A Million WHAT IFs

Let me start off by saying that everyone is just fine. Its never good when you have to preface a story with that, is it?

Last night around 9 o'clock, Josh had just got home from work and was cuddling with Noah while I was making dinner. As I was removing the roast from the crock pot, we heard a loud noise followed by a crash that shook our whole house. I knew immediately what had happened - a car had hit our home.

We live on a corner and on a hill. On the side our house is one of the main streets to our neighborhood and off that street are houses at the top of a hill. Our neighbor's driveway points directly towards our kitchen. They were having a party last night and one of their guests left his truck running. Somehow the truck came out of park, rolled backwards down their driveway, across the main street, through our yard, and into the side of our house. I was inside the house just to left of where the truck hit.

The flashing lights of the fire trucks and police cars brought out all of the neighbors. Who is that little redheaded boy? He flitted around the scene taking pictures of his own for a while a then disappeared into the night. As it turns out, a car-hits-house accident is not the best way to meet your neighbors - we still haven't got a word out of the guy across the street. But we did get a smile which is more than 11 months of waving has accomplished. And then a mysterious man with an eye patch showed up to watch the show, we don't know who he is either.

The truck demolished our brand new air conditioning unit and put a giant dent in the cinder block.
There was no alcohol or illegal substances involved, just a questionable ability to operate a vehicle. Of course, the truck was uninsured and because no one was in it at the time it can't even be classified as a moving violation - just a random accident.


The stairs down to our basement were right where the truck hit. I say "were" because now all the supports are broken and the stairs themselves have come off the wall about eight inches.


Here is the large gash in our yard where the truck hit before encountering the side of our house.


The inside of my basement.


Its never good to see the light of day through what is supposed to be a solid wall.


Last night all I could think about (besides wondering why me) was all the what ifs: What if the truck had been going a little faster, what if the grass hadn't absorbed some of the force, what if it had hit the brick instead of the rock solid cinder block, what if I had been on the stairs instead of in the kitchen, what if it had come through our house, what if Josh hadn't been home, what if what if what if....?

This morning after the dust has settled and all the shock is gone, I am thankful. Thankful that I have a God who didn't let any of those 'what ifs' happen, thankful that we are all safe and unhurt, thankful that my husband can be kind and gracious in moments of high stress when I want to do physical harm, thankful for police and firemen that respond so quickly and are so kind, thankful for family that comes at a moments notice with little information, thankful for the same family who lets us stay in their home instead of letting us boil in a house with no ac in the hottest month of the year. But I am still learning to be thankful for days like this, for the bad things that happen - it might take my whole life to learn that. God has a plan and I know He is sovereign, but don't ask me what He means by orchestrating the events of my life - I'm just along for the ride.

So I have no idea what tomorrow brings, or even what today brings for that matter. I have no idea what kind of invisible damage has been done to my house or when it will be fixed. All I have to rely on is my Sanctuary, my husband, my darling little boy, and my wonderful family and friends. It seems like I have a lot, after all.

The Momma
Dispossessed but not Disbelieving

Fur Fought the Law

There has been a war going on in my house for quite some time now. A war between me and ... and a very devious foe. Most days I am on the defense, just barely able to hold my ground in this crazy battle. But today, today I faced my enemy straight on, took a deep breath and yelled "THIS IS SPARTA!". Somehow that made me a little braver.

But who is my enemy you ask? This is my enemy:


No not a flower, that is dog hair. And this, this is my weapon of choice:
A Furminator. Raleigh does that fur taste good?

Raleigh loved being furminated.


I could have made a whole second dog from the amount of hair that came off her.
Raleigh joined the battle against the fur - once it was off her body, and decided to eat and roll in it.

Then it was time for a bath. Does that water taste good, Raleigh?

Does that soap taste good?

After the bath, it was a mad scramble to get her dried and to her crate because there are few smells worse than wet dog (the worse ones also have to do with dogs).

Don't worry, she was rewarded for her service in today's battle.
So fur fought the law, and fur won. Fur will always win, the law is simply outnumbered. But at least the law can feel like she prevented one less sweeping, vacuuming marathon day.

The Momma, The Law

Work, Life....string cheese

I'm in one of those seasons of life where I'm not able to see anyone...except those that want to pay for my time. As of right now I have many jobs strung together that will hopefully produce enough income to pay the bills, raise a child, feed the dog, put gas in our vehicles, keep the phone on...etc...et al..et nomoney.

Some mornings I feel like string cheese that's been sitting in a car on a hot, humid August day. I've kind of congealed into a blubbery mess until I get refreshed by seeing my wife, letting my boy sleep on my chest and have Raleigh dog attack my feet.

I've only done this for a week or so and I already feel distant. Distant from God. Distant from Abby and Noah. Distant from myself as I put on this new skin of commission only and $9 an hour from Office Depot at night.

I struggle with being the husband God has called me to be. It's hard. If I didn't have the love of my wife, giggles of a little boy, a mentor for a boss, support of my family...I'm not sure I could wake up every morning facing the mountain I have to climb that day. My mountain today includes meeting with a possible client and quoting to possible jobs....it's the most encouraging mountain I've had in two weeks.

Josh
President of Fatherly Duties
Rugged Mountain Conqueror
JandA Corp

Close Confines vs Wide Open Spaces

This morning was a little rough. My boy decided that screaming at the top of his lungs would be much more fun than a restful nap. I am trying to find a good balance between teaching him to soothe himself and being there when he needs me, so I let him cry as long as I could stand it. After listening to him cry for two hours lightly interspersed with five minute cap naps, I finally picked him up and off to sleep he went.

After lunch he was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. Not even the usually bracing feeling of a cold, wet wipe on his nice warm tushy could wake him up. Thinking that he would finally get some sleep, I set him down in his bassinet. The minute his body touched down, he commenced the screaming. So I picked him up and pondered the situation - what could be the matter?

Then it hit me - he looked a little cramped in there. So, just for fun I set him down in his crib. The minute his body touched the sheets... he grinned at me and fell fast asleep.


Does this mean that the age of the bassinet is over? I, for one, hope not. Besides the convenience of having him right beside me for the nighttime feedings, I don't know that I'm ready for him to graduate to his own room.

Maybe its a fluke, maybe he will be happy to sleep in his bassinet for many months to come, maybe he will stay this size for a little while longer until I give him permission to grow and become and big boy. Maybe my laundry will do itself, maybe fresh groceries will appear in my fridge, and while I'm at it maybe we'll will the lottery.

The Momma

Future Boxer??

11 Pounds 15 Ounces of Adorable

Yesterday we went to Noah's two month checkup. I'll tell you about that in a minute, but first I have to take a minor detour:

My son is two months old - how did this happen? I just brought him home from the hospital yesterday. He has officially outgrown all of his newborn clothes and yesterday I put a pair of three months pajamas on him - while he certainly didn't fill it out in the width aspect, they were already too short. He gets those long legs from me - one of the only things he gets from me, but that's beside the point.

OK, so yesterday we went to the pediatrician and all I cared about was how much he weighed. His doctor is a wonderful lady, came to us highly recommended, and is just granola-crunchy enough for me to love her yet not so fruity that I don't respect her. Well, she originally took one look at Josh and I and then and there decided that two giant folk like us were going to have a mongo-hungarian behemouth of a baby. Then Noah came at a very respectable 7lbs 3ozs and it threw her for a loop. Ever since then she keeps saying things like "He's gaining weight just fine, I just think he should be bigger" or "I want him to be in the 90th percentile, by such and such a date or I'll be concerned...". For a while this really worried me. I fed him every three hours (or less) on the dot around the clock whether he was hungry or not. Problem was if he wasn't hungry he simply wouldn't eat. I finally decided to trust my instincts and my baby's belly and let him sleep as long as he would at night. He's hungrier and happier, I'm happier, and we all get more sleep.

So yesterday, all I cared about was his weight gain, not because I was worried but because I wanted his doctor to eat her words. Of course she didn't, instead she says: "His weight gain is good, he's only in the 50th percentile, but his weight is good".

Only in the 50th percentile? Are you kidding me? This kid is off the charts, one in a million, so super-special there is no percentile that can accurately capture his cuteness.
What does she know? She's only a doctor, she doesn't have a mother's perspective on this boy.

The "Mongo-Hungarian Behemouth" Momma

A Whole New World

Yesterday was my very first day in my brand new job. That job? Being a stay-at-home-mom. I willingly left a job I love to minister to a little boy I love more.

What's that, Women's Lib?? What are you saying? You didn't work so hard for years just so I could stay home? Sure you did - you worked hard so I could have a choice. And I choose Noah. And Josh. And my home, and Raleigh dog.

And who could blame me?
So, I gave up a cubicle, incredible co-workers, and a really handy paycheck and while I don't regret it, I will miss it.

What's more is that Josh is sacrificing his free time for a part time job (in addition to the full time and part time jobs he currently has) so we can make this happen. I feel extremely humble that he would do that for me and for his boy. I am so determined to honor him by really, truly taking care of everything that needs to happen here so that when he is home he wont have to worry about anything. In fact, I am so determined that I christened my first day with so much work, errands, and chores that I feel like the walking dead this morning.

Lesson learned: in order to take care of my family I need to take care of myself. But that doesn't give me license to squander my time in frivolous things. No, I just need to learn how to handle this whole household more effectively. But I am getting some primo on the job training.

So here's to staying at home and loving it, and being very sobered by the responsibility.

The Momma
Guardian, Custodian, and Defender of all things Home.