannot talk. I lie in bed and feel like I am screaming out for Chris to bring me a drink and most of the time I am not making a sound. When he comes to check on me, it takes every ounce of strength to scream out, "I need a drink!" and all he hears are some decipherable moans and whispers.

When I say "migraine" I speak of a pain so great that I lose my eyesight. Literally, I am blinded by the pain.

I speak of pain so severe that I begin to vomit. I stumble blindly to the bathroom, all of my senses assaulted by the smallest whisper, dimmest light, softest touch.

I speak of lying in bed wondering at what point I will break and simply melt into the migraine and die. I know that migraines were never listed as anyone's cause of death, but in the midst of one I am not so sure.

Much of the time I lie there awake. People come to check on me and because of my inability to respond, they believe me to be sleeping.

Most of what I think about while I lie in this hell is of the hemorrhaging woman in Luke's gospel (8:23). I relate to her perhaps more than anyone in Scripture. I scream out to God that I might be delivered from this pain. I yearn to reach out and touch the tip of Jesus' robes in order that I too might be healed. I have faith that I will one day be healed. I wish it were an unshakeable faith, but patience is something I'm still working on.

Morning Has Broken

I woke up this morning with wildly unmanageable hair, a baby whose nose was completely boogered over to the point of unbreathable, and a girl too tired to do anything but lie on the living room floor snuggling with her critters and listening to Pandora's toddler station.

Pandora and I have a complicated relationship. She gives me New Orleans Jazz, Memphis Soul, 60's Rock... but then when Pandora tells me that she's having trouble "fetching" the next song I turn into Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, "Yes, fetch away. You are very fetching. So, go fetch." Ugh. The audacity of that website using the word "fetching" is irrationally infuriating.

In the carpool line this morning I noticed all of the other children were hopping out of their cars fully decked out in cowboy attire. Shit. Luckily I never clean out my car so I was able to dig Carolena's pink boots out of the mobile closet we like to call the backseat. I guess her ironed pearl snap shirt will have to wait for the rodeo. Lord knows I can't iron a shirt more than once a month. That's written into my contract, Mr. DeMille. Check it.

Surprisingly, even given those things, it's been a pretty great morning. Perhaps because I drank a cup of coffee? Yes. Certainly that is why.

Why Is That Tape On Your Nose? Exactly.

Yes, it is practicing my piety before men to blog about many of the deeper water things I blog about. Yes, I am judgmental. Yes, I am proud. And yes, I do have a little someone who does her best to argue about these things with me. It's the job of the eldest I suppose. *wink*wink* I love her.

I'm just trying to engage people in thought. In conversation. I feel like conversation and pushing people to think (even when they disagree with me) is imperative and hopefully trumps doing things in secret to be rewarded in secret. As a wise woman pointed out to me (see above) - we can't do everything in secret... or else the Church would be a secret. Bam. So true.

So, yes, I can be annoying and harsh and definitely wrong. But, like others, I'm just trying to do my best. Trying to push people into dialogue and delving deeper. Some of the people in my life who have pushed me the most on delving deeper in my faith are those with whom I disagree.

Bookish

Sometimes I think about writing a book. In fact, I have a few different Word documents hanging out on the old laptop. And I work on them and wonder to myself... what would people want to read from me? Anything? Nothing? Motherhood musings? Theology? Both?

And then I think, aw screw it. This is a lot of work. And I go visit my dear old friend Google and look at pictures like this:

Seriously though. If any of you people want me to ever get something published you are going to have to stop being so shy and start commenting on my blog. Publicists care about that stuff. I know you are out there... I can see how many people read my blog. Hi shhhyyy little readers. It's okay. Come on out...

Oh, and tell your friends.

Or don't. I might never finish any of this and just keep hanging out drinking iced tea with my good friend Google. And that lemur. He's hilarious.