Thursday, May 5, 2016

Letting Go

   I've been spring cleaning for the last two weeks. I'm not sure that that's even an appropriate title for it though, since what I'm really doing is cleaning one area of this place while the kids destroy another. So lets just say I entertain myself with cleaners, scrubbing, and organizing in different areas of the house until it is no longer recognizable that I did so, and I either choose to repeat the process or hide in my closet with a book and check out of life for a little bit.

   So yes. Our school room had become a room piled with books and curriculum, notebooks and crafts. I spent much of the day sifting through and reorganizing piles of papers while walking around this little baby rocking seat. It's the same one I'd set Adeline in as a baby and rock with my toes while I stirred dinner. The same one I'd sit Gideon in while I potty trained Adeline. The same one Selah sat in while her older sister and brother would perform tricks for her to watch and wonder at. The same one all three of the older ones would push Ryder around in a train of little children I'd made. It's been forgotten and unoccupied in this room for a year now, and I'd walked around it from one pile to another all morning. I am not a stuff person. I don't tend to covet things. It is quite easy for me to give things away or throw them out. So I thought I'd take this chair, a purple Bumbo I used for all 4, and the high chair that has been collecting dust in the corner of my kitchen, and let them go.

   A year and nine months ago my baby was born through what was an extremely traumatic birth. Here on this blog I have a birth story for all of my other three, but I've never been able to share about Ryder's because it's hard enough to think about, impossible to speak about, and just too soon to share even almost two years later. Because all 4 of my pregnancies threatened my own life and the life of the babies I carried we spontaneously chose to have my tubes tied after prominent urging from medical professionals that I trusted. Pregnancy was the hardest thing I'd ever been through, and to think it was finally just a piece I could lay in the past was something I thought I was ready for. 10 hours after the procedure my husband left my side and went home to care for our 3 older children. He called me on his way home and said a sentence I never saw coming and will likely never forget. "I'd do anything, pay anything, to ever undo this surgery."

   All of the bravery I'd mustered suddenly vanished, and I immediately knew I'd made a mistake. I looked down at the baby in my arms and knew I'd never get to do this again. The pain inside of me was completely unbearable, and I cried uncontrollably for days. Pregnancy was my ultimate low but my newborns. They were the high of my life completely erasing the trenches I tried to claw my way out of to bring them to this Earth. Those trenches were so deep only Jesus himself lifted me above and graced me with these gifts that blinded me of the battle it took to hold them. First baths, the smell of newborn skin, the way my heart felt as their daddy held them so small in his arms so strong, the long nights I never complained about because baby breath on my neck was enough to trump sleep deprivation. I live for it all. Every scoop of heavenly sweetness that a new life brings to my arms and my heart.

and it was over for me.

I'd wake up next to this little life nuzzled in between his daddy and me, and I'd cry that one day it would be the last time he fit so perfectly right under my neck to my elbow.

People would pry as they do and question whether he was our last or not, and I'd try my hardest to fight my swollen throat to answer them and tears would beat my words out.

He'd grow out of onesie sizes, and I'd look at the clothes and absolutely lose it because I'd never have a tiny body to put back in one.

   I was depressed for months with the overwhelming feeling that I took God's design for my family and signed a consent form to make it my design instead. I'd been weak for 41 weeks of pregnancy, and postpartum was usually my shine time, redemption. This time though, it was prolonged weakness that I could not rise above. It immersed me when I least expected it. Pumping gas looking into my car and watching his little chest rise up and down in his car seat while he slept. Nursing him and studying every single shade of blue in his eyes and memorizing the dimples in his hands. I felt more guilt than I could even sift through for the surgery, and today it is still the biggest regret of my life.

   But I wanted my strength back. I was tired of being so weak and tired of being so consumed with my mistake. I worked really hard at controlling my emotions. I was really good at turning happy on, and really good at masking sadness. Jesus was the only one who knew the true condition of my heart, and soon enough he asked me to trust Him with it. I became so emotionally exhausted every day I knew I didn't have a choice. So I began to pray that he'd fuse my tubes together and perform a miracle that I could use to to reflect his Sovereignty. It was hard to even pray the words because I knew placing my faith in them could either result in the miracle I was asking for or an empty hope and prolonged aching for it. I prayed anyway.

 And soon I let it go.

That doesn't mean every now and then I don't pick it back up.

It means I gave it away, and a lot of times I have to keep giving it away.

It means that I understand when He makes all things new, my burdens are considered, my mistakes redeemed.

It means the ashes I waded through are being worked into beauty that will be for my good.

I've got a promise, and I'm faithful whatever that looks like it will be greater than I could have ever chosen.

   So I took the chairs that seated some of my most precious memories, and I walked outside and put them to the road. I arranged them respectfully near the curb, not too close to the road, but not to far away to be overlooked. I walked inside, and I cried.
Then I walked back outside to bring them back.
and they were gone.

I let them go.

I texted Philip at work and told him what I'd done. (I feel as though it is only fair to warn him on days like those about my emotional instability so that he isn't blindsided when he walks through the door at night)

"What if we get to adopt a baby, and he or she won't have chairs?"
(because I should also mention that when I am having "one of these days" I am also dumb as rocks.)

He said:
"We'll be just fine, ma."

and I believe him.
So I let it go.

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Selah Turns 3

 Three years ago today during a hurricane to our coast, this ray of pink and purple hazed sunlight was born.
 You might think the sweetest things about her is her love for baby dolls, princesses, make up, and pretty shoes because she is all girl all the time by complete nature of her sparkly heart, but the sweetest thing about this Selah girl is her gentle love for this life.

There's a space in her daddy's heart reserved just for her, and she has this baby-girl type intuition as to when it's needing some loving. If his arms are empty and his lap is vacant you can find a little Tater Tot and probably a baby doll crawling up and nestling right in the place she's claimed as hers. Don't ever stop.

She is so intuitive that she can choose the moment I think I'm secretly on verge of a breakdown to offer to brush my hair, which is a God-given gift of its own, because thank you Jesus that you gave me a girl who loves to brush my hair. Thank you.

If her big brother and sister are bickering or wrestling or playing rough of any sort she's on the side begging them to stop and be soft, pleading for resolution or peace. You make all the difference.

If her little brother is squirming or fussing to escape a diaper change, shes right above him stroking his hair line, and quietly singing her ABC's in his ear. Sing every day.

She's got such a sweet and gentle spirit that we all adore, and although I hope her years are slow, steady, and sweet, I can't wait to see the impact she makes to nurture this world and it's people.

Baby girl you are so loved. Happy Birthday!

Ryder's One

The baby just had his first birthday, and although he didn't have the slightest clue it was a special day that's just how immensely he is loved daily.
 Ryder. You haven't been the easiest baby, but you could have been any way in the entire world, and I would have cherished you just the same. The day you were born was the hardest of my entire life, and next to the lump in my throat every day since has been a swollen part of my heart just for you boy.

You would think the fourth time around I would have grazed through the motions, knowing where every milestone corner leads us. I didn't though. I wiped the professional baby maker/caretaker slate clean, and I followed your every cue, every growth, every moment with a deep breath committed to cherishing every fleeting moment of your first year. It goes too fast, and forget the parenting stuff I thought I knew, that is the one thing I do know.

and I was right.
Your head only held on to newborn smell for a few short weeks, but don't think I don't still smell it anyway.

Your toes wiggle now inducing giggles when I brush my fingers across them, that is if you're sitting still long enough for me to catch them.

I still kiss you, side ways on the bridge of your nose to your forehead, and despite the awkward positioning, I do it because I've done it since the day you were born, and I want to savor every day until I can't.

You still ball your fists up on my chest and cross your ankles on my lap when you nurse, and I would be lying if I said I don't close my eyes and pretend you were little enough again to not crawl away when you're done.

You are still the lightest sleeper on planet Earth, yet I still venture around you while you sleep to watch you dream.

The dishes, laundry, chores don't stand a chance on the days you doze off in my arms because there's not a thing out there that is more important to me than holding you close.

Happy 1st year, Ryder.
Thank you for teaching me how to cherish the details in the short time they exist.

P.S. I'm sorry that I sometimes still try to swaddle you.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

A Happy Birthday Letter to Gideon

    Sometimes I feel bad that your birthday is on Valentine's Day. While the world is celebrating love, chocolates, and cheap stuffed animals holding hearts, we are celebrating you. Valentine's Day is a sweet day though, so your daddy always gets me those chocolate-covered strawberries I love so much along with valentine's for your sisters, because that's just what daddy's do. We bake you a cake, sing to you, squeeze on you, and get you presents too though, since your birthday will forever on trump Valentine's Day for me. You never mind sharing your birthday love, and I love that that's who you are. You really never mind sharing anything. I sometimes watch in confusion as you often sit next to a sister during a movie with a tiny corner of blanket to cover with, while the rest are bundled under wrinkles and layers of the same blanket. My heart swells when I'm handing out snacks, or dinner plates, or really anything and you deliver to everyone else before taking yours. Even playing with your sisters you are such a natural born gentleman with taking turns and sharing toys. You are the perfect Valentine's Day child. Such a lover, sharer, and giver of joy.
     As equally as you are sweet, you are courageous. Curious. Lover of wild things. You take risks that make my pulse race. At our non existent annual Kebodeaux award ceremony, you would receive the "resilience award". That's just a pleasant title for the award meaning you get hurt more often than any one else because you chase adventure, and often times split your chin open, bang your head, or bruise your tiny body while doing so. Then after a short cry you shake it off and do it again. Resilience award. At our award ceremony that is not even a thing. You're welcome son, but thank your daddy because you get this from him-not me.
You are smart beyond expectation. You drew the state of Texas on a magnadoodle at freshly 3 years old, when I didn't even know you knew Texas was in existence. I often think while Adeline and I are doing 1st grade school work you are jumping off of the couch saving Selah from pirates but really I think you are multitasking and learning to read as you fly through the air, past the ottoman, only to land on the dog/the pirate. Because when you pass by the table chasing Scarlet with a plastic sword and finish the sentence your sister is reading and she wants to punch you, please understand that it is only out of awe that you even had enough brainpower directed our way while fighting the lazy eye, underbite canine pirate in the living room. You are so bright my guy. You're welcome. Because I'm going to claim that trait.
    You are lover of the skies. The moon, starts, and sun. Every night you confess your dreams of being an astronaut, and I can't help but to listen to your stories of fantasies on rocket ships bouncing from star to star, planet to planet as I sit captivated by the way your eyes light up when you talk about exploring the moon. I can't blame you, dude. Space stuff is so cool. Like you. and your hair. because you have really cool hair. So cool that I get snappy at strangers who bend over to tell you it needs to be cut out of your face. You just swipe it to the side and hug them. Because that's how entirely cool you are, Gideon.
     Most days my mom uniform includes sweat pants, a tee shirt, and a messy bun. Some days I brush my hair, put some make up on, and wear denim. Every single one of those days you tell me I am beautiful. Every one of them.You usually don't want anything, and you always mean it. I'll never forget a few months ago, looking in the mirror at myself feeling pretty bad. Ryder was just a few weeks old, and I sat there with my tired eyes and observed a body I didn't even recognize. I took my hair down and started to brush 3 days worth of tangles as the lump in my throat grew and I fought tears. You walked in and saw me brushing my hair and you said with a gasp in your voice, "Mommy, you are so beautiful. I love you so much." and I love you way more than that sweet guy. I wish I could believe that this was exclusive to you and me, but it's not. On days that Adeline sits by her bedroom window playing dolls and the sun runs through her dirty blonde hair, you stop throwing pillows at her fan blades to tell her how beautiful she is. On days that Selah hijacks my make up and does some really interesting art things with eyeshadow all over her face, you tell her she is so beautiful even with make up that makes her look funny. Teenage girls walk in to Chic-fil-et next to us, and you charm them with compliments as they melt at the way you exaggerate your 'u' in 'beautiful'. You're going to make a stellar husband one day. Until then, I'm glad you're mine.
    You were my hardest pregnancy. You were my hardest labor. You have been the easiest baby, my Gideon. I'd do it all again and again for you. I don't feel a sadness because your older today, but I do feel an enormous amount of gratitude that I get the honor of watching your charm and love unfold into this personality I'm so in love with. You are so loved, Gideon. Happy Birthday.

Thursday, February 5, 2015

My 6-year Old

Oh, my girl.
6 years ago right now we were in a stuffy hospital room with handsy nurses and an idiot doctor with a golf game to get to. It had been such a hard pregnancy, such a long wait. There was a couple of points where my life was in danger, and then one point where hers was. The doctor sent me home at 20 weeks pregnant with a "50% chance of losing her". I had been at my weakest up until then, but when that percentage was tossed at my feet, and that clinic room door slammed I rose up. She rose up. We've been battling together since that day. 15 hours of hard labor with a doctor constantly threatening me with surgery if we didn't meet her timeline. We did not. But as Adeline likes to do, she made her own. 5:25, 20 minutes of pushing and I was a momma to an 8lb 1oz 21inch long baby girl.

She didn't take it easy on breaking me in either.
We had nursing issues for 6 weeks until we finally got everything right.
She had colic tendencies and cried ALL of the time.
The only way she would sleep was on my chest.
The only way she was content was if we walked circles around our house bouncing and swaying.

Toddler and preschool years were not much different.
She reached milestones weeks and months early only preparing herself and me to get into trouble earlier than the rest.
Early walker, talker, and learner which was equally bitter as it was sweet.
We would rate her temper tantrums in "Category 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5s".
The 5s were bad. Those required both of us.
So many nights we'd lay in bed repenting our mistakes, questioning our methods, and searching our hearts as to the best way to parent this strong-willed beautiful hurricane child.
She's always been sensitive. Always been passionate. Always tough.

There hasn't been much that came easy when it came to Adeline.
Except loving her.
There is no challenge that could make us love her any less. No trait. No flaw.
I love Adeline as passionately as she loves this life.
As passionately as she loves Jesus.
As passionately as she loves people.
As passionately as she loves that stuffed turtle she's had since she was 4 months old.
As passionately as she loves art, dance, and creating.
As passionately as she loves to cuddle with her daddy.
As passionately as she loves babies, particularly mine.

And if you know Adeline, then you know that means I love her a lot.
We are celebrating 6 years of passion and life and so much unconditional love for this child today. Happy Birthday my sweet Adeline Jean.

and because do come here often to see posts about the kids I've written in the past, I found this question post on her 3rd birthday entry. I re-asked her all of the same questions, and I was surprised most of them haven't changed.

1. What is your favorite color? green
2. What is your favorite toy? my turtle
3. What is your favorite fruit? apple
4. What is your favorite tv show? Doc McStuffins
5. What is your favorite thing to eat for lunch? Jelly and Butter sandwich
6. What is your favorite outfit? Mickey and Minnie pajamas
7. What is your favorite game? hide and go seek
8. What is your favorite snack? crackers and peanut butter
9. What is your favorite animal? Turtles!
10. What is your favorite song? 'Let it Go'
11. What is your favorite book? Tinkerbelle
12. Who is your best friend? Lily!
13. What is your favorite cereal? Apple Jacks
14. What is your favorite thing to do outside? ride my bike and scooter
15. What is your favorite drink? tea
16. What is your favorite holiday? my birthday
17. What do you like to take to bed with you at night? My turtle
18. What is your favorite thing to eat for breakfast? pancakes
19. What do you want for dinner on your birthday? tacos
20. What do you want to be when you grow up? mommy

Oh kid. Here's to six.

Monday, December 22, 2014


There was this really rad cookie recipe I had memorized and posted on this blog years ago.
With 4 kids and a million responsibilities I forget everything that was ever even "memorized", so I sat down here to look up the link.

Then I read back to all of the words I threw out on the internet over the years and got embarrassed and walked away. Now I'm back looking at pictures and stories and statistics of all of my babies that I had forgotten I so adequately recorded.

So here I am, half of my kids are napping at present, one working on school work, and the other at my lap gnawing on my thumb as I type.

Oh that one's my newest, Ryder.

He was born August 25th, at a time I'd have to go look up because I don't remember.

He was 9lbs 9oz, my biggest most chunkiest overdue baby!

Birth is incredible.

I've done it 4 different times, 4 different experiences, and there is no one word that comes close to describing it.
 Incredible comes closest.

It's the one day that's simultaneously the worst and best day of your life.
A day filled with excruciating pain only to be quickly soothed by an abundance of love you never knew existed.
Every single emotion packed in a matter of hours.
Vulnerability masked with the epitome of strength.
Complete joy accompanied with continual tears.
Exhaustion beyond what a human is capable of experiencing, but as if one miracle was not enough, we get through that too.

I thought about writing about Ryder's birth, but now, almost 4 months later I still don't have the composition or the controlled emotions from that day.
But he is


2014 hurt.

It was hard.
But we overcame, and I have a whole new, precious life to love, and for that reason, 2014 wasn't all that terrible.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

A Messenger's Journey

I'm pregnant.

        (taken December 25th, 2013, when I was maybe 4 weeks and joyfully able to function)

Like 30 weeks pregnant.
For the fourth time.

So, that's what's been up since I last wrote.
Puke, heartburn, sciatica, exhaustion, swelling, carpel tunnel, pain, hyperemesis gravardium, pain, fainting, hospitals, depression for the second time in my life, healing, pain.

I started blogging here when I was sick during my pregnancy for Adeline, my first, and have continued blogging over those 5 years and through my other pregnancies. I often go back and reread my frame of mind in different stages, and I was thinking how exhaustion let me abandon documenting this go round.
So I'm writing for sake of those re-reading ronde-vous I take some times.

After I had Selah in August of 2012 I remember looking around the hospital room as I held my newborn. Everything in me was prepared for this "last birth", and as I joyfully soaked in the end of pregnancy for me and the beginning of another tiny little life in my arms something in the back of my head said "hold tight".

I changed out of my hospital gown shortly after giving birth and into my change of clothes, and as I glanced in that mirror in the bathroom, I remember thinking so clearly I get me back. I can wake up without throwing up, and I can move around without feeling weak and dizzy, and I can be a momma to the babies that need me instead of popping another dvd in while run cold water under my wrists praying that I don't throw up again. I would get to clean my house, and bend over to pick the toys up. I could go out in the heat and not have to worry about passing out or being embarrassed when my bladder loses control because I'm gagging on the scent of a perspiring human 10 feet away from me. I get me back.

We brought our precious baby girl back to a house with no electricity in the middle of Hurricane Issac, my other two babies had developed bronchitis and pink eye while I was in the hospital. Some would call that stressful, but I was no longer pregnant, and not pregnant is when I'm better equip to conquer, and I was ON TOP OF THE WORLD.

Newborns are exhausting. Especially to a nursing momma of two other little ones. So when Selah was just 2 weeks old and Philip rubbed her head and put his hand on my back, lowered his face to my ear and said "One more, momma. Don't you just want one more?"

One more what?
Hour of sleep?
Sure. take her.

I knew what he said though. Because he said it several more times over the course of weeks and months, until somewhere along that course of resistance God gave me a peace and a change of heart, and I knew we'd bring another baby into the world at some point.

We were on our second ever family vacation. We had saved every last penny of our tax return and every dime in between to go to Disney world in December. We got there and I knew.

The first trip on Space Mountain, I got off and told Philip, "I've got to be pregnant."
His response was, "Cool." as he carried on down to the next attraction with Gideon on his shoulders.
The rest of the day I kept thinking and wondering and tossing around dates in my head, but I know my body, and I knew I felt pregnant. We got to our hotel that night, and he made me take a test.
The rule was: "If it's positive, then we know, and you take it easy on the rides and the trip and we thank God for the healthy baby and pregnancy we claim. If it's negative then don't stress another second over it and we have the vacation we saved for."
The test was negative.
and Philip was positive we were not pregnant.

But I've been there a time, or three, and my body was telling me I was.
He pushed me to ride and have fun, and vacation as if I weren't carrying a tiny little baby, and any time I tried to tell him of a symptom, he'd tell me to chill out and quit being crazy.

We had one of the best weeks of our lives that week. It was so fun. Our last night in the parks, we stayed out until 2 am. 3 zonked out babes in strollers and in our arms, and we just soaked in those last moments of vacation wonder. Ya'll we even made out in Paris. Kinda. Paris World Showcase in Epcot. and by made out I mean that we kissed for lasting seconds for probably a half a minute.

We went back to the hotel and I packed all of our things up for hitting the road the next morning as the rest of my people dreamed of Mickey bars and princesses along the tune of "It's a Small World." I slept three hours before the alarm woke me up, and when it did.

I was pregnant.
I knew.
No denying it. So I took the other test from the pack and it was pretty positive.

So we're in this thing again.

and it was hard.

My HG diagnosis was early this time, and my hospital admissions were more frequent.
The stress was intense, and like my pregnancy with Gideon, depression flooded me.
No matter how hard I cried out for Jesus, I felt abandoned, lonely, sick, and broken.

For all of the early months I cried. Daily. I missed Adeline and Gideon's birthdays in February because I was too sick to even leave the bathroom floor. March came and I was worn down.
I had such horrible side effects to the medications that were keeping me alive that I stopped taking them. I went to the doctor for a regular check up one Thursday, and I drove myself for the first time in weeks. I didn't faint, I didn't throw up, I just.... had a check up.... and made it through alone without my body going all dramatic in front of strangers. I drove home. I wanted a burger.
I was not stupid enough to eat a burger, but I wanted one. That alone was an immediate victory. Those few normal tasks were absolutely an extraordinary happening.  My friend texted to check and see how my appointment went, when I told her about my burger craving, and that I came home to eat a lolly pop, and something else small I can't remember now, but neither of which came up. She told me there were a couple dozen people fasting and praying for me that day, when two days before that I was in a hospital bed where I was so malnourished that for a short time we feared we had lost our baby. She let me know that some of them would be coming to my house that evening to pray with me, which yea, I was cool with. People prayed a lot with me and for me during these months, and I appreciated every single word, but at this point, I had lost hope because not a single prayer had changed my condition.

I was laying on the couch around 4:30 when in a moment I saw shadows overcome my windows. All of my windows. Simultaneously. I got scared enough to almost puke on the couch right there. I looked out of my back door where two dozen people were gathered at my home to pray for me. I am a forgetful person. Notoriously forgetful. But I will never forget the evening that people who had no idea where my wicked gross heart was in those hard, hard weeks were gathered around and being my strength when I didn't deserve it. Praying for me. Declaring healing and life into me. and showing me that I was worth every breath that my aching savior was breathing into me as I slowly started to turn my back on Him.
I have never been so simultaneously broken and rejuvenated in my life.
I have never seen Jesus show up, the way He did through my friends in my back yard that day.
I will always be grateful for those hearts.

That weekend I ate food, and fed ducks, and sat up on the couch, and walked to the bathroom by myself.

and we believed I was healed.
Because I was healed.
I was healed of the depression and the debilitating sickness that left me literally clinging for my life on 3 separate occasions this pregnancy.
I was healed of the lies I was beginning to believe of my worth and the value and plans of the life inside of me.
I was healed.

and I clung to that so hard.

The HG wasn't gone completely, but soon enough it had relented enough to give me life back again.

During my pregnancies I struggle a lot with this sickness, and have always had real struggles with my relationship with Christ during this time. This time, while the sickness and ailments have been a little worse on my body, Jesus has held me through, just as he did all the others, but this time I held on back.

My health has taken a plunge lately, as the sickness has been intensifying in a relapse type fashion. The best way to ease it is to take medicine that gives me side effects that I would rather suffer without it. The goal is to not have en empty stomach, so I am constantly having to eat, when it is the last thing I often want to do. Then, we battle to keep it down, and I have to eat again. It makes no sense. It has no reason, but it is what it is, and I'm in a place where I am being held, and loved on, and I just wanted to take a minute on this night, while my three are cozy in bed, and I am up, thank you insomnia, to revisit where He met me. Where He picked me up. Because sometimes we fall again, and need to just be picked up. Again.

We both wanted a boy this time, and honestly from the very start, just knew we were having one. He has been such a calm little baby considering the chaos my body stores him in. We struggled on naming him though, mostly because Philip thinks I chose "hippie" names and I think he chooses "are you kidding me?" names. Both of which are probably accurate.

I gave up though, because his will is stronger than mine.
and I am tired.
So he won. It's okay, I named the girls, he's got the boys.

This little one is Ryder.

His name means "A knight; a messenger"

and it has been our prayer that he comes into this world with The Message.

I am 30 weeks now, and basically am feeling about like this:
and this:

heavy on the whining.
heavy on the hurting.
and even heavier on the heavy.

But I'm almost done.
and then I get me back.

Plus a little tiny messenger to love on, which does
in the end
make it worth it.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

A Memory Adventure to Preserve

I'm sitting in my chilly office chair while my three napping children are giving me my well-earned break of the day.
There's a big white spaced template in front of me, and it's been a while.

My fingers are typing, and words are flowing through my fingers, but really instead of trying to articulate my thoughts best, I want to just upload my memory to this post.
I can enlarge and highlight the best parts, hide the inappropriate parts, and delete the regrettable parts. 

Memories are precious, and preserving them is priority. From a girl who's memory fails over and over again, it's just something I like to do. Preserve.
I like a trigger. A smell. A picture (and if you know me, you know I like a picture), a story.

Years ago, before kids, before marriage, before responsibility, we made a few memories. Many we've let go of, willing to let them perish with time elapsed. Some we love to revisit. Like that one night.

That night we were a couple of 18 year olds, and we skipped out on a family event to look for adventure. It was a cool night, cool enough for a jacket that smelled like too much cologne. Sugar cane had been burning, and the smell lingered in the air as we drove with the windows down and the music up. Philip was a carpenter at the time and had been working on a job framing this gigantic, two story mansion type home. At least that's what my young brain labeled it. People were in bed, and it was late as we went onto the dark property with a waterfront backyard view that we didn't have permission to be on. Only led by a small flashlight's beam Philip showed me things like woodwork and rooms that I nodded and pretended to care about. We climbed these stairs that had no rails so that we could tour the second floor, and although my usual frame of mind would have been panic, nervousness, and uneasiness, we were adventuring. So I was being adventurous. Which clearly meant climbing unsturdy stairs in the dark while trespassing on someone else's property. When we got to the top we saw every single star in the sky, only clouded by our warm breath on the cool late night. It was beautiful. Until I tripped over a power cord and then the neighbor's dogs started relentlessly barking until we finally had to escape because I was absolutely convinced we were going to go to jail.
It was a November 3rd, and I will remember it for the rest of my days.
Mostly because that night I wrote about it in my journal, and read it over and over again for years while smiling and remembering the details so sharply it was as if reading was reliving.

It's been a while since we made a memory to remember. In the daily hustle of Hey I'm a servant to life we recently decided to get away and make a memory or two to remember. Just me and my guy. Us style.

So, we picked a random place in Texas, and drove on over with zero plans, zero agenda, and adventure for a couple of kids ready to feel 18 again.
 We did tourist things like packed my purse with brochures and took pictures with Texas things.
and then we did super cool[er] things like eating out as a party of 2 instead of 5, and if you have or have had young children, and have also taken them into restaurants enduring scowling booth neighbors' looks, waitors' "Wow' ya'll have your hands full" type commentary, and one or more children playing the hey lets throw all of our food on the floor game, then you rejoice with me.
 We did stop on a job for Philip to go in and work for a while, but I do not have a picture of it, meaning it never happened. (See that's where the delete the regrettable comes in). Also we caught 3 hours of Houston 5:00 Friday traffic, which I also chose not to document because I NEVER WANT TO REMEMBER THAT AGAIN.
 and then we got to our hotel.
 which is awesome. Well.... which I thought was awesome. You see, this is maybe the 3rd time I've ever stayed in a hotel in my life. Yes, so I thought hotels were super cool. There was a king sized bed, and I didn't have to clean up at all. Pillows are fluffy, and you get this super cool card scanner to unlock your door, and you feel super important, because hotels are for fancy adventure stays.
 and then I had coffee in bed, which I did spill. THEN I woke up Saturday morning with a terrible crick in my neck from overfluffed pillows, and just when I thought I was going to have one morning of the rest of my life to sleep in, small children....

[YES YOU READ SMALL CHILDREN] must have been playing hot lava or hey this floor might turn into a trampoline if we jump long and hard enough at around 7am. So hotels aren't that cool, I have thus concluded.
But cool. Is The Cheesecake Factory. Romantic. Beautiful. Best salmon ever. Best cheesecake ever.
We ordered a piece to share for dessert, and then a piece to take home for breakfast. Because we are adventurous grownups who can eat cheesecake in bed for breakfast. Only these adventurous grown ups couldn't thinking clearly staying up til midnight and left the cheesecake in the car overnight. Philip determined 72 degrees outside was good enough chill to keep the cheesecake good though, so he did retrieve it from the floor of the car, and we did eat it for breakfast. Due to the prior coffee spilling incident we did not have it in bed though, but it was on a couch. and it was crazy.
 My favorite part of this whole trip was that we never knew where we were stopping next. It was a whatever kind of weekend in the best way... which really goes against everything I am. But I liked it.
 My second favorite part of this whole trip was that my husband is so hot.
 aaaaand my third favorite part of this whole trip was that I mad my first skinny peppermint mocha of the season. Halleluiah
 There was a gorgeous park or two that was wandered around.
 There was a burger that was mighty fine.
 and there was the first time ever I went into a Pottery Barn, and the temptation to cuddle under couch pillows and pretend it was my home.
everything as in a couple of small somethings.
 Then my friends, we decided to ice skate for the very first time.
 and while it was short lived, it was fun. After 2 laps holding the rails, I was able to finally break free until a small Asian child nearly took me out and then I quit. I will be back, and I will be better.
 Let it be noted, Texas has bullets. and they are totally serious about it.
 We visited a ranch and some old beautiful homes. I accidentally spilled water all over some vintage kitchen I wasn't supposed to be touching, but I did get a nice picture of this gnarly longhorn.
 We Saltgrassed.
 and it was bomb. Bomb as in good. Really fantastic good. Again, party of 2, ya'll.
We attended our first ever hockey game, and although we may have been the only ones there that were not friends or family of the actual hockey players, we yelled and cheered, and enjoyed every second. Ya'll. Hockey is hardcore. and we kind of love it. 
We hiked and strolled around all of these beautiful nature spots where we were super annoying and held hands and kissed and Philip repeatedly fussed me for scaring animals away with my phone camera. It felt like an adventure, one I want to relive again and again. God gave me a best friend, and an adventure away to enjoy him. We were grateful.

The car ride was long, but easy, and we laughed more than we have in a long time.
The weekend was short. Sunday came and we had children to travel home and poor tired babysitters to relieve. It kind of ached to come home. A piece of my heart was left in that weekend. on a November 3rd.