I'm reminded.

My dad was born in Cuba in 1960.  The same year, my mom was born in the US.  I was raised with all of the freedoms this country brings but with the perspective that we are the lucky ones.  I proudly don my Cuban roots, and this week I brushed up on a few supersti...um, traditions for the coming New Year.  They range from 12 grapes as the clock strikes midnight to burning the year's effigy in the street.  While I might actually grab the suitcases and take them for a stroll down the driveway (this will bring about "travel" in your new year), I don't think I'll be lighting a "model" of my past year's self into flames.  But these traditions brought me to a place of reflection, as I feel we all might do this week.  As my mind races through the past 12 months, my heart begs to keep the lessons.

A few months ago, I overheard our oldest boy criticizing our second oldest - "You're so GAY" was mumbled from the back seat.  My voice reflex sounded with "I don't want to hear that ever again!"  It was an immediate need for a quick family discussion as I sauteed vegetables and prepared dinner.  We called BK3 to the kitchen, and I quietly yet seriously addressed his comment made an hour earlier.  After a few minutes, with tears in both of our eyes, he admitted that he understood why that comment was not welcome.  Many people we love are "gay" and he had used that very word to bring someone down.  The realization pierced his heart, while his growth filled mine.  In 2020, I am reminded that my oldest son will love "better" from now on.

5 times this hurricane season, our city found itself inside the "cone of uncertainty."  Each time, I told myself that I'd wait til 36 hours out to make a move.  And there we'd be, 36 hours out, still in it.  The boys would ask "Mama, will there be a tornado with this one?" again and again, and we'd say the same thing.  "Boys, sleep in the living room tonight - we'll be OK."  Each storm would come and go, and this season, we were spared.  With the exception of a few trees down, last minute school closures, and continued thoughts of "what's about to happen?" we found ourselves on the grateful end.  In 2020, I am reminded that our cone of uncertainty is determined by our willingness to be prepared, our patience with what is to come (as it comes), and keeping the hope that we can handle whatever is about to be.

 I can only speak for myself on this one, however I bet some can relate.  I don't watch television.  I don't know what latest Netflix series is in everybody's home.  I don't even know how to log into Netflix.  I start my day with putting breakfast on the table for all the mouths, and I finish my day holding my eyes open over a kitchen sink as I load the dishwasher close to midnight.  If I sat down to watch a show, I'd be asleep in minutes.  Owning a business and raising 4 young children keep my to do list stacked.  So it's not a surprise that a few weeks ago my world stood still as I looked at my sons playing a round of "Around the world" outside.  They're growing into young men while I hurry to check off the next box on the list.  My list will always be there, multiplying.  These days will not.  So I threw the mental list in the trash and joined them.  In 2020, I am reminded that doing should never replace being. 

 And then there's the first two months of this year vs the ten months that followed. How dare our lives be interrupted by a virus for which we weren't equipped?  How unfair for 2020 to be written about in history books?  Doesn't the universe know we had a plan?  Doesn't God know our sights were set and secured?  We ask all of the questions.  And just like how everyone might be kicking this very year right out the door, our experiences are immeasurable.  Never had I imagined the innovation that would take place this year.  Never had I imagined the grace I would show and the grace I would receive.  Never had I imagined the creativity that would emerge as we all kept the laughs (and tears) coming!  Never had I imagined my children would follow our lead each day, marching into uncertain times.  And boy did we all march!  In the midst of our distance, we discovered the very things we had in common - resilience, trust, honesty, hope, fear, and strength.  In 2020, I am reminded of community.  

Cheers, friends!  May we never forget the walks we all took this year!

Look Both Ways

I blinked, and it's November 1.  

Settling in is still a work in progress.  We enrolled Miller in a 3 day program at our favorite little school, and he has come alive feeling like a big boy.  I'm finding these 3 days of each week to provide the much needed balance in my life - not to mention QUIET I need to focus and run a business, a family, and a house.  Did I say focus?  Because that went out the door in March.  Silly me.  Miller gets to go a full day - glorious!  I drop the big boys off at 7:25 am, wrap around Government, and head back up Florida for his 8:00 am carpool.  I pick him up at the front door of the school for 2:15 sharp, and we head to get the big boys for 2:30 and 3:00.  He always greets me at the front door with a scream as he rips off the teacher's arm to get to me.  I smile through my mask, grab his hand, and we head out.  We usually skip or hop to the curb, and since we have to cross a parking lot to get to the car, we pause.  I say "Look both ways, Mil," as I try to instill an important habit into his 2-year-old mind.  At first, he ignored me and yanked my arm without success.  But after several days and my diligence, he stops.  "No cars, Mommy" and I sigh with relief that it's working.  Baby steps - small victories - that's what we ride on these days.  

The world shut down 7 1/2 months ago, and although we beg for some realness, we are still getting slammed with the reminder that our past "real" may need a permanent transformation.  Nothing is the same.  Lysol is scarce, signs saying "Limit 1" accompany every cleaning aisle in stores, a basket of masks sits next to our book bags for school, and we hesitate before a hug, unsure of "if we can."  I have days where I am motivated to do everything I can to keep my family physically safe, while other days are filled with keeping our hearts full instead.  There are moments when I have a full on conversation with myself - two different opinions to keep in mind - all inside my one self.  I should've named this "alternate viewpoint" by now, as she is becoming more and more vocal and frankly annoying the crap out of me.  Do we feel safe? Are we making the right moves?  Is this real life? Stop complaining - things could be worse...Ok you're right - I'll stop.  Look both ways.

Maybe it's the fact that Mother Nature decides to throw us 5 hurricanes this season?  Because if you weren't sure if you washed the family mask loot or if the snacks you sent to school were covid-approved, maybe you should also think about that grocery run, gasoline, generator readiness, water stash, and tree removal because something's going to hit Louisiana on Wednesday, and right now I'm focused on bringing #2 to football practice.  Can I do that?  No?  Ok, pivot turn, let's get ready.  But did you vote? Because that's happening too.  We are resilient this year.  Some are handling this better than others, and I believe we should open our eyes and our arms.  I find myself unsuccessfully tugging the arm that's guiding me  - my attempt to move in MY direction is halting the bigger and better, while Heaven is hollering LOOK BOTH WAYS child!  I really should.

A dear friend called on Wednesday to check on us after Zeta was due to arrive, and I was grateful to report the minimal effects for our area.  I sighed and confessed how I was well aware that I should be enjoying the simple things in my life during this season, but damnit it's getting hard.  How every day one side of me is aggravated with the adjustment while the other side of me coaches with motivation and positivity.  She reminded me that there's a time for everything and every emotion.  I'm learning that God wants ALL of who we are through this.  Both ways, both sides, both sets of emotions.  The good, the bad and the ugly.  He wants me to have hope, and He understands my need to toss my hands up and say "F it!" Look both ways.  Focus on all of our areas that need Him, because He wants all of who we are.

So today- November 1.  We added an hour of time to this 2020 that everyone seems to wish away.  I added a few extra snuggles and extra minutes of one on one conversation with each boy today.  I'm adding more grace to the equation.  I'm adding more pause to take it all in.  I'm looking both ways - or maybe all the ways - and not with caution like Miller's lesson, but with a heart that is ready to experience the journey wherever that guiding hand takes me.  I'll stop tugging, because maybe I'm supposed to enjoy something I could've never imagined before.  And that's enough for me.

Miller & Grayson; sharing books & bedtime

Run Dry

 This past week was a week of firsts for us.  We left the house and went on a vacation for the first time since January.  I took a trip INSIDE Wal-Mart for the first time since the mandatory masks went into play.  As a family, we decided it was time to return to Mass.  And today the two oldest put on their school uniforms and went to school - firsts that never mattered like they do now.

It took our church a minute to jump on the virtual train for mass, but when they did, we were so grateful to turn on our device and tune in to a familiar face, a familiar voice, and a familiar place.  21 Sundays later, and I felt it was time to get out of the living room, take a leap of faith (masked) and attend in person.  I kept thinking Miller wouldn't cooperate with a mask, and my rule-following self wanted the safe route.  So we woke up early, got dressed in clothing that we hadn't seen in months, grabbed the masks, and headed out.  We were on time and able to be seated within the allowed capacity.  A family of 6 gets a whole pew to themselves right now,  y'all.  When we walked in, our instincts forced us to dip our fingers into the font of Holy Water, and my hand hit a cold porcelain.  I paused.  A reminder of the time we live in and the measures taken to get us back into the building.  The font had run dry - but had it?  

Mass was lovely.  The boys cooperated, and I only had to re position Miller's mask about 14 times.  I was alright with that, and so was he.  When it came time for communion, I knew we were in for it, but I hoped for the best.  Miller crossed his arms being led by Grayson, and they were only slightly confused that the Eucharistic Minister didn't touch their forehead in prayer...Miller held out his hand, stomping for a piece of communion, and I fumbled mine as I tried to pull down my mask AND grab him.  It hit the floor.  The immediate inner thoughts of "don't you DARE pick that up and take it in the time of Covid, no matter how Holy that thing is," I handed it back to the man who without a wink, quickly gave me a new one.  Right about then, Grayson had made his way over to the Priest for yet another blessing (cause one's not enough ya know), Briggs forgot that he HASN'T made his communion yet, and I was grabbing as many little arms as I could to hurry everyone back down the aisle and to our seat.  My patience had run dry.  We sat back down, and I knelt in the pew, head rested into my hands, and I prayed in thanksgiving for just being there.  The font was empty, the Missals were gone, but my heart was full.  

I'm not sure about you all, but we sure have grown accustomed to rolling with as many punches, while balancing two or three plates on a stick and riding a unicycle at any given time.  I find myself saying "it's fine" at any instance, and I still can't tell if that's good or bad.  Today, I pulled out a very yummy shrimp pasta frozen from my birthday dinner and thawed it out, only to find a hole in the freezer bag and a ziplock full of swimming shrimp within 20 min.  Just order pizza.  That was after Miller and Grayson broke the back door (not sure how) until it wouldn't shut correctly or lock in place, the upstairs smoke detector began that monotonous battery alert that you just can't ignore, and BK3 flooded the shower/bathroom for fun.  Miller sent his lunch spoon flying across the room so hard today that I swear it chipped the paint on my mother's kitchen wall, but I had to acknowledge how great of a left-handed side arm that was...Damn.  But not before my hand met his backside.  It's fine.  Right?

The few days leading up to today's first day of school were adventurous - "It's really happening", I kept telling myself.  GET YOUR SH*T TOGETHER!  Hair cuts, Uniforms that fit, supplies labeled - I had to sharpen 72 pencils by the way - and please for the love of God, find some lunch box food for them.  Down to my 11 pm bedtime, I was excited, nervous, and hopeful.  What do we feel these days?  Our old selves are trying so hard to come alive, but our new selves (and they ARE new) are fighting to stand a ground that we don't even know is firm.  We're afraid of the unknown, and the thought in my mind is "Hold it together, you've got 4 young boys watching your every move."  When the world stopped 5 months ago, we were hit with the realities and complained about the shifts.  But did it stop?  No - it was just getting started.  I see now that my fuel for the old had run dry, and my eyes needed to see it.  My heart knew where we were going, but schedules and patterns and repetition had gotten the best of me.  And now the "it's fine" mentality that goes with a flow that I've never known scares the mess out of me, but it also teaches me to trust a little more.  Today, I had to trust.  Do we have the answers?  Do we know if starting school in person will spread this virus like wild-fire? Do we know what this year will look like?  Next year?  5 years?  

The font hadn't run dry.  That cold porcelain was actually a reminder of what is still here.  Our faith can fill the gaps that this 'time of Covid' creates.  And perhaps "running dry" is the very thing that we need to live the life we never imagined? Maybe "running dry" is creating the trust that our old selves were too strong to include?  What else might this time teach us?  I'm learning - are you?

At the Round Table

It's day 33.

We all got to take an outing this week, because the 10 year old Goldendoodle decided to "play" with the dumb 4 year old Ridgeback - and ripped her toe nail CLEAR off.  30 min before the vet closes and we are in the parking lot.  Thankfully they fixed her up - just wish they would've helped me clean up the 87 spots of blood all over my floors.  Just another day, right?

When you think of a whole month's time staying home, it's just crazy.  Limited grocery runs - no doctor visits - no sports -  no carpool - no church - no family gatherings - no friend's house.  I've been able to sit at our round dinner table with my crew for more meals this month than in the last couple years.  That's a plus, for sure.  I think the boys are missing their buddies.  I am too.  We drove by the school and church Wednesday and waved.  And it became real to them.  There's a real space that housed all of that fun, friends, learning, teaching, recessing, assembling - and it's still there, but we are not.  And 33 days in, we feel the space that's empty.  My adrenaline has pumped for 33 days.  Each child has their own seat at a different table for distance learning while I don't own a seat anywhere in this house.  My feet carry me from one task to the next and if I stop, I cry.  One of Grayson's Pre-K teachers posted a "farewell" to the students today and this mama wasn't ready.  We still have 1 1/2 months left of learning.  He's in Pre K but he looks forward to his weekly assignments more than anyone in this house, and you know what else?  He LOVES his teachers.  He prays for them every night by name.  He tells me throughout the day how "proud" they would be that he already knows how to add numbers together or that he knows how to spell CAT.  He can't wait to get back to school, and wonders if it will be tomorrow.  And I can't explain to him that it just won't be.  Us mamas, we are not trying to fill these gaps.  We are just trying to help label the apple as RED.  There's a reason they behave for you, and not us.  Teachers - you know.  And I do too. 

Pre-Corona, we were planning a trip to Disney and it crossed our minds that our oldest would be 10 in 2021. The next words out of my mouth were "He's halfway through his childhood." - what are we doing?  What's filling my day so much that I miss the details?  What's on the agenda that causes me to choose between my children's activities?  What is on MY agenda?  I'm learning. 

Our round kitchen table was one of our first "new house" purchases in 2013.  I told Brannan that I didn't understand why we'd buy a nice piece of furniture if we were going to have a lot of children - we only had 2 at the time.  It's the first piece you see when you walk in the back door - because that's where you walk in if you belong - and it came with 4 chairs.  THERE ARE 6 OF US.  We finally bought 2 more chairs that don't match so that we could all share the space.  Not sure why we went ahead and chose to do it.  But since this pandemic is giving me time at this table, I'm grateful.  All 4 children have their "spot" at meals, and I've earned mine through these 33 days.  This is where we start our days, stop mid-way through, are greeted after school, and finish before bedtime.  This round table has been drawn on, spit on, crawled on, and prayed upon.  Our animals rest beneath it, and our hands are clasped above it.  And now I see why the round table is needed at the end of the day. 

Because a day can be A DAY.  One of the days this week - I lost track early on - the boys got into it, like boys do, and it ended with me ripping the oldest off of the second oldest.  As I silently praised myself for being strong enough to still do so, that one I just ripped off the other muttered those words - "I Hate You."  He then said he wanted to go live somewhere else, to which I offered to help him pack.  He spent the rest of that hour in his room - WITH the one I ripped him off of - as punishment, and I was told by my apple watch to "breathe."  We had hit a corner with a pretty rough edge at that point for both of us to feel.  I told them not to come back down til they were ready to apologize - the oldest assured me that'd be tomorrow, and I told him to starve.  Needless to say, we've met our matches.  Thankfully, 2 hours later, with little brothers playing downstairs and a little lego therapy, we had an apology, and the corner seemed a bit less fierce.  The circle had come back around and we were ok.  33 days. 

33 days, and I'm understanding that we have a choice to sulk or to sit.  If I sulk during this crisis, that's alright.  But if I take a seat, in my case at the round table, to experience this segment and all that it brings to me, then I'm truly doing my part.  I'm doing my part, FOR ME.  There are things for me to realize, understand, let sink in - all from which, I'll grow.  So I'll take that seat at the table with my crew - the good days and the bad of the 33 so far.  Because when it all circles back, we're here together, learning - living - loving, losing what we don't need and lifting up the hopes we have.  And maybe that's what it's all about?

A Whole Heap.

Day 21 for us.

I have felt a lot of emotions lately, and all of them are being warded off by the constant thought of "Carrie, chill out and let the healthcare teams do their job.  Do your part.  Stay home.  Stop worrying about that tickle in your throat.  Stop complaining.  Stop being upset about it.  All you have to do is sit - alter your life for a bit and let this thing do its thing."  And for the most part, it's a quick fix for me.  I take a deep breath, gather myself, and get on with the day. 

But Wednesday, I looked at my dancers through the screen and said "Ya know, this sucks."  Some started wiping away tears.  I told them, "You know, you can say it with me - this sucks."  We all sorta felt better after that.  Then we danced in our own spaces, as if we had put out into the atmosphere what everyone was feeling.  I told them that it was ok to come to terms with this new normal - to welcome the feelings that they had - and maybe it would make peace with itself.  They were listening, and so was I. 
Today is my Dad's birthday.  He would celebrate a new decade today - 60.  I haven't seen him in 18 years.  I knew him alive for 18 years - and now I've spent 18 years without him.  He always had wise words for me, and I wonder what he'd say here.  He'd smile that smile that 18 years won't take away, and he'd tell me to trust.  I taught for 6 hours today outside to an iPad screen, and I couldn't help but notice the beautiful red birds that kept coming to visit.  I believe he celebrated his day with me, and applauded me as I took a whole heap of a mess and tried to dredge forward the best way that I knew how.  And after I finished, I started to wonder if this whole heap of a mess was my turn to grow.  Yes Carrie, it is. 
We miss our family.  We miss our friends.  We miss our church.  We miss our school.  I miss my dancers.  And that's real, and that's ok.  My boys miss their buddies.  Grayson misses his Pre-K teacher.  He told me last night that if he saw her again, he would always make sure to hug her good-bye.  Briggsy asked me "Mom, when this is all over with, can we throw a big party?  I want to see everyone I love."  - Yes Briggsy, when we can, that's a great idea.  BK3 told me last week that he's excited to plan his birthday party.  He's been talking about it every day - I think he's starting to understand that the month of May might look exactly like this.  But it's his way of being hopeful, and I'm here for that too.  We are becoming more sentimental.   We are enjoying the stillness more.  We are noticing what growth is needed inside this whole heap of a mess that we see on the surface.  This whole heap that WAS on the surface.  These weeks are filled with cleaning out, trimming up, tossing out, spending less and that whole heap is getting smaller while the emotions of adjustment are getting more wild.  Let this thing do its thing.  I'm learning.  I'm here for the emotions if the whole heap continues to lessen.  I see the light at the end of our tunnel, while really, we are just "sitting" - a much bigger problem is tackled by the people who are strong enough and smart enough to handle it.  So we all take our seat on this journey.  We all rummage through the heaps.  We all feel the emotions of the last 3 weeks.  We all share our heaps and become bound by them - maybe that is what we are here to learn.  Let's take the ride together.

New Day, Same Studs

I haven't blogged in 14 months.  For days, I've been telling myself to document this.  When I logged in, I noticed it's been way too long. 

We are on day 14 of no outside contact for the boys.  I am on day 8 for myself, and B has made a few trips to grocery pickup or to get gas.  We are doing the thing.  More life has been lived in this house in the last 14 days than in the last 14 months.  And I'm learning a lot.

Right after the flood of 2016, I titled a blog entry "Down to the Studs."  I talked about our own personal flood story and how the event stripped the homes (and our hearts) down to the studs of what mattered.  I'm reminded now of some of these key points surrounding yet another epic event.  It's funny, because for weeks I'd been filling my prayer with the chance to slow down time.  A weekend with no activities.  An evening with no work or sports.  I was making sure those volunteer hours were checked off, the wal-mart orders were on schedule, the dance studio tasks were above and beyond, and the summer camp registrations were soon to be on the done-list.  I was in fast forward mode and begging for a stop light.  And here it is.

We have rearranged everything - the dining room is now home for "distance learning," my bathroom is home for my virtual REV classes, we built a tap floor underneath the house, and the animals are wondering WHY IN THE HELL we are all home so much.  Our lives mimic most right now, but all we are doing is staying put.  No flooded homes to clean out, no floors and walls to strip, no water-logged photo books to salvage.  Just stay put while our friends and relatives in healthcare fight this enemy, head on, elbow deep, hearts hurting, and nerves racing - we pray for their strength and immunity.  I used to pray on the ride home from carpool every morning.  I realized about 4 days into this that I hadn't prayed.  We are creatures of habit.  My new prayer takes place constantly.  All day long - at the counter, at the sink, walking to the mailbox, sipping my coffee, while cooking or while coaching through a math lesson, while drying somebody's tears, while drying my own tears.  This new habit is what I needed.

We are consumed with the news, social media, anything digital right now.  It is the method that keeps our businesses afloat.  And thank God we have it.  We worry about finances, small business, our jobs, and what the reports will say the next day.  We worry that our distance learning "teacher mode that was never meant to teach" isn't good enough.  We worry that we are yelling too much (we KNOW we are yelling too much).  We worry that the clorox wipe didn't cover it all or that we didn't wash our hands enough today.  I notice a tightening in my chest, and it takes a few minutes before I understand that I'm just a victim of my own worry.  We are trying to control, when we are being taught to surrender. 

God has slashed away at the intense distractions and buckled my seat belt to keep me surrounded by the very needs He sees fit.  I am watching my boys become best friends.  I am discovering how each of them learn differently - what activities each one likes most and what lunch food each one prefers.  I am seeing my husband for the man I married, as the endless jobs / roles / duties that got in our way now disappear.  I notice how much I LOVE to teach dance and how much I miss hugging my dancers at the end of each class.  I have been given a reset button that didn't require a trip to some exotic island.  Each day of this new normal gives me a chance to push that button - and boy do I need to push it.  This past week of "distance learning" with school and virtual classes with my dance studio was full of low moments.  But like a child in time out, this adult self is learning.  The day we get to return to the normal, we will all be reassessing what should be allowed to stay and what shouldn't.  Hopefully we will appreciate that normal more.  Step outside more.  Breathe it all in more.  And allow ourselves to BE MORE present in the moments that make this life just that - MORE of what we need. 

Trading Grip for Grace

I once read an article on how "moms of 3 are the most stressed out of all moms."  Not only did it catch my eye long enough for a quick read-through, but people started tagging me with remarks like "just have another", "see, go for the girl.", etc.etc.etc.  I prayed for Miller the entire half a year that we tried to conceive as well as the 9 months he spent in my womb.  I knew God would gift us with his life, but it was hard to trust the timing.  I knew that, just like all children, God would make him special and unique.  And I didn't realize that indeed, the fourth, would change ME.

My 3 boys always matched.  Not to be cute - but so that I could always locate them.  Hell, even Daddy would join in on the colors half the time and not even know it.  It was like a 6th sense...still is.  And it surely makes it easy to track em down at the fair or tailgate.  I'm glad they were cute too, but the idea that I always knew what color to look for at the Easter egg hunt topped all other positives.  Now that big Tim-Tim came along, I'm just lucky we're all clothed.  WE.  Yes, we.  Briggs gave Miller that name, by the way, and we like it.

With Brannan's help, I kept clothing sizes organized, (not neat, organized), everyone always had proper supplies, sports equipment, a bag lunch when they needed it, church shoes that fit, hair cuts, dr checkups, vaccines, prayers, and a whole lot of love.  Now, I'm lucky to keep those last 3 in check:  vaccines, prayers, and love.  My focus has shifted.  And I'm ok with it.  I've told several people that our fourth child has made no real difference from three.  And that's a true statement.  The chaos of three is an adjustment like no other.  So tossing a fourth into the mix is just that...still chaos.  But aside from the noise of 4 boys age 7 and under comes a peace that my grip is gone.  Peace.  Because my grip was traded for Grace.

Thankfully so, too.  Because an entire 3 weeks of lice treatments almost broke me.  These guys are averaging a load of laundry a day, 5 gallons of milk a week, floors that need vacuuming EVERY day, and nerf bullets that will be the death of me and the mobile almost-1-year-old.

AND WHY DOES EVERYTHING SMELL LIKE PEE!????
Everywhere - PEE.  I mopped the entire first floor of my house last week with double the pine-sol to water ratio.  It did nothing. I sat down in my bathroom to hide from Grayson for just 3 minutes, and the smell lurked like the 4 year old that I was trying to escape...terrible.  I know.  But the toilet is the place. It's times like that where God gives me the gift of a deep breath and a giggle.  Where I remember to thank Him for the joys of this life.  Because loss hurts.  And the closer you are to Him, the closer you are to those you miss.  In that deep breath, I know that I'm doing just as I'm meant to do.  Not that women are all "meant to work in the home, clean, be a mother, etc." But that He has called me to be a marching force with the gifts He has so graciously given me.  The gift of being a wife, a mother, and a teacher.  The gift of raising children, in hopes of putting better people into this world.  The gift of being a woman.  I read an article once about "praising Him through our everyday works...like dishes."  Any mama who needs a high five from me, just ask.  It's yours.

Losing my grip, gaining Grace.  I made 3 resolutions for the 2018-19 school year and haven't kept a one of them.  And that's ok.

My four need my mind, my guidance, my cooking, my help with homework, and my prayer.  I'm learning that my four need my energy, my whole heart, my forgiveness, and my patience.  Letting the grip release allows me to see their tiny hearts and minds as they are - individuals - all asking for our strength in different ways. 

Don't get me wrong, the three cabinets to the left of the fireplace are atrocious.  In my perfectly imagined world, I'd organize them tomorrow.  But I'm sure somebody will wake up with croup cough or a nose will need to be suctioned every hour on the hour.  And the first of 4 nerf bullet walk-throughs will commence around 6:05 am.  I'll sing praises on my way home from carpools for JUST the croup cough and JUST the runny noses and nothing worse.  Those cabinets can wait.  Because life needs navigating.  We're all just walking one another home.  And I'm just glad my "grip" transformed - no longer holding tight to those things that controlled me.  Instead, grabbing onto the Grace that makes it all beautiful. 

God said, "Courage"

A few weeks ago, I found myself sitting in the middle of our upstairs bedrooms - trying to decipher which toys were broken, missing pieces, not played with, not sanitary, not of this century, etc.  I was three trash bags in, and I didn't think I had made any progress.  At least you couldn't tell if you just walked in.  It was a losing battle - I threw in the towel as soon as Grayson noticed me not-so-slyly tossing the Incredibles Happy Meal toy into sack #3...  Miller was screaming after only 21 minutes of napping in the swing, and Briggs had gotten down to his underwear for the 3rd time since breakfast because "clothes aren't comfortable, mom."  And we had about 1 hour to somehow find our clothes, load up, get to the grocery store and back. 

God said, "Courage."

Yesterday, I was figuring out how to make it to #2's baseball practice, with numbers 1, 3 and 4 in tow.  Daddy was trapped at the airport because when you put 4 guys in one vehicle to go on a bachelor trip, somebody will lose the keys and not notice til the flight home. 

I shoved an early bottle down M, let Briggs dress himself, loaded up, grabbed 8 bottles of water, made sure they all had shoes on and left the house. Forgot snacks - oh well, it's just an hour.  But it was 98 degrees outside.  One hour couldn't be too bad right?  Ha - A sweaty mama got to hold a sweaty baby who didn't want to nap, while BK3 found the ONLY pile of dog shit in the public park, and Grayson insisted on creating a beam routine on the top bleacher while I rake the flip flop with my one free hand...one eye on the shit shoe and one eye on the olympic gymnast at the top - Miller still along for the ride - Briggs still practicing, for the win.  Grayson definitely found the same pile of crap just 10 minutes later.  I seriously pondered letting him run free in a public park barefoot.  Then I began raking a 2nd shit shoe.  My kids are country folk, but public parks are scary. 

God said, "Courage."

I'm not sure why I keep hearing a non-recognizable voice repeat it.  But God said, "Courage."  And I'll take it.  Since Miller was born 5 short months ago, I find myself a woman of steel, but also a heart that can stand on the verge of a mess and quickly crumble.  I have heard those 3 words repeated like a broken record, whether it is night 3 of after-midnight bed times, an exploded diaper, or trying to run my business from home in the middle of sword fights, runny noses, and molluscum.  In one thought, I wonder if I can get it done.  And the very next - those three words.  God said, "Courage."

It takes me back to being 19 years old, dancing in Los Angeles, and my Mom flies across the country to let me know I had lost my dad.  I never heard those three words then.  But now, I know what it means.  It takes me back to almost losing my mama to a massive heart attack 2 years later.  It takes me back to praying for God to send me the right man to marry.  It takes me back to wondering if I had made the right choice in saying "Yes" and then waiting for those church doors to open and walk down the aisle.  It takes me back to our firstborn.  Our second.  Our third.  And now our fourth.  It doesn't matter how many times God gifts you with a child.  It's scary.  And beautiful. 

God said, "Courage."

I pause and remember times where I never knew to have courage, but I did.  I think as mamas, we don't have enough fingers to count on when referencing those moments.  God said, "Courage" because sometimes we need more than a deep breath.  We are made to adapt.  To put on our big girl panties and GET. IT. DONE.  In one breath, we want to line everybody up for a spanking while in the next breath, we are morphing our Godzilla into Mary Poppins.  No wonder everyone thinks we're crazy.  We are.  But we're beautiful. 

I thank God every day for making me a wife.  A mother.  A daughter, friend, sister and a teacher.  Everyone says "God doesn't give you anything you can't handle," and I think we all at times, hate that God thinks we're so damn strong in re-organizing a toy room of 7 years.  I scolded myself a little for letting the sweet joys of motherhood make me feel like a loser.  When reflecting back, there are huge moments of my life that truly broke me into pieces.  We all can understand, those moments are what help us become us.  Ready to take on the diapers, carpools, sickness, shit-shoes, late nights, dirty laundry, kitchens, small bumps, big bumps, toddlers, three-nagers, teenagers, that all too soon turn into magic dust as our children grow up.  I'll embrace the sword fights and molluscum.  And the courage.  Oh, the courage.  Because our jobs are scary.  And beautiful. 

Gimme A Re-Do

Mama said there'd be days like this.

Or did she?  All I can remember is watching my parents struggle.  Being reminded by my dad every day why it's important to love my grandparents.  Being reminded every day about the hard work it took to purchase the matchbox 3 bedroom 2 bathroom house on Schnebelen Ave in South River Oaks.  There were goods and bads, but I really think the points that stuck were the concepts of "you do what you gotta do to get what you need" and "nothing is strong enough to stand in your way if you want it bad enough."

The holidays are approaching, and it is my favorite time of year.  But parenting is hard.  Exhausting even.  Being married is a daily lesson.  And carrying this 4th baby gave way to some hormones that sent me from mother Mary to Godzilla in a matter of 14 seconds this morning.  I have slaved over the boys' routines each morning, knowing that the preparation and frustration will pay off once Baby 4 is here and they will know how to survive in their morning routines.  But damn.  Today, everything hit the fan, and I'm so glad Derrius Guice the elf didn't happen to be stationed up there. 

Bk3 and Briggs finished their breakfast and retreated to the couch where I lay out each boy's clothing.  Of course, within far enough distance from one another to where they can sit without being bothered.  BK3 decided he wasn't happy with his particular location and although I was in my room for 4 minutes to strap on my belly belt, compression stockings, and daily wear, I could hear the two of them arguing over location.  But see, we are on a schedule.  And I need WWE to take the back burner until AFTER school.  I'm yelling from the back but nothing stops Briggs from launching Bk3's uniform across the living room, which in turn calls for BK3 to pounce and start the showdown.  We are 26 minutes away from departure time, and I need everyone to focus.  Meanwhile, Grayson is still eating at the speed of a sloth, picking every marshmallow out of his lucky charms before moving onto his star wars go-gurt, again, at the speed of a sloth.  My words to bk3 were "You do NOT rule this house." to which he responded, "I think I do."

Pause.  Deep breaths, Carrie.  You're 32 weeks pregnant..

I sent him to the foot of the stairs to sit and wait for my approval to get in the car for school.  I threw his "blankie" across the room which did the trick of getting his attention, and told him I didn't want his help unloading the dishwasher (like his Daddy had asked him to do as they started breakfast at 6 am).  I said a few more choice sentences that came from the exhaustion inside, and the room went silent.  Thank God I was dressed before the madness happened.  For the first time in his short life, Grayson cleared the table of every food item/plate/utensil and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth then get dressed.  I guess he knew I meant business. 

I went to unload and re-load the dishwasher...and cried. 

In that instant, I knew that it was a tough moment.  But one we all have time and time again.  Whether we are mamas, wives, daughters, businesswomen, friends, or anything.  Because we are human.  Our children are humans, and it is our job to teach them.  We are also humans, and it is in our cards to mess up in the process.  If we don't remember that our God loves us so unconditionally to offer His only Son... then how do we expect a re-do each day?  It is my clutch.  I know that our marriage is full of lessons to be learned daily.  I know that my children will see me fail, just as I saw my parents make their way through struggles.  In that moment where I fought back every tear I could as I unloaded spoons and forks, Briggs thought of 42 different questions he could ask me.  From "What college did Drew Brees play for?" to "Can I please touch the elf?" to "How old will I be when you go to Heaven?"  I know he was just engaging with me, because he loves me.  No matter how much their fighting with one another makes me feel.

As always, we loaded into the car, got ourselves onto Florida blvd and we would be fine.  I took the time in the car to TRY to explain why mommy is so tired.  I continued to smooth out the cracking in my voice as I got the boys to understand why I can't bend over as much.  Why I shouldn't yell as much.  Why they should be making the mornings easy for me, instead of harder.  But of course, they have no idea what delivering a baby entails and now is surely not the time!  Between the 4 of us, it was understood that we will try harder today and every day.  I knew that was for me, especially.  No matter how tired and exhausted.  No matter how frustrated.  No matter how ignored my small acts feel.  I will be his wife.  I will be their mama.  I will be God's servant.  Because no morning episode or daily struggle can measure as a fraction of the life Jesus gave for me. 

I gave Bk3 a fist bump as he stepped out the car, trusting that when I see him almost 24 hours later, my renewed mind-set will be the first thing he wakes up to...  I rounded the corner to head to school #2 carpool and sat in line as we waited for 8 am to arrive.  Still answering every one of those questions from Briggsy.  Thankful, because I know one day, a moody teenager Briggsy may want nothing to do with "mama's answers."  I noticed there's no booksack.  And it's show-n-tell day for Briggs.  Grayson of course stayed on track to make sure he had his at his feet. 

I'm thankful Briggs withheld his temper tantrum.  Instead, he took a deep breath and said "Maybe Ms. Blair will let me do my show-n-tell tomorrow."  Yes Briggs, maybe she will.  Because your booksack is your responsibility, and you'll have to do life without it today.  I almost cried again.  I'm sure there's some bit of my Dad behind those stern mom moments.  But again, we're humans.  He did just fine.  And so did I. 

Today, I learned that if I forget my strength, forget my booksack, forget my sanity - it's ok.  God promises us a re-do.  Today's was minute compared to what is in store for us as a family.  Trusting in the small struggles helps me to feel secure in the big unknowns that plague us all.  God's got our backs.  With or without the booksack...

Seasons

I love when seasons change.  In Louisiana, we are fortunate to have about 3 weeks of some "freezing" temps, 3 weeks of "cute spring", 3 weeks of "leaves changing" and the rest "It's too damn hot."  But I still love a little change, and this past week was an abrupt kick to the shin with regards to cold.  I'm a wimp, I'll admit it.  The temps went from 85 to 44 in about 36 hours and this mama hadn't found cold maternity clothes OR up-sized the boys winter clothes into accessible reach for the morning routine.  It did feel rather cozy though, to put a jacket on and wear sweat pants.

These past few months have been full of changing seasons on a whole different realm.  Our 4th bundle has brought my hardest pregnancy yet, and I think it's a combination of being in my mid 30s, housing a growing life for the 4th time, and running after three little men.  While some insist "OH IT MUST BE A GIRL THIS TIME" (let's not get ahead of ourselves), I choose to trust the reality.  My body is tired and my mind is operating at about 45% capacity - all at the most intense time for my studio, as we build our whole 40+ pieces of new season choreography (set to compete December 1st).  I get about 2 days completely off per month, but I can't complain.  My job comes with incredible perks that would take me an hour to list.  I have slowly started to see how this recent struggle just molds a new realization of "seasons" for my tiny world.

Briggs is obsessed with getting married.  Within 2 weeks of school starting, he had already asked 3 girls for their hand in marriage.  All of which turned him down...smart.  He talked each week about each girl and discussed with me why she might have said no.  The reasons ranged from "She just likes horses" to "she doesn't want to kiss me, but I don't know why not - she's 4 like me, momma."  That comment surely forced me to hit the breaks down Florida Blvd.  We've discussed how you decide who to marry (after College), when is the right age to have a girlfriend (after College), and how do you pick out a wedding ring (you take her to the jewelry store and let her pick out whatever she likes and you save your damn dollar bills until you have exactly that amount!).  He got the courage up to ask a 4th, and what do you know - we have a wife.  Glad he's happy.  He also enjoys asking about age and "how old will Brannan be when I'm 25?", "Daddy, what was like it like when YOU were 25?" - to which Daddy explained how sometimes it's cool NOT to want to be older.  "Briggsy, I would love to be 25 again."  I chimed in, "Yeah, when Daddy was 25, Mommy and Daddy were boyfriend and girlfriend!"  Briggsy giggled in the backseat, "But you still ARE boyfriend and girlfriend!"  Thanks Briggsy - we needed that reminder.  Don't we all?  My middle love has taught me that LOVE should be what we talk most about.  It's a season we need every minute of our lives.

This pregnancy has revealed to me a season of TRUST.  From the spotting, to a placenta previa scare, to the early labor signs, to the checkups that proved to me that God had taken care of ALL of my worries - I know that trust is needed.  That worry only makes those symptoms worse, and that He's got it all figured out.  That I prayed for this 4th love.  I prayed for all that comes along with it.  And I will trust that this new life He's gifted to me is wholly HIS - I'm just housing it. 

Understanding is the season that takes that rigid kick to the shin.  Because when we are faced with situations where we want to scream at the top of our lungs, we surely aren't quick to soften our voices and understand the process.  My children pick the most INCONVENIENT times to drop a #2.  Right before a nap, right before overdue bedtime, on the soccer field, in carpool.  Last night, Grayson decided he MUST take a crap while brushing his teeth before bed.  Sure Gray, go ahead, get on the toilet.  I go pee in the other bathroom upstairs because the 21 steps up is gonna do a number on my own bladder at this point.  Only to come back to wailing brothers getting a kick out of a crying Grayson who happened to send his toothbrush swimming amidst the pile of shit.  Somehow, I was a psychic at that moment, and knew what I was walking into before actually seeing the proof.  I'm glad Briggs and Brannan thought it was so hilarious.  I thought for a hot minute about attempting to just flush the toothbrush with the shit.  But the pump failure of earlier this year brought me nightmares.  So yeah - I dealt with it - reached in - threw it away - and washed my skin up to elbow about 3 times.  Disgusting.  I will never know why men get such a kick out of all things related to shit. Understanding - I need it.  It's a season in this mama's life all too often. 

3 nights a week, I come home so late that the boys are already sleeping.  I can only walk up to their room, kiss their foreheads, say a prayer by myself, and go back downstairs to sleep.  The other 4 nights, I try my best to make mama time as prayer time with the boys.  No matter the struggles, I try my best to calm it down enough to pray with them.  After an Our Father, one Hail Mary, and sometimes an Angel of God, I allow the boys to go one by one.  Oldest to youngest.  The prayers can range from thanking God for "my birthday party" to "mommy and daddy" to "daddy's tractor getting fixed" to "My tee tee is big" (Grayson....come on bro) I never know what will come out of their mouths.  To hear BK3 pray tonight brought a season of HOPE.  He said words that helped me see that he gets it.  And maybe he's just repeating what he hears.  Or maybe he's saying what he "thinks" is right.  Or maybe his heart really is full of the love that's promised to us, and he's realizing it.  I do not ask any questions; I just tell the boys thank you for praying with me.  Kiss them goodnight, and back down to tackle that laundry list of to do's that I'm also learning just never end. 

Today was actually a day of huge frustration where I told the boys that I was going to "take a day off as Mommy tomorrow" because they weren't saying thank you or appreciating the wonderful things their parents do for them.  It was a true Monday no matter how hard I tried to flip the switch.  From Grayson crawling into our bed at 2 am, to Briggs twirling his sock for 20 min this morning instead of getting dressed, to the missing Karate belt that I told the boys was their responsibility, to the extra flights of stairs I ran that I shouldn't have, to us being late everywhere we went.  I told them that tomorrow's trick or treat would be canceled if they didn't make some big changes in the next 24 hours.  Briggsy immediately burst out into "BUT EVERYBODY NEEDS A MOMMY!".  And that was all I needed.  To remember that these seasons of life sometimes all happen in one day:  Trust, Hope, Understanding and Love.  But it's up to us to seek it.  They're all free gifts.  So when we are tired, losing our hope, losing our patience, and losing our tempers, we must remember that our free gifts don't require a purchase.  We must just take a deep breath, tell our heart to open back up a second, and let God take the reigns while we raise these humans to build a better world than we see today.  Be grateful for the gifts.  My gifts are being a wife.  A mom.  A sister, a daughter, a friend, and a teacher.  How selfish of me not to be thankful?  But then He forgives - so I breathe a huge sigh of relief and try again the next day.  Seasons will come and go, but one thing remains the same - it's all part of a big plan that includes more joy than we could ever imagine.  Even if that includes a tooth brush swimming in shit.  I'll take it!

One Our Father, Two Hail Marys and a Fart Gun

You never realize how important something is until you go without it.  For the Webbs, it would be our sewer pump that launches the sewage to the street lines.  When the tank fills and the pump has malfunctioned, you know what that means?  It busts the sewage cap (it's metal by the way), and the week's flushings begin to drain into the yard.  2 Dogs, 3 Boys, 22 chickens, 2 cats, and a surprise shit pool in my grass.  Lovely.

We had some awesome friends who reached out to help us that first week, and it surely made week two bearable.  My parents' neighbor is a man of that "trade" and helped Brannan clean / drain it that first night.  When I saw the Dinosaur Head puppet and handfuls of baby wipes that must've went for a ride down the chute, I assumed we had a winning solution.  But we learned later, the pump had to be replaced and we were destined to use the bathroom outside for a hot minute.  I'm sure my face proved my resistance to the idea.  Hello!  I'm a woman!  I can't aim like y'all!

The next week involved minimal flushing, dirty dishes, less than average number of showers, rapid teeth brushing, and ZERO laundry.  Thankfully, our mothers scooped up laundry and took care of that element.  I learned that a messy house and dirty humans aren't such a big deal.  And we were beyond excited to have the new pump installed today.  I turned on my dishwasher, cleaned clothes, and allowed every boy the chance to flush the toilet after bathroom trips.  I now love and appreciate that sewage pump.

The boys started their two weeks of day camp this week - YAHOO - at least for the older two.  Camps don't take Grayson.  Because of his age, you know.  Although, perhaps his antics would get him kicked out anyways.  So Gray got to ride solo with mama this week, as I launched into 12 hour days at the studio, full of workshops, guest teachers, young girls, older girls, phone calls, emails, and studio cleaning.  I'd lock the front door during classes and set him free.  Today was day 9 of Mommy & Grayson adventures and I was beat.  He ran through my class of 11 year olds, pulled up his shirt to show his backside and said "I shake my butt!".  Of course the talk I had with the girls about "just don't laugh at him, and we'll be good" didn't apply at that moment.  We all giggled, and at that time, I knew my son would probably be the clown of the family from here on out.  I always thank God for laughter in those moments. 

Along with the glorious installation of the new sewage pump today, I enjoyed my first night to come home before 10 p.m.  Thankful to cook dinner.  Thankful to sit and watch the boys play (or really just fight constantly).  Thankful to enjoy bath time.  Thankful to snap a brother picture before bed.  We got upstairs, began the teeth brushing, potty one last time, tuck me in, tuck me in again, tuck me in with the right blanket please, rituals.  And then prayers.  I asked BK3 to lead us in the prayer and he gave me a beautiful surprise "Angel of God" to start.  My exhaustion melted a bit as I knew how lucky I was to share some prayers with my boys.  And in true fashion, Grayson played his part.   It went a little something like this:

We began, "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name....." PPPFFFTTT goes the fart gun in the hands of the grinning 2 year old.  "Thy kingdom come...."  PPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTT.  "Thy will be done, on Earth".... PPPFFFTTT "as it is in heaven"..... the fart gun went off a few more times before ..."But deliver us from evil."  Grayson delivered the "Amen."  I held it together, eyeing Briggs and Brannan to make sure they too, could keep composure on one of my favorite times of the night.  We moved right onto "Hail Mary, full of grace"  When I felt a giant slap with somebody's underwear coming from behind me.  "the Lord is with thee.  Blessed art though among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus."  I was now being assaulted by the same 2 year old with the underwear he was holding in his hand.  I lost it.  The loudest laughter before our prayers to Mary completed.  We failed.  But we won.  People tell me every day to cherish these moments, and I doubt I'll forget that one.  I believe it so much.  The days pass so quickly.  I can't keep up.  I pray for time to stand still, despite Briggs asking me every day "Mommy when will you be 85?".  "Not for a long time, Briggs, please let me enjoy 33."  In an attempt to break the giggles, I allowed Briggs to pray first.  He prayed some gibberish, which mainly sounded like the mayor of munchkin city, and we all smiled.  Next was Grayson who patiently named every member of his family, followed by the word "Booty-head", then a resounding AMEN.  Finally, Bk3 got his turn (he normally goes first, so I was surprised he waited without complaint).  He made a few pleas for a good weekend, a good day at camp tomorrow, and for everyone to stay well.  Then prayed that God would "get some help in ruling the world."  My heart melted and broke all at the same time.  I took the opportunity to help him understand that God is the God of the whole entire world.  And that He's the best at His job.  I'm not sure if that moment was for BK3 or for me.  Each week brings its own adventures.  I always try to keep a good perspective, but as humans, we can let it get the best of us.  While I'm thankful for these extra flushes allowed now, I will forever be thankful for those gentle reminders of who is in control.  I am even more thankful I could share it with my loves. 

All With One Click...

The boys each got a Kindle for Christmas.  Daddy felt like it was a good idea for them to have a device of their own to play their games on and watch PBS kids every now and then.  So I went with it.  I'm not sure I had a choice though...when Daddy gets his mind set on something, I usually get greeted by it at the doorstep.  Kind of like the jump house.  And the water slide.  And the jumbo size uterus...remember that thing?  They've been helpful for the most part, especially with Bk3 working on reading skills...  Brannan, from the get go, stressed that there never be a credit card on the devices, so we were set.  Until the movie "Sing" on blu-ray showed up.  We thought for a week on when we might've ordered it.  We both checked our email accounts and amazon accounts.  We couldn't find the purchase.  We attributed it to some good luck - until Star Wars showed up.  B opened the package, out jumps the Force and we both look at eachother after 10 seconds of a pause - "Briggsy".  The kid is obsessed.  LP Library has issued ALL 14 of their Star Wars books to the Webbs, more specifically Briggs in the last 2 months.  Star Wars A-Z,  Good Night Darth Vader, to name his favorites - he sleeps with a light saber and constantly quizzes ALL OF US on the names of each character.  We don't want to break his heart and tell him that neither of us have EVER seen the movies.  But we definitely already have our costumes planned for his October birthday set to that very theme.  Needless to say, B had set up the Kindles with emails for each of the boys...so once we found all of the purchase confirmations (10 or so to be exact), we figured out which Kindle did the one-click ordering and tossed that one into hiding until we get all of our refunds.  I laughed.  It could've been way worse...just 2 dvds and a handful of apps!  It was my credit card entered, I assume from when I purchased him the app that his Kindergarten teachers have them use.  Apparently, you just hit BUY and there you go. One Click, and they have your money. 

One click of the toilet flushing is music to my ears currently.  We've got Grayson on a big push to help the Webbs discontinue the diaper madness.  6 years.  We might could own stock in Pampers right now.  We are surely trying.  But Gray has his own timing.  And although I made a huge effort at the start of the Easter break, we were so graciously greeted by the stomach bug instead!  So we are still trekking, and thankful he hasn't requested "Mommy, just go and get me a diaper" recently.  He's the third boy to make the man-jump to underwear and the FIRST to be fascinated (at age 2) with the size of his peepee when he sits on the toilet.  Really Gray?  I am surely a mom of boys.

B's new project is growing things.  And they have to grow inside enough before he can put them in the ground.  He's worked hard on them every morning and night, but I think it's a little odd that we have a neon purple light coming from our dining room window at night.  Rave anyone?  I promise it's nothing illegal. 

All THREE boys are pushing as many limits as possible with regards to talking back.  I know, Karma is a bitch - It's true.  But it pushes me as a mama.  Monday morning, Grayson continually fussed at the table and I pointed my finger to him saying "you need to hush your mouth and eat!".  To which he pointed his tiny 2 year old hand back at me and said "No you need to hush YOU mouth!"  I'm sure I turned a few shades of red at that point.   I knew it was do or die.  "Carrie, march yourself straight over to him and make sure he knows that's not ok, Gray."  Do it...or you might have a "cash me ousside" 7 year old within a few years.  I marched.  He learned.  His rebound time is pretty quick though.  We're also working on that...

For Lent, I gave up wine during the week.  I'm not sure what I was thinking.  But I can successfully say I made it.  I also promised myself 3 days a week in the adoration chapel at our church.  Just for reflection, prayer, peace, anything.  And THAT was the best Lenten promise I've ever made.  I felt uneasy at first, but I quickly understood just what was happening.  God was teaching me to pause.  He was teaching me to reflect on the positives.  To pray for the negatives.  To ask for help when I felt I didn't measure up.  To notice the reminder that I am enough.  I had grabbed a devotional handed out at the Ash Wednesday service from the prior year, and I brought it with me to the chapel.  The readings, along with the time of reflection and prayer, rejuvenated my faith journey.  Just like one click - and bam, I was right back in.  It reminds me of how distracting this life can be.  But if we focus on what is important to us, our worlds can be complete.  I worry less.  I trust more.  I trusted Brannan even after I came home to 6 new baby chicks 3 weeks ago.  I think that knocks it up to 22.

I've kept the adoration commitment.  I've kicked the wine limits...  Who needs wine limits? Cheers to all of you mamas out there - now go check on that "one-click buying" option for me so the Force doesn't show up at your doorstep - or anything else for that matter!

Build Me Back

As I have driven around our city these past few weeks, I am faced with the harsh reality of buildings completely being demolished - one by one, a new one is gone each day.  A slab remains, in the middle of a neighborhood full of houses.  Next door, a home is "for sale by owner", stripped to nothing.  Others are masked with FEMA trailers in front.  Some are home to an RV in the driveway. 

My heart was ripped open one morning as I passed a house, fully gutted, but not yet cleaned up.  The for sale sign in front had a tag-line on top saying "Build Me Back".  As if it were making a plea to anyone who would notice - build me back, so I can be wonderful again.

It's November. School started in August - yes, the flood worked a number on everybody's 2016, but we have made adjustments.  And as blessed as we are to remain in our home, we have done our best to get into new routines and stick to it.  3 Months in, and I barely feel like I can get a grasp on this new "schedule."  Bk3 starting Kindergarten goes down in the books as a whirlwind, schedule changing, sleep stealing adjustment for this mama here, and each day is a new adventure.  I'm learning that this here, is the new norm.  Buckle up, ready or not! Right?

I cut a few hours off of my weekly class schedule in the evenings, in order to open up a little bit more time with the boys after school.  I'm thankful to be able to ask Bk3 "How was your day today?" on Mondays & Tuesdays, check his folder, and smile with excitement when he shows me the things he worked on those days.  Wednesdays & Thursdays, I drop him off at morning carpool, and since I don't get home until 10 p.m. those nights, I won't see him again until the next morning.  The days seem like rat races, starting with 5:30 am alarms, packing lunches, getting everyone to wake up, eat, get dressed, packed up, off to school, back home to clean, do dishes, cook dinner (at 10 am), do office work, manage animals, laundry, house chores, groceries, more dishes, prepare class material, emails, carpools, drop kids with the sitter, and then off to work trying to hold my eyes open - knowing I now get to be mama to a whole new animal, GIRLS.  I slowly climb up the stairs at 10 p.m., eat, do MORE dishes, prepare the coffee pot, enjoy a glass of wine (if I'm lucky) and go to bed by 11:00 (again, if I'm lucky).

I pray more than ever.  The time in the day ticks away, and as I count task after task off the list, I notice how adding new tasks (even if only in my mind) builds the anxiety level to no end.  Impatience takes over, and all it takes is Briggs saying "you're being a mean mommy!" to make me go off and immediately regret the stress filled rant on a 4 year old.  I take a second, and think "God, please build me back."  The great thing is, no matter how many times you ask, He does.

Tuesday morning, at 7:10, like always, I told the boys to head downstairs and I'd be down in a few minutes.  Yes, a lot can happen in a few minutes at the Webb house when it involves the boys going downstairs unsupervised.  We can go ahead and check off escapes to the barn,  peeing ourselves, fist fights over which car door we'll open, and Grayson successfully starting my car and putting it into reverse from the list of various crazy moments.  This particular morning, I realized the chicken coop door was left open.  So I got downstairs to 17 chickens, 3 boys mowing through chicken & dog shit, the two dogs, all parading together in the yard, like Nola Mardi Gras 2017.  We were already 1 minute behind schedule, and I knew it was best for me to then surrender.  Thankfully, I got everyone into the car, and through each respective carpool line on time that day.  Of course though, not without Grayson dumping out his entire bowl of frosted flakes in his lap before the car door was opened for him to get on with his day.  God so graciously gave me the gift of laughter at that moment...and boy am I thankful.  I am thankful for that very same night, after getting home at 8:30 (my early night), Grayson says "rock rock mama" as I'm putting him to bed.  And did I pass up that opportunity? No indeed.  Brannan came in and asked my why I haven't eaten yet - and my only answer was that "my baby asked me to rock him...and that, I will do."

I pray.  I pray.  I pray.  I pray for more deep breaths.  I pray for more moments that I cherish with my sweet boys.  I pray that BK3 doesn't have to say "Mama, I want to spend more time with you." as he and I both adjust to this new all-day school life.  I pray for more moments where God so graciously steps in and says "Open your eyes, Carrie!  Life is right now.  Don't worry about what is in store next!"  I can firmly agree that it must be great - what He has planned for us all.  I trust, because He makes this path for me.  With it's twists and turns.  With the happiness and tears.  With the nights ending with me saying "God, please build me back."  With the mornings where I feel like a superwoman who can conquer the world, because while I slept, HE did just that.  He builds me back to conquer each day.  He builds me back to share with others just what that means...God is here, inside us, and never letting go.  Just like someone will see beauty in that empty, stripped down, damaged, battered home.  Just like someone will come in and build it back to perfection, God sees us in all the beauty we can be.  The wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, and teacher that I am.  Even with the long days, stressful rants, temper-losing moments, rounding up chickens, rounding up children, rounding up dancers, rounding up life...God builds me back.  For that, I am forever grateful.

Down to the studs...

Everyone has their own version of the story for the weekend of August 13th.  The weekend that changed many of our lives.  The weekend that brought one home after another down to the studs at its core.  And everyone's stories are true.  We knew rain was coming, but we had no idea just how much.  And exactly what it would do.  Brannan and I built our home during the year of 2012.  The largest water level this city had seen to date was 41.5 feet in 1983.  The engineers guided us and told us that the flood plane was 45.0  But it had been 30+ years since a flood of that measure had broken into our city.  I remember the steel manufacturer asking us how high we wanted our beams, and Brannan (for whatever reason) said "put our house at 46.5...let's be 1 1/2 feet higher than the flood plane."  That decision saved the inside of our home. 

The rains came and by Friday morning, schools canceled, flood advisories were out, and the Amite river stage grid showed us reaching records within 48 hours.  We took the entire day to empty the barn, empty the space beneath our home, move the chickens, and watch the water creep closer and closer by the hour.  By noon, my parents home had flooded, not by the river, but by the amount of rainfall that measured in such a short time.  Backflow is what they call it.  Or something like that.  All I know is that an entire community north of I-12, not in a flood zone, flooded before any of us living on the river did.  All due to the amount of rain that fell in record timing.  Friday was their day.  Their homes are down to the studs. 

The grids showed the river being at 39 feet by daylight Saturday morning. A measure that we knew was easy enough for us to boat out in our pirogue, to a vehicle we'd park near Florida blvd, and get out for good until the waters receded.  We packed our bags and went to sleep.  I woke at 5 a.m. and checked the grid before looking outside.  Within 5 hours, the water level changed drastically from the projected amount.  B took the boat out to check on his truck parked on higher ground.  We had lost it.  The water was already 41 feet by 5:30 a.m., and it flowed with a current that proved to me it was already crossing a main highway through our city.  It was too late for us to boat out.  At that point, we had to wait, like all others, for better, stronger boats to come to our rescue.  I wasn't afraid of the water level (it still had 6 feet until it would enter our home), I was afraid that our steel beams would give way into the then 12 feet deep waters flowing beneath us.  I tried so hard to hide my fear from my boys.  They were fascinated that we were surrounded by water.  I let it be.  We put them in puddle jumpers and life jackets and I made them play with blocks by the front door.  I knew that if I felt the house sway, I'd run, and we'd swim.  Not that it would have even worked.  We all know my swimming skills suck, and I didn't have a life jacket.  Within 2 1/2 hours, Brannan's dad and a good friend had gotten to us.  I had already cried 4 or 5 times that morning, but at that point, I was so thankful to leave my home.  They couldn't take us all, so Brannan stayed back.  The three boys, myself, Mr Blayne and Colt headed out.  At that point, I saw Florida blvd and all of it's buildings under water.  Water was white capping across the highway.  People were walking in chest deep water from their homes on side streets up to Florida.  Carrying baskets full of items, or children, or pets, even newborn babies.  Our plan was to make it to the law firm at Florida and Range.  But the boat couldn't take us anymore, since the motor was hitting the pavement.  We had to walk.  Rain came down, current crossing shin deep over me, barefoot, clinging to Grayson while Mr. Blayne held the hands of Briggs and BK3 - both of which thought this was quite and adventure.  For that, I'm thankful. 

We walked until we couldn't walk any further due to the water levels.  We waited for an army vehicle to come toward us, but instead got into the back of a stranger's 4x4 lifted red Ford Truck, who was also rescuing relatives off of Florida.  They didn't even question the space.  They just said "get on in.".  I cried again.  At that point, I began to realize that it didn't matter what was going to happen with that water entering my home.  My boys were safe.  My husband would soon be safe too.  And I didn't give a damn about anything else.  That truck drove all of us through the deep waters and fast current to the higher area of Florida and Range.  We had made it to the law firm where we met up with Brannan's mom, sister and her boyfriend. I learned at that point that the projected had raised to 46.  I knew then, it would probably enter our home.  But again, I was too thankful to be alive at that point. 

The next few days were a blur.  Our day was Saturday.  My parents had evacuated to my Aunt's home south of I-12, and it flooded Saturday night/Sunday morning.  Sunday was their day, again.  Other communities flooded days following due to all kinds of conditions that again, were unprecedented; unheard of.  All the while, AT&T towers had malfunctioned and no one could get in touch with anyone.  No communication.  People stuck in their attics, stuck on second floors, stuck on roof tops, stuck on the interstate trying to leave, stuck in walmart parking lots, stuck at the highest ground they could find, and surrounded by water.  Sunday was their day.  We worried about our family members, our friends, our new places of shelter, our next few weeks and months.  Social media was our only chance to find out any information as the national media could have cared less.  And that's ok...now.

It's ok because strangers got in their own boats.  Strangers opened their homes.  Strangers opened their arms and their hearts to one another and said "get on in."  People helping people because that's what we are here to do.  When the going gets tough, the people here come tougher, and for one another.  That's the truth.  As nature has it, the water has gone down.  The homes are destroyed.  Memories, belongings, keepsakes - destroyed.  Down to the studs.  As a people, united, we are down to the studs.  God has everyone displayed that way.  Down to the root of what is important.  Shaving away at the excessive wants and desires that now lie at the curb, water logged, waiting to be tossed to a landfill.  Down to the studs.  I am proud to be a part of this community of Denham Springs.  A community of brave individuals who love above all else in a time of disaster.  Surely, we can all look for the negative.  But all I see is a community of fighters and believers, down to the studs, ready to build back up again.  And this time, with bigger hearts - bandaged by the love shown from others - beating with a strong trust that God is with us, for us, and will never leave us.  He is helping everyone pick up those pieces that are left.  To build an even better life - from these studs, who will remain a part of the old and the new.  Pray for our community.  For those who's day was Friday, or Saturday, or Sunday.  Or any day.  Pray for the hearts, down to the studs.  

4 Stores and a 1 1/2 year old.

It's been six months since I last documented these funny life stories.  There are many moments throughout a day when I say "I have to take note of this..." but then, I'm so tired that the only thing I want is for my head to hit the pillow.  Today though.  I make time.

I was a bit late to the game and waited until last night to call for an early bed time in order to get ready for this wave of re-awakening with school starting.  I've been in my 9 a.m. carpool bubble for 3 years now, and this 7:25 a.m. thing is probably what is giving me the most anxiety.  I asked B to get the boys to bed early, in hopes of me getting ALL OF US up early this morning to practice.  Practice.  Yeah...

I can't remember at what point Grayson crawled into my side of the bed, but I know it was before 3 a.m.  I woke up around 3:45 dreaming of snakes, and was pushed out of the bed by the 1 1/2 year old.  Sweating.  Knowing the 5:30 attempt to open my eyes for good was going to be rough, I let that snooze happen until 6:30.  Hey, I tried.  Ran into the shower, with Grayson crying at the shower door...not sure why, except he just was pissed that I left him in bed with Daddy.  One day, I'll be dragging him out of bed...but now. No.  He robs me of the quiet morning coffee during the 6 o'clock hour EVERY DAY.  Got out of the shower, greeted by the eager BK3 who already had his clothes in hand asking if it were time to practice.  He is me made over.  Karma.  So that went well, even though it was an hour behind schedule.

After a few demands, "MAMA, LECHE!", "Mama aren't you glad, I didn't pee in the bed?!!", "Mama, when am I going to meet MY teacher?", "Mama, does Daddy go to work today?", the boys love to go out on the back porch and feed the cats/Roxie every morning.  It had only made it to around 7:05 a.m. and I was making lunches, trying to pour coffee (thanking God it was at least still hot), and daddy B says "Hey, I haven't seen Gray's head bopping around on the back porch in the last few minutes..."  Me.  Panic.  It's way too quiet.  After a few minutes of frantic yelling for a toddler that isn't going to respond anyways... I figured I'd go look downstairs outside.  Yep.  He actually hollered back to me after I called outside "Yeh Mommy!"...it was WAY too far away.  And sure enough, the little rascal had gone down 21 stairs, somehow dodged numerous piles of chicken shit, trekked through the back yard to the tractor shed about 50 feet behind the house, climbed up on the tractor (it's a big tractor), and was seated in the driver's seat.  The cat had followed him out there to chill too...  He was TOO proud.  And I was relieved.  "Oh, he's just on the tractor."  I promise I don't neglect my kids.

Right after breakfast, I began packing BK3's booksack for tomorrow's Kindergarten start.  I suddenly realized that I had only bought 2 pair of navy shorts.  2 pair in size 5, and 2 pair in size 6, just to see what fit.  Then forgot that I didn't actually buy the other 3 pair of what I'd need in order to dodge laundry 3 times a week.  So I threw the kids in the car (not really, even though they probably would've thought it was fun) and decided we could easily find this in Denham.  Not.  We went to 4 stores.  And it wasn't until store 2 that I realized I hadn't brought a stroller.  Genius, Carrie.

Store 1:  Old Navy.
Briggs stole the limelight here.  While Grayson was fighting me to put his feet into the cart's seat, I turn around to see Briggs RIDING the dog mannequin.  RIDING IT.  I yell BRIGGS!  GET OFF THE DOG! (why does Old Navy have a dog mannequin?) and in the exact same second thank GOD for the mannequin not crushing under his 40+ 3 year old self.  He responds "Why? I was just trying to be a cowboy."  Cool Briggs.  No navy shorts there.

Store 2:  Kohls
There's a cart here too.  Thankfully.  But no shorts.  But there was a rack of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle memorabilia that Briggs told the entire store he needed for his birthday. 

Store 3.  Belk
No cart.  That's when I realized I needed to eat my wheaties for breakfast.  After a few threats of telling the boys to stay near me, ask Bk3 to hold my purse since I had the giant toddler, and making Briggs promise to "walk up", we entered the automatic doors, which BK3 stared at for 30 extra second thinking they were magical.  I hauled to the back corner of the store, where I immediately scanned and saw no navy shorts.  The super nice older lady who worked there said "Oh! I'll watch him while you look for shorts"....  Yeah right, watch Grayson?  Sure enough I set him down, and he ran, like Usain Bolt in the mens 100m, setting out a devised route that he had been working on since we walked into the store.  The lady looked at me like HE was the crazy one... come on woman.  It's written all over him, and every other 1 1/2 year old who graces the department store with his or her presence.  Briggs and Brannan got a huge kick out of his lightening speed and ran after him, shouting every audible you can imagine.  Now, it's become a game.  I then bolted, told the lady thank you, and met them two sections over, where Bk3 was hanging onto Grayson's shirt neckline like he had just roped cattle.  Grayson squealing.  As I grabbed G like a football under my arm (when he throws a tantrum, you have to keep his limbs away from your face), I looked at the other two and my eyes told them to make a b-line for the door.  Bk3 ran in front of me and the screaming toddler, screaming sounds like a race car, while I look back to see Briggs trying to "not step on any cracks." Now, if you know Briggs and how slow he is anyways, you can imagine how slow he is avoiding cracks.  Again, we got in the car, buckled, and I just could only think about how thankful I was that I didn't pee on myself...I had 2 cups of coffee this morning.

Store 4.  Stage
There was a cart.  Thankfully.  I asked the first person I saw if they had navy shorts and she was smart.  She took one look at me with my 3 boys and didn't waste my time.  NO NAVY SHORTS.  Ok cool!  Do you have a bathroom? Cause I still have to pee. Thanks!  3 boys in a large stall in the womens' bathroom will finish out that day for ya real quick. 

Store 5.  Walgreens, but not looking for shorts.
At this point, I think the boys could understand the fumes radiating off of their mama.  My tone was calm (surprisingly), and they behaved.  We were checking out, and a kind man with an LSU shirt, around 75, walked in.  He stood and waited inside near the door until I gathered my three from the checkout and headed out.  He said "Ma'am are ALL THESE BOYS yours?" to which I said "Yessir, they're all mine"   He responds with "you sure are blessed with these fine young men you have." 

To which I took a deep breath, smiled, and all of the chaos of the 4 previous stores blew on away.  He's right and as I buckled everyone in their seats soon after, I could only be thankful for him.  He was sent right there in that very moment to remind me how beautiful these tiny chaotic moments prove to be.  I think that those signs of thanksgiving are graciously thrown at us everywhere.  Surely, we don't always notice them.  Especially nowadays, when we are preoccupied with everything imaginable.  I was content in the no-find Navy shorts that I'll tackle again tomorrow, in Baton Rouge this time.  And for the rest of the day, thought often of that nice man who helped me see the light in that quick minute!

We start Kindergarten tomorrow.  BK3 is more than excited to eat in the cafeteria, and that helps me to calm down a bit.  Going to bed thankful tonight for the many men and women who love my boys.  The many who serve and will serve as their teachers in the coming years.  My heart is full, knowing that there are special people on this Earth who they will admire and learn from, as they grow into young men themselves.  Or cowboys, as Briggs chose today. 

Gym Mom

I enrolled BK3 into a gymnastics class for boys.  I had been given many good referrals from trusted sources, but had been holding out.  One day, I taught him how to do a cartwheel and when I walked away, he actually practiced on his own.  Shocker!  So we started in January, and he loves it.  I'm elated that he's getting some skilled coordination help, muscle tone, and knowledge of gym basics, which I loved and still love to this day.  Flips are fun, and I'm thankful I can still manage to show a few moves myself.  So begins the crossing paths from being a dance school owner/instructor to a mommy. The first day, I learned we can "view" the class the entire time - cool.  That's new to me, since for every activity I ever did growing up, there rarely was a viewing window.  I have them in my studio, however I also have mini blinds installed, and we close them anytime it's needed.  I'm an advocate for sending your child in and letting them learn, grow, love, without being under our watchful eye...however I do understand why it's important nowadays with all of the crazy folk out there. 

The first few weeks, my viewing was minimal because of Briggs' and Grayson's pleas for attention.  I was a bit thankful, in the midst of being pestered by Daddy to "take as many videos as you can!" because I felt just a little weird watching every  move my child made.  I even had to watch myself a few times as the fellow moms yelled TO their children from the viewing box, "straighten your legs!", "do the cartwheels like you do them at home!", "pay attention!"....gosh.  This is my first run at this, and if this is how all of my child's activities are going to go, then I'll need ear muffs.  When my kids screw up, I laugh.  Because right now, the screw ups are rather mild.  And they're learning.  And I know they NEED to learn, in order to grow.  I am certain that the screw ups will intensify, and then it will be my turn to actually cry over it.  For now, I laugh.  For now, I'm thankful that it's just BK3 getting clocked in the head by some kid's legs who's executing a not-so-perfectly done cartwheel, because he left his station to go tell Coach "Hey, he needs help with his donkey kicks".  Cool B, pay attention to your own task...K?  K.  The coach is great, and again, I'm thankful my child is learning some great skills from a great teacher.  Trusting is hard.  But it's necessary.

This past Saturday, we took Bk3 to his Kindergarten screening.  Kindergarten.  My endless mommy-son time will soon be over.  It's a pit in my stomach that I'm having a tough time absorbing.  My sweet first born will soon be starting real school, and my days will be cut so short.  So starts the next 13 years of his life in "school", which I just dreamed about the days before he was born.  And now it's here.  He spent about 45 minutes with a teacher from the school, and when he came out to us, he seemed 2 years older already.  Then the nice lady told us that the subject of most of their conversation was "Deer Poop", and I immediately relaxed.  No wedding planning yet...thank you Jesus.  I'm not sure how I managed to keep anxious anyways, with Grayson exploding juice boxes all over their cafeteria or eating the ENTIRE orange crayon at the coloring station.  Briggs toured the playground, thankfully.  Lots of thanks....lots of thanks. 

I'm thankful that I'm able to concentrate on listening to each one of my sons, although Grayson only yells NO, Mama, Uvas (Grapes), and Ouch!...so we can mainly assume Bk3 and Briggs.  They are becoming such sweet little individuals.  They love different foods, colors, activities, sayings, and they have different modes of affection.  I have prayed for patience a lot in the last few weeks, and I see many times throughout the day how God grants me the opportunity to practice it.  Briggs wants to "Stand on my tippy toes" to pee however gets stage fright for 3 minutes until I surrender and say "SIT ON THE TOILET!".  Thankful the bed isn't wet, though...again, thankful.  I held a sweet baby girl today, and had to give her back due to my fear of getting pregnant just by the gooey-ness of baby fever.  No Carrie.  NO.  NOT RIGHT NOW.  I'm sure my relatives are thankful...again...thankful

Just another day to give the glory where it's needed.  God has blessed us so much - and I learn every day how my job as a mom is to pass that along.  The red birds that flood my window views are gentle reminders of the ones who love me so much, residing in the best place to be, Heaven.  I have thought a lot in the last few weeks about keeping strength, and I have to owe it to my own upbringing.  To my parents who worked so hard for me.  As I should do for my own family.  As we all should do for each other, every day.  And when we take just a second to take a deep breath, we notice all of the glorious things that make us smile, like deer poop or a gym viewing window - for that, I am forever thankful. 

So long 2015!

Where did 2015 go?

I had been looking forward to our much needed Christmas break for many reasons:  days off were hard to come by over the last few months; bed times and bath times were few and far between with me working nights, and I wanted to share in those special times; I absolutely LOVE holiday food; family is important, and I was anxious to spend time with everyone. 

With all the rain we have had, the energy levels in the little guys were pushing me to limits I had never seen before.  And that was just by day 3.  Briggs is reminding us ALL about the torrential 3's, Grayson has a jump on his terrible 2's and BK3 all of a sudden thinks he runs our house - and he means it.  Give one of them the wrong color plate, and the food is gonna hit the fan - or the window, or me.  Each day, I pray for super powers to read their minds, and although I'm getting closer, I still can't decipher who wants Mickey or the Hulk on their cup this morning.

Christmas came and went.  After working 3 hours on Briggs' stocking the night before Christmas Eve, I finished it.  Year 3, and he finally got his stocking.  Our living room looked like it threw up gift wrap and toys, cardboard boxes and plastic.  I still don't think I'm anywhere near close to having it all in it's own "spot."  But I'm ok with that too.  We succeeded in our annual Christmas day marathon with 4 stops before noon arrived.  My kids were champs - except for the moment that the B's decided it'd be a good time to ask great - grandmother, "Do you have any MORE presents for us?".  If I could've shoved a cinnamon roll into their mouths any faster, I would have... Instead, I used the opportunity as a car-ride home conversation.  Not sure if it worked or not - we'll see next year. 

Ringing in the new year was a whole new dynamic this year.  We had several friends and their children over to our house, and I got a quick glimpse into the next several years.  The kids were wild - and I loved every bit of it.  I know that I'll blink, and they'll be at the age where "staying home isn't cool, Mom."  So I tried to grasp every bit of it that I could.  We had a great time.

Many people challenged me to think of 15 great things in 2015.  So here they are:

1.  We found a new church parish that we love.
2.  Briggs and Brannan became much better "friends".
3.  Grayson makes me laugh every single day.
4.  A more settled year with my studio.
5.  A very successful year with my dancers.
6.  Good health for my Papi - he'll be 99 in March.
7.  Brannan got the truck of his dreams.
8.  Our home seems a little more "Home-ish" this year.
9.  I became closer with several people, who I can now consider family.
10.  No more Bottles.
11.  Briggsy is out of diapers.
12.  No more formula.
13.  Grayson started school at BPECC, and I love all of my boys' teachers.
14.  My boys have begun to show me a tiny glimpse into real "Boy-hood" (I'm not sure if I like it).
15.  I did not deliver a child OR get pregnant in 2015.

I have had more than one person ask me if they can list #15 as one of THEIR top 15's...

I am learning that with each year, time passes more quickly.  I wish I could freeze my boys at this age, as they are beyond fun, adventurous, and spontaneous.  I laugh every single day.  I can only hope that my resolution to make more time for them sticks.  I am understanding that the simplest gifts from God are the one's that carry the most impact.  I look outside every day and at least once, catch a glimpse of a red bird eavesdropping on our adventures.  It makes my heart full, because I know that my Dad, Brannan's Dad, and others are just as "along for the ride" as I am.  So here's to 2016 - its adventures, its excitement, and its challenges.  The Webb's are ready!