Faith in the Unknown

Summer is dwindling down, well, at least for teachers and students here in Kentucky. The first portion of my actual 'vacation' was spent with an overwhelming amount of illness, but these past few weeks have still found a lot of sweetness. 

My husband is the one who does the numbers budget wise, so recently he was looking at my photography account. He excitedly asked me to stop doing whatever I was doing to listen to the good news: pending an emergency or unforeseen financial hiccup, we currently have saved enough for me to have seven solid months off from teaching to stay home with the kids. I knew that it was possible, and for a while I felt like I was just working my tail off without getting anything in return, but now I see and am reminded that God really and truly DOES provide. I'll be going back to my home school this coming August, the one I started my teaching career at, and I am so very blessed for THAT opportunity, period. When I accepted the job, the sweet Principal sent me a text that read, "Welcome home." I've had full support of everyone to stay home when the time comes, so this winter, it looks like that will actually become a reality. Guys... I almost can't believe it! 

We are praying for more photography and writing opportunities, and I really do think God has more big things up His sleeve as far as His plan for my life, so I will continue to trust and pray, a LOT. It was this time last year that we decided to take our home OFF the market because there was just no place to go, and while I've found a place of peace and contentment in where we're at, my heart still struggles with restlessness for our 'next home.' A few days ago we went to look at a place in Bloomfield, Kentucky, which is a whopping fifty minutes from our current home. We got super lost trying to find it, and the kids were troopers anxiously awaiting getting to visit "the country," as they called it. 

FINALLY, we arrived. We pulled in to the gravel driveway where old, mature trees surrounded us. The white house, built in 1910, was absolutely beautiful, but still very clearly needed a LOT of work. We drove to the back where a gorgeous white porch greeted us. A peach tree stood next to it, and the neighbors had on their property an OLD, deep red barn (the kind that I dream about constantly!) Behind the house was miles of farm land. My son did three laps completely around the house, my daughter asked to take her shoes off, and it happened again, similar to when we looked at a house on land last summer: my heart stopped. When we walked in the back door, we were in the kitchen that housed a wood stove. In the entryway, was a breathtaking wooden staircase that led to the second floor, where there were HUGE, beautiful bedrooms. In the midst of looking, we were obviously searching for the 'problems,' and yeah... there seemed to be quite a few. Cracked plaster, no shower in the upstairs bathroom, an unfinished third floor (that could be an AMAZING loft area), water in the basement.... and the real kicker, it is at least 45 minutes away from ALL our Kentucky friends and family AND at least 25 minutes from the closest grocery store.

I went to bed that tonight of course dreaming of our family in that home. And then I also had thoughts of doubt like what would I do with the kids when I'm a full time stay-at-home Mom? No YMCA nearby, no playgrounds or parks, no Kroger, no Targets, no FRIENDS....... 

Remember that I've been a city dweller for TEN years! And though I grew up in the country in Michigan, we were ten minutes from the grocery store (and Wal-Mart), and Target and the malls were thirty minutes away. I didn't have close by friends, so I practically lived at my Grandmother's farm (which I walked to through the fields), and I don't remember my mom ever being overwhelmed that there wasn't 'anything for us to do' because I played constantly outdoors with my big brother. But here I am, dreaming about my future white farmhouse, on acreage, and wondering a) does it exist? and b) will I be capable of living that lifestyle?! 

Isn't life funny? It's just weird. I see our kids running barefoot around the trees, picking fruit from their branches. I see us feeding chickens and gathering their eggs, I see one or two horses peacefully grazing on Kentucky bluegrass. I see all of this, deep down in my heart, and sometimes I lose faith in not only my Creator, but in myself. 

"What will make you TRULY happy, Ashley?" My husband has asked before. And the answer is usually the same: I'm not really sure? I have no idea what our life will look like if all of the above dreams come true... but I know that I can't personally make any of it happen. I can't find our next home, I can't tell you where we'll end up or what lifestyle we will be living. But I have to trust that God DOES know these things. He knows if I'll love staying home with the kids or if I'll actually be begging to return to my classroom at my wits end. He knows if I'll end up with a farmhouse in my twenties, or if our next place will end up being in a subdivision (please, God, no....) 

Summer is almost gone, with just a couple of short weeks left before returning to our jobs... but I'm excited and hopeful to see where we go + what will be our future. 

Are We Different? Or Are We the Same?

How many of you have read the Sesame Street book, "We Are All Different, We Are all the Same?" Our eyes are different, our eyes are all the same... Our skin is all different, our skin is all the same...

Maybe you've seen this cover or read it to your children without really thinking, "What is different?"

I am the youngest child of three, and my oldest brother was born with a handicap called Cerebral Palsy. On top of this disability, he struggled with liver failure, Grand Mal seizures, Toxic Mega Colon, and more. Doctors didn't give him a high life expectancy and in Michigan medical books, somewhere he is labeled as a 'Medical Miracle.' Because he is. When the average person sees my brother, I guarantee that their thought is that he is 'different.' He walks differently, speaks differently, uses the bathroom differently... but compared to YOU, isn't he also the same?

You see, Nathan loves to laugh. One of his love languages is to be read to, spoken to, and to play the computer. He loves technology and to dance. If he could eat a dozen cookies or a birthday cake, he would at the drop of a hat. He enjoys movies and playing the iPad, he appreciates routine and structure and desires to be loved, just like you just like me.

My kids have been around Nathan every few months since the day they were born. He's Uncle Nate and never in their life have they loved him any differently just because he himself is "different." Now, our 4-year old who is really beginning to be able to rationalize some thoughtful questions, has recently asked innocent things like, "When will Nathan be able to talk?" or, "I hope someday Nathan will be able to walk without help from Mimi." And I've felt blessed to explain to him that Jesus created my brother and that in this lifetime, though it may seem difficult, Nathan will always live life this way. However, I explain, someday Nathan will be given his Heavenly body and he will be able to dance and run and walk and talk SO perfectly, because that's what Jesus intends for him. We come back to the here and now and I get to explain to my son that Nathan really isn't all that "different" from him and without hesitation, my son runs past my brother and says, "Hey, Nate!" just like he would run past my other brother who doesn't have special needs. Nathan is different, but he is the same.

Flash back a few weeks ago when our family was at the Waterfront Park. A young boy ran past my son and I and immediately it was obvious he had several quote on quote, differences. His head was very large compared to his body, he had a tracheotomy, his voice was altered because of it, and my 4-year old immediately pointed and said, "Mommy, what's wrong with that boy??" He seemed very concerned and I quietly and gently lowered his arm. I stooped to his level and whispered, "Let's go some place else to talk." I explained to him that though he didn't mean any harm, we really shouldn't point at anyone. I then said, "Pierson, you remember Uncle Nate right?" "Yes," he responded. "Well, Nathan was created differently, but you still love him the same. The same is true for this boy. I don't know his story, I don't know the reasons why he looks the way that he does, but I know that Jesus created him. I also know that we need to love him." I was wishing this boy would run past us again so that I could hop up and introduce my son and I, but he didn't. When we saw him though, he had a group of friends around him and I was so thankful that he did. My son dropped the conversation and just went on to play, but more questions came later that night.

He asked me again, "What was wrong with that boy." I haven't quite seen my son as worried as he seemed to be for this other child, so I told Pierson that I felt we needed to pray. I prayed aloud that God would calm his spirit, ease his mind and that the next time he saw anyone 'different,' that Pierson would be able to befriend him. We talked a few minutes longer and I left his room holding my breath. I exhaled as I shut the door, sat on my bed and began to weep. That was by far the most difficult conversation I've yet had to have with my son, and my heart wept for my brother, this boy, and for any other human who has gone through life wondering if they would be loved in spite of their differences.

This topic doesn't end at special needs. You ask any kid who has a learning disability, speech impediment, anxiety, a different skin color from his or her classmates, a different accent, who feels attracted to a different gender, who identifies as a different gender... ask them if the first thing they feel when they walk into a room is love. And what about me? At barely 5'2'' I stand shorter than most. As a teacher, I'm smaller than some of my own students! I've got pointy ears, get adult acne, and as a mom, I couldn't even breastfeed my babies as long as I wanted to. While I didn't choose any of these things, how different really, do they make me from YOU?

At 4-years old, my son's questions won't stop here. Our world is large and vast. He will go to school with trans-gendered children, he will grow up knowing and loving many same-sex couples. He (and I) will continue to see things we have never seen before, and we may not always have "the answers." But as a mom and writer, I am begging you to take a second and pause.

What is your reaction to different? And what message are you going to send your children, who someday you will send off to school, or at the very least, send off in to society. What legacy will you leave behind and how do you yourself wish to be treated?

We are all different.

We are all very much the same.

When Life Brings More Lonely than Laughter

This season of life? It's hard. 

Actually, it feels more than hard. What is it? Difficult? Trying? Strenuous? Exhausting? No, it's all of that compiled in to one giant helluva pile. 

You've probably read my most recent post, "The Seven Layers of Hell, aka Life Lately," and if you haven't, you may want to start there. There's been sickness after sickness, one doctor visit after another, and loneliness. Lots and lots of loneliness. 

If you're a mom, you've been there. Your kid throws up and you strip him butt naked, strip the bedding, rinse out the bedding, wash the bedding, and you just keep going. The afternoon and evenings continue and you think, "I'm kind of hungry. Food kind of sounds good right now," but there's more to get done. 

A walk would be nice. Some fresh air, Vitamin D, breathing in something other than a gigantic bubble of sickness. But life just keeps going. Friends go out to dinner, to the mall, to movies, to workout together. Summer parties happen, food, drinks, being surrounded by the people they love. And yet, here I am, Mom, stuck in the middle, wiping one more surface, picking up one more toy to disinfect, internally wishing someone would text me and say: 

Hey, I'm coming over. We're going out so that you can have a break.  

It sounds so selfish, doesn't it? If you don't have kids, maybe you're thinking, "You signed up for this. You wanted to be a Mom. You wanted kids. You should be thankful." Trust me, I'm thankful for my title. I'm grateful that God chose me to raise the two little souls that I am. Their laughter is contagious, their hugs are indescribable, their kisses magical. But before this, I didn't know what it looked like. No one does. We don't plan for these things, we can't be prepared for these seasons, they just happen. Crap hits the fan and no one warns you and when it does, you just feel alone. 

My husband hasn't been absent or missing and really, he's been anything but. He's completely a hands-on Dad, he has been here with me in the trenches, cleaning up vomit, being quick with the puke pans and making sure that we're all cared for. But as I've gotten older, I've come to really long for womanhood--for a Tribe perhaps, that feels like my own, as we support and rely on each other. High school was so so. I played sports and was involved in after school programs. Honestly I had the same best friends from the time I was 4-years old until we left for college. No, we aren't all still these BFF's who call each other weekly or send goofy text messages, but I'll always tell you that they were my very best friends. I'm grateful for social media and for it allowing so many of us to stay in touch. From Boston to Denver to Utah to Michigan, it's so fun catching up on photos and watching everyone live their lives. 

But what about here and now. When my church community is shifting and changing and all of us are going through so many different seasons. And when my parents live six hours away and getting there with sick children is just impossible. What about the present, when I am reminded that God called me to be a mother x 2, but I am tired of being asked why, I'm tired of looking forward to bedtime, and I'm tired of praying, "Lord, please just help us to be over sickness." Life is busy, but not in the fun ways. We've attempted dinner parties that have had to be postponed due to illness, and each time we've canceled plans, my heart sinks and fights hard to see the light.

This season of life? It's lonely. But I refuse to allow it to win. Loneliness breeds so much negativity-- darkness, and so much pain. So when I scrub the dog pee out of the carpet (yes, that happened) and when my daughter dunks her head in to the toilet (yes, that happened too), I will remind myself, This too shall pass. These are the days, the years, that they will need me the most. (Maybe not the pets, but definitely the ever-growing toddlers.) They cling to my legs and demand a hug and a kiss even if I'm leaving for a five minute breath of fresh air. They fight still over Mommy putting them down, and this season of puke, fevers, sore throats and boo boo's, well, it's only just that--a season. 

I've felt sorry for myself lately, but I won't anymore. I'll listen to their deep belly laughs and snap pictures of their kitten cuddling naps. I'll pray for a community, hold tightly to my girls who have loved me well, and believe that this temporary loneliness will NOT steal part of my life. And I'll also continue to be honest. When you ask me, "How are you?" I have told you, "I've been better but I'll be okay," and I mean that.

It hasn't been all sunshine and roses, but I do know and believe that life will just get better from here. 

The 7 Layers of Hell {aka Life Recently}

Full disclosure: This has been THE most traumatic week I have ever lived as a mother, period. And I promise you want to read all the way to Layer 7. 

Layer 1. Tuesday, June 28, 2016- I've been a mom a whole four years now, so I've DONE sickness. I've done fevers, strep throat, rashes, and ear infections. But June 28 marked a BRAND NEW territory. My 2-year old daughter was struggling going to sleep (not typically an issue), but she had battled a fever for about 24 hours. I left her room, I hear my son trying to sneak out of his bedroom for "one more" tuck-in. I tuck him back in and I thought, "Surely no one will need me for five seconds while I pee." Right? "Mooooom!" I hear Reese cry out. Quickly I pull her up on the video monitor and watch as she flops back down. And then I heard it. The loud, strenuous, disturbing sounds of vomit. I sprinted in to her room and there it was. All over her brand new white comforter (yes, I am the a-hole who insisted on a cute WHITE comforter for my daughter in a household of NINE creatures). Giant tears were streaming down her face and she sat there sobbing in a stench that made my gag reflex flare. My husband rushed upstairs and together we cleaned her up, bathed her, Lysoled her surroundings, put Peppermint oil on her feet, and re-tucked her back in. Together we walked out, only to seconds later sprint back in. All over the backup bedding she was using.... more vomit. So, here we go again, except we knew, this wasn't stopping ANY time soon. And it didn't. My poor girl puked and dry heaved for almost TEN hours straight and my husband took the medal for this one because he stayed with her all night. I was teaching summer school and had a job (aside from motherhood) to scramble to in the morning, so yep, he's a saint! Oh, did I mention that prior to her vomiting we had DINNER GUESTS waiting downstairs whom we haven't spent time with in forever? Her second round of vomit I heard them cleaning their dishes in the sink and quietly the front door closed. (Sorry Tim and Clayton, redo soon? Or not because we've permanently scared you away..........)  *Crap, I should also mention that my husband surprised me with a brand new 8-week old KITTEN on this day as well.*

Layer 2. Wednesday, June 29, 2016-So recently my husband has diagnosed with me OCD. Not the obsessive or stereotypical turning light switches on and off 100x, but the whole being in your head, intrusive thoughts, not able to let things go--kind of OCD. No, he wasn't being a jerk and this isn't meant to offend anyone and yes, I probably need some therapy (don't we all??) but I'm starting to recognize some of what he's talking about. Like for instance, the fact that FOR WEEKS, I have smelled a certain scent on my Golden Retriever. She's prone to ear infections so I've been convinced she has yeast somewhere in her ears. She was professionally groomed, they said her ears looked great. Awesome. I took her to our vet, he also concluded that nope, they look great. I swear to you every time she lies down near me, I get this waft of something that I just don't LIKE. Well, on our way TO the vet, my husband texts, "Reese just threw up all over me + all over Pierson's carpet." So, while I'm on my way to the vet, only to conclude that my dog is perfectly healthy and that no one else can smell anything except ME, my husband is getting puked on. High five, Ashley. High five.

Layer 3. Thursday, June 30, 2016- My LAST day of summer school and my very last day of teaching at that school. It should have been a happy day because hello, it meant I could finally be on summer VACATION. We thought things were looking up, we had disinfected every surface in our home, we quietly sat on the couch binge watching Orange is the New Black while the children slept and then we hear Pierson's door open. "Well he's up early," I sighed. There he stood at the top of the stairs, shaking a little, and doing the biggest dry heave/gag/attempt to throw up that I've ever seen. And I was standing at the BOTTOM of the stairs. I froze and yelled, "Pan! Puke pan! We need a puke pan!!!" Lucky for us my husband has a way better fight or flight response and grabbed Pierson from the steps and shoved a pan in front of his mouth. Reese, who also was coming down the stairs, stood WAY too close by as both Asa and I coaxed Pierson and she says: 

"Eewwwwwww, it looks like chicken, Pierson!!!"
Okay, fine. MORE cleaning. MORE laundry, because 700 loads weren't JUST done. Entertaining Reese because she's finally on the mend and feeling normal and at this moment, my blood was pumping way too fast and there wasn't a single second that I had the thought, "I might get this bug too."  

Layer 4. Friday, July 1, 2016- We learned our lesson trying to go back and forth with Reese, so Pierson sleeping in our bed made way more sense. Asa volunteered to sleep on the couch and I set up camp. Puke bucket, check. Light near the bed, check. Hand sanitizer, check. Tissues to wipe pukey face with, check. Trash can nearby, check. Water to rinse with, check. So when two o'clock in the morning rolled around and my stomach started to churn, I texted my mom (she has always been my middle of the night prayer warrior since I was an exhausted, breastfeeding mom). "Try putting some peppermint straight on your belly," she responded. Okay, I can do that, the roller ball is downstairs. I walked downstairs, grabbed the roller ball, climbed back in bed, practiced deep breathing thinking surely this was just anxiety and then BAM. I was no longer the Invincible Mom. I ran to the bathroom, where I proceeded to experience THE worst stomach bug of my adult life. Poor Pierson slept terribly but thank God was no longer vomiting himself... "I'm sorry you threw up, Mom," he whispered. #OMG. Oh, and you betcha, my husband also got his own version of this and in between checking on me (the first few times because let's face it, it gets old when it's happening EVERY FIFTEEN MINUTES), he was trying to take care of himself. And change diapers when I text at 4:00a.m., "Asa, can you please change Pierson? I think he had diarrhea and it's going to make me vomit even more." 

Layer 5. Saturday, July 2, 2016- The day we were supposed to be leaving for Michigan to visit my parents. Miraculously we were all feeling back to normal, (well, I think I was about 80%). We went to Target to stretch our legs and leave our sick bubble (sorry, Target goers, we were "those" parents....) and we all felt good enough to grab a Hot and Ready to enjoy some pizza at the park afterwards. Cool. It was a good day. Our house was clean. No one had had fevers for 24-hours, we were feeling rested. The kids took a good nap, we had a slow and peaceful afternoon, and THEN we realized..........our black cat was missing. He rarely goes outdoors. (He CAN, but he's always super chill to hang out in our back yards or on the front porch.) But he's ginormous and way too friendly and loves every and any human who comes in contact with him, so I just prefer him NOT to leave the house. Well, it appeared that he had snuck out somehow and after we did the whole, "Did you see him this morning? No. Did you see him this afternoon? Nope." exchange, we estimated he had been gone for about 15+ hours. Asa and I took turns walking the neighborhood, we posted to Craigslist, to Facebook, texted neighbors, prayed together, and I had a miniature sob-fest imagining Sammy never coming back. During this frantic search and trying to be strong in front of our children, we hear BB's nail our house. A bunch of middle school SMARTIES were across the street and IN OUR FRONT YARD, SHOOTING each other with air-soft guns that they painted BLACK to resemble real ones. So not only were other people running away, our HOUSE became a target. (Aw hell na! You better believe Asa went all teacher mode and laid down the LAW with that crap!) Well, we got the kids in bed and decided eating dinner on the couch and resting was a must. And then I heard it, AGAIN. Pierson's door busting against his wall as he came frantically to find us. I raced up the stairs, only to find my poor pitiful son covered, head to toe, in MORE VOMIT. Repeat everything from the last 500-hours because that's how long it felt this process had been. Asa stripped Pierson's bedding to get it in the wash and decided to look out back one more time. And there our fricking cat stood, bewildered as all get out because DUH, #fireworks, NONSTOP in Shelby Park.  

Layer 6. Monday, July 3, 2016-Church from home (obviously) and a plan to do, I'll give ya a WILD GUESS.... Did you say cleaning + laundry?! DING, DING, DING!!!! In the middle of our makeshift church service we were learning about Daniel in the lions den, and Reese walks up to her brother and smacks him in the HEAD. So while we talked about ya know, Jesus and stuff, I screamed, "REESE ELISABETH MORGAN," and *almost* lost my mind. Overall, I can't actually tell you that the day was *awful* other then for whatever reason Reese being out of her ever loving mind in disobedience and egging her brother on. 

Layer 7. Tuesday, July 4, 2016- Happy Independence Day! My Instagram feed was blown UP by all these cute mamas at the lakes with their happy and cooperative littles and with siblings who just adore each other as they wave their sparklers around in sheer joy. Here, it rained, all day. We enjoyed a couple of short hours with some family before Pierson was begging to come home and sleep. We came home to a bag torn to shreds (inside were crumbs left over from the cookies that our loving Chocolate Lab obviously enjoyed while we were gone.) Brushing past that, we made our way upstairs. We wanted to get the kids in their pj's, wash their faces, and let them rest on the couch for a few minutes before starting actual bedtime. "He's peeing!" we hear Pierson scream. I was wetting the washcloth and I heard a river of pee escaping SOMEONE. I turned around and good Lord, if it wasn't Humphrey peeing a steady stream in the hallway. To his benefit (does that even MATTER?!!?) we think we just didn't let him outside enough today with how much it rained and his almost ten-year old bladder obviously didn't like that very much. 
Okay, so we get that cleaned up. Towels, Hoover carpet shampooer, and back downstairs to the couch. Reese says, "I have to go potty!" and dismisses herself from the living room. Minutes later, she's back.  I'm proud to say this girl is fully potty trained, never has issues going alone, and is just awesome at doing her business when she needs to. But while she is standing in front of me, she is wearing a GIGANTIC smile and I see that her face is WET and the front of her hair is DRIPPING with WATER. 

"Reese..............WHY are you WET?" I asked. "Because I am," she responds. "No. WHY are you WET? What did you do?!" "I went to the potty," she says. "Reese, SHOW ME what you are talking about. I didn't hear the water running, and I need to know why you are WET." At this moment, Asa was trying not to explode with laughter. Actually, he DID explode with laughter and Pierson said, "Dad, why are you laughing?" "Because Rescue Bots are REALLY funny, Pierson," he cracked up. I get to the bathroom with my daughter and again, ask her to show me what she means. 

OH ****!!!! I almost scream. "Reese, HONEY," (trying to keep a straight face because this, THIS is just the icing on the CAKE).. "You CANNOT put your hands or your HEAD in to the TOILET. Ever. The toilet is for pee and poop, NOT anything else." She shrugs. "Okay, Mom!" 

SO! How was YOUR Independence Day? Or rather, how was your WEEK?! Have a crapshoot story you want to tell? Comment below and as mothers, let's all cheer each other on in our pure exhaustion, outrage, OCD tendencies, and laughter. I wasn't too sure I could see the light at the end of this tunnel and heck... am not truly convinced it's OVER yet, but I'm trying to hope?!