Gifts of Love

Again, its been awhile since I posted but I hadn’t really had any lightbulb topics to write about, well, I had a few but I’d start typing and quickly realize it was turning into a rant and thought 1) I promised my next post would be more light-hearted, and, 2) I rant too much, as it is.

Last night though as I was lying in bed reflecting over my day I thought ‘this would make a nice, cheerful, loving blog post.’

This post is in honor of my husband, Wesley.

Yesterday was his 24^th birthday. It was his second birthday we’ve celebrated married and probably 10^th or 11^th we’ve celebrated as friends. So, basically for a long time I and my family have gotten to be a part of his birthday celebrations and this year was no different.

I’ve been planning his ‘party’ for several months. Seriously, I ordered his present in May and have been discussing cake ideas with him since his last birthday! I had planned on having his family over to my parent’s house for cake, swimming, and whatever other activities people chose to do but then all last minute – spontaneous like all but two of his siblings went on a family vacation. Obviously plans changed.

Monday I started making his cake, a Strawberry Shortcake Ice Cream Cake (which, by the way, I thought I was the creator of but after instagraming #strawberryshortcakeicecreamcake I was proved otherwise by five other pictures popping up with the same hashtag). I baking a shortbread crust, sliced tons of strawberries, and made a strawberry sauce to keep the crust moist. Yesterday I layered a gallon of ice cream over the crust, breaking one of my favorite Santouku knives in the process, (Ice cream, people, I was cutting ice cream and broke a knife… maybe it didn’t deserve to be a favorite…) then topped it with whipped topping, and later, right before serving, spooned the sliced and sugared strawberries over it and piped more whipped topping on it in fancy little dollops around the edge. It was indeed a success although I made WAY too big of a cake, well, everyone got seconds, thirds, and etc. so I may be the only one who feels that way ;)

I invited all of the family that was in town over for Wesley’s birthday dinner of Mommy’s fried Chicken Strips, (she makes the best-ever chicken strips, trust me on this, I use the same recipe and they’re never as good) Oven Baked Fries, and Ramen Noodle Salad. One of Wesley’s brothers showed up after work and then another brother and sister-in-law arrived in time for cake J Not quite the party I had planned but it was still fun and full of yumminess.

Over the course of the evening people ate, swam, and had cake.

Last night as I reflected over the day I had anticipated so much I smiled knowing in spite of a few things not being as I had imagined it, it still was perfect. I also noticed something else. I had looked forward to this day more than I have ever looked forward to any of my own birthdays. I couldn’t wait to celebrate with Wesley, couldn’t wait to make his day has special as I imagined it should be, couldn’t wait to give him his present which I was so very excited about. In fact, Wesley’s birthday probably meant more to me than it did to him, and the only thing I can figure that made it so special to me was that I got to spend an entire day trying to show him how much I love and appreciate him.

People are always talking about the “five love languages” and although I’ve never put much stock in it or been able to narrow down which of the five speaks the most to me, yesterday I looked at it backwards. I think Wesley’s birthday meant so much to me because maybe I speak the love language of gifts, I’m not sure if I hear gifts, but maybe I speak it. That would explain why picking, ordering, and presenting Wesley’s birthday gift was so exciting to me, and why planning on a small party for him was important; why spending an entire day showing him my love in action was so necessary to me.

And trust me, I of all people know that Wesley is worth filling every day with ways of showing him my love and appreciation, and I try, but I’m glad we have some days set aside simply to honor the one’s you love.

Now I get to look forward to Wesley’s first Father’s Day and find ways to show him how it thrills me to have him be the daddy to our little girl <3 

I'd like to send a thank you out to those who celebrated with us, helping to make Wesley's birthday into what I thought it ought to be, thank you all :) 

Wesley's Strawberry Shortcake Ice Cream Cake

Wesley and his cake

The Gray and Blue Plaid Suit

you can't really see the pattern or color in this picture, 

but i think it is a pretty cool suit ^_^

Aunt "Bubby" and Uncle Luke playing with Rue

Shelbs put Jerusha to sleep and I'm thrilled to report she stayed asleep until about 3:30 AM :D

I know the pictures aren't great but I hope you enjoyed them anyways!

~Haley

Love Has No Room For Selfishness

The years before mommy-hood are the years for selfishness.

I’m not promoting selfishness, I promise, I know it’s not an attractive trait. I don’t want to encourage you in the attitude of selfishness; we should all seek to be selfless, but I want to point out some things you may be taking for granted. Not just the nail painting, bathroom time, and sleep that I used as examples in a past post. Today I’m speaking more in terms of emotions and feelings.

When you’re single, you’re free to notice all the guys around you, consider each of them for their looks, character, and of course plain and simply, their attractiveness. When you’re married you lose that right. Once you’ve committed to one man it’s for life and you’d better not be noticing other guys around you and imagining what life with him would be like. That is unfair to your husband and yourself.

Much like that, when you’re not a mom you’re free to be depressed, dream wild dreams, and entertain other various emotions. It changes once you’ve had a child. When you’re a mommy your baby will come first physically, mentally, and emotionally. You can’t have a bad day emotionally and carry it over to you parenting. If you feel like you’re life is crumbling you no longer can entertain thoughts of suicide or self harm (I hope to God that none of you struggle with this, but I want to cover all bases) because your baby is relying on you. You can’t dream of traveling foreign lands with a side note of ‘find a babysitter’, your life is no longer your own, baby comes first. You must continue to parent when you’re having a bad (read: selfish) day and you simply can’t carry that selfishness through and base your actions off your emotional state.  That cuddly little ball of joy needs you. It needs you not only to physically provide for him or her but it also needs you to stay emotionally stable.

You aren’t your own any more.

Technically after marriage you lost that right, but any trace of selfishness you held on to you really need to let go once you’re a mom.

Take a step back and imagine the stress that is placed on your husband and baby as well as family and friends who love and support you, if you maintain an emotionally selfish stance.

If you aren’t open about your struggles you make it worse. If you let yourself view it as a struggle you make it worse.

Just let it go. Give up the emotions of depression, irritation, and any other selfish feeling. Discontented-ness? Selfish. Loneliness? Selfish. Low self-esteem? Selfish. Depression? Selfish, and it always has been; even before motherhood.

The list can go on, put whatever emotion you struggle with in and examine it to see if it places stress between your baby and you. If it causes you to distance your baby or puts a strain on your parenting; it is selfish.

On a similar note, yesterday as I got Jerusha up from a nap and set about changing a particularly messy diaper I looked down at her and said “It’s okay, I’m gunna clean you up, its my job.” Then as she was grinning up at me I had the urge to cry out an apology and wrap her chubby self in my arms. Kissing her cheek I corrected myself “No, I’m not doing this because it’s my job; it’s not. I’m doing this because I love you.”

There is something powerful in that and I’m not sure I have the eloquence or words to explain. So far not one part of being a mom has made me feel like it’s a job. From mid-night feedings to gassy-nap-less days; taking care of my baby is a need. I need to hold her. I need to change her diaper. I need to bathe her. None of those needs come with a feeling of responsibility. They spring forth from the depths of my heart, done with love and thanksgiving that God has bestowed upon me so great a charge and blessing. He has gifted me with this most amazing and unfathomably beautiful baby girl and He is trusting me to care for her. It all comes from love. Love shown from the Father in blessing me, love returned to Him in thanksgiving for the blessing, followed purely by love towards my baby, the blessing.

That’s not to say there aren’t late nights when I’ve felt incapable or irritable and over exhausted. There have been. But those selfish moments don’t change the fact that every way I am called upon to care for Jerusha thus far are out of love. And it is my desire to shed all trace of selfish feelings as I continue on the path of motherhood.

In a notebook somewhere there’s written an outline for a book I’d hoped to write. Its projected title was ‘A Love Driven Life vs. A Responsibility Driven Life’. I had lots of reasons to believe it would make a good book and it still might, but now that I’m a mother I have even more insight on how parenting can and will be affected by ones perception. Are you parenting out of love? Or responsibility?

Later as I shared with Wesley my thoughts and confession to Jerusha he smiled and responded “Now you know how I feel about you.” <3

I feel as if this parallels only to God’s love of us. He didn’t send His only son, Jesus, to live and die for us out of responsibility, He did it out of love. He had no need to feel responsible for us; the race who turned our backs on Him. He chose to love us though and sacrificed His only son that we may live. You’ve no idea how my love for Jerusha quivers and pales in comparison to His for me. I would never be willing to sacrifice her for another. Never. 

Thanks for reading my rambling thoughts. Soon I'll be more light hearted and post some pictures of Jerusha and projects and give you a glimpse of our life instead of just my mind ;) <3 ~Haley

Our Story

I was asked to share Wesley's and my love story over at The Long Way To Go. And although my first draft was waaay too long for their blog, I managed to whittle it down to an acceptable size. It is my favorite story to tell, you know, and I am a nostalgic and wordy person but I got it done. 
So, if you'd like to read it please pop on over to here and do so :)

In honor of the post over there I'm sharing a few of our wedding pictures here, Enjoy!
~Haley

Motherhood

Well here I am. I didn’t mean to take a sabbatical from my blogging but something came between us. What, you ask? Motherhood. That’s what.

Here I sit typing this post with a sleeping baby (a very beautiful, peaceful sleeping baby) wrapped tight to my chest in a mobby wrap. For days I’ve intended to write this post; weeks even, but up until today I never could quite convince myself to waste my “free time” on a blog post. Today, though I’ve eaten, showered, neatened house, and decided dishes can wait; I’ll write that post. I’ll let the world know that my baby has arrived.

The waiting ended at 2 AM Saturday the 14^th. Or maybe that’s when it really began? I got out of bed to go pee and my water broke as soon as my feet hit the floor. It wasn’t until 26 hours, lots of contractions, a few ‘I’m going to die’ moments, and the glorious couple of hours of pushing later that our darling baby arrived. Honestly the whole time seemed to just disappear for me. One day of my life *poof* disappeared. Vanished. Gone. Only the wee hours of Sunday morning stick in my mind. The time when I knew I was indeed getting somewhere.

So world, here is my baby, sweet little Jerusha Ann Smith.

She joined us at 4:17 AM Sunday, March 15^th, 2015 weighing 7lbs 13oz and 21”

I will spare you the detailed story of my labor and delivery because, well, I’m just going to assume you don’t care to hear it. If I’m wrong leave a comment and I’ll consider sharing.

Now here we are. Cautiously exploring the new status I have achieved. I count myself a mom from the day I became pregnant but being a mother of a baby on the inside and a mother to one on the outside are two entirely different things. Related, yes, but entirely different. You may have thought you weren’t able to get any rest while so uncomfortably pregnant but you don’t know how much you’re actually getting. Uncomfortably sleeping for 8 hours is actually sleeping. Sitting up in bed from 12:24 AM until 2:07 AM is not sleeping, and then again from 4:12 to 5:52. That’s how last night went for me. It’s not always that way, though, unfortunately. I say unfortunately because I’d take a night like that over this past Sunday’s any day. Getting up every 4ish hours is doable. Not getting to sleep until close to 2 AM because baby just isn’t tired and then getting up every 4 hours is much much harder. Take my word for it, or my husband’s who was the one who got her to sleep in the end and had to get up for work at 6.

Hard as that all seems to me it is still most definitely worth it. I would go through the 9 and a half months of pregnancy all over again, and relive these sleepless last few weeks if I had to in order to have her. Or any other baby in the future, for that matter. My younger sister insists she’s never having kids; its not worth the sickness of pregnancy, the discomfort involved, the out of shape state it leaves your body in, and then the sleepless, bedraggled state of new-momhood. But I’m here to tell you it is. Not that I expect you to believe me ;)

Furthermore: you may want to check in with me on that in about 15 or 16 years ;P

Holding this beautiful baby may be worth it but for any readers not yet a mom let me encourage you to cherish the free time you have because you may not always get to paint your nails whenever you feel like it. Someday you may have to decide if the baby will stay asleep long enough for you to get them painted and dried and you also may have to decide if painting your nails is something you should even devote free time to, isn’t that sink full of dishes priority? And you sure wont have enough time to paint nails, let them dry, and wash the dishes…

No, things won’t be the same for a very long time if ever but it is worth it. Scroll back up to that beautiful picture and try and tell me it’s not.

I’ve always hated the idea of “me time” it just seems so.. self centered and selfish but now I understand it a little better; a little differently than the mainstream idea of “me time” but a little better. You see, for me being able to grab a quick shower while Jerusha is sleeping is a luxury I consider me time, to be able to finish feeding her in time to rush to the bathroom before peeing on myself is me time, feeding her now as I one handedly finger peckingly type this (yes, she woke up and decided the mobby was no longer acceptable) is me time. So, spending the day at a spa, catching up with some girl friends for coffee, or going to the mall this weekend aren’t on my list of me time activities but I have learned to appreciate the me time of showering, using the bathroom, doing some house work, and writing in a way I never knew I would.

So, you without the baby, don’t take the everyday ease wherein you go pee whenever you need to for granted.

~Haley

Pathetic - Impatient - M e

Patience.

It has a whole new meaning at 41 weeks 2 days pregnant.

And for any of you who know my mother’s history you’ll be laughing at me already. But, hold on just a second, at least she knows what to expect.

I came into this knowing I could be like her but that’s not quite the same as going into a pregnancy knowing you will have at least an extra month to wait. Its just not. I’m sure.

So today I struggle with patience.

My husband has changed his prayers over the course of this wait from “Lord, your timing” to “Lord, please today” and now our request has simply become “Lord, give us patience.”

It’s hard to stay cheerful as I sit around simply waiting. I’ve run out of “before baby” projects and just keep waiting to have a baby fill my time.

I neaten and re neaten the house; hoping each time that it will be the last time before the baby arrives.

I cook dinner and hope tomorrow night it will be Shelby pulling enchilada’s out of the freezer to serve me. (That could probably be the case regardless of being pregnant ;P)

I walk through the baby room and hold back tears as I eye the empty crib, empty car seat, and un decided on boxes of clothes.

I sit in my chair, feet propped up due to swelling and go ahead and let the tears flow. How much longer God? When can I meet my baby?

I feel like that’s pathetic. It’s barely one week past my due date. My mom has gone through so much more. But at the same time, 40 weeks is a long time to wait. 41 is even more. Every little bit counts.

At 41 weeks I’m still physically less miserable than I was during the first half of my pregnancy. I’d still trade weeks of this oversized – Wall-E – character body I’ve acquired to the weeks of throwing up my guts daily.. hourly.. Yes, this is better physically but combined with the waiting it’s getting close to matching.

Waiting really isn’t my thing. Patience just isn’t a virtue I’m well equipped with. If you read my last blog post you’ll know how I feel about my time. How I micro manage it. Well, this baby was supposed to come on the 5^th. That’s what I had planned. That’s the day I convinced myself it would arrive. It was the perfect day. Wesley could take Friday off and have the weekend home with new baby and me. But, no. God’s timing wasn’t mine. Being told no in such an obvious fashion is pretty hard guys. Pretty hard. Each and every day since I’ve still been told “no” and being told no is not getting any easier, in case you were wondering.

So now I pray for patience.

I ignore my body.

No, that wasn’t a contraction. No, it didn’t hurt more than the last. No, they aren’t getting closer. Don’t you dare look at the clock.

Really, after this weekend of carefully timing everything and analyzing every little thing to no end I know it would make me crazy to do so day in and day out. So I ignore everything and wait.

And wait.

And keep waiting.

I have been told not to rush it, to enjoy what time I have left. I understand that. I addressed that idea in a recent blog post. I have cherished the time I’ve had to myself with our baby BUT it is okay for me to be ready for that time to end. I’ve enjoyed it for most of the past 41 weeks, okay? That’s a while to wait to meet my baby face to face. I’m ready.

A scripture keeps coming to mind daily and although I know I’m feeling it somewhat out of context I do think God is using it to remind me He’s here. 

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

That is me. Minus the laboring part (oh how I wish). Heavy laden; ready for a rest. Ready for something new. A take over. Ready to have this baby in my arms as to womb. Ready to begin parenting. Ready to know if our baby is a girl or boy; who it takes after. I am ready.

So here I am. Ready God. Give me rest. In your time. When you know I need it; give me rest.

….waiting also didn’t get any easier when my family booked a beach house for the week of the 21^st-28^th and invited me along if the baby has arrived and we’re up for traveling….

T I M E

Time has slipped away from me.

I know, that probably sounds odd coming from an 8+ month pregnant woman but really, truly, it has.

In the last month Wesley and I bought our first house, became “grown ups” long enough to figure out insurance, banking, and etc. (;P), moved with the help of family and friends, and my time has been taken up.

Before we moved in my sister and I painted the living room, baby’s room, the bedroom, and most of the trim work. A close friend helped with some of that as well as spent a day helping me clean the house. Once again my sister (Shelbs) spent a day with me cleaning our rental before handing the keys back.

Painting and cleaning. Both very time consuming.

My time has been consumed.

I am very pleased to say that does make me feel like time is passing quickly. I’m not constantly sitting around moaning over my uncomfortably large state. In fact, most of the time I’ve been too busy making lists and crossing items I’ve completed off to even notice how close I could be to giving birth. Or it might be my nervousness about giving birth that constantly is pushing the idea into the far corner of my mind…

Due to all the time that has elapsed since my last post, peoples recent comments about how close I am, and my own statement of “I can’t wait to meet my baby” has gotten me thinking a lot about time. Not only time though, rather our perception of it.

You see, I really can wait to meet my baby. 

In fact, the last thing in the world I want to do is rush through the last 3+ weeks. In merely 3ish weeks I will never ever carry this baby inside me again, I will never be its sole provider, I will never get the lay awake at night crying tears of joy as I feel my baby moving inside me assuring me it is alive and well. In around three weeks I will be forced to give up this closeness. I don’t want to rush that. But, on the same note, when it is time I will be thrilled to meet my baby face to face. To compare its features to Wesley’s, to mine. To witness Wesley’s first contact with our baby. I will get to use new senses in my relationship with this baby. Things must be given up to be replaced with the new. And I look forward to that time. I just can wait. I don’t want to rush it.

I want to live all my life in this manner.

I want to take each day at a time and live it to the full potential.

But, you see, I am a control freak.

When it comes to my time I feel an intense need to control. We’re talking serious list making-calendar filling-micro managing-time freak. My pocket book calendar has my days broke down. Which day will be cleaning, which dinners I have planned, what times Wesley will get off, what days he will go run, which days he will do strength training. I have a pad of paper on which I write out detailed daily lists. What time I’ll get up, which chores I’ll do, which projects, who I’ll see, when and what I’ll eat. Now, truth be told, I don’t always have my days schedule written out on paper, sometimes it’s just carved in stone inside my head. But that’s just it. It’s there and it is to be followed.

See? I control my days.

And then, every once in a while that control is taken from me. I will have a day planned and then *poof* something unexpected comes up and my list is worthless. Wesley comes home from work, my day is almost complete, I have dinner plans figured out, I’ve imagined us spending the evening sitting on the couch sipping tea and discussing our days, planning for tomorrow, and then he walks in the door saying “let’s go out tonight. You have some groceries to get, right?”

“Uhm… Y e s … but I didn’t plan on going out tonight.” [Que internal panic and a mad dash for rescheduling and righting the chaos created in mere seconds.]

(It’s really not that I can’t be spontaneous, its just that… I like to know when I’m going to be..)

On days when control is so cruelly ripped from me I often spend a few seconds in panic and then that evening, depending on the size of the change, I may experience some depression over (1) losing my control and (2) the day not going “perfectly”. Depression of this sort, much as in any other case, is draining. It leaves a very bleak outlook. I realize how much time I spent planning and quickly wonder how much of my life has been wasted on plans that never take place. Then I may spend several hours bemoaning the fact that I waste most of my life planning useless plans.

Is there an answer to my dilemma?

Should I stop planning all together? *shudder*

Should I fly by the seat of my pants? Go with the flow?

I’m really not sure. I kind of doubt there is a ‘fix’ for this. I will probably carry on the rest of my life, planning, viewing change, re-planning, changing, and re-planning; days on end, weeks, years, and in the end my entire life time. But I think I’m okay with that. It’s who I am. I need to plan. I just need to accept the state of re-planning as a comfortable place.

Now, back to my original thought.

Understanding time as it is.

As I’ve reached this point in my pregnancy I am often being told “Don’t worry, it’ll go fast.” From those supportive glass-is-half-full people and “You still have three weeks to go, it’ll feel like forever.” From the equally supportive and realistic people, I’m sorry, I mean glass-half-empty folks.

Well both of those statements (and almost every other regarding time) drive me crazy. I usually just want to give them a good shake, whip out my calendar and shove it in their face. “Do you see this? It’s a year. A year of days. One year, comprised of 365 - 24 hour days. There is no ‘fast’ there is no ‘slow’ it’s all going by at the same rate everyday. For. Ever.”

Yeah, I’m a little overly passionate about this issue but really, can you all agree with me? Time doesn’t go faster or slower.

You have to agree with me. It’s a fact.

Time marches on. It’s not waiting on people. It’s not speeding past people. It marches on at the same rate as always and I’d think we’d be used to that by now. Stop expecting it to slow down just for you to get extra time with your munchkins before they turn into adults and stop expecting it to speed up so you can get this busy week over with. The steadiness of time doesn’t change. Our perception of it is what changes.

We measure time by how much we’ve accomplished, how busy our days are, how well we planned them. Time is as it always has and will be; your perception of it is what is changing. Your view on the “speed” of time is based on what you expect to get out of it.

Now, maybe the reason I have this pet peeve about time being such a steady friend is directly connected to my need to control it?

Yes? Yes.

Because for me time is set. At the end of each day it will feel just that; like one day. At the end of a week I will smile and sigh knowing I wasn’t cheated out of any time, I had one week, one more solid, seven day period of time that no one could change. The comfort in exaction of time is oh so important to me. Whether or not I lost control on a few of those days that week was still a week and in through the glass of predestination it held exactly what it was supposed to hold.

Time.

I love it.

So everyone else just stop pretending it speeds up and slows downs and flies past or crawls by because it doesn’t.

Time marches on.

Do remember though; spend your time wisely.

“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, wither thou goest.” –_{Ecclesiastes 9:10}

Thanks for taking time out to read my mostly rant like post on time. Hopefully soon I'll have pictures of our new home in  tidy order that I'll post :)   ~Haley

Are You Keeping Me Accountable??

This is a picture post to mortify myself in the name of accountability. 
My resolve to keep the house cleaner? 
Here is the result of spending a weekend coming and going from home only to pick things up and drop things off while the majority of my time was spent basically living at parents.
The house evolved quickly into a complete mess and Monday morning saw me out of bed with a checklist and cleaning on my mind.
So here are before and after pictures of the mess created in 4 days and cleaned in about 2 hours of steady cleaning.

Living Room - Before

Living Room - After

Dining Room - Before

Dining Room - After
[Note: I know it appears to be messy still but we're collecting moving boxes and there's not much you can do to make them look neat;P]

Sink - Before

Sink - After

Counter - Before

Counter - After

Bedroom - Before

Bedroom - After

 So, as you can see, my house cleans up nicely when I put the effort in. 

Admittedly these pictures are from Monday of last week and my house isn't this clean at the moment. It's not this messy either, though.

Thanks for following my journey through laziness and housewifery..

How is it going for you? What is the state of your house/room/dorm? What have you done to let it become a mess or keep it neat?

~Haley