good things

Golden morning light spilling in.  Snuggling on the couch watching cartoons with Daddy.

Dreamy brown eyes. 

Peaceful moments.

The last couple weeks have been hectic, chaotic and messy.  I get frustrated taking the boys from place to place.  Guess what?  They hate the fabric store.  Shocker, right?  But I have this need...to create things.  Could I have simplified my life by not making my outfit for Thanksgiving? Sure.  But it's who I am.  I could look at all the frustrating moments that encompass my days and conclude that it's not worth it to do the extra things.  I could be all debbie downer about how nothing turned out how I envisioned, simple tasks did not go as planned and things that were supposed to make life more fun, made life more difficult.  I could, but I'm not.

Because the truth is, life will never go as planned.  My house will never be as clean as I want it to be with two kids running around.  There will never be a perfectly executed trip to the store, park, beach, or anywhere.  Isn't that what makes it good, and memorable and real?  My toddler continuously throwing his blanket on the floor, screaming for it, only to throw it on the floor again once I give it to him.  My older child throwing squares of fabric up onto the top shelf and cheering for himself when he gets them stuck up there.  Me, keeping calm, putting the blanket out of sight, ignoring the screams and ever so quietly telling my kid that the manager of the store will most certainly put him in the corner if he continues to behave like a wild banshee.   What would life be without the meltdowns and frustration of cramming fun activities into the day that have the potential to drive you crazy?  Well, it wouldn't be life at all.

And it makes the down time all the more sweet.

Thee blanket, or "ni-night" as we call it

They are all good things.  The quiet, the noise, the laughter, the tears, the calm, the frustration.  All of it.  Not perfect, but real and worth every second.

Thankful

We had a relatively small gathering for Kaden's birthday.  Our immediate family is about 25 people, so although we didn't invite any school friends or extended family besides our best friends the Oshiros, it was still a full house. 

Too much excitement for the B-man.  He passed out in my room.

Fun was had.  Funny faces were made.  

And the kids limboed like their lives depended on it.

The winner, obviously!

It's so important to me to try and make sure Kaden knows just how fortunate he is.  I had to have a brief talk with him in his room when he wanted to open all his new toys immediately instead of playing outside with his cousins.  I explained to him that the day was about being with his family, that they were all there to be with him on his birthday and that was the best gift he had received.  He went outside and played.

I don't know if he gets it. I don't know if you're even supposed to really get it when you're 5.  But, I do know that he was thankful for that day, for how special he felt.  Maybe the gratitude he feels for his family is buried under gratitude for gifts, cake and goodie bags, but I know it's there.  

And I am thankful for him.  He is my gift.  

Birth Story by Jeremy Quinn

The following was written by Jeremy the night I gave birth to Kaden 5 years ago.  He gave it to me 6 days later on my birthday.


So there we were, sitting at Verne and Sidney's.  It was 12:10am and and Amber was starting he 10th, or so, speechless contraction.  She asked if this one was late.  I told her no, but it was going to be a strong one because it was late.  12:11 struck and Amber's water broke.  She jumped up from the couch and shoved a towel between her legs.  She took five steps towards the bathroom and had to stop.  Her adrenaline caused a body-shivering not even Ranger School could produce.  We took a minute to regain our composure and to control the adrenaline and the nerves.  She continued to the bathroom while I woke Sidney up.  Sidney helped Amber while I performed my headless chicken dance.  During the five second dance I observed a puddle of water by the front door.  The first second, I thought it was me.  The next 3, Amber.  The last second I realized it was Pearl (the dog), caught up in all the excitement.  As we drove to the hospital I thought I was going to get lost in the eight minute drive (mind you this is where I grew up).  I could already see my Dad telling the story while our friends and family laughed, but it wasn't to be.  Shortly after, Amber was admitted to the hospital.  Sidney and Sarah showed up for support.  I felt odd in front of them, coaching...at first.  Her mom was a seasoned veteran and her sister was fresh off her own delivery the month prior.  In time, I became more vocal and supportive as Amber became less vocal and focused.  Her labor lasted 13 hours at the hospital, with a total of 44 hours from the first contraction.  During this time I saw the strongest person I have ever known.  I had been thinking of where to get Kaden's name tattoo.  But during labor I thought, "why not Amber's name?".  To me it wouldn't just be my wife's name, it would be my hero's name.  I would tell everyone that she was my hero, my inspiration in hard and painful times.  She was so cool, calm and collected during the labor.  All were amazed, her parents, nurses, doctors.  They said that natural childbirth was becoming scarce, extinct (I don't know what they said exactly, but that was what they were trying to convey).  We ended up with nurse Tammy.  She was the best.  I'm truly thankful for her.  During all her contractions Amber would focus on a spot, generally on the floor.  She kept her own breathing cycles while grabbing on to something fiercely.  All you could hear up until she pushed the baby out was heavy, rhythmic breathing.  It was funny when I was coaching, because I got no feedback, just heavy breathing.  In one contraction I would say, "focus, work with it, focus on just this one contraction, just one step at a time, good job", and the next one I'd say, "steady, drive through it, keep driving, think of the big picture, the reward for all this hard work".  I thought for sure an hour into it she was going to call me out and go on a tirade about how I made no sense and I had no clue of the pain she was enduring.  But it never happened.  While she was pushing I was all up in the action.  I had one leg, while Sidney had the other.  Ber would take her cleansing breath, and then a deep breath, then hold it in and push.  My job was to count to ten while she did this.  Sometimes I sped up the count on the contractions, because the three, ten second breath-holding pushes looked like an eternity in her blood shot eyes.  All Ber could say was "Okay, okay, okay..." to all the instructions being given to her in between contractions.  As his head came out, they downshifted her pushing to a slow, steady push.  Kaden had arrived.  When his body came out, it was surreal.  Total 30 second barrel, 1-3 seconds in reality.  The doctor took a split second to look him over, checking the airways then he was up on mama's chest.  Amber repeatedly said, "My baby, my baby".  So much emotion, even as I sit here and type by Amber's side with K cradled on her chest. I'm in awe of the new found badassness of my life, Kaden and especially Amber.  I cut the cord 2 times, one real and the other was a photo op. set up by the nurses.  Each time I cut, I cringed.  It seemed too out of control with fingers, toes and wiener flying around.  I know there are some poor souls out there with only their father to blame for their missing body part.  The Doc sewed Ber up while the nurses took all his sizes and readings.  Sidney left the room and gave the news to all the lobby.  Ber, baby K and I sat there in amazement at what just happened and was happening.  Shortly thereafter, the fans came in and filled the room with praise.  We're so fortunate to have all of this, the family, medical care and a kick-ass son.  Currently it's 9:45pm and Ber's picking out the outfit for K's first official picture.  There's been too many firsts already, too many to write about and too many to remember.  Life has just become more beautiful and nothing can stop it.  I love you, happy birthday.

Pain

This is something I've been thinking about lately, as a few people I know are in some real physical and emotional pain.  Truth is everyone we see is going through some level of pain, struggling with something.  I don't think you can compare one persons pain with someone else's, nor can you compare your present pain with your past pain.  It is what it is. You feel what you feel while you are in the midst of it and it can't be diminished by thinking, "oh it's not as bad as so-and-so's pain, they really have it bad", or "why am I complaining, this isn't nearly as bad as I felt when dealing with that other thing...".  I'm not saying to feel sorry for yourself and be overly dramatic about it.  I'm saying acknowledge it for what is, accept it, feel it and know that while everybody's pain is different, it is still pain and you aren't alone.

One of my favorite writers Donald Miller said "pain is always an invitation to grow".  An invitation.  Doesn't mean it is always accepted.  A lot of people do the opposite and come up with all sorts of coping mechanisms to get around it, avoid it, run from it.  He also points out how in movies the character never grows or changes when everything is going great.  It's through pain and difficulty that they transform and become who they are supposed to be.  We appreciate that when it's happening to a character, but when it's us we sometimes fail to see our pain and difficulty as an opportunity, a turning point in our story.

The most pain I've ever been in physically was during childbirth.  Both times were long, and torturous and there was no pain medication involved.  With the pain of childbirth, however, there is an end in sight.  You know that there is something beautiful happening.  I think that could be possible with other pain as well.  If we looked at our anguish as a road to something better, if we had foresight to know that at the end of it we'd be stronger and better in some way, it would be easier to go through.

So in your darkest moments, I believe there is still a light.  It looks different for everyone.  Maybe your physical or emotional pain is an opportunity to grow spiritually.  Maybe it's an opportunity to become more appreciative, become closer to your loved ones, to see truly how strong and powerful you are, to be courageous in a situation where everyone would understand if you just gave up.  It might even be an opportunity to help someone else.

Halloween