As I left the hospital, I drove home in a daze. I didn’t listen to any music, or roll the windows down to enjoy a beautiful September afternoon. I just wanted to be home. I didn’t care that I would be alone; I just wanted to be as far away as possible from the hospital. Once I got home, I crawled into bed and stayed. What else could I do? The ultrasound tech had said everything. I was empty.

If you’re not familiar with the effects of miscarrying, the aftermath on your body is agonizing. For me, it felt like my stomach had been ripped out and put back in the wrong way. There is also the added element that your mind goes through. I think the mind games I played with myself were more excruciating than the actual physical pain my body was undergoing.

In a matter of 48 hours I had gone from the highest high to the lowest of lows. I was pregnant on Saturday, and without child on Monday. In this time frame I had become someone I didn’t know. Someone I didn’t like. I remember vividly coming home from running errands with Mr. in town on Thursday evening and talking about having to work with ladies who were expecting. How was I going to be able to face them? How was I supposed to be excited for them? I was JEALOUS of them.

Mr. tried his best to support me, but I would say things and he wouldn’t know what to say back. On this specific ride home, he was being as supportive as he could be and said, “I love you.” My response was, “How can you love me when my body destroyed our baby?”

Oh, he got so mad at me for saying that! But, that’s where my mind was…not in a good place. Mr. did his best to try and be normal. Normal was gone; we would never be the same again.

As the weekend approached, Mr. asked if I was planning on going to church. My reply, “Um, no!” He didn’t push the issue until Saturday evening. He told me we were going to church. I’m thinking, ‘no way.’ He said I needed to be up and ready to go Sunday morning. He wasn’t going to leave without me.

I woke up that Sunday morning and reluctantly threw my hair up in a ponytail and put on some black sweat pants. I didn’t want to be at church, and I certainly didn’t care what I looked like. I had no one to impress. I wasn’t going there to worship. I wasn’t going there because God wants His people to hear His word. I was going because Mr. made me.

All week I had been questioning God. I was as mad at Him as I had ever been in my life. What would God have to say to me when I got to church? Nothing! We weren’t speaking. He had failed me, after I had done everything right for Him my entire life. I was ready to walk away. God, He had other plans…


I had miscarried over the weekend, and we were out of school on Monday. I went into work on Tuesday and told my team and principal that I wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. Each person had a different reaction. They all stick with me, some were nicer than others- and I’ll just leave it at that.

Following the ER doctor’s order of resting for the next few days, I had a lot of alone time. Mr. wasn’t able to take time off work and my sisters, and sister in law were all busy with work and school as well. My ‘inner circle’ was still going on with life, while I stayed at home and thought mine was over.

I know that while I was off, God was trying to speak to me, but I didn’t want to hear anything He had to say. I didn’t open my Bible or read my devotional. (Honestly, I feel like I had just run up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door because I didn’t want anything to do with God. Can you relate to that? I know I can’t be the only person who had been so mad at their mom or dad they ran away and slammed a door at them while they were growing up.)

But, that’s what I did. I ran away. I was so angry I pretty much was ready to punch anything or anyone in the face who came in contact with me and said I needed to pray. I didn’t do a lot while I was home. I just kept replaying the events over and over in my head. Which wasn’t healthy. When you are alone, after a tragedy happens, your mind (or the devil) plays a lot of tricks on you.

Wednesday after Labor Day, I had to meet with my OBGYN for an exam and have some more blood work done. This was the worst day of my life. I think it was worse than actually going to the ER. Don’t get me wrong, my doctor is amazing; she has wonderful bedside manor, and was very compassionate.

I went to the doctor by myself, and sat in the waiting room surrounded by swollen bellies. I sat in this room, thinking I was going to be OK, thinking I was tough enough to face reality. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t look at any woman who had a beautiful baby bump. A mother’s glow, a smile on their face. In a room surrounded by people, I felt utterly alone.

(To put a little more salt in the wound, Savage Garden’s ‘I knew I Love You Before I Met You’ was playing overhead. Are you freaking kidding me? I came to the conclusion that there needs to be separate waiting rooms for women who are expecting and women who are not.)

After meeting with my doctor, she sent me to have some labs run. These labs included blood work, to check my hormone levels, and an ultrasound. I could handle the blood work. I was able to hold myself together while a lady who did not have nice bedside manor would conduct my ultrasound.

She walked me into a room and gave me directions; I obliged, and waited for her to come back. She moved the wand and said, “Yup you’re empty.” I lay there motionless. I was furious and heartbroken. How can you be so callus? She left the room with my frozen ultrasound images left up. All I saw was emptiness. She was right.  I was empty.  As I looked at that frozen ultrasound, all I saw was a void that was once filled with a life.  The tiny life had been ripped away. I didn’t need an ultrasound to prove that. I didn’t need anything but my baby.

Becoming Me

April 27th is a day that is just a normal day for many people.  For me, it is a day where for the past four years, I tend to get a bit weepy and emotional.  April 27th should have been our little girl’s birthday.  Today- she would have been four!  Many people, who are close to me, know that I suffered a miscarriage in September 2012. This experience is apart of me now, and I feel that the more I share it, the more I am able to honor my sweet little girl, Kimble, that I lost.  If you would like, come along with me over the next few days, as I feel it is the appropriate time to share my experience through this devastating loss.

This event has changed me forever, and for the better I think.

Here is Part 1:

Mr. and I decided in May 2012 that it would be a great time to expand our family of two (and our two kitties) to three. We never imagined how easy it would be to get pregnant. It took only two months for it to happen. I took a pregnancy test in August, and the results proved to be what we wanted…we were on our way to becoming parents.

I had already planned everything out in my head. I knew what I was going to do to tell our folks that they were being promoted to grandparents. I knew how I was going to publicize it on Facebook. I even knew how I was going to announce my pregnancy to my coworkers. Every detail was planned. I was elated!

August tuned into September, and I was looking forward to Labor Day weekend. (When you’re a teacher, you look forward to your weekends; they are valuable.) I was ready to say goodbye to summer “officially”, eat some of my in-laws famous turkey burgers, and my Dad’s amazing hamburgers. Nothing was going to ruin this weekend, nothing.

Mr. and I celebrated with our families and headed back home. I was feeling great, but was ready to get in bed. As I was getting ready, I noticed that I had some spotting. Which, I dismissed after I read on the Internet that was normal in the first few weeks of pregnancy. I went to bed, woke up the next morning and knew something wasn’t right. I told Mr. he needed to take me to the emergency room.

I silently prayed on the way to the hospital that God would save my baby. That He would spare me, and give me what I wanted. I walked into the ER and said, “I’m 6 weeks pregnant, and I’m bleeding.”

About half an hour later, after some blood work and a couple of other tests, the doctor confirmed my worst fear. I had lost the baby. I sobbed. I have no other way of describing what I did. I was livid. I was absolutely devastated.

I took the rest of the week off from work, and followed the doctor’s order of resting. I was pretty much in a fog. I mean- who miscarries? Am I the only person who has experienced this? I didn’t know of anyone else who had lost a baby.

Certainly this was a nightmare and I would wake up at some point. I mean, I had done everything right my entire life and was shocked and OUTRAGED that God allowed this to happen. I mean- after all- I am His child.

Why would He let this transpire? I have gone to church my entire life, read my Bible and done devotionals, I even waited until marriage. This was how God was going to repay me for being so faithful to Him?   I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was I didn’t want anything to do with God.

Hippity Hoppin’

Spring is finally here! I am so glad to see the calendar flip over to April. April is one of the busiest months for my little family. It holds several birthdays (Mr.’s) and this year April holds Easter. I love when Easter falls in the month of April. I feel like every piece of creation is screaming, “Thank you, Lord! It is spring.” I, myself, am screaming, “Thank you, Lord for Jesus!”

I wanted to share with you a new tradition I will be starting with the boys. I love all of the activities that come with Easter. Egg Hunts were always one of my most favorite things to do when spring rolled around. Growing up, my mom knew how much my sisters and I enjoyed egg hunts, and ended up finding these very special eggs she shared with us many years ago.

Resurrection Eggs.

I know some of you have heard of them…or maybe you haven’t. To sum them up, they basically are a dozen eggs where each egg contains an object that is significant in being apart of the Easter story. You can open all 12 eggs at once and read about the objects they contain, or you can take my approach.

Here’s what I will be doing with these eggs over the next 12 days leading up to Easter. I found this little wooden bunny at Target ($3) and the Resurrection Eggs at a Christian bookstore that was having a store-closing sale ($8). This little rabbit will be bringing one egg a day with a book (the one pictured, it comes with the eggs) that has a story that corresponds with the egg. The story will explain why the specific object that is in the egg, is special to Easter.


This little bunny will hide an egg somewhere in the house over the next 12 days and the boys will look for an egg everyday. We will read the story and hopefully have conversations about Easter and the hope we have because of it. Now, of course you could make this more elaborate…but I want to have my boys focus on the meaning of Easter.

To introduce this idea, I’ve come up with a letter that this bunny (Peter Cottontail) has written and brought to the boys. It is very simple (and similar to what I did when I introduced our Elf, Simon, at Christmas.) If you’re interested in a copy of the letter, just let me know! You can write to me through my CONTACT page, and I will be more than happy to edit the letter for you. After all, our main goal as Christ-followers is to get our children to Heaven. I just think this fun approach is a great way to introduce Jesus and have a little Easter fun while doing it.

Peter Cottontail Letter 2

One Less “Like”

So February 2017 was a pretty difficult month for your ‘ol pal here.  I didn’t get around to making you guys a ‘favorite’s list’ for the month because my mind has been so preoccupied.  February was just really hard for me.

 To sum it up for you, I lost a very dear friend last month.  I mean this was a person who feels like my brother.  I am still grieving like I lost my brother.  I am hoping with writing this, I can in some way share his sweet spirit with you- but also heal a little bit.

 Now before I write anything else, let me tell you abut my friend.  He and I met in preschool.  We were three years old when we met!  He had big brown eyes and was the funniest person I can remember from those days.  After we graduated preschool we ended up going to the same elementary school where we were in each other’s class every year but for third grade.

 We got split in middle school, but we reconnected because we were both in band…and played clarinet.  (Until our teacher moved him to play oboe.)  We then went on to be in the same classes all throughout high school.  Now, granted, we didn’t run around with the same crowd- neither one of us really fit into one group, we both were friends with everyone.  BUT we always had each other’s back.  We could let our guard down with each other.  We could speak openly and honestly with each other.  We loved each other like we were siblings.

After graduation, we kept in touch through MySpace and then moved onto bigger and better things once everyone was allowed the use of Facebook.  We had the kind of relationship that it didn’t matter how long we hadn’t seen each other, we picked up right were we last left off.  We had the kind of friendship that only comes around once in a lifetime.  I could always count on him- he knew he could always count on me.

 That being said, fast-forward to February 2017 and my world was rocked.  I found out that I had lost my longest and dearest friendship.  This was a friendship that I had invested a lot of time and love into; and I found out about his loss on social media.  When I read someone’s status about his passing, I literally had to fight to breath.  I was shocked.  I’m still shocked.

Granted, it’s still very real, it’s very raw…yesterday was a day that I cried again for my friend.  I thought I had cried all of my tears.  I cried because I posted my son’s monthly picture to social media, and my friend was always one to “like” my picture.  I cried because he wasn’t going to like any more of my pictures.  I cried because I wasn’t going to receive any more messages telling me how cute my little guy is.  I cried because I am sad; I’m sad that my friend is no longer with me.

It’s crazy the way grief works.  It’s crazy how realizing that one less “like” can make you cry all over again.  It’s crazy how it can take a seeming less picture post, and make you feel all of the emotions you felt when you got the shocking news of losing your friend.

I am here to tell you though, I do have hope; I have hope in Jesus.  One of the last conversations I had with my friend, I shared Jesus with him.  I am happy to share Jesus with you, too.  I feel like it is a way that I can honor my friend.

 Jesus.  Jesus loves you and all of your baggage.  He loves you when you are mean.  He loves you when you are sad.  He loves your good, your bad, and your very ugly.  Jesus loves you so much that he left a perfect paradise to walk among us- so he can sympathize with us.  He loves you so much that he left his home, and made one among us, so he could feel what you feel.  Jesus loves you so much that he died for you.  He died so you can live!

 All you have to do is whisper His name.  He’s willing and ready to listen.  He wants you to talk to him.  He wants to bring you comfort, love, joy, and hope.  Jesus loves.  Jesus saves.  Let me tell you, I am so thankful for that.

 With the loss of my friend, I do feel like I need to take the time to tell his family how much I love them, and that I am still praying for them.  You guys…you all are in so many good memories I have with Drew.  I can’t thank you enough for encouraging and nurturing our friendship.   I am so thankful that you’ve been able to share in so many incredible memories over the years.  Thank you so much for letting Drew and me be friends.  Thank you for teaching him how to love others, respect others, and invest in others.  I am forever grateful for the memories I have with you guys, and our Drew-boy.   I love you all, just as much as I love Drew.

Love, Laughter, Happily Ever-after

I honestly could not wait to become Mrs. My husband and I have known each other since I was in second grade, and he in third.  He moved here from Indiana in 1993.  I remember the day he got on my bus, I just watched him.  This new boy with dark hair and blue eyes; he looked like no other boy I had ever seen.  Granted, I was only 7, I knew there was something special about him.

Slowly but surly, we started to talk and forge a friendship.  He lived in the neighborhood next to mine.  Had a sister who was the same age as my sister, and played baseball.  He would sit next to me on the bus and we would just talk.  This was the extent of our elementary school relationship, talking, getting to know one another, and listening to what we had to say.

As we grew into middle schoolers, our talks got a little more serious.  We would talk on the bus…and we would even call each other on our house phones!  (Yes, we had to endure our parents answering the phone, and asking permission to speak to our friend.)  As serious as a child in middle school can talk and hold onto a conversation, our talks would include what teachers were hard, how I should do this or that to be cool…and we talked about whom we liked!  Of course, neither of us knew that under all of our immaturity, we liked each other.

He started high school a year before me…I had moved and no longer lived a few streets away from him…we lost touch.  We would see each other around town, say a quick hello, and go on with our lives.  It wasn’t until I started high school did he realize that we needed to be together.  I didn’t realize we needed to be together until I was a junior.  I made him wait two years before I finally realized that he should be mine!

This is just the start of our story.  I tell people all the time that we go back to second and third grade- because we do.  We started to build a relationship as children.  We built it on interests, communication, and trust.  Now, please don’t think that growing into Mr. and Mrs. was a walk in the park.  It wasn’t, but I’ve come to realize how truly special your relationship with your spouse is.  How truly special my relationship is with my Mr.

I wanted to write to you, during the month of February, (where we celebrate “love”) about how special marriage is.  Marriage is not a contract you can break when something “breaks” and you want something else.  Marriage is not trial and error.  Marriage is a covenant, which means you are in for the long hall.  You are in for the good.  You are in for the bad.  And you stay when it gets ugly, really, really ugly.

Marriage is a vow spoken between three: you, your husband, and God.  God owns the copyright of marriage.  He as already written your story…he has written some really good and fun times for you to experience.  He has also written times where you will need to lean on each other to grow closer together.  God has also written times where you will want to run away, forget all of the bad, and give up.  God has written those for you to become closer to your spouse, and ultimately Him.

Marriage is one of the best things that I have ever decided to enter into.  My Mr. and I have had a wonderful seven and half years of marriage.  We have had made some incredible memories.  We have accomplished so much in our 15 official years together. My Mr. is more of a man than I could ever dream of having in my life. We’ve had the good, the bad, and the very ugly- and I can say with my whole heart he has been there for me. God knew that my Mr. was what I needed for my love, my laughter, and my happily ever after.

One Month In.

It’s hard to believe that 31 days have passed in the year 2017!  How can we already have made it thorough one month of the new year? Blows my mind.

Here’s a little list of my favorite things from this first month of 2017.

Book:  I read three books! I know- some of you are thinking, “Wow! Only three?” That’s kind of a big deal. I mean, I feel like I have no down time to do anything around my house expect for running around after a three year old, and a seven month old who is Army crawling around like it’s nobody’s business.

Out of the books that I conquered, I think I loved Nicole Curtis’ book, Better Than New: Lessons I’ve Learned from Saving Old Homes (and How They Saved Me) the most. Nicole is just a boss. She doesn’t apologize for who she is, for what she thinks, or for what she says. She sticks to her guns, and goes with her gut. I find that admirable.

Music:  These songs are constantly on repeat. It doesn’t matter if I’m driving or on the treadmill. I can’t get enough…

Old Dominion- Song for Another Time

Brothers Osborne- Stay a Little Longer

Brett Young- Sleep Without You

Amy Grant (ft. Tori Kelly)- Baby, Baby

Carrie Underwood- Dirty Laundry

Scripture:  “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” Psalm 56:8

I lost my grandfather this month. It was very bittersweet. My grandfather suffered from Alzheimer’s, Dementia, and Parkinson’s. At the funeral home it was so sweet to see how many lives he touched. There were people there from his entire walk of life here on Earth. I say that losing him was bittersweet because I said goodbye to him several years ago. It was difficult to see his mind go. The last time I saw him, he didn’t even know who I was. I do mourn that his presence is no longer on this Earth. It’s sad knowing that I no longer have any grandparents left. But, I do rejoice in the fact that he is healed, and that he is whole once again. I take comfort in knowing that he is in the presence of The Lord.

Down Time:  Mr. and I started House of Cards on Netflix. Neither one of us can get the boys to bed fast enough so we can watch one (or three) episodes. It’s great mindless entertainment…and it’s also eye opening to the fact that I never want a career in politics!

Looking Ahead:  I am looking forward to the month of February. I love, love. I love celebrating Valentine’s Day. I love surprising the boys with their Valentine’s gifts. I love receiving what they’ve picked out just for me. It’s just a very special holiday. I’ll talk to you guys a little more about what we do around here to celebrate. It’s just a fun tradition we started when Monster was born. I’m’ all about creating memories and traditions for our boys; I hope that it carries over into their adulthood and -one day- they pass along the things we do, with their families. Memories and traditions- easy and simple ways to make sure that this everyday love remains.

What’s Your Favorite Pie?

Sweets. I love them. I often say that I don’t have a sweet tooth; all of my teeth are vying for that coveted title. What can I say? Dessert is one of my most favorite things in the whole wide world.  *That can attest to the fact that I am still working on getting rid of the extra 30 pounds of baby weight I am still carrying around.*  (We’ll just save that for another blog.)

Have you ever noticed that on a menu- pie is always an option? I don’t understand. Pie is one dessert I can pass up. I won’t even give it a second glance- but there is one pie out there that lingers long after you eat it. It may not even be that satisfying. I know, you’re thinking- what? No way. There is though…

Humble Pie.

I got served a big piece of it yesterday from Monster. So let me catch you up to speed. Yesterday was a day where I didn’t get a shower until Noon and I didn’t get to brush my teeth until two. I was over-worked. I was over-tired. I was out right mean to my three-year-old.

Wild Thing had gone for his six-month checkup, on Tuesday, and received his shots. He was fine…until it was time for the house to sleep that night. In total Mr. and I got about four hours of sleep Tuesday night into Wednesday. Monster woke up early (and he’s one that once he’s up- he’s up. He takes that after his Daddy.) Wild Thing was up just a little after I got Monster settled and eating breakfast.

I won’t give you all the details, but once I served Monster, Wild Thing cried for two hours straight. TWO HOURS. This is totally and completely out of his character. I knew it was all because of his shots. He didn’t want to be worn. He didn’t want to be naked. All he wanted was for Momma to hold him- which I did. For the millisecond that he wasn’t in my arms, Monster grabbed him and Wild Thing started his crying fit all over again…

That. Was. It.

I yelled. I completely took my fatigue out on him. He got upset that I was upset, and left me alone with crying Wild Thing. I thought, ‘I don’t even care. He can stay in his room all day. I don’t even care.’ I walked Wild Thing to his room to rock him. Thankfully he fell asleep quickly. Monster comes in as soon as Wild Thing drifts off and asks me if I’d like for him to turn the light off.

Cue tears.  Cue Momma-guilt.

I felt like a failure as a mother. I cannot describe what it is like to be needed by both of your boys and you have to pick one over the other; because at that moment one needs you more than the other. I know Monster didn’t see this- or even feel like I was picking his brother over him. He selflessly came in and asked if he could do something so simple to help out his Momma, you know- this one, the one that just ripped him a new one not 7 minutes earlier. Yea, he was ready and willing to help me out even though I acted like a monster towards him.

Cut the pie. Place it on the serving tray. Place in front of Momma.

Wild Thing finally went down for a 4.5-hour nap and I was able to walk up to Monster and apologize.   I told him I was sorry for yelling at him. That I was tired, and just like when he gets tired- and he gets mean…that’s what happened to Momma.

He just looked at me and said, “It’s OK. I love you just the way you are.” (WHAT?! Who is this kid and where did he hear Bruno?) Then hugged me. Talk about seeing grace! I hate that these roles were reversed and I was the one who acted like the three-year-old, and he the parent.

I’m thankful that each day is new, and that my little Monster is so forgiving of me- when I can hold onto things, and continually make myself feel like an inadequate mother. I am thankful that Monster has seen over his little span of life how easy it is to say you’re sorry and ask for someone to forgive you. I’m thankful that he has seen love everyday.

So to all of the Mommas (and Daddies) out there- one thing I hope you take away from this rambling story from my life, is to always admit your wrongs to your kiddos. Never be afraid to tell them you’re sorry when YOU have crossed a line. Always remember to show them love- no matter how much of a jerk you think you are for acting the way you did…they think you hung the moon.

So until next time, I’ll be sitting alone eating my Humble Pie- wishing it were a piece of chocolate cake- watching my Monster and Wild Thing grow with this everyday love.

Wrapping Up Christmas, Wrapping Up 2016

Christmas is one of my favorite holidays! I mean, seriously who doesn’t love the idea of staying home and watching A Christmas Story, eating home made candies, and making traditions come to life with your family? Just simply put, Christmas is fun!

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is Christmas cards. Although, I feel like people think they are a waste, I look forward to that quick walk to the mailbox to see who has sent my family a little Christmas cheer. You can’t beat making someone’s day with a simple card wishing you a joyful season!

So, here I am to give you an idea for those Christmas cards you got. Are you ready? Keep them. Yes- keep them! Here’s what I plan on doing with mine. I plan on placing a Christmas card on our kitchen table, and every night for a week our family is going to pray for the family who’s Christmas card lays on our table.   We received 50 cards this year, so that means my little family will intentionally pray for another family, for a whole week, for the year 2017.

Now you can do whatever you want with your cards…I mean they are yours. But I plan on putting them to good use and spending a little more time reflecting on the person who thought of my little family this past Christmas. It’s an easy way to teach your children about praying for others. It’s a simple way to share gratitude with The Lord. It’s an effortless way to make sure you have a little love in your day!