Jake's Peter Pan Birthday Party

The Invitations

I mixed together a small amount of water and glue, poured the mixture into the bottles, and tipped the bottles to coat all sides.  The glue mixture made the bottles more opaque and created an  "aged" appearance.  I immediately placed a small amount of dirt in the bottles, corked the tops, then shook the bottles to distribute the dirt from top to bottom.  Once dry, I rolled the invitations (see below) and placed inside.

 

Mixed together blue and green glitter as well as green decorative sand to create "Pixie Dust" to help guide our guests' cars to Jake's party.  I used  Tinker Bell confetti and curling ribbon for the decoration.

Invitation by Luna Petunia Designs  LOVE them!

The Party

Rainbow Goldfish and Ranch Dip with blue food coloring

We used "Gold Doubloons" (Vanilla Wafers) to dip into our "Mud Pie"  Recipe follows pictures.

 

I found a plastic pirate hat and used it as a bowl to hold sea salt pita chips.

My sweet Peter Pan!

Cousins!

Such a happy 4-year-old I have!

Neverland painted onto a full-size flat sheet. 

Flying over Neverland!

Peter Pan and Captain Smee :)

Lost Boys' Mud Pie

2 cups creamy peanut butter

1 cup Nutella

1 1/2 cups white chocolate morsels

10-15 Oreos, crushed- reserve a handful for top

Combine all ingredients into a microwave-safe bowl and stir.  

Microwave for 1 minute, remove, and stir.  

If needed, return and microwave in 10-second intervals until melted.  

Store in a seal-able container (I used a glass jar for this project).  

Works great with vanilla wafers, graham crackers, marshmallows, and banana slices.  

Super easy and DELISH!  Definitely a hit at the party.

This Side of Heaven

It was two days before Christmas.  I'm sure of this because I specifically remember thinking that Jeff and I were either going to have an especially merry holiday, or a Christmas we'd rather forget.

Exactly one month before, on our two-year wedding anniversary, I had surprised Jeff with two things - a book filled with date ideas, and a positive pregnancy test.  When he saw that our little family of three was growing into a perfect family of four, his eyes began to tear and he reached from the couch to the coffee table where I sat, and wrapped his arms around me.  I smiled as he did, but warned that, yes, of course, I was SO excited too, but I had a gut feeling that something was wrong.  Though it was early, this pregnancy felt different than when I was expecting Jake...

As any good husband would do, he assured me that everything was fine, but did support me when I immediately scheduled an appointment with an OB/GYN.  I met with Dr. Evans whose practice was located just down the road from our beautiful home in Morganton, NC.  I wasn't shy about expressing my concern and Dr. Evans reminded me that to worry about the viability of one's pregnancy is perfectly normal.  Despite my fears he recommended that we schedule an ultrasound for the end of December and I ultimately agreed to wait for what was sure to be an excruciatingly long four weeks.

Fortunately, we had a Thanksgiving trip to Texas and a Disney trip to Florida to help pass the time.  Both sides of our family were thrilled at the announcement of our upcoming arrival - (we had Jake tell the family that he wanted to show them something, we left the room to change his clothes, and then sent him running back to our families to show them his new shirt that read "Big Brother").  Everyone was so excited that I opted against sharing my fears with our family, but did ask that they please pray for a healthy pregnancy.

Almost immediately I was stricken with morning/noon/night sickness.  I had only ever felt sick with Jake twice, so to lose my lunch- for lack of better words- all day long, strengthened my fears that something was off.  FINALLY, after what seemed like years of waiting, the time had come for the ultrasound.

I don't remember the specific events that led up to the sonogram, but I do remember lying on the table, Jeff holding my left hand, and the nice blonde ultrasound tech who entered the room. Before she started, she asked if I had symptoms that would lead me to believe that something was wrong with the baby- a fair and obvious question to someone who was having an ultrasound so early.  I told her that other than morning sickness, I just had a really strong, almost palpable instinct that something was wrong- different.

Within seconds of pouring the warm gel on my tummy and moving around the ultrasound transducer she paused and put her hand on my knee as she looked down at the ground.  I wanted to ask what was wrong, but the lump in my throat prevented me from doing so.  The split-second hesitation seemed to last a lifetime.  The tech, recognizing my anxiety, turned the screen towards Jeff and I and said, "There are two babies.  You're having twins."

Jeff and I looked at each other and simultaneously burst into laughter and then into tears.  We took turn rattling off the things in our lives that were inevitably going to change.  "We're going to need two cribs."  "Can we afford daycare?"  "We're going to need a van!"  The tech allowed us to have our little moment, but finally asked me to please stop giggling, she couldn't complete the ultrasound with my belly bouncing around.  I took a deep breath, wiped the happy tears from my eyes, smiled once more at Jeff, then turned back to look at my baby, no - BABIES- on the monitor.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with phone calls to our family and friends across the country.  My friend Stef instantly guessed what I was calling to tell her.  My mom was in complete shock and said, "You're lying" at least 15 times before the news finally sank in and she started to cry, and my sister-in-law, Melanie, on speakerphone mind you, said, "Shut the F up!" I love you, Melanie.


It was the happiest day of my life...


We were in shock ourselves, but head-over-heels, over-the-moon, cloud #9, blissfully happy.  So many people made comments like, "Are you... happy?" or "Better you than me."  I never took offense to the questions and comments that could've been perceived as negative.  Of course I knew that we were about to have a lot on our hands, our world would never be the same.  I didn't care.  I couldn't have been happier.  In fact, Dr. Evans encouraged that morning sickness was actually a sign of a healthy pregnancy, so everytime I would throw up, whether it was on the side of Interstate 40, in the bathroom at Lowe's, or in the Chick-fil-A drive-through (not one of my finer moments, I admit) I would pause and thank God for what I referred to as my "blessing times two."  That, my friends, is a special kind of happy.

"Two" quickly became a theme around our house.  Jake was going to turn two in just a couple of months (which meant that we were going to have three kids under the age of three), everything "baby" whether it was carriers, cribs or car seats was going to double.  Jeff and I, seriously still in shock, would sometimes just look at each other, unable to find words, and hold up two fingers symbolizing the two new additions that were coming our way.

And while our gesture mimicked a peace sign, there wasn't even a small fraction of my mind that was the least bit at peace.  I couldn't shake the haunting, terrible, keep-you-up-at-night kind of feeling that having twins, something I had wanted for as long as I could remember, would never really happen.

When I was able to rest and slip off to sleep, I had a recurring dream.  A dream about a field of white flowers where far away in the distance there sat a little girl in a white dress.  In my dream, I would walk to her, the tall white flowers caressing my knees while I moved closer and closer to my destination.  I don't know why, but my dream never allowed me closer than probably five feet away.  From this distance I could see that the little girl was sitting on a white blanket.  She had long brown hair and though my view was of her back, I could see that she was playing, though with what I have no idea.  I was so intrigued and had so many questions.  Despite all of the uncertainties, of three things I was sure: She was beautiful.  She was happy.  And I loved her.

I shared my dream with Jeff and found that he too, had dreamed that we had a little girl.  News of this would have made most people feel certain that our little Jakey was going to have a sister- I feared it meant just the opposite. 

After midnight on the night of Sunday, January 3, I woke up with incredibly intense pains in my lower back.  I lay in bed, silent, for a while, but finally sat up and tried to make my way to the bathroom.  My shuffling around woke Jeff and he asked what was wrong.  I told him that I felt like I was having contractions and to grab my phone so I could call the hospital.  As I knew he would, the on-call doctor told me that it sounded like I was having a miscarriage, but to wait it out until morning, and then call my OB for further instructions.

At exactly 8:00 a.m., I called Dr. Evans' office and scheduled an appointment for 8:30.  Dr. Evans did a couple of tests and said that everything looked perfectly fine, but just to give me peace of mind, he set up an emergency ultrasound at the hospital.

We were probably only in the waiting room for half an hour, but it seemed like an eternity- fortunately we had "The Price is Right" with the recently added host, Drew Carey, to help pass the time.  I remember the radioligist walking through the double doors and calling my name.  I said a silent prayer, "Please, God, let her have good news."  Jeff stood and took my hand, because we both assumed that he could be a part of the process, but he was told that I had to go back there alone - something I really wasn't prepared to do.

The radiologist and I walked down the cold, quiet, beige hallway and I tried to seem friendly, to make small talk, but I honestly just couldn't find any words to convince either one of us that I was doing OK.  Once I was on the table she started the ultrasound and was completely quiet, which was seriously driving me crazy.  I asked a quick series of questions, "Are they OK?"  "Can you see heartbeats?"  "Are they moving?"

She then explained that she wasn't at liberty to tell me anything, only that she would give the results to Dr. Evans and he would call me as soon as he could.  I honestly wasn't trying to make her feel bad, but I started to cry.  I apologized and said that I was just so worried and had hoped that she would be able to tell me something so I wouldn't have to wait any longer.  She hesitated, said, "Promise you won't tell..." and she turned the screen so I could see.

I've done a lot of traveling in my life and I have lived in and visited some of the most beautiful places in our country, but I have never, not once, seen anything more magical than what I saw on that cold winter morning.  On the left side of the screen was "Baby A," looking face-on, floating up and down; to the right was "Baby B" doing somersaults over and over.  I was completely entranced and found that now I was crying harder than before.  Just before the tech moved the screen back to its starting position, "Baby A" appeared to flash a peace sign (ironic I know) and "Baby B" lay on her back.  "It's looks like "Baby B" tuckered herself out.  I think she's sucking her thumb," the tech smiled and patted my shoulder.

I probably thanked her 50 times on the walk back to the waiting room and even hugged her just before I stepped through the doors.  I was so sincerely grateful that she had broken the rules.  Not only did I have confirmation that both babies were perfectly healthy, but I was able to see the babies on the screen at the same time - something that the tech wasn't able to do on our first sonogram visit.  It was the first and last time I would see my babies side-by-side.


I spent the next few months doing extensive research on the best strollers for twins, tandem or side-by-side, whether the twins should share a crib or have a space of their own, and the best nursing schedule to feed two hungry babies.  We also test drove several vehicles because there was absolutely no way that we could fit three carseats in the back of my Ford Edge.  I really had my heart set on a Jeep Commander, but found that there wasn't enough room in the back for Jake's stroller as well as one for the twins.  And really, all third-row vehicles were going to prove difficult because either way I was going to have to crawl into the back to strap one of three kiddos in.  As much as I hated it, I knew that buying a van was inevitable.

And though there was the need to purchase a new car and other huge financial investments, not to mention so many other drastic life changes, I amazingly, never felt like I couldn't handle it.  Maybe I was just too excited to feel overwhelmed by all that having twins would entail;  then again, maybe I was just so incredibly thankful that I truly believed that God wouldn't give me more than I could handle.

The night of March second was a long one.  It was the eve of our next sonogram and I was so ridiculously excited I had a hard time sleeping.  When my alarm went off, I jumped out of bed, woke Jeff, and told him that today was the day we see our babies again.  Jeff originally thought that he couldn't get off work, so the fact that he was getting to go with me made me all the more anxious for the afternoon to arrive.

Even though I debated taking the day off (I knew there was no way I could focus!) I decided to be a good soldier and forced myself to go into work that morning where I told everyone, seriously everyone- complete strangers in the store, parking lot, wherever- that this was the day I would get to see my twins again.  The barista at Starbucks, who was a mother of twins herself, was especially excited for me.  I had been on a no-caffeine diet during the pregnancy, but wanted a little jolt of energy in hopes that the babies would be extra-active for their moment in the spotlight.  She handed me my coffee and wished me luck as I walked out the door.

Once I was back in the Edge I noticed that I had a missed call on my phone.  It was Jeff, who had called and said that Jake's daycare had called and that he had pink eye.  My initial thought was of "poor Jake!"  Then, though, I realized what Jeff was calling to tell me.

"You're not going to the ultrasound anymore are you?"  I asked.  Jeff said no, that it wouldn't be right to take a sick toddler to a place filled with pregnant women and to that point I couldn't argue.  At the same time though, there was something on my heart, something that came out of nowhere but was so real, so strong, I had no choice but to say it, "I need you there."

Four seemingly simple words that can mean so many things depending on the context, but four words that, as I uttered them, prepared my heart for the worst.

Once we were in the ultrasound room (all three of us: Jeff, Jake, and I), the tech entered followed by three other women.  Two of the ladies were ultrasound tech trainees, the third was their instructor.  They had never seen a twin pregnancy and asked if they could sit in.  I, of course, said yes.

Everyone seemed so lighthearted, joking with Jake, talking about how busy we were going to be with three little kids... but my mood was anything, but light.  I had such a heavy, heavy heart.

The songram started and the very first thing the tech asked was whether or not I had experienced any complications since we saw each other last.  I mentioned the trip to the hospital, but said that everything had been fine since then.  She showed us the screen and we watched "Baby A" doing his thing.  She mentioned the words "perfectly healthy" several times, took his measurements, checked his heart rate.  Then she stopped.  She looked me in the eyes and I saw that she was about to cry.

"Baby B has passed away.  I am so sorry, Amanda."  I covered my eyes and started crying, harder than I've ever cried, and felt Jeff lean over and put his face against mine.  Not knowing what was going on, little baby Jake started to cry too and kept asking me why I was sad.  I'm not sure how long this went on, but I do remember pausing every couple of minutes because I honestly, God know my heart here, thought I was dreaming.  Something this horrible couldn't happen, it just couldn't.

The tech explained that I was still carrying "Baby B," something that she had never seen before.  Most twins are either miscarried or reabsorbed into the uterin lining.  She asked if I wanted to see the baby - I did.

This precious angel who two months before had been doing somersaults and sucking her thumb was now so still, so lifeless.  I wanted to touch the screen, to somehow feel like I was holding her, but instead I just lay there with tears streaming down my cheeks.

By this point Jake was hysterical, so Jeff took him outside.  The tech left too, to find Dr. Evans.  The students and instructor offered me tissues and water.  Sure, it was a little awkward having these strangers witness something so horrible, but I'm glad they were there.  My innate nature to make everyone feel at ease made me snap out of the hysterics and convince them that I was fine, they shouldn't worry.  I still had one healthy baby- that was something to celebrate, right?

Dr. Evans came in an asked that I follow him to his office.  Once we were there, we both took a seat and he expressed his sympathies for my loss. Like the ultrasound tech, he had never seen a twin pass away, but remain in the uterus. He told me that he would have to send me to a specialist.

About that time, Jeff came in (one of the nurses was watching Jake so Jeff and I could be together), and he held me for a while before we headed home.

The first person I called was my mom who I assumed was at work - she wasn't.  She had gone to a funeral, so her cell phone was off.  I called my Dad.  No answer.  I called my Dad again.  Still no answer.  I probably called the poor guy 15 times in a row, but still wasn't able to get in touch with him, so I called my brother.  I honestly can't recall even one word from that conversation, or really much of anything else for the rest of the afternoon.  Everything else is a blur.


It was the worst day of my life...


That night was horrible.  Every time I would close my eyes I would dream that Jake died.  Strange, I know, but that's how it felt.  See, for me I didn't feel like I had lost a "fetus."  I had loved that baby with all my heart from the day I found out I was pregnant, just as much as I loved Jake because, though he or she wasn't yet born, she was my child just as much as Jake.  I would wake from these dreams, go into Jake's room to make sure he was breathing, then go back to my room where I was overwhelmed with so many terrible thoughts.

Was she scared when she died?  When did she take her last breath?  Was the surviving baby aware that his sister was no longer there?  I had felt all along that God wouldn't give me more than I could handle - was this His way of telling me I wasn't a good enough mother to handle three kids?  Did I not deserve to have a "blessing times two?"  Why would He give me a glimpse at having what I considered a perfect life only to snatch it away?

Then I remembered how selfish I had been about something as stupid as driving a minivan.  If I had complained about only one thing the entire pregnancy, it was that I would have to sell my Edge.  So that night, on the corner of my side of the bed as my sweet husband slept, I cried uncontrollably, feeling a tremendous amount of guilt over my unwillingness to drive what I considered an "old person" automobile.

Looking back I realize that, overachiever that I am, I skipped the first two steps of the Kubler-Ross Five Stages of Grief Model.  Even though I had initially hoped all of this wasn't happening, there was no way I could  have experienced true "Denial."  Pain that real couldn't be denied.  There was no use in feeling "Anger."  I didn't have the energy required to get mad.  Nope, I went straight to the bargaining phase and I sat there on the bed that night and told God that I knew He could work miracles - He had created the universe and parted the Red Sea.  He appeared as a burning bush and sent the ten plagues to Egypt.  His Son had walked on water and had risen from the dead.  He could do those things and, so I plead, I begged, I bargained...if He would just please let all of this be a mistake, a horrible nightmare, I would do anything, ANYTHING, including drive a minivan.

Morning came, though, and nothing had changed.  I was still a pregnant woman carrying twins, one that alive and one that was not.  I wanted to sit around and cry all day, but instead I put on a brave face and realized I had to rally - Jake's second birthday party was less than a week away and it wouldn't be fair to him to not get the party he deserved.

The next several days consisted of texts, emails, calls, and Facebook messages from people offering their condolences.  And I know that people meant well, and I sincerely appreciate people reaching out, but it was so hard to hear things like, "You're so lucky that you were having twins. Even though the one didn't make it, you still have another baby to look forward to."  Again, I don't want to sound ungrateful.  And it was true that I WAS thankful that I had a surviving baby, but I didn't feel like he was a consolation prize and I didn't feel any less grief-stricken at the loss of my baby.  If anything, I felt more torn.  When most women lose a baby, they can grieve - I couldn't.  If I felt sad, I was afraid people would think I was ungrateful for "Baby A."  If I hurt so bad that I couldn't eat or sleep, I was going to negatively impact the baby still growing in my womb.  If I seemed enthusiastic about "Baby A" arriving in just a few short months, I felt like I would be moving on, forgetting about my baby that died.  I never really had a chance to process what was happening.  I just had to suck it up, pray for the health of my baby, and go on.

I'll be honest and say that even though pregnancy is suppose to be one of the most wonderful times in a woman's life, I didn't enjoy it.  I couldn't.  I was either so sad at the loss or so worried about the second baby making it that I found it really hard to feel happy.

And while, yes, this was easily the most difficult time in my life, I can say now, after time to reflect, that something truly beautiful came from tragedy.

Two of the most powerful conversations I had on that terrible third day of March came from my Uncle Byron and from my Dad.  My uncle lost a son before I was even born, and he was able to talk about how much it hurts to lose a child.  My mom and dad also lost a baby, my sister, Jennifer, who was born in 1980, but only lived a few hours.  I bombarded my dad with all of the questions I was asking God and my dad told me something I'll never forget.  He explained that there are just some things we'll never understand this side of Heaven, and once we get there, the answers won't matter anyway.


What I DO know this side of Heaven is that God sends special people, unintentional angels, to help us during our most difficult days.  There were four people from Burkemont Baptist Church in particular,  Dustin, April, Kerry, and Zoe, who were all so supportive and sincere in their concern that my eyes were really opened to what it means to love thy neighbor.  None of these people knew me very well at all, but all made me feel like the most special, most important person in the world.  They prayed for me, made dinner so I could rest, and watched Jake when Jeff and I had to drive to the specialist in Asheville.

There was also a nurse who reminded me of my friend Tay.  Every doctor's appointment I had following the ultrasound, she would find me, even if she wasn't my nurse that day, and she would sit with me and cry.  I don't even know her name...

There were the people at my mom's work, BankTexas, who flew my mom to North Carolina the very next day after we received the horrible news.  I can't imagine how much that ticket must have cost, but they all pooled their money together to make sure I had my mom with me when I needed her most.

One unintentional angel was the radiologist who went against the rules, and allowed me to see my babies.  I'll cherish that memory forever, and will always carry a burden that Jeff couldn't see it too.

And of course, I had my husband, who somehow found the balance between being a source of strength- a shoulder to cry on- but was also vulnerable enough to show me that he was hurting too.

Last, but by no stretch of the imagination least, I had my sweet baby Jake who kept me smiling when all I wanted to do was go to my room, lock the door, and cry until I couldn't feel anything anymore.

Two years later, I still struggle to understand why things happened the way they did.  I'd be lying if I said I don't sometimes look at my precious angel baby Elijah (Lord is my God) Thomas (one of twins) and wonder what it would have been like had there been two.  I still sometimes pray that God will let me have that same old dream with the same white flowers and the same white blanket with that same beautiful little girl; I miss her.

But my dad was right.  Sure, maybe I could find the answers once I'm in Heaven, but I won't need them.  I won't need to understand why I lost my baby, it will be enough for me just knowing that she's there.  And to meet my baby for the first time in the presence of Jesus will be something to behold.


Above all, I've learned that there IS life after loss, even on this side of Heaven.  I'm daily reminded of all of the wonderful things, and more importantly- people- I am blessed to have.  And even though I miss my sweet baby, so, so much, she has helped me understand the importance of not taking anything, not even a single moment, for granted.

Finally, to my baby: I miss you, but know we'll be together again in the blink of an eye, and we'll walk together through a field of white flowers.  With all my heart, with all my soul, forever and ever, I love you.

The One and Only Exxon...

The One and Only Exxon 

and other encounters that herald the Healing Power of a Hug

Gearing Up For Good Times

So. Stinking. Ready...

Originally written and posted to Facebook on October 29, 2011


                 After what can only be described as an exhausting, roller coaster of emotions, going-down- in- history- as- one- of- the- best World Series, the Rangers, MY Rangers, are not the World Champions.  After the 27th Ranger out and coinciding eruption of chants and cheers from the St. Louis fans, I turned off the TV, walked to my closet where I traded my Baylor Alumni sweatshirt for my Claw and Antlers Tee, I walked to the side of my bed, and I sat in silent protest to Tom Hanks’ character in “A League of Their Own,” and I cried – over baseball.
                Now don’t get me wrong, I’m passionate, and I’m a competitor, and I really, REALLY love to win and equally really, REALLY hate to lose, (I know of about ten of you who just read this and laughed, knowing that this is likely a bit of an understatement), but I didn’t cry because my boys didn’t come out victorious; I cried because the season was over.
                You see, for me, baseball is more than “just a game,” it’s a part of who I am.  I’m a Christian, a wife and a mother, a daughter, a sister, and a friend.  I’m extremely patriotic, I’m dedicated to my work, and I have a 28 year long love affair with 40 men who captivate complete control of my late springs and entire summers.

                As a little girl I grew up knowing that summer meant three things: no school, tons
of trips to the public swimming pool, and Texas Rangers baseball.  I can’t tell you how many games I watched and how my schedule revolved around tuning in to the game I was born to love.

                I’m a fourth generation Rangers fan, and in a way, the team out of Arlington has been
more like an extended family than a Major League ball club.  I’ve loved them, rain or shine, win or lose,
for as long as I can remember; their victories have been my triumphs- their losses have been my defeats.

                Some of my most potent memories of childhood include seeing my parents walk through the door of my aunt and uncle’s home chanting, “Ruben, Ruben. Ruben,” after returning home from a game where the Rookie right fielder had hit a walk-off home run; I remember sitting in the cheap seats of Arlington Stadium eating chocolate ice cream from a miniature plastic blue helmet; I remember a wooden plaque featuring a picture of the last pitch of Nolan Ryan’s final no-hitter that sat on the hutch in our dining room as though we, ourselves, had thrown that final ball (their victories have been my triumphs, remember?).

               Most of all, though, I remember my Granddaddy and his love/hate relationship with the Rangers.  Billy George loved them when they were “on,” but was quick to give his opinion when things weren’t going well- which history confirms was more often than not.  He had suggestions on how they should manage, who they should pitch, and, most importantly, what they should wear (Granddaddy swore by the red jerseys).  But through it all, he loved his team.  In fact, the last thing he said to my aunt before he died was, “Turn the Rangers on for me, Deb.” His passion was contagious- if not hereditary- and is something he passed down through my father to my brother and me.

              Now as an adult, baseball and the Rangers continue to serve an important role in my
life.  You see, almost every day in the summer (and if we’re truly lucky, a part of the fall), life slows down and everything that normally matters so much suddenly seems so insignificant.  When I’m watching the Rangers, I’m a 10-year-old kid again.  I forget that I have bills to pay and groceries to buy. I forget about dishes and laundry.  I forget about devastating news and lose track of disappointments.  I’m not overwhelmed by obligation or weighed down by worries.  When I’m watching the Rangers, I feel a lot less grown-up, and a lot more carefree.

             Simplicity-thus is the beauty of baseball.  There’s just a bat and a ball, a diamond of dirt, and 40 men who carry the dreams of boys and girls from every corner of the country and every walk of life. This, my friends, is why I love the game.

             Some will argue that America’s pastime is “too slow” or “too boring.”  But the lulls, the downtime, are exactly the things that lend themselves to allowing the viewer, us fans, to know the players as family and friends.  We hear commentary on what the players do in the offseason, things they do and say in the clubhouse, and whose wife is pregnant and when she is due.  In this respect, baseball isn’t boring at all – it’s a deeply intimate, personal sport in which some of us spend at least 162 afternoons and evenings with the friends we so desperately miss every winter.

             And the Rangers, for me, top it all off by being such a fun, laid-back, dedicated, classy group of guys, who are intense in their preparation and execution, but never forget to enjoy the ride along the way.  What a life-lesson that is, huh?
             Now that I’m a mom with two beautiful blue-eyed boys of my own, I feel a sense of pride as I pass down the family tradition of following the Rangers- how lucky they are to have moved to Texas in the year that we finally broke the barrier and made it to the playoffs, conquered the opponent in the ALDS, won the AL pennant, and made our way to our first ever World Series.  And then, to see our team silence those who thought we were a “fluke” by making it back to the Fall Classic for the second year in a row… priceless.

             I could share dozens upon dozens of memories that we as a family have had in the past two seasons, but I’ll simply end by saying this - Thank you.
        
            Thank you to the Rangers who have proven to be such faithful friends.  Thank you to the team who has brought so much joy my three-year-old, who is perhaps the biggest fan of all.  Thank you for two seasons that have been nothing short of magical, and thank you most of all for knowing how much I have loved you and for finally loving me back.

                I’m already looking forward to the 2012 season…  Until then, Go Rangers!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1SxJKnqR4s

           

             

Then It Did...

 Happy Valentine's, Babe!  Love you!

Our life in lyrics, with some help from Brad Paisley...

"It Did" Brad Paisley
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWcziRn94_0

 (Jeff surprised me with a private dinner on the beach in Jamaica)

A single red rose and a table for two
A nice chardonnay and an ocean view






Ships comin' in and stars comin' out
We sat and we talked till the place closed down
Then we took a long walk down on the beach
Her in that white dress and her bare feet











We stopped and we watched the lighthouse light
I pulled her close and I held on tight














And I said to myself
It doesn't get better than this
No it doesn't get better than this
And it did
It did

Fast forward to that next spring
We were lookin' for a preacher
Pickin' out rings
Family comin' in and friends comin' out
To that little white church on the outskirts of town
Me in that tux fightin' butterflies
Tears of joy in the momma's eyes
Her daddy walkin' her down the aisle
He lifted that veil and I saw that smile
And I said
To myself
It doesn't get better than this

No it doesn't get better than this

But it did
It did
Oh it did

Just when I start thinkin' its as good as it can get
This crazy life does somethin' just to let me know
I haven't seen anything yet

Nine months later nearly to the day
There we were flyin' down the interstate
Car weavin' in and car weavin' out
Through traffic runnin' every red light in town
Delivery room and the doctor comes in
I'm right beside and shes squeezin my hand
One more push and a baby cries
Sweet little angel with his momma's eyes

And I said
To myself
It doesn't get better than this
No it doesn't get better than this

But it did
It did
Oh it did
Yes it did

Embracing the "I Will Nevers"

“Hi.  My name is Amanda, and I (dramatic pause)… drive a minivan.” I try to swallow despite the lump in my throat as a collective gasp comes from the crowd. 

Standing behind a podium, shaky knees and sweaty palms, I look at the panel sitting in the front row.  I had hoped that they wouldn’t judge me – that at the very least they’d give me a chance to explain.

I look at the green-eyed, tan-faced little girl with the sandy blonde hair sitting “criss-cross apple sauce” (Indian style for those of you not in the “know”) on the cushioned chair furthest to the left.  “Me-Age 5” seems impervious to this shocking turn of events, but is somewhat curious by the reaction of those around her.  To her left, is “Me-Age 12” who looks disgusted – she can’t imagine the possibility of driving anything other than a sports car.  Everything about her body language screams “Ugh…gross!”  “Me-Age 16” laughs at first, then says, “Wait… you’re serious?”  And, as I would suspect, a simple eye roll comes from “Me-Age 18.”  She’s a firecracker, that one. 

I’m most afraid to look at “Me-Age 22.”  I know what she’s thinking, and as soon as I make eye contact, I know that I’m right.  Though I’d almost expected to see her jaw on the floor, I find that it’s actually quite the opposite.  Her jaw is clenched, her hands are white-knuckling the sides of the chair, and a single tear runs down her cheek.  She’s doing everything she can to keep from losing it.  She doesn’t have to speak; I know that I’ve let her down.  To that ambitious young woman, fresh off of a White House internship, to drive a minivan means to give up on so many dreams, so many goals.  To her, a minivan inevitably means that she’s married, with probably at least two kids, and is definitely NOT fulfilling any of her career aspirations. 

I quickly look away and find “Me-Age 27.”  She’s unlike the others.  Though I know she’s not necessarily excited at the prospect of a minivan, she’s accepting of the fact that it’s inevitable.  She smiles at me, nods, and looks down at her ever-growing tummy.  She knows that as much as she loves her Ford Edge, it’s simply not big enough for three car seats – my heart breaks looking at this one.  I know that she’s going to drag her heels and shoot for an SUV with a third row seat; I know that she’s going to come to the conclusion that a minivan is the only thing that makes sense for a mom with three kids under the age of three;  I also that in just a few months, she’s going  to sit on the edge of her bed in the middle of the night, shoulders shaking as she sobs, bargaining, begging God for a minivan.  More to come on that in a blog for a later date…

Driving a minivan is one of the many…many… things I swore I’d never do. 

Despite A LOT of persuading from my college friends, I swore I’d never join Facebook - I held off longer than most and didn’t join until 2009.  I vowed that I would never in a gazillion years “Tweet.”  I also said I would never get married and I’d never have kids. 

What I didn’t know at previous ages of my life is that, now, a minivan means that I have a job.  A job where I have a free vehicle, free gas, and amazing flexibility to come and go for doctor’s appointments, taking care of sick kiddos, etc.  I’ve been able to connect with old friends through Facebook and get a daily chuckle from Twitter.  I don’t know what my life would be without my boys – all three of them – Jeff, Jake, and Eli.

See, the aforementioned “I Will Nevers” are now among my favorite hobbies and greatest blessings.  If I would have been the stubborn, stick-to my guns kind of girl that I normally am, I would have missed out on some of the greatest things in my life.

I want to remain open to the things I thought could never happen, because I know now at the wise, old age of 29 that life has an unbelievable way of taking you off guard.  The greatest and most amazingly fulfilling things are the things we can’t anticipate, can’t fight, can’t deny. 

If I’ve learned anything over the past few years, it’s that in order to grow, we have to expect the unexpected.  In Wrigley, we hear all the time that we have to control our controllables.  In order to do that, we have to experience a certain degree of openness to embrace the things over which we have no power – whether it’s the car we do or do not drive, the job we have, or falling in love… if we say no to the “I Will Nevers” we may just miss out something truly wonderful.

Open mind.  Open heart.  No regrets.

The Bigger They Are...

Think about the last mistake you made.  Remember the guilt you felt in knowing that you not only let yourself down, but potentially hurt your family and friends as well.  Now imagine going to bed with the understanding that over the next few hours, days, weeks, and maybe even months, your mistake will become public – thousands of people will post their “expert” analysis of your situation on Twitter and Facebook, people will perform Google searches with your name, in hopes of catching a glimpse of a picture or video of your temporary lapse in judgment, and news tickers will stream with details, both factual and assumed, of your transgression.   You didn’t murder, you didn’t lie, cheat, or steal… all you did was have a drink.  This is the reality for 2010 AL MVP, Christian, role model, and my favorite Texas Ranger, Josh Hamilton.

Anyone who follows sports, or at the very least has picked up a paper or turned on a television over the past two days knows that Hamilton, a recovering alcoholic and former drug-user, relapsed on Monday night when he had a few drinks at a restaurant and, later, at a local Dallas bar. 

I was in the kitchen making dinner on Thursday night when Jeff told me the news.  At the time, there were no details, just a headline on ESPN.com saying that Josh Hamilton had relapsed.   My heart sank.  My thoughts didn’t turn to what this means for his contract or his future with the Rangers, my mind immediately thought about how difficult this must be for him – knowing that he messed up, knowing that he has negatively impacted his wife, Katie, their children, and all of those who care about him most, and knowing that some very misguided people will unjustly question the validity of his Christianity.

I hurt for him.  And though I am a huge fan of Josh Hamilton the baseball player, I am a much bigger fan of Josh Hamilton, the man.

Within a few weeks of us moving to Texas in the spring of 2010, Jeff and I went to a Rangers game and I optimistically waited by the Rangers dugout, hoping to have the opportunity to get an autograph from the 6’4 outfielder.  Sure enough, after waiting in the Texas heat (made even hotter by the fact that I was 7 months pregnant), Hamilton walked over and started signing hats, bats, and anything else put in front of him.  In an effort to sign as many items as he could, Josh never looked up; he simply raised his arm, open-handed, and took whatever was placed in his palm.  When it was my turn, I placed a miniature Rangers bat in his hand.  I gushed, feeling more like a 5-year-old boy than a 27-year-old mother of one with one on the way, and told him that I had read his book and was sincerely inspired by his story.  With Sharpie in one hand and the bat in the other, he paused.  He looked up for the first time, smiled, gave a nod, and proceeded to sign the bat I had purchased as a souvenir for Jake.  I thanked him and as I walked away I looked down to see that he had not only signed his name, he had also written “Psalm 62: 5, 6, 7.” These verses read as follows: 

  

⁵ Yes, my soul, find rest in God;
   my hope comes from Him.
⁶ Truly He is my rock and my salvation;
   He is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
⁷ My salvation and my honor depend on God, He is my mighty rock, my refuge.

 Had I not already been a huge fan, that alone would have won me over;  instead, the gesture confirmed my unwavering love for #32. 

More recently, just three weeks ago, Jake and I had the opportunity to participate in a question and answer session with Hamilton at the annual Texas Rangers Fan Fest.  I prefaced Jake’s question by thanking Josh for being such a great role model and explained that he is one of the few professional athletes who I want my little boys looking up to.  I also went on to say that Jake doesn’t always want to finish his dinner, but I warn that if he wants to grow up to be big and strong like Josh Hamilton, he has to eat everything on his plate.  Then, I handed the mic over to my son who asked the hard-hitting question, “Josh Hamilton, what is your favorite food?”  The 240-pound beast of man, dressed in black and wearing a large cross necklace almost fell off of his stool in laughter.  Once he gained his composure, Josh was able to think on his feet and help persuade my picky eater to choose healthy eating habits.  He mentioned green beans, salad, pork chops, and several other mommy-approved options and finished off his long list by saying that he drinks a lot of milk. 

So often we all look at Hamilton as an athlete with superstar status, a baseball god of sorts.  He’s a player that his peers and analysts alike have said comes along once in a generation… if that; a man with God-given talent who works hard on the field, but doesn’t have to.  The guy is just a natural.  In that moment at Fan Fest, though, he wasn’t an MVP, he was an average man, a father– a hero, not for making a seemingly impossible diving catch or hitting four home runs and having 7 RBIs against the Yankees to help take the Rangers to their first ever World Series, but for his efforts to persuade a little boy to eat the right things.

Jake couldn’t have been happier.  We had to make several calls that afternoon because he felt compelled to share his experience with our entire family.  How many people have the opportunity to talk to their hero?  It was truly an incredibly special moment for an incredibly special little boy.  Hamilton solidified my stance that he is a strong role model for our children.

See, I think of Hamilton as the anti-Barkley (who doesn’t remember Charles’s infamous, “I am not a role model” campaign).   Josh has not only accepted, but embraced his role model status.  He understands that, as Luke 12:48 reminds us, “For everyone to whom much is given, of him shall much be required.” He uses every speaking engagement or interview as an opportunity to share the name of Christ with anyone willing to listen.  And since he is so open about his relationship with Jesus, we have higher expectations of him.  Think about it – can you imagine the ESPN ticker if they listed EVERY professional athlete who had a beer on Monday night?  We’d quickly lose interest watching the hundreds of names go by.  If he wasn’t a Christian, no one would care – including Satan.  I strongly believe that Satan attacks those who are put into influential roles in hopes of tearing them down and, in doing so, jeopardizing their ability to bring people to Christ.  His openness about his dark past and optimism for a bright future because of his relationship with Jesus makes Josh an easy target.

And though I’ve never personally dealt with addiction, I’ve seen it touch, consume, and destroy the lives of people I know.  Having witnessed this I know that Josh understands what those who don’t struggle with addiction can’t completely grasp – recovery is a lifelong process.  Addicts have to choose daily, often multiply times a day, to say no to the vice that is controlling their life.  People who battle addiction accept that you are only ever a “recovering” addict, you are never truly cured.

I should probably be clear that I’m not condoning what happened.  Josh is in a position (fair or not) where he has to be more cautious about how he acts and the decisions he makes.  What I am saying is that because he’s one of the greatest baseball players the game has ever seen, and because he so openly professes his belief in Christ, we put him on a pedestal.  His God-gifted talent and God-given platform to share his beliefs make him seem larger than life, and as we all know, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.  So instead of casting stones and passing judgment, I think we should embrace Hamilton for what he is – an imperfect Christian who has made and will continue to make mistakes.  He is flawed, but he is also forgiven.  Most of all, I hope we can all use this as a sobering reminder that heroes are human too.    

We love you, Josh, and I still whole-heartedly believe that you are a very worthy role model for my little boys.  Prayers sent your way!