Dependent.

One day at a time.

That's how we are moving forward. Just one day at a time. This broken foot thing is so very, very humbling for me. It's hard to explain how difficult it is operating on one foot with a big 'ol belly on top of things. 

The thought of another month or more of this is overwhelming to say the least. Of course I want baby to get to stay in my belly so that she doesn't have to spend time in the NICU and I want to be able to walk holding her once she's here! But I want her here alive more than all that. And it's the not knowing, the waiting and surviving in the mean time that's the tough spot!

Simple things are insanely hard to do. I'm so very dependent on others and that is so very, very hard. So humbling. I wish I could walk, even just a little! There are many everyday tasks that I took for granted before and now I'm just longing to do again. Bringing the milk jug to the table, preparing a meal, putting laundry away, organizing things,  picking up that little piece of garbage on the floor, and pretty much lifting anything, most especially my darling son right after he naps. I have a certain way of doing things and now I just have to let it all go.

Perhaps it sounds good on paper/screen to say that someone else has to wait on you hand and foot but believe me, it doesn't feel good most of the time! It would be so much easier to do something myself versus having someone else do it. I want my shoe. Can someone go get me my shoe? I can't find my phone. Can someone find my phone please? I have a doctor's appointment at 9am. Who can get me and my roller aid there? I can barely get myself a cup of water without it being a production.

Probably the most complicated is taking a shower, oh my how I empathize with little old ladies. Since I have no boot on and can definitely not put any weight on my foot, I have to do it all with my foot up, somehow. I don't need to go into details but I always breathe a sigh of tiredness and relief when I'm done and dressed. I am so freaked out about falling. It's slippery and yet a necessity. I never want to take another normal shower for granted.

The roller aid is much more cumbersome than I had hoped. It's quite heavy, I can't lift it into the car or (obviously) carry it down the stairs so someone else always has to. It's bulky, I have gotten stuck in a corner of the bathroom a time or two. When in use, it puts all the pressure/weight on my good foot/hip/leg so I have a limit on how long I can be on it. But it's always right there with me and it's handy. It has a belly bag so I can stick stuff in there which is nice. It is not for stairs, however, so bonus points for all wheelchair ramps! For stairs, I go up/down using one crutch and putting as much weight on the crutch and railing. Stairs are really the only time I am "walking" on my boot, so I have to keep them to a minimum. We plan the day based around getting me and my roller-aid up/down the stairs. I can't believe that's my life right now!

I have good moments and bad, of course. It's easy to get overwhelmed and frustrated and wanting to have a pity party. I hate how much more work I am for Greg and his parents, even Eli. They are all so wonderful with lovely attitudes about this all, continually encouraging me and not making me feel like the burden I am. So my woe-is-me attitude is all on me, I just wish I could hold my own for awhile. (And for the record, if my in-laws ever need in-home care, pretty sure we'll be welcoming them into our home as pay back!).

I know we'll look back and laugh at this insanely crazy time. Hopefully down the road we'll really be able to see reason and purpose in some of it (and even if we don't, that's okay). I know that God is teaching me about trusting Him and being dependent on Him and others, instead of my prideful self. Letting go of my way is hard but good. I wouldn't say I'm learning joyfully as I ought to, but I am learning. Plus I know I'm gaining empathy and love for others that deal with obstacles like this.

Greg mentioned something that has stuck with me. How we as a culture often look down on those in society that don't offer anything, those that are incapable of being independent. The special needs, disabled, handicapped ones. We think less of them because they are dependent on others. And as I have been given this opportunity to be mostly dependent on others, I am shown how this attitude is even in my heart. They do not deserve this attitude, this looking down because they can't offer me anything. We shouldn't love people only if they can give us something.

-Heather 

Perfect Foot Storm.

Oh dear.

You ready for the not-so-good news on my foot?

The foot doc sees this type of break all the time, it's the most common type. I was the fifth person he's seen this week with this same break. And it is most assuredly broken (and really, really stupid of me to limp/walk on it for eight days). However, I could probably make some medical books for the fact that I'm also pregnant in my third trimester, have a stupid blood clotting disorder that may or may not have caused a full-term stillbirth previously, and I'm living in a basement that requires me to go up/down stairs.

It's the perfect storm.

Normally this type of break would require a no-weight-bearing healing time. The cure is time with cast and crutches, no weight on that foot. However, because of my blood clotting disorder I need to have movement, have blood flow, which means no cast. And because of pregnancy, crutches are not a safe bet (they also put undue pressure on the abdomen muscles). Plus I'm not only dealing with normal weight, but extra baby-girl weight.

The solution the foot doc came up with is a different boot designed for diabetics that has air pumps to get it as tight as possible, a ROLLER-AID scooter for my left leg to get around so that I don't put ANY weight on my foot, and crutches for stairs.

My sweet left leg ride.

Sounds doable? I was optimistic... until I actually got said roller-aid and the darn thing is heavy and hard to maneuver. It's not like I can lift it up/down stairs or in/out of the car. And I realized how very, very difficult it is going to be to not ever put any weight on my left foot and be able to live normally for the next six weeks, give or take. I felt like this was manageable with a boot I could walk on, cumbersome but doable. This not walking on it at all? Quite a bit more complicated.

So I have to be almost completely dependent on other people until this foot heals. And since I also have the most adorable two-year-old dependent on me, that means his care is now mostly up to someone that can actually pick him up. This is so very, very humbling and very hard. A lot of this is coming down on my dear mother-in-law since Greg does have to work. She is really having to do everything, bless her heart (in the most sincere way). This all is really taking away from her getting to care for Greg's sister who is still recovering from her emergency c-section and learning to care for a newborn (read: she could use her mommy big time right now). And even though my MIL is a crazy energetic superstar, she is only one person. Grandpa will be a big amazing help as well, but he also has a job he must do.

They had NO IDEA what they were getting into when we pulled into town! Pretty sure there isn't a thank you card big enough for all this.

But more than all that, the hardest is probably the fear for what this could mean for baby girl. The fear of getting a blood clot in the umbilical cord or elsewhere that could kill her... oh that fear is heartwrenching. The fear and worry were there before but it seemed a bit more far-fetched. When you hear it from a doctor, hearing that it's very much a valid concern, that's hard, friends. I know the Lord is asking me to keep trusting Him for each day with her. I thought I was doing that... but these trusting lessons are constant ones it seems.

Another hard part of this is I felt like we were just about getting to settle and start having fun making a life here, getting into a groove living in Bismarck, living with Greg's parents, etc. We had only been here ten days before the foot incident caused a set-back, one I thought wouldn't get in the way THIS much. And now this is our foreseeable future, a bum foot that's cure could be the thing that hurts our baby.

Uff-da. Times 10.

Obviously I told the doctor she (our dear, sweet, yet-unnamed baby girl) was a priority over my foot and he is trying to make it the best for both (alive baby plus allowing my foot to heal this way versus having to have surgery and stick a pin in it later). I have an appointment with my OB-GYN tomorrow so we'll see what she says about the broken foot and how she wants to proceed from the baby side of things. And in two weeks I'll go back for another set of x-rays to see how the foot is healing.

What a ride. (Literally, how old do I look scooting in that thing?)

-Heather

Half There.

I wrote most of the below detailed post about Eli last Friday. I wanted Greg to read it before posting it on his birthday Saturday. Around 2am Friday while Eli was crying next to me in my bed, I actually laughed out loud because I recalled writing "I love Eli's sleeping right now." He had a HORRIBLE pre-birthday night.

Midnight rolled around (so technically his birthday) and he ended up in the bed with me with Greg then on the couch. We assumed he was some sort of sick. I figured one of three things:  his friend he was with earlier that week had just come down with some stomach bug that night (his mom texted me to say they wouldn't be coming to the party), or Eli was allergic to the dog/cats at the house he spent three hours at earlier that day, or it was indigestion from the fact he ate basically just chick-fil-a nuggets for supper (parenting fail). He kept moaning or whining every twenty minutes or so and his stomach was making crazy noises. Around 1am, I got towels all around him in case he threw up. I figured the party was cancelled and all the prep was for not. But after 2am rolls around and (gratefully) still no puke (and me awake concerned this whole time) plus no fever or any other symptoms, I thought it's just allergies. I think I eventually fell asleep around 3am for maybe few hours. Then Eli was up screaming while Greg and I sat there flabbergasted, even tried giving him medicine but he would have nothing. Calmed him down, back to sleep. Then he was up at 6:30am and kept asking for breakfast... which he got and had normally with no recollection that he'd just had the weirdest night ever.

We decided if breakfast went normally then the party would go on, assuming he wasn't sick. Minus a slight runny nose and him being a little extra crabby, he was completely fine so we did not cancel. We made that decision at like 9:30am while I was still in my pajamas. I had loads to do before 11:30am rolled around and the party started. So I had to "let go" some of my last minute plans and ideas for the party and what I was going to accomplish.

And the party came and went. It was fun but I am terribly bummed that I was so so very tired! I forgot what it was like to run on little sleep. Plus being pregnant... oh man, I was only half there. So all the hours of planning... and then to not get to fully enjoy it, ah, that is a bit of a bummer. There were some lessons learned for me in all this for sure. Saturday night I slept ten hours and woke up Sunday feeling like a new person. What a difference a good, full night sleep makes!

Why am I blogging about this? Well, partly to be open and real and show you that although the party was cute and fun... I was too tired to really enjoy it! I also was pretty crabby that morning, trying to decide what needed to get done and what I needed to just not do. Poor Greg. At one point later that afternoon he asked (while under a mountain of dishes) "Um, are we going to do a party like this every year?" I tried justifying it all, saying "well this was (hopefully) the last party Eli will have without his little sibling here" but he knows me too well. I just really like planning parties and I really like celebrating my kids!

This is what happens when you are way short.
Also I broke out a maternity shirt for the first time this pregnancy. 

He's pretty cute, eh?

Getting his own big cupcake!

All party details coming soon!

-Heather

First World Problems.

The kid is healthy again. It was really only two days of sickness, then two days of quarantine. Somehow that's all it took for him to become quite spoiled. Wow. Now we will have a week of detox from the selfish ways that have overcome him. Hum. I could probably use one of those too.

Perspective.

It's a really great thing, you know?

A lot of times I'll be complaining about something in my head. Maybe not out loud but in my heart, I'm rattling on about this or that. Sometimes I will be given a heart-check though and I'll say out loud "First World Problems." A few years ago I watched a video that this kid did all about First World Problems and it was good and funny and very convicting. The internet world had caught on to the term. And I think it's great terminology because most often what I am complaining about are just that: First World Problems.

Bascially, the problems you think are problems are trivial and you are privileged to have them!

Examples? I'm going to go from just off the top of my head today:

• My pants are feeling tight because I keep eating the Valentine peanut butter M&M's I put out. 
• I have to take my ironing board out of my closet instead of having one of those sweet built-in ones.
• I had to put on another shirt under this cashmere sweater because it's sort of itchy.
• I forgot to put my delicate wash load on delicate so I had to run to the washer after I remembered.
• While trying to see a text on my phone, I had to tilt it a certain way because of the crack on my iPhone.
• My ChickfilA fries got cold on the drive to my friend's house. 

No joke, it took me only a few minutes to come up with this list that happened in the last four hours.

I saw a quick video on facebook this morning that has third world people saying first world problems in order to raise money for clean water. Great idea and my favorite is the kid that says "I hate it when I tell them no pickles and they still give me pickles." Ha ha, it reminded me of my one-friend-who-shall-remain-nameless and myself, though with mustard or tomatoes or mushrooms...

Some more perspective for me happened this morning when I got a text from my sister captioned "Minnesota baby!" with this photo of our sweet niece Ava:

And I was quickly reminded of how just last night I was telling (complaining?) to Greg that I probably wouldn't get to take Eli outside today because it was supposed to be really cold. He laughed and said "don't you remember when we couldn't wait to be outside because the snow melted and it was 40 degrees?" I did happen to watch two different weathermen say "Thursday was going to be very cold but it'll warm up enough to play golf this weekend." Sigh. My perspective on weather sure has changed. It's 50 degrees right now.

Now go, enjoy life and all the first world problems you are handed.

-Another First-Worlder

It Depends.

I am very much an "It Depends" type of person. If you were to ask me a number of random get-to-know-you type questions, I most likely would want to start my answer with "It depends..." I don't know what that makes me... high maintenance? detailed? ornery? picky? I'll say I'm just specific.

If you ask me "beaches or mountains" I will say "It depends on what for..." (And truth be told, I'd probably choose the flat land/lake category over either). I'd say "It depends..." for "chocolate or vanilla". Same goes for "rock or classic, "right or left" and thousand other this or that questions. It's hard for me to make a full-on bid for one side when I don't fully know the situation surrounding my decision.

But one "this or that" is really easy for me to make. I completely prefer one to the other. I will always, always choose matte over glossy.

Hands-down. Matte wins.

Glossy is so lame. I really don't like it and wish I never had to have glossy prints made. When I accidentally ordered glossy prints and got them last week, I realized how against them I was. Do you have any of these wildly opinionated thoughts on seemingly unimportant things? Or is that just me?

-Heather

Slugs.

I know I promised a buttload of photos but life around the K house has not been conducive to accomplishing much of anything. Eli and I both got colds up in ND that went away before we came back. Then after a few days home, we got sick again. And the sickness came back with vengeance.

I went to the doctor today. I have the flu and a sinus infection. I currently have no voice. I really felt mediocre all weekend but today has been the worst. Advil just broke my fever and the drugs are working enough to type up this blog post... Though this will probably be the only thing I accomplish today!

So if you drive by Linda Street, don't judge that my garland is still out (and yes my tree is still up). At this rate, hopefully it'll be put away by February.

For now, here's a pic of the sickies during a happy moment yesterday when Eli realized that was him staring back at himself on the phone. Don't be deceived though, we are complete slugs 99% of the time.

-Heather

UPDATE: I woke up the next day with PINK EYE. Seriously.

Lists.

I am a list person. To the extreme.

I have always been a list person. My dad loves to recall the to-do lists I would make as child. Back then, I'd have them right down to the minute "9:05 - 9:13 tidy up a bit" and so forth. I'm really not exaggerating. It was pretty bad. I spent way more time writing lists than actually doing anything.

And um, I think I still struggle with that. I have a notebook that I've been writing all my lists in and I have a lot of un-crossed-off line items. Page after page I just keep having to rewrite the same thing because I'm not getting it done. Of course I have to start new lists, half-completed lists are no way to start my day. I swear I've written "figure out food saver machine" on my to-do list for nine months.

Today I had a little freak out moment in accepting that I cannot get all I want to done. I cannot do everything I want. If I only did what I wanted to do every day, maybe I could try to master my lists. But if I want to be a good mom, I'm not going to accomplish as much every day. I will not get to complete everything.

Why this epiphany? Eli has been consistently having a two-hour afternoon nap every day. It's been great. I was getting pretty confident in this schedule, this long stretch of daily me-time. Today? Today Eli took one 45-minute nap. That's it. And I had such a looong list for my time today. Some boring things (make appointments, go through mail), some fun things (finish Eli's personalized family board book, work on free photo book, get my autumn decor out), some needed things (make supper, use up fresh stuff before it goes bad/find recipes, pick up Cheerios from floor) and on and on.

I have to choose, then, what gets done each day. What's important. I want a nice completed to-do list every day. But I need to accept that in this stage of life, that's probably not going to happen. And that's okay. [This is me telling myself that's okay.] I have an Eli and I'm a stay-at-home mom and that's pretty fan-flippin-tastic. I get to be gloriously busy and overwhelmed.

Sidenote: I do choose to do some selfish things to keep me sane like Pinterest and blogging and facebook... I could cut those out and get some more stuff done, but for now, the good of those outweighs the loss of time. Usually.

So I was going to edit this photo. I have quite a bit of photos to edit and organize, actually. And well, it's not going to happen anytime soon. So you get this really gray-ish photo. Oh well. It's us. Happy, blessed and glad to be alive.

Now who is going to come clean up these Cheerios?

-Heather

Low Pain Tolerance.

I'm going to openly admit something that is a little humbling.

I'm fairly certain I have a low pain tolerance. I'm pretty sure I'm a wuss. I do not think I am able to withstand a lot of pain without drugs or at least, without a lot of whining, wincing or screaming in pain.

There. I said it. Now some of you may have already figured this out about me (yes, I hear you Amber, Mom). But I guess in my head, I always thought I was this really awesome Midwestern girl that could handle a lot. I was tough. I didn't cry when I got a little boo-boo.

You want to hear the (slightly embarrassing) story that caused my revelation?

Yesterday morning I made an appointment for that afternoon to get some antibiotics for a sinus infection I am battling. Later on I was talking on the phone with my aunt when she told me she had broken a bone in her foot. I felt so bad for her and then I started thinking "odd, my foot hurts". Later as it kept hurting I remembered I had dropped something on it the night before. I thought it was odd but I've had enough little owies to know that I'll walk on it and it should 'loosen up' and feel fine later.

Fast forward a few hours. I realized I may need the doctor to look at my foot. Who calls for an appointment for a sinus infection and ends up coming in with a banged up foot? But my left foot REALLY started to hurt. I called Greg and told him he may need to actually take me in for my appointment as I wasn't sure if I'd be able to walk. I could put pressure on my heal but my arch couldn't move up/down without crazy pain. I then put Eli down for a nap while I laid down, put my foot up to rest and type an email... by the end, I couldn't think b/c my darn foot was throbbing and no position it was in would give it any relief.

Why didn't I take a pain killer here? Why didn't I wrap it to apply some pressure? Why didn't I ice it for awhile? Not smart. Eli woke up, I hobbled in there in pain... even tried taking a few breaths and just sucking up the pain but it was too much. I got him and hop-carried him to our bed while yelping out in pain. Such a drama queen. I called Greg and told him he'd for sure need to help me get to the doctor's office... but that I just may be crazy b/c my foot wasn't even swollen.

Indeed my loving husband came to save the day. Got us to the doctor's office, wheeled me in (even though I did request no wheelchair) and waited with me. I told the doctor my weird foot story... saying "maybe I'm just crazy" which he said "well, foot injuries are usually quite painful". However, I must be a little crazy because after the (pointless) x-rays, we learned I did not break my foot and that I just damaged the soft tissue or tore a ligament. Nothing major. Most of me was glad for this (how would I take care of an almost 15 month old with a bum foot?) but a little part of me was disappointed because I had no justification for how painful it felt! I swear, it really did hurt.

After some pain meds, wrapping it and putting it up while I slept, it felt better already last night. And after a night of rest, I could walk with a slight limp this morning. As long as I'm not on that foot too much, it feels fine. Meds and rest. Sigh. Now I will eat my humble pie. I am not amazon woman strong.

I was so thankful last night for access to awesome medical care, drive-through pharmacy with access to good drugs, drive-through local restaurant with access to cheeseburgers... really, so blessed to live in America. We are indeed. As someone that apparently has a very low pain tolerance, I do not want to take these things for granted. I will probably need them again for possible future injuries, justified or not.

-Heather

Also, I added another 100 gold stars to Greg's lot. He never made me feel like a wuss, he took care of us well, never complained I messed up his day (even though he had an important meeting last night and ended up with no time to prepare for it). Love that man.

Vent.

This has not been a week that I would like to repeat. It just hasn't been very awesome.

Can I just vent?

I spilled a big 'ol thing of yogurt all over the living room carpet and rug. All over. The house is pretty disastrous too.

Greg broke my beloved pickle ornament my mom gave me. It shattered to a bagazillion pieces. He felt bad and did not mean to do it, in his defense.

I thoughtfully picked a bunch of photos to print and send to family and then they didn't upload correctly, just disappeared. So I have to take the time to pick them all out and upload. Again.

I visited a chiropractor for the first time on Friday. After a week of wincing every time I picked Eli up or turned my head, I'd had enough. Verdict is still out whether it was worth the money (plus the three visits next week).

21 months without Maelee. Putting away her ornaments. Wishing for cute tu-tu outfits for her... when life is hard, grief somehow arrives to join the pity party.

My friends shower was today which went very well. But I had planned on making these cute little felt owls and paper latern owls and I didn't get to. I know that's not a big deal but this is the type of thing I LOVE to do! Party planning committee? I'm all about that.

And lastly, we are sick. Our sickness is nothing life-threatening. Just a nasty, icky virus that has left all three of us tired, hurting, frustrated, annoyed and crabby. No one is sleeping much at all. Eli hates the bulb syringe with a passion. But the poor guy can't breathe. Doesn't want to nurse because he can't breathe. And to top it off, he has these lovely welts showing up all over, a byproduct of this cold virus. Oh and I can't take many meds because it'll pass to Eli and I'm not a very good sick-with-no-Nyquil type person.

So when I hear my Grandma (who not very long ago at her check-up was given a fairly clean bill of health and could have lived for many years) goes into the hospital on Thursday night and passes away two days later... it's just A LOT to process! She was my last living grandparent.

And last March when my Grandpa Ray passed away I was about 8 months pregnant and thus, couldn't fly to get to his funeral, I swore that whenever my Grandma died I would be there.

It's not looking like I'll be able to. And that.is.hard.

First off, I'm still nursing Eli so where I go, he goes. I would consider stopping now but the kid still nurses almost every three (day)hours and he does not take a bottle. We try but he just isn't a sucker. He chews on pacifiers and bottles. No sucking.

Greg can't come. He took too much time off over Christmas and he needs to work. So even if I left Eli here, we wouldn't have anywhere for him to go while Greg worked!

Traveling while you are sick and with a sick baby? I'm pretty sure I would put that on a no-no list.

And lastly, the hardest part, is we live too far away and we are trying to get to small town ND.

No flights were found!

It's near impossible to fly from our hometown, Columbia, to Dickinson. I think I could manage it in three flights, maybe?! We could drive an hour + to Charlotte, fly to MM and then fly MN to Bismarck and drive another two hours... but that is still two flights, one layover and two drives. With a sick baby.

There are times when I think of our family in China and all they sacrifice living there, most notably being away from family. For us It's not that far, of course, but today I feel like SC is another country as I'm trying to get us to ND! It shouldn't be this hard!

So it's not looking like Eli and I will get to be there to honor my Grandma and I'm so very much bummed. I just never thought I'd miss my grandparents' funerals.

Okay, I feel a little better after my blog-venting. Thanks, folks, for being my therapy today.

-Heather

Wait, I must say a few things I am grateful for, admist this not-so-lovely complaining.

Eli. He's here and alive and healthy and I'm never ungrateful for that. Plus Greg, he's amazing even among our pathetic week.

My grandma died quickly. She could have had a long sickness and have been in pain for months and months. Instead she was fairly healthy until Thursday when she was ambulanced to the ER for difficulty breathing and was basically unresponsive until she died last night. That's God's grace to us in this for sure.

Martha I Am Not.

If you know me at all, you know I love photos. And paper. And Christmas. And the post office. And writing.

So it makes sense that I really love the whole Christmas card and letter thing. I really do. We didn't do one last year. This year I wanted to do one that was so awesome when you opened it, you would see fireworks and hear angels sing.

At least that's how it sort of manifested itself in my head. I wanted to do right by Eli and make everything just so. Our friend started a photography biz and we hired her to take our pic the week after Thanksgiving. And I got a groupon last month to design and print our card (from a company I've never used).

Thankfully, everything went fairly smoothly. Eli was on the verge of a nap before our photo shoot but we got some good smiles (thanks Michelle). She got us the photos quickly and designing the card was fairly painless.

On to the letter. I had a great idea a few months back to "sew" stitches on our letter, for a cool, crafty addition to white paper. I could use regular 'ol paper, which I often get for free because of a sale at office supply stores (which I really like, they remind me of my old jobs and office-y life).

I wrote most of the letter a few days ago and finished it last night. I had Greg get the sewing machine down from the attic, which is no easy task. That thing weighs a ton. And it's up in the attic for a reason: I don't know how to sew. I have sewn in the past, but always with my mother right there (and most often taking over for me because I whined too much).

I don't even know how to thread the darn thing. I had written instructions on a yellow piece of paper that my mom dictated to me  a few years ago. Obviously I stared at that for a good fifteen minutes in wonder. I found some dated YouTube videos and learned enough to wind my bobbin. I accomplished that and felt like a rock star. I called my mom to brag.

I then tried threading the machine. I think I got it. It seemed to work, do what it was supposed to do. I was all full of anticipation and much pride at this point. I wanted to do a cool zig-zag sort of stitch. There are lots, way too many, levers on this old Singer machine. Some of them look like zig-zags so I was pulling levers and turning dials all over the place. My mom (on the phone) said I need to make sure my needle wouldn't break off if my whatchamacalit wasn't the right size. So I texted her a photo to get the okay on that (thanks, technology).

And I was off!

Problem was: it looked terrible. I tried many different types of stitches but none really looked that great. I think if I used card stock it would have been okay. But it looked dumb. And by the end, I think Mr. Singer wasn't too happy. The back of my paper was a red threaded mess! And even the few I thought could work, well, it would take waaay too long to stitch 120 pieces of paper. I don't have that time. Eli's naps are not that long.

I wanted to print the letter so I can try get them in the mail today or tomorrow. I didn't have any cool Christmas paper on hand, my stamp pads were dry, and we don't have a color printer. I had to improvise and quickly create a graphic matching our card. It looks grayishly alright but nothing, oh nothing, like the beautiful dream I had for my letter, all stitched and crafty and genius.

I say all that to say: often Christmas cards and letters just show the pretty outside of our lives. They most likely don't show what's really going on in our daily lives, in our hearts. That's the messy, the sinful, the stuff we are so desperately in need of God's grace for. A lesson for me, for us. Don't spend all your time trying to make your outsides flawless and perfect. You won't succeed. We are imperfect people, completely dependent on some amazing grace.

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and plate, that the outside also may be clean." Matthew 23:25-26

-Heather

Oh, and if you want a card and I don't have your address, get that to me please! I promise no fireworks.

Wha-lah.

I broke out some awesome today.

Why? A few reasons.

1. Eli had a great night last night. He woke up refreshed as did his parents. And with my extra energy, I made some food and took some photos.

2. Our good friend is sick. And in the southern tradition, I wanted to make her a meal. Note to self (okay, it's not self if I'm blogging about it): keep that tradition no matter where we live. It is such a blessing to have a meal made for you. In much of our suffering and some of our joy, folks have given us food. It makes you have warm fuzzies about people, humanity even. We all need some kindness, why not serve it up on a platter (or more realistically, tupperware)?

3. Pinterest. This blasted, sweet site has got me all distracted (thanks Linnea). If you don't know about it, basically you can "pin" images from any web site or "re-pin" from others on to your own little bulletin boards (that you create). I have boards like "someday I will buy this" and "someday I will eat this" and my newest "someday I will make my mom do this". Think recipes and do-it-yourself projects and design ideas and party things etc etc... an organized inspiration market if you will. I have only spent a few hours on this, but I've gotten all "I want to be more awesome" in those few hours.

4. Because of aforementioned site and links people post on facebook, I've come to realize there are a plethora of awesome blogs out there. Most of the ones I drool over involve recipe posting or crafts or photography or loving Jesus... but man, there are just some stinkin' awesome, creative, talented people out there. And I'd be lying if I said a little part of me felt disappointed, a little Brando-like "I could've been somebody", in dreaming that I'd could have been like the Pioneer Woman, etc. Yes, the pressure to be awesome after looking at just a few sites hit me. Frankly, there are way too many awesome blogs, I get overwhelmed looking at them all and just end up wasting time! For me, though, for now, I thought I could at least do little bits of awesome here and there, do what I can with what I have been given.

This all has resulted in a recipe post in the making and a few hours at Joann's Fabric/Craft store today... on top of me actually showering before noon, meeting up with Greg for lunch, a nice visit with a friend and some errands. Whew. 

Tomorrow I'll do my go-to soup recipe post for you. But to tie you over, this morning I had a super cute onlooker during my meal prep:

He is not old enough to be my taste tester, but someday perhaps!

-Heather

PS- If you'd like, I'll send you an invite to join Pinterest and start your own time-depleting yet highly-inspirational site, just let me know.

Now I Know.

Confession time.

Thanks to spell check, I rarely have problems with spelling these days. Ah, but spell check is not fool proof. I have been mixing up a few words for years. I continually have trouble with 'now' and 'know' and 'brain' and 'Brian' (I always have to check when writing to Uncle Brian).

Am I the only one with certain words that get mixed up in my brian... err, I mean brain?

-Heather

Kentucky.

Emily and Molly's momma (see below) and I spent some time together today. I forgot to take a photo of us like I had planned. We both wore vests today that would have made the photo even cuter. Oh well. We shared a chocolate brownie sundae in honor of Emily and Molly's birthday. It was quite fitting because I'm pretty sure that Maelee got to go to their heavenly party, and today on earth baby boy and I were able to enjoy the some chocolatey goodness in celebration of the girls. What I didn't tell you before is that Heather is also pregnant with her rainbow baby. She's due in July ... she's around 10 weeks behind me on this baby-after-a-loss-journey. It is a completely unique and hard-to-understand road that we are traveling every day. We are both thankful for each other, to lean on as we venture through this. And you can add that sweet baby to your prayers when praying for our boy. Oh how wonderful it would be if we get to raise our kids together! And here is the random story that I thought I'd share with you: After Maelee died, people sent flowers. Really beautiful ones. And thankfully someone else was around to take care of them and make them last and rearrange them (moms are good at that). But the funniest (well, funny now) flowers were the ones that were sent to us in Kentucky. We got a phone call from a florist in Columbia, Kentucky asking us for our address. Um, well, we live in Columbia, South Carolina. Well they don't deliver here (shocking!) so we didn't ever get the flowers. And they wouldn't tell us who paid for them or sent them. Privacy or something like that. So to whoever sent us flowers in Kentucky, thank you. I'm sorry you never got an official thank you in the mail ... but we don't know who you are. I'm sure it was the most beautiful, largest, most expensive flower arrangement known to man kind. And I'm sure this not-helpful, lame, and slightly backwards flower shop in Kentucky enjoyed it for us. Oh, and for all you Northerners, the sun in Columbia is shining again and I drove around with my windows down all day. Would you like to come visit? -Heather

Christmas Day!

Merry Christmas to you! We are in Minnesota enjoying looking out on a serious winter wonderland. During a very brief walk, I heard Greg say "I don't think I'm a North Dakotan anymore." Have we already lost our 25+ years of cold weather stamina? Yikes. We are doing okay our first Christmas without Maelee and our first Christmas with her brother. It's not easy. Certain moments feel like a slap in the face. But Christmas is a huge milestone and part of me is glad for it to be over... and part of me wants to scream and pout. We received our first outfit for the baby boy this morning... which is good since he's only going to get to wear a couple outfits of Maelee's! We were definitely ready for a baby girl. So much pink! And now we must gear up for a whole different world of colors. Whoa. -Heather

We miss you more than we can say today, baby girl.

December 16th.

We are really looking forward to this day. As long as baby is doing well, it will be another wonderfully special day in the life of grether. We get to find out, thanks to modern technology, if our baby is a boy or girl. Hopefully I don't step on any toes here but I'm trying not to live my life to please people (that's a whole sermon series in itself). I know some people like to go it old-school and not find out the gender of their baby. I was in that camp for a bit with Maelee until the practicality, God's grace and Greg's opinion swayed me. I have never been more thankful to be swayed. If I would have found out my baby died BEFORE I knew she was a girl... that would have made it that much more devastating. Because we knew Maelee was a girl, we were able to bond with her those four plus months in a unique way. Knowing we were having a daughter altered our perspective. If we wouldn't have known, we would have had to grieve with a whole set of different emotions (like countless couples did back in the day when stillbirths were much more common - praise God for modern medicine/technology). Since our time with Maelee was painstakingly short, I am ever so grateful we knew at least that much about her in the months we had with her. If only we would have had her name ahead of time! Silly us. I am glad that we talked to her, knowing she was our daughter, telling her what we dreamed and hoped for her, praying earnestly for her. And knowing she was a she, made it that much more personal. The story-book moment of the doctor showing you your new baby and saying "It's a boy" or "It's a girl" or "It's twins!" (okay, these days I don't think that happens much in the western world)... well, that scenario loses it's beauty when the baby isn't alive. I am not going to criticize those that don't find out, it's a personal decision and every couple gets the right. It's okay if that's the route you choose. We are partial to finding out. But if you ever find yourself tee-tottering with this decision, you can use my argument of "why Heather thinks you should utilize modern technology and find out the gender of your baby." I do recognize that some poor sap of a husband is going to be at a loss for words when the wife comes up and tells him why we must find out the gender! I'm sorry, it's a morbid reason but it is what it is. So we look forward, anxiously, to our December 16th ultrasound. I have no idea if Maelee's sibling is a boy or a girl. I didn't have a feeling about Maelee, either, so that makes me feel better as a mom. I will say that in the baby loss circle, almost every mom's rainbow baby (the baby after a loss) is the opposite gender. It's actually very weird... I have no official stats, but I'd say it's close to 90%. So just because of that, I think baby may be a boy. Though I would like to share Maelee's room and all her sweet stuff with a sister. But if God graciously gives us a baby to take home, we don't care if it's a boy or a girl! So join us in the anticipation and wonder and thankfulness in the next weeks as we wait until December 16th... -Heather

Boot Camp.

I went to a work-out boot camp today. I've never really been in shape... though I've had many valiant attempts including:

1. Junior High track team. Yes, I, who can't run and absolutely hates running, was in track for a year. Purely because all the cool kids were and I was always one to jump on any bandwagon. I ran the 800. I puked every time I ran it in full.
2. High School aerobics class with Mrs. Slagle: a total joke, I rarely broke a sweat even with Richard Simmons and his short shorts and abundant chest hair motivating us from the 26-inch screen in the middle of the gym.
3. Williston High School girls golf team. There is no fitness in high school girls golf.
4. Fitness for Life class in college where the only thing I learned was that I was out of shape and what DOMS are (delayed onset muscle soreness, thankyouverymuch).
5. Wellness Center at UND. I went to an ab class. Once. Oh the pain!
6. Curves our first year of marriage: I always felt really athletic and in-shape compared to all the old ladies who came to gossip...but I wasn't.
7. Free gym at CIU. I would go for a few days every once in awhile and rock the elliptical machine but the motivation would wane and then I wouldn't see the place for months... then not wanting to go on campus once my job was cut and be the walking awkward.
8. Pregnancy aerobics. I did a 20-minute workout most days starting in December. I did some yoga-type stuff as well to work on my flexibility thinking it would help me in labor. This is the most consistent I've ever been in making fitness a part of my daily living because I had the baby as motivation.

I am not an in-shape, loves to get up at 6am and run a few miles type of person. I don't like working out and sweating and feeling the burn. But since Maelee died and I'm still carrying around weight and no baby... I knew I needed to do something or it would just make me more depressed. And I'd really like to be able to fit in my pants! It's so depressing looking at the big stack of pants, capris and jeans and not be able to even squeeze into them. And I am married to Mr. In-Shape who works out nearly every day. Greg runs a few miles and lifts weights and probably has negative body fat. I don't resent him one bit but I would like to be a wife that enjoys doing sporty-like activities with her husband. And I don't want to become the tall, skinny man and short, plump wife duo (though sometimes that's such a cute combo). So today my dear friend, Heather (H1), and I went to get our baby weight off and get back in shape. Heather lost her beautiful twin girls, Emily and Molly, at full term last January. We've only been friends for a short time but we obviously have more than we'd like to in common... and she's been a great encouragement to me. It's nice to have someone else that's been in your shoes. And Heather and Marc don't have other kiddos (yet) and Heather doesn't have a job either... so alas, we can go work out in the middle of the afternoon. And I give her all the credit for forcing me to do this with her :) It's going to be an expensive, tiring, painful, annoying, humbling 8-weeks of boot camp. (Okay, I made it sound like I was actually going to boot camp instead of two or three times a week for one hour). But hopefully that (along with at-home cardio) will help me become healthy and get back into the ideal/normal range of my BMI. At least I hope so... otherwise the fact that I can barely walk right now is all for nothing! -Heather