In which Joseph is 11 months old

His hands are little baseball mitts.

Huge paws with pudge.

He's so much stockier

so much stronger

so much more

of a

BOY.

(Note the fact that I've got him secured. It's the only way to get him to sit still.)

Do you have any idea how hard it is to take these pictures now?

He never stops

squirming

wriggling

yelling

moving

hollering

grabbing

wrestling

laughing

snorting

snuggling

kissing

talking

ever.

He loves to eat these days.

He can eat more than Anne.

His favourite thing?

Meat. Meat. meatmeatmeatmeatmeat

and Mum?

More meat.

He has finally started sleeping through the night.

As in, the first time he slept through the night

was last night.

He's got energy to burn.

He is my snuggle-bug,

burrowing deep into my arms

pressing his mouth to my neck

his fist in my hair

Closer, Mumma, closer

he seems to always be wanting.

He hollers protests when he doesn't get his way.

Can scream quite nicely actually.

Brian calls him a Tank most days.

Because when something is in his way

He just goes through it

or over it.

Never around it.

He plows right through Anne,

crawls over me.

and barrels through without looking.

He is Mr. Personality

Captain Wonderful of the good ship, Heckuva Guy.

Mr. Never Meet A Stranger

And he's nearly a year old.

In which I am not heavy

The house is quiet, my work is done

(for now)

and I am tired to my bones.

My wee laddie is sleeping in the crib

so my girl is sleeping in what she calls

The Family Bed.

The afternoon sun is warm, the curtains blowing with the breeze from the fan.

Me?

I'm feeling tired, uninspired, doubtful and,

the constant companion of most women - guilt

(surely I should be doing more? being more? doing less? Damned if I do...).

So I came to The Family Bed and stretched out.

She's stripped down her clothes and is laying, sprawled, across the sheets.

My eyes won't close though because of her -

her long legs with a skinned knee,

the toes with chipped pink nail polish,

her no-longer-pudgy-fingers wrapped around the little Blankie,

her blonde hair curling and damp,

her lashes fanned out across her cheeks,

hiding my mother's blue eyes beneath.

Her thumb is tucked into her mouth still.

I don't have the heart to try to break her of it.

I figure we all need a bit of comfort now and again.

She turns over to me and burrows her face into my neck. I drink her in, this

rare moment of stillness

because she's always talking these days,

always moving.

She doesn't smell like a baby at all anymore, this three year old child.

She smells like a sweaty little girl,

like yoghurt and Cheerios,

like flip flops and playgrounds,

like laughter and stubbornness,

like new questions and old wisdom.

She flings her arm over me and sighs.

"I love you," I whisper into her hair. "I love you, sweet girl."

"I wuv you, too, Mumma," she sleepily answers. "You know what?"

"What, luvie?"

"You not heavy for me.

I'm not heavy for you.

Cause we love each other.

We not heavy."

My wise girl.

Love like this isn't heavy.

It's giving me wings, it's lifting me up,

it's raising my hopes and

raising my stakes.

We can pick each other up, hold onto each other,

wrap up in cotton quilts for an afternoon nap together

because we are light when we are together.

In which I ask for clarity and he just says "marry me?"

(You can listen to the spoken word audio file here. I recommend listening or watching while you read the words.)

I ask you, what’s the answer, and you just ask me questions,
and I’m like, “hello, I thought you were God?”
Can’t I just download you, pay-as-I-go to decode you -
a quick fix listen on my iPod?

I ask you, what’s the answer, and you say, “where does the wind blow?”
Well, if Dylan couldn’t find it, then I won’t get too far.
What’s with all this mystery? How can you say, “follow me”
when I don’t even know where you are?

Your religion needs a makeover, you’ve got to de-clutter.
Make it softer, gooier and spreadable like butter.
I need a faith I can talk about and not sound like a nutter.
You ought to be easy to follow.

Like, a hop-on-and-off open-top bus ride,
a manual with A to Z tabs down the side,
I want a sat-nav path to heaven, not a Lonely Planet guide.
I wish you were easy to follow.

I want a Roman road map to instant glory
a happy-ending-ever-after chick lit story
and you just tell me another foggy allegory
featuring wine and corn and sheep and clay pots.
What are you like? Do you want followers or not?
Far be it from me to tell you what’s what,
but if you did make it easier I’m sure you’d get a lot
more believers, Jesus.

Give me bite-sized thoughts in a faith shape sorter,
No more spilt blood or living water,
just a pint-sized god who’s a straight talker.
Make it easy to follow.

I want fruit-flavoured shots of the Holy Spirit,
bite-sized, trite truths in Boyband lyrics
“love” and “above” – yeah, that should fill it.
Make it easy to follow.

I want facts on a plate – don’t want to have to question any,
artificial roses every 14th of February.
I want simple faith – blind if necessary.
Why aren’t you easy to follow?

You say, “you are not my servant, now you are my friend”.
You say, “I will be with you until the bitter end”.
And I’m like, “why bitter? – I wanted happiness on prescription.
Isn’t that the whole point of getting religion?
And besides, friendship’s harder – can’t I just buy the subscription?”
Can’t you be easy to follow?

Give me a clear-cut structure, not a friendship’s fragilities,
favourable rights with few responsibilities.
I could follow that plan – yeah – religiously.
That would be easy to follow.

I want three steps to beauty from a teenage advice mag;
Ben and Jerry’s Triple chocolate straight of the ice bag;
ethically traded but with a Primark price-tag -
I could say Amen to those.

I want box-up beliefs wrapped in tissue-paper
presented by Fearne Cotton, and voiced by Tom Baker,
with a hands-free contract to contact the Maker
available from Tesco’s.

I want Quicktime cut-price broadband access.
Simple principles, easily practiced.
Directly transactional prayers – the fact is,
my time is precious, so why should I work?
Why should treasure always require a search?

I want a message that’s acceptable without having to plead it,
that’ll make people instantly realise they need it.
Yeah, thanks for the Bible – but have you tried to read it?
You need to be easy to follow.

I want all the answers set out in a paperback
of less than fifty pages, in the buy-now-read-it-later rack
I’ll skim it on the train down to visit Auntie Kate and back -
nice and easy to follow.

Everyone will warm to its convenient slimness.
It’ll be easily digestible and provoke a certain tingliness,
and every answer will be one sentence long, universally applicable, and in English.
That would be easy to follow.

You see, I think you need to focus and refine your vision,
if you want to market the brand they call “Christian”.
I say, “give me clarity”, you say, “will you marry me?”
With all due respect, Jesus, I don’t think you were cut out for religion.

By Jude Simpson of reJesus

(H/T Missio Dei)

In which I am experiencing a thousand gifts

(59 - 83)

She wears her new Princess dress

but carries a tool box.

She's her Daddy's girl and

mine too.

See? She takes a moment every day

to curl up alone and look at pages

making up stories for the pictures she sees.

She dances her Papa and her Dad

around the living room and kitchen

asking them if they

"wanna marry me?"

And they both say, Of course.

And her Papa says "I"ll decorate up the truck!"

Just like my Grandpa used to say to me.

A sister and a mother

that are kindred spirits

with me

and each other.

Laughter on a cool August afternoon for

a little girls' birthday party

and a pile of friends

that make her day.

She'd rather play with them at the playground

than open the gifts they brought.

A beautiful niece

with a dimple in her left cheek

just one little mark of my sister

because, really, she's her Daddy's girl.

She even has his ears.

But she's got Amanda's lop-sided grin.

And it makes my heart so happy.

Home made chocolate cakes.

Earning another badge.

Another rite of passage

for both of us.

Running at full tilt

headed for the water.

I'm not far behind.

We are Water Babies, us two.

We stay in the water until the pads of our fingers and feet

are wrinkled.

And then we swim up and down the beach,

she is perched on my back, clinging

like a monkey, laughing

in my ear.

Burying your legs with your Dad

And yanking them up out of the grip

of the wet sand.

Feeling the pull of being dirty

in the summer time.

Sitting up to your thighs in wet sand

again

and again and

again, Daddy!

A man that will bury your legs

over and again and then

again.

And have more fun doing it

than anyone else.

He is filing memories into his heart

today

of his day with you

burying your skinny bird-legs

in the sand.

A day in the sun without make-up

and suddenly, I'm seven again

and covered with freckles.

She runs like Phoebe Bouffay from that show, Friends.

Arms windmilling

legs churning

laughter bubbling.

Shouldn't we all still run

like this?

Despite repeated attempts to make him sleep in his stroller,

he decides its a game of peek-a-boo.

And it never gets old when he flings up the draped towel

and yells "Hi!"

Beach food like I used to have as a kid

when we boated over to the rich Regina Beach for

fish n'chips at Butlers on the hill.

Hot dogs, chips and cod

and iced tea.

Letting little boys with

delightful bellies

dabble in the water

the seaweed and

wet sand.

A big sister that always chooses the baby swings

because she just wants to be closer

to her baby brother.

A tribe of their own

already.

When she swings, she screams

HIGHER and never is touched

with fear.

She closes her eyes as she soars

her head tipped back

smile wide.

What a ride.

I'm working my way to 1,000 Gifts.

In which I wonder if God can be trusted? Part 4

(You can read about why I'm doing this at Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.)

I've been stuck for a while. Got a few emails from you guys wondering if I just gave up. I didn't. I haven't. Just been stuck.

Every one brings their own bias, their own upbringing, their own experiences, their own knowledge or understanding to these age-old questions, right? So we never are truly objective.

Our answers or wanderings vary whether or not you believe in God and, if you do, whether or not you believe that he is a God of love or a God of Indifference or Anger etc.

I got stuck there.

Until I realised something. Had an epiphany, if you will (*wink to my Dad*).

I have my feet on firm foundation again.

He loves me. He loves you.

He loves, he loves, he loves.

His very nature and his essence are love.

His love is ferocious, unrelenting, gentle and never-ending.

His love is unconditional, unmitigated and forgiving.

His love is without reason and his love covers it all.

His love is inclusive, binding, mysterious and strong.

He loves like a lover.

He loves like a husband.

He loves like a mother and like a father.

He is both the Lion and the Lamb, the parent and the lover,

the breath of life, the bread and also the wine.

He is the storm and the calm,

the whisper and the whirlwind.

So I'm ready to ask again - why do we suffer? Why is there pain? Where is God in the face of such madness and atrocities and evil?

Can God be trusted?

I read a book that really messed with me (and I mean that in a good way) called "He Loves Me" by Wayne Jacobsen. It's logical, Biblical and revolutionary for those of us that struggle with insecurity. (Because me? That's my Waterloo. Insecurity, people pleasing, you name it - that's where I have many, shall we call them?, opportunities to grow.)

We pick through our experiences or history like we're pulling daisy petals: he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not. When my daughter was was healed - he loves me. When I lied or cheated - He loves me not. When I got that job - He loves me. When my child drank too much or started doing drugs - He loves me not. When I got the result I wanted - He loves me. When I didn't get the result I wanted - He loves me not.

We pick through our circumstances using them to decide whether or not God loves us.

Things like loss, unrealised dreams, murder, adultery, illness, infidelity, anger, loneliness, abandonment - whether insignificant to some or monstrously significant to the world - they can't be the mirror through which we make that decision.

Either He loves or He doesn't.

So if He does - and I believe and know that he does - then our sin, our choices, the choices of others that were inflicted upon us, those evil things that take over our society at times, those circumstances aren't a reflection of his love or a lack thereof.

His love covers it all.

His love covers us all.

Even though I do not understand it yet. And I may never understand it. I may never come to a truly satisfactory answer for those questions. Much smarter and wiser people than me have very divergent opinions.

But I know this one thing: He is love.

And so every question I ask comes from the understanding, the platform, the genesis of his love. Not his indifference, not his anger, not even the question of his existence. I am not starting from zero. I'm starting from the point of Love, from the assumption, the understanding, the basis of His unrelenting love.

I have settled one thing - yes, He can be trusted. Not because I have all of the answers. But because I know one thing above all else - He loves us.

In which these are 7 Quick Takes

The 7 items of the week that occured to me but didn't warrant their own blog post.

-1-

I have been working on the next installment (for lack of a better word) in my ongoing dialogue about trusting God in the midst of suffering and pain. It's been a process. I got stalled because I was grappling with it. And then suddenly, something clicked.

Stop in on the weekend (or maybe Monday?) to check it out.

You can read about why I'm doing this at Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.

-2-

Today Anne asked me if she could go back and "be two again." When I asked why, she said she wanted to have the fun of turning three again. But this time, she wants a vanilla cake.

-3-

I am not a fan of John Piper.

There. I said it.

Let the stone throwing begin.

I tried. I read his books. It seemed like a lot of people were being blessed by his ministry. But I had question and doubts and just couldn't agree with his focus.

And then I have always struggled with the Myth of John Piper as it seems that most of the Piper-ites are relentless and, to be frank, judgmental and narrow minded. (Ever heard that saying about how a little education can be more dangerous than ignorance?)

But after his comments on the tornadoes that struck the midwest? I think this guy is shooting for the vacancy left by Jerry Falwell.

When things like this happen, I remember why I've stopped calling myself an evangelical Christian. Instead, I say "Follower of Jesus."

I just can't handle the baggage that these guys are heaping up on top of the word Christian.

-4-

Our condo is still up for sale. We adjusted the price. We have showings galore. Which are absolutely exhausting.

I am thinking of making a rule that no one is allowed to come see the house unless they have already written me an offer. I'm tired of trying to keep the house "show room ready".

Thank goodness, I gave up on housekeeping earlier. This is killing me.

-5-

Brian took Anne to their first lacrosse game. It was his first of many Daddy Date Nights. They got a bite to eat and then went to the old 1930s arena in Queen's Park. They watched our local lacrosse team, the Salmonbellies. Neither one of them had ever been to a lacrosse game and despite my repeated insistence that he would LOVE it, he just never got around to going. And sure enough, they both fell madly in love with lacrosse. Anne came home, floating two feet off the ground, wearing a Bellies t-shirt that is 8 sizes too big for her and telling of her plans to be a goalie.

On a side note, there is something grand about screaming GO, BELLIES! Too often we don't like the bellies. We do sit ups to get rid of the bellies. So to unabashedly be pro-belly is a beautiful thing.

-6-

Two very dear friends of ours welcomed their second babies this week. Welcome Kaia Medley and Burke Edward. We love them already.

This is the part that sucks about friends being scattered to and fro across the earth. Can't wait to see them and hug their babies.

-7-

And finally, best for last, Joseph is sleeping. As in, he only was up once the last three nights.

ONCE. ONCE!

He slept from 7 until midnight and then again until 7 in the morning.

I stopped sleeping well when I was about 6 months pregnant with him. This is the first time in nearly 17 months that I have slept longer than 2 hours together.

That boy is a genius.

In which these are a few books that have impacted me

I saw this at one of my favourite parenting sites, Sorta Crunchy, and decided to play because you know how I Love me some books.

Books that have changed the way I. . .

think about marriage: Sex God by Rob Bell

think about politics: God's Politics: Why the Right Gets it Wrong and the Left Doesn't Get It by Jim Wallis

appreciate Christian spirituality and the personal essay: Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller and The Shack by William P. Young and The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne

view the writing process: Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

mother: The Baby Book by Dr. Sears and Grace Based Parenting by Dr. Tim Kimmel

go about my daily work: The Message Bible paraphrased by Eugene Peterson and He Loves Me! by Wayne Jacobsen and The Divine Conspiracy by Dallas Willard and The Simple Living Guide by Janet Luhrs and The Creative Family by Amanda Soule... (and now I'll stop...)

Other favourites that don't fit a category:

The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning

Your Best Birth and The Business of Being Born

The Passion of Mary-Margaret by Lisa Samson

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver (Okay....may need to do a whole other post about fiction. Mercy.)

Polishing the Petoskey Stone: Poems by Luci Shaw (and another for poetry.)

Oh, I could go on.

In which we are celebrating 3 years of Anne-Girl

Happy birthday, sweet girl.

You are loved more than you could possibly imagine. These three years with you have been the richest of my life - and it just keeps getting better.

Happy Birthday, Anne! from Sarah Bessey on Vimeo.

(Song is called "Tiny Little Packages" by the local Relate Church. You can find their wonderful children's CD and book "Today I'm Happy" here. Beautiful and grown-up friendly.)

In which I attempt to Lend a Hand to the Brownies

Dear Girl Guides of Canada:

I used to be a Brownie.

(Please note that this is not me. It is my little sister and my granny. But it made me laugh and it's about the age that we were when we WERE Brownies. So I threw it in. And Mandy hardly ever reads my blog so she'll never know.)

When we lived in Regina, I wore my polyester brown uniform very proudly as I walked across the frozen playground to Mable Brown Elementary (which, by the way, was torn down and replaced by a field of condominiums. And that depresses me immensely.). But my favourite part was not the brown uniform or singing "God Save the Queen", the laughter with other girls or even springing up to shriek "Ta-wit-ta-wit-ta-wooooo!" (By the way, what the heck was that about anyway?)

I loved earning badges.

I had a sash and my mother sewed on each badge as I earned it. I had my Agility badge (surprisingly) and, of course, my Booklover and Writer Badges. I earned one for Baking as a result of a lopsided cake with my mother and Traditions for some obscure Brownie-type theatrics and the Gardener one by helping my Granny in her dirt now and again.

I loved the badges because they clearly demonstrated my greatness, my prowess, my knowledge and skills to anyone that caught sight of me, headed to Mable Brown's circular gymnasium across the snow with my badge sash proudly displayed ON TOP of my pink snow suit.

Now I'm 30.

I'm a mother.

In the interest of upholding the Brownie motto to Lend a Hand, I have a suggestion.

I recommend that we create a Brownie sash for mothers. Because motherhood has earned me some serious badges.

We could have badges such as:

• Baking a Homemade Cake From Scratch for a Birthday Party Badge.
• Cleaning Up Bodily Fluids - Not Just Your Own Either - Badge.
• Giving Birth Badge.
• Cooking Supper While Nearly Killing Yourself By Slipping On The Tupperware That Is Scattered On The Floor In An Effort To Keep The Baby Busy Badge.
• Grocery Shopping With A Toddler And A Baby Badge.
• Breastfeeding Even After Your Nipple Gets Bitten Badge.
• Dropping Your Baby Off At Daycare Badge.
• Getting Children Up, Fed And Dressed Before 8 o'clock In The Morning Badge.
• Orchestrating Simultaneous Naptime Badge.
• Reading "The Little Engine That Could" 60 times In A Row Badge.
• Soothing Badge.
• Sweet Snuggles Badge.
• Protecting The Innocent Heart Of A Child Badge.
• Taking A Toddler To The Potty In A Public Gas Station Bathroom While Holding The Baby At The Same Time Badge.
• Walking A Line In The Carpet Badge.
• Calming A Sobbing Baby Badge.
• Taking Your First Crap After Giving Birth Badge.
• Able To Go On Broken Sleep For Years On End Badge.
• Navigating Chuck E. Cheese Badge.
• Weeping With Love Over Your Babies Badge.
• Sneaking In Just To Watch Them Sleep Badge.
• Wanting To Smack That Mean Kid At The Playground Badge.

I'm sure we could come up with quite a few. (hint, hint in the comments....)

It would do a great public service.

Maybe then people will stop asking what it is, exactly, that mothers do all day long.

Sincerely,

In which this is why my heart is there

Oh,, this is good!

Most of you guys know that I am an advocate and volunteer for Mercy Ministries Canada. We are in the final stages of getting the Canadian home opened here in Surrey.

It's hard for me to articulate how these brave girls inspire me and how much I love this ministry.

Please, please, please watch this video and send it around.

You'll see why my heart is both broken and hopeful.

(To watch the video, scroll to the bottom of this page and pause the music. If it isn't working, click here.)

If you are looking for a way to help, you can join me at the Mercy Walk in September or sponsor my walk (email me at sarah (at) emergingmummy (dot) com). You can also become a monthly or one-time supporter. Really, the ways to help are many.

But most importantly? Pray for these beautiful women that need a rescue.

In which these are 7 tiny moments

1. When our wee boy gets tired, he puts his left hand up to his head and tugs on his curls. Just sits there, his hand tangled in his own hair, drifting off to sleep.

2. After church on Sunday, Anne told me "I could sing songs about Jesus all day long. I love church. I love singing about Jesus."

(Anne at Deer Lake Park, wandering through a field, singing to herself.)

3. Joseph never meets a stranger. He smiles at everyone and then waves his dimpled paws. He is very good at making people happy already.

4. We were at Home Depot the other day with Brian. Anne looked at the saws and said, "Do you know what that is?" I said, "Sure, it's a saw." And she told me, "No. It's a skill saw. And those are mitre saws." Well, then.

5. Brian has taken to referring to Joseph as "Joe the Tank." This boy is impossible and incorrigible. He's into everything (and that includes his own diaper, saints preserve us, on two occasions). He's fast, he's busy, he likes to throw things and bang them. Is this all a boy thing? He's like a tank; he goes over or through whatever is in his way. Including me sometimes.

6. Anne saw her Auntie, Uncle and cousin Addison so she sauntered over and said casually, "Hey guys. What's going down?" And then Adam collapsed in laughter.

7. Joseph likes to blow kisses and give sloppy open-mouthed kisses. The way he looks at me sometimes? Oh, my heart.

In which anticipation is half the fun

No one really looks forward to much anymore, do we?

I mean, when we want something, we just get it. If we want to do something, we just do it. If it itches, we scratch it. End of story. In our age of credit cards and 0% loans, we rarely, if ever, wait for something.

We don't make things special too often. We don't save up for a trip of a lifetime. We put it on credit and just go now. And then again next year. We don't buy toys only for birthdays or Christmas; we buy them all the time. Clothes, music, cars - you name it. The things that used to be special, one in a while or once-in-a-lifetime or once-a-year, have become prosaic and mundane.

We have too much stuff and we have it right away.

It sounds kind of silly but I want my tinies to know the fun of anticipation. I know that gratification is fun but there really is something gratifying about waiting, preparing, planning, dreaming and THEN getting. There is something about waiting for it that not only teaches a valuable lesson but really, it's half the fun.

So that brings us here.

When I gave birth to my daughter nearly 3 years ago, my sister was elated. Not only was she going to be an Auntie but now she had an excuse to go to Build a Bear (I felt the same way about getting to read the Little House books again). We made the (totally random and completely arbitrary) decision to take Anne for her third birthday. I think we figured by then, she'd be old enough to "get it."

So for the past year or so, every time we would see a Build a Bear Workshop, Anne would say "I get to go there when I'm three!" And then ask me how long it was until she was three. As her birthday has neared, she has gotten more and more excited. We went into the store finally so that she could look around. She hung over the animals, imagined the outfit, watched other kids get their bears and has been waiting, waiting, waiting for her turn.

Well, she turns three next Tuesday. Today, we made a date - my sister, my mother, my niece, my son, Anne and me - and we went to the Build a Bear Workshop at Metrotown.

This morning, she was so excited she could hardly stand it. She kept changing her outfit, unable to decide which dress she wanted to wear to make her new animal. When we pulled up to the mall, she was almost vibrating with anticipation.

Annie and Auntie picked out a very perky looking puppy. And then, despite our best efforts spent trotting out various dresses and outfits, she chose a Calgary Flames hockey uniform for her puppy. She then put white figure skates on his paws complete with pompoms. She named him Jarome. We stuffed him, dressed him, named him and then Auntie paid for him. (Thanks, Auntie!) Then Jarome went into his little house, joined us for Tim Horton's and then came home.

She won't let him out of her sight. He's her special puppy, her Jarome.

There is something wonderful about it.

In which I must confess

(Joseph and me - and yes, he is pulling my hair.)

I feel like sometimes I can give you the impression that my life entirely consists of rainbows and unicorns. Or at the very least, consistently happy children and a sane mother.

That was not the case this week.

This was the week in which I referred to my children (only to my husband of course - and now, evidently The Internets) as A Collective Gaping Maw of Need or alternatively as Unrelenting Hair Pullers and Whiners.

(I also feel the need to tell you that I am really not that photogenic. I delete all bad pictures of myself or crop them so my fat doesn't show.)

I was not a great mother this week. I was not a great wife either. I was tired, short on patience, raw, melancholy, resentful and lazy.

But here's the beautiful thing: their mercy is new every morning at this stage. They don't hold a grudge.

Every morning, we wake up and I have a new opportunity to open my heart to love.

A new opportunity to practice patience, kindness, gentleness and self-control. A new opportunity to parent them with grace. A new opportunity to love and be loved.

I've learned that usually the reason that they morph into this sucking maw of needs is because they are, in fact, a maw of needs that are unfulfilled. (I actually heard myself accuse Joseph this week of "being such a baby." Um. Yes. He is, in fact, A BABY!)

Annie needed to play with me. Joseph needed to be held by me. They both needed me to give my time and attention to them. There comes a point when all of the toys and blankies and other distractions simply won't do. And they only want their Mum.

I am all too aware that there will come a day when they won't be needing me so much.

That alternately thrills me and terrifies me.

Today though, it's making me want to be more present here, in this moment, with these two babies that just need me to give them this moment.

(Me and Annie, spending an hour together, just reading books at bedtime, one after another. Just us two.)