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| "My humans are idiots. Someone PLEASE call PETA." |
Monday, June 25, 2012
A Peek Into a Left Field Saturday Night.....
Shawn and I find ourselves hilarious. I'm not so sure Wilbur felt the same. But really--what else are two bored parents supposed to do when they find themselves with a cat and a Build-a-Bear Buzz Lightyear costume at 10:00 on a Saturday night??? Hmmm......
Saturday, June 23, 2012
My Love
The other night, I shared my exasperation with Shawn and Avery (Noah is at camp, so he was spared my exasperation--at least for the moment) with one of my friends via text. It was hot, I was tired, annoyed, cranky, in pain and just wanted things to go my way. She talked me down, got me on an even keel and I was able to move on.
Shawn, Avery and I went out, where I was able to snap this photo, which I sent on to my friend.
Shawn, Avery and I went out, where I was able to snap this photo, which I sent on to my friend.
When she responded, she commented that I am so in love with my men. Well, yes--it's absolutely true. I am very in love with my menfolk. I can't help it. Even when I'm most exasperated with them, I'm still absolutely in love with them. I do love them with all my heart. They've captured me.
Friday, June 15, 2012
To My Favorite THREE Year Old
My Dearest Avery,
You have gone from our tiny little miracle baby who couldn't wait to be born, before my body was ready, and before we could even get to the right hospital.... You, who made our little family of three into a more complete family of four... You were worth the wait, the tears, the prayer, the frustration and everything else we went through to get you here with us. I loved being able to hold you, being able to nurse you, being able to rock you to sleep and just be with you, smelling your sweet baby scent. You have been beautiful from the moment I first knew I was pregnant with you. Just thinking about all of it still brings me to tears.
You have taught my heart to sing, and I have learned that it really is possible for my heart to feel as though it's going to explode with love. The way you greet me, the way you smile, your hugs, your slobbery kisses.... They are all little pieces of heaven for me. I could snuggle with you and watch you sleep for hours.
You've been to Maine to meet--and dance with--your great-grandfather and namesake. I know it made our Denny so happy to meet you and know you. You even earned the title of Youngest Volunteer when you went to work with Mommy, bringing smiles and laughter to the lives of many who were sick or grieving, or just in need of a smile and a snuggle. Of course, once you became mobile, you had to start going to daycare!
It has been fun to watch you discover your world, such as learning that while you really don't care for camping (unless S'mores are involved, of course), you really do love anything that comes from a Starbucks cup, Mommy's kitchen, a chocolate wrapper, or basically anything containing sugar.
You love bacon, and you love baking. Sometimes it's hard to tell which you like more!
You can pout with the best of them, but you always win my heart (and twist me right around your little finger!) with your charm.
You do your best to keep up with the older kids, always afraid you're going to miss out on the fun. You are my little thrill seeker, yelling, "More! Higher! Faster! It's like a roller coaster!"
I love you more than you could ever imagine, Avery. My sweet, precious, amazing little boy. Not a day goes by that I don't thank God for the gift you are to me, and the joy you bring to me. Thank you, and happy birthday.
Love Always,
Mommy
Sunday, June 3, 2012
A Little Bit of Then and Now....
I thought I'd post these for nostalgia's sake. Shawn had to say goodbye to his childhood home today, and it was tough for him for many reasons.
We had this first picture taken the summer of 1994 when we first dated in high school (See? I really was thin once... Same hairstyle though!).
It really makes me weepy; with the sale of Shawn's childhood home, it really does feel like the end of an era. It makes me sad that, if there are anymore Furr children, they won't know the joy of having their picture taken in front of this tree. As long as we still had the house to go to, it felt as though Shawn's mom was still with us. We could walk through the halls or stand in a room and pull up a memory. I know his mom will always be with us in spirit, love and memory, but it was the "physical factor"--having someplace to go, someplace we could still call hers. This was someplace my children, who never got to meet their grandmother, could go and feel close to her. I know it is just a material item, it is just a house, but there are so many stories within those walls.
*Benita/Mom/Grandma: We love you and miss you. Wish you were here.*
We had this first picture taken the summer of 1994 when we first dated in high school (See? I really was thin once... Same hairstyle though!).
We took this one today, in front of the same tree. Here we are: EIGHTEEN YEARS of knowing each other, twelve years of marriage, two great boys, and millions of milestones, trials and adventures later....
It really makes me weepy; with the sale of Shawn's childhood home, it really does feel like the end of an era. It makes me sad that, if there are anymore Furr children, they won't know the joy of having their picture taken in front of this tree. As long as we still had the house to go to, it felt as though Shawn's mom was still with us. We could walk through the halls or stand in a room and pull up a memory. I know his mom will always be with us in spirit, love and memory, but it was the "physical factor"--having someplace to go, someplace we could still call hers. This was someplace my children, who never got to meet their grandmother, could go and feel close to her. I know it is just a material item, it is just a house, but there are so many stories within those walls.
*Benita/Mom/Grandma: We love you and miss you. Wish you were here.*
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Glass
Tomorrow is the one year "anniversary" of a tragedy that has been a defining moment in my life for the past year. The death of a young woman I loved as one of my own, a life cut short, events beyond my human understanding. Daily life has become easier, but there are times when grief still completely envelopes me. The car accident had a snowball effect, many other things stemming from that moment in time.
Some of that day I can still remember so clearly. Parts of it that I fight to block from my memory, I just can't forget. Other parts of that day I can't remember no matter how much I concentrate.
There are days I have felt broken, incomplete from grief and pain. I have felt as though I have been judged in my grief, as if no one has understood, as though others have questioned it; after all, she wasn't my child, 'merely' my friend's child. How dare I grieve so deeply, how dare I miss her so much?
The grief and pain from that tragedy, as well as my grandfather's death, compounded other things I was going through, other things I was feeling. I began to experience delayed post-partum depression. I started to question my place not only within my family, but within life itself. I wanted to run, be anywhere but here, where I belong. I felt broken, shattered and fractured. One thing after another.
Because of this, and a recent event in a very good friend's life, she, our third 'half', and I were talking about grief, life, death and passing moments today. We were talking about how we need to grab onto the moments we are given, and just live for everything it is worth. Our spouses and children, family and friends, all need to know how precious and important they are to us. It is up to us to make the moments count. Life goes too fast, and often, before we know it, the moment is gone. We need to take these chances to reevaluate our own lives, look at what we need to do differently, what lessons we can take, even what part of that person has been added to us. How have we been made better by that person being a part of our lives?
I likened this to being a pane of glass. When we are born, we are one, solid, clear pane of glass. As we grow through life, as we experience different events, as people touch our lives, passing in and out, helping us weave our stories, that clear, solid pane is often broken. When someone we love dies, when an experience is over, often a piece of us also dies, leaving us broken, shattered and fractured. Pieces of that clear glass are taken away; each time we lose a loved one, each time we pass through another experience, we lose a piece of ourselves with those people, with those losses. We become fractured parts of the whole we once were.
We can't see it as it's happening--we are simply too close to it--but this fracturing is all part of God's plan for us.
As we grow, as we mature, as we learn and love more, as we make new memories, as other people enter our lives--new panes of glass are added back in. Big, colorful pieces. The people and experiences who have passed will eventually also become colorful pieces, as we are able to remember them with joy and peace, instead of sadness and grief. Pieces that begin to identify who we are, who we are becoming, who Christ wants us to be in His glory. This is, if you will allow the unintended pun--the bigger picture.
Some day, my stained glass picture will be complete. I will be a masterpiece, a work of art. A HIS art. I will be whole again, in Him. Until then however, I will do my best to live sweetly broken, and forever added to, for Him.
*Ausha, Sweetheart, you are loved so very much, and missed every day.
Some of that day I can still remember so clearly. Parts of it that I fight to block from my memory, I just can't forget. Other parts of that day I can't remember no matter how much I concentrate.
There are days I have felt broken, incomplete from grief and pain. I have felt as though I have been judged in my grief, as if no one has understood, as though others have questioned it; after all, she wasn't my child, 'merely' my friend's child. How dare I grieve so deeply, how dare I miss her so much?
The grief and pain from that tragedy, as well as my grandfather's death, compounded other things I was going through, other things I was feeling. I began to experience delayed post-partum depression. I started to question my place not only within my family, but within life itself. I wanted to run, be anywhere but here, where I belong. I felt broken, shattered and fractured. One thing after another.
Because of this, and a recent event in a very good friend's life, she, our third 'half', and I were talking about grief, life, death and passing moments today. We were talking about how we need to grab onto the moments we are given, and just live for everything it is worth. Our spouses and children, family and friends, all need to know how precious and important they are to us. It is up to us to make the moments count. Life goes too fast, and often, before we know it, the moment is gone. We need to take these chances to reevaluate our own lives, look at what we need to do differently, what lessons we can take, even what part of that person has been added to us. How have we been made better by that person being a part of our lives?
I likened this to being a pane of glass. When we are born, we are one, solid, clear pane of glass. As we grow through life, as we experience different events, as people touch our lives, passing in and out, helping us weave our stories, that clear, solid pane is often broken. When someone we love dies, when an experience is over, often a piece of us also dies, leaving us broken, shattered and fractured. Pieces of that clear glass are taken away; each time we lose a loved one, each time we pass through another experience, we lose a piece of ourselves with those people, with those losses. We become fractured parts of the whole we once were.
We can't see it as it's happening--we are simply too close to it--but this fracturing is all part of God's plan for us.
As we grow, as we mature, as we learn and love more, as we make new memories, as other people enter our lives--new panes of glass are added back in. Big, colorful pieces. The people and experiences who have passed will eventually also become colorful pieces, as we are able to remember them with joy and peace, instead of sadness and grief. Pieces that begin to identify who we are, who we are becoming, who Christ wants us to be in His glory. This is, if you will allow the unintended pun--the bigger picture.
Some day, my stained glass picture will be complete. I will be a masterpiece, a work of art. A HIS art. I will be whole again, in Him. Until then however, I will do my best to live sweetly broken, and forever added to, for Him.
I shall not die, but live, recover and be restored, but also declare and celebrate the good word and works of the LORD. Psalms 118:17
*Ausha, Sweetheart, you are loved so very much, and missed every day.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
A Special Addition to Our Family
Okay, there are two trains of thought here, but don't worry, they will meet at the same station. :)
Train 1
I have long loved the name Anastasia, using the soft pronunciation, "Anastahsha" or "Ana-stah-see-ah." If our future daughter (hey, I can dream, can't I?!) weren't already named, using a form of my mother-in-law's name, Anastasia would be her name, easily. I think it's a beautiful name.
Train 2
Shawn and I have considered sponsoring a child through World Vision or Compassion International. It's just never felt right, though. We've looked at pictures, sorted through biographies and names, talked until we're blue in the face, and while every single child is special, and every story is sad, none of them really leaped out at us. We knew we would want to sponsor a little girl, and we also knew we'd want to support a child with special needs. Noah is funny--every time we go to the bookstore, he campaigns to "buy" a child. We've explained the process to him (we are not purchasing a child, Noah!), explained the financial commitment, as well as the emotional and spiritual commitments. We've told Noah: This is not a one-time deal. This is a lifetime. This is a human being, not a name, not a story. These children are real.
The Station
Last week, the radio station we listen to did a big push for Compassion. Their goal was to have as many children as possible signed up with sponsors over a 48 hour period. I didn't think much of it, honestly. The DJ's were excitedly talking about some of the children, sharing some truly horrific stories, and speaking with their guest from Compassion.
As I was driving and listening, the DJ began to talk about a little girl named Tasya. Four years old, she lives in Indonesia, she has special needs, is an only child who lives with her parents. Oh, and her full name is Anastasya. I was so absolutely floored by God yelling at me, that I accidentally hit the gas pedal! I pulled over because I was shaking so hard I was afraid I would cause an accident. And, being who I am, I'd also started crying. I texted my friend to tell her about this little girl and said "This is it! This is HER!" Then I called my husband, who was a little more skeptical than I was. I begged him to just think about it, please.
When I got home, I found her picture (she's beautiful, by the way), and sent the link in an instant message to Shawn. He ignored me. I got a little more persistent; I can be very obnox--I mean, persuasive, when I need to be! That night, after the boys were in bed, I said a little prayer for Tasya, then set about campaigning for her cause with my husband. We went to bed, agreeing to sleep on it.
The radio's big push for Compassion was continuing into the next day. Shawn went to work, I went to the center, Noah went to school, Avery went to daycare. Life in the lives of the Furr family continued. But, Tasya was there, in the very front of my mind. I just knew she was for us, and us for her. So many things had fallen into place, and I just knew this is how it's supposed to be!
When I got home from the center, I checked Tasya's link again. I AIMed it to Shawn at work, with "She's still there! She's still waiting for us!" I could hear him sigh all the way from his office, and the earth shifted when he shook his head. We talked over AIM a little bit more, then an email popped in my inbox, congratulating us on our new family addition, thanking us for our sponsorship, and telling us that our information package would arrive soon. What???? Shawn was in the middle of telling me to send her link to him again, so I called him as I was refreshing the page. While the page loaded on my computer, I was explaining the email to Shawn and promising that I had not given the company any information and I did not know why I got the email. Tasya's page finished loading, but at the top were big red words, "We're sorry. This child is no longer available for sponsorship."
My brain is a little slow. I still had yet to put two and two together.
I immediately started crying, blubbering to my husband that someone else had gotten her. Putting things in perspective for me, he said, "Well, isn't it a good thing that she's covered for the next year by us then? If she is that important to you, then she is that important to me."
Well, yes, it's a good--Wait... What????
Yep. Tasya is officially part of our family now! I feel beyond blessed. It's been unbelievably emotional for me, and I honestly can't explain quite why. I have only seen a picture of her, yet I can tell you without a doubt that I completely and honestly love her as if she were my own, as much as I first realized I loved my boys the second their pregnancy tests turned positive.
When I told Noah about our newest addition, he responded, "Cool. When do we go get her?" I have never felt such an unbelievable warmth with Noah before. Just like that, he was ready to move her in!
Now I am camped out by the mailbox, impatiently waiting for Tasya's information packet to arrive. I cannot wait to learn more about her, and send her a letter and pictures from our family! Each night, as I've tucked my own boys into bed, kissed them and hugged them good night, I have mentally kissed and hugged "our" Tasya, as well. I have prayed that her parents are the kind who tuck her in, kissing her, hugging her, and telling her beautiful and loved she is.
Oh, Shawn made me promise I won't send out birth announcements, but he didn't say anything about not photoshopping her into the family Christmas photo! ;)
Train 1
I have long loved the name Anastasia, using the soft pronunciation, "Anastahsha" or "Ana-stah-see-ah." If our future daughter (hey, I can dream, can't I?!) weren't already named, using a form of my mother-in-law's name, Anastasia would be her name, easily. I think it's a beautiful name.
Train 2
Shawn and I have considered sponsoring a child through World Vision or Compassion International. It's just never felt right, though. We've looked at pictures, sorted through biographies and names, talked until we're blue in the face, and while every single child is special, and every story is sad, none of them really leaped out at us. We knew we would want to sponsor a little girl, and we also knew we'd want to support a child with special needs. Noah is funny--every time we go to the bookstore, he campaigns to "buy" a child. We've explained the process to him (we are not purchasing a child, Noah!), explained the financial commitment, as well as the emotional and spiritual commitments. We've told Noah: This is not a one-time deal. This is a lifetime. This is a human being, not a name, not a story. These children are real.
The Station
Last week, the radio station we listen to did a big push for Compassion. Their goal was to have as many children as possible signed up with sponsors over a 48 hour period. I didn't think much of it, honestly. The DJ's were excitedly talking about some of the children, sharing some truly horrific stories, and speaking with their guest from Compassion.
As I was driving and listening, the DJ began to talk about a little girl named Tasya. Four years old, she lives in Indonesia, she has special needs, is an only child who lives with her parents. Oh, and her full name is Anastasya. I was so absolutely floored by God yelling at me, that I accidentally hit the gas pedal! I pulled over because I was shaking so hard I was afraid I would cause an accident. And, being who I am, I'd also started crying. I texted my friend to tell her about this little girl and said "This is it! This is HER!" Then I called my husband, who was a little more skeptical than I was. I begged him to just think about it, please.
When I got home, I found her picture (she's beautiful, by the way), and sent the link in an instant message to Shawn. He ignored me. I got a little more persistent; I can be very obnox--I mean, persuasive, when I need to be! That night, after the boys were in bed, I said a little prayer for Tasya, then set about campaigning for her cause with my husband. We went to bed, agreeing to sleep on it.
The radio's big push for Compassion was continuing into the next day. Shawn went to work, I went to the center, Noah went to school, Avery went to daycare. Life in the lives of the Furr family continued. But, Tasya was there, in the very front of my mind. I just knew she was for us, and us for her. So many things had fallen into place, and I just knew this is how it's supposed to be!
When I got home from the center, I checked Tasya's link again. I AIMed it to Shawn at work, with "She's still there! She's still waiting for us!" I could hear him sigh all the way from his office, and the earth shifted when he shook his head. We talked over AIM a little bit more, then an email popped in my inbox, congratulating us on our new family addition, thanking us for our sponsorship, and telling us that our information package would arrive soon. What???? Shawn was in the middle of telling me to send her link to him again, so I called him as I was refreshing the page. While the page loaded on my computer, I was explaining the email to Shawn and promising that I had not given the company any information and I did not know why I got the email. Tasya's page finished loading, but at the top were big red words, "We're sorry. This child is no longer available for sponsorship."
My brain is a little slow. I still had yet to put two and two together.
I immediately started crying, blubbering to my husband that someone else had gotten her. Putting things in perspective for me, he said, "Well, isn't it a good thing that she's covered for the next year by us then? If she is that important to you, then she is that important to me."
Well, yes, it's a good--Wait... What????
Yep. Tasya is officially part of our family now! I feel beyond blessed. It's been unbelievably emotional for me, and I honestly can't explain quite why. I have only seen a picture of her, yet I can tell you without a doubt that I completely and honestly love her as if she were my own, as much as I first realized I loved my boys the second their pregnancy tests turned positive.
When I told Noah about our newest addition, he responded, "Cool. When do we go get her?" I have never felt such an unbelievable warmth with Noah before. Just like that, he was ready to move her in!
Now I am camped out by the mailbox, impatiently waiting for Tasya's information packet to arrive. I cannot wait to learn more about her, and send her a letter and pictures from our family! Each night, as I've tucked my own boys into bed, kissed them and hugged them good night, I have mentally kissed and hugged "our" Tasya, as well. I have prayed that her parents are the kind who tuck her in, kissing her, hugging her, and telling her beautiful and loved she is.
Oh, Shawn made me promise I won't send out birth announcements, but he didn't say anything about not photoshopping her into the family Christmas photo! ;)
Thursday, May 24, 2012
*Sigh*
So tonight I'm clinging just a little harder to Avery's snuggles from last night than I usually might. Yeesh. Oh my gosh, my children! There are days I just shake my head, because that's really all I can do. Otherwise, I end up sounding quite a bit like Elmer Fudd: "Wha-Why-How-Whatwereyouthinkingwhydidyoudothat?" I stutter, because quite honestly, I just really don't know what else to say, so my brain just starts shutting down.
I bought toilet bowl cleaner today. On the box, it says the gel tubes should last up to 12 weeks. Turns out, if your child is an 11 year old with Asperger's, it will last maybe an hour, but probably closer to only five minutes.
Oh my gosh.
I sent Noah to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Preoccupied, it took me several minutes to realize I didn't hear any water running, or the sound of a toothbrush, or any noise.... at all. That meant that Noah was up to something. I called out, and reminded him that he was supposed to be brushing his teeth. I heard a lot of water running, but remember... I was preoccupied.
Noah came out to say good night to us and I smelled something.... fresh. "Noah, WHY DO YOU SMELL LIKE TOILET CLEANER????"
I trudged back to the bathroom, hearing the Imperial March from Star Wars in my head, dragging my feet, dreading what I was going to see.
OH. MY. GOSH.
There, in my bathroom, was the entire 12 weeks of toilet bowl gel, pretty much everywhere: Noah had gone stamp happy. On the walls, the shower/tub, the wooden door, the cabinets, the washer, the dryer, the shower curtain, the window, the blinds, and, of course, the toilet. He'd shoved the empty tubes and the box under some things on top of the dryer, I suppose in the hope that I wouldn't notice the blue gel smeared all over the rest of the bathroom, or the "light, fresh scent" that was beginning to permeate the entire house.
OHMYGOSH. I just didn't even know what to say. I just hung my head, pointed to his bedroom and said, "Go."
Now, this is something I can imagine Avery doing (except he would've been wearing it). I could excuse it if my toddler did it. It's something I remember cleaning up after the little boy with severe autism I worked with in college decided to shaving cream his bathroom, toothpaste their hallway, then liquid make-up their hallway (fortunately, not in the same day, or even in the same week). But with Noah, I just keep shaking my head and asking "WHY?????" If he'd done it once and said, "Okay, so that's how it works," and gone on with his day, I could understand. I gotta tell you, I'm having some difficulty with this though, I really am.
Hopefully by tomorrow morning I'll be able to laugh at least half as much as you are right now.
I bought toilet bowl cleaner today. On the box, it says the gel tubes should last up to 12 weeks. Turns out, if your child is an 11 year old with Asperger's, it will last maybe an hour, but probably closer to only five minutes.
Oh my gosh.
I sent Noah to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Preoccupied, it took me several minutes to realize I didn't hear any water running, or the sound of a toothbrush, or any noise.... at all. That meant that Noah was up to something. I called out, and reminded him that he was supposed to be brushing his teeth. I heard a lot of water running, but remember... I was preoccupied.
Noah came out to say good night to us and I smelled something.... fresh. "Noah, WHY DO YOU SMELL LIKE TOILET CLEANER????"
I trudged back to the bathroom, hearing the Imperial March from Star Wars in my head, dragging my feet, dreading what I was going to see.OH. MY. GOSH.
There, in my bathroom, was the entire 12 weeks of toilet bowl gel, pretty much everywhere: Noah had gone stamp happy. On the walls, the shower/tub, the wooden door, the cabinets, the washer, the dryer, the shower curtain, the window, the blinds, and, of course, the toilet. He'd shoved the empty tubes and the box under some things on top of the dryer, I suppose in the hope that I wouldn't notice the blue gel smeared all over the rest of the bathroom, or the "light, fresh scent" that was beginning to permeate the entire house.
OHMYGOSH. I just didn't even know what to say. I just hung my head, pointed to his bedroom and said, "Go."
Now, this is something I can imagine Avery doing (except he would've been wearing it). I could excuse it if my toddler did it. It's something I remember cleaning up after the little boy with severe autism I worked with in college decided to shaving cream his bathroom, toothpaste their hallway, then liquid make-up their hallway (fortunately, not in the same day, or even in the same week). But with Noah, I just keep shaking my head and asking "WHY?????" If he'd done it once and said, "Okay, so that's how it works," and gone on with his day, I could understand. I gotta tell you, I'm having some difficulty with this though, I really am.
Hopefully by tomorrow morning I'll be able to laugh at least half as much as you are right now.
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