Stress spillage.

"You and Wade just need to relax."

I've heard the words echoing in my ears for years now. They weren't spoken in a "take a spa day" way. Rather they were spoken in a "You are over-reacting" manner and the message was loud and clear.

So clear as a matter of fact that they have haunted me. I have given no small amount of thought to them, dissecting the meaning, analyzing our behavior, fretting over interactions, and frankly putting a lot of energy into NOT being uptight, NOT over-reacting. It is all exhausting.

So when my friend Carrie sent me her slides for our mutual presentation on "Special Needs Caregivers and Stress" one slide in particular spoke to me...even now I feel a sense of peace just thinking about Carrie's wisdom:

"Stress can pile up -- a family's adjustment can reach its limit, causing stress to spill over.

Families with high baseline stress levels "catastrophize" small stressors." (Carrie Sewell-Roberts, Licensed Clinical Social Worker, Nemours Cerebral Palsy Center)

Can you walk with me through this?

Catastrophize means to view or talk about an event or situation as worse than it actually is. And in the context of Carrie's course, it means to feel an event or situation as worse than it actually is. I can identify.

The year Benjamin had wrist surgery, then spine surgery, then eye surgery -- every single thing was a crisis. Relationships suffered that year -- some have never recovered sadly. And let me be clear, we weren't imagining that all the surgeries would be worse than they actually were. They were terrible for my amazing wonderful son. We knew they would be hard and we hurt and we ached. Rather for us in that season, the catastrophizing was in how acutely we felt every thing. I can close my eyes and feel the warmth of friends who brought (or mailed) movies for us to watch while we were stranded at home, I can feel the hugs of my friend who delayed her move to sit with us during that hard season, I can smell the delicious meals prepared and delivered to care for us. And I can feel the physical pain of the phone call accusing me of not being a good family member. I can feel the shame of not speaking kindly to a friend who failed to meet my lofty expectations.

Our adjustment had reached its limit and our stress just spilled over onto every service, emotion, relationship in its path.

More recently, the year Wade and I had to make the long commute between states work, saw more than its share of catastrophic. Each stage of the house-finding felt super intense, life-or-death, as if huge consequences were hanging in the balance. We knew we needed a house to safely meet Benjamin's needs, and a home where we could gather our loved ones. As month of looking turned into year, we were stressed. It absolutely felt like each failed offer and lost contract was a catastrophe.

And sometimes, it has been as inconsequential as rushing to an appointment after getting Benjamin dressed and ready only to find all the accessible parking spaces taken -- or the ramp blocked -- and I am left feeling like the world is condemned and life as we know it is over. 

So the affirmation that this isn't a Carol and Wade problem was enormous. The in-my-face-type on that slide was exactly what I needed -- and have needed for years -- to give my own family, and our reactions,  a bit of grace.

And because I am a glass-half-full kind of gal, I have to maintain that though all of this is true and we do have stressors that loom and days where they spill over, we also know how to make the most of the moments that DON'T seem overwhelming.

Maybe it is because we are so aware of the catastrophes, that we work twice as hard to make the good. Maybe the silly wonderful laugh-until-you-hurt tradition of riding River Rapids at Disneyland as many times as we can in the cold, wet of night and then running back to photograph the silly, drink cocoa and dry off in our condo only happens because we know we need those fantastic over-the-top moments to survive the hard. Maybe we decorate big for every holiday because we understand that when the season IS NOT stressful, then there already is a reason to celebrate and we should go all out! And when hard happens to fall in a holiday season? Well, then perhaps we cling to the over-the-top decor more than ever.

Maybe it is exactly this high baseline of stress that prompts me to open our doors and welcome as many in who will come. Because I know gathering my people to me is the best, most sure-fire way to make the most of the moments where life isn't overwhelming to us.

Come to think of it, gathering my people makes the most of life even when it is overwhelming, just don't mind the spillage.

Happy 22nd Birthday to Benjamin, Mason, and Claire!!!!

Today is the 22nd birthday of my amazing trio. And I will just tell you that birthdays while your kids are in college are for the birds. I haven't been able to see them, hug them, celebrate them all day. When they were growing up, I always let them take the day off from school so we could play -- but today was the final regular class day for Benjamin before his finals exams and one of the last for Mason and Claire. We couldn't just take the day off and play.

We also had tornadoes in the area all afternoon. So I couldn't just get in my car and make the college rounds.

No, rather, I have sat and watched a feast of sappy rom-coms with my 13-year-old who I think was missing the celebrating as much as her mom.

It occurred to me the second or third time Cate and I had to jump into the closet because the tornado sirens were going off that today wasn't that much different than their actual BIRTH day.

I didn't get to see them that day either.

Sweet first photos!

On April 18, 1997, I had been already been in labor for ten weeks. I had been on bed rest in the hospital for nine of those, not even allowed to wiggle a toe off the edge of the bed, never sitting up. I had taken a myriad of shots on a daily basis to promote lung development and we were praying them to a safe delivery date.

My due date was July 7. I knew they would come early, but I was shooting for May 27 -- my daddy's birthday. It never occurred to me -- never -- that we would have April babies!

But my body had done all it could do. Physical changes for me -- not the babies -- mandated a C-section on that April day. 

All together in one swing in the NICU!

As I was wheeled into the operating room, my nursing team filed in to kiss my cheek one by one. They had been caring for me -- and for these three -- for months. They all told me they were praying.

The room was full of medical personnel. Doctors and nurses for me, and an entire team for each baby.  Poor Wade, I was too scared to talk and he had NEVER seen me unable to speak. I think that scared him most of all.

The doctor warned me that the babies might not have enough lung strength to cry upon delivery. I was prepared. But each one of my mighty three gave a cry to greet the world before being whisked into the waiting hands of their own personal medical team.

I did the smocking for these little outfits while lying in a hospital bed -- my
dear friend Linda turned them into heirlooms for their baby dedication!

 I was taken to the recovery room and vividly remember just being so cold. My doctor got me this wonderful heater that blew hot air under my blankets. (Honestly, I dream about that heat some days.)

I was so anxious to see my babies but I wasn't yet stable enough -- my body just had had enough. Those precious recovery room nurses saw my angst and one of them dug through the cabinet until she found a Polaroid camera. She handed that camera to Wade and told him to go get me some photos. Wade was so hesitant to leave me but he too, was eager to see our babies. I needed him to go to them. He came back with my first visual of the little people I had been talking to for months. I have never loved three photos more.

I would be wheeled down to meet them myself 24 hours later when it was deemed safe for me. They were the most beautiful little bitty things I had ever seen.

Those tiny babies would spend the next weeks in the NICU where one would have a good day, one might stay steady, and one would take two steps backwards all before switching it up the next day. I very vividly remember thinking that as long as the days in that NICU felt, I was going to blink and they were going to be grown up. And I was so very right.

Today, they are finishing their final semester of college. All three of those babies who spent their childhood doing every single thing together -- will graduate in just a matter of weeks. And all three of those babies who were born almost three month too early, make me so proud I could burst!!!

They better be ready to celebrate the 22nd Anniversary-of-the-first-time-I-got-to-see-them-with-my-own-eyes tomorrow -- because that is totally a thing!

Buzz, my three, and the little sister!

Happy birthday, Benjamin, Mason, and Claire! You are seriously more loved than you can ever imagine!

Knit one, purl what?

If you hang out on any of my other social media -- you have seen one or a hundred photos of my yarn obsession. I have been crocheting for a few years but last month, I began to take knitting classes. And while my children have warned me that this statement might age me ten years are so, I am not afraid to say, I am obsessed with knitting. Obsessed.

Bless Beverly at The Southern Needle. Bless her. She showed me the basics and told me to practice by making a washcloth. And I said, ok, but then what?

I currently have three projects going:

A beautiful scarf where I am learning this amazing feather and fan pattern! I stop every few minutes to show it to my family needing their oohs and ahhs. (You might imagine how thrilled they are!)

I am actually much farther along now...but I was so amazed at this stage, I had to capture it on my camera!

A knit-a-long Christmas throw where I am learning new patterns with each block and just having a delightful time seeing the patterns that appear as I knit! Honestly, it is so much fun!

And because, my dear teacher couldn't refuse me when I begged her to show me how to knit a hat at my last class...this:

Look at how the yarn is making stripes appear in the stitching? Isn't it delightful?

Except,  you see, it is large enough for a not-so-small animal to wear. It is huge. Cate tried it on and it went OVER her head and down to her neck.

And so, right after I took that photo. I pulled my yarn and undid the entire thing. All of it. And tonight, I began again.

And as I sat waiting on my Little Red to finish theatre rehearsal, I started over a total of three times before I FINALLY feel like I am on the right track. And as I sat there knitting, I wondered why I wasn't completely frustrated. I wondered why I didn't want to chunk this yarn and move back to my scarf. Honestly, I wondered why something that should by rights be making me crazy with frustration, was actually doing just the opposite. I was enjoying every single moment.

And it hit me.

We are at once in the middle and on the cusp of more changes than my mind can even grasp. Wade is already in Delaware, we close on our new home there later this week. We are in the throes of applying to schools for Little Red. And the triplets -- deep breath in, and out --  are preparing for college graduation! Our family time is rapid bites. We cram in as much quality as we can in far too little quantity. And some times, those quick visits are marred by some misunderstanding, or a misspoken word, or frustrated teen. And some times those visits are marred by a mama who desperately wants to rip the stitches back to a time when all my ducks were under the same roof, and ahem, I was in some semblance of control.

Beautiful then, that today I am reminded of my favorite Psalm:

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful.....all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." Psalm 139:14, 16a

God's got this. He is a master knitter (You saw that, right?), never having to rip stitches back to begin again. Isn't that a relief?

I can't promise I'll get there right away. I might still want to rip the stitches back a bit -- if not to when my four were little bitty, then at least to the beginning of EVERY weekend, where I let my emotions flaw the time. But there is such assurance in knowing that I am not capable of marring God's perfect plan. He has already knit that story together. He has already knit ME together!

So if you need me, I'll be here knitting. And with each stitch, I will be praying for all the decisions facing my crew in the days ahead. And I'll be calmed by the repetition, and buoyed by the challenge, and reminded with every single stitch that God's got this.

Isn't that so amazing?

A complete Daddy's girl.

He called me his angel. My crib stood at the foot of his and my mom's bed in the German apartment we lived in during dad's military service. I apparently learned quickly to climb the railings and launch myself onto their bed in the middle of the night so that I could sleep snuggled as close to Daddy as I could possibly get.

I never grew out of wanting to be that close to my Daddy.

I went to work with him during the summers. I waited for those days -- I loved riding beside him in his truck and helping him unload the merchandise for each store. I felt so important when he handed me his feather duster and let me clean the shelves while he made his orders for the next week. But the best part of the day, when he and I would sit down and enjoy our little packed lunch -- often a pack of Nabs (his favorite thing) and a coke. In my head, we had amazing conversations....but somehow I am fairly certain that he sat and listened as I talked and talked and talked. He was always my favorite audience.

Tomorrow marks 24 years since I had him here. Twenty-four years without him to share Nabs. And 24 years without his making me feel like my every word mattered. Twenty-four years since he called me his angel.

I miss you, Daddy. Every single day.

No need for pity. Thanks though.

Cate's class was scheduled for a "community service day" a couple years ago and she was so excited. So when she got into the car upset the day before the service day, I was baffled.

"Mom!" She said, "We are working with our same grade tomorrow at the community school we are visiting."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Yea, Mom, and I don't think we should call that SERVICE! That might insult them. If they were say in KINDERGARTEN then it would be ok to call it service. But they are OUR AGE!!!"

Ah, well, I started and stopped. I took a deep breath. I started again. Finally, I just looked at this child who was far brighter than her age and told her she was absolutely correct. I suggested she just try to make new friends and enjoy the day. She should take the word "service" out of her mind and view the day as "networking."

That interchange with Cate has been resonating in my head lately. Part of moving around the country means we have had many opportunities to meet new people, to experience different communities -- some large scale and some smaller. And without fail, we reach a point where our people fall into a few categories:

1. Those who truly just get us. Oh, they see the obstacles our family has faced and is facing but they just saddle up next to us anyway. They aren't looking for reward -- just for some reason they see something in one or more of us worthy of friending. Isn't that a blessing? I thank God every day for those willing to walk with us in friendship.

2. Those who want to get us but are just a little bit confused: This happened often when the kids were younger -- people who thought it would be "good" for their children to hang around my children. Oh boy. Can you imagine for a minute how it feels to be told that "I like having your boys play with mine. Mine need to realize how lucky they have it." Can you feel the pain of that?

3. And finally...those who want to make us a project: They might as well label us "Community Service Project". Believe it or not, I know that it was one lady's religion -- she would not allow me to "thank" her for her assistance because that would negate the good she did in helping us. I am serious.

But usually it is much more subtle than that -- people see us and think we need help. Oh please don't get me wrong, sometimes we do. If you want to grab the door for Benjamin, we are so appreciative. If you want to move some seats so he can gain easier access to the theatre, church, movie. Please do.

But if you are being kind because it makes you feel good about yourself to help my poor pitiful family then please do us a favor and walk away.

If you have no interest in knowing us but feel compelled to "serve" us -- please hear me when I say we are good. I know your heart is more than likely in the right place but for goodness' sake, you acting out of some belief that you have life better than we do, really doesn't help us.

When the triplets were four years old, we were in line to meet Cinderella at Walt Disney World. The Fairy Godmother saw an adorable little girl in her Cinderella gown, one little boy in his walker, and another using his little power sticks. She motioned for us to come to the front of the line.  Wade and I urgently shook our heads no. We were willing to stand in line. We were fine. But the parents in line in front of us had noticed and those moms and dads parted like the Red Sea motioning us through.

I wept all the way to Cinderella. I cried tears of sheer gratitude for the families that recognized the challenge for my boys to stand for a long time. Please don't misunderstand me, I was extremely grateful.

But even then, part of me was afraid that those families just felt pity for us and I just couldn't handle that. So I cried some more.

The Cinderella families were the first but there have been other seasons where complete strangers have reached out to meet the needs of our family -- to yes, serve us. They have brought meals during surgeries, sent care packages during recovery, loved us well in hard hard times.

And so I keep wondering about the difference. What makes that ok and the other -- the ones who act like they want to befriend us as a project -- different?

I kind of think it is almost fly-by service -- those who know of us through one group or another and choose to sign up for a meal, etc. There is just good-heartedness with no real need for return. (Wow! Aren't those givers amazing??)

Alternately, the ones who seem to want to be our friends as a project have a distinct sense of condescension towards us. You can feel not only the pity but the sense that it is because they are so superior in their family's lack of special needs that they feel beholden to care for my motley crew.

And so I feel a lot like Cate worried the community-school children would feel about her class coming to theirs.....I don't NEED to be served! I need to be friended.

A family who needs friends...maybe even football fans...but not pity.

By the way, when I picked Cate up after that day she jumped in the car eagerly:

"Mom! Would you believe I walked in and immediately saw one of the girls who went to camp with me last summer?!! We got to be partners for the whole day! It was awesome!"

Isn't partner far far better than project? Isn't friend the very best thing of all?

A Return to Mama Clara's Christmas. Deep deep sigh.

My first-grader self was desperate to be grown up enough to walk from my elementary school to my Mother's shop three blocks away. But though I listed all my outstanding qualities and abilities, my parents were having no part of letting their first born -- and at this point only -- child walk the streets alone ALL THE WAY to my Mother's beauty shop.

Months of begging and cajoling, with probably a fair amount of whining thrown in, they did finally agree however, to let me walk to my Mama Clara's house a block from my school. I would stop there, call my mom and report my safety and then proceed to walk the remaining block and a half to her shop.

Mama Clara -- my great-grandmother -- was waiting every afternoon with her door opened wide, a TV tray set up at her favorite chair and my favorite snack of Rice Krispies with a little sugar and milk waiting to greet me. We would chat about my day, her day, and whatever she was working on. Mama Clara sewed for the public. Her home smelled of fabric, pattern paper and always something yummy on the stove. I still long for her chicken and dumplings. (And have been known to just stand in JoAnn's inhaling repeatedly for the familiar memories the fabric section offers.)

It was to Mama Clara's that my mother made me ride my bike under the ruse of needing ice when my sweet family threw me a surprise party for my 10th birthday.

And it was to Mama Clara's I would go every single time I had an important date in high school and simply couldn't find a thing to wear. I would show up with pattern and fabric and she would smile and ask when I needed it. She knew it would be within 48 hours -- often 24. It always was. And she always came through for me.

When I first married, and Wade and I lived in Alabama, my daddy would make us leave on our weekend visits early enough to stop by Mama Clara's house before we left town. "You never know when this will be the last time you see her, Carol." He would gently admonish me.

She was the strongest woman I knew, living alone well into her 90s, gardening and tending her yard herself, she would gather her three daughters and all of their offspring around her every single December. Though when I was little our numbers were more than 50 already, she would make each of us a handmade gift for the holiday.

Mama Clara's Christmas circa 1976....That is Mama Clara sitting with her three daughters standing behind her and some of her grands and great-grands surrounding! (I am second from the right on the first row, btw!)

My triplets were 4 when Mama Clara died. God was so merciful to us in that the kids and I were home in Mississippi the week it happened. I will forever be grateful for the blessing of being at her home-going celebration and seeing all my family gathered around.

Mama Clara and my Claire. I named her after this strong amazing woman in the prayerful hope that my little girl born so very early at only 2 and a half pounds would have the strength of this wonder woman!

I had already missed a handful of Mama Clara Christmases by that point. Living in Chicago with three babies didn't bode well for easily getting to Mississippi for a luncheon in early December.

My family still gather in honor of our Mama Clara. Only one of her daughters remain. None of her son-in-laws. And she has lost too many grandchildren and grandchildren-in-laws already. But still, the numbers are large.

I missed more than 20 of Mama Clara's Christmases. More than 20 years without being where this extended family gathered. But that ended Sunday.

Aunt Dot with Mama Clara's grandchildren that could make it Sunday -- all but two made the trip! (And one was celebrating in heaven!)

My mother and her family that could make it -- Claire had an exam so my cousin Lisa's husband filled in for her in the photo (Oh how we missed our girl!) and of course, like I did for 20 years, Len and Talley live too far away to make the day.

My grandmother Ophelia's children, grandchildren and great-grands gathered with Aunt Dot.

Maybe because she didn't get a chance to know Mama Clara or my grandmother Brown, Cate has always been enamored with Aunt Dot. She wrote her letters from Phoenix and always always asks when she gets to see her again. This one would have made Mama Clara smile! (And I bet she would have cooked Little Red some of her famous salmon and biscuits!)

I took pictures of the others too, but hate to post photos without permission. Needless to say, our group has grown so big that Wade said I would have had to get on the roof to get a full family shot (Oh I would have done that though!).

But here is the thing: Coming home after 20 years is hard. The littles I knew once have grown up and have families of their own. Those wives, husbands and children have no idea who I am. There were some awkward moments Sunday.

I hugged some sweet cousins who were teens the last time I saw them but honestly thought I was hugging their parents until my brain did the math.

I met some precious new members. I grieved the members missing -- oh how I longed to know my Dad was playing Rook with Uncle Delbert, Uncle Jerald and Uncle Rupert in the next room and that my Granddaddy was in there harassing them all!

Coming home is like that though -- things have changed, moved on and gotten both better and worse. But when we drove up and my precious cousins, Lisa and Kaye, rushed to greet us and help us unload and navigate the house, my heart was full.

And when I pulled out my camera to capture the moments, I hope I helped some of the younger cousins realize that this amazing gathering is not something we should take for granted. It is special and dear and honors the woman who started it all. And I could hear my Daddy's voice admonishing, "You never know when you will see them all again." It had been 20 years after all.

Oh dear ones, may your holiday be filled to overflowing with family and love and moments that you capture forever!!

When the Sun breaks through...

I drove to north Mississippi and back yesterday. It was a first for me since our move but it wasn't for pleasure. I was worried and anxious and didn't notice the scenery at all as I urgently tried to get to loved ones in the critical care unit in Tupelo.

Coming back I had a bit more peace. The drive home less pressing. I had time to admire the scenery along my way. After ten years in the western desert I am still amazed at the density of foliage, at the rich greens that vary in at least a hundred shades in Mississippi. I almost had to pull off the road when I glanced at the thick trees on the side of the road just as the sun broke from behind a cloud and pierced the forest with the most picturesque beam of light.

I pointed and yelled for my kids to see. And then I took a deep breath. A deep sigh. It was exactly what I needed.

Butch Simmons is not technically my relative. His sister was camp director of the summer camp that employed me during my college summers. Miss Trish Simmons has mentored me, prayed for me, and maybe even disciplined me a time or two. In the more than 25 years she has known me, she has rallied prayer warriors for my family from sea to sea! She has prayed for needs in my life before I even knew I had them and she has shared her precious family.

When the triplets were born she was working in Hawaii and built us a beautiful family of prayer warriors there. But when she came back to the states, she lived in Clinton and because we lived in various areas around the country, when we came to Mississippi with our trio we camped out at my mom's house in northeast Mississippi. So Miss Trish found a solution, we would meet at her brother's house in our beloved Starkville. 

This perfect meeting place introduced us to Butch, his wife Susan, their daughter Hannah, her husband Wade.....it didn't take long before we would visit Butch, Susan, Hannah and Wade even if Miss Trish couldn't come. Or if they were anywhere near us for work, the kids and I loaded up and went to them.

Susans's job with Mississippi State athletics meant Butch and Susan traveled for Bowl games -- and of course so do we -- so we always spent those trips together as well.

Maybe it was because my daddy had died just a few years before we met; maybe it was because Butch resembled my dad in stature and spirit; maybe it was because he and Susan and their family  expressed love for my trio and Wade and I as we navigated the early days of diagnosis -- whatever the reason, the Simmons family became family. My children adore them and depend on their prayer cover, their wisdom, and even Mrs. Susan's ability to always have Bully show up when we come to her office! Hannah had her first child a few months before our Little Red was born and they behave like cousins. We have wholly and completely adopted these loved ones.

But this week, our beloved Pa Butch is fighting for his life. What he assured us was a simple hernia surgery has resulted in removal of part of his stomach, part of his esophagus and left him fighting a huge fight in the critical care unit. And necessitated our urgent drive north yesterday.

The CCU has this red phone. I am not a fan of this phone or the way the desk staff has to come over the loudspeaker to call families to the phone. The red phone is used for medical staff to speak to the families. Oh how our hearts jumped every time the Simmons family was paged.

My sweet friend Hannah had confided that she desperately needed a piece of good news. One call that said they had won a victory, a battle, a skirmish even. We had visited Pa Butch right after lunch because they needed to start dialysis and he could not have visitors during that three hours. When the call came over the intercom a dozen of us jumped out of our skin. As Susan, Josh (the dear brother who like us lives far away and our visits have never coincided...) and Hannah huddled at the receiver, dear Hannah raised an arm in what looked like a victory salute. Then just to clarify, she raised it again with a huge thumbs up.

We could breathe again as we waited for details.

She got her victory. Butch had tolerated dialysis well. There were some issues and there is a battle still to be waged but the little hill was conquered and for that we rejoice!

When the sun broke through the forest yesterday, it was a perfect visual reminder: God is always with us in this fight for Butch's life but the thumbs up from Hannah as she listened to the doctor was perfectly timed for everyone to keep storming heaven's gates with our prayers for this wonderful man. Likewise, the sun never left us today. It went behind a cloud but then, oh then, dear ones, it pierced the darkness in the most vivid and beautiful way!!

This has been a hard week -- between Benjamin's hospitalization (he is doing great now!) and Butch, we are weary and exhausted. But thankfully we serve a sovereign God who knows all of our tomorrows and gives us the strength to take each day.

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart." Psalm 91:4 (NIV)

We certainly appreciate your prayers for this dear dear man!

Skip Skip, Skip to My Lou...

I loved to skip as a child. Very few modes of ambulation felt as joy-filled as skipping.

I remember skipping out of Joyner Elementary school with my best friend Neece's hand firmly in my grasp. There was no greater joy at 7-years-old than a Friday night sleepover with your bestie (though I'm not sure we used that word in 1970-something.).

I remember my cousins and I skipping to the neighborhood pool every summer afternoon at 2 o'clock on the dot. With a dollar in our little grips -- 50 cents for admission and 50 cents for snacks -- we were absolutely gleeful about the afternoon ahead.

Oh dear ones, my heart has felt like skipping all month. First, I became an aunt for the second time on March 5th. Olivia's birth was such a joy-filled moment that I honestly wanted to skip down the halls of the hospital every time we went to visit her. 

On Monday, I became an aunt for the third time when a precious little boy was placed in the arms of my waiting brother, Talley, and his wife, Sarah! Such joy! (I don't have pictures I can share just yet.)

And oh y'all, this Tuesday, we closed on our Mississippi home in preparation for our upcoming move this summer. As friends stopped by to say hello, as the neighbors all around us popped over to introduce themselves, as my cousin brought the sweetest pillow to christen the house -- you guessed it, I wanted to skip. I wanted to skip right through the neighborhood squealing the whole time. (I didn't. I didn't want to scare those welcoming neighbors to death.) But hear me, the delight was coursing through my veins and I felt that overwhelming feeling of skipping in the sunshine!

One day when we were barely 8, my dear friend and I were skipping out of the school when an older boy stopped us cold. He called us a name that neither of us knew the meaning of but his message was crystal clear: we were odd for the skipping. He squelched our joy that day and made us rethink our behavior every day after.

On occasion, my cousins and I would skip to the swimming pool to find a CLOSED notice on the gate. The pool needed repairs or had a swim meet being held. I still remember the sharp pang of disappointment such a notice would bring to our day.

When joy is brought up short, the hurt is powerful. When a skip turns to a slump -- well, there is pain.

Wednesday brought us that pain.

My dear darling sister-in-law (oh those words don't do it justice...I picked this wonderful woman to be my brother's wife and God has blessed us all with her addition to our family) at two weeks postpartum began experiencing some very frightening symptoms. Her mother rushed to get Olivia and my baby brother Len rushed her to the Emergency Room, no doubt saving her life.

Stephanie has been diagnosed with Postpartum Cardiomyopathy. Her heart is sick and strained from the pressure pregnancy places on a woman's body. She is comforting us all from her hospital bed -- true to her personality -- but our skip has been stunted.

Sweet Olivia misses her Mommy. And though my phone just lit up with the news that Stephanie will be discharged later today, we know the next two months are critical for her body to recover.

With her permission, I am sharing. And with my heart laid bare, I am begging you to join us in prayer for Stephanie's full recovery. We serve a God that cares about all the details and one who encourages us to boldly come before the throne with our requests. I am crying out to Him for my sister, for this young mother who wants to be 100 percent for her beautiful Olivia.

Will you help me restore the skip?

2, 5, 6, 3?

We're traveling this week. It is related to our upcoming move and only one child needed to travel with us. Now, you can do the math....Wade and I plus Little Red....three. We have never been just three. Never. When you have triplets, you go from two to five and then we added one so we went from five to six. Never have we been just three.

It is odd. Weird. And truth be told, I was a little weepy today thinking that when my crew go to college this will be more common than not. Oh. My. Heart.

I found myself explaining almost apologetically to a woman on the elevator who had two kids...."Oh, I usually have a lot more kids with me....." Why did I feel the need?

Cause my heart....part of my heart is not here with us. Shoot. I like six. I really really like six.

Counting What Counts

I'm writing for 31 days about Counting What Really Counts. I do hope you'll join me.

Day 1: Scroll Down
Day 2: What do you mean a walker?
Day 3: Count on God to bring wise counsel.
Day 4: Whether the weather is nice or not is not what counts. Really
Day 5: Sorting and Counting Loads of Laundry
Day 6: When counting takes effort. Lots of effort.
Day 7: Counting a sweet memory as a keeper!
Day 8: Counting victories rather than fears!
Day 9: Counting Princess Hats and Superhero Masks -- Not Mismatched Shoes!
Day 10: Counting on discipline to produce amazing young people!
Day 11: Counting Maroon Memories!
Day 12: Learning to NOT count expectations!
Day 13: Counting smiles not surgeries.
Day 14: Counting the Accomplishment -- Not the six hours at the DMV!
Day 15: Counting spoonfuls!
Day 16: Counting Mountains Moved!
Day 17: Counting two grandmothers with a thankful heart.
Day 18: Counting more than steps.
Day 19: Counting Emotions as Lessons Learned.
Day 20: Counting Star Wars References...
Day 21: Kindness definitely counts.
Day 22: Using Exclamation Points for What Really Counts!
Day 23: High five for counting!
Day 24: Counting Pots and Pans.
Day 25: Counting wins. Or not.
Day 26: Counting Pumpkins!
Day 27: Counting bottles, diapers and hugs.
Day 28: Counting Availability!
Day 29: Counting Memories and an S or two...
Day 30: Counting Tissues or Counting Cuddles!
Day 31: Counting Giggles, Bubbles and the Gift of Friendship!





February 9, 1999 --  "I'm here but Lord help me I'm wondering if I will be around much longer. These precious (and I would underline that word if I could) children of mine are making me crazy! Mason woke up screaming a little over an hour into their nap time. They should be getting 2 1/2 - 3 hour naps right now in order to be in their best form. Well, Mason woke Benjamin...Claire slept through it it all. I had to get the boys up and start feeding them lunch while the angel finished her nap. They played well briefly before Benjamin started crying and hasn't stopped. I came to get on the computer because I needed a break. He is in a frustrated mood and just wants to cry. (Of course it probably has everything to do with the tiny nap he took!) He's saying something but I can't understand it very well...I think it is "outside" which means he wants to stand on the couch and look outside but he needs to play and move around! I am really having a nervous breakdown here. You need to know that. Claire, meantime, is taking all my stationary apart on the floor, so I better go be Mommy again. Some days...."  

Today I am jumping off a cliff of sorts -- I have signed up to meet you here every day for the month of October -- a writing challenge by home blogger, Myquillyn Smith, the Nester. I am at once thrilled and terrified but here I am saying it, typing it and finding a way to make a link button. I think I'm committed! 

For 31 days, I'll be here Counting what Counts. Y'all know that counting my joys is what gets me through all the days, but this month I really want to delve into the power of looking at the things in our life that really matter.

My triplets were born in 1997 -- long before I knew blogging was a thing. I could have used the catharsis of writing a lengthy blog post from the bedsides of my babies in that Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. I really really could have used that.

Perhaps though, I had something even better. I had a friend. I had a friend with a computer. And my friend and I discovered pre-blog-world that long emails were a wonderful way to sort through new motherhood.

A couple of years ago my sweet friend sent me printed copies of those emails. She wanted me to see how I walked through the early days of parenting triplets, and even learning about two of my trio having Cerebral Palsy. As Benjamin, Mason and Claire are racing full-steam toward high school graduation in a few months, it seems the perfect opportunity to look back at our starting place, to see where my worries were then and how significant or not those worries are today. In all honestly, I am assuming that some of my worries are inconsequential now while others may have become our reality. But regardless, my prayer is that we will come to the other side of this exercise and at least a couple of us will lay down some worries and learn to count the things that really matter.

Certainly it is wholly appropriate that today is World Cerebral Palsy Day -- today -- this very day that the challenge begins. And while I won't be only talking about Cerebral palsy during my 31 days of writing, it is certainly the jumping off spot for most of what makes me me, and my family my family. And perhaps it is even why you join me here.

And just so you'll get what I mean...that crazy, frenzied, contemplating running away mom at the beginning of this post sent another email to her friend a few hours later:

"Just thought you should know that the break was what they needed...they are playing much better now. I think sometimes they just need me to go away."

Ah, and gain a bit of perspective? Absolutely! Will you join me here this month and maybe we will all gain a bit of that??

How I hope they serve birthday cake in heaven.

My mom can cook. I mean really. She is known for her desserts and if you ask anyone in North Mississippi about coconut pies, they will send you straight to Mama's house.

When the triplets were little and their Dad was in the throes of medical training, I would load our van and the kids and I would head to Mississippi for a week or so. After 12 hours in the van, we would cross the Mississippi River into Memphis and I would roll every single window down. Never mind that I was hungry for the smell of red dirt and magnolias, honeysuckle and pine trees, I needed to entertain three amazing but restless little travelers in the back seats.

Me: "Sniff, sniff, sniff. I think I smell them. What do you think?"

Claire: "It's Grammie's pies. She's cooking for us, Mama!"

Me: "What kind??"

Benjamin, laughing and kicking in his car seat: "Chocolate -- she knows it is your favorite!"

Mason: "Coconut, Mama!! And I'm hungry NOW!"

And we would sniff and guess until we had convinced ourselves we absolutely could indeed smell those pies baking just for us!! And the two hours of  anticipation was never disappointed. We would pull into Mama's house to find more than one pie waiting to greet us.

But as special as Mama's pies are -- as special as her cooking is and always has been -- there was one holiday growing up that only a store-bought bakery cake would do. There was only one holiday (well actually five in our family) that we didn't want her to cook and that "holiday" was our birthdays!

The very smell of a sweeter than sweet rose made out of butter cream icing atop a white cake (never marble, chocolate or heaven forbid cream-filled!) coupled with vanilla ice cream takes me right back to my childhood. It is the very essence of birthday for me. And my darling family blesses my heart every year to ensure I have a beautiful yummy memory-filling cake to celebrate my day.

My most recent birthday celebration...my hubby and kiddos do such a wonderful job making me feel special!

But once upon a time, I would barely finish my own birthday cake before we brought another into the house to celebrate my Daddy's birth. Our big days were one week apart and we prided ourselves in savoring the last bites of my cake just in time to make room for his! Oh it was a glorious two week ritual of celebration and love that just happens to smell like butter cream icing.

Tomorrow would be my dear Dad's 70th birthday. But instead it will be the 20th one that we have had to spend without him. Oh, I am certain the party in heaven is sweet. I am sure it is complete with butter cream icing and vanilla ice-cream. But I miss him. I miss celebrating together. I miss sharing our cakes. I miss...every single thing about him.

Quite a few years back...before I had brothers even.

And so today, as I really (really really) wanted to wallow around in some self-pity, I was instead instantly reminded that he would frown on that. He would not want me to wallow. So I started a list of all things I learned from that amazing man and from having to spend all these birthdays apart:

1. I don't take life for granted. I know this lesson was enormous when three years after my Dad died the triplets were born. I learned the lesson that no matter what obstacles life brings us, we are to celebrate their LIFE. Thank you, Dad.

2. I don't take family for granted.  My dad hated spending the night away from home. He treasured us as his family and preferred driving late into the night after having left early early in the morning when his job demanded it, to sleeping in a hotel on the road away from us. He taught me to savor our family time. He taught me to prioritize time with my husband and our children. He lived the value he placed on us. Thank you, Dad.

He showed us in every way that we were his favorite people on the planet. Unconditionally.

3. I tell people how I feel about them. Not one of us is promised tomorrow. I am going to hug you hello and good-bye and maybe 15 times in the middle. I am going to say "I love you" and "I like you" and "I am so glad we are friends." I don't want you to be uncomfortable but instead of stopping I'll just do it more often to increase your comfort (ask my friends in Minnesota.)! I don't know what tomorrow has in store, I need you to know I love you today. Thank you, Dad.

4. I tell stories. Oh goodness, I wish my sweet Dad had talked more about his childhood, about my grandmother and about his siblings. I want more and more and more but he wasn't the story teller. But I am and I tell my children story after story after story. They know so much about you, Dad. They can tell the stories themselves and often express how hard it is for them to remember they never actually met you on earth because they feel so close to you. I think I have accomplished my mission. But I won't stop -- there are new grands joining this family and I'll educate them too. I promise, Dad.

Only a year before he died...making family memories together at Opryland! 

5.  I learned to make my marriage a priority. Oh, Daddy, I remember your stays in the hospital. I remember how no matter how often I begged to take a turn staying overnight, it was Mama you wanted by your side. I remember the grace you showed sending her home to rest during the day but the need you had to have her back and by your side as soon as possible. Your love taught me so much. Wade and I both thank you, Dad.

6. I learned that laughter is often the best medicine. You were emotional the night Wade and I came in to show off my engagement ring. You had given him permission to ask. You and Mom had gone on to bed. I climbed right into your bed (that wasn't new, was it? I often did that after dates...) to tell you all about it. Wade shyly followed me into the room and you looked up at him and said, "Well son, you'll have to marry her now. You've seen my in my underwear." We all laughed and laughed. And still do. I  am grateful God gave us our Mason to echo your laugh in your absence. I am so thankful.

He wasn't ready to "give me away" but he had to...Wade had seen him in his underwear after all! :)

7. I learned that my words can encourage and bless. You called me your "little angel" for as long as I can remember. You showered me with the belief that I was a God-given gift and the blessing those descriptions placed on me and my life is something I can not even put into words. I pray that I have passed it down to your grandkids. I pray that they know what a gift they are. Thank you, Daddy, for loving me unconditionally, and always always seeing the best in me.

I could go on and on and on. On the days when I get this parenting thing right -- and that is not everyday but I try -- I am modeling what you taught me. I am loving these four with all that I have; I am searching for memory-making opportunities; I am remembering to be silly sometimes; and I am savoring birthday cake bought from a store and served with vanilla ice cream.

I love you, Daddy. Happy birthday in heaven.