If the eye shadow fits....

At the risk of completely making myself look old...I need to share that I was a pre-teen fascinated with "Seventeen" magazine.

I read every issue from cover to cover. I memorized the make-up techniques. And admired the styles. I pondered the relationship advice and took any and every quiz they offered.

As a girl without sisters, that magazine was a life line for all the questions my little pre-teen self had but had no idea who to ask.

As a result, I entered the realm of teenage-hood, with complete and utter confidence in my ability to pick make-up and apply it appropriately! (Please note that I am in no way saying this was earned confidence....)

Even with all that knowledge (smile), I still lean toward neutrals. Still hesitate to wear red lip stick. And still prefer blush that seems like a natural glow....

So yesterday as I pulled out my palette of neutral eye shadows, I realized I have never noticed the names of each color. Never.

And the names are the greatest -- I mean, I got tickled. Clearly, I love some Flower Child and Cate absolutely insists that I wear Firecracker every time I am going out at night (She says she loves the sparkles, but let's be real, my Little Red is ALL Firecracker!). But yesterday, knowing that I needed a bit extra attitude to get through the week, I might have used a bit of Rebel and actually let my brush hover over Leader....

There are days my boys need me to wear Activist but I should probably also always wear a bit of Funny Girl and maybe a bit less Smarty Pants. And though I fear I can't pull off Smokeshow, I do love some Sweetheart...and some days even feel a bit like Jetsetter works.

Oh I know it is just clever marketing, and I tip my hat to Tarte. But as women, I do believe we wear so many hats, and flex to so many different strengths in the course of our lives -- shoot, most of us flex to a myriad of different strengths in the course of our day!

And just as I hesitate before wearing some of these colors, I hesitate before accepting some of these roles. And yet, I have girlfriends who can rock the deep browns of Activist -- and who inspire me with their activism! They have started entire organizations to benefit their children with Cerebral Palsy. They are fighting the fight fiercely to ensure the world is better!

 I have friends who lead -- one who runs an entire agency that provides housing for those who need assistance. She can be stern when necessary, creative when that is needed, and yet hold the hands of those she serves. She could wear every color in the pallet.

There are those women in my life who crack me up and make me smile from ear to ear with ease. One sweet friend came to see me while we visited Phoenix. Our conversations are far from shallow, and yet she helps me laugh at the hard stuff and offers the best hugs to boot!

Can I encourage you today, that I see you and know that you are flexing outside of your comfort zone on a daily basis? I get it. I seriously love to just flat-out apply my go-to Flower Child and Charmer shades and sit firmly inside my comfort zone.

But even today -- with my husband in Delaware beginning a new adventure for us, I know that we are being called to get out of our comfort zone. For me, among other things, that means preparing to leave Mississippi, where I thought we had moved to stay. It means embracing the opportunity to serve the world of families with Cerebral palsy and perhaps wearing my activist role more often. It means leading my little family in embracing the challenge and the adventure of the move. And it means loving them all big as we are scattered near and far.

I should probably stock up on the eyeshadow. Shoot, maybe I should even try red lipstick?

Change.

"Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future." John F. Kennedy

Green Hills Grille was an amazing decision-making spot. Some might think it was just a restaurant in Huntsville, Alabama. But for Wade and I, it was a haven, a place where we could focus on each other and the myriad of decisions facing our young newlywed-selfs. (It is not lost on me that part of the haven was most certainly the fact that by being in a restaurant, we were away from our computer, our phone, TV, etc. Today that is not the case....is it?)

When I was considering a job change, we found our booth, ordered our favorites (I still dream about the way they diced the cucumber for their salads.), and went through the pros and cons of leaving a job that required me driving to a neighboring city every day for one that would require me giving up some of my writing dreams (temporarily).

When he was contemplating going back to school in order to take the MCAT and apply for Medical School, we discussed the ramifications over dinner at Green Hills Grille.

And when the time came to accept admission to medical school, we weighed the pros and cons of each choice right there in that same restaurant.

If we still lived in Huntsville, and if the restaurant is still there (Google can find one in Nashville but has conflicting information pertaining to Huntsville.), Wade and I would have spent hours and hours there of late.

Ultimately, the decision-making wasn't really that hard. As a family, we believe our role is to make the world better for children with Cerebral Palsy. As such, we have decided that Wade will accept an incredible opportunity at the A.I. DuPont Children's Hospital in Wilmington, Delaware. He will be taking over from one of his mentors and one of the leading experts in the field, Dr. Freeman Miller, who is ready to retire.

And yet, there was certainly a con list, as with any decision. And leaving our beloved Mississippi will be hard. I am so grateful for this season here where I could become reacquainted with some dear friends, have my mama a mere three-hour drive away,  and enjoy having my college-kids almost within arms' reach.

We covet your prayers for the transition -- Wade will begin after the first of the year, but the kids and I will stay in Mississippi until the triplets finish college. There will be a lot of airports, commutes, and no doubt tears, in our future.

If you need me, I'll be here, searching the internet for a Delaware house with a front porch -- I can bring my own sweet tea!

It is important to find your people.

When the triplets were looking at colleges, I just kept saying "please, go where we have people." I didn't want to limit them to driving distance from me. But I also didn't want to see them somewhere where it would take double-digit hours for a loved one to get to them in case of emergency. Our world is colored different than most, remember.

When all three fell in love with schools in Mississippi, I confess that my heart soared. And yet, even I underestimated the value of being within arms reach of each other.

Never have these three been apart. Not really.

When they expressed loneliness in those early weeks of first semester I tried to encourage them. First semester is chocked full of adjustments, I said. And being away from home tops the list. It is huge. I repeated and repeated.

I received more than one of those phone calls before it hit me: Of course they were lonely. Good grief. These three finish each other's sentences. They shared a womb. They shared cribs. They shared every single toy every purchased (Except when the "first day, you don't have to share" rule was invoked.). They had never been where other people close by to them didn't understand their innermost thoughts -- and share them for the most part. They are triplets. Of course, three different colleges felt lonely.

Mason was the last one home from the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit when they were born. He was barely four pounds the day he came home. It was still a week before his due date. And yet, when we placed him in a crib between Benjamin and Claire he laughed out loud! And then kept smiling as he looked from one to the other as if to say "I had been missing them!" It was beautiful.

Mason was also the one who was crying uncontrollably right before his first birthday when we traveled to Tupelo for the first time. I couldn't do anything to help. Claire -- sitting in her high chair between Benjamin and Mason -- reached over and touched him and said something totally unrecognizable to me but Mason smiled at her and quit crying. The three just sat -- each boy holding onto Claire's outstretched hands -- for the longest time, perfectly content.

So yes, the transition to meeting new people has been wonderful and yet, being away from their people has been a challenge. Having the ability to get to each other on the weekend has been huge. And so I am thankful that God directed their paths this way.

Having said that, it is a beautiful thing to see relationships developing on their respective campuses.

Benjamin says Phil Collins' song "Easy Lover" is our theme song. He thinks it is hilarious. Because of course, it is a reminder that Mom sometimes gets her tongue completely twisted around upside and  backwards! In one of our discussions about last semester he was sharing that he isn't sure if his new friends like him yet as much as he likes them. I immediately went into pep talk mode and in an attempt to remind him that he and I (and his siblings) tend to love people easily and quickly I said "You know, we are easy lovers."  To which he busted out laughing. And I quickly tried to switch around to "I mean, we love easily".....good grief.

Now we have theme song at least.

Benjamin and his cast from "Ghost Stories of Mississippi".

Both Mason and Claire went through Rush in the fall. I trusted the rush at Mississippi College where the girls pledge "social tribes" not sororities to be kinder and gentler for my girl. And for the most part, it was. She found a sweet place to be and I loved the glee-filled pictures of her on "squeal day."

But Mason and fraternity rush at Millsaps was a different story. I was a mess the week of rush. I had to suppress a strong need to take my books on Cerebral Palsy and go do an educational lecture at each fraternity. I wanted them to know that he is an amazing young man. I wanted to tell them that even though he is using an electric scooter to get around campus, he has always only used crutches to ambulate. I wanted to tell them that he has to overcome so much every single day. I wanted them to see videos of his theatre productions, his graduation speech (Have YOU seen that? You can click here to watch now!) . I wanted them to KNOW him.

I wanted to ensure they saw past his disability to his many many abilities.

In reality, I am probably the only one that needed the lecture. Because even without all that (all that interference from Mom that COULD have been but wasn't!), Mason received the bid of his choice -- Lambda Chi Alpha.

And as if to underscore how accepting this group of young men are....how vividly they recognize the abilities of my son.....on bid night, one of Lambda Chi's leaders urged Mason to hang back as the other members raced into the fraternity house courtyard. After they had all passed, this new friend jumped on the back of Mason's electric scooter and told him to GO...and these two triumphantly roared into the middle of the courtyard (as fast as the scooter can race) with letter jerseys flying in what was described to me as a glorious entry filled with thunderous applause, screams and shouts!

I wish I had been a fly on the wall.

No doubt transitioning back this week will take some getting used to. We spent the break fairly on top of each other squeezed into hotel rooms and ship cabins. It was wondrous.

But I am praying that just as I embrace joy for 2016, these three amazing college students will embrace new friendships, new experiences and the opportunities God places in front of them.

And then when they come home I'll have Phil Collins playing in the background with arms opened wide.

Deep Roots and Empty Mailboxes

The little boy was prodded down the street by his father. When he reached my mother-in-law he wouldn't make eye contact.

"I'm sorry I took your package," he said, shuffling his feet.

My MIL, Marsha, had no idea what he was talking about and looked to the father for an explanation. Apparently the son was part of a club in the neighborhood. The club decided that for initiation each member had to steal something from someone's mailbox. This young boy had taken a package from Marsha, a package I mailed her more than eight months ago. Hidden in his closet, the package was discovered by his mother when she was cleaning out for the upcoming holidays.

The maybe-9-year-old little boy handed the package to Marsha and she opened it to find the triplets' senior portraits and a hat crocheted by me. She didn't know how to react.

I did. My righteously-indignant self reacted first: How dare he? I crocheted that hat as a gift and the triplets' senior pictures were a big deal after all. Big deal gifts that I had mailed to my mother-in-law more than eight months ago! (And anyone who knows me knows that just the fact that I MAILED something is a big deal -- getting things to the mailbox is not my strong suit.) Eight months. Oh, I could help the Mother clean out his closet -- I would clean out that closet.

My rule-abiding self reacted next: Does he know he broke the law? I mean seriously. The. Law.

But about the time I was ready to lock the poor child up, my broken self reacted. Oh, this poor child, this poor little boy willing to do whatever it takes to fit in, to find a group to call his own.

And I wanted to wrap my arms around him and give him a great big hug. Or at the very least smile at him and say I get it. I really get it.

Because this finding a place to belong thing is hard. It is more than hard: it is a challenge that rules so much of how we behave and so many of the choices we make.

You know we moved across country this summer, leaving everything my youngest had ever known as home and the place the rest of us have called home for a decade. My Little Red put the sticker for her new school on the back of our van weeks before her first day of school. My Claire's wardrobe was filled with t-shirts for Mississippi College at least two months before orientation. And I separate Mason's clothes into darks and purples because so much of his wardrobe is Millsaps-related these days.

The need to belong is strong. And even though they probably didn't even realize it, my children were finding their place, establishing that they belong somewhere in their new home state, their new home town.

I am blessed to have many of my friends from college and even childhood living here. I have reunited with dear dear friends and met several new ones. And yet, I feel the longing to be a part of the group, to be immersed, entrenched, intertwined in relationship that goes beyond the weather and the latest sports news. I want to know where I belong.

Little boy in my MIL's neighborhood thought he had found a quick fix to belonging. He thought in his 9-year-old mind that accepting the right of initiation meant he was in, he was a part of something bigger than himself. 

But the truth is that building relationships and finding a place takes time. It takes energy. It takes an investment of time. When one moves as often as I have had to for our career path, it is easier to lay shallow roots so they can be ripped up easily and replanted. But to belong, the roots need to go deeper. They might hurt a little. And there is no quick fix to digging them deep enough.

So I am here. I am laying roots. I am digging deep.

Maybe I should crochet a shovel.

Can you brighten the lights please?

Holding ice on my Little Red's ankle in the middle of the night, I was commanding the pain to leave this sweet baby's joint. Oh I knew it wouldn't obey. But sometimes, I think I can just will my children to NOT get sick; will myself to fight off a cold; and will all of our stomachs to resist mutant viruses.

Alas, my Mama authority had zero power over the pain that was keeping my baby girl awake and crying the night before her first day of school.

I had already tried bossing her around. You know, pleading with her about whether or not she was completely certain her ankle even hurt. Frantic for her not to limp to school on this her first day EVER to attend school that wasn't in our little home school room.

When I could tell it was swelling even under the ice bag, I began to beg God to take the pain away. Because in the moments between midnight and two in the morning, the worst thing I could fathom was baby girl limping into school, tired and exhausted.

Unfortunately at two, I began to fret that this was something else entirely. And by six in the morning, we knew she was sick.

At eight, I was still just heart-broken that she wouldn't go to the first day of school. I kept envisioning all the things she was missing out on.

And then, I pushed her around the hospital in a wheelchair for test after test before finally having to help her onto a surgical bed that was wheeled away from me for an emergency surgery to rid her body of an infection that has taken up residence in her ankle. She grew weaker as the day wore on and by the time she got onto the hospital bed there was no denying that she was hurting and very sick.

Suddenly missing the first day of school wasn't the worse thing. Suddenly, my perceptive changed completely.

And tonight, as I sit beside her hospital bed, I know that the infection was not just in her ankle joint but rather, she has an infection in her blood. I know that the IV antibiotics are going in and having some side affects but are prayerfully doing their job.

And I know what it means if they don't. And my perspective is all different and crazy and upside down from when my worst fear was missing the first day of fourth grade.

I still hate she is missing school. My heart is eager for her to join her class -- sweet young 4th graders who have sent her handmade cards, and had their mamas text me to send their wishes. But I am so thankful that the pain did not subside Sunday night and mask the only symptom of something horrible and harmful that was welling up inside her. I am thankful the pain stayed and prompted us to act rather than ignore. I am thankful that we acted fast, that we trusted our gut and our sweet Little Red.

And as I sit here, overtired and overwrought with to-do lists for the kids starting classes and moving into colleges this week (Benjamin starts classes tomorrow; Mason moves in Friday; Claire moves in Saturday!),  I can not help but wonder how many times I have willed something to go the way I wanted it to go with no clue of the bigger more important picture. How many times have I begged for an outcome that makes sense in my limited perspective, as God shook His head because He alone knows the big picture.

There is a scenic parkway that will be the fastest connection for Claire to get from my house to her school. We have test driven it and during the day it is breathtaking.  And at night...well, at night it is darker than dark. The first time I drove it since our move, I was alone and it was late. I can not remember driving in the dark in Phoenix. Ever. The sky is large and the city lights cover a wide wide expanse. Even if the strip I drove didn't have streetlights, the lights from the city would offer a night light. So you might imagine the momentary confusion of the utter pitch black darkness that is night on the Natchez Trace Parkway. I rubbed my eyes several times at first thinking I must be going blind right there. I could not for the life of me see beyond my car lights. Nothing. It was darker than I ever remember darkness.

I wanted my lights on bright but kept having to flick them down because a car would approach. I was barely halfway home before my head was aching, my temples were throbbing and my eyes were feeling so strained that I thought surely I must be doing permanent damage to my vision.

See I couldn't bear that all I could see was what my light beams illuminated. I didn't need to see more than that for driving and yet, I could not rest in relying on that alone. I struggled that night. I simply could not relinquish my NEED, my absolute NEED to see beyond the beam of light. I wanted more. What was happening two feet beyond the light for instance? What was happening in the woods to the side of the road? I needed more light. I needed more of the path visible. I NEEDED to see what was further ahead down the road.

Or so I thought.

I'm being honest here. I hate not seeing God's big plan in all of this. I lay awake last night trying to make it make sense. God, why am I not able to be home with my college-bound kids this their last week under my roof full-time? What in the world is the good of Cate missing the first week of school. Why why why am I not home to make sure Benjamin is ready for college classes tomorrow?

I am strong-willed and highly-opinionated. I like for things to go according to plan -- and more often than not it is MY plan I want things to adhere to. Tonight I have no control. My plan is a bust. I might as well be on the Natchez Trace with lights stuck on low beam.

Oh how thankful I am to know the ONE who can see all; the ONE who IS the light and promises to illuminate the path of my feet.

I can not promise not to fret again. And I can not promise not to want things to go according to my plan. But tonight I choose to be grateful that God's plan got us promptly to this hospital and got treatment for my baby. And because I am thankful for that, I must trust and be thankful in knowing that He also has a plan for the timing, for the taking care of all of us. He lights my path.

Even when I am traveling down the darker-than-dark Trace.

The routine is changing.

The routine was down to a science. I made a fridge full of bottles every night after the triplets went to sleep following their last bottle. I slept for a few hours and started our routine all over. Feed a baby a bottle. Feed another baby a bottle. Feed the third baby a bottle. Put three babies in their bouncy seats and try cereal, or fruit, maybe veggies. I played with my bouncing boys and my sweet girl and then one at a time, I put them down for a nap and was ready to do it all over again in just a couple of hours.

Did I mention I had it down to a science?

When we went for their first year check-up, their pediatrician asked how the introduction to solid foods was going. I almost choked. Solid food? That was not part of my routine. That was not in my science of motherhood. I had not only not thought to introduce solid food, I was now panicked about how in the world I would fit such into our daily routine.

I made grilled cheese sandwiches for my trio that night. Mason ate three entire sandwiches all by himself. Poor baby had been starving apparently.

Turns out, introducing solid food wasn't that hard. And changing to a routine that did not involve making bottle after bottle after refrigerator-full-of-bottles was kind of nice.

But the anticipation of changing our routine -- of changing all I knew about motherhood -- was almost overwhelming.

I am sitting on the cusp of everything I know changing again. Benjamin will begin his welcome to college week activities at Belhaven University on Saturday. Mason will move in to his dorm at Millsaps College the following Friday. Claire will move in to her dorm at Mississippi College the next day, Saturday.

And I will be left feeling as if we just changed to solid foods yesterday.

I made the mistake of clicking on a blog for mothers sending their child to college today. Oh it was filled with encouragement: "You aren't just finishing a chapter,"  the author wrote, "you are closing the book." What? What does that even mean?

Am I done with the mothering? Will they never need me again?

Honestly, I have no idea. I have no idea what motherhood looks like in this new chapter. But this I know: I am so excited for the adventure that awaits my trio. I hoped for it and dreamed of it and prayed it would happen all those years ago as I was rocking and making bottles and avoiding solid foods. And sure, I am going to miss them like crazy. And sure, our relationship will look different. Our normal will be new. But I don't think our book is over. Not even for a minute.

I mean at the very least -- they'll come home for my mean grilled cheese!

Because I am having all the thoughts.

The movers are at my house. My home once-filled with all my favorite things is currently in a state of complete chaos with most essentials already loaded on the big truck sitting in my cul-de-sac. I feel a bit out of sorts. Sigh.

Unrelated picture of Pluto...for not other reason than he calms our nerves!

But my brain is swarming with thoughts, dreams, hopes, fears, anxieties, philosophies. You know, the stuff that crazed, over-tired brains swarm with.

In no particular order:

1. The baseboards in our empty bedrooms tell a story about the life of the room-dwellers. I am cleaning and vacuuming and yet, wanting to savor the stories. The movers had no sooner removed Benjamin's bed for instance, before I knew immediately where all the rubber bands had disappeared to every single night during his orthodontia years!

The baseboard behind Cate's adorable window seat shares her love of glitter, rainbow loom and even some softball equipment!

I found feathers from theater costumes behind Mason's; and card stock and craft supplies behind Claire's. 

The cleaning in the midst of the crazy has offered a little reminder to take things slow and savor the LIFE moments with my four. Because, as corny as it sounds, those years are vacuumed up in a heartbeat.

Mid-Tournament Game -- this happy face means she made an awesome play!

2. My trio and I just finished The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis. Wow. What a beautiful book! We have discussed it and then re-visited the discussion repeatedly because it warrants so much analysis. 

Particularly poignant for me was the woman so in-love with her child that she failed to love or be in relationship with anyone else -- including God. I had to re-read the chapter and swallow deep the knowledge that I do not often get my priorities in this area completely right.

The visual image of this woman visiting heaven to decide if she was willing to lay down this obsession with her son in order to fully be immersed in heaven -- and her subsequent refusal to do so -- was a powerful spur to ensure I keep the right perspective on my priorities: God, husband, children, family and friends. (Really, you must read this book!)

3. My trio of graduating seniors performed in their final high school production this weekend. The words about this get stuck in my throat. I am choking on the raw emotion of seeing them perform, watching them shine and remembering, oh remembering the experience of this wonderful theater company that did not blink at included all four!

With Benjamin's beloved Physical Therapist -- she has been to every show!!

Flappers blowing kisses good-bye to my sweet girl....

Me and part of my super-talented crew!

His chair was not very 1920s....so the director transformed it into a "Producer's Chair"! LOVED IT!

Surprise going-away party thrown by the cast for my kiddos!! So so dear!

There are other thoughts -- thoughts anticipating the move home, thoughts of anticipating the first day of college for each of my three, thoughts of gratitude for the investment our friends and family have made in the lives of these little bitty babies born far too early 18 years ago. But alas, the movers are summoning me for assistance, the vacuum has sat idle too long and I think there is quite a disgusting mess where my washing machine once stood. Sigh. I'll be back. And I'm sure I'll over-share about all the emotions once or twice more.

For now....

Even Mama Ducks get confused in the rain.

When we travel, we each have our roles. It simply wouldn't work otherwise for us to gallivant around the country (and even the globe) with all our special needs. But Team Shrader has a system and from Phoenix to Starkville and even all the way to Argentina and London, the system has served us well.

My crew heading for Trafalgar Square!

My role is non-negotiable. I couldn't change my role if I wanted to. It is who I am and what I do. I herd. I corral. I bring up the rear to make sure there are no lost little ducklings. From the moment we brought three tiny babies home from the hospital, I have worn my Mama Duck hat with pride. I can count heads and put my eyes on my crew at fifty paces...and beyond. I snapped photos of my border collie skills all over London! They just make me smile.

Of course, I could smile bigger if my herding skills had not gone so terribly awry one evening. Terribly terribly awry.

London experienced rain every single day of our stay. Every single day. But for desert-dwellers, even rain is exciting so we didn't mind at all. Besides, we had timed it perfectly the entire trip. Only needing to walk in slight drizzly conditions, never an all-out downpour. Until our last night.

Parliament and Queen Elizabeth's Tower (housing Big Ben!).

After the cobblestones at the Tower of London were such a bear for the wheelchairs to navigate, we decided to re-think our trip to old Canterbury scheduled for Monday. We were getting mixed information about the accessibility of the town and the train tickets were going to cost the price of theater tickets to another show!

My crew barely thought about it for 15 minutes, another show? Yes, please. And so we booked more theater tickets and decided to use the free Monday exploring another park.

The gate at Buckingham Palace.

We dressed up and headed out for an early dinner, to be followed by our last theater show of the trip. The skies looked threatening but we were only mildly concerned.

Checking in with our tour guide Dad for directions!

Right up until the moment the skies opened up with very little warning! We rushed under a tree (another novelty for these desert dwellers) and hoped to wait it out. (In our experience, showers in London were short-lived.) When we realized we would have to walk in the storm if we were to make our dinner and theater obligations, we pulled out the ponchos and umbrellas and set off. 

Tower of London!

Darling Claire was pushing Mason and led the charge. Dad and Cate shared an umbrella in the middle, while I tried to protect Benjamin and his electronic wheelchair, under a big umbrella the hotel had lent us.

Leaving the Dr. Who museum involved lots and lots of walking to find an accessible tube station!

Reaching Trafalgar Square and the multiple cross-walks it took us to get to the point where our restaurant stood, I realized I couldn't see Claire and Mason anywhere. Not anywhere. Dad assured me they were at the restaurant already, probably getting us a table.

Westminster Abbey!

Except they weren't.

I am pretty sure I turned a violent shade of green. I knew the crowds at Trafalgar square were enormous. How could we have lost them? How would we ever find them? Wade took one look at my face, and said "Sit here with Benjamin and Cate. I will find them."

I was praying for them to not be scared. I was praying for ME to not be scared. I kept standing up to go find them myself....but Cate would look at me and say, "You can't leave us, Mama." And so I would sit back down.

What felt like hours -- but Wade assures me was mere minutes -- later, Wade came in and said he had found them.

Unfortunately, there were TWO restaurants in Trafalgar Square with the same name....they were getting us a table at the other one.

Mature teenagers taking charge of the situation. They got out of the rain and were even getting our table and ordering beverages.

I wanted to strangle them for their responsibility that took them out of my line of sight.

I wanted to hug them for not being lost -- and for being so responsible.

In the end, I just took a deep breath and ordered dinner. Fish and chips can solve any dilemma.

So, maybe I am not a good herder in the rain....or maybe I need to accept that three of my crew are growing up and need less and less herding from me.

Or maybe, just maybe (and oh, I like this option this best) I should turn around and head back to London to practice herding in the rain a bit more!! Who's with me??

The day my baby moved out. (Brother, that is.)

My brother moved out of my house today. The reason is exciting -- he is getting married next month and is getting the home set up for his lovely bride. We love Stephanie and are thrilled for them to begin this next journey.

But I am sad.

I was 11 when Len was born. He was only in first grade when I left for college. I missed him then. And if the letters I have stored away are any indication, he missed me too! (My favorite was just three words: "Love. Cry. Len.")

Talley and little Len.

Eight years ago, after Cate was born, Len was ready to enroll at New Orleans Theological Seminary. He was literally driving down for an orientation when he received a phone call from the school telling him to turn around a hurricane was headed toward New Orleans. Katrina.

It was then that Wade offered him our spare room. New baby, three nine year olds and a surgeon's schedule are not a good combination. Wade asked Len if he would help me with lifting Benjamin, etc and in exchange we would help him go to school. He agreed.

Teaching Baby Cate to wash cars.

When he arrived with all his belongings in the back of his white truck, the three of us sat down and had a long conversation. We knew there would be challenges with three adults and four kids under one roof. We decided to try it for six months and re-evaluate. But after a year, if Len liked it in Phoenix, he would get his own place. One year. Max.

I giggle. Cate was six months old when her uncle moved in. She just celebrated her 8th birthday.

Len and Mason clowning around at Disneyland....one of our great trips!

Uncky and Jessie the yodeling three year old!

It was just so good, we didn't think it should end. He was going to school, enjoying the crazy of having a big family around him -- as the baby he had not experienced that at home -- and we were loving having Uncky with us. It never occurred to us that it should end.

And so today, with all the Len-stuff gone from my house, I am missing my baby brother already. Thank goodness he will only be down the road a bit and promises to come visit.....

Proof he will do anything Little Red asks him to do -- even perform as the evil Stepmother in Cinderella!

Thank you, baby brother. Thank you for making memories my children will never forget -- tea parties and video game tournaments while Wade and I traveled; always being willing to play in the pool no matter who asked; and changing every single light bulb when they burned out. You wore silly hats when I asked...

And celebrated with pumpkin cakes when that is what your niece insisted you would love....

You have helped me more these past few years than I will ever be able to thank you for.

And you have accomplished a ton as well! I am so proud of you. So very proud.

I do expect you to be here often. To keep making us laugh. And to come in to be the villain in every birthday party mystery!!

Now go start this next adventure! We can not wait to celebrate with you and Stephanie! I am thrilled to add her as my sister!!

I love you baby brother. I am so proud of the man you have become and so grateful that God made me your big (little) sister!!

Cry. Love. Carol.