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“Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.”

Be honest. Are you singing?

This iconic, theatre ballad we all know and love is best sung belted solo and attempting all parts and harmonies while doing the dishes at 8PM for the 80th time since 8AM. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.

In all seriousness though, in case the “I did the dishes 80 times today” didn’t give it away, five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes was literally the length of today.

“How do you measure. Measure a year?”

Or in this particular case, a day. Because as today comes to a close, or at least turns to night, measuring what was and will still be accomplished is awfully difficult. What I know is yesterday blurred into today with another sleepless night. I changed a lot of diapers, wiped and sucked a lot of snot out of sick noses, checked a lot of temperatures, washed and boiled a lot of bottles, played a lot of dolls, read a lot of books, and gave a lot of kisses.

“In daylights, in sunsets. In midnights, in cups of coffee. In inches, in miles. In laughter, in strife”

I bet you’re really belting it, now.

But that’s pretty much it. My day started way before sunrise and I will see midnight with my sick babe. I drank way too much coffee while clocking miles around my house. I laughed at the good, and I cried at the strife. I didn’t get a pat on the back from the boss when I went above and beyond. There are no meeting notes or press releases. And I certainly did not get paid a hefty salary for an eight hour day plus overtime.

The daily call to selflessness through motherhood and the challenges that fill a day, are often immeasurable. This is why we can feel we accomplished everything, yet nothing. This is why when our dear husbands asks about our days and what we did, we look around at a loss for words. That is why we lean on fellow moms. That is why this is just a plain hard job.

Saint Teresa of Calcutta said, “It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the action that we do.”

So… “Measure in love.”

If we stop measuring our days by the immeasurable tasks that consume it or the tasks left undone, and start measuring in the amount of love within the walls of our homes, we would be amazed.

Because the love we have for our children, and the love we give is immense. It’s overwhelming. It’s unfathomable. It fills every second of every day. And it’s why we will wake up and do it all again tomorrow. And all the days after.

“Seasons of love.”

So whatever season of mothering you find yourself in today, do yourself a favor. Measure in love, and forget the rest.

XOXO

Kelsey

Friends, do you have a photo that evokes bottomless joy yet fills you with sadness? Have you ever dove into a memory that engulfs you with peace yet leaves you unsettled?

For me, this is that photo and memory.

This was moments after Luke’s birth. Everything was right with the world. But moments later, so much went wrong. A postpartum hemorrhage. A scary allergic reaction. An inability to breastfeed. A visit to Children’s Hospital. A rare diagnosis. A procedure for me the very same day. A month and a half long worth of mystery symptoms. An appointment in Baltimore with one of two doctors in the country who could help our son. A lot of tears. A lot of prayers. A lot of help. Exhaustion. Anxiety. Anger. This is where this photo takes me. And for close to three months now, I have simply been unable to look at it.

But today, I will look. I will to look at all the photos of my moments-old, beautiful son. Of his beaming father. Of his proud mother. Because when I look into Luke’s smiley eyes, I see just the good.

The good that is my son; the best good. The good that is giving my precious daughter a brother. The good that is watching my children love each other. The good that is family who drops everything at a moment’s notice for us. The good that is astounding medial advancements. The good that is prayers lifted in our name. The good that is a husband who goes above and beyond the vows he took three years ago. The good that is being a mother. The good that is God walking with us through it all.

I may never forget the struggles we encountered this summer. But I have come to learn that while struggles come and struggles go, the good always remains.

With a grateful heart

Kelsey

My Dearest Husband,

As I sit on the couch with a heating pad under both legs to hopefully ease the sciatica pain, reach around my belly to type, stretch my swollen feet, and gnaw on yet another Tums, I still cannot help but smile. Despite the discomfort, our little boy is currently doing the worm in utero.  We are officially in the third trimester and he is so big, active, and strong. He loves cold water, your voice, and when I rock our daughter. And he is growing right on schedule which means ready or not, he is on his way.

I remember so vividly this time just a year and half ago, when we anxiously made preparations for our baby girl. By 28 weeks her nursery was almost complete, clothes washed and hung, name picked out, and prenatal appointments recorded in all wall and phone calendars. We spent every night wishing time would move a little faster and dreaming of our new life as parents. This time around, our baby boy’s nursery is still a storage room, clothes have yet to be bought, we still have not decided on a name, and I almost forgot my last doctor’s appointment. And tonight, as you were putting our little girl to sleep and I was boiling another round of binkies and treating another Mac N Cheese stain, I could not help but wish time would slow down a bit because this time around, we know what a new baby means.

It means sleepless months, and days that feel like years. Yet it means short years, and time that simply will not slow down. How that makes any sense still boggles my brain, but we know it to be true.

It means even less time to do things we enjoy like fishing, reading, catching a new movie, and traveling. Not that we have done much of that in the past 17 months, but you catch my drift. Yet it means the most precious of memories made during the simplest, daily tasks like early morning family cuddles, bath time, and evening walks around the neighborhood.

It means our conversations revolving around feedings, odd bowl movements, nap schedules, and baby chores, while completely forgetting to talk about ourselves for days. Yet it means not really minding because our kids are our whole world. And as it turns out, we are not as exciting as them.

It means more irrational fears and unadulterated anxiety about just about everything. From recommended weight gain to soft spots and from a random rash to a tiny fever, the worry will be constant. Yet it means feeling like Superman and Wonder Woman when we figure it all out.

It means not knowing what tomorrow will hold, and lying in bed at night wondering how to predict the future. Yet it means growing closer to our Savior every day because we rely on faith and prayer.

So hubby, we may not know exactly what our life will look like with 2 under 2, but I do know we have each other, more love for our children than we ever thought possible, and a pretty good track record thus far. So bring it on. And hey, at least the kids don’t outnumber us yet.

Much love,

Your Wife

 

As I sit down on my couch at 10:00 PM, I feel something sticky on my leg. Lo and behold, it is a half-melted, half-chewed, Gerber Yogurt Bite. I peel it off and instead of getting up to throw it in the trash, I toss it right on the floor. I have to run the vacuum for the thousandth time again this week tomorrow morning so what’s one more snack down there going to hurt?

Who am I? I hardly recognize myself these days. Once upon a time I would have never, ever tossed a piece of food on the floor. But here is how it all lays out. I don’t think I have actually sat down today except on…you know…the toilet; I have just spent the last hour boiling all the bottles, doing the dishes, putting all 150 books back on my daughters bookshelf, disinfecting the toys because I cannot put her in a bubble (believe me, I looked into it), and taking a very smelly diaper genie bag down three flights of stairs to the garbage; my husband is out of town so I cannot ask him to throw the snack away; and finally, it has been an exhausting week.

In shorter words, my friends, I think I have slowly began to understand the art of letting go.

The yogurt bite is really just a small example of what has truly transpired since becoming a first-time mom ten months ago. Ever since I can remember, maintaining control over what I can and cannot control has been a talent, if you will, of mine. But since Maisy was born, I have had to learn to let some things go. And though this new way of thinking by no means comes naturally, I think I have truly made strides.

If the above mentioned story was not proof enough, I have learned to let go of maintaining a clean and tidy home at all times. My child lives here. She spends her day exploring, learning, and playing. And most of all, she wants me by her side for all of it. So if I don’t dust every five days anymore, *gasp* I’m okay with it. *bigger gasp* I have learned to let go of my perfectly planned plans. Maisy has other plans. And though I put up a good fight, she normally wins. I have learned to let go of the small worries in life. The things that used to keep me up at night hardly cross my mind anymore. I have bigger fish to fry. I have learned to let go of some personal habits. Though I still make showering and coffee a priority, I cannot make any promises about my chipped nails, gray roots, and bags under my eyes that I am absolutely convinced will never disappear.

The most wonderful and beautiful outcome of this new outlook on life is that through learning to let go, I am in turn, able to hold on to much more.

I am able to hold on to precious and fleeting moments with my daughter much tighter and with more presence. I am able to hold on to watching her take new steps along her exciting journey. I am able to hold on to the things that fill my heart with more joy than I ever thought possible. I am able to hold on to all the ups and downs of motherhood and learn more about myself and what I am made of.

Don’t worry. I know the dusting still needs done, some plans need to be made and followed-through with, the small stresses of life need attending to, and I will seriously try to take care of those gray roots every once in a while. But when I kiss my babe goodnight, I know that she knows, I held on to her.

And that is everything.

*Warning: This post contains sappy feelings about love, marriage, and what-not.*

After 596 days, we made it to single digits! Next Saturday, James and I will get all dolled up, stand before God and loved ones, and become one. Our souls, tied in a knot, will withstand the trials of this world through grace, faith, love, and lots of prayer. A tremendous and awesome blessing!

A few days after the proposal, James and I developed a mantra we vowed to use throughout our engagement. We promised to remind one another that while we were planning for a wedding, we were more importantly planning for our marriage.

Unfortunately, the pressure to throw a perfect wedding, pick the most beautiful dress, tone the arm flab, invite the right crowd, create the most appropriate seating arrangement, choose the right party songs, make handmade decorations, and of course, stay under budget, while always maintaining that bridal glow, is really too much. No wonder we toss around labels like bridezilla and bridaldemia! How does one expect a relatively normal, usually nice, and naturally patient young woman to not lose it a bit, and neglect perspective? The expectations are overwhelming.

I wish I could look back on the past year and a half, puff out my chest, hold my chin high, and proclaim, “I adhered to our mantra and overcame it all!” But I didn’t. I often succumbed to the pressure and expectations. I was sometimes quick-tempered. Every so often, I lost patience. I cursed a little. I cried a good bit. And I wished time away.

Now, with October 24, 2015 listed in the 10-day weather forecast, I suddenly wish time would slow the heck down. I’m my own recipe of crazy, right? But before you begin whispering those dreadful bride labels, let me defend my crazy.

So many times throughout our very short lives, we repeatedly disregard the present and look to the next big thing. Stroll into your local department store. Red and green decorations are creeping into displays. Turn on the TV. Certain channels are advertising for holiday movie marathons. Listen to the radio; hosts are already promoting winter events. Christmas is two and a half months away, folks.

But by golly, we will spend the majority of these months pushing and shoving our way through door buster deals, recording every ABC Christmas movie, and clearing our calendars for social gatherings. We will spend an absurd amount of time and exert a ton of energy into preparing for a single day. And once the presents are ripped open, the meal is eaten, and the carols are sang, we will sit around the lit Christmas tree and feel a bit sad. How could it come and go so quickly we will ask? Luckily, we can assure ourselves Christmas comes around once a year. Weddings do not.

You have one wedding day. One dress. One party. One husband. One shot at creating an experience most girls dream of since childhood. I believe this is from where the all the pressure stems. Not from society, Hollywood, or Pinterest, but rather, from our experience in preparing in anticipation, then watching the best of times fly by in a single day. So in turn, you strive to make one day the best it can be.

Knowing I cannot speed up or slow down the clock, it would seem my best option is to savor, enjoy, and treasure every step from here to the “I do’s.” I will repeat the mantra, tack it on the wall, write it on my hand, whatever it takes. I will let the pressure of the past months fall away. I will relish in every special moment with family, friends, and my husband-to-be. And I will cherish it all. Then, when the time comes to sit around the tree and look back, I will not feel sad the wedding ended. But rather, grateful for the opportunity to have witnessed time give way to a new beginning. The beginning of our marriage.

So here’s to the coming single digit days, the big day, and every day after. Here’s to #Orangeisthenewharris!

With much gratitude.

Kelsey