The way things change

I've written several times about how differently I'm parenting my youngest kids than I did my first two.

See, my older ones were 6 and 4 when we got started again. Not old by any means, but the second round of babies were 17 months apart and then 14 months apart. So having a 4-year break sounds huge for me now.

I don't think I was ever really high-strung, but being surrounded by laid-back mamas and having a big family will force anyone to chill out a bit.

At Christmastime, 2006, my older son was 4. My husband started talking about how badly he wanted to get him a gun & holster, like a cowboy. I argued and argued. "We can't teach him that violence is okay, that it's cool! A GUN???"

(sidenote: I'm not making any political statements about the second amendment here. That's not the point...)

Christmas came. My son opened a present and found the guns inside of their holsters, fake gunshot sounds & lights amazing him. He LOVED them. I sat there praying that he wouldn't become a murderer someday.

Today, my big boy is almost 8. He doesn't talk obsessively about killing people, by the way.

My little boy is 2.

And on any given day, you can find my little guy running up to me with a light sabre or toy gun or stick, yelling, "Mommy, I kill you!"

And I'm not cringing, not praying that he won't really kill me one day. I'm falling to the ground, holding my side in pretend agony, howling about how he "GOT ME!" and then jumping up and "killing" him.

Oh, gracious...

Getting closer!

I've finally got some "after pictures". Boy oh boy, it's been a long time coming.

Poor Greg has been working 45-50 hours a week, and spending his weekends on a ladder with a brush in hand. But it's been worth it. Our little trilevel cottage at the pond is almost finished.

I want to remind you of the before:

And, now, finally, some "afters"...

And, yes, our door is bright lime green!

Here is the before:

and after...

Ever since we moved to Richmond, we've been eyeing these storm doors that are on every other house in one of our favorite parts of town. Well, we GOT one. Love it!

and, I know that this one's hard to see, but here is the landscaping before:

(plus a couple of cute kids on their first day of school!)

and after:

Progress, part 2

If you didn't read this post, I should start by saying that we are amidst a lot of changes around here.

Aside from doubling our family size in the last four years, we've gone from owning a home in Western New York, to living with my mom for six months with two kids, to living in an 1100 sq. ft. apartment here in Richmond, to owning and changing our new home.

It's been quite a ride.

At this point, we're done with the major cleanup that required two years of our time. Seriously, two years. This property was a mess.

This year has been all about planting and painting and slowly seeing progress.

I'm still not ready to show the "after" picture, but here's a peek at one little minor detail:

It's amazing what a silly little thing like a light fixture can do to change things up.

Here is the ugly, dated, before:

and the after:

I'm not sure why the paint color looks so different; it's not...

Maybe it's the aura of our new, fun light!

Nadia Claire

One year ago today, we welcomed our fifth and final baby into the world.

She is proof that God knows best.

Learning that I was pregnant with her was not the joyful experience that I've had with my other kids. Seeing those two little lines on the stick was still tear-jerking, but more like how-are-we-going-to-do-this-please-help-me-survive-God than the romantic tears we've cried seeing them before.

We were done.

Beyond done.

It's a good thing that it's God's design for us to be pregnant for nine months, because over the course of that amount of time, I surrendered and fell hopelessly in love with my surprise baby. What a gift to experience life inside of me once more.

By the time she was born and I saw her face for the first time, I had forgotten about how scared I was at the thought of another baby.

She was mine. And I loved her just as much as I did my others.

I heard a quote once, a long time ago. It was in an email about things that you shouldn't assume or something of that nature. It went something like this: "If you think you can't love your fifth child as much as your first, talk to a mother of five kids."

No lie. It said five kids. And it stuck with me (now I know why).

"Nadia" is slavic for "hope".

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" --Jeremiah 29:11

When you think you know what you want, remember that God knows what lies ahead. Trust that He will bring it to past and that you will be delighted with what He has for you.

I know I am.

Progress

It's happening...

Slowly but surely, it's happening.

When we moved into our house, three years ago, we were a happy little fam of five. With a seven year old, five year old, and an infant, I could somewhat envision how our messy property and dated house could become potentially-perfect for us.

Then I got pregnant.

Then I got pregnant again.

Now, our house seems smaller, and projects take much more effort and determination to complete. Potential was much harder to see, much less carry out.

But it's happening.

A few months back, I posted this picture of our house, the way it looked when we bought it:

The work has been endless. And isn't easy with three kids three and under running around! We've been busy rebuilding the wall of the pond so that the house doesn't one day fall into it. (There are now posts where a picket fence will one day be.)

Ripping out shrubs. Replacing shrubs. Building brick walls. Ripping out fences. Knocking down sheds. Grading the land and planting grass.

Up until this year, it was hard to see the improvement. Greg's a big "behind the scenes" kind of guy. (Straightens closets when the house needs to be cleaned, that sort of thing.) It's good, though. He clears and straightens the canvas so that the final painting will look its best. That's hard for me when I want to just change everything and see results.

Since we're nowhere near done, I have been hesitant to post an update. But I have gotten yelled at for posting "before" pictures without any "afters". So how about some "during"s? This is what the house looks like today:

*forgive the sun & shadows; I'm still taking Photo Booth pics on my laptop, without my camera :(

As you can see by the ladder out front, we're amidst continual painting. The door color will change (the color may shock you!) And we're putting in the one piece that I have been dreaming about since we moved to Virginia...a Richmond storm door. Keep checking to see the final reveal on my little FULL house!

yikes

under construction...this blog's a mess! please excuse...j crew mama has been playing around and doesn't have time to clean up her mess...

bad mama...

Remembering

Twelve years.

Today is twelve years.

Last year, I posted about the day my dad died. Every June 15th, that day comes back to me with a flood of tears.

Today, my sister and I are trying to remember the little things about him that are starting to fade.

His laugh. His hugs. The way he'd brush our hair when we needed some Daddy time.

But, with each year, it's harder to remember.

My sis was twelve when he died. So this year means that she's spending more of her life with him gone that she did with him here. She remembers even less than I do.

His laugh is hard to remember, but I remember that it was mostly silent. Like one of those laughs that's more airy and sort of wheezy. It was even that way when he wasn't sick. I guess my brother's is kind of like that, when I think about it.

He had these perfect hands. He could be a hand model. He always kept good care of his fingernails.

It's funny, when I see his face, my brother looks so much like that picture in my head. Even the way that he rolls his eyes and shakes his head at things when they're funny and sort of ridiculous reminds me of my dad.

But there's not much. I don't remember what it was like to hug him or have him hold me. The only touch I remember is how his body felt when I first saw him after he died, in his hospital room. I remember falling into his lap and holding on, wanting him to hold me. I remember how still his legs were. I remember the feel of his knees on my one elbow. And his lifeless abdomen on my other.

I want to remember much more than that. So badly.

I knew that this day would come. I knew that one day, it would have been so long that I wouldn't remember what it was like when he was a part of my life.

I just want to remember so much more of what it was like when he was.