This began as a way to share photos of the kiddos with family far away. It has evolved into a place for me to journal and record our days, our experiences… through our own lens filter on our life.

It seems that what I have to say sometimes is being taken in a hurtful way. That is not my intention. This is my place to express my thoughts and feelings. Because I do not wish to hurt, harm or distance anyone, nor do I feel like I should have to stop exploring my life through writing, I am taking those thoughts elsewhere.

So, I won’t be posting here anymore. I think those that are interested are all Facebook friends with me anyhow. I’ll post pictures and all the good stuff there. Just thought you might like to know.

This morning was all about the eating kind. We were up and out of the house by 7 am. That’s a really big deal ’round these parts.

Here’s our haul:

Beyond muffins and eating lots of them as-is, I don’t have any grand plans for these beauties yet.

The boys had a grand time covering themselves in dust and dirt, stuffing their faces with sun-warmed berries, and playing with our friends we met up at the fields. I didn’t bring my camera out into the field with me, but trust me when I tell you that the image of Matthew covered, literally, head to toe in dirt, raspberry juice running down his chin, mingling with the dirt there to create a muddy, juicy mess will forever be etched my mommy-memory. Joy. Pure joy.

We were all prepped to go straight to Zumba (and child-care) afterwards, but the amount of dirt caked under nails and in diapers and goodness knows where else, changed our plans to have us head straight home to the tub instead. Oh good gravy, the dirt ring around the tub and chunks of dirt on the bottom of the tub… If the amount of dirt has any relation to the amount of fun had by all, then I say we had a very good morning.

Matty, after bath and nap, slightly miffed that I paused to take his picture instead of getting him more berries immediately.

Oh, those lips and those eyes! Couldn’t you just eat him up?! We do… hence the presence of the other kind of raspberries in our house, too. :)

Elizabeth hollering up the stairs to me, from the bathroom: “Mooooom! William put poop in the sink!”

Me to William: “Do not bite the furniture… again.”

Before I was a mother, these type of utterances would never have even crossed my mind as potential ways to combine words. Now though, they are hilariously and wonderfully part of my every day.

Odd, yes. To someone who is not a parent.

My heart is heavy this morning with a story that is not mine to tell; of a friend who is a wonderful mother to four children and of her third child who was born on this day.

(Grace)

I cannot do her story justice because it is not mine. But I need to share how it has affected me.

(Grace)

Each year, on the day of their birth, I go throughout my day remembering each twinge, each deep breath, each moment leading up to the birth of my four children. During the day I find myself giving my birthday child extra little hugs, pats and kisses when those moments from a day gone by, pass through my memory and my body. Remembering the pull of the contractions, the tightness, the good pain that each time has led to the addition of another beautiful child to our family; this brings me incredible joy.

(Grace)

On this day, eight years ago, before I knew my friend, when she was about to become a mother of three, my friend was not experiencing this joy.

(Grace)

Three days before she had felt her daughter stop moving inside her. The comfort and reassurance of feeling your unborn child stretching and preparing for their entrance stopped for my friend. I cannot speak to any of the rest of that time for her because it is not mine to speak of, nor do I possess anything but empathy as I thankfully, have not walked her path.

(Grace)

My friend uses her experience with this ultimate grief to the good of other parents who find themselves becoming members of this club that no one wants to belong to. Her daughter is present in all that she does for these families and in so much of her daily life. But. But Grace is not here. There is no little girl here to sing “Happy Birthday” to as another school year winds down and summer activities begin to fill the calendar. There is no little head to pass by and kiss as she remembers the stages of her labor and birth. And for all that and so much more, my heart aches deeply for my friend who is also a mother of four.

(Grace)

And so, on this day, I remember a little girl I never met. A little girl whose inexplicably brief time on earth has unexpectedly affected me to my core. A little girl whose name is not spoken aloud nearly enough. A little girl who brings light, love and understanding to many others her mother has the benefit of comforting.

(Grace)

But, darn it. I wish that I was getting my kids ready to go to her birthday party. I wish that when people see my friend and I together they were able to marvel at our eight children, rather than just the seven they see.

(Grace)

I am thankful and sad that I know Grace in this limited way. My arms and heart ache for my friend whose world was and is so completely changed by her third-born’s absence, but also by her presence.

(Grace)

Grace, you are missed. I missed you. I do miss you.

(Grace)

And so, my second baby brings me a moment of pause. I wonder at how quickly time can fly, at times. And in my (few and fleeting) moments of quiet reflection I am in awe of this still little person that grew inside my body and now moves about the world, losing teeth, all on his own.

He’ll still need me, even when he’s big, right?

Did we actually capture all six of us with our eyes open, in good moods, with smiles on our faces?

Why, yes. Yes, we did. (40 self-timer shots later. With William shouting out “Happy Easter!” for the entire world to hear!)

So here I am. I am simply going to begin again.

The idea of trying to catch up on previous events, happenings and thoughts completely overwhelms me. So I will not even try.

I will just begin.