Limbo

I want to think I am over things. I want to stop having nightmares and getting angry about things that happened.

Recently, the trauma that we experienced came back full force. It hurt like mad to think about it all and what was worse, Blair was gone. I feel like such a broken record, talking about these things now that we're doing so well. Not that Dean is doing so well. I feel like people will get tired of hearing it or be frustrated with me for not getting over it. I had all these pent up emotions last weekend, didn't know who to talk to, cried a lot around four in the morning, and wished like mad that Blair was hear to listen to me.

Last year around this time we were blind sighted with another hospital stay, one that ended with him having his second surgery. The ER trips are always rough. They fit so many procedures into a tiny amount of time to make sure that your kiddo is ok. It's invasive and it's rough.

I still mourn the loss of my time with my son as my baby. I still miss cuddling this tin little squishy bundle and being home and having every one tell me how cute he is instead of asking how he's doing. I still wish I had gotten to take him home when he was a day old instead of sending him for a surgery when he was three days old. I still have nightmares and panic attacks about medical procedures. I still cringe and panic when I hear the sound of a helicopter.

The wounds are healing, but they are itching.

I still have a hard time when any one else has a healthy baby. I struggle with my own heart and the things we have gone through. I remind myself often that I'm being a petty jerk and I need to move on. I do. It just hurts for a second before I can.

And. I am angry. I didn't realize how much until recently. I am. I just am angry that my son had to go through it, that I had to go through and I'm angry that now that things are so calm and stable that I can't flip the switch in my brain that tells me I can stop panicking. And his third surgery may not be for months and years, but it feels like we are just waiting and waiting and waiting for it. Waiting to see how it goes for him. Waiting to see if he's one of the ones who it kills, waiting to see how long we will be in the hospital. Our whole lives based off of "we will see how the third surgery goes". It's always there. Always in the back of my mind.

It is a frustrating time for me. And I just feel a little lost.

And, Not Just

I worry about the word "just".

Am I just a mom?
Am I just a wife?
Am I just a workhorse?
Am I just stuck here?

I want to be more than "just". I want to be a Wife AND a Mom. I want to be a Home keeper AND my children's play mate. I want to be a Mom AND an Artist.

I know too many moms who stop doing the things they love. I'm not basking them for this, look, being a Mom is a 24/7 all the time job. We don't get a lot of breaks, we don't get time off, and vacations are nice, but still work. We signed up for it and we know it and it's ok. But I've never wanted to give up the things that I love. The things that make me so deeply who I am.

I have always loved to draw. I have always loved to color. I love to dig in clay and make misshapen things. I love to have paint on my hands and clothes. I love when people ask me about it.

For the first in my life I feel like I can call myself an Artist. Other people always have. They introduce me that way "This is Maddie, she's an artist". But I would never introduce myself that way. It just didn't feel right. I liked art, sure, I was always making something, but yet...never did I feel in my heart I was an artist.

When Dean was born and we started his life long battle with his little gimpy heart I experienced for the first time true pain. We all think we go through these things that are the hardest things, and then we go through something so much harder and long for the things that were "less" hard. I'd much rather move in the middle of sophomore and junior year than watch my son struggle the way I had to. I had to figure out a way to take all that pain and get it out of me. For my Husband, for my kids, for me.

And I turned to Art.

I have created more this year than I think I ever have in my life. I have filled notebooks and watched tutorials and made countless trips for art supplies that I "needed". I have stepped out of my comfort zone and for the first time in my life I'm truly exploring and trying new things. I have seen improvement in my work. I have seen the nameless emotions I've felt come out of me onto a page. And I have shared my work.

From this deep pain I have found out who I am as an Artist and guys, it's freaking awesome.

It cracks me up that I have two kids, a house to keep track of, a husband to keep encouraged and I have suddenly found ("made") the time to sit and work on my art. Early mornings, late nights, small spinets of time hunched at my art desk, furiously working out an idea.  My husband being the one to tell me "It's late you need to go to bed" and I'm the one saying "One more minute babe".

It just feels nice to be able to call myself an Artist. And not "just".

I am And. All these things AND.

And it's beautiful, to be in this place. To be a wife AND mom AND artist.

And is so much better than Just.

A New Shape

So I'm gonna step out on a ledge with this one. It's a hard topic for me, I'm not entirely sure I'm excited about writing this, but I know I need to.

Back in February I went to the doctor for myself. It was an incredibly weird experience for me. I'm so used to going for everyone but myself that answering the doctors questions was really hard. We talked about how I don't sleep, how I'm losing hair like it's my job in life, how exhausted I am by the afternoon and how I've gained way way to much weight (and this after making and implementing some big changes in the way our whole family eats). I was convinced something was physically wrong with me, I made them do a blood panel. I had them check my thyroid and make sure I wasn't anemic. I had them check all sorts of things. And it all came back normal. Physically nothing is wrong with me.

So...then the doctor, being a perceptive jerk face, brings up the one thing I was avoiding: depression. We go back and forth talk about a few things and he asked me to come back after a few days with these papers. Apparently if you want to know if you are depressed all you need is to fill out papers.

I come home and talk to Blair about it and tell him how stupid I think it is and how that's not really whats wrong with me and hey I've held it together all freaking year, right? And NOW all the sudden my brain starts to misfire? For real? After talking with the doctor and Blair and some trusted friends I started to realize the truth of what was happening inside my brain. There is, indeed, a misfire.

The problem is, though, that it's not *just* that I'm depressed. It's that there is this awful terrible Anxiety that's messing me up. In the past three months I have had four panic attacks. Two one night while Blair was gone. One while we were on vacation with my family in TN and one this week. I was trying very hard to use homeopathic remedies to see if that helped and for a while it did. But then we got to go out in public, we got to do things as a family. We went from 0-60 in five seconds. And it messed my head all the way up.

I've always been a believer, advocate, champion for mental health. I believe people who tell me that their brains are not functioning the right way. I believed it for everyone but myself. I have spend so much time trying to "be strong" and "brave". I have done a lot of things I never thought I would have to do. And now that things have reached a lull my brain can't stop the "do all the things, be strong, be brave." It's like it's still wired to have to fight, but the fight is at a lull. I know I should be able to relax, but my brain goes nuts and says NO NO NO bad things will happen if you relax.

It makes me feel weak. And crazy.

If you have never had a panic attack, then I'm so happy for you. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I'm not even sure I can accurately describe what it feels like. How do you explain to someone that you forget how to breathe? How do you explain to someone that things that you know aren't happening have you in fight or flight mode? Look when I hear a helicopter my heart beat picks up and my hands shake. When I had to put the nebulizer mask on my kid this week I started to hyperventilate. Last week when my daughter didn't want to sit and eat a picnic pavilion that was near a parking lot my mind went from "she's being a kid" to "oh crap oh crap oh crap a car is going to hit her". It's not just that I worry about things, it's that I can't stop my mind from full on visualizing it and from there it all goes down hill.

It's incredibly scary. And it's scary when it happens and I'm home with my kids. This week I sat at my art desk hyperventilating because I couldn't remember how to breath and Ellie cried at my side telling me "don't be sad Mama, it's otay, don't be sad." I was texting a friend, because having a coherent conversation seemed impossible, and I kept telling her I was sorry. Because not only does Anxiety make you scared to talk about it, but it tells you that you are being an inconvenience.

Listen I know all the things. I know that I have people who love me and are there for me. I know I have people who I can call any time I need to when I'm panicking and can't stop it. I know that Blair doesn't think I'm less of a mother because some days the best I can do is throw cheerios at our kids until nap time. Please understand that this for me is stupidly hard. Not just to live with this and figure out how to live with it, but to move forward. I feel trapped some days.

I am afraid of having more panic attacks. I am afraid of someone seeing me have a panic attack. It's not an easy thing to understand. I never really did until this started happening to me. I'm working SLOWLY on accepting that right now this is where I am and that it's ok.

I am mom with a kid with special needs and a toddler who also just needs me all the time and I have depression and anxiety.

I love my children and my husband. I love what we've been given and how we've been shaped. I know this is just shaping me.

After: In The Flames

Today a rare and exciting thing happened. My kids went to their beds for their naps and I didn't feel the soul crushing exhaustion that I usually do. All the sudden there were multiple things that I could do. The possibilities seem endless.

It's been a while since I've been able to write. It happens. I'm a mom, I get busy. Really busy. Even now I feel guilty taking these moments to write when I look to my right and see the messes that are waiting for me to pick them up. And I hear the dishes calling my name, reminding me that there are still things that need to be done.

I wanted to write when Dean turned one. It was an exciting month for us, February was. We did a lot of things, saw a lot of fantastic people and celebrated with cake (several times) our little dude's birthday. There were presents and cake smashes and staying up way too late and pictures and it was great. It was really everything that I wanted for his birthday.

However I am experiencing this strange conundrum now. It's called After.

After a year of fighting and doctors and shots and medications and emergency air lifts. After a year of saying good bye to Ellie and being away from Blair and nurses. After a year of diagnosis and trips and asking, constantly, for help. After all this, what's left?

We're still a family, but we're not a family on the verge anymore. We aren't constantly worried he's going to go into heart failure (ok, fine, I AM not constantly worried he will go into heart failure). All the sudden the smoke is clearing, the fog is lifting and we get to do something phenomenal.

We get to simply be a family.

And oh man...it's a little hard.

All the sudden we can start to do things, we can go back to Church, we can go to the park and the grocery store. We're going on our first real family vacation. We get to worry about normal bills and cars and doing our taxes. We get to focus on disciplining Ellie and turning off the TV more. We get to paint and talk about our dreams. We made actual real life goals for the year.

All the sudden I'm working on learning ho to be a "normal" mom who doesn't live in a hospital. Who doesn't have to speak medical jargon. Who has time during the day. Who can sign up to do things with the Women's Ministry at Church. Who is learning how to incorporate the Lord into every aspect of my life.

It is not easy though for me. I'm having a hard time talking to my husband. I'm having a hard time remembering that I can go out and DO things. I am having a hard time juggling housework and quiet time and time with my kids, though I promise you, I know which is more important. I all the sudden can leave my son with people other than my parents or my husband. His godmother watched them on our anniversary so we could go out (WE WENT BOWLING AND IT WAS AWESOME) and I wasn't worried I'd get a "call" the whole time we were out. Ok. Maybe I was, but that's because I'm convinced this kid can't survive without me.

Truth is though that he is can. He is tough and smart and quickly learning what NO means. And this requires me to redefine who I am as a wife, mother, sister, daughter, and friend.

I'm dealing with a lot of other things as well. Things I'm not sure I have the courage to write about yet. Things that just are bringing me more and more to my knees. I feel like I have been so "strong" for so long that all the sudden... I can relax ever so slightly. My body knows this, but my mind is having trouble following that line of thinking.

We are still working on lots of things with Dean, we probably always will be. But we're in the sweet spot now, a sweet spot that seems to be TOO sweet to me.

I am still praying for the courage to write about all aspects of my life. I've always been proud of myself for being vulnerable and all the sudden God has taken that pride and shut it down and put me to the flames. When you're put to the flames, you have two choices, let it burn you or refine you.

I am praying that it refines me.

Thanks for tuning in my friends. It felt nice to sit and write this out today.

Take Four

I have officially started and deleted three blog posts, maybe the fourth one will break me out of the weirdness I've been in. Writers block has me hard and I'm not always clear on what I want to write about or how to make it cohesive.

I worry that people will get tired of hearing what I have to say. There are a million and one blogs out there. There are a million and one writers, most are far better than I am. Most are better at conveying their thoughts than I can ever hope to be.

I am afraid that people will find my life boring. I'm a mom now. What's more, I'm a mom under house arrest until cold/flu/RSV season is over. Very rarely do I leave the house. Very rarely do we get to go anywhere together as a family. We don't even get to go grocery shopping together. I take Dean to his appointments or possibly Grammy and Grumpy's house when I'm really feeling lonely. I cancel plans with people who tell me they have colds in the hopes that we never bring it into this house. Blair goes to work, he comes home.

I stick so closely to our routine and schedule because my children (bless them) have started taking naps at the same time. And Lord Help me, that hour of quiet is LIFE to me. LIFE. It's what gets me through the day. If we make it through nap time I can make it until bed time and God help us all if the routine is thrown off. And this is all I have to write about right now.

Nap time and quiet time, kids TV shows and routines. I change diapers for a living and I clean. I constantly clean. Because if I do not clean the house will erupt and chaos will ensue and DEATH DESPAIR DESTRUCTION. Most of the time I realize what a blessing this is. My baby boy will be a year old soon. Whoah. The weight of that does not escape me.

Mombie though is a real thing. I find myself putting off showers (because I'm not going anywhere and honestly, I'd rather sleep). I either ignore people or I talk too much and end up complaining. My friends don't ask me advice that much any more because I have "so much on my plate already".

My husband is bi polar and while I don't talk about that much on my blog, it affects me in huge ways. He's been great about taking his medication, but the weather and the long hours and being couped up at home and stress all play into his moods. Some days I don't know who I am waking up to. Some days I don't know who will be coming home from work.

And I am tired.

I am tired of bills and appointments and blood work. I am tired of calling and emailing a million times to get his medications straightened out. I'm tired of the crippling guilt I feel when he goes a day or a week without one of his medications. I am tired of hearing of another CHD Death.

Two babies. Two babies died this month and everyone is arguing over people they will likely never meet. People being mean and petty and name calling and I'm wondering how long my son will live. Wondering if he will be next. Wondering if his heart will last. We've made it a year. A whole glorious amazing scary tough hard ridiculous year. I've done things I never imagined I would have to do and I cannot fathom that we have had him almost a full a year. 365 Days. Wow. It gives me chills to write that.

The Heart Community is amazing. You will find some of the most amazing people there. I've made some crazy amazing friendships through support groups and messages. We are friends. We are family. And when one of us in the heart community hurts, we all hurt.

I follow stories of babies who are fighting, who are on ECMO, who need miracles. I follow a young man who is on Hospice and I follow babies who have had heart transplants. I hope for them. I root for them. I pray for them. I hurt for them.

There is a lot of life in these groups. Success stories and encouragement. But there is Death as well. And I live with that. I have to. I embrace it. I have to. Because Death is part of Life and I hold it close to my chest and whisper "please not us, please not us"...knowing I have little control over it.

I've been hesitant to write about this. About the Death that I see. People do not want to know about the death. They do not want to know that it could be my son. They want to think the best and I'm so glad that they do because I'm cautious and scared still. Learning how to live life fully while watching the health of your child is a hard thing.

When my friends have Heart Caths or procedures...I'm like a mad woman checking for updates. My parents ask about the different kids and stories now. They pray for them too. And when they come out of these procedures and operations I'm elated. I am joyous. Because if they keep making it we can keep making it.

I am tired.

A bone weary tired that most of the time I can forget. I have been blessed with space and time to be able to work through my feelings, to be able to draw and create, to talk to people. I workout and I grocery shop by myself (probably because we can't as a family haha). I have friends I text and talk to, I know I'm not alone.

But on the worst days...it feels like we're in a life boat and we are very very far from the shore. Very far indeed. Hematology appointments get me every time. They throw me into this funke. They stuck him five times today. Five Times. I held his legs and arms down while he turned red and tears ran down his face. And I have to pretend he's not my kid. I have to pretend that it's ok. I have to pretend that this is what every parent does. I have to pretend that he won't remember any of this. I have to pretend like it will be over and we won't have to go back next month. I have to pretend he's not my son or I think I would go mad.

Even in the middle of this I had to stop writing and go help Blair while Dean vomited.

I hate CHD's. I hate HLHS. I hate that I see so many parents say good bye to babies. I hate that I watch people struggle. I hate watching techs dig around in my sons arm to get the blood to flow. I hate that babies need heart transplants. I hate it.

And every now and again I need to say how much I hate it. How much I hate all of this. How much I feel was stolen from us knowing that it was so much could be given to us. I hate how much it stretched me out of my bubble, how it it ruined things for me (I get so weird about peoples 20 week scans...you see gender...I see organs). I hate how much it made Blair and I argue, how stressed we both were (and really, are). I hate how much we had to be carried by other people. How often we had to and have to ask for help.

It all makes me a better person, but that doesn't mean the growth didn't hurt.

I am tired.

Tired of seeing Death so often. Tired of seeing hurting babies so often. Tired of people being so petty about the stupidest things. And physically...y'all...I could go for a nice. Long. Nap.

Thoughts on Today's Breakdown

When I was younger I used to love adventures. I loved to drive without a destination, loved to take off and get lost, loved to find neat places and spend time there.

I'm a little older and while in theory I love those things, I'm also a huge fan of consistency and schedules and everything flowing smoothly.

Today, things did not flow smoothly.

Things didn't even really flow. Things kinda...got splattered all over the hood of the car while you're going 80 miles per hour and you think "Oh God what the crap." Just. Saying.

So the story goes like this, our "good" car has been acting funny. Just a little funny. Enough for us to say, yeah, we should get this looked at, but not enough for us to be like, nope, no more driving for us. Plus. Appointments. We can't not go to his appointments (even though we ended up canceling one)(ugh). So here I am in the city, a little over an hour away from home with my ten month old son and our car goes from "lets get this checked" to "this is not safe don't drive it anymore." I'm on the side of the road going from Appointment A to Appointment B and my car will not accelerate. In the middle of an intersection. On a three lane road. With my very cranky screaming ten month old.

I wish in my very core that I were better about break downs. Something about our cars not working strikes this instant flight or fight mode in me and I straight panic. I called Blair. No answer. So like every Daddy's girl out there I do the only other logical thing, I call up my Daddy. Who is amazing and wonderful and who talked me through my next steps and said "you really shouldn't be driving it like this." He also reminded me that first and foremost I need to be taking care of the very sad baby in the back seat. Ok. Got it. Take care of baby.

Problem was, where I was stopped, I could not get out of my car without another car taking the door off/hitting me. Both bad options. So I try to see if the car will go again and it does. At this point I'm on the phone with Blair talking to him and he is being very calm. As I go to turn off the busy road, the car stops accelerating again. As I'm going uphill. On the busy road. While on the phone with my husband. Who lost contact with me and thought we'd been hit. Fun. Ok. At that point the small human is VERY upset with me. I'm shaking and worried that I won't be able to get the car off the road without getting hit, but THANK YOU JESUS, I did.

I pull into a very nice house in Fairfax that is for sale. You can go look it up on Zillow here if you would like. It's a nice house, carpets are awful though. There was a very nice agent who was very worried about me and Dean. He told me that if the house was warmer he would have let us stay inside. The people he showed the house to had an adorable little girl they totted in, the Mama gave me a "of you poor thing" look.

Blair came and got us, we were able to go his work office get his car and get home.

Hindsight. I wish that I could have been calmer and more level headed. If I had, Blair would not have had to miss more work and I could have gotten back home on my own. It frustrates me how incredibly panicked I got today. Though, in my own defense of myself to myself (what?), when Blair saw the roads where I was he understood why I was so upset.

I am thankful that we were not on the highway when this happened. I am thankful Blair was on his way to DC on the Metro for work and could easily get to me. I am thankful that my Dad answered his phone and helped me calm down a little bit. I am thankful that no other cars hit us. I am thankful that I had several friends offer to come get us. I am thankful that my discipler and friend was texting me while all this was going on and reminding me of TRUE things. I am thankful that Blair got to talk to the president of the company he works for and tell him how thankful he is for all the help that they've given him.

I am thankful.

And I am tired. And I FEEL defeated. I FEEL like this is just one. more. thing. I FEEL like we are doing this all wrong. I FEEL like this is my fault. I FEEL like somehow some way, I caused this.

I FEEL this way. I KNOW this is not true. And I rode home with Blair, telling myself "God did not promise you a car. He promised to meet your needs." So. If we do not have another car, then God will provide a way for us to get where we need to be. I might have to call a lot of people. I might have to adjust everything about our lives, and I will do that. And I know that we have enough people that it will happen.

I'm just..I just...oh I am tired of this season. I am tired of feeling like I'm not doing enough. I'm tired of feeling like we don't do enough. I'm tired of not feeling like we can do this on our own. I am tired of asking for help all the time. I'm tired of making calls and asking and asking and feeling like I'm taking. All the time. I don't want to ask for help. I don't want to need help. I don't want to any more.

Today was not easy. And that's ok, we've had lots of not easy days this year. Ha, this wasn't even the not easiest. There have been much worse.

These are not the type of adventures that I want. These are not the stories that I want to tell. I just want to feel like I can breathe. Just for a second.

But I'm finding it hard to breathe, so. Good thing that God is giving me some scuba gear man. I have a mighty need for it.

An Ever Changing Canvas

The months have flown by without a blog post. I've tried to write one or two here and there and never seen to want to push publish. My days are full. My son is needy. My two year old is a two year old who is quickly approaching becoming a three year old. The sass is very strong with her.

Our days are filled with the mundane. Piles of laundry, a sink that is never empty, people who need to eat a stuff (who knew, right?) and the constant constant picking up of the toys. I have tried reorganizing my home what feels like fifty million times and it still fills with clutter. My house is too small for clutter. It is on going. An ever changing canvas.

I know, deep in my heart, what this Holiday Season means for me and my family. I know that last year I would stop and cry and wonder if my son would be here with us this year. Putting up our Christmas stocking put me in tears. Dressing Dean in his "my first Thanksgiving" onsie put me in tears. Planning what to buy him to "open" on Christmas put me in tears.

In the past year I have become part of a community that welcomed babies into this world not knowing how long they would be here. Some are still with us and some are not, leaving their families with holes that will never be filled this side of Heaven. I cry at these "little" things because I know families who all Season long will be grieving their lack of little things.

And yet. Yet.

Some day this is not enough for me. I still grieve over what life could have been. I was given the incredible healing gift this week, something that had thrown me for a loop and reminded me that I still having some very sharp edges and that my canvas is not finished. I brought food to a precious family that welcomed their first boy into their family. While there, his amazing trusting Mama plopped him in my arms, and I just lost it. I started sobbing.

I had forgotten how small babies are when they are born. I forgot how much they sleep. I forgot that they look so peaceful while they are sleeping. I forgot how much they snuggle into you, these little new bodies. I forgot how it feels to hold a newborn in my arms. And then I remembered.

I remembered that when my son was three days old I kissed his face and sent him for a heart surgery that I wasn't sure he would come out of. I remember eating breakfast with my husband, waiting for the beeper to go off with any news, but afraid of the news at the same time. I remember what he looked like when he came out of surgery, the image will haunt me for the rest of my life, that piece of plastic that separated his heart from the world. I remembered the days and weeks that felt so endless, of the longing I had to hold my newborn and the constant waiting.

I miss his babyhood. I miss him being small and snuggling in my arms. I miss the three days i had before his surgery when he wasn't scarred. I do. I miss it. Don't give me this crap about how those scars are proof that he survived. Trust me, I know he did. I know those scars tell stories of life, but don't negate the pain that they caused. I refuse to forget the pain of this. Because the pain brought us life, there was a price paid for the life.

The days and weeks being home have not been easy. I fight this inner pride and selfishness daily. I want to talk about what I've given up and how my life feels put on hold. When I catch myself thinking that way I give myself a sharp "So?" Because the point is that this is not about me any more, it's about my babies. About surviving. About letting go of what I think I need to want and remembering that what I've been given is amazing. And remembering that the alternative is that my sons high chair could hold his ashes.

It is easy in these endless feeling days to be impatient. It is a whole lot harder to remember thankfulness and gratefulness when the toddler is poopy, the baby is screaming, there are three loads of laundry to be done, and the sink needs an exorcism. It is harder to say thank you for this, when it's midnight, you went to bed at 11, and the baby woke up and just won't stop crying unless you hold him and rock him for an hour.

That happened the other night. Dean was in a mood. And he wanted me. Only me, Daddy did try. And I was exhausted. And emotional. And here I am rocking this baby and all the sudden, the broken places in my heart surface and I just started crying. This was one of those good cries. The can't breathe, biting your lip, snot and tears just rolling off your cheeks type of crying.

Because here I am, rocking this baby who is a miracle and all I want, literally all I am praying, is that he goes back to sleep because I. Am. Exhausted. Finding that balance...learning to live with the everyday things and the miracle, is actually really hard. Teaching my heart to be thankful for all things, learning to trust that what God has for us is GOOD...is a constant battle.

But one that I am up for.

I realized I have not let parts of me heal. I have not opened the wound and it has become infected. I didn't realize how much it really hurt to completely skip over Deans babyhood, and go straight to baby with serious medical issues. I didn't realize how "strong" I was trying to be until I found out I built walls on sinking sand...

I told Blair during my rock the baby cry fest that I don't feel like I am enough. That I don't enough for him, for Dean, for Ellie. That I am constantly failing because I can't keep up with laundry and dishes and bills and insurance and keeping the house clean. And he said something so sweet..."Why do you have to?"

God did not call me to be a mother of these two kiddos because I am enough. He called me because I am not enough. Because my moments of weakness and strife and pain...all of that, brings me back to Him and allowing Him to be God in in my life.

You can believe that or not believe that, I don't care. What I am saying is that on a daily basis, without God, I would be a hot freaking mess people. Because moming is hard. Moming my son, is hard. Not being a selfish jerk, is hard. And I am still so very broken by some of the things we went through this year. And still so in need of healing.

Christmas is a time of gifts. But...my kids are alive. My son is alive. I feel like those are all the gifts I want. I feel like asking for more is selfish.

I am an ever changing canvas. A constant work of art. Living moment by moment, just like everyone else.