A Reminder That This is Not Our Home

Harold Camping's prediction of the end of the world over the weekend may have been wrong, but for some, he wasn't too far off. 

My heart is heavy for my hometown of Joplin, MO today.  They suffered a fiercely destructive tornado last night that ripped through the heart of the city and demolished a large percentage of homes and businesses.  With the death toll at 89 and rising, people are roaming the streets in hospital gowns and bare feet after one of only two hospitals in the area had to evacuate due to massive damage, neighbors are helping neighbors rummage through what is left of their homes, and stunned souls are still searching for loved ones and pets among the rubble. 

My Grandpa Brockett was driving when the twister came through.  His car began shaking violently and he watched as a house blew away right in front of him.  Complete strangers came out of their home and grabbed him and brought him in to take cover.  Because of the kindness of strangers, he is ok.  My other Grandparents had very little warning and took cover in their hallway under blankets.  A tree landed on their roof and their windows were blown out.  Somehow that seemed insignificant compared to the destruction of many of the homes around them on all sides.

At this time, everything is needed:  bottled water, tarps, building materials, fruit, individually wrapped snacks, generators, pillows, towels, blankets, toiletries, toys, and of course, monetary donations and earnest prayers.

So while Mr. Camping was wrong in attempting to predict the exact moment that the Lord will return, he was right that the Lord is, in fact, coming.  This is not our home. 

   

Pregnant & Broke

Last night was my son's graduation from his first year of preschool (he still has another year of preschool to go).  Oh, the hilarity of watching the kids sing the Peanut Butter Jelly song, fight over the mic, and one kid repeatedly laying down on the floor and kicking his feet in the air for no particular reason.  I so enjoyed the evening, knowing we would never again have a "first graduation from preschool", beaming with pride over how good my boy did, singing all of the songs with his chest held high and the biggest smile you could possibly fit on his oversized 4 year old head.  It was one of life's blissful moments for sure!  That is...until someone approached me and asked me if I was expecting.  That's when I decided the party was over and it was time to go home and burn the shirt I was wearing.

And that brings me back to when I actually was expecting Mr. Braxton Riley Skar.  So there I was, 5 weeks pregnant, Baskin Robbins ice cream always close by, trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I had a human being growing inside me.  Can I use my stomach muscles or will that hurt the baby?  When I have a bowel movement, do I need to try not to push too hard so I don't push the baby out?  (honest-to-goodness fears I had those first few weeks).  I tried to set the baby preparations aside to plan for our "We're-Already-Married-but-We're-Having-an-Actual-Wedding-Now" Wedding in May.  And as if being newlyweds and getting pregnant right off the bat weren't enough to take on all at once, we also found out we were being sued for a rather large sum of money (a student loan mishap through a university, we'll call it), my husband's license got suspended for an old unpaid ticket that he didn't realize was out there, and I came to the conclusion that I was going to have to buy yet another wedding dress that would fit my growing belly.  This would be the third, and final, wedding dress that I would purchase in my lifetime.  (Another story for another time).

Finally, May 7th, 2006 (our half anniversary, as we call it), rolled around and we had no money in the bank, but we had the picture-perfect dream wedding!  (Well...minus the fact that I was beginning to show and swelling was starting to come in to play).  We had the ceremony in a beautiful flower garden behind a Victorian home in Franklin, TN.  It was small-ish, with all of our closest family and friends.  As all of our groomsmen and bridesmaids stood with us, outfitted in chocolate brown and pink, we said our vows (again), ate tiny sandwiches, dipped fruit in a fountain of chocolate, cut the cake, and then danced in the evening air under a white tent and the bright stars to our live jazz band.  Picture perfect.  We made our exit in a red Sebring Convertible (Matt drove and then as soon as we were out of sight, he pulled over and I took over the wheel since his license was still suspended), and we drove to a nearby Bed and Breakfast for an overnight stay and a very awkward breakfast the next morning with complete strangers (and this is why I'm not a huge fan of B&B's.  Forced socialization -- not my thing).

The next morning it was back to reality.  We used all of our wedding gift money to pay off debts and my awesome grandparents bought us a crib as our wedding gift (most people get blenders and a salad spinner or two - leave it to us to break that mold).  We also learned a couple of weeks after the wedding that our new bundle of joy would be a baby boy.  (My motherly instinct had been 100% certain that it was a girl thus far - so much for my motherly instinct...a tell-tale sign for the future??)  It was also around this time that I decided - quite firmly - that I did not want to have a baby in an apartment and that it was necessary to buy a house immediately.

So the first 6 months of marriage brought to us two weddings, a surprise pregnancy, a lawsuit, oh - and throw in a trip to the Dominican Republic, and now a mission to buy a home.  (Not my recommendation for any of you other newlyweds out there).

The story stops here for now as the scent of a poopy diaper is trailing in from the next room, but I will leave you with our GQ Cover picture.  (This was taken back before we had children and we actually slept through the night).  Til next time...
 

                 

The Beginning

As I sit here typing, my blood pressure is attempting to settle back down to normalcy, my children are eating a quick -but not exactly healthy- lunch, and my low carb, low cal eggroll awaits me.  In the rush of getting lunch prepared for my four year old, Braxton and my two year old, Sadie, I yelled like a drill sergeant, (because apparently that's what it takes to get them to clean up their toys and wash their hands for lunch), and I swirled around the kitchen like a tornado cutting up their pizza and veggie straws (my attempt at throwing something at least partially healthy in there), barking orders and watching the clock to be sure I get to my at-home-on-the-computer job on time.

Now, as I'm settling in to work for the afternoon, the daily rush of guilt washes over me.  Did I spend quality time with them during the two hours of freedom I had this morning?  Do they truly understand that we are, indeed, blessed (even though sometimes it feels like a curse) that mommy gets to work from home (30+ hours a week)?  Is it their naptime yet?  (Ok, so that's not exactly a feeling of guilt but it is what I happened to be thinking just now.......aaaaaaaaaand more guilt)  Will they have positive memories of their childhood, and of a mommy and daddy that loved them and spent time with them?  Or will they end up in therapy and stick us with the bill?

Some days, when I have a moment to breathe, I stop and take a look at how much my life has changed dramatically over the past ten years.  And I can't help but think of how it all began...

Matt and I met somewhere around 2003.  The exact year is foggy because a) let's face it, we're not getting any younger and the years seem to get all mixed up in our memories and b) because our meeting wasn't really all that memorable.  (I love you, honey). We met at a small church that we were both helping to start up in Nashville, TN.  Matt was coming on as the Children's Pastor while I was the interim worship leader.  I was working my way up the ladder in private wealth management at a downtown bank, and he was in the music business.  At the time, we were both dating other people, and we became friends very gradually.  He would dog-sit for me while I flew to Texas to visit the guy I was dating at the time.  Eventually, we grew closer and started hiking together on the weekends, having long talks and becoming best friends.  By the spring of 2005, we had both become single and began dating each other, and 5 months later, my man proposed to me in a room full of candles.  Exactly one week later on November 4th, 2005, we got married in a small, private ceremony at our church with just our Pastor and his wife (with the blessing of our families).  We decided we would rather have the actual ceremony be truly intimate (well, that and we couldn't wait to be married to each other -- we've never been the patient type), and we began planning a big wedding 6 months later where I would wear a wedding dress and walk down the aisle and do all of the things that you do at a "normal wedding".

This is where the fun part begins...on February 13th of the following year, having been married exactly 3 months and 9 days, we discovered that we (well, I) was 5 weeks pregnant with Braxton Riley.  My first reaction?  Sheer thrill, happiness, elation!  My second reaction about 4 minutes later was "Ah, crap.  Now my wedding dress isn't gonna fit".  Then came the tears, then panic set in, and then I ate some peanut butter and chocolate Baskin Robbins ice cream.

And now here we are, almost 6 years later in the very small town of Cleveland, OK, and I'm fairly certain I just heard the sound of my little princess throwing her plate full of food to the floor.

...and this is just the beginning.