Boogers on the Wall

There are some things I will never forget.

The gasp from the nurses and doctors after I gave that final push.

The weight of my epidural-filled legs that kept me cemented into my hospital bed.

The way I whispered into my son’s lifeless ear, apologizing for not getting him here safely.

Friends and family who wet his soft chubby cheeks with their tears.

Sights, sounds and smells from the day I gave birth to my stillborn son will forever be engraved into the folds of my mind. They have changed my mental DNA. I’ll never be the same person I was before he died.

Yet sometimes, nearly five years later I have moments when I wonder if it all was real. Did we really meet with funeral home directors the day after I gave birth? Did we bury our baby just a few days after he arrived? Do people think I’m crazy for mourning his loss half a decade later?

Every once in a while on my bitter days I sit around glumly wishing his death was a nightmare I could wake up from.

I found an old set of home videos a couple of weeks ago. We sat around our television laughing at how cute and small and crazy my two oldest sons were when they were toddlers.

Then I hesitantly popped in the tape labeled April 2010. We sat huddled on the couch as we relived the day Luca was born through the video on the screen. We don’t have a lot, maybe just 10-15 minutes. But those 10-15 minutes are priceless.

We have video of our family circling around us while holding our little angel. My oldest son walks around proudly telling people about his new baby brother while he helps everyone hold his brother’s tiny body. My second son twirls around in the background while eating suckers and rolling around the trashcan.

Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents and friends came to see our little Luca that day at the hospital. I forgot how much it meant to me that each of them cried with us. Their tears were signs of true love.

For we all loved that little baby we lost.

We have video of my sister giving him his first haircut. She cut chunks of his dark, reddish curly locks and we placed them in a keepsake bag.

We have video of people gently unwrapping his blanket, soaking him all in – his cute fingers, his wrinkly toes.

We all wanted to memorize his every feature.

Watching that video reopened some of our family’s healing wounds. We cried as it brought back the pain and sorrow.

But with that pain and sorrow, it also brought back the reality of what happened.

Yes I did give birth to a beautiful, perfect baby boy. He had everything except breath in his lungs and a heartbeat in his chest.

He was as real as real can be. We love him and miss him terribly.

I’ve been feeling guilty and awkward lately when talking about my children. How can I tell a busy mother who is caring for five living children that I have five as well? How can I tell people we really have four boys not just three?

I have started to question my right to count that fifth little baby we haven’t really taken care of.

Watching that video rejuvenated me. I may not care for all of my five babies at this time, but that doesn’t mean I only have four. I have a beautiful baby boy that I will never forget. Sure he doesn’t run around crazy with his brothers. I haven’t had to potty train him or get him to eat his vegetables. I don’t tote five kids around at the grocery store and I have one less kid to keep track of at busy theme parks.

But that doesn’t mean I have to subtract one from our lump sum when talking about our family. We have seven – six on earth and one in heaven.

That video reminded me that I will never get over losing our little Luca. I will never forget him and I don’t have to hide him from anyone. He was real and he is mine. People may not understand and that’s all right.

Do we really have five kids? Yes we do. Four boys and one girl? Yes.

Did we bury a part of our hearts when we buried our third son?

Yes we did. And somehow we survived.

My two-year-old walking out of a basketball game pants-less because he had a serious accident.

I’m 31 years old and I’m finally potty trained. How did I do it? What am I talking about?

Well, you see, I’ve become one of those parents who has trained themselves to take their 2-year-old to the potty.

I started out setting a timer. Every hour I’d make him go sit on the toilet. Now we’ve stretched it to 1.5-2 hours depending on what we are doing. And I don’t even have to set a timer anymore. I’m that good.

But unfortunately I am the one that is trained. He is not.

Not once in the past week has he said to me the magical “I need to go potty” words. Not once has he gone into the bathroom himself, pushed over the stool and climbed up onto the throne by himself. Not once has he recognized the I-need-to-go feeling.

What can I do? I’m waiting for him to wake up one morning with a renewed understanding of his body.

I had a plan last weekend.

I was going to hang out in our basement’s cement-floored rec room all day Saturday and Sunday… with my two-year-old… half naked. He loves it down there and it has a nice heater, why not?

I thought if I let him run around with no pants or underwear he’d magically start to recognize when he needed to go potty.

If he wet on the floor, so what? We’ll mop and then sanitize it. But my husband said no one would come over again if they knew we trained him on our floor.

So I’m stuck asking my little boy dozens of times a day if he needs to go to the bathroom. I’m stuck waiting as long as I dare and then making him go even if he claims he isn’t ready. I need to pee every half an hour, why doesn’t he?

I’m stuck with a half-trained two-year-old.

Personally I think we’ve got the whole potty-training thing backwards. When our babies are born we teach them that it’s all right if they are a little wet. Heck, when they breach the 18-month-old age we let them stay in the same diaper for half a day. Unless they’re poopy, it’s hard to know when they need changing at that point.

We condition them to think it’s all right that they are wet. Then all of a sudden they are two and a half and we’re yelling at them for peeing whenever they need to, wherever they need to.

It’s got to be confusing.

First it was OK, now it’s not. Make up your mind!

I think the most frustrating part of potty training this time is the fact that I know he’s smart enough to do it. I’ve just got to figure out how to help him.

Ok maybe that’s not the most frustrating part. The most frustrating part is probably when he ends up soaking wet and we’re in public with no extras.

Like when we went to my oldest son’s basketball game a couple of weeks ago. Miraculously my two-year-old said the magic words, “I need to go potty.” I rushed him to the bathroom.

But when we were in the stall I pulled down his pants to put him on the toilet and he didn’t have a diaper on. It was missing!

What in the world?!

Somehow his saggy diaper got wrapped around one of his ankles. Unfortunately it must have happened before he recognized that it was time to “go.” He ended up peeing all over his pants. And we didn’t have an extra pair.

What did I do?

I strapped another diaper on him and marched back into the gymnasium proudly – with a half-naked toddler in the middle of winter.

Epic fail.

Potty training has got to be one of the absolute worst parts of parenthood. It’s stressful, it’s frustrating and it’s exhausting.

I don’t know how I’m going to get my son to start going on his own. He’s just too laid back and carefree. It doesn’t bother him. He’s perfectly OK with sitting in his own urine for hours on end.

There have been times when he has wet his pants and I’ll be grumbling at him in the bathroom.

“It’s OK mom,” he’ll say. Then he’ll stroke the side of my cheek with his hand. “I’m fine.”

He really is fine, but I’d like him to be fine AND potty trained.

I was given a new assignment in my church just six days after my baby girl was born last October. I am the coordinator for my LDS ward’s monthly Relief Society activities.

Luckily the October and November activities were already planned when I was called and for December our ward had a family Christmas party that was planned by a special committee.

I didn’t have to really do anything until January.

So why not start off with a bang?

We took a Journey to the land of Oz.

It was busy, it took a lot of work, but thanks to the help of all the women on my activities committee and many more volunteers, we had a great night.

Here’s what we did.

The night was centered around visiting teaching – (we kept this fact a secret however because we didn’t want that to scare away the sisters from coming.)

I made up this vague poster and flier that we handed out to our sisters.

One week we attached Dum-Dum suckers to the handouts and gave them as messages from the “lollipop guild.” The following week we played a recorded message from Oz the great and terrible. He and the Wicked Witch warned the women that they should attend….or else.

The committee and I wrote up a script (you can download that here) where Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tin Man and the Lion take a journey to the Emerald City while following the yellow brick road.

Dorothy started our night off by meeting our Relief Society president who gave her a “map” (Book of Mormon) then sent her on her way. She told her to help the other sisters in the room make it to the Emerald City.

Along her journey she met the Scarecrow who didn’t know what to say, think or do when it came to visiting teaching. He didn’t have the “brains.”

Then they met up with the Tin Man who was stuck in a rut and didn’t have the “heart” to go visiting teaching.

Finally they ran into the Lion who was too scared and didn’t have the “courage” to go visiting teaching.

Of course Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tin Man and Lion were greeted by the Wicked Witch a number of times who tried to stop them and get them off the yellow brick road.

We also had three women from the ward (I was lucky enough to be nominated for this job too) speak to each of the three characters as they bumped into them on their journey to the Emerald City. The three women gave all of us in the room a short 5-7 minute talk/breakout session on thoughtful visiting teaching, having the heart to go visiting teaching and not being scared to go. (I spoke on thoughtful visiting teaching. You can read what I said here.)

The women giving the breakout sessions had something to give the characters. The Scarecrow was given a diploma with visiting teaching tips on it:

The Tin Man was given a red marble heart. The Lion was given a gold medal. They were so excited about what they got, they wanted everyone in the room to get one too. So they passed out diplomas, marble hearts and medals to everyone.

We had yellow party bags with the words “Heart Courage Brains” in vinyl on the front that everyone could use to take their goodies home in.

After following the yellow brick road and reading the “map” the quartet made it to the Emerald City – a door on the side of the room that was decorated with green streamers and Christmas lights.

They knocked on the door and were greeted by the relief society president. She let them enter the Emerald City as long as they had earned something on their way. The Wicked Witch tried to enter without having earned anything and couldn’t.

That’s when the Scarecrow gave the relief society president the diploma, the Tin Man gave her the marble heart and the Lion gave her the medal.

Dorothy thought she couldn’t go in because she didn’t earn anything on her way. Then the relief society president pointed out to her that she gained three new friends and helped others. She let her in for developing the skills she already had within her.

At the end, the Wicked Witch took her own journey along the yellow brick road where she followed the “map” and “changed.” She was greeted at the Emerald City by the relief society president who let her into the city.

We set up the room with a mini forest front and center.

Then we put chairs for the audience in a horseshoe/half circle facing the forest. We cut yellow cardstock in half and placed it on the floor in a figure eight making the yellow brick road. It circled both the forest and then the chairs.

We put mini trails of yellow brick road from the foyer into the cultural hall, guiding people into the gym.

In the back of the room we set up two long tables for refreshments. We borrowed these Scarecrow-themed cupcake stands, cut out hearts and Dorothy shoes from a neighboring ward to put our desserts on. Aren’t they amazing?

We also borrowed the yellow brick road and Land of Oz signs from that same ward. (Thank heavens people were nice enough to share with us! I couldn’t have come up with something this cute. They held a Wizard of Oz relief society dinner last year where they helped the Scarecrow find a heart.)

We had Smarties, Jello jiggler hearts and Hershey’s Kisses along with phenomenal mint chocolate chip brownies made by the food director for our committee.

One of our committee members made a Wizard of Oz Spotify playlist that we used as background music. We played the list while people came, then we used it throughout the skit and left it playing while people mingled and ate dessert.

Each character came up with her own costume and they looked amazing. It was so fun to see them in action.

The night was fun and lighthearted. It was a perfect way to kick off our year.

I know other wards have done Wizard of Oz relief society nights. In fact, the inspiration for our activity came from a couple of other women who wrote about similar activities on their blogs.

Feel free to use our ideas and let me know if you have any questions. Also, if you do have your own Wizard of Oz night, I’d love to see pictures!

Here’s one with me in the middle:

Nine months of morning sickness, body aches and sleepless nights. One scare-you-to-death abnormal genetics test. Many, many hours of sitting still while strapped to a non-stress test machine waiting for quality movement. A month full of painful, annoying contractions. A terrifying delivery when for a small moment we couldn’t hear the baby’s heart beat.

To say my last pregnancy was my hardest would be a serious understatement.

I spent three quarters of last year stressed beyond coping. It’s a wonder my husband didn’t divorce me. I survived, and got to take a beautiful baby girl home with me from the hospital.

But after all it took to get her here I know I have to be done. Physically and mentally I can’t go through it again. I always said I wanted to have four or five kids. And that’s what I have. Four or five. Depending on how you count.

Call me weak, call me chicken but I’ve had one overdue baby, one early miscarriage, one preemie, one 37-week stillborn and two am-I-crazy-for-going-through-this-again? rainbow babies.

It was hard for me to get pregnant. And the past two times being pregnant was almost crippling.

I know it’s a very personal, unique decision for everyone. For some people it’s easy. For me it has not been.

Even though I know I can’t go through it again, one small fraction of my heart cries out, “How can you be done?”

There is nothing like a human baby. Absolutely nothing. They are the most pure, innocent and snuggly creatures on Earth. And when all goes well, there is nothing like the pregnancy excitement – seeing the double line on the test, watching a heart beat on an ultrasound, finding out if you’ll be buying pink or blue clothes – it’s all so much fun.

Then there’s the anticipation and excitement of driving to the hospital knowing it’s time. Friends and family come visit and it’s all a big celebration.

That tiny piece of my heart keeps asking me if I am ready to give that all up?!

I packed my maternity clothes up last week and shoved them in the back of my closet. I plan on never using them again. But for now I can’t part with them.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the decision my husband and I made that we’re done having kids. A lot lot. I’ve come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t matter how many kids I had, 7, 10, 20, part of me would still feel like one is missing – the one I carried for eight and a half months then had to bury. He’s missing from our family vacations, family pictures and family fun time. And always will be.

To be completely honest, I have been kind of bitter about his death lately. I feel like I got cheated. I worked hard to try to get him here safely and he was taken from me in an instant. There was nothing anyone could have done to save him.

Not only did I lose my third little boy but losing him created this uncontrollable fear inside me making it harder for me to want to have any more little ones. I love each of my kids. They are amazing. Despite the fact that they can completely stress me out sometimes, part of me wonders if I would have had a dozen kids if things had played out differently. I lived through two pregnancies after Luca’s stillbirth, but I can’t do it again.

And so I put the lids on my maternity clothes boxes and they’ll collect dust in my closet until who knows when. And I’ll live with our decision to be done. I know it’s the right one, but it’s just been a hard one. Some people have to be done. We could have more we just aren’t.

I made it through my birthing years with four beautiful babies to raise. Some women never get the chance to be a mother. I’ll forever be grateful that the Lord let me be one to some pretty amazing kids. That makes all the stress, craziness and risk in getting them here worth it.

Now I guess it’s really time to be done.

Believe it or not, sometimes I tend to be dramatic. I look at my little world and go crazy thinking things are out of control.

But in reality I have a great life. Yes my house is usually a mess and my clothes rarely match but those are just momentary annoyances. They’re just part of the phase I’m in (I hope).

The truth is my family is healthy. We have a great home and neighborhood. My oldest two boys are thriving in school and the youngest two are my favorite things to spend time with at home.

I get to read books, take pictures and work in my yard.

I have food on my table and heat (or air conditioning) in the air vents.

We laugh, we play and we drive each other nuts. What more could you want?

Now I’m not big on making New Year’s Resolutions, but this year I’m making an exception. I’ve been reflecting on 2014 and all the crazy experiences we’ve had and I’ve decided to take a different take on 2015.

Instead of focusing on all the stressed-out, I-want-to-throw-in-the-towel moments of motherhood, I’m going to try to focus on the this-is-the-best-job-in-the-world parts.

I’m sure I’ll still have times when I want to pull my hair out, but I don’t want to make that my focus this year. I want to remember all of the good things that are going to happen.

Our entire family is going focus on the good.

We’ve started a “Good Things” jar. If there’s something we’re thankful for, if we do something fun, if we have anything “good” in our lives, we’re going to write it down. Then we’ll place it in the jar that sits on my husband’s dresser.

At the end of the year we’re going to read about all of our good times and blessings. (And maybe I’ll pull out a few slips of paper to read intermittently to get me through the hard times.)

After all, there are plenty of good times to fill the jar. I know there were in 2014.

Like the moment I heard my little baby girl cry for the first time and they placed her in my arms. Then I got to buy pink onesies and frilly headbands for one of my babies the first time … ever.

Then there’s the time my oldest son got to play the piano in the school talent show. Or when he got to have lunch with the mayor because he showed great respect and kindness to others at school.

Then there was the time my first-grader started reading on an 8^th-grade level. And then was selected to be in an advanced writing group at school. You should read his stories!

I’ll never forget when my two-year-old dressed up as Olaf and ran around giving people “warm hugs.” Or when he kept telling me he “needed me” – cuter words have never been said.

My husband and I celebrated a decade of marriage and we found our family a perfect new home.

We’ve laughed, we’ve cried and we’ve fought and played.

We’ve had good times.

Here’s to having more… and here’s to taking the time to write them down.

I hope our jar ends up overflowing.

It’s Christmas and I can finally breathe a sigh of relief.

I survived the late-night present wrapping. I braved the parking-lot aisles at Wal-Mart.

I trimmed two trees, built three gingerbread houses and sewed four Christmas outfits.

I hunted for weeks for the perfect presents and shipped most of them to my doorstep. I’ve been to several holiday parties and watched dozens of festive shows.

But deep down I know none of those things really matter. The hustle and bustle, the stress and the mess mean nothing in the big scheme of things.

What truly matters is the real reason for the season – a tiny baby was born. A baby that came to save all men.

Maybe it’s because I have a little baby of my own to hold right now. Maybe it’s because I’ve lost a son. But my thoughts have turned to Mary, the mother of Christ, the past few days.

I’ve been thinking a lot about her. How did she do it?

How did she carry and birth a beautiful baby she knew would have to die? How did she raise a perfect son who would atone for all others’ sins?

The scriptures say that on the miraculous night of Christ’s birth Mary kept all things and pondered them in her heart (Luke 2:19).

Did she think about her tiny baby’s life? Did she wonder what color his eyes would turn or if his hair would hold natural curl?

Did she think about how long he’d let her cuddle to him or how she’d discipline the son of God? Would she even have to?

More than anything I wonder if she thought about his death. Did she realize the impact her child would have on this world? Did she dread the day he’d die for all mankind?

How did she do it?

She gave the gift of life to the baby who would give the same gift to all others.

This year I’m glad we’ve been able to celebrate. We’ve eaten gobs of Christmas candy and seen several different Santas. We’ve sung Christmas carols and opened plenty of presents.

But deep down I’m thankful for the ultimate Christmas present.

My heart is full as I think about the true meaning of Christmas. I will forever be grateful for Mary giving birth to that tiny baby boy. For without him, nothing else would matter.

My son was starting to look like a skeleton and so I caved. I didn’t want to do it. I vowed we were done, but a little over a week ago I spread some peanut butter and jelly onto two pieces of bread and threw them into a lunch bag for my first grader.

I let him take a home lunch to school.

Why? Why did I let him take a home lunch again after I swore them off earlier this year?

Because the poor little guy is scaring me. He’s the skinniest 6-year-old I have ever seen. Watching him play basketball two weeks ago it really hit me. I could see the bumps of his ribs sticking out of his way-too-big jersey.

He never complains that he’s hungry. He doesn’t ever ask for snacks. He is just happily starving.

Don’t get me wrong, he has plenty of opportunities to eat what he needs and wants. He just doesn’t.

I don’t know if it’s a laziness thing. I don’t know if it’s an I-don’t-care thing, but my husband and I are staging an intervention.

We are going to plump him up.

So here we go again. We’re back to picking and choosing what days of the week my boys will eat school lunch and I’m packing calorie-rich stuff for them on the other days.

Why? I noticed that day after day he was telling me he ate a chicken patty for lunch – our school district here offers a chicken patty every day as a backup to the main dish. If my son doesn’t like what’s offered, he can always have a patty.

That’s partly why we gave up home lunches. I knew both my boys liked patties and so they’d be able to eat something they liked each day.

Well I’m pretty sure my second son hasn’t been eating his patty. He can’t be.

We sat down with him and told him our concerns. Then we told him we decided to let him take home lunches again. You should have seen his face light up. He was excited to eat – that’s got to be a good sign. Right?

We’re going to make sure he gets many, many opportunities to eat things stocked full of calories. He can’t just have toast for breakfast anymore. He can’t skip his after-school snack. And he has to eat all of his dessert.

I’m also thinking of having a nightly ice cream treat. Sounds perfect, right? It does to me.

Let’s hope it works. I need to round out my poor little skeleton.

I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I can’t do everything these days. Taking care of four young kids is harder than I thought. So this year I decided I needed to simplify a few things.

When I saw that soda was on sale at the grocery store I knew I could whip up a super easy, simple and inexpensive gift to hand out to our neighbors and friends.

I bought 30 big bottles of Fanta – some in orange, some in grape and some in strawberry flavor. I seriously got them for next to nothing.

Then I downloaded a couple of really cute Christmas fonts. Mountains of Christmas – you can download that here and Budmo – you can download that here.

I found a green chevron border online and made up a tag to go with the Fanta bottles that said, “Thanks for being ‘Fanta’stic friends! Merry Christmas, The Clemens Family.”

Super easy, super fast! Which is what I need these days. The hardest part was running to the copy store to get them printed because if you know me well, you know that I am always out of printer ink.

I found some red chevron Christmas ribbon at the craft store, punched holes into the tags and tied them to the tops of the bottles. It was so easy my husband even helped – until he found out that the ribbon had glitter on it.

I also made a few tags that said, “Thanks for being a ‘Fanta’stic teacher! Merry Christmas, The Clemens Family.” For my boys to give to their teachers.

I normally like to make a small craft to give to all my neighbor friends but it just isn’t happening these days. Even though I didn’t “make” them, I love how these bottles turned out. They are chilling in my basement storage room just waiting to be delivered.

One other simple, easy gift idea I made for a few family members this year is this countdown to Christmas.

I took scrap pieces of wood that we had leftover from finishing our deck this summer. I painted them antique white then cut out vinyl “Days Until Christmas” phrases on my Silhouette using the same Mountains of Christmas font that you can download for free here.

I found a cute Christmas label on the Silhouette store and cut it out of chalkboard vinyl. Who knew that stuff even existed? I just found it and I think it’s awesome. I love seeing my boys’ elementary-school handwriting each day as they erase and then fill in our count down. So fun!

Now if only I can come up with something to give my parents for Christmas!

Dear festive friends,

How do you do it? I have seen dozens of filtered Christmas light photos of happy children helping hang lights on beautiful trees. The kids are smiling. The floor is vacuumed, and the lights are all working.

How do you do it?

Five minutes into our decorating session I transformed into the Grinch. The lights on our pre-lit tree were half out. My children were dumping out decorations in different corners of the room and Santa hats and stuffed snowmen were scattered everywhere.

After successfully unpacking every single Christmas decoration we own – while I snapped “wait for me” at them – they got tired. I was left with a half-lit tree and a huge mess.

I stayed up until midnight two days in a row trying to get stuff done. One night while fumbling trying to hang a Santa Claus cardholder I realized I didn’t even like the stupid thing.

So I packed it back up and sat down for a break.

That’s when I scrolled through my Facebook feed and saw so many cute pictures of happy holiday decorating activities.

So I’m back to my original question – how do you do it?

Do you prep all the decorations ahead of time and have them right ready to hang?

Do you clean your house before busting out the holiday décor?

Do you take anti-stress medication?

Am I the only one hollering at my kids when we’re supposed to be having a family-bonding-Christmas-is-coming moment?

I’m feeling some major mom guilt and my Christmas cheer radar is reading below zero.

Maybe I should accept the fact that I can’t have quiet, thoughtful, reflective moments while putting out our Christmas decorations. Maybe I should save myself the heartache and decorate when the majority of my kids are at school.

Then again maybe I should relax and revile in the chaos. So what if we don’t have any Kodak Christmas-card moments in front of our magical tree.

At least we have a tree. And working lights (after we spent hours picking off the burnt out, pre-lit nightmare cords and restringing new lights, only to find out that we didn’t buy enough new lights and had to go to the store to get two more strands.)

Oh, and I did manage to a couple completely candid shots. Like this blurry picture.

Priceless,

Natalie

Here’s our annual thankful tree. We take turns writing things we are thankful for onto paper leaves and glue them to a tree. This year it looks more like a bush 🙂

It’s no secret that I hate Thanksgiving. I say that year after year. I hate the gluttonous feast. But there is much for me to be thankful for. I couldn’t possibly list everything but I threw together a short, of-the-top-of-my-head list of a dozen things I am thankful for right now.

My list is totally momified, but hey I’m thankful for what I’m thankful for. I can’t help it what makes me happy – even if that list could include disposable diapers and kids-eat-free coupons.

1. I’m thankful for my new baby girl. I’m thankful that made it here safely. She is beautiful, she is fun and she is such a good baby. It still hasn’t fully hit me that after having four sons I now have a daughter. I secretly call her my BFF and have big dreams of having parties with her where we dress up, paint our nails and watch Disney-princess movies together. I’m crossing my fingers that Santa brings her The Little Mermaid.

2. I’m thankful for baby girl gifts. We have truly been blessed with pink and purple. I am so grateful that people have given us clothes, hair bows, skirts, blankets and more. Without all the gifts and hand me downs, our little girl would be forced to wear blue leftovers from her brothers.

3. I’m thankful for naptime. That is quite possibly the only time I get anything constructive done around our house. I’m thankful that my two-year-old still lies down willingly for his nap – after giving me snuggles. He doesn’t fight it. I think we both know that his naps do us good.

4. I’m thankful for my husband’s job. I’m so glad that he loves what he does and that it provides very well for our family. I’m thankful that it offers him enough flexibility to be able to work from home while I run to an emergency dentist appointment or take off early so he can participate in something with the boys at the elementary school.

5. I’m thankful for the radiant heating in my bedroom. Although that means sometimes I don’t want to get out of my bed – well, let’s be honest, I never want to get out of my bed – I’m thankful that I can huddle up in my bedroom on cold, windy days and stay warm.

6. I’m thankful for Magic Treehouse books. They keep my 6-year-old son reading.

7. I’m thankful for cub scouts. It gives me something to do with my 8-year-old.

8. I’m thankful for Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood. I know that when Daniel is on that I have exactly 30 minutes of undisturbed time to get something done around the house.

9. I’m thankful for my kids. And although sometimes I feel smothered – like tonight when all of them were sitting on and around me while we watched the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special – I love being near them. They can talk my ear off about Minecraft or chasing girls at school, but I love that they share their lives with me. I love when they let me play with them. I love when they let me cuddle to them and I love when they let me laugh with them. They are amazing.

10. I’m thankful for my husband. He works long, hard hours to make sure we are all taken care of. He makes it so I don’t have to do it all on my own. When I’m at the end of my rope, he ties a knot in it and boosts me up so I can hang back on.

11. I’m thankful for my mom. I’m thankful that I get to live just five short minutes away from her. She rescues me all the time by babysitting my crazy kids, loaning me her car, or giving me food. She would do anything for anyone in her family. She is the most dedicated, passionate cheerleader I could have asked for in my life. When I don’t know if I’m screwing everything up or if I can make it another minute she talks me down and fuels my confidence.

12. Finally, I’m thankful for my busy, crazy life. These days I constantly feel like I am running ragged, but at least I’m running. I have places to go and people to care for and I wouldn’t have it any other way. My house is rarely spotless and my hair is seldom curled but my kids are happy and their tummies are full. Who could ask for anything more?

This Thanksgiving my heart is full here’s hoping yours is too. Happy Thanksgiving!