I’m just a little drama…that’s all.

I was dying today talking about my life with friends that I only have the immense love & privilege of seeing one time a year when I fly from Poland to the States to see and be with my parents and family.

DYING…

Like…I was on such a roll—sometimes I don’t know how I pull myself off of the floor and actually walk around in this life-like motion at all.  I should be more like Walking Dead Momma—and my kids should be GRATEFUL for that momma.

Anyhow—it totally dawned on me today that I am just a bit of drama.

You see, I thought my daughter was all of the drama.

I thought she got it from her daddy.

He is the Drama King.  I made him a crown.

But today when I was recounting all of my guilt trips and psycho parenting moments with my children and my HOW DARE MY HUSBAND SAY THAT stories, my peeps…my tribe…those that will ALWAYS tell me the truth told me that I was the drama.

SAY WHAT????

I literally had no clue.  HERE I WAS—blaming ALL of the drama on pretty much EVERYONE else in my family.

It’s kind of like those that have problems with everyone they meet—turns out it is THEM!  Yep—the ones with all of the problems.

Apparently, out of the mouth of true friends, I am that THEM.

But, please, please, please, please…let’s totally keep this a secret from my husband.  I still need him to think that it is ALWAYS ALL HIS FAULT!

I need this.

It is what is best for the family, right?!

(smile smile wink wink)

boy mom…fail????

i am a mom of one boy.  he is 3—nearly 4.  here is the current conversation in my home between my 3-yr-old boy and his 10-year-old sister:

“max—stop pretending to pee on me!”

“MOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!  max is pretending to pee on me!”

i giggle just a bit…mom fail.

10 year old again, “mom, did your brother pretend to pee on you????”

“probably and i survived.”

so then 10 year old logic tries to kick in with the 3 year old brother:

“max—you can’t really pee on me because you are wearing underwear and that means the pee will go in your underwear.”

3 year old ignores his sister…

THE NEXT THING I KNOW…

“mom,” says the 3 year old, “see that beetle!”  it appears he has moved on from harassing his sister.

i look…”sure max.”

“no, that beetle..”  he points again.

in the itty bitty crevice of our home, i spy a beetle.

“kill it mom, we don’t want a biting bug.”

i kill the nasty looking beetle that only his boy eyes apparently could spy and give him the killed beetle in tissue, it’s limbs sticking out, and say, “go throw it away.”

no hesitation.  grabs the dead bug and throws it away.

the next thing i know, “more PEZ in my ninja turtle, mom…” he says bringing me his candy, where he then proceeds to climb on my lap while i am literally typing this and says, “YEE HAW cowboy!”

and now, as i finish this last sentence, he is curled up into my lap with his head against my shoulder sweet as syrup…

wait, i take it back.  he is now pretending to eat my computer and encouraging the 2 year old to do the same.

they are making monster noises with some snorting.

this is my life in the last 3 minutes.

no wait..they are now blowing raspberries at each other.  i am wiping the spit off of the table.

oh wait.  he is back to kissing my shoulder.

no…now he’s dressing like a fireman.  and my 2 year old is now on the table.

SOOOOOOO…

so, my 10 year old may wonder why i laugh when my 3 year old is a boy being a boy…

it’s because i can’t keep up with anything else.

😉

***

okay, seriously…i have just lost my coffee in the last 2.3 seconds.  like it has disappeared somewhere into thin air.  the physical cup.  and this is how the ending of my attempt to type this blog looks… 

HAVE A GREAT DAY, FRIENDS!!!!

As 2014 comes to a close, did you miss anything?

I’ve been off trying to become a Christmas Viking in Norway. I failed. The caviar that was spread on bread was just not my cup of tea. On the other hand, I did hike all the way up a very snow-covered trail carrying a two-year-old for most of the path in my not-made-for-snow boots while passing an old Viking burial plot along the way.

Does that make me Viking enough? Probably not.

But the carrying a two-year-old should for sure get me an honorable mention, right?!

Here’s a fun photo, however, of my husband.  He helped when my arms were about to fall off!  He most certainly is the man 😉

Anyhow…

As I watch the dates on the calendar fly away at warp speed, I reflect back upon the last year.  And it is with this rear view that I see it all.

2014 marked for us a year of finality and survival.  It was a year marked with death and once again new beginnings.  2014.  It was a beautiful year that gave us no rest.

And this is what I learned about myself this past year as I ask myself the question, “Did I miss anything?”

The answer is yes.  Always.  And with some regret.

But as I look back upon 2014, I see great news!

I see Rich and I celebrating our 2 years of surviving our marriage after I was ready to call it quits!  So it is as if we celebrated 2 anniversaries this year.  14 years of marriage and 2 years of keeping our marriage.  I think that both Rich and I are better and changed people.  And we have a deeper understanding of one another.  A deeper respect.  And a far deeper love.  We are a better couple.  A more respectful couple.  And even better parents.

I see that when you go through valleys that means there are mountains to climb.  And when you summit the peak, it’s a glorious view that surrounds you.  It’s 360.  And it’s complete.  And you are far closer to heaven.

That is our marriage, and I will only speak for myself when I say—I am so happy to celebrate 14 years and 2 years with my husband this past 2014!

In 2014, I see a little baby that sprang forth from my belly.  A baby that was never really little to begin with (10 pounds 10 ounces at birth).  Our baby finale.  And boy, what a bang we went out with, our sweet Josephine.  Although we tied our tubes and still want a million more children, we are enjoying every single moment relishing the final baby pitter patter steps, cries, and sleepless nights.  We are enjoying the morning calls to rise and the cuddles in our arms.  We often allow her to fall asleep in our arms and just hold her for near to an hour after.  We can’t believe the gift of this surprise little Josephine Diane.  And we love every red hair on her head—even as they are fading to a strawberry blond!

I see a daughter.  A brave, warrior daughter willing to move back to a country that was once the only home she knew.  And then she didn’t know.  And she had to reenter in a language that was foreign.  And hard.  And enter a grade where she no longer has the opportunity to not speak and read and write in the language.  Our fearless daughter took a machete and made the way for our family.  My husband and I were sick to our stomachs to move her away from her cousins and aunties and uncles and across the world to a land vastly different from where we were.  And our daughter.  She plowed forward.  With trepidation?  Perhaps.  And yet with determination.  She spent countless hours studying the language.  And countless more inserting herself into the lives of long but not forgotten friends.  Hand motions and sounds were the friends she had when we arrived back in Poland.  And Google Translate.  And hours upon hours of slow, treacherous, painful homework.  And now, 6 months later, she sits in front of me with her best friend.  Rambling in this difficult language (Polish).  And the only English word I have heard out of her mouth in the past 3 hours was “Oh!  Zobacz!  Broccoli!”  As she and her friend play Skylanders Giants.  This firstborn of mine is my greatest Sensei.  And Richard and I thank God daily for Adelyne’s fearless spirit!

My son.  My beautiful baby that conquered death a couple times over.  He turned 2 in 2014.  And we finally had his baby dedication—albeit as a toddler.  But, you know, when you spend the majority of your baby life in and out of hospitals, toddler dedication it does become.  And we have finally seen him go from the never healthy baby boy to a boy that runs and jumps and plays.  I used to have panic attacks out of fear of him getting sick.  And now I realize that I can finally breathe.  My boy.  My boy with an old grandpa name.  My Max.  He is beautiful.  And feisty.  And sweet.  And fun.  He loves his sisters.  He loves swords.  He loves popcorn.  And he loves his sister’s Barbies.  He loves waking up every morning and saying, “Good morning, Mommy!  Good morning, Daddy!  Good morning, Sissy!  Good morning, GoGo!”  It’s as if he knows each morning is a gift and a good morning.  Because every morning alive IS a great morning.  Our Max.  I pray for the direction of his life one day because I know that he will represent God greatly!  Our Miracle Maxwell—2014 brought 2 years of life to him.  Hard.  Fought.  Life.  And now it’s time for Max to live freely.  I am glad to enter into 2015 with Maxwell as our middle!

 

Did I miss anything in 2014?  As I ended 2013, I challenged all of us at And 2 Makes Crazy to enter 2014 with JOY—Jesus over you!  And I think.

Did I do that?  Finish 2014 with JOY?  Jesus Over Me?

And I have come to this conclusion…

JOY is not a 365-day-challenge.  It is a thousand-year-challenge.  And, of course, by then I’ll be long gone.  But the thing about it is, as each day I choose to enter it with JOY, I enter it full of the grace of God and the guidance of the Holy Spirit.  I enter it filled with peace and know that with Him I can do anything.

2014 was a beautiful gift wrapped in colors of all emotions.

And now, 2015 is ringing in all around me with fireworks in all of their clanging splendor.

Reflecting upon 2014, I wonder.  Did I miss anything?

If I did.  It’s too late.  2015 is now here.  And there is nothing I can do about the past.

And so I must look forward to the future.  That’s where I see endless possibilities and great hope.  With my God.  With my husband.  With my family.  And with my work.

Therefore, I smile brightly as I enter 2015…

From the hearts of my family to yours, God bless you, And 2 Makes Crazy Readers.  Enter 2015 with just as much JOY as before…

Happy New Year…Szczęśliwego nowego roku!

Always,

Brooke, Richard, Adelyne, Maxwell, and Josephine

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.  Great is Your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23

Life. It’s one big contraction.

So, I was in the Polish hospital a little over a year ago.  I was 29 weeks pregnant with my son, lying in the hospital with the contraction monitor on my belly for hours at a time, eventually receiving a raging, itchy rash from that contraption.

And sure enough that annoying machine was jumping up and down like crazy.  I was having contractions, so I was given something to stop those suckers.

Yes.  Contractions.  I know them well.

Let’s continue with this contracting belly baby named Maxwell and how he loved to cause pain.

It’s still a little over a year ago and I actually made it from 29 weeks to 34 weeks.  Thirty-four painful weeks and my mom and I are watching my belly.

“Oh, look at Maxwell.  He’s so funny.”  And my belly would move and turn and slide and then stop.

Hmmm.  That’s weird.  Oh, wait.  There he goes again.

Well, this became a pattern.  Now, please keep in mind that I do have a 6-year-old daughter, but 6 years is a LONG time to forget about contractions.  Apparently so is 5 weeks, because I didn’t even remember from my 29^th week of pregnancy.

Needless to say, I wind up in the hospital just halfway through my 34^th week and the doctors decide that it’s time for my bum moon to shine, in a room full of 6 other preggo women, and that’s where they give me a shot—on my bum moon.

Let me also say, the shot hurt.  Did I mention that I was in a hospital room, on a bed, in a gown and there were 6 other very afraid pregnant ladies there with me?!  Yep.

Full moon…Full shot…Full pain…Full hollering.

The nurse looked and me and said, “Oh, now.  That wasn’t bad.”

And I replied, “Nie, straszny!  Straszny!”  Basically, “No!  It was horrible!  Horrible!”

She just chuckled, as I once again hid my big ol’ bum moon, while she left.

The contractions, however, were not impeded by the shot from Hades, and so I delivered my baby just a half a day later.

Well.  If I thought the contractions were bad at 7 minutes apart, I was in for a really big surprise later during the day.

At first, after my water broke, I told my husband who was watching the monitor, “Hey!  Let me know if a big one is coming.”

Utterly foolish.

Because he then became the sportscaster of Team Contractions and would holler out each time he saw it rise, “A big one is coming!”

“I KNOW a big one is coming!”  I would holler back!  “Don’t you think I can FEEL it?!”

The air was tense…he thought his job was fun.  And I was at the point where I thought I was going to DIE.  Literally.  Die.  And here is my husband in no pain watching a monitor yelling, “A big one is coming!”

Needless to say, he was quickly FIRED from that job.  I put him to work getting me ice, getting me a cool head cloth, hand feeding me the ice, getting me the puke bucket, finding me pain drugs, and so forth.

In hindsight—he was an angel.

And eventually the contractions led to the game winning push!  Twelve to be exact.  Twelve devilishly painful pushes that popped us out a baby!

A baby…

And quickly all contractions were forgotten.

And then the world seemed right.  And peaceful.  And perfect.

Those contractions, they gave us a gift.  And that gift is our son.

Life is sometimes like those contractions.  Big and painful.   Often we wonder if we are going to make it through moments in our day or moments in our lives. 

And contraction after contraction is upon us.  Seemingly endless.  And there are people all around shouting—“It’s a big one!”

Exhaustion sets in.  There is no doubt in your mind that this is the most painful experience of your life.  And you are ready to quit.

To throw in the towel.  Kaput with it.  No more.

And then the worst of it comes upon you.  And you unbelievably know that you will.not.survive.

But you do.

And, in the wake of all that was painful, you are given something precious.

It’s called life.

A chance to begin again.

Like a newborn.  Except with experience.

A new day rises before you and you know that you can conquer it because you just survived the most painful experience of your life.

Contractions.  Big ones.  Labor.  Labor that was accompanied by pain.  Lots of it.

But you made it through.  And now.  Now it’s your turn.

Cradle your new beginnings and go to sleep, looking forward to a new tomorrow.  You deserve it.