The Spirit of Giving

'Tis the season of sharing. I have been so blessed by this blog this year that I have decided to give back. Each week of December, I am going to share with you a treasure. Something that is very close to my heart. And I hope that you recognise each gift as such.

The first is something few of you have seen. I posted it on my blog for a day awhile back and - after some derogatory comments found online - I removed it. It was too sacred to me to be cast before swine. But time has past and I think my readership has changed as well. No longer is it a blog someone found via a large or popular blog. But - more often - my readers come via word of mouth. They or someone they love have experienced a loss. A poignant loss. And they come to share, to grieve and to understand. In that way, I am so fortunate. I have the best blog readers in the world.

So here is my first gift to you. I hold it sacred. This video documents some of our final moments with Bennett. Moments that - as you know - I now ache for. Longingly.

But this also documents the Hope, Faith and Gratitude our family feels. Our relationship with a Kind and Loving God has made ALL the difference in the world. Is it still tough? HECK YEAH! I wouldn't recommend this experience to anyone. But sometimes I wonder if I could learn the lessons I'm learning without experiencing the heartbreak I feel. Heaven only knows.

And I think It does.

So as you watch this short documentary of my heart, please remember this Mother. Remember my story and my faith. And remember that - with the strength of the Lord - YOU can do ALL things.



*If you are interested in having this gifted photographer document your most precious life moments, you can contact her here.

A Mother's Love

I am home from church with the Little Guy today. We both have been having some health issues of late that have prevented us from going to church the day of the Primary Program. Blast.

I have been thinking about my last days with Bennett this morning. As in, my last days with his body. We were blessed to have a lot of time with him after his passing. That was a gift. Simply a gift.

After we learned that Bennett had passed away hours before we found him, we were told that the medical examiner would be arriving shortly and that we would have 15 minutes to spend with our boy before he was taken away for an autopsy.

That was simply not okay with me.

I immediately pulled our Investigator aside and told him that though I knew I couldn't do anything to bring my son back, I knew that I HAD to handle this in the a way that would promote healing for my family.

And so, I asked for Time.

Time to hold him, time to caress him, time to bring his siblings in and tell them what had happened. And time for David to give him a final Father's blessing. The investigator heard this Mother's plea and kindly relented.

What happened in the next four hours was heartbreaking, harrowing and nothing short of sacred. I wrapped him in the blankie I had made for him before he was born. I held his body close to mine. I kissed his sweet little cheeks. I ran my fingers through his hair. I gently pushed back his eyelids to once again see his lovely baby blues. And I told his brother and sisters that Bennett was called Home. That is, to his Heavenly Home. And that - though at times we would feel him close - he wouldn't be living in our house anymore. That is one of the hardest things I have ever done. E V E R. No mother should ever have to have that conversation with her children.

After four beautiful hours together, the medical examiner arrived and I was told it was time to take Bennett away. I refused to put him in a body bag so instead I opted to wrap him in a beautiful white blanket and personally "tuck him in" the car. Fastening him on the gurney was one of the most surreal moments of my life. I experienced firsthand what it feels like to have your heart break. Literally. Break. As they closed the door, I stood outside the vehicle with my mother. My nose pressied against the glass as I took one last look at my boy. I couldn't get enough. I just needed more. More time, more kisses, more cuddles, more giggles. More bedtime stories, more holidays, more birthdays, more memories. Just. More.

I received a call from the mortuary Monday night notifying me that Bennett's body had been received. They needed time to prepare him to be seen. I don't know if I was prepared for the trauma of an autopsy. Even though I could feel no life in my child, no mother wants to see their child in that condition. That said, the Spirit fell on us and we were able to see him as our son. We held him, touched him, kissed him, dressed him and whispered sweet sentiments in his ear. I knew he heard every word because I knew he was with us. There is no where else he'd rather be.

In the next few days, we spent every moment possible at the mortuary. In fact, it was on the couch holding Bennett that David and I penned our joint funeral address. Our children LOVE story time - Bennett included - and so we decided to share our thoughts in the format of a story. I'm sure it was Bennett's idea. ;0)

During one of our visits at the mortuary, our tender mortician asked us if we would like Bennett to spend his last evening before burial in our home. We tearfully replied yes. We thought it would be a perfect opportunity for our little family to say our final "see you laters."

After our first viewing Thursday night (that was five hours long . . .), we retreated to our home and Bennett followed us shortly. With tender love, the funeral directors carried his little casket in our home and asked us where we wanted him to be. The Family Room, of course. For the next hour, we held him, caressed him, did our family cheer, had a family prayer and sang some of Bennett's favorite songs. While we did so, a gifted photographer that kindly offered her services to us captured every moment. During our time, Ashton (who had been quite reluctant to see his brother's body) took his car and kept driving it up and down Bennett's chest. "Wake up, Bennett! Wake up! Let's play cahs!" he kept saying. My heart smiled and broke all at once.

As time quickly passed, we soon realized that we had to get at least a few hours of sleep before the viewing and funeral the following day. And so we sang Bennett's song (a tradition every night before he went to bed), tucked him in, and even left a light on in the hallway for him. Just because. And I couldn't help but steal an extra kiss or two from my boy. Time was short. I knew it. And I had to take advantage of each moment.

I awoke hours later, unable to sleep. I snuck downstairs and picked up my boy, trying to take in every moment in the quiet hours of the morning. With the dawn would come new realities. Like burying my boy. While each moment spent with him confirmed that he was not with us, each second was a treasured gift. My heart took a picture. I knew it would not last forever. And I knew that I would look back on these moments for years to come, trying to remember every. little. detail.

How right I was.

Awhile later, David stumbled downstairs. He too wanted to share some quiet moments with our son. Within minutes, the girls joined us, each wanting to cuddle, hold and create "a moment" with their little brother. Their ease and affection amazed me. They loved him in death as they did in life. It was such a lesson to me. How blessed I am to be their Mother.

Around 7 or 8, the funeral directors arrived. When they walked in the home, we both knew that my time with Bennett's body was nearing an end. Though I could touch and caress him in his casket at his viewing, I knew my moments to hold him in my arms were over. I held him close one last time, cupped his fingers in my hand, kissed his sweet little face and whispered tender reassurances in his ear. And then I tucked him in and they took him away.

The viewing that morning was far different than the one the night before. The previous evening, I had our time with Bennett at home to look forward to. We were strong, we were comforted and we wanted to share our peace with others. But the morning of his burial, all I could feel was loss intermingled with heavy doses of God's love and peace. A chapter in our family book was closing. One that's story had just begun. And one I was not ready to finish.

After emotionally greeting many loved ones at the viewing, family and close friends gathered as the doors to the room closed. My Father offered a beautiful blessing on Bennett and on our family that gave me the strength I needed to do what was ahead. When his prayer was over, one by one, family members approached his casket to say their final goodbyes. Many members of my family had written love notes to Bennett that would surround him with love until we were reunited. I loved that.

And then it was our turn.

As I approached the casket, I longed to hold my baby again. In hindsight, I wish I had. That perhaps is my only regret. But instead, I caressed his hair, I covered his face with my tears and kisses and I even took off his socks to kiss his sweet "toesies" (something he loved) once more. David joined me and did the same. Together we stood, learning over the body of our son, holding each other up. We would make it through. We would tread this path together. And - with the Lord - we would do whatever was required to be together again. THAT was for certain.

And then, we closed the casket.

Why am I writing about this now? Because my arms have been aching - ACHING - to hold my little man this week. And though it would be ideal to hold him in life, I would even settle for holding him in death. Though not the same, it was so precious to be with him. To hold him, caress him and shower him with all the love and adoration we have for him. He was adored. And he knew it. And I pray that after looking down on how we continued to care for him after his passing, he knows that more than ever.

So for now, I reach my arms heavenward. Whenever they are feeling extra empty, I ask God to fill them with Love - His Love - for me. Sometimes that comes in holding one of Bennett's siblings. Sometimes that comes in holding another little child. And often it occurs in the form of putting my arms around another who is in need of peace, love and comfort.

Because as I help other's feel God's love and grace, I feel a little bit of Heaven in my home. In other words, I feel my Bennett. And I'm one step closer to being with him again.

And heaven knows there's no where else I'd rather be.

This Time Last Year . . .

This time last year, I took four little kiddos to the pumpkin patch for our annual Cousins Pumpkin Picking.

This time last year, Bennett couldn't get enough of the little red wagon.

This time last year, Bennett went from one pumpkin pile to another, trying to find the pumpkin seat that was just the "right fit."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This afternoon, I'll be taking three kiddos to the Cousins Pumpkin Picking.

This afternoon, I think I'll feel a little melancholy as I pull around the little red wagon.

And this afternoon, I think I'll be looking around the Pumpkin Patch for that little blond boy that so loved being part of the Fall Festivities with his siblings, cousins, aunts and Grammie Lu.

You are in my Heart today, My Boy. Your Mommy loves you.

To the Moon and back. xoxoxoxo

Enough

Things are hard right now. Really, really hard. And I'm not just referring to the loss of our son. Yes, that is our deepest and most poignant loss. But it seems that 2011 has delivered our family heartache after heartache. And in the last couple of weeks, I have begun to question how much more I can take.

Tonight - after some additional news that caused hurt and frustration - I ran away. I jumped in the car and drove. For hours. I didn't have a destination, I was just trying to run. Run from the heartache, run from the uncertainty, run from the hurt and run from the unknown. The problem? There was no place to drive that far.

When darkness came, I decided to turn Homeward. As I walked into our rental, I was greeted by my three year old calling my name as he threw his arms around my legs. Truthfully, I was annoyed that he was not already in bed (it was after 10 o'clock). So I instructed him to get in his bed and promised that I would come tuck him in after I took a hot shower. He complied.

Under the hot, pounding water, seconds turned into minutes and the minutes multiplied quickly. In my mental anguish, I forgot my promise. I readied for bed, thinking only of the weight of the decisions we have ahead. Was God aware of us? Did He know of our suffering? How could He forsake us in our darkest hour? I felt so alone.

Then came a voice. A little, tender voice.

"Mama, can you come tuck me in and hug and kiss me?"

It was my little Ashton. I had forgot! Oh man. Just another bullet point to add to my "falling short" list.

I tiptoed down the hallway, careful to not wake the slumbering girls. On the bed I went, hair sopping wet and smelling heavily of shampoo and lavender soap. We cuddled and then sang Ashton's nightly song.

Then this spontaneous conversation ensued.

Ashton: Mom, I don't like Bennett with Jesus.

Me: I know, Ashton. I know.

(Could my heart possibly be more heavy?)

Ashton: Mom, I want Bennett to come back to our house.

(Silence. What to say? Haven't we covered this topic a million and one times?)

Ashton: Jesus likes trains and trucks. He is funny. Bennett comes to play with Jesus.

(Pause . . . WHAT?)

Me: He does?

Ashton: Yeah. Jesus is funny. He is very, very funny.

As quickly as the matter-of-fact comments came, the conversation shifted to his favorite truck of the day. I laid there dumbfounded. Did Ashton really just say what I think he said? Did he really just casually state that Jesus and Bennett came to play trucks and trains with him? He had mentioned visits from Bennett before. A handful of times. But this conversation was different. He stated everything so clearly and succinctly. As if I already knew. So curious. So, so curious.

And so I prepare to (hopefully) go to bed with this conversation on my mind. Do I still feel burdened with the weight of the world? Yes. But is Heavenly Father - in His own way - meeting needs that not even this Wife and Mama can see? Perhaps. It doesn't change our situation and it doesn't "fix" anything. But my little boy unknowingly gave me a Gift tonight.

The Gift of Hope.

Hope that it will get better. Hope that there is Light ahead of this awfully long tunnel. And Hope that it won't be another train.

And for now, that's enough.

It's enough.

Just Singin' in the Rain

Sunday was a beautiful day. The weather was hot and muggy. But then - in the middle of the day - a sudden rainstorm. The raindrops and puddles seemed to call out to my kids to come and splash.

And so they did.

Out they went - donning their Sunday clothes - running through the streets and puddles while the rain fell on their faces. They danced, they sang and they held hands, spinning around in circles. It. Was. Magical.

On days such as these, I am reminded of all the Joy there still is to experience in Life. Yes, we have experienced loss and Yes, the longing for our sweet Bennett will never go away. But I have three precious children here with me. Three children to laugh with, play with, cuddle, caress and sing lullabies to. What a Gift that is.

And somehow, on days such as this, it is almost like I can see a little toe head boy giggling and galloping behind his siblings.

I wouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't be surprised.

Stop and Smell the Roses

This summer has flown by for our family. We have been so busy selling, moving and resettling in our temporary abode that the routine "fun things" have been put on hold. Sure there have been tennis, harp, dance and swimming lessons, but the spontaneous adventures that bring us so much joy have not been possible. So - with three weeks before school starts - I thought we'd start our "summer."

Yesterday, we piled seven children in our car - 5 girls and 2 boys - for our own little summer outing. We picked up lunch at McDonalds (not a place we frequent often) and headed up to Bennett's grave for a little picnic. Of the friends we brought, three of them did not know Bennett. In fact, they did not even know that we had a brother pass away. I thought this would be a good way to introduce them to our Sunshine Boy.

As we sat underneath the shady oak tree, we told stories of our sweet little brother. They asked questions and we answered them openly and comfortably. While I ate my salad and the kids chomped on their hamburgers and fries, we covered everything from his favorite games and foods to the events surrounding his death. During our conversation, they kept analyzing his pictures engraved on his headstone. I love those pictures. They remind all who see his memorial how REAL he is. That this is a REAL person whose loss is very poignant and significant to another.

"I have a two year old sister and I would be so sad if she died," one said.

That comment ushered in the perfect opportunity to talk about where we are as a family. How we too feel sad sometimes as we cope with the loss of our little boy.

As we tidied the area, we invited them to join us for our tradition of singing "You Are My Sunshine" before we leave. One of the children suggested we circle the grave while singing, ring-around-the-rosie style. So as our chorus of young voices - 7 children under the age of 9 - sang Bennett's precious anthem, we circled his grave, singing his song with our whole hearts.

As I looked at each one of their precious faces, my heart took a picture. I was so grateful for all our blessings. Grateful for a beautiful place to memorialize my son. Grateful that we can visit him so often. Grateful for wonderful little friends from choice families. And grateful for the tenderness and strength my own children exhibit. They are amazing human beings.

We finished our outing romping around the park. The playground, tennis courts, raquetball courts and fields all echoed the laughter and play of children. It was music to my ears! It. Was. Perfect.

And so today, I am grateful for perfect summer afternoons. Moments when time stands still and you just take it all in. Can you feel it when your soul experiences that? I can. I love it.

So make today a day to remember. Live with no regrets and make as many wonderful memories as you can. As James Barrie once said, "God gave us memories so we might have June roses in the December of our lives."

So stop and smell the roses.

Being Present

We just returned from the an outing to the park. It was hot and humid (even in our desert climate) but we were dying to get out of "the cave" (what we affectionately call our rental). On our walk there, we giggled, talked, planned our afternoon at the water park and talked about our "favorite things." Highlights?

• Emma is thrilled to have found "her sport" (tennis) and "her instrument" (the harp). She is also super proud of the fact she FINALLY learned how to tie her shoes, a vice that has been plaguing her for a few years. Yay for setting and reaching goals!
• Gracelyn has turned into a grown girl over night. She is super interested in all things hygiene. Whether its brushing/rinsing/flossing her teeth, painting her toenails, bathing twice a day, changing her outfit 5x daily, brushing her hair or putting on lip gloss. She also loves giving gifts and is always leaving surprises on her loved one's beds. She is such a little sweetheart.
• Ashton is - well - Ashton. Cars/Trucks/Trains still consume his life but we are gearing up for toilet training round #2. We started the process last January but - after Bennett's passing - he developmentally digressed, which I have learned is pretty standard following traumatic events. So back in the saddle we go, hoping to have a break before we get in the diaper changing situation once more.

Why do I mention these things? Because I am learning how important it is amid grief to focus on what IS and not solely what IS NOT. In other words, Living In The Present. Bennett WAS taken Home. There is nothing we can do about that. But I still have three fantastic kids physically with me! And - just as I yearn for the simple every day moments that I shared with Bennett - I need to be present and enjoy them with Emma, Grace and Ashton. My job - for a time - is done with Bennett. But I still have work to do here. And realizing and living that changes my focus.

How grateful I am for the lessons I am learning. These lessons are helping me be a better Mom, Wife and Friend. They have come at a great cost but the lessons we have learned are priceless.

What a Gift.

Meltdown

Tonight was an interesting night. The evening was spent taking a family excursion to Costco to purchase David's Father's Day presents. Then home to put away the loot and enjoy one of Daddy's surprises (Vitamix 5200 Blender . . . LOVE IT.). Fresh orange sorbet . . . it. was. divine.

So, after putting away groceries and finishing our refreshing treat, we headed up to bed. All was going well until Gracelyn came into our room, suddenly breaking into a torrent of tears.

"Mom, (sob) I (sob) really miss Bennett (sob) tonight," as she fell onto the bed in my arms.

What? Where did THIS come from?

But I know better. I am learning myself that the reality of it all hits you at moments when you least expect it. So often, you don't even see it coming! Tonight, it was our night time routine that reminded Grace of the gaping hole in our family. After the kids would get in bed, Bennett (if still awake) would make his rounds to each of his siblings, taking turns cuddling with each one of his beloved sisters and brother. They adored him and he knew it. And they could feel his love for them in return. It was a beautiful little tradition they shared and one that made for a tender remembrance tonight.

"I wish Heavenly Father would have taken me," Gracelyn whispered as I held her. "Bennett was the best thing that ever happened in my life. My heart hurts so much."

As Gracie lay in my arms sobbing, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, I quietly said a prayer to my Father, asking Him what I could do to help this little girl's broken heart. It was then that the impression came. Pray for her. Okay. I do that all the time. Pray with her. Well, I can do that, so I asked her if I could offer a prayer. She feebly nodded her head.

There I was, late at night, with my little girl melting down in my arms, praying to the Heavens in my daughter's behalf. I summoned the Spirit to come and comfort her and - if possible - to let Bennett speak peace to his big sister's heart. I asked that she would be able to feel the loving arms of her Heavenly Father enfold her as her heart was hurting and that she would feel that He was aware of her and that He loved her. And then I closed the prayer, thanking the Lord for all our children, both here and in heaven.

I felt peace. I felt comfort. But the sobs continued.

As the tears and the accompanying body convulsions continued to increase, I knew my faith and prayers alone might not be enough, so I called in the "big guns." David - my sweetheart - is a man of purity and virtue and has the faith to move mountains. I believe the Lord pays special attention to his pleas because of the man he is in public and in private. It was time to cash in his brownie points. We needed all the help we could get.

So David took a sabbatical from Ashton's storytelling time to come and share a special prayer with Gracie. In our faith, we refer to it as a Father's Blessing. As I held her, David stood above her, put his hands on her head and began to plead to the Lord in her behalf. He blessed her with peace, comfort and the reassurance that she would see her brother again. He reminded her of the promise of forever families and how those relationships continue beyond death. And then he expressed his love and the love of her Heavenly Father for her. And then he solemnly and humbly closed the prayer.

Something happened after that. It wasn't sudden, but it occurred gradually. Bit by bit, Grace's body began to let go of the tension that accompanies deep emotional pain. The tears slowed, her breathing began to regulate and her grip loosened on my neck. "Can I sleep in your room?" came the request. I consented and we tiptoed into the room to "make her bed."

Now she lays by my side, cuddling my arm, tired, calm and collected. Did she just wear herself out? Maybe. But I think it was also something much greater than that. I believe that tonight - a night that was average in nearly every sense - the Heavens opened and sent us down a blessing that was a tender mercy for Grace and her parents. A Loving Father and Savior made possible a miracle that Mommy could not fix. No band aid or neosporin could take care of this owie. This was not going away (anytime soon, that is). But He knew her heart and knew just what to do to "make it feel better."

And mend it, He did.

Did Bennett come back? Is our heartache gone? Is everything "back to normal"? Hardly. But the Lord is aware of us. He is getting us through it.

One meltdown at a time.

The Picnic

Today I was feeling overwhelmed. So much is up in the air for our family right now and - as a self-proclaimed planner - I don't function well in limbo mode. After a busy morning of tennis and harp lessons, the kids went to help grandma in her garden for a few hours. Thus I had a few hours of Solo Time. "Time to start packing," I thought. But my Heart just didn't feel up to it.

So I decided to have a Picnic with my Boy.

Now, if Bennett were here, he'd want to go to our favorite sandwich shop and share a sandwich with Mommy, munch on Cheetos, nibble on a decadent cookie and sip from Mommy's Diet Dr. Pepper. So, in honor of him (and because my tummy felt like it), I followed suit (minus the Cheetos and cookie).

As I drove the familiar route to the cemetery, my mind wandered. I thought of all the change that is brewing in our family. The loss of a child, the selling of our home, changing schools for the kids, a new neighborhood and a new congregation at church. Whew. The thought of it all just sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

As I drove up the hill to his lovely memorial encased in a grove of trees, I noticed that the city maintenance crews had removed the Memorial Day flowers. Part of me was sad because each of those flowers represented the fact that someone had remembered my boy. Someone more than our little family. And that is HUGE to this Mother Heart who feels like the World is moving on.

After taking off my shoes and walking barefoot across the lush grass to his memorial, I grabbed the wipes and began my cleaning ritual. I cleared the memorial of all leaves and flower petals, pulled the grass back from the granite and began polishing the beautifully beveled stone. With each stroke, my heart beat within my chest. This is your babe. This is your son. This is your Sunshine Boy. Tears began to collect in the corners of my eyes and gently spill down my cheek. The same cheeks that Bennett would smother with kisses just a mere four months ago. Somehow it feels like yesterday and forever ago all at once. I just can't explain it.

But as I knelt there, cleaning my baby's headstone, I thought how grateful I am for the opportunity I have (present tense) to be this amazing human being's Mother. Bennett captures the essence of Light, Love and Hope. His influence has been vast and far stretching and - in many ways - his mission is bigger than us all. What a privilege to be a part of his journey. Be it short or prolonged.

As I finished cleaning Bennett's stone and reading the messages left in his memorial guestbook (best. gift. ever.), I sat quietly, took in the summer breeze and ate my sandwich. I wasn't alone. I could feel it. And somehow, I wouldn't be surprised if Bennett was running all around me, playing hide-and-go seek behind the trees and memorials with his Mommy.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

A Birthday Gift from Heaven

Yesterday was a hard day. A really hard day. No one ever thinks they'll be commemorating their baby's 2nd birthday in a cemetery but - hey - it is what it is. Lots of people went out of their way to make it a meaningful day for us though. From flowers to gift cards to homemade gifts to a statue of the Savior holding a little boy . . . everything just warmed our hearts and made us feel oh-so-loved. We feel so blessed.

Along with those gifts, we received an unexpected surprise. A weeks or so ago, I received the oil painting of Bennett from Elspeth Young. I was in awe at the way she captured my boy whom she has never met. It was truly a miracle.

The day I received the painting in the mail, I took it to be custom framed. I was told that the painting would not be returned for another 2-3 weeks. And so I waited.

I awoke yesterday morning feeling melancholy. I can't possibly put into words all the emotions that went through my heart yesterday morning. How I ached to hold him, to see him run across the floor and throw his tiny little arms around me. And his smile. Oh, that smile. It lit up the room! How I longed to feel the warmth of his light.

And then it happened. My phone buzzed announcing an incoming call from the framing gallery. The painting had mysteriously appeared on an earlier shipment. It was completed more than a week ahead of schedule. Was this unusual? I asked. Yes. It was indeed. This is no accident, I explained. It was my baby's birthday. This was a gift from both him and a loving Heavenly Father that knew this Mommy's heart. The framing sales associate and I wept. It was meant to be.

So miracles DO happen. They do indeed. God - at times - allows hard things to happen. Things that will break our hearts. But in the madness and heartache of it all, He sends messages reminding us that He is aware and is ever present in our lives. Yesterday, that message arrived in the form of a framed oil painting. It was perfect. Simply perfect.

Just like the Givers.

Many have expressed interest in obtaining a print of our Sweet Bennett. He has become a symbol of Hope, Love, Light and Faith to so many. To purchase a print of this fabulous painting, click here.

Fresh off the Press

Studio 5 did this piece on Bennett yesterday and how learning circles have helped me along the path of mourning.

I thank the Lord for the tender mercies He put into place months before Bennett's passing that gave me a support group of beautiful women to lean on during Life's toughest and tenderest moments.

God is good. Good indeed. How grateful I am for that.

P.S. our house is officially under contract with a planned closing date in late June-early July. Anyone have moving boxes?

Check. It. Out.

Good Morning friends! And a good morning it is, indeed. The sun is shining, my house is clean (thanks to multiple showings yesterday ;0) and I am feeling the hope of an upcoming weekend. Ahhh . . . life is good.

This morning, my thoughts on Motherhood are being posted on my dear friend Carrie's blog. Check it out. She is all-things-fabulous and - if you haven't been following her blog thus far - you are in for a real treat.

Just check out her posts on parties (I wish she lived closer to host Bennett's 2nd b-day party this month). She is incredibly talented. My favorites are the Milk themed Baby Shower, the Ladies Lemon Party and the Tuscan Wedding Reception. Truly a feast for the eyes AND tastebuds.

So take my hand, come with me and share some love on her blog. You will be glad you did!

Have a lovely day, friends. I know I will.

xoxoxo

P.S. A family visiting from out of state has seen our home 3 times in two days. It possible that we may be getting an offer this morning with an early June close date. Why does the thought of packing up a household, putting most of our belongings in storage, moving into a rental (until we figure out where we are going) and leaving the only home Bennett ever knew give me heartburn? But I must remember that this is what we've been praying for. And so I am grateful. Because prayers. are. answered.

Happy Mother's Day to Me

Guess what I'm giving myself for Mother's Day this year? A giclee canvas print of this picture by J. Kirk Richards. Custom framed.

I know. I'm stoked.

I saw it on Cjane awhile back and knew immediately that it had to be mine. It reminds me so much of cuddly moments with my babes when they were curled around my neck, feeling velvety soft and smelling like heaven. So many tender memories. And - right now - especially of Bennett.

So a few weeks from now, it will be framed and will don one lucky wall (still deciding where) in my home, acting as a reminder of some of my favorite Mommy Moments.

What are YOU doing for Mother's Day this year? Any fun traditions to share?