And Yet.

As a child, I was the picture of an old soul. I longed to be a grown-up. Some kids couldn't wait to just make it to 16; I was day-dreaming of college course plans, career paths and buying a house. And in that house, I would have a husband and a beautiful bunch of kids. I was that little girl, who carried around ragged, worn pages of her future children's names. When I met my husband, and I saw those blue eyes and that curly hair, I would let my mind wander into the what-if of our future together. Tiny brunettes with bouncing curls and infectious laughs. A girl first, and then maybe a boy. Would we have two? Maybe three or even four! Over the years the specifics of my grand life plan changed as I  did the same, but one steady element was those children. 

When we decided to start "trying" for a baby (by the way, I hate that phrase), there was never a thought in my mind that it wouldn't happen according to plan. In fact, we had planned that start date strategically. I read books. I researched. I was in the best shape of my life. I was prepared!  All was now supposed to fall into place. So, we waited. And waited. I began to dread that one year mark of trying. A clinical definition of infertility is 12 months of actively trying without pregnancy. It seemed such a heavy word and one I wasn't ready to face. I coped with attempts at control. I charted temperatures, I used every prediction kit on the shelves, I obsessed. And I did it all in quiet. As illogical as it may seem, the entire thing carried a sense of shame. I silently wondered if I was broken.

Well-meaning friends and family would ask all the time about our plans for children. They'd ask what we were waiting for, or some even teased that we were lucky to get a full nights sleep and not have to deal with diapers and spit-up and all that. And every word was a twist of the knife. They didn't know; how could they? We told only a handful of people, and even to them I worked to keep a facade of light-heartedness about the whole thing.

We marked two years of trying to get pregnant in August of 2013. I could write for pages about what went on during that period, but I think it's easiest to suffice it as 24 months of cyclical hope, anxiety, disappointment & sadness, marked with frustration at my lack of control. The harder I tried to hold onto the pieces of my life, the more they shifted - Jon struggled with finding a job, friendships were strained, we lost love ones, we closed the doors to our business.

And yet (isn't that just like God? I think those two words sum up so much of His character) there was good. I don't exactly know when, but at some point during this journey, the tiny seed of adoption was planted in my heart. I kept it to myself, unsure of what Jon might think. When I finally worked up the courage to tell him, I breathed a sigh of relief as he met my timid words with a soft smile and an "Okay then". We would talk casually about it over the following months, and congruently God began to place people and stories in my way that grew my general thought into a genuine and specific desire, one for waiting children in foster care. We agreed to go to an informational meeting for Foster and Adoption put on by the state. Area agencies take turns hosting these meetings and Gladney happened to be the host at the one we attended. My heart broke a little more with each statistic they told us, and we left a little more determined to do something, but left it at that.

Meanwhile, I underwent a battery of fertility tests, each one coming back with "normal". When the last test was scheduled, our doctor explained that if it proved untelling, our next option should be considering more invasive methods of trying to conceive. Those came with a hefty price tag and only a marginal improvement of our odds. When the final results were in, again carrying that seemingly benign word "normal", our doctor asked us when we wanted to schedule the next phase. I am so thankful that when it came time to discuss it, Jon and I arrived at the same answer: we don't. A few weeks later, in April of this year, we sat in a church service as my dad talked about fear vs faith. He gave everyone a piece of paper and asked us to write down one thing that we knew we needed to actively choose faith over fear, and I knew there was only one word that needed to go on that page. Adoption. There were a million logical reasons to not proceed. It's hard. These kids are hurting. We don't know how to be parents. Will we have enough money? Every roadblock I could come up with led back to one source: selfishness & fear. My mom likes to say, "you can't not know what you know", and at that moment I knew that I couldn't let that dissonance continue, knowing what I know about these kids and choosing not to act in the way I knew we were being called. The following day we contacted Gladney for our application. The rest, as they say, is history.

________________________________________________

I left out many details in the recounting above, but I don't think it matters. All of that is just the groundwork for what I need to say. We kept quiet for so long about every part of that journey, and if we continue to do so and give you only the shiny, pretty parts, that will only serve to bring a false glory to ourselves. He doesn't waste a story, and I don't want to either. So here is the honest, raw truth.

I am beyond excited to grow our family through adoption. I do have times of great peace. But, I still struggle. There are days when hot tears still rise to my eyes as I consider the possibility of never having the biological children I once dreamed of. I get angry when I dwell on the thought of "unexplained infertility", almost wishing they'd just would just diagnose away my hope. The unknowing feels harder. I feel guilt, sometimes, wondering if I'll ever be satisfied as a mother. I feel scared that I won't be up to the challenge of parenting a hurt child. I waiver between hope and trust. Those seem like they would be interchangeable, but not always.

The Bible is chock-full of the earnest prayers of barren women. They long for God to fill their empty wombs, and He comes through in miraculous ways, bringing forth children that would change the course of the nation of Israel and eventually pave the way for the Messiah himself. But I find myself not taking full solace in their stories, because you know what? God hasn't promised me a child, at least not biologically. Do I hope and know that He is big enough to do the impossible, if He wills it so? I want to. Or do I trust Him enough to find peace in a closed door, thereby silencing my petitions for a biological child? In some way I feel like these two pull against each other. Stop asking in peace or pray fervently in hope. Some days I pray he'll just remove my desire for a biological child altogether.

And here we are at Christmas, when we focus in on the baby who changed the world. And we talk about what it must be like to have been Mary, to shush and rock the Hope of Nations into slumber. I think, though, that I forget an important element of this story. Though a savior was prayed for, this baby to these parents was not. Mary's motherhood did not come after years of hope and disappointment and prayer and petition. She wasn't looking or praying expectantly for a child. And yet, she was chosen. And yet, He came.

The book of Luke begins the nativity narrative by contrasting Elizabeth's struggle with infertility and subsequent miraculous pregnancy and Mary's equally miraculous virgin conception. The reason Gabriel gives for  Mary's selection? "You have found favor with God." And when Mary asks what I'm sure was an astonished, "How?", the angel concludes his response with "For nothing is impossible with God." The NIV puts it beautifully saying, "For no word from God will ever fail."

 

"And Mary said, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

Mary wasn't looking for a miracle. She was just looking at Him. She wasn't asking, or even ready, to be a mother, but she was poised to be a servant.

My heart is naturally inclined to the prayers of Sarah, Elizabeth and Hannah. But I want to desire to pray the words of Mary. To want to be His servant more than I want to be served. To be so focused on Him that my strongest hope is not for a baby, or a smooth adoption, but that I would simply make much of Him. I'm not there yet, y'all. Mary had so little control. Her situation made this scenario impossible, even scandalous. Fear would've been a wholly natural response. But y'all, this was His story, and He is in the business of the "And yet."

Yesterday, at church, we discussed the story of His birth, and wondered at the impossible grace of a human-born savior. We sang these words, "Mild He lays his glory by, born that man no more may die..." In the most innocent, exposed and vulnerable way He came to us. He put aside His glory, so that we would give it back to Him. The gifts he desires from us aren't Frankencense and Myrh, but instead reflections of what He's already given us.  And the thought hit me, that instead of asking for Him to remove the desire, maybe He's simply asking me to lay it down.  Author and speaker Paul Tripp has a saying:
"A desire for a good thing becomes a bad thing when that desire becomes a ruling thing." (Hagar, anyone?)
Children are good. Motherhood is so good. Biblically good! But when my desire for anything other than Him begins to rule my emotions and move my faith barometer, things are in need of realignment. I have learned that this is rarely a once-and-done transaction. My relationship with Him ebbs and flows and I know I will return to this particular altar again and again. And though I have not been given specific promises of a child, I have been given many, many more throughout His word. May Gabriel's words stay fresh in my heart: No word from God will ever fail.

May I be found in favor with Him. Despite my flaws, failures and recurring doubts and questions, may my story read "And yet." When I am shown His will, may my response echo the heart of Mary, "I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word."

Merry Christmas.

(A little PS - I am not pining for your sympathies, and I know good and well that there are those who have suffered and struggled so much greater than I. This is simply an honest outpouring of my thoughts & feelings. I hesitated so long in writing this post because I do not like to be the center of attention. These are fresh feelings, so please handle with care. :) )

The Year of the Unknown

By the time January 2013 rolled around, I had no clue what the next 12 months would bring. All I knew is that I was beyond ready to lay 2012 to rest. I was exhausted and stuck firmly in the ambiguous, uncomfortable space of "what now?" The best choice I could make was "forward." And forward we went. Some baby steps, some canyon-sized leaps, but by george did we move.

I relearned what it was like to have weekends. I memorized scripture. I found quiet. I felt boredom. I rekindled friendships that had dwindled to embers and watched as altogether new ones sparked to life. I faced my fears. I marked two years of unsuccessfully trying to have a baby. I went to a fertility doctor, left without answers but with peace. I started the adoption process. I celebrated birthdays, graduations, new babies and new marriages. I gained 5 pounds and ate way too many snowcones. I traveled to the mountains, to the ocean, the east coast and the west coast. I quit my job. I started a year of service with a food bank. I cut my hair off. I did almost no blogging. I think I made maybe two crafts. I had countless moments where I stood breathless at the beauty of my life, smiling like a silly fool. I fell more in love with my husband, and firmly out of love with the idea that I am Martha Stewart (or that I even want to be).

It's a list that may not show much by the world's standards of finances, promotions and move-ups. Heck, I took a job that pays less than minimum wage. But, what a time of learning. When we closed the Pie Place, I had grand ideas in the back of my mind that with my new found free time, I would begin to learn, and master, my dream list of crafts, projects and trades (basically, Pinterest). Instead, the thing I became a student of was myself. The slow-dawning light of my season of quiet illuminated parts of myself I had never noticed, or perhaps never wanted to admit. Some were surprising, some were not so pretty, but with every revelation I settled a little deeper into the comfort of who I am. It required forgiveness and honesty with myself. It was finally seeing worldly standards I need to abandon and heavenly ones I'm sorrily short of. It was an invitation for grace to enter in and before me, acting as that ever-sweet buffer between who I realize I am and who my Lord asks me to be. If we were charting that as a means of success, I'd say it's a marked win. I began the year in a state of mixed anxiety and eagerness to trust because I had No idea where I was going. And guess what? We're three weeks away from 2014, and I still don't know what the plan really is.

Except, forward. Always forward.

Love in the unknown,
K

November: The Days We Said Goodbye

This post just about refused to be written, stubborn little thing. And in its rebellious streak, it will likely leave out important details. Downright unruly, I tell you. And late to boot!

For the last three years of my life, November has arrived with equal weightings of dread and excitement. It's the gateway to the Holidays, time with friends and family and food amuck; but it also means little sleep, stress to the max and more pies than I can count.

In many ways,  this November was no different, and yet, it was also like walking into a foreign land. This would be our last Thanksgiving at Pie Place, at least in its current format. My way of coping for the first three weeks was basically to pretend it wasn't happening. Not healthy, I know, but old habits are hard to break. My general plan was to just "get through", and so I did. And by the time we arrived at November 21st,  my heart began trying to back-pedal, realizing I had arrived to this moment OK, but wasn't ready to keep going.

Over the days and weeks preceding, I had cried intermittently, nearly always at the wrong time. Come to think of it, that seems to be a trait of mine - like not crying at funerals, but instead on the drive home. I read somewhere that introverts are often less outspoken because we internalize and slowly process things before we making an outward response. It makes perfect sense to me. I'll chalk it up to that, but it usually ends up meaning situationally-imbalanced tears, belated words of thanks, and terrible responses to surprises (sorry, all). During most of closing week the air felt thick, like the sky before a storm, almost tangible with the weight of imminent rain.  The impending "lasts" threatened to do me in. I've never been very good with lasts, even with things that caused me heartache.

Luckily, baking several hundred pies will serve as a pretty decent distraction. Best friend and I wore our pretty aprons. We worked hours on end, we rolled dough, shaped crusts, made countless fillings, egg-washed, and admired our handy work. I photographed everything I could think of; all the things I had been too busy to notice in the last 3 1/2 years. I almost felt panicked about documenting the details - the flour on the butcher block, the stack of rolling pins, the pie boxes. Would I remember what this kitchen looked like (would I want to? haha), or the dining room, or these people and this moment? Click, click, click went the camera. We changed the sign from "Open" to "Closed" one last time. Click, click, click. We hit the lights in the dining room one last time. Click, click, click. We sold our last pie. Click, click. We roused the boys (who had fallen asleep on tables/the floor after having been up for well over 48 hours), and broke out the champagne (which I'd been saving, little knowing that it would be to commiserate more than celebrate) and managed to find a handful of words to toast the closing of this chapter. To pie. To a sold-out empty case. To broccoli, the glitter of the kitchen world (I would explain this, but it probably wouldn't seem very funny). To new adventures. Click, click, click.

We went to dinner at Frescos, a post-Thanksgiving-pie-rush tradition. We smiled and laughed, genuine in our joy, but the rain still loomed. As so often happens with me, when it was over and we were headed home, it was in the quiet that the downpour finally came, and so did the tears. I had fought them, as to my logical brain it felt utterly silly to be crying over such a first-world problem. I was clothed, fed, happily married, not broke, friends still by my side. But God - my God - He is big enough to catch even the tears that don't make sense. And so they fell. They fell for my feelings of failure. They fell for my hatred of endings. They fell for dreams unrealized. They fell for my self-perceived lack of bravery. They fell for fear of the future. They fell for every single moment that took place in that building - the good, the bad, and the ugly. And that dear sweet husband of mine wrapped me up in his arms like a physical extension of my Comforter. He didn't shush or try to reason with me. Lord, bless that man for sticking with the dose of crazy he married.

God let me lament. He let me say goodbye. He patiently waited until my tantrum had run its course and I was ready to listen, again, to the words He whispers - this does not define you. And I know that. He knows I know that. I think my head knows all of the right words and answers, but that journey from head to heart...its a slow-go sometimes. I fell asleep in exhaustion and awoke the next morning to a quiet house, sunlight streaming in my windows, and my heart quietly says The storm always loses to the sun. Amen and amen.

I kept up my three-years-running ritual of grocery shopping on Thanksgiving morning. Something about wandering the empty aisles of a grocery store feels therapeutic to me (cheaper than a therapist, and often resulting in good eats...I'll take it). We spent the morning cooking and the remainder of the day with family. And although we had chosen the previous day as our last day of business, I couldn't help but feel that it was God-orchestrated that my day of self-focused sadness was hemmed in by a day of ritualized gratitude. Because as I've repeatedly realized, thankfulness is quite the antidote  to self. So I gave thanks. For knowing that earthly failures are small in His story. For endings, which also mean beginnings. For dreams yet unrealized. For knowing that true bravery can be found in a heart that is tied with His. For the hope that lies in a future unknown to me. For every single moment that took place in that building - the good, the bad, and even the ugly. For a friendship that outlasted a business and a husband ordained for me. And I prayed for a life-manifestation of that thanks in place of just words. Because my head knows that to make this worthwhile, to do that gift of the Pie Place justice, to hope to progress our business with any firm foundation, gratitude must go before me. And while that knowledge makes its way from my head, to my heart, to my feet, I'll say again and again, Thank You.

October 8-31: The Days I Grew

Growing pains - funny things, those guys. Painful, annoying even, but a sign of forward momentum. Akin to the changing of the leaves, almost, in the way of perceptions. Brilliant colors or death in bloom? Either way, we close one season and we begin another, and in the middle of it all, the sun rises and sets, rises and sets. Sometimes it feels like that continuity is a betrayal of my emotions. How dare this earth keep turning when I'm still working through today, or even yesterday? Sometimes it’s a blessing - I think left to own devices, I'd hit pause and in my longing for understanding, I'd be reluctant to ever hit play again. Paralysis in analysis, I guess. And once again, His wisdom prevails - He knows the purpose of the movement, of the seasons, of the pains that lie in transitions, and the fullness of the beauty that lies on the other side.

As mentioned in September, we came to a decision about the shop - we chose to close the doors. Not forever, mind you, as we have sincere hopes of reopening in pie-only venue. There's a lot more to say about our future wishes & dreams, which I’ll share in due time. For now, though, we’re done. I spent the weeks following that decision rolling those words on my tongue, waiting for the foreignness to rub off, hoping for the heat to not rush to my face when asked about the state of things. And in the waiting, there was the living. October has always been my favorite month of the year. It carries so many celebrations, and Oct 2012 was no exception. Here’s a run-down of the highlights (which obviously didn’t include daily blogging)

·          I gave up Facebook for a couple of weeks. I felt altogether disconnected and reconnected, from the world and to My World, respectively. I’ve left behind the need to update the “world” on my ever move/meal/outfit/activity, something I am so, so grateful for. I came back primarily to update internet friends on the shop changes. I feel another fast coming in my future, though.

·         I took maternity photos for my knocked-up pal {wonderful coworker} and her baby daddy {husband}. I warned them that I’m not a pro, but they insisted and I accepted – a fun challenge! Also, I’m better at photographing dogs than people. Ha.

·         Caught my little brother’s last soccer game, which they won. I also snuggled the littlest nephew, gave him his first taste of dill pickle (not.a.fan.), and watched the big one rule the playground in his cowboy hat and wooden sword. All’s well ‘til a stranger gets stabbed.

·         Husband went on his first “business trip” to a training session in Houston. I’m a big baby and luckily have friends who don’t judge my not wanting to stay at home alone for 3 days. Crashed at the parents and the hetero-lifemate’s. I enjoyed the brief return to life with my parents though – dinner made at night, coffee ready in the morning. Aahhh.

·         Celebrated 4 wonderful years with that man of mine – we went to the movies, to dinner, played 20 questions, visited the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit, did some thrifting, some sewing and crafting (Yes, my husband can sew. Better than me after only one try. I don’t want to talk about it.) There aren’t enough words to sum up how thankful I am for that man, for 4 years of laughter, barefoot kitchen dances, play fights, late night movies and a friendship that continues to grow. Blessed beyond measure.

·         Finished out our anniversary weekend with a trip to the state fair – bonus, I didn’t eat myself into sickness this time! Speaking of sickness, after scouring the entire fair ground for the perfect ride, Husband ended up choosing the exact ride that made him sick last year. Ended the night with tacos @ Taco Cabana

·         Had a doctor’s appointment that ended with good results. Vague, but it’s a praise worth sharing, nonetheless!

·         Baked what felt like a million cupcakes for our church’s marriage retreat. Bonus: eating all the mistakes. Yummy, yummy mistakes.

·         Watched God, yet again, do wonderful things in the lives of married couples during the retreat. We weren’t there to partake or directly witness, but the stories of mended hearts, renewed commitment and just plain miracles keep coming up. I am so thankful for parents and friends who are passionate about marriage, about not just making it last, but making it wonderful.

·         Subsequently received my first order for custom cupcakes. More mistake eating! Side note, dear Lord I’m never eating cupcakes again. Also, went through like 3 lbs of butter in just a few days. Yessir.

·         Hit, and passed, preggo friend’s due date – only by a few days, though. Welcome to the world, Natalie Ryan!

·         Phoned in my last-minute Halloween costume – I was a ceiling fan (read: I wore a shirt with the words “Go Ceiling!” ironed on the front and carried around some pom poms). Got to go trick-or-treating with some of the little people in my life, though! Captain Hook, Smee and Mario! Cutest ever.

So there you go. The storms may rage, but the Lighthouse is in the living, not just the surviving. Praying I continue to drink in those moments instead of waiting for my exit from the valley. There’s hope in the shadows of those mountain tops. Wellsprings of hope.

Love & Perspective,

K

October 7 - The Day We Adventured

The original plan for this day was to get the heck outta dodge. Or, Fort Worth. Whatev. At first, it was family camping, but with dropping temps and sick family members, that got scrapped. Since the following day was a holiday for husband and I had already taken off from work, we toyed with the idea of just picking up and heading to Austin for an impromptu adventure. It should be noted here that I love the idea of being spontaneous, but the trait is rarely applied to actual living. So, naturally, the more I thought about how messy my house was, or my empty fridge, the less inclined I was to "escape", just to come back to the mess I already had. So, we stayed put and settled for making a pact to a) clean our house, and b) get out of said clean house.

We decided to hijack the husband's littlest siblings and take them hiking at a nearby state park. These two are close in age, best friends, and always carry the potential of giggles & messes (usually together). We don't get to spend as much time with them as we would like, so outings like these are fun (and slightly unpredictable). So, we walked through the woods, letting them be our trail guides. They are pretty dang good navigators, though we did have to have a discussion about not choosing paths only fit for those under 5 ft tall (read: Jon and I ran into some tree branches). We headed back when it started to rain and it took less than 10 minutes before they were conked out in the backseat. I love the sound of giggling kids. Also love the sound of sleeping ones. :)

We capped off the night with a movie with my side of the family & staying up late watching something (?) on Netflix. It was not all that spontaneous, but it was still an adventure. I'll take it.

Highlights:
1) Lunch at Cracker Barrel - finally satisfied my craving for those Dumplins! (YUM.)

2) Underestimated the seriousness of chilly temperatures. We made fun of the kiddos for their extreme layers and gloves, but I think we were a bit jealous by the end of our hike. In an effort to keep warm/show I'm still cool, I raced the kids. They won (but then I was warm, so really, I win)

3) It seems Miles can tell the difference between squirrel poop and raccoon poop. Best advertisement for the Boy Scouts of America? Yup.

Love & Close-to-home Wanderlust,

K

October 6 - The Day The "Cold" Came

It started on Friday evening, you could feel a change in the air. By Saturday morning, it had arrived: COLD. Now, I fully accept that I am a Texan, born and bread, and that these temperatures are not considered much beyond the title of "chilly" in the northern US. But, y'all. It was deliciously, autumnally (is this a word? It should be), wonderfully cold.

I spent the morning prepping at the shop, accompanied by (what else?) Christmas music. If ever there's a reason to listen to that stuff early, its the first cold front of the year. After wrapping up there, I headed home to get cleaned up (because smelling like pie isn't as nice as it sounds), and prepared myself for a day of chilly weather at the baseball fields. Both my boys (nephew and brother) had double headers that day. I got to see one of each of their games (both wins!), with a little best friend shopping in between. By the time the 2nd game was over, we were chilled to the bone, even it if was still in the 50s. Husband made sure to get in a good amount of teasing about Texans their lack of cold-tolerance. Whatever, Yankee!

Wrapped  up the day with a big bowl of tortilla soup from my favorite local Mexican restaurant, Antonios. Delicioso!

Highlights:
1) Wore my first scarf of the year! I chose a Burberry-esque plaid, skinny jeans, boots and a cardigan.

2) Drank a salted caramel latte. Um, YUM.

3) Spent some good huddle time with my mom under blankets at brother's game. Life lessons we discussed: Tights aren't pants, ladies. Also, yelling at your pitcher son, "you have to throw strikes!" probably isn't helping...I doubt he was planning on throwing crappy pitches.

Love & Cuddle-Worthy Days,

K

October 5 - The Day I Babysat

Husband texted me early in the day to tell me that his sister was offering free tickets to Screams, a local(ish) Halloween theme park. While I love Halloween, my appreciation is more of the "ohh, look at what Martha Stewart did to those pumpkins with glitter" variety. Not so much on the "Some guy is chasing me and I think I just peed myself" kind. So, despite his pleadings, I told him he could go, but I was out. I jokingly said "me and Ella (his sis's kiddo) would stay behind. Fast forward a few hours, and they decide to take me up on that offer.

Now, I haven't been a babysitter since high school. And even then, they were kids, not babies. That isn't to say I don't love babies, because I very much do. But the thought of them when their mothers aren't standing within a 10 ft radius is a little frightening. But, she's my niece. She normally is such a good baby, and she likes me and knows me enough that this should be smooth sailing, right? Umm...

My parents called and asked if me and my tow-along wanted to come for dinner and the ranger game, along with my Grandmother. Someone fixing me dinner, and the safety net of two women who raised me being close by? Be there in 5! She did so great for the first little bit, charming everyone with her baby fat rolls and big grins. But about 15 minutes in, she realized "hey...I don't really recognize this place. Or these people...what the...WAAAAHHHHH!". Or something like that. We tried to get her to eat the dinner her momma made for her (homemade applesauce, which sounded great to me). She was not having that mess. Mom to the rescue, #1 - as a grandma, she had a plethora of toys for the wee one's distraction. We tried food again, and this time mac & cheese from my plate went much better. We had only minor melt downs for awhile  (she would crawl away, all smiles, then realize I wasn't right next to her, then she'd wail. We repeated this quite a number of times). Then, the biggest test of all - bed time. She was giving me all the signals that we were a go, but oh boy, we were not. After reaching what I can only imagine is pure loathing for me and my attempts at lulling, Mom/surrogate Nana took over while I stood helplessly by. It reached a point where all I could do was laugh. After a few more back-and-forths, she finally just passed out in my mother's arms...who then passed out in the recliner. They snored together, it was cute. Also, my mom wouldn't put her down for fear of waking the sleeping bear. She continued to sniffle her in sleep for the first 10 minutes or so. I thought we were golden, as I got the message that Ella's parental units were on their way back. Until she woke up, and we repeated the "where am I and who are these scary people?!" thing. Thankfully, we were able to distract her with a puppy until they got there. I'm sure they didn't plan on their kid being awake so close to midnight, but I count it a success as she wasn't crying when they arrived. In retrospect, I have two things to say: 1) I hope that baby still likes me and that I didn't scar her for life, and 2) if/when I have a baby, I'm sequestering my mother in my house in case of emergencies, for at least a year.

Highlights:
1) We had snack day today. The theme - Asian takeout! I had great plans to make these yummy sesame meatballs...yeah, I totally phoned it in. Taste of Asia to the rescue!

2) My parents made the best comfort meal - fried chicken tenders, mashed potatoes, peas, rolls, mac & cheese, asparagus, squash. MMMMmmmmm.

3) The Rangers lost. Pretty badly, too. The best part of the game, though, is that Ella fell asleep right during the 9th inning. So, imagine a sleeping baby, and a room full of whispered cheers/boos at the television. It was comical, to say the least.

Love & Adventures in Aunthood,

K