I spend a lot of time sitting in the hallway upstairs at my house. On any day of the week, between the hours of 8pm and 5am, there's a decent chance I'm sitting cross-legged outside of my 2-year-old's closed bedroom door, listening to him cry.

Please spare me the "how dare thou letteth your offspring cryeth" speeches. We've read the books, smeared essential oils all over him, blasted the humidifier, sang the lullabyes (poorly), changed his diet, bribed him, bribed the pediatrician, did the for-the-love-of-all-that-is-holy-just-go-to-sleep chant and interpretive dance both inside and outside of his bedroom, and rocked him for so many hours there are holes in the carpet.

Our bedroom has a pile of stuffed animals that he once loved. But in my lack-of-sleep stupor, I've convinced myself that he must be crying because he hates Mickey Mouse and Cookie Monster. So they've been banished. Yes, I said those words out loud to them. I almost expected them to talk back. I'm so tired.

In all fairness to them, he still cries. Maybe he's crying because he wants them back in his room. The world may never know.

All that's left to do now is pray and cuss. I typically rotate between the two, but there's no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes I pray until I realize he's not going to calm down, and then I cuss. Sometimes when his cries wake me up with a jolt, I cuss first and then repent later.

But I've found myself sitting outside his bedroom door, listening. He sounds much less hostile when I listen to him in real life, as opposed to the pterodactyl-like screeching I hear through the baby monitor. He's only recently - like, in the last two months - started calling me "Mommy." Although it sounds more like "Mah-ee," it's music to my ears. My throat gets all lumpy when I hear him crying for Mah-ee because I've waited his whole life for him to verbally express that he needs - and wants - me. He has a speech delay and only says a dozen or so intelligible words. So, even though the only time he consistently calls for me is in the middle of the night when I'm desperate for sleep (and sanity), I listen.

Sometimes I just sit in the hallway and my stomach is all twisty and my eyes are burning with tears and I think, "I'm right here, buddy bear. Jesus, please help him know I am right here." But he needs to learn to calm himself down and sleep, so I usually stay outside the door. Sometimes my willpower runs out and his little cry for Mah-ee is more than I can handle. So I go in and pick him up, knowing full well that I've just set the "self-soothe" training back three weeks. Sometimes Mah-ee needs her own self-soothe treatment and that requires him in my arms.

It's been 2 1/2 years since I slept without anxiety. Beau works night shift, but when he IS home at night, he tries to stay up until 3-4am to help with little man. But as soon as he goes to bed, my stomach tenses up, waiting for Russell to scream. That's my cue to start googling, "do toddlers have night terrors?" and "does 'sleep regression in toddlers' really mean 'sleep regression forever'?"

He doesn't just cry at night. He really struggles during the day, too. We've talked to his pediatrician and his daycare director about his behavior. They say he needs speech and occupational therapy. So we called the State of IL to assess him. They came. They assessed. And they denied. Said he didn't qualify for services. At first I was thrilled - he must be on track! But then he fell even more behind. Back to square one.

The internal chaos took over. I was broken and feeling like nothing I could do was helping Russell. I started to doubt myself as a mom. One day on my way to pick Faith up from school, I was on the phone with my mom and I said, "What if she decides she likes it at his house better?" Faith goes to school in the town her dad lives in, and the older she gets, the more invested she is in her friends and activities there. I convinced myself she no longer needed me and that she was going to choose ... not me.

(Note: nobody was asking her to choose anyone. Nor will we! But I was spiraling, in crisis mode, trying to prepare myself for the worst. I doubt I am the only divorced parent who has been crippled by this fear occasionally.)

Ten minutes later I picked her up and she handed me this picture:

God was reminding me that He sees my tears and hears my cries. What pains me matters to Him. He nudged Faith that day, and my sweet girl heard Him. She might not know why she drew that picture that day, but she felt like she should.

Isn't it truly incredible that love and grace are not finite? She isn't going to run out of love for me or anyone in her family. She doesn't have to "choose" where to expend her quota of love - there's plenty to go around.

And the same is true for God.

I really needed to know that. When you feel like you're failing your kiddos, it hangs heavy. That picture she drew and His grace eased the burden I was carrying.

My life has pretty much always been an open book. In my most vulnerable, rock-bottom moments and experiences, I invited everyone in. My divorce, my shared custody pain, my remarriage insecurities - I laid them all out there. Friends and family who have never met Beau and Faith still feel like they know them because I wrote openly about our little family without holding back. But for some reason, over the last year, I had to close off that access to my heart. I've been exhausted and raw and, honestly, did not have the capacity to share myself with anyone but my family.

I stripped away the things I typically leaned on for support. Things "just to take the edge off": wine, TV families whose fake drama allowed me to not think about my own, social activities ... and vulnerable posts about my family and me. I gave myself a break - time to just FEEL things instead of finding things to distract me.

It's funny though - when you get rid of the "buffers" that take the edge off, you begin to feel all the edges! I leaned in, to the point where I almost fell over. The edges were rough. But He caught me. He held me. And, Beau ... my gosh, that guy is a rock. He faced his own gut-wrenching disappointment - possibly the biggest he has faced in the last decade - and he barely had time to process it because I was leaning on him so hard. I needed him, and he put me first. He and I are both still standing, and that's a true testament to him ... and to Christ in him.

It wasn't easy, but it's been healthy. I am putting the pieces back together with clarity. And complete certainty that the God who created the universe knows my name ... and He also knew I needed to hear my son say my name. He gave me that gift.

As I've tried to venture back out into the world of people who really do give a damn, a sweet friend reminded me that it's okay to not be okay sometimes. And I don't even have to justify why I feel "not okay." (Love you, McNelly.) This community of friends and family that God has given me to share life with - it's another gift I don't want to take for granted.

So I'm opening up this part of my heart again. Awkwardly. Bumbling my way through it. I've forgotten how to tell my own story, honestly - in writing and in person. But I want to learn how again. Because, for me, there is healing in vulnerability.

A letter to my tiny sunshine

In approximately 9 weeks, a part of our journey will end and a new one will begin. I’ll be a mama of TWO and if you want the truth, Faithy, I am terrified. Obviously, millions of mamas have more than one baby, and God made mamas hearts big enough to love each one of those babies fiercely and gently and perfectly and imperfectly.

I know I will love your little brother in all of those ways. But I am feeling all the feels because four years ago when I moved the two of us into Aunt Mandie’s house (and then finally into our own little apartment), you saved me.

Littles aren’t supposed to save their mamas, it should be the other way around. But each night when you crawled out of your toddler bed and into mine, you glued the pieces of my heart that had shattered that day back together again. No matter what consequences you paid for the decisions the people you trusted most made for you, you loved unconditionally.

It was just me and you for a long time. We ate a lot of donuts, became self-proclaimed road warriors with our weekend trips to visit family, visited Starbucks too often and ignored the dwindling bank account, held some serious dance-offs in the kitchen, watched Dora the Explorer and pretended to know Spanish, and cried every Sunday when you left for Daddy’s house. We make a pretty good team, little one.

When I met “Mr. Beau,” I knew he was special. It’s hard to “date” when you’re a single mom. I remember apologizing to him in the very beginning for my non-traditional schedule and my fierce commitment to you before anything - or anyone - else. His immediate and consistent response over the next several months was: “Children are a blessing. Never apologize.”

A few weeks later though, I got really scared of what being in a new serious relationship would mean for me - and for you. I tried really hard to tell him to take a hike … but he’s a stubborn old mule, that Beau. He was headed to work, but he took a super long detour to our apartment so he could look me in the eyes and remind me that what we had was beautiful and how he cherished it. He fought for us that day, but not in the way I was used to fighting. He was gentle and loving, but strong. The walls I thought I was putting up to protect you and me came down a little bit. It’s scary to trust people sometimes, but he’s different.

Not too long after that, he and I sat at Buffalo Wild Wings, and I told him that I didn’t know if I could ever love him as much as I love you. Looking back, I’m sure that stung him. But he didn’t make it an issue. He let me take our relationship at my own pace. That’s the sign of a GOOD man - remember that. Patience is a sign of strong character. The funny thing is, I began to realize that I didn’t need to love him more than you, my heart was just expanding to love you each differently. Just like the two of you loved me differently.

Slowly, we grew to be a little family. My heart literally bursts at the seams when I stop to think about how lucky I am. I’ve seen how your relationship with Beau has grown steadily over the last 3 ½ years and how he has embraced the role of “stepdad” without ever trying to replace your daddy’s spot in your heart. Watching the two of you together has helped me love you BOTH even more.

That’s why even though I am scared to bring another heart into this little family because I am afraid of taking time away from you, I am confident that there is so much GOOD in what we have, God obviously wanted us to share it. (And we’ve gotten pretty good at sharing over the last four years.)

Just between me and you, sister … there is a shortage of good men in the world. I won the jackpot with Beau - he is smart and silly, hard-working and determined, honest and kind, and his muscles make me all swoon-y. After seeing how much he loves you, I know he is going to be the best daddy to our little Russell. And you and me … we get the chance to help raise Russell to be the kind of man Beau is. We get to show him how to treat a lady … and we will make him be a Cubs fan, so then he will really be a good man!

And no matter what, you’re still going to be my only little girl. You’re still a little afraid of thunder and lightning, but you’re the one who picked your mama up and carried her in the middle of the storm. You’ve got a fiercely tender spirit, and you are going to teach Russell how to be brave and kind just by the way you live your life. He’s so lucky to have a Faithy for his big sister.

And when all 4 boys (including Panther and Saber) get to be too much for us, we will take our hard-earned cash money, tell them to peace out, and go get our nails done.

I’m proud of us, sunshine. Through it all, we’ve stuck together, and look at how our love has multiplied.

 

A brokenish full heart at the holidays

A divorced family at the holidays....such a cliche, except to the divorced families at the holidays. When kids are involved, every holiday is a real life opposite-of-cliche, sucker-punch-in-the-feels kind of day.

This week felt like a tug-of-war over my kiddo - and not in a spiteful or angry way. It was just desperate attempts by her dad and I to try and fill the dull ache of void that comes with the idea of spending a "family" holiday away from such an integral part of your family. There is bargaining, begging, bitching, breakdowns and brokenness. At the holidays. Stupid. But real.

You think to yourself, "She should be here with me!" knowing that her dad is thinking the same thing. The other night, I read through our custody papers through blurred tears, trying to read the fine print and analyze the syntax of a sentence to figure out if I actually had the "right" to decide something for my girl. The tears were not bitter - the papers are there to help us stay the course when our hearts scream. I don't blame them, or him, or anything really. It's just a baffling reality.

I have accepted the fact that I don’t have all the answers and I don't even know the right things to say sometimes- neither does her dad, neither do her stepparents, nobody can be right all the time.

So we happy it up - we create new traditions and we celebrate the joy she finds in each home. Beau and I cheer her new role as "big sister" at her daddy's house and her aunt sends us pictures of Faithy waving a flag at the Veterans Day parade to say "thank you" to Beau, and we ALL make a big stinking deal over her getting a Terrific Tiger on her behavior chart. But holidays are hard.

When you're feeling zen, you throw up a white flag but sometimes you want to grab it back and hide it under a pile of dirty laundry. When it IS your holiday, you can't help but feel guilty for taking time away from the other person. Because you know what its like to be at a family dinner and watch your siblings love on their babies while you fight off the invisible noose on your heart and pangs of jealousy.

Your emotions do a straight up UFC wrestling match. Because what are you supposed to feel? Allowed to feel? Allowed to ADMIT to feeling? What do you whisper to Jesus and what do you cry hot tears to your husband about? Is it because she’s my only one? If I had another kid, would the ache be minimized? Is that wrong to wonder?

Tomorrow we will eat Thanksgiving dinner with our friends who became family. They are a blended family, they are military, and my sweet friend lost her mom unexpectedly a few years ago. They know pain, they know chaos, and they love our little family fiercely in spite of our own pain and chaos. So we drink Glühwein and fly through our crazy real lives together. I am so thankful for that safe place on the holidays when I am teetering. We just teeter together.

This is when I just sit back and remember everyone is fighting a battle I know nothing about. My story is not unique. So THANK JESUS for friendship and family and partners who are always in your corner. Thank Jesus for second and third and nineteenth chances when your attitude of gratitude is in the toilet and also when it is overflowing (the gratitude, not the toilet. Poor choice in semantics).

I could write all about the things I am thankful for, but tonight I am going to bury them in the deep corners of my heart where I normally stash my dark feelings. Because I am realizing that just like “Inside Out” taught me, sadness and joy can co-exist. And it's a beautiful story when we allow ourselves to feel everything.

So I will mash them all up together (like potatoes...I am getting hungry). I'll make sure that tomorrow I am intentional in my interactions and that I put my phone down and enjoy the realness of relationships. I'll kiss my tiny diva every hour on the hour and pinch my cute husband's booty before he heads to work, and I'll giggle with my friend at how funny we are (despite what our husbands think). I will look at my little Faithy in the chair next to me and breathe a sigh of relief. And then I'll drive her to her dad's house after dinner and cry the whole way home. And that's okay.

To Faithy... With Love, Your Meltdown-Prone Mama

My little chicky,

Tonight was your kindergarten orientation. I wore high heels which was totally impractical, considering I was surrounded by tiny humans approximately 3 feet tall, and all the roads leading up to the school are gravel. But I marched across that gravel road in those high heels because they made me feel like I had some kind of power over something. Mostly I just looked like a wobby colt learning to walk...which ironically, described how I actually felt deep inside. 

I'm feelin' all the feels tonight, sister. Walking into your classroom tonight, I got super excited because this is the beginning of a whole new world (yes, sung in the voice of Princess Jasmine) for you. School is awesome. You're gonna learn to read, and do math, and tell time, and you'll make dioramas and play Heads Up 7 Up on rainy days during recess (or just play on an iPad, whatever), and hopefully not pee your pants on stage when you are the narrator for the class play "Stone Soup" (I mean...I don't know anyone that has happened to.) 

I am so relieved because for the first time since you were 2, you will have a consistent schedule from week to week. One classroom, one school, every week. For the past 3 years, you have bounced from house to house every other week, in preschool one week and at home all day the next. We adults have expected you to conform and transition into completely different routines and schedules constantly, all while we feel sorry for ourselves. And you have owned it. Nothing has slowed you down. Has anyone told you how brave you are? It takes a lot of guts to turn your back on chaos and resentment and instead throw those tiny arms around the world you live in. 

I think that's what scares me the most about you going to kindergarten. I have anxiously anticipated this day for so long, where you go off and learn and face challenges that require you to think for yourself. But at the same time, I am terrified of you learning because I can't help but think that the more you learn, the less you'll need me. (I'll be honest, I hope you learn more about algebra, because needing me for algebra will not serve you well. You are free to un-need me for math.) 

But for real, I need you to need me, sweet girl. I know that will sound crazy to some people because of COURSE kids need their moms at this age. But you have already learned to survive without me for 7 days at a time, every other week. When you aren't with me and you cry when your tummy hurts or when you fall down, you've already learned how to survive it without your mommy. You learned that at age 2. Your coping skills are stellar, angel. The other day when I dropped you off at Daddy's, you burst into tears when we got there. The only words you could get out were, "But Mommy, if Beau is at work, you will be all alone. I don't want you to be alone." I couldn't get many words out after that. I pray that Jesus gives me a heart like yours one day. 

You have learned to trust a lot of people because you never know where you might be when crisis strikes (from a blanky left at preschool overnight, or a Barbie whose head fell off, or a round of vomiting in bed at 3am). You know that someone who loves you will help you, and that's what matters - you don't see the lines that divide our family, you just see the hearts that hold you together. We are a jagged bunch, but you have discovered the fullness of life that goes beyond circumstances. 

I'm sorry and I'm not sorry for that. My heart breaks and swells with pride all at the same time. Because that's how life works. And maybe you shouldn't be ready for that at age 5, but you are. 

The other day you were FaceTime-ing with Nana and you quoted the Bible verse you learned at VBS for her: "God saw all that He had made and it was very good" (Genesis 1:31). It is hard to believe a verse like that when every time we turn on the TV, things seem very bad. Is He still looking down at His creation and thinking it is very good? 

I can tell you this for certain...I know when He looks at you, He sees good. You can sense the deepest cracks in people's hearts and instead of seeing them as broken, you see an opportunity to fill those places with joy. I selfishly want to bottle that goodness up and douse myself in it on days when I make poor choices about my attitude. But I know He is going to use you to share it with your classmates, your teachers and coaches, and even strangers you meet on the street. (But please don't talk to strangers. That was a bad example.)

I'm crazy proud of you, Fifi. You are kind and compassionate, and THAT is what will not only carry you through life, but will also be a genuine reflection of Jesus. 

You're my girl. I couldn't be luckier to be your snot-nosed, meltdown-prone, weepy mama. 

Love you to the moon and back,
Mommy

Angel armies

I’ve been a Christian my entire life, but in the past 3-4 years, my relationship with Him has changed drastically. I talk a lot about hearing God in the quiet moments and trusting Him with the little things. But it’s been a while since I prayed for one of the big things, and He didn’t answer my prayer the way I wanted Him to. So what happens then? Our pastor said a few weeks ago, “It’s not the hard-to-understand parts of the Bible that I struggle with. It’s the clear-as-day things...like ‘Love your neighbor.’ Those are the tough ones for me.”

That’s how I feel today. I’ve gotten pretty good at seeing God’s hand at work in the smallest, most subtle ways. I love that. It makes me happy when I recognize Him in those small things because I feel like that means He cares about the tiny details of my life. But this past week, I had a HUGE thing happen and it didn’t work out in my favor. Does that mean He doesn’t care about that big thing? That He forgot? Should I NOT see Him in this because I don’t like it?

I have been fairly transparent about my life for the past few years. So many people have been on this journey with me, and I have felt so loved and so supported by people all across the country. When I hear the song “Whom Shall I Fear (God of Angel Armies)” by Chris Tomlin, when I sing the words, “I know who goes before me, I know who stands behind, the God of angel armies is always by my side,” I picture all of you - the friends, the family, the friends who have become family...you’ve been that angel army (on earth) for me. It’s a great song, you should all download it today, haha. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oi5sP1kDugg)

I’ve been on a journey for 3 years now. Last week, Faith’s dad and I finally went back to court to settle the one thing we couldn’t decide on 3 years ago - which school district Faith would be a part of. It may not seem like a very big deal. But to me, it was. And to her dad, it was. I am not going to get into details because there are still certain things I prefer to keep private - for my sake, for Faith’s sake, and out of respect for her dad. But, to sum it up, I waited 3 years for this. I care very deeply about her education, and this court hearing meant a lot to me.

To make a long story short, we lost in court. The bottom line is that Faith’s dad grew up in the town he lives in now, and he is fortunate to be able to have his entire family in that same town. His lawyer made it abundantly clear that she believes Faith’s dad’s roots in his town were much deeper than mine in O’Fallon. The judge agreed.

Beau and I were crushed. We had been so careful, we had prayed so hard, we had angel armies praying so hard. We did everything “right” and we believed so strongly that O’Fallon was the best place for Faith.

I was hurt because my “deep roots” are in another state with my family. I don’t have the option of those roots because I share custody and cannot move. Beau’s “deep roots” are in another state too. We have tried hard to re-plant our roots here, and we are so fortunate to have friends who are now family, a church we love and invest in, local organizations we support and a community we adore. We don’t see them as “shallow” roots. We love it here and have learned that home is where the heart is. Our heart is here.

It would be easy to think that if we had a different lawyer or if we didn’t have to have our hearing in a small town court, or if this or if that, that things would be different. It is terrifying and depressing when you have to allow some person who doesn’t know you or your kid to make such a huge decision that will have a major impact on your future.

But then we remembered that God is the ultimate Judge. He wasn’t absent from that courtroom. He has been with us on every step of our journey, and it has been easy to celebrate Him for all the times He lifted us UP. So how will we respond when our circumstances seem so DOWN? We prayed for His will - and that meant laying down our own.

When you believe that God is good, it means trusting that He is good all the time. What a sweet relief. We can look back at the past 3 years and see that every time we laid down our own agendas and desires to allow Him to work according to HIS plan, He has blessed us beyond belief.

And I think everyone can see how blessed I am :) Our home is happy, stable and - more than ever - centered on Christ. THAT is what will lead Faith into a successful future. Not just a good school. What a relief to remember that He is on the throne, and He wants the very best for His children.

Thank you to everyone who has held us up in prayer, sent encouraging notes, and been so good to us. This chapter of our journey is closed, and we are excited to move forward :)

An Ode to My Girl's Stepdaddy on Father's Day

The other night, Faith was getting ready for bed and she nonchalantly told me, "I call Sarah 'Mama' and I will call you 'Shannon.'" (Sarah is her stepmom). My heart dropped out of my chest.  We walked into the hallway and I swallowed hard and told her (well, it was more of me telling ME), "Mommy is not emotionally prepared for this conversation right now." B was cooking dinner in the kitchen (no surprise there!) and he popped into the hallway and said, "Not emotionally prepared for what?" 

I relayed what Faith had told me and he immediately glanced at me and recognized my eyeballs burning with "just-when-I-think-I-have-this-shared-custody-thing-down-pat-my-heart-breaks-again" tears. He gently told Faith that she needed to call Mommy 'Mommy' because it was a matter of respect. I am certain that part went right over Faith's head, but she could sense that he was serious, and she knelt down next to me and whispered, "Actually, I meant that I will call Sarah 'Mama' and I will call you 'Mommy.'" 

We had a long talk about it and I assured her that it was definitely okay to call Sarah 'Mama' and isn't she lucky that her stepmama loves her so much! But looking back at that moment in the hallway from a birds-eye view, my heart is so full. I see me kneeling on the floor next to my tiny angel, my heart all discombobulated from a new Divorce AfterShock . And there on that tiny angel's face is earnest remorse with a twinge of sadness from not knowing why Mommy was a little sad. And then there stood B. Rushing to rescue Mommy's heart and be the Logical Voice in a Emotional Avalanche. 

I don't know how to navigate this journey very well. When I filled out Faith's paperwork for her preschool, I listed her dad as the 2nd point of contact if I couldn't be reached, and I'll never forget Beau's expression when he asked me why I hadn't put down his information since while she was at that preschool she was in our custody, not her dad's. I just don't know who is supposed be the Emergency Contact if it isn't me, and that's just the tip of the iceberg with my confused, haphazard decision-making when it comes to all things BlendedFamily. Boy am I glad that I have B. He is never accusing or mean, always just patient (well...Guinness helps that patience) and supportive (ok, and American Honey.) We figure out how to survive these awkward SharedCustodyBattles together.

This Father's Day, Faithy will be with her dad because that's just how things are right now. She loves her daddy, and he loves her - he will always be her daddy. But I'll be darned if I don't raise my glass to the hard work stepdaddys do without always getting the credit for it on special days like Father's Day. 

Faithy girl, you may never call Beau 'Dad,' but let me tell you why we are so lucky to have him. A woman does not need a man to be whole. But B...he fills my heart up in a way I never knew existed. He doesn't "complete" me - I find my identity in Jesus. But he brings out the best in  me and still loves the worst of me. That's what I hope for you one day. And I hope that when you are in our home, you can look at him as an example of how you deserve to be treated. 

About 15 years ago, B dedicated his life to service - first to the Army, to serve and protect ALL Americans. And then as a police officer, to serve and protect ALL Americans. Even now, when the world spits on police officers, and accuses them of ALL being the same way based on the actions of a few (even though that's exactly what they want us NOT to do with them). Even still, he holds his head high and wears his badge with honor and humility. He's brave, and a protector and passionate about service. (Just like most police officers that I know...okay, fiercely protective police wife

backing off now...) 

And now he has dedicated his life to serve and protect US...me and you. That means a trained Rottweiler to guard the house, high-level security, and his refusal to sit in any restaurant without his back to the wall and his eyes constantly scanning the room. But it means more than that. 

He serves and protects us by speaking words of kindness to us all the time. He doesn't raise his voice at us...ever. He kisses me good morning and goodnight every single day, even when you squeal about how gross it is. He doesn't hide the fact that he believes being in love with his wife is awesome. I never worry about his wandering eye because every time I look up at him, he's already looking at me. You may not understand that now, but believe me...it makes a woman feel downright sexy to know other women don't turn her guy's head.

When he walks in the door at 6:30am after a grueling 12-hour overnight shift, and you pounce on him right away, telling him all about Peppa Pig and Teen Beach, he doesn't yawn or tell you to leave him alone. When he's lifting weights downstairs and you run down there after day camp and announce, "BEAU! Guess who's home?? ME!" He drops his weights and asks you about your day. 

He regularly works 72 or 84 hour weeks in order to provide for our family - but since he rotates between days and nights, he has to black out windows, train his body to sleep at weird hours, and then screw all that hard work up in order to be awake for your preschool graduation or my best friend's daughter's high school graduation party. 

He does that because he loves us deeply. 

He enforces Family Walks because he thinks exercise is important and teaches Vader to guard you at all times. He never forgets to grab tissues on his way into church because he knows that he and I will both cry at some point. He listens to sermons on Bott Radio Network in his patrol car and leaves it on that station when he is done in hopes that other officers will listen to it too. 

He does that because he loves Jesus deeply. And that's the most important thing for our family. 

B, I love you for not only who you are to me, but who you are to Faithy. Happy Father's Day - you may not get to spend it with your giant Rottweiler son or your spunky stepdaughter, but know that we see you and what you are to our family. Even though I jack things up all the time and can't swim in the turbulent BlendedFamily waters very well sometimes, you are the calm to the storm and the unassuming hero to me. 

a hand to hold.

Sometimes life is just hard. But you know what isn’t that hard for me? Love. I mean, I know that is supposed to be the most complicated, messy part of life, but it just isn’t for me. I love hard and I love easily. I forgive hard and I forgive easily. The hard part is when love doesn’t manifest the way I want it to. When somehow I am supposed to be a responsible adult and put boundaries in my life that help me love myself as much as I love the people around me, and somehow figure out a balance of what is most important or what is good for who, and all kinds of mature emotional stuff that is just so GRAY and not black-and-white.

This Christmas was a challenge for me. I mean, it was full of love and family, and Beau and I were blessed to fly FOR FREE (holla!!) up to South Dakota and spend several days with my parents and grandparents and siblings and niece and nephew. I got to hear my dad preach at his church’s Christmas Eve service for the first time in so many years. And he preached the most beautiful message about how Christ is the Prince of Peace, and I choked back tears most of his message, as he talked about Jesus reaching out His hand to Peter to pull him out of the stormy water when Peter faltered. It was perfect. I don’t take time with my family for granted. I stayed up til 2am with my brother and sister and bro-in-law and Beau playing games and laughing hysterically. I listened to my Grandpa tell my Grandma, after almost 60 years of marriage, that she was the most beautiful part of his life (you can imagine how us Wheeler sisters reacted to that….I mean…we are very stoic, unemotional human beings. HA!) It was an amazing holiday. Please don’t think that I didn’t soak up the awesomeness of being with the Wheeler/DeCook fam – because if you know them, you know how special they are.

But Faithy wasn’t there. And I had done everything possible to emotionally prepare for it. In fact, when people in my EliteInnerCircle had encouraged me to try to work out custody so she could fly up with Beau and me, I drew a hard line and took a firm stance on how I felt about it. I won’t get into it on here. But she was in Illinois and I was in South Dakota and I had 2 months to prepare for it.

I woke up early on Christmas Eve morning to work on my freelance work, and nobody was awake yet. I got my laptop running and realized my mom was out of K-Cups for her Keurig so I had to make regular coffee. And I know it ain’t rocket science, but I have NEVER been able to figure out how to translate the instructions for how much coffee grounds to put it in vs. the amount of water in a regular coffee pot. I mean, the numbered lines on the coffee pot…are those CUPS or OUNCES or WHAT?!??! The stupid instructions say like 1 Tablespoon of coffee per 6 fluid ounces of water, BUT HOW DO I MEASURE THE WATER?! With a measuring cup or can I use the coffee pot markings or what? I am aware how ridiculous I sound. Anyway, that was racing through my mind as I attempted to make coffee. I grabbed a mug and sat down and glanced at the mug before I tried to swig the nasty coffee-mud….and I saw that I had grabbed my mom’s “Faith” mug that my best friend Ashley had given her when Faith was born.

AND THAT THING HAPPENED WHERE I CAN’T EVEN MAKE THE LUMPY THROAT GO AWAY. There I was, Christmas Eve morning, Ugly Crying at my parents’ kitchen table. Alone like a giant loser. I was angry at myself for not fighting harder to bring her with me to South Dakota, sad that she couldn’t be there to see her cousins, partially fighting vanity knowing that I would be all dressed up for church that night and not get to take a cute family Christmas picture with her in it, and just stressed out that the tissue box was nowhere to be seen when I am trying to be a grown up lately and actually blow my nose instead of wiping it on my sleeve.

And then my own little Christmas miracle happened. I heard a door open quietly, and all of a sudden, Beau was stumbling into the kitchen, walking over to me. Okay, I get it, you don’t see how this is a Christmas miracle. But he came into our trip with a night of 3 hours of sleep after 90 million hours of work, and hadn’t gotten much sleep since we arrived, and it was 7:30 IN THE MORNING and nobody else was awake and I just KNEW he was gonna sleep til at least 9am…but he DIDN’T.

He came over for a hug and then he saw my perfectly beautiful, flawless, movie-star HIDEOUS MORNING CRY FACE. I mean, part of being married to a Wheeler girl is recognizing the CRY FACE. I am sure my Dad and brother-in-law have it down pat too. But Beau looked at me and instantly assessed the damage.

“I just…I just…I just miss Faith,” was all I could crackle out before I did the Even Uglier Attempt To Choke Back Tears Cry.

And you know…I needed him so bad(ly) right that minute. He found the tissue box that had been laying INCOGNITO right in plain sight on the kitchen table and sat me on the couch and let me cry until I was done being a giant baby. He didn’t try and rationalize anything or remind me how much fun I was having or try to fix it.

Then my mom woke up and walked out and saw me curled up in the fetal position next to Beau on the couch and I quickly blubbered out , “I miss Faith and I made really bad coffee and that’s all.”

She saw I was using the Faith mug and got all weepy too, and then told me she was sure the coffee was fine. But she didn’t drink it and she made new coffee.

I was so excited to get home to see Faithy, and it was wonderful and perfect when I picked her up. And I woke up SUPER EARLY on the next morning to decorate our hall area and make it special for Faith. Guys, you know what? It wasn’t that fantastic of a morning. My kid is being shipped from house to house for the holidays, and she is a little bit sassy and struggling more than I have seen her struggle EVER. There was a moment when she cried and then I cried – and not the “I love you so much, I am gonna happy cry” – we both cried out of frustration. And B sat next to me on the couch and told me how much he loved my decorations and how proud he was of me for the Christmas morning experience I had made. And then he just stopped talking and held my hand.

Life is hard. For all of us. But when I take a look around, God CARES ABOUT THE LITTLE THINGS. He inspired my Dad to preach about the Prince of Peace when my heart was battling the stress of divorce, He dragged B’s exhausted butt out of bed to help me find the HIDDEN tissues, He continuously picks up all of my broken pieces and puts them together and somehow manages to make me look like some kind of (Picasso-ish) masterpiece to the people in my life, and they LOVE me.

Guys, LOVE ISN’T THE HARD PART. It’s learning how to handle the consequences of love without going crazy – that’s the hard part! Being vulnerable with people means you open yourselves up to the chances of being hurt, and then you try and figure out how to put other people’s needs before your own, but still protect your heart, but still put Christ first, and WHO KNOWS HOW TO BALANCE ALL OF THAT?

Whether it is marriage, divorce, parenthood, friendships, family relationships, or whatever… we all have our Ugly Cry moments where loving someone or missing someone makes us all sorts of wonky. But as this year winds down and fresh starts on the horizon for all of us, I hope I can remember to hang on to the love, even when it hurts. Ugly Cries just reflect a heart that REALLY CARES. Don’t lose that part when you try to become a Better You in 2015. Find a way to be a Better Lover – not just of others, but of yourself. Set boundaries. Just don’t sacrifice the sensitivity of a heart that feels things. Because there will be a hand to grab yours to help you get through the Ugly Cry moment, without stripping away the vulnerability completely.

Find a hand to hold in 2015. Better yet…BE the hand to hold! (Cue: "Lean on Me" music).