To all those fellas we know and love:

Happy Father's Day!

tamra + chris {sneak peek}

A couple of weeks ago, I did a photo shoot for my friend Tamra and her fiancé, Chris. They are getting married in September and asked me to do their engagement photos. I, of course, was more than happy to oblige - and thoroughly loved the experience. I am overjoyed with the results - and, per my family's multiple requests, I have posted a sampling of shots from the session. I posted more here than I had originally planned... choosing one or two favorites proved difficult. Once complete, I will post the link to my online portfolio, where you can view the entire series.

Thanks Tamra and Chris for the opportunity and the laughs. I'll beat the summer heat for you guys any day. Enjoy.

There’s something in the way he moves,
or looks my way, or calls my name,
that seems to leave this troubled world behind.
If I’m feeling down and blue,
or troubled by some foolish game,
he always seems to make me change my mind.

And I feel fine anytime he’s around me now –
he’s around me now,

almost all the time.
If I’m well you can tell that he’s been with me now –
and he’s been with me now,
quite a long, long time –
And I feel fine.

Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning,
and I find myself careening
into places where I should not let me go.
He has the power to go where no one else can find me.
Yes, and to silently remind me
of the happiness and good times that I know.

It isn’t what he’s got to say
or how he thinks or where he’s been.
To me, the words are nice, the way they sound.
I like to hear them best that way –
It doesn’t much matter what they mean,
he says them mostly just to calm me down.

And I feel fine anytime he’s around me now –
he’s around me now,
almost all the time.
If I’m well you can tell that he’s been with me now –
and he’s been with me now,
quite a long,
long
time –

Yes, and I feel fine.

Lyrics adapted from Something in the Way She Moves by James Taylor

isn’t it loverly?

Things have been hard lately here on Woodburn Drive. Very, very hard. I often feel like I am just beating my head against a stone wall day after day. Truly, I think that sometimes it would be a much more attractive fate for me to just be run through with swords.

But, I cannot be – and I never am – ungrateful for my role as a mother. Likewise, I am very fortunate that I have the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom. Yes – it is hard. No – it isn’t glamorous. But it is the toughest job I’ll ever love.

Being a mom – especially one who stays at home – is never dull, but it can be drab. Well – the majority of the time it is very, very drab, indeed. My connection with the outside world is somewhat limited. I may get to take a shower today – maybe not. Either way, I probably won’t be able to tend to my hair until two days later, by which time it will be an unruly rat’s nest (more than likely with inhabitants of some sort, like a dust bunny or Cheerio). Etcetera.

I try very hard not to complain. I remember distinctly the days that I used to dream for a child of my own – willing to trade any convenience or any amount of valued time. And, honestly, the sacrifices that I make on an hourly basis really mean very little when compared with the rewards. Of course, my pre-parenthood romantic fantasies were a little far-fetched – but not in the way you would think. I wasn’t the least bit concerned about the lack of sleep and mommy-brain that I knew were forthcoming, for instance. No – I actually thought that my child would be quiet and mild-mannered. What a notion.

No. Things – from the beginning – were not how I had always envisioned them. My pre-pregnancy mind and heart were troubled. My pregnancy was very difficult. Fairly uncomplicated, but physically challenging and very hard. My delivery – although brief – was severe. The first five months of parenthood were horrendously grueling as I had a child who did not eat well or sleep – at all. True, I didn’t have time to process very much in those early days. And, as a result, I have hit that baby-blues stage about a year-and-a-half late.

Yet, again, I tried – and continue to try – very hard not to complain. Despite being so ill through my entire pregnancy that I could not even keep down water – I was grateful to be expecting a child. Always. Even though I was in a great deal of pain – I enjoyed my pregnancy and the knowledge that my body was participating in such a beautiful thing. When the arrhythmia was found in my unborn child’s heartbeat, I tried to keep my faith, though it was hard – because I had a special knowledge that this spirit was supposed to be here right now, and that Heavenly Father would provide a way for him to be born. I think that it was that faith that prevented me from becoming dehydrated and kept me healthy. It was that faith that kept me well for at least ten minutes so that I could get to and from work. It was that faith that got me up our stairs at the end of the day. It was that faith that buoyed me through that hard labor. It was that faith that helped me survive those first months. It is the faith that sustains me today.

Yes – it is my job. And I like it fine… no one has a better job than mine.

Forgive me for getting personal. I know of many people that currently desire children of their own. Individuals who probably would give anything for one. I’ve wanted to consider their feelings during this time of year as we celebrate motherhood, and have debated whether or not to post these thoughts. But, they are my thoughts and they have been running through my mind a lot lately. Honestly, they have been desperately trying to break free. Not because of Mother’s Day – because mothers should be honored the whole year through. No – simply because of what I have been coping with personally lately, trying to find ‘that’ balance and the strength to be the mother that I need to be. And should be, because I should never take this calling for granted. I know that children are special blessings from our loving Father in Heaven. I know that they are sent to the earth when it is ready for them – when their sweet spirits are supposed to be here and not there.

Yes – mothers should be celebrated, honored and put on pedestals all the year through. We are important people to our Heavenly Father. But so are those women who do not have children of their own at this specific time. We all have special gifts that we bring to the table of life – we are all nurturers of the heart. We all do much to raise and teach this next generation. So, Mother’s Day is for all of us – not just a special few.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been blessed. Despite the hard. And I need to find joy in the journey, during the journey.

The other night, out of the blue (for the first time in about a year), I sang this song to a very fussy Ammon. I sang it to him on the night he was born. I sang it to him as a lullaby nearly every night during those first tumultuous months. It’s always been one of my favorites. It brings back happy memories from my childhood. Little did I know all those years ago – as I was Eliza Doolittle in my tin foil tiara – that this same song would take on a whole new meaning for me later in life.

I have often walked down this street before;

but the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before.

All at once am I several stories high,

knowing I'm on the street where you live.

Are there lilac trees in the heart of town?

Can you hear a lark in any other part of town?

Does enchantment pour out of ev'ry door?

No, it's just on the street where you live!

And oh! The towering feeling,

just to know somehow you are near.

The overpowering feeling

that any second you may suddenly appear!

People stop and stare.

They don't bother me.

For there's no where else on earth that I would rather be.

Let the time go by,

I won't care if I can be here on the street where you live.

Lyrics from "On the Street Where You Live"; My Fair Lady

and so it goes

Well, we are home from Atlanta where we attended our cousin Lauren's college graduation. We had an amazing trip - with lots of stories to tell. Just believe me when I say you won't want to miss it.

I am without a doubt - incredibly, exasperatingly and ridiculously - behind in posting the lives and times of us here on Woodburn Drive. Please bear with me as I attempt, over the next week or so, to bring you all up to speed.

Good times have been had by all. There is much - much - to tell.

On another note: I now have in my possession a 1000-piece Twilight puzzle. Who would like to come over and help me put it together? You know there will be a rip-roaring party involved along the way...

"It’s a rare person who can take care of hearts

while also taking care of business."

To all the women in our lives - Happy Mother's Day.

We love you.

let’s end this once and for all

The folks in charge here on Woodburn Drive are enlisting your help. Hopefully, this will end the insanity once and for all. Please participate in our poll on the top, right side of our blog.

The question: Why do females remove their shirts by pulling them up and back, while males remove their shirts by pulling them up and forward?

Is it just a boy/girl thing, like playing with cars versus playing with dolls? Is it that men like removing their shirts in a way that rivals transformation into a werewolf: ripping upward along their spines and up over their heads? Is it because women like to be prim and proper, and keep their figures and frames intact?

Please – please – help us. We’re really suffering here, and need to move on to greener pastures.

So, please vote on the right. Voting ends Sunday, May 17th at midnight. If you have a response that would fall into an 'other' catergory (i.e.: your own explanation), please leave a comment.

random thought in the meantime

Alright. Because I am getting tired of seeing that heart-wrenching face every time I look at our blog – and also because my blood pressure goes up every time I see that post – I am going to share an experience that I had a couple of months ago. I'm going to share this particular thing because a.) I feel prompted to do so; and b.) I don't have everything ready and waiting for our Orlando post. I haven’t been able to share this experience during our weekly ‘missionary moments’ in Relief Society on Sundays. All because I have that boy with me and he is up to his normal shenanigans and we have long since been in the hall. This is actually a direct excerpt from my journal entry on March 5th of this year. Enjoy.

***

Lately, we’ve been asking Heavenly Father to send missionary experiences or way during our family prayers. I remember suppressing a chuckle the other night at the thought of me – a stay-at-home-mom who rarely sees the sun, much less the general public – having a missionary experience.

Yesterday, I watched Kristy’s children, Kate and Caleb – which, coupled with my own manic little boy, equaled 3 children ages three and under in our tiny apartment. I was grateful for the opportunity to serve, and was more than willing to do this favor.

The kids were great – however much of a handful it was for me. The younger two did have a few screaming competitions – seeing which one could outdo the other, I gathered. It was during one of these moments – which included Kate belting out a Strawberry Shortcake tune – that the phone rang. “A restricted number,” I thought. But I answered it anyway, even though I don’t normally do so – even without 843 other distractions. It took several minutes for me to even hear the woman on the other end. But after several failed attempts, I finally gathered that she was from a local church, and that they were doing a fundraiser selling bibles. She asked for probably the eighth time if I wanted one. My distracted mind said – as I protected my kitchen from my child’s invasion – “I don’t have time for this.” However, my mouth screamed, in effort to be heard, “No, thank you. I have one already in my home.” She paused for a minute and I braced for her rebuttal and prepared myself to just hang up the phone. But all she did was comment on how very kind I was – and how grateful she was for it. I could tell from her voice that she wasn’t used to a warm response. The screaming ensued and I couldn’t hear what she said next – but I did make out her question, “Can I pray for you?” I laughed out loud at that – unsure of why she wanted to pray for me. Maybe she heard the panic in my frazzled voice or the protest and chaos currently taking over my living room. Whatever the reason, I really needed to hang up at that point, so I thanked her and said, “Yes… please do pray for me.” We both chuckled, bid each other a good day and hung up. I moved on with the tasks at hand without another thought.

It wasn’t until later that night, when I told Brian about my colorful day, that I realized I had missed my chance. My Heavenly Father had answered my prayer; however, I was still in the way. I sat there letting my dinner get cold as I thought of all the things I could have said. I thought of how I could have briefly explained to this unseen stranger what I believe and why its message brings so much joy to me. It infuriated me even more to think that I had lost my chance to speak to someone on the phone rather than face to face – something that would have been so much easier for me personally. Again, my Heavenly Father had answered my prayer completely – but I didn’t seize the opportunity.

I was still fuming when I went to bed. I prayed that night for help with my Enrichment calling, not to ease my troubled heart. I was still disgusted when I woke up this morning.

I have recently renewed contact with many school friends, and as I sat this morning returning emails and browsing through pictures – a thought struck me. Though none of these individuals are members of my faith, and I – of course – didn’t take opportunity after opportunity to have gospel discussions with them – they did know that I was LDS. And, through my example alone, they know what I believe, know what I stand for and respect my values. Time after time, they defended me – their more introverted friend – to all of their other friends who were not so accommodating. Often times taking the heat themselves for being friends with ‘such a person’ – a person like her. I had shared the light of Christ time and time again through my example and kind heart – if not through words. I am reminded of the statement by St. Fancis of Assisi: “Preach the gospel to all the world and, if necessary, use words.”

As I went throughout the day working on Enrichment things, I came across talk after talk regarding our examples to others. I was reminded that even though a person knows our gospel backwards and forwards, it doesn’t mean that they truly live it. I was reminded that we are judged by our deeds – and that those deeds of kindness are at the top of the list.

Once again, my Heavenly Father had answered my prayer – He helped me with my calling, and as a result, He healed my heart. So, I’ve learned yet again that my Heavenly Father lives and loves me. He not only hears my prayers, but is also aware of my life and the things I leave unsaid.

I thought back to that phone conversation. I remembered that woman’s disbelief, relief and joy at my kindness to her. Even though I did not share our doctrine with her – I believe that I shared its message… simply by setting a good example.

I hope that this dear sister got something out of our conversation – if only that chuckle at the end. I know that I was certainly blessed for it and relearned several lessons. I wonder if the Spirit prompted her to call me, knowing that she needed it. I wonder if the Spirit was with me – allowing myself to remain calm through the troubled storm that has been my life of late. Yes --- I’m pretty sure that’s why I answered the phone in the first place.

I don’t know if the ‘general public’ would call this a quote-end-quote missionary experience; however, I learned an awful lot about the true nature of missionary work this week. I remembered that people do not convert people. Missionaries do not convert people. Words do not convert people. The Spirit does. Sometimes we can be the bringers of change by simply using our examples for good and sharing that spirit that is inside each of us.

if i couldn’t laugh…

... I would surely run screaming out of town.

Perhaps it is very appropriate that this child’s t-shirt reads, ‘Little Guy, BIG CRY’. Because this child is about to really have something to cry about.

Perhaps it is very comical that this child’s clothing is soaked to the gills with milk. Because this child feels it necessary to walk around with a mouth full of milk for 10 minutes, and then let it dribble out all over the house.

Perhaps it is very disgusting that this child’s mother is completely covered with said milk, and oatmeal and snot from both of their runny noses.

Perhaps it is very painful for said mother to endure the bruises and bloody lip sustained from this child’s temper tantrums. Not to mention the indentation in said mother’s foot created by this child’s new Transformer.

Yes --- it has been one of those days. Who am I kidding --- it has been one of those weeks, months, eons. If you call me on the phone – more than likely I will be deranged and incoherent. And if you drive down Woodburn Drive and hear a grown woman throwing a frenzied, panic-stricken fit – more than likely it is just my neighbor…

jade elizabeth caraway

Welcome sweet chickapea Jade. Welcome to the wide, wild world. We love you (just like we love your mom and dad) already.

The world is a much more beautiful place
now that you're in it.