I Am Here

I hear the 'drip...drip...drip' and the beep of the coffee maker. The candles are glowing and giving off a faint vanilla and lavender scent. Standing up from my little white desk in my tiny dining room nook, I wrap my cardigan tighter around me. Slowly, I pour a warm cup of decaffeinated coffee and add my favorite hazelnut cream. The house is dark and I can hear the faint hum of the heater, soon to kick back on. Our fat black house cat hops in my lap, his favorite place, while I sit and write. I close my eyes before I begin putting my pen to the paper, and I breathe deeply. I can feel it encompassing my shoulders, I can smell it down to the bones of our one hundred year old home. I can sense it in the squeaks and creaks of these aging wooden floors- it is love. It is here. It is home.

I have always struggled with love. In high school I dated a handsome and Godly young man who I truly believed that I would marry. We met when we were fifteen and stayed together until I was eighteen and preparing to leave Michigan for Kentucky. That summer, I began to panic. I feared change and in my heart, I was convinced that I would end up being the one who got hurt in the relationship. So kissing another guy made total sense in my still very young mind, when in reality it ruined our relationship, making me emotionally miserable for many months of my freshman year of college.

Fast forward to my fifth year of marriage, when I was twenty-five and figuring out how to be Mom to two babies, fifteen months apart from each other. My hormones were a mess, I had Postpartum Thyroditis for almost two years straight and my emotions were all out of whack. It made total sense to start toying with an emotional attachment to someone else then, right? My once God-centered marriage, the one I naively believed was immune to wrong-doing, was shaken to its' core. I was so scared because everything seemed so good and so safe- Our jobs, two happy and healthy children, a beautiful home in the heart of the city; I began to consider sabotaging it, just like eighteen-year-old me.

What resulted was the worst storm our family has ever seen, a summer spent of guilt, repentance, forgiveness and reconciliation. The words 'I choose you' tattooed on our arms, are a daily reminder that my husband chose me, in spite of my failures; and that I so humbly, choose him in return.

The wick on the candle pops loudly. The coffee maker beeps again, this time letting me know that it has been almost two hours since it brewed. My cat stretches and yawns, looking up at me almost as if saying, “Aren't you ready for bed yet?” No, not yet. I want to write a little more. I want my heart to be reminded of how far it has stretched and grown, how it has been rebuilt from the tiny shatters along the way. I want to appreciate this life, this love. And then I want to close my tired eyes as I climb into bed, slipping my hand into his as I drift off.

Our children are so happy. Sweet Pierson and spunky Reese. Three and two, they are not anything I could have planned for, nor could my heart have ever realized the bittersweet pain it would endure by loving them. They have been spared, by the grace of God, from when I was digging my heels into figuring out how to accept grace and forgiveness. They never witnessed my husband's hurt and anger and they never heard me say that I thought about leaving. Thank God for this, for growth and for mercy—that we want our children to grow to know their Creator and that because of that, we strive to be better.

Life is leveling out, our routine now just flows, they love their nightly bath and bedtime. They are learning how to love each other as well as how to manage their feelings when they don't. He asks a million questions a day and he radiates love everywhere he goes. She speaks up a storm, and spends her day being Mommy to her baby dolls. She is absolutely the best cuddler in the entire universe. Together, they complete me.

Here I am, mother of two, wife of seven years and I have grown so much. I remember sobbing my eyes out (as well as shamefully spewing out some not-so-nice words) when I read 'pregnant' on that stick. He was seven months old; I had been nursing and taking a birth control pill safe for breastfeeding mothers. My cycle never started, I woke up on Martin Luther King Jr. Day three years ago feeling funny, and I just knew. Every single ounce of me doubted my capability of raising two tiny humans. “How am I going to go to the grocery store?” I thought. “How will I get out of the car and up the gazillion (ten...) steps to our home?” “How can I carry two children on my hips?” All of these trivial questions entered my brain and sadly stuck there for months on end, until learning she was a girl and when I started to embrace my journey with her. They play tag, running in circles around the open spaces of our first floor. Play-doh creations and Hotwheel races, dressing up like Batman and Princesses, experimenting with nail polish and Spiderman tattoos. And I just want to freeze time. Every single night before I climb into bed, I can't not quietly go into their rooms. It never fails that he is cuddling Lion and she is holding her Bitty Baby's hand, their fuzzy blankets warmly comforting their still baby cheeks.

My legs are beginning to fall asleep. I need to stretch them out and he jumps down. “Sorry, Sam,” I whisper. I close the cover to my journal which reads, “Let it Be.” I rest my head on the back of my hands and my eyes happily close. The words that have been said here, the memories that are embedded in this place; let them stay. I am so far from having it all together. I have screwed up, I have had to ask for complete forgiveness in more ways than one and I have cried into my husband's chest as he reminds me why I am loved. It doesn't come easily for me, sometimes it has even made me want to run. But the place that I am in, the “You are Here” dot that grounds me; it is their love. It is in the safety of his arms, the soothing tones of his voice. It is the contagious laughter that bursts from my children and in the warmth of their perfect embrace. The road to get here hasn't been easy but I am here now and that's all that matters.

Just Us

We have been blessed to have really happy and obedient kids, you know, the whopping three years total that we've been parents. But if you're one of those who may think transitioning from one to two kids has been simple for me, well it's honestly been nothing but a giant learning curve.

Pierson was our summer baby. The one we spent three months trying to get pregnant with, the babe we had an entire summer with, just the three of us and our pets, in our new-to-us home; relaxing, cuddling, napping, walking, and oohing and ahhing over single move he made. I documented every single stage, including the time he rolled off the changing pad and we made a trip to the ER (#firstimeparents).

He was sweet and simple; not a crier, an excellent sleeper and a very giggly, happy baby. When he was seven months old, my world was rocked when we found out I was again pregnant. I sobbed my eyes out, knowing that my then napping baby had no idea what his mother just found out and that he would have no idea that it ever used to be 'just us.' I know this has the potential to sound terrible to those reading, but I don't mean it that way. I don't hate our second child (duh, look at her!) and things turned around later in my pregnancy with her-- but there was heartache for me thinking that I wasn't given enough time. I was just figuring out this whole Motherhood thing, I was recovering from Thyroiditis and plain and simple; I felt guilty. "He didn't ask for this!" I cried to my own mom. "He didn't say he wanted a sibling!" The trivial nonsense I bothered myself with is surreal. (What child asks for a sibling? And what about the kids who are second and third and fourth children?)

My daughter Reese was born, almost fifteen months to the day that he was. I was released two days later and it's like when the nurses and doctors were discharging me, they were patting me on the back saying, "Here you go, Mama. Now you have two babies to raise. You have two tiny humans you're in charge of. You'll be fine." My role as Mom to Pierson changed drastically. Before she came, I was his everything. Not that my husband wasn't present (because he is, immensely); but that no other child relied on me. Now I had a tiny baby girl, who needed me for all of her meals, every three hours , no matter what we all may be doing. Pierson had to learn how to play independently, was shushed when I was scared he would wake her, or scolded if he tried to crawl into my lap while I re-learned how to breastfeed. Over time I got better and I learned how to live as a mom of two. But still he was immediately 'the older child' and was required to step it up a notch or two, or twenty by being so.

My husband would often play with him while I nursed or bathed her. It wasn't until she got to be quite a bit older that it became easier to parent together again, instead of mostly apart. Life started to slow down after her first birthday- well, slow isn't the right word. Nothing is slow with toddlers. But we have our routine and thanks to Babywise working for our kids, they love and thrive on them.  I can again intentionally focus on being Mom to Pierson. Some days we use the phrase "divide and conquer" and to us this means that we need to separate the kids. They are together all day, every day, and they literally do not know life apart from one another. To Pierson, Reese has been with him forever and for Reese, well, that's actually the case. She loves to grocery shop with her Dad and the photo above represents Pierson's most current mom and son hobby: baking.

I am learning so much about him and his three and a half-year-old self.  Cooking is my husband's thing and baking is mine, so when at ten o'clock in the morning this Saturday Pierson said, "Mommy, I want to make chocolate chip cookies with you," that's what we did. Reese went to the store and Pierson sat on our yellow step-stool, helping me measure brown sugar and flour and turning the standing mixer to the right speeds to mix. We scooped the dough on to the cookie sheets and set the timer; he sat on the kitchen floor for a few seconds and watched as their shape started to change. They began to warm and spread out, fall a little and then rise. I stopped rinsing the measuring cups and paused to take him in. The once newborn baby, my once only child. The big brother and the incredibly loving and gentle soul that started our family. I didn't know that he would become a big brother so soon and while I adore being Mom to both my children, my heart very much skips a beat when it's just us.

Thank you, Pierson, for helping me bake these cookies. Thank you for your grace, forgiveness and love. Three years sounds so short to many, but in Mom Time, it's much longer. They have been slow at times but fleeting overall; to think that in three more you will be six, well, I can't even imagine. Your helpful heart and eagerness to learn make me swell with pride. I am so thankful for every single ounce of you, even and especially when I am not strong enough to show it.

Valentines Goodies Brought to You by Shari's Berries©

I can't believe Valentine's Day is in just a couple weeks! I was so excited to partner with Shari's Berries this month because now I can show you the perfect gift to send your boo- (or kids, or bestie, or mom, or whoever!) I don't know about YOU, but gourmet dipped strawberries are right up my love language alley. There is such a huge selection to choose from; from hand-dipped football berries, hand-dipped caramel apples and classic dipped cherries! I got these delectable berries in the mail and photographed (and ate!) them a day later- they were still as fresh as can be! 

Paired with some sparkling cider, (champagne would of course work too), talk about YUMMY. The kids requested 'pink milk' so that's what they got. As they were finishing their berries, they looked at one another and said, "Cheers!" (Reese's favorite thing to say thanks to our many tea parties). These two and three year olds definitely approved!

Run, don't walk, to your computer or phone or whatever device you want to use and place your order for Valentine's Day! I promise you won't regret it!

Miniature Apple Crisp Pies

Baking is starting to be something I live for on the weekends. Snowy or cold days in general just really motivate me to put on some sweats and get out the standing mixer. Okay, who am I kidding, I don't really need motivation for sweats because they're kind of my at-home staple :/ But anyway! One of my friends made an apple pie and she put it on Facebook this past week (thanks, Rebecca!) and I thought, "Well now I want to make an apple pie!" My husband informed me he actually prefers apple 'crisp' to a crust covered pie so I started looking up recipes with that in mind. At the store he found mini pot pie tins, six came in a package, and they were the perfect size for the personal pies I had in mind! 

I found several recipes and the one that I went with most consistently was one from Pillsbury. There's was a 9-inch Cinnamon Raise Apple Crisp. I didn't want raisins and I actually added some brown sugar to the filling, which theirs doesn't call for. (Look at me, getting creative! HA!) Even though there's is for a standard pie, the filling worked out perfectly for four miniature pie tins. I should have doubled their topping ingredients so I am going to write it for that (x2). Mine just didn't end up being as filled to the brim as I had hoped, but they were still SO good. And then lastly, I looked up a homemade caramel recipe and the Pioneer Woman has SUCH an easy one to follow; that too turned out delicious.

I used store bought frozen roll-out crust that I let thaw in the fridge before using. And then I outlined the pie tins with a knife and cut them accordingly.

The ingredients for the pie filling is this:
1/3 cup granulated sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
4 cups thinly sliced peeled apples (I used four Granny Smith)
1 tablespoon light brown sugar
*I was able to almost perfectly divide the filling into four miniature pies with no filling left over*

Pre-heat the oven to 350°
In a large bowl, stir together the sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar. Stir in, tossing it all to coat the apples well and then fill the pies. 

For the topping:
1/2 cup old-fashioned oats
1/3 cup packed brown sugar
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup butter or margarine
1/4 cup chopped pecans (or nut of your choice or omit entirely if you just don't like them)

In medium bowl, mix the topping ingredients except the pecans with pastry blender or fork until crumbly; stir in pecans and sprinkle generously over filling.

Bake on cookie sheet 20 minutes. Place sheet of foil over pie to prevent excessive browning. Bake 20 to 30 minutes longer or until filling is bubbly and topping is golden brown. Cool at least 30 minutes before serving.

These not only smelled irresistible while they were baking, they are among my favorite pie creation thus far. As soon as they came out and I was letting them cool, I decided a warm caramel topping would be the perfect final touch.

Caramel Sauce Ingredients:
1 cup Brown Sugar
1/2 stick Butter (4 Tablespoons)
1/2 cup Half-and-half Or Cream (cream Will Make It Thicker)
1 Tablespoon Vanilla
 Pinch Of Salt

Instructions:
Mix all of the ingredients in a medium saucepan over medium-low to medium heat. Cook while whisking gently for 5 to 7 minutes, until thicker. Turn off heat. Serve warm or refrigerate until cold. If sauce is thin, just continue cooking for a few more minutes. (Mine took around 12 minutes total).

Now it's time to just DIG IN! My husband walked in the kitchen as soon as I was wrapping up. I literally poured the sauce over the mini pie and handed him a fork. He can vouch for it's pure wonderful taste and I am so excited we have a few of these to eat for dessert this week.