Finding Peace in Contentment

It's been nearly two years now since I first wrote this post about finding peace in contentment. And in that time I have found myself increasingly frustrated and overwhelmed by the rental house where we are living. 

One night, not that long ago I began a pity party. I couldn't sleep. I listened to the dehumidifier scream in the hallway. 

I was counting my frustrations with this house: it's lack of insulation and insane electric bill, cow pasture in the winter that smells to high heaven and the mice. Oh dear heaven, the mice.

We have to run the loud dehumidifier 24/7 to keep mold from growing in the closets and on the walls. It makes me feel bad about where I live. 

I could go on and on but I think at this point everyone, including myself, is tired of hearing about this house. 

SO one night when I couldn't sleep. I made a list of things I have to be thankful for. When I do this I find that my problems aren't really problems, they are annoyances that I can live with. When I make a list of things I am thankful for it is easier for me to find contentment. 

1. I am saved by Grace. I have a God who loves me, saved me and forgives me when I throw little pity parties for myself. 

2. I have a husband who loves me and our children. He is a hard worker and he loves the Lord. 

3. I have TWO healthy children. This is like winning the lottery. I have many friends whose children have chronic illnesses, or have suffered through difficult starts in life. 

4. I have been able to get pregnant and carry two healthy babies. I have the ability to get pregnant and stay pregnant and a lot of women would wish for that. 

5. Both of my parents are still alive and I have a good relationship with both of them. 

6. My sister is my best friend. She is kind and funny and encouraging and listens to me when I complain over and over again about this house. 

7. I am healthy. My family is healthy. None of us are disabled in anyway and my child has not physical or mental limitations that keep him from growing or communicating with me. 

8. My husband is employed in a job that allows me to be at home. 

9. I live in a country where I can worship freely, without persecution. 

10. I have the right to vote, I have the right to be educated, I have the right to make my own decisions, and many women in the world do not have that. 

11. I have a place to live. And this was the one that I had to really think about. But I have a place to live where my family is safe. Where we have a roof over our heads. Where we are together each night in a peaceful place where no wars rage outside our walls. We can walk out of our house and look up and see stars. My children can play in the yard and I don't worry about them. 

God honors contentment. In fact, he tells us this in 1 Timothy 6:6 "A God-like life gives us much when we are happy for what we have."

And I have a lot! 

What about you? What do you to to help you have an attitude of gratitude? 

Today I am hopping at Broughttoyoubymom.com. Come by and join us! 

Farewell summer… you will be missed

Summer is drawing to a close. Ry started back to school last week and Labor Day is Monday. So yes, that means that the season we all love is ending. 

Of course, where I live Summer will stick around til sometime in mid-December, but for many Labor Day means putting away beach umbrellas and thinking ahead to fall. 

I mean, Starbucks has already released their seasonal favorite, the Pumpkin Spice Latte (seriously? In August?) But before we all get our PSL on let's reflect back on Summer 2014. 

I had big plans for this summer. I am not going to lie. I planned to take my kids to the park, to the beach, to the zoo. And I planned to get my stubborn 2-year-old (almost 3-year-old) potty-trained. 

Yeah... we didn't do most of that. We did go to the beach, but mostly we stayed home, ran through the sprinkler and just enjoyed a slow down during the longest days of the year. 

And let me tell you something my friends, it was glorious. GLORIOUS. There was something utterly blissful about not having anything scheduled. There was something peaceful about waking up in the morning and not have somewhere to be or something we had to do. 

Sure, we had certain obligations that couldn't be missed, like church VBS and a few birthday parties, but for the most part we just spent time together. We enjoyed each other's company we spent A LOT of time outside. We visited the library multiples times a week. We watched movies at home. We ate hotdogs. We sat on our front steps and waved at traffic and laughed every time someone waved back. 

We slowed down. We slowed way down. 

Friends, I can't tell you enough how wonderful this was. We took time to enjoy the summer when our children were one and two. We will never get that back. 

So no. We didn't spend the summer in swim lessons or the toddler tumbling class I had planned on signing my kids up for... but we ran through the sprinklers like it was our jobs... and that I will never regret. 

A letter to my (youngest) son on his first birthday

Dear Issie,

You are one today, and part of me can’t believe you have been here an entire year. But another part of me feels you have always been here.

 I vividly remember the day you were born. I remember arriving at the hospital in the wee small hours of the morning; knowing that soon you would be here.

 I remember the waiting, the praying. I remember the nurse putting you on my chest and seeing your sweet round face for the first time.

 Your eyes were open the first time I saw you, your little lip poking out in a heartbreaking pout. I should have known then you were going to give me a run for my money.

 This year has not always been easy, little one. The road to 1 has been paved with exhaustion, frustration and fatigue.

 But there has been such great joy.

 I wanted a little red-haired boy to toddle after my little blonde boy. And I got you. I got my sweet Issie.

You are stubborn and tough and opinionated. As your mother that has frustrated me. But I hope, when you are older, you remain stubborn and tough and opinionated.

 You have frightened me with your budding since of exploration and adventure. You have gone places I didn’t want you to go.

 But I hope as you grow, you keep that since of adventure and that natural curiosity.

You have always had a big appetite. In the beginning it kept me exhausted. But now you love to taste new foods, try new textures. You are unafraid.

 I hope you keep an appetite for life and a willingness to try new things.

I watched as you sat, crawled, stood and walked earlier than I expected. I watched as you stumbled, fell and wobbled. And I watched my little fledgling get up and try again.

I hope that you will always try, even when life knocks you down. I hope you will always scoop yourself up and keep walking.

I have heard you giggle in your sleep, laugh at birds and chuckle with your brother.

I hope you always find the joy in the moment.

I have, on nights that seemed endless, when I barely had the energy to breath, carried you down a dark hallway and prayed over you.

I pray that when your own life seems dark, and you have no more strength that you too will lift up your voice in prayer.

As much as I love you, little one, God loves you more. I am your mother, but He is your heavenly father. I have hopes for you, but He has a plan for your life.  Before you were born I felt you kick and move, but He knew you, He knit you together. I have combed your red hair, but he has numbered those hairs.

He has given me a precious gift. The beat of my very heart. And that gift, is you. 

Waste not want not: the empty peanut butter jar

We threw away half our food last year. We wasted $165 billion. (source) By we I mean the United States. 

I am guilty of throwing things out, I shove then in the freezer with good intentions and then months later I toss them in the trash can. 

I talk a lot about meal planning here because it saves time and money, but it also reduces waste. 

I had been thinking a lot about this last week. I reached my hand into the cupboard to find an empty peanut butter jar. I got frustrated and went throw it out when I realized it wasn't empty. There was still a whole serving in there, I just had to get out my rubber spatula and scrap it out of the jar. Peanut butter is on average $.13 a serving. That $.13 wasn't going to make or break me, but it was principle. 

Sometimes saving something isn't about the money we save. It's about being grateful, not being wasteful, being good stewards of our resources and remembering that there is a person in the world for whom two tablespoons of peanut butter is a luxury. 

Diaries of a Reluctant Domestic: Is that a laundry bag of dirty clothes in your trunk???

"Three Rules of Work: 

Out of clutter find simplicity; 

From discord find harmony; 

In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity." 

Albert Einstein 

Two years ago, when my husband and I moved from the Northwest Georgia foothills to the Gulf Coast of Alabama we had two weeks to find a place to live. We had a six-week-old baby and a house packed to the ceiling with junk. We had no plan, we were flying by the seat of our pants and I have never felt less safe or less secure in my life. I was exhausted, bleary-eyed and still in a little pain. And now I had to pack up my house and leave.

I was standing in my bathroom on Dec. 30, 2011. My mother handed me a giant black garbage bag. “Hold this and I will put all the dirty clothes in it. Then we will just shove it in the back of your car and no one has to know.” 

Yup. I moved two giant bags of dirty laundry. This could have been a great allegory of my life for the past 29 years. 

I had been dragging my dirty laundry around with me everywhere I went. It was in my head, it was in my heart, it was in my home. 

After the big move I stood in the middle of my living room, unable to breathe at the sight of all of the stuff. Why? Why did I feel the need to fill my life with so much stuff? Why couldn’t I say no to people when they handed me objects they no longer wanted or needed? 

Being in this old house in Alabama was a good opportunity to clear out the clutter. It is a long process. An ongoing process. A living breathing process and I am still in the center of it, daily. 

But deciding to declutter my home, heart and brain meant the opportunity to simplify, save money and learn a little bit about who I was. 

So, a year in I finally feel qualified to talk about everything I learned when my husband and I decided to “live on less” we gained so much more. 

This is not a blog about organizing, because I am not organized. This is not a blog about “green living” because I am not always green. This is not a blog about finance because I am not a financial advisor. This isn’t about having the perfect home, because my home is far from perfect. Laundry piles up, it’s dusty, our countertops are dirty. 

Living from scratch is not an all or nothing idea. 

For me it doesn’t mean cutting out all processed foods, baby wipes or cleaning products. It means finding a balance between living a great life and saving a lot of money. It means cooking more and getting less take out. It means spending more time being quiet or playing than at home. It means carving out time to be a simple family with simple needs. 

How are you living from scratch?  

Christmas Traditions, they're ever changing.

Christmas this year will be extra, extra special because this year we have two sweet babies to celebrate Christmas with us. 

I very vividly and fondly remember celebrating Christmas with Ry, who had just turned one and was celebrating his second Christmas. 

He certainly didn't understand what was happening, but even at one he knew it was a special time. And I set about making traditions and memories, which I talked about here. 

But this... this year we have two wonderful boys. 

This year I made a GIANT to do list of all the things I wanted to do with my boys. And while we did many of them, like driving to see lights, going to a Christmas village and making a Snowman bank, there are a lot of things that just won't happen. 

Weather and naps and fussy babies might prevent us from crossing some of those things off our list. 

It doesn't mean I am sad, and it doesn't mean I am going to stop making lists, it just means that we have to adapt. 

And man we've done some really fun things like making Jesus hand print ornaments. 

Ry sure does love to paint. 

And while Ry wasn't overly impressed with Santa, Issie thought he was great. (Men with beards, we love them.)

We made and ate this snowman pizza. It was delicious! (You put three small crusts together and bake it with your favorite toppings as the face and buttons.)

We ran through not one, but two Santa villages like it was our job!

Even Issie loved those lights at the Santa village. 

I've displayed every nursery school project Ry has brought home. I have hung them PROUDLY on our sad little toddler-friendly tree. 

We've read the Christmas story in Luke and pretty much every toddler-friendly nativity book out there. We've visited several nativities, played with the ones we have at home and talked about the birth of Christ and how He is the reason we celebrate. 

We even made Jesus a birthday cake. 

So, we may not cross it all off, but we've soaked it all in and we've had a great time in the process. 

What are you doing to celebrate the season?

Happy Thanksgiving and a list of gratitude

Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you all have a wonderful day with family and friends. I hope it is a day filled with gratitude and joy and perhaps a little rest. I hope it is a reprieve from your busy and hectic day to day. 

Earlier this week my family sat down and made a list of what we were most thankful for. I thought it would be sweet to write that list on our "turkey." 

The turkey is made from Issie's little foot print and Ry's little hand prints. Every family in America has one of these sweet hand print pictures. 

We decided to write the we were most thankful for on the picture, so that we would always remember the things we cherished when our babies were 2 and 6-months-old. 

So I thought I would break down what each of us said we were thankful for in NO particular order. 

Issie: (6 months) 

Of course Issie can't talk or write so I made his list for him. 

1. Mama

2. Food (again, Mama)

3. Cuddling

4. Daddy

5. Big Brother 

6. His feet (they are his favorite "teething ring.")

Ry: (2 years old) 

1. Daddy

2. Trains

3. Pajamas

4. Nana

5. Paw Paw

6. Mae Mae (his other grandmother) 

7. Juice 

8. Little brother 

Mama and Daddy: (30 years old)

1. Jesus love and salvation

2. Freedom

3. A house to live in

4. Worship

5. Healthy Boys

6. Playtime 

7. Family nearby

8. Books 

The Diaries of a Reluctant Domestic: Out of the Wreckage - Literally

Do you remember the exact moment your life changed forever? 

I do. June 26, 2011 at 7:55 a.m. For those of you keeping up, that was two years ago today. 

It was a Sunday morning. Warm and humid. I was driving to work, down a winding county highway through the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. The morning was hazy and beautiful as the last remnants of sunrise clung to the Georgia Sky. I was five months pregnant and I was finally starting to feel good, the nausea and exhaustion were all but a distant memory. 

I loved my drive to work. My job covering the state and federal court system for our local paper was my dream job. But it was stressful. My 38 minute drive to and from work everyday gave me a much-needed break, a mini vacation, a chance to clear my cluttered mind. 

But on this Sunday morning as I drove to work I had no idea that day’s commute would drastically change my life. 

I didn’t see the van until it was too late to stop my car. 

The driver, in a hurry, on an unfamiliar road, on his way to work, ran a stop sign going 60 miles an hour. 

I didn’t see him until he darted directly in my path. I slammed on the breaks, but it did nothing. My little SUV spun out of control and through a ditch. I was headed directly toward an oak tree. In a moment of clarity I knew if I hit the tree it would probably kill me. So I made a quick right turn and instead ran in to the front porch of a mobile home. The owner was on vacation. 

It took me a moment to catch my breath. It took me another moment to remember how to work the seatbelt. My door was stuck and my car wouldn’t turn off. It was hissing and steaming and I realized that the horrible, guttural, animal sound was coming from me. I was screaming. I found my phone and climbed out of my car through the passenger seat. Something wet ran down my legs. I sat in the ditch and called 911. I begged God to not take my baby. I begged my baby to be safe. I begged 911 to hurry. 

The driver of the van was fine. I learned later he didn’t even call 911. He called his boss. I am still dealing with my anger over that part. 

My husband arrived at the scene in minutes as I was being loaded into an ambulance. I begged the EMT to tell me my baby was okay. He couldn’t give me any answers and instead worked on my leg that he was sure was broken. 

As the EMTs rolled me into the hospital my tears has subsided momentarily, but my prayers had not. “Thy will be done. Thy will be done.” They were the only words I could think of. 

I couldn’t breathe. And I wouldn’t breath until a tiny blonde nurse with a giant smile came bouncing into the triage room where I was being seen.

“Honey, I’m gonna check your baby’s heart rate and I will be in here every 20 minutes,” she said. 

She placed the wand on my belly and I waited. My own heart stopped beating. And then I heard it. Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud. The rapid pounding that was a sign my son was okay. 

This is the part where I need to tell you that four months later I gave birth to a fat, healthy, adorable, gorgeous baby boy. He is my heart. 

But in that moment, when I heard that tiny little heart beating my feelings of being a stay at home mom changed. I wanted it. I wanted it more than I wanted anything in this world. It became the thought that consumed me. It became the thought that got me through the injuries that I received from that wreck. 

My leg wasn’t broken, but it was badly injured. It’s been almost two years and I still walk with a limp, have massive bruising on my leg and a pain that comes and goes. But I have a son who is brilliant and stunning and takes my breath away when I look at him. 

The night after the wreck I couldn’t sleep. For weeks after the wreck I couldn’t sleep. All I could see when I closed my eyes was the white van. I heard the horrible sound of metal on metal. As I drove to work each day I passed the spot and saw the 16 and a half feet of skid marks my tires left on the highway. 

It was the fear of losing my child forever, the fear of not know him and the loss of that feeling of being able to protect him that drove my desire to be at home with him. 

But we were broke. Broke. Broke. Broke. Broke. Broke. 

We have all heard the phrase “where there’s a will there’s a way.” But I learned something greater. Where there’s trust in the Lord there is a way.

I once had someone admire tell me there is nothing I cannot change if I fully commit to it. And I was committed. But I also knew that my will had to match the will of the Lord. So I prayed, “Lord if it is your will for me to stay at home with my son please provide a way. If not then please help me be okay with it.” 

Two weeks after my son was born while I was limping around the house, holding a baby and desperately trying to learn to nurse when another big change happened. 

“I got offered a job,” my husband told me. “It’s double what I make now and the benefits are better.”

I was wide-eyed as I listened to him. It was the perfect situation. 

I say all of this to make this point: You never know what is goint to happen. You never know how your life is going to change. You have little control over it. 

But you do have control over where you put your faith. 

That is why I am suffering as I am. Yet this is no cause for shame, because I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him until that day. 2 Timothy 1:12

Five Ways to Encourage a New Mom

Photo of me and my son (9 days old) by Frame Photography. 

Today I am wearing a cute maternity top and leggings. The top is roomy and comfortable, warm, but not too hot and it's pretty flattering. The best part- it was gifted to me. 

We started attending a new church back in August. Now that our boy is older and more flexible with his routine, attending Sunday School has been easier. But up until this point our interactions have been limited to saying hi to the greater and having a quick chat with the nursery ladies. (Who all rock!)

SO I was surprised when two weeks ago the nursery director said "I brought you a bag of my maternity clothes." 

Her sweet boy is four-months-old and she had determined these were clothes she probably wouldn't need for a while. So she filled a target bag with cute tops and dresses and handed them over to me. It was a huge blessing. I opened the bag to find everything was in my size, all black and smelled of fabric softener. 

I wanted to cry. It was kind and thoughtful and this woman hardly knows me, and yet she felt compelled to bless me anyway. 

I thought about all the new or expecting moms I know and how I can bless them. So I jotted down a few ways that we as a blogging community can help out these women. 

1. Offer free babysitting. I have a friend whose husband is deployed. I can't imagine caring for an infant alone! It would be nothing for me to keep her sweet baby so she could have a much needed break. 

2. Offer to clean house. Those first few weeks can be tough. There is no sleep, babies want to nurse round the clock and a mom can still be in a lot of pain. Offer to clean her house, or better yet, watch the baby while she takes a long shower. 

3. Bring some meals, one for now and one for later. Bring a big ol' bag of food. I love to feed people. It's the old southern lady coming out in me. Take a family a basket of muffins, a casserole for dinner and one to stick in the freezer. If you're super nice include some paper plates. 

Here are some great freezer meals:

Chicken Casserole 

Lasagna Casserole 

Mushroom baked ziti

4. Share some loved favorites. Do you have some favorite books your older children loved? Maybe you have a box of diapers you never worked your way through? Or perhaps you have a nursing pillow, bassinet or infant toys your sweet child no longer needs? Share the love. (And as an added bonus get that stuff out of your house!)  

5. Send an encouraging note. Mail the new mama a card reminding her she is doing a great job. Include a scripture or inspiring passage. Let her know she isn't alone. 

Today I am linked up at The Baby Shower. 

Peace in Contentment

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling weary and overwhelmed and more exhausted than I had the night before. It was one of those mornings where the thought of lifting the covers takes physical strength. 

I woke up frustrated and my inner groaning grew louder and louder. 

"I hate this house," I thought to myself. My little family has been living in this 60-year-old house for a year. We have had mice, spiders and an astronomic electric bill as the result of poor insulation. I get annoyed by the smell of the cows in the field behind my house, the dishwasher that works when it wants to. The tiny bathroom with the loudest pipes known to man that may, or may not wake the baby when you flush the toilet. I was tired of the sound of the dehumidifier that runs 24 hours a day to fight the mold that will begin to grow if it doesn't run. 

"I hate living here," I groaned into my pillow. I began to drift back to sleep when I heard the sound of my husband turning on the shower. It was early, the sun wouldn't rise for another hour and my son wouldn't rise for another two. I wished my husband didn't have to leave for work so early. 

As I tried, once again to get comfortable in my bed I remembered some wise words from my sister. "God honors contentment."

I let out a sigh and I asked God to forgive my inward complaints, to change my attitude and to help me be grateful we even had a place to live.  

After a hectic morning my son went down for a nap and I opened my devotional. It was Philippians 4:10-13.

My life is incredibly good. It is incredibly easy compared to the lives of many I know and it is incredibly comfortable. I do not worry how we are going to pay our bills, feed our child or heat our home. 

I have much in which I can be content. 

Happy New Year- a look back at our 2012

Happy New Year! Did you have a wonderful celebration of 2012? I hope so and I hope that this year brings you joy and peace and love and good health. 

It's been a busy, busy, busy 2012 at the House of Senn and it's only going to get busier with some great new things happening on this blog, in my business and of course with the arrival of our new baby in May. 

But here is a look back at our 2012. 

We started 2012 with a move. We moved from Northwest Georgia to South Alabama when our sweet son was just six weeks old. Talk about stressful. But my husband was offered a great job with great benifits and the move allowed me to stay home with our baby. 

First Valentine's Day. That was supposed to be a heart sewn onto the onesie. Clearly it didn't turn out well. 

St. Patty's Day. Our boy was spoiled with lots of St. Patrick's Day gear from Jason's family. We went to a BBQ festival. We all took a nap when it was over. 

Easter was a big hit!

We tried solids for the first time. Some things  (pears) were not a hit. 

We had a low-key summer. 

Tried to stay cool in July. 

We took swimming lessons. 

We discovered there is a whole world of things to get into. 

We celebrated Halloween. (His first.)

Had a great first birthday.

And he had a GREAT second Christmas. 

2013 is going to be wonderful! Happy New Year.

A Low-Key Christmas, Shrimp and an uninvited "guest"

Hello everyone. Has the wrapping paper cleared? 

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas filled with family and joy. Our Christmas was very low-key and I LOVED it.

After a two-day visit with my husband's family we came home Christmas Eve morning. But not before my Mama called to tell me that we would be celebrating at her house a day late.

My reaction? Great!

That means a stress free Christmas Day. How often does that happen?

So Monday night we had Christmas Eve at our house. Just the three Senns. I cooked my Ranch Shrimp.

This is such a simple recipe. You just throw a pound of shrimp in a pan with some olive oil and packet of dry ranch mix and cook until they are pink and done. 

I served with some delicious grilled squash tossed in olive oil with a little garlic. 

Then it was White Christmas on Netflix and bed time. But not before an uninvited guest was spotted in our kitchen. That's right. Our very own Christmas mouse. EEK! And he brought a friend. I can't even think about it. The mere sight makes me want to vomit. 

So after a little mouse chasing Jason and I went to sleep. 

And when we woke up, Santa had come to visit.

 Sweet boy loved his trucks. 

He's is concentrating hard on riding that zebra. 

Then we made pancakes, took a nap and had a brief visit from my parents. 

We played with our new toys. Ate dinner, watched TV and went to bed. 

It was quiet and peaceful and fun and everything Christmas is supposed to be when we don't get all caught up with the hoopla. 

We sang carols and remembered why we celebrate Christmas, because God loves us enough that He sent His own child to walk among us, teach us and ultimately die for us. 

Starting Christmas Traditions

I fondly remember our Christmas traditions as a child. I remember drinking hot chocolate at the Christmas parade.

I remember getting in the car to go look at Christmas lights. 

I remember leaving a shoe on the front porch and returning home to find that Mrs. Claus had left a treat in our shoe. (This is something my mother started.)

My mother would make seafood every year on Christmas eve. 

These are fun traditions that you live with, that you carry with you to your own family. 

I love this photo. Our sweet friends at Photo by Frame Photography were kind enough to come to our home last year and take this photo. 

Last year our little boy was just six weeks old when Christmas arrived. So he slept through most of it. 

But this year has been a whole different ball game. 

He loves to playing with Christmas theme toys.

Particularly the Little People Nativity  my Mama gave him last year. 

He loves the way the Baby Jesus lights up. 

He has enjoyed reading Christmas books. His favorite was "O Little Town of Bethlehem" which both lit up and played music. 

Every night Jason reads him two books, one a fun book about Christmas. The other is a story about the first Christmas written for children. My sister was kind enough to give us a HUGE bag of Christmas books last year. So we have plenty to choose from. 

He likes looking at the tree, we put it in our sun room to keep him from pulling off ornaments. One year olds are a bit destructive!

He loves dancing to Christmas music and dances to it when we listen on Pandora. 

I even let him watch a little Charlie Brown last night and he loved it. 

But I think my favorite thing we did this year was taking him to "A Walk Through Bethlehem" at a local church. It was a great way to share the story of Christ's birth in a way that the baby could hear, see and thanks to the real live stock, smell. 

It was beautiful and moving and he loved to hear the singing, see the sheep that the "sheperds" were tending to and watch all of the people. 

 Here we are waiting our turn at the church. Clearly the baby is mesmerized by all the Christmas lights!

I am excited to come up with traditions for our growing family and I am excited to watch as my child (and one day soon children) discover all there is to love about the season. 

What are you doing as a family to create memories? 

This post contains affiliate links. 

Saying good bye to a sweet friend

Yesterday my husband came home to find that our dog, Millie, had died. It was unexpected. She had spent much of the day barking at the farm workers tearing up the peanut field behind our house.

She was a healthy, happy, sweet, seven-year-old dog. She was a good dog and we will miss her.

I got Millie when I was still in college, living alone in a town house my last semester of school. I was nervous to be alone and my fiance, now husband, suggested I get a dog.

I immediately wanted her when I saw her. She was black as night and fuzzy and sweet as she can be.

Millie stood guard over the town house while I was in class. She slept at the foot of my bed, ready to pounce. She stole pizze from the dining room table (true story!).

When Jason and I got married and moved to Atlanta, Millie patiently endured living on the thirf floor of a walk up.

When we bough out first house she was happy to play in the back yard, enjoying the suburbs.

But her real personality came out when we moved to the country. Her huntress came out. She even caught, killed and ate a rabid skunk and had to be quarantined for six months (true story!).

Last summer I was in a wreck that injured my right leg. Sometimes I walk with a slight limp. In February Millie got kicked by a cow and injured her front right leg. She walked with a slight limp after that. Every day she accompanied my down the driveway, where we both limped to the mail box.

She will always be the sweet baby puppy who met me at the car every day. She will always be the good girl who howled at the dangers of creatures like raccoons. And she will always be the dog that made our sweet baby boy giggle at the sight of her.

Ch-ch-changes

Us, childless, circa fall 2008This weekend we celebrated my nephew and niece's birthdays. My nephew turned five and my niece turned four.

It got me thinking about all the things that have changed since 2008.

In Oct. 2008 I was working as a nanny. The newspaper I had been working for folded and I was left without a job. I quickly found one working for a family with small children.

I'm not gonna lie. I hated it. The boy I was keeping was wild. And I mean wild! He was a cute as cute could be, but man... wild. That's the only word I can think of.

My husband had taken a HUGE pay cut and we were scraping by.

We were living just outside of Atlanta in a home we had purchased two years earlier. (It snowed in January 2009.)

It doesn't seem like four years since we were living in that house with what felt like a big set of worries.

A lot has happened in four years. I never would have thought that in 2012 I would be living back near my hometown, with a baby. I didn't think I would be a work at home mom. I wouldn't have guessed that I would have all these blessings.

This past December when my husband was offered his new job I was talking to my sister about how I couldn't believe we were getting everything we wanted. My husband would get a better job with better benefits (and I'm not gonna lie, more money) and I was going to get to stay home.

"God honors contentment," my sister said. And she's right. He does.

But when you have these two guys it's hard not to be content.

Tales from the house on the hill Part 4: Skipping Christmas

My husband loves Christmas. He loves all holidays. He is like a little boy. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. He loves them. He loves the music and the movies and of course, the food.

But two years ago, there was no Christmas at our house.

It had been barely six weeks since my husband's dad had died unexpectedly. I asked him if he wanted to put up the tree. He shook his head. "My heart aches," he said. So I left it at that.

There had been years in the past where we were tired and busy, and frankly a little weary from life. (I laugh at that now. How are two 25 year olds weary of life? 2008. We were all there, right?) During these times we had forgone decorating our whole house, opting instead to just hand a wreath on the door and pull out the tree with just white lights and call it a day.

But Christmas 2010 we didn't even do that. The tree stayed in the box in the barn. The wreath stayed there with it. We listened to music when it came on the radio and we did out Christmas shopping, but there was no joy in our house.

I told a coworker this much. "It's just strange for me because I know my husband loves the holiday so much. Maybe I could get a poster of a tree or something."

Then the coworker grabbed a Sprite bottle, wrapped it in silver ribbon and stole an ornament from the company Christmas tree.

"Everyone needs a tree," he said.

I took the "tree" home. I put it on the shelf in our hallway. That was our tree that year. It was a good representation of everything we were feeling. A little discarded, a little hopeful and a little loved.

I don't still have that tree. It fell off the shelf and fell apart. But I remember a friend who cared enough to make me laugh.

Little did my husband and I know that a year later we would have one of the best Christmases of our lives. But that story comes a little later.

Next week: A spring wedding.

There's a mouse in the kitchen...

Photo credit

Last night we ate take out pizza. There is not recipe today because there is a mouse in my kitchen. This means I am not setting foot in there.

Yesterday I was sitting on my couch, eating my lunch. I was taking a much needed five minute break while the baby napped. I had just gotten a ton of work done and needed to let my brain rest. (I own my own business. You should check it out here)

So I was eating left over red beans and rice when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I looked again and saw a mouse scurry across the doorway to the kitchen.

I am ashamed to say that I was a cliche. I stood on the couch, screamed, cried, called my husband and begged him to come home.

Let's be clear. There are a lot of things I can handle. If I see a spider I just smack it was a magazine and go about my day. If I see a roach I kill it and move on. I am not afraid of clowns, or needles or the dark. But I HATE vermin. I see a mouse and I want to throw up!

So as soon as the baby woke up we left the house. Yes. That's how much I hate mice. I left my house and went to Lowe's and purchased $23 in mouse traps. Not the humane kind. (Feel free to tell me how terrible I am that I want the mouse dead.)

So needless to say last night Sweet Husband brought home a $5 pizza.

The mouse saga continues...

Tales from the house on the hill Part 3: Echo

A tree in the yard of the house on the hill.

Is there a moment so crystallized in your brain that you can hear it, feel it, taste it and smell it? I have one of those. A couple actually and I wish I didn't.

We had lived in the little blue house on the hill for seven months when I got the call.

My husband had been working in Augusta off and on for several weeks. It was early November. It was still surprisingly humid and it had gotten dark outside. I was sitting on the couch, eating a salad and watching a rerun of "The Daily Show" when my husband called.

"I have bad news," he said.

My husband is a little bit of a joker. But the sweet kind. So I expected, "I have bad news, the McRib isn't coming back."

I didn't expect what followed. No one did.

"I have bad news," he said. "My dad died."

Echo.... My dad died.

I had to ask him to repeat himself.

"My dad died."

My husband's father was in his early 60's. He was in pretty good shape. He was a police officer. Well known. Well respected. Well loved. And he had unexpectedly and without warning died.

I could hear in my husband's voice that he- my strong, manly, masculine husband who very seldom shows emotion- was close to breaking.

What do you say? What do you say to comfort the person you love the most in the world? But I had no time to say anything.

"I'm on my way home," he said and then the phone clicked off.

I made four phone calls. I called two of my bosses to let them know I wasn't coming in the rest of the week and I needed to make plans for people to cover my beat and take over my assignments. The news cycle doesn't stop just because your world has fallen in on itself.

I called my parents who prayed with me and my sister who prayed with me and then I sat in the silence of the tiny living room, listening to my own breathing.

What do you say?

For the second time in my life I found myself alone after just having heard that someone I love died. I opened mouth and all that I could think to pray was the first few lines of the Lord's prayer. "Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."

I once heard "Thy will be done," referred to as the prayer that never fails. And it is. The Lord's will will be done. But it's up to us to accept that will. To understand why has something has happened and what good could possibly come of it.

And there are things we will never understand.

My husband arrived home late on Nov. 8, 2010. We silently packed our bags and headed to South Alabama. We arrived in the wee hours of the morning. And we said little to each other.

I still find it hard to find the words to comfort my husband, almost two years later. I feel at times I messed it up completely. I said the wrong words at the wrong time. I stepped all over myself. But perhaps that's not the point.

Maybe we are not meant to say anything at all. Maybe we are just meant to sit silently next to the person we love and think fondly of those we lost and let the good memories echo.

Next week: A Year Without Christmas

 Part 1

Part 2

Tales from the house on the hill Part 2: Looking for a sign

We had lived in the house on the hill six days when it happened.

I was standing on the sidelines of soccer practice, shielding my eyes from the sun with my reporters note book when I heard the explosion.

The girls scrimmaging on the field stopped and we all turned in the same direction to find the source of the noise.

Across town a house had exploded. No not the house on the hill. Another house. But who knew someone else's disaster would change my life?

A rational person does not run to an explosion site. Reporters are not rational people.

It was 1 a.m. before I returned to the house on the hill. Exhausted but happy. I loved breaking news and I loved not having to drive two hours after a long day. 

Two weeks later I got "the call."

The call was from the (now former) editor of the daily paper. The lead paper owned by the man who owned the little weekly I was working for.

She was impressed by my work covering the house explosion and wanted to know if I was interested in working at the daily paper. And not just work there- did I want to cover the state and federal court system in Rome, Ga? Seriously.

It had always been my dream to work at a daily. A massive underlined statement in my life plan.

It isn't always easy, stepping into your own plans. The weekly paper was where I was warm and loved and cared for. It was a hard decision and it took me two full weeks, a lot of praying, talking to my bosses and family and friends.

One day I was IM'ing with my friend

Sarah.

I told her I was looking for a sign.

"I don't believe in signs," Sarah said. "But it you're looking for one don't you think your mind is already made up?"

She's a smart one, that Sarah. In fact, she is the kindest, most rational person I know.

Even if we do disagree on signs.

But it was hard. I was stepping out of my sweet little world where I covered stories about fund raisers and giant water melons and into a place where I got so nervous I forget my own name, and lock myself in the bathroom to cry every day for two weeks straight.

And then one day it just got easier. Isn't that the way life goes?

Next week: Echo

Tales From the House on the Hill Part 1: I'm Home

Tales from the house on the hill Part 1: I'm home

I'm Home-

The first time I saw the little blue house on the hill I knew I was home.

It was a rainy day in March. It was unseasonably cool for Georgia and there was mud everywhere. We drove our little Saturn up the gravel driveway, across a rickety little bridge and to the little blue house on the hill.

Our home was supposed to sell soon. We had a buyer in the wings and we had to get out fast. (Side note, this sale did NOT happen. The house wouldn't sell for another year. But we will get to that later.)

I had been driving 95 miles one way to work everyday to work here, the best twice weekly newspaper in ALL of Georgia.

Also, our financial situation was a far cry from when we had bought our house in Metro Atlanta. The economy had hit us pretty hard. My husband took a HUGE paycut and the company I was working for closed and it had taken me a long time to find that newspaper job in Northwest Georgia.

I had been making the drive for almost a year. It was getting to be too much.

So it was time to move. The landlord had left the key hidden behind the electric meter. We walked through the tiny and empty house. It was a far cry from the house we were leaving.

"This bedroom is the size of our closet," my husband said.

We took it.

So we moved to the little blue house with the little red barn and we set up shop.

It was Easter weekend when my husband's parents moved us in. I am not a good mover. While I was happy to be selling the house in Atlanta (although it took much, much longer than I wanted) it hurt to leave it. Selling that house felt like a failure.

Leaving Atlanta for the hills felt like we were running from something. There were hurt feelings and tears and anger. Truthfully, I was a little depressed. So each box I watched my husband pack, hurt.

I just wanted to lie on the floor. At one point my mother-in-law had to tell me to get up and pack a box.

The move ended in tears. It was bad. Moves don't bring out the best in people do they?

But the little blue house it held a lot of possibility and once the tears stopped, I was happy to embrace those possibilities.

Next week: Looking for a sign.