What a difference 278 days make

 A few days ago, Lincoln had stayed up late to do his homework. While I kept him company, I started going through home videos. I came across this first one of Reagan. She had been home for six days. I can't get over how hurt and withdrawn she seemed. I had forgotten what her cry had sounded like. That apathetic, "Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh."

 When we first met our daughter, we had no context of who she was. What she looked like when she was truly happy. What she looked like when she was truly sad.

Now I know.

At the time, I was thankful that six days later (after arriving in the U.S.), she seemed happier. She wasn't sick, she didn't have a fever, or that oozing sore on her mouth. She opened up more and more every day. The other kids loved her. I was just glad to be home.

But now I watch this video and it sucks the air out of my lungs. It hurts my heart. I knew that she'd be grieving. I just didn't know what that would look like.  

This is what it looked like. 

 

I know it might not seem like much. 

But it's the difference between confusion, pain, hopelessness and heartache. 

And, confidence, determination, intimacy and happiness.

It's the difference between a smile brought on by fleeting entertainment. And one brought on by trust and joy.

She was hurting.

I remember now, how she would withdraw and stare off into nothing. How she would turn away. I remember that deep, pitted, scared feeling...that maybe something was really, really wrong. That maybe it was something I couldn't help her with.

___________________________________________

And then here's today. A friend of mine had posted the Katy Perry cover of, "Fireworks," on her facebook page. Grant asked me to, "beedio" him dancing to the, "moon, moon, moon song." Sorry it's so long. Grant doesn't even dance very much. What I couldn't stop smiling at is Reagan. 

    

Sometimes we need a reminder of how far we've come.

I know that with all my children...we are in a lifelong journey together. 

I know it's not over.

But to quote Confucius, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

If I haven't lost you already with my insane amount of cheesiness, don't worry. I'm done. :)

I'm just happy.

Fatboy

Grant makes me crazy.

Tonight he seriously risked life and limb 18 different times by sneaking out of bed to ask ridiculous questions like, "Are we dowing have candy for breakfast tomorrow?"

To try and butter me up, "I dust want to tell you, you are bery, bery bootiful." 

Or because he had to go potty for the millionth time. 

(That's code for him wanting to sing on the pot.)

He is a lot of work.

But, dang if he didn't make up for that by being so stinkin' cute and funny.

Yesterday was Valentine's Day, and I was tired of being in the house. So we decided to load up and drive to post to return library books. I also wanted to listen to a CD of a sermon from our hometown church, my friend had  just sent me.

When your husband's deployed, there is no greater feeling of control and  freedom, than when your kids are buckled in their carseats...and not fighting, whining or crying.

Beautiful, beautiful day. 

Or night.

It was perfect.

The kind of night you would beg to play outside just a little bit longer in as a child. The kind of night you would wander with friends through as a teenager. Having deep discussions. One-upping each other with dares.

The kind that gives hope of spring to people everywhere.

This is the time of year, I find myself thinking, "If only Louisiana stayed like this...I wouldn't want to leave."

But, back to Grant:

After the library, we drove around a bit, and eventually I remembered that I hadn't fed my children. So, we decided to try out a restaurant we'd never been to in town, "Fatboy and Skinny's."

Kinda cheap. Free drinks for the kids. Greasy, good diner.

 Awesome customer service.

While I was washing Grant's hands after he'd gone potty, he looked up into the mirror and said, "I hope dey yike my style."

"Who? The people in the restaurant?"

"Yeah. I dust hope dey yike my style."

I laughed and told him he had great style...and people would be crazy not to like it.

After we sat back down and a few minutes later he said,
 "Oh mom. I really hope dat people call me fat boy. "

"What?"

"I SAID, I REALLY HOPE YOU CALL ME FAT BOY!!!! "

"FAT BOY!! "

"FAT. "

"BOY. "

*Looking around* 

"Hey mom! Dat guy is fat, too!!"

*My arm shooting across the table, over his mouth*

"Okay! Shhh! I get it."

*whispering* 

"Why do you want people to call you a fat boy?" 

(totally forgetting where we were eating) 

"Because he has da best style! AND I dust love fat boys!!!" 

Then I looked down and saw the Fatboy and Skinny characters on the table. *Aaah.*


( A few minutes later, probably because I was ignoring earlier requests to go-- with the logic that he had just gone. ) 

"Oh mom!! Oh mom!! I gotta go to da bafroom again. "

"I have to go NOW! "

"I have to GRAB MY BUTT...BECAUSE POOP is dowing to come out of it. OH my doodness!! TAKE ME to da bafroom!! OH my doodness!!"

 "Shhh! Grant. Calm down buddy. Let's go, I will take you potty again. "

"Please don't yell about poop anymore. Shhh!"

 "OKAY!!! I WILL NOT TALK ABOUT POOP."

"I WILL HOLD MY BUTT WIT DIS HAND, AND YOU CAN HOLD MY 'ODDER HAND TO TAKE ME POTTY!!!!" 

"Oh my doodness mom. I hafta dow so bad...thank-you."

Aww. You're welcome Grant. 

I don't care that this is my third trip to the bathroom.

I don't care that I haven't had a single bite of food yet.

I don't care that everyone is staring in horror at your proclamations of fatness and poo.

Because...

you...

are...

worth it all.

Fleeting

Since the three olders have started going to school, I've realized even more, what a hermit I am. I want to be outside. I love to have soulful conversations with friends. I crave time with my parents and siblings. I want to challenge myself, learn new things, make a difference in the world around me, and be apart of the general chaos of life. 

But...I honestly get lost in my family. It's not that I don't completely enjoy hanging out with other people. I never get tired of knowing someone better. Any someone. But, as much as it's made me insane to be here so constantly with the kids. I really, emphatically, truly enjoy the company of my children. 

I can't help but see them all as little clocks...slowly ticking away our time with each other.

I know. 

That's kind of depressing.

But...

   

  

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 Childhood is fleeting.