oh, these old things?

 My friend's daughter had V one afternoon and took some photos with her iPad.

Vesper isn't sure about cold grass and damp leaves...

... but apparently THIS is her happy place.
 Or lovely place. Either one.

My cheerful holiday Vader, singing in the Christmas program. I always forget about dressing him up for the program until all the kids start filing out and I see how nice they look in fancy duds.

He never cares though, so maybe I should let it go?

Blake loves Calvin & Hobbes just like Rob and I do, which is both sweet and alarming. For Christmas, I wanted to do something special and unexpected, so I drew this for him, based on one of the illustrations in one of our many books. Rob repeatedly asked if I traced it, but don't worry, I still love him. He just didn't realize he'd married a master forger.

The sweet friend who took our Christmas card photos (forthcoming). And by sweet, I mean "sweet like a rash," because at one point after I snapped this selfie at our little coffee date, she made the comment that I had practically raised her.

Ok, I DID babysit for her and her little sister and brother pretty regularly, but I had deluded myself into feeling like her peer now that we are both all growed up. Guess she had to make sure I knew that I was more growed up than her. PFFT. It's like she barely knows me!

I gave Blake a snowball maker/thrower for Christmas, and gave one to Rob, too. Arm the son, arm the father. It's only fair. And then I read this warning and thought "If you seriously damage, injure, or kill yourself while throwing snowballs, you are DOING IT WRONG."

More interested in Christmas this year, Vesper still had no idea what was going on.

We started opening gifts, and she was clearly stunned: "These have been under the tree THE WHOLE TIME! Why haven't we done this sooner?!"

B's big gift this year was a bike that actually fit him. Or at least will in about five minutes. It's big yet, but he's growing quickly! I got to the back of Target with my full cart, pulled the bike down, and realized that I had made a huge mistake. I needed both the cart AND the bike. There was just me. 

So I hopped on the bike and rode it one-handed to the cashier, pulling the cart alongside. Target was less crowded than usual, which made it all work, but there were still PLENTY of people to stare, point, and giggle. Totally worth it.

Rob sent B on a scavenger hunt to find it, roaming upstairs to the guest room, down to the piano room, to the tree, and finally to the garage, where I was waiting. The downside to a bike at Christmas: he's not had much opportunity to ride it on our snowy/icy/slushy streets.

I can just hear here saying her new favorite exclamation: "WHAT."

That's it. "WHAT." It's delightful. She's only being saying that for about a week or two, but the happy, surprised look on her face is the same.

Vesper got her first LEGOs and her first doll this Christmas. She vastly prefers her baby.

Upon seeing all the juice disappear when she fed the baby, she looked mystified. She had been sucking on that bottle all morning, and not a drop was forthcoming. What made baby so special? She popped it back in her own mouth and has still not figured it out.

Blake also liked the doll, called "Emma Talks Too Much," and I have to say, if you've named anything as doing something "too much," then you might want to rethink your branding.

This stroller clearly states that it is for dolls ONLY, not for children, and Vesper is already showing her disdain for the man.

Pre-dinner fun at the new Schuyler house. Sawdog loves LEGOs like his brothers and cousin, but his skill needs to catch up. Rob had a lot of fun being needed for LEGO help again.

Gunner got a little rascal! Vesper promptly stole it as he stole her baby. And no one drove it down the stairs. That is winning, folks.

The older boys, wolfing down dinner to dash back downstairs. They left us with the littles, and a quiet, peaceful, delightful Christmas meal commenced as we adults remembered what it is like to have a conversation at normal volume and pace.

Now, all I want for Christmas is a basement.

Gunner Cowlick, being effortlessly cute in one of the few times he wasn't trying to crawl all over the table.

Christmas day Skype calls with some grandies and we counted it a very happy, successful holiday!

Sam and Blake, getting ready to shoot ducks on my parents' neighbors' back ditch. Such a little dude!

Christmas was great, New Year's was fine. I had a harder time in the week between and drank more wine than I should have. January passed quickly, with a trip to Spokane (not sure if I have any photographic evidence of it!) tucked in mid-way. We just got back from Calgary this week (I have one photo) after a wonderful five days where you couldn't be outside because it was colder than a well-digger's hind end. We played mah jongg, hand and foot, and dodgeball. Blake's mini-league basketball team won their tourney game last night, so we have another game to attend tonight. I had hoped they would lose by just a little and be out for the season, but I guess this is HIS Valentine's Day, too. Rob is showing me how much he loves me by cleaning out my car (and lo, my heart goes pitter-pat!), and Blake and I will bring home Little Caesar's pizza after the game. And there you go!

thanksgiving photos, mostly because it's january, so yes

Happy Thanksgiving! We had twenty-six people eating dinner in my dad's shop, and if the full roster of "family I grew up with" had been in attendance, there would have been another eleven (Womacks, we miss ye). IT WAS SO MUCH FUN!

So much fun that I barely took any pictures. The camera was out on Wednesday, and that might have been it!

Audrey was enamored with Blake, and Maddox got in on the action for a little bit.

"You are fun!"

"No, YOU are fun!"

At one point, this happened. There was so much going on in this photo with color, objects, textures, Angry Birds, text messages, and web surfing. Pretty cool? Pretty sad? 

PRETTY QUIET. We win!

The kids and I attended the grand opening/dedication of Blake's school! Vesper is a bit sweaty because the blanket sleeper is overkill in the warm school, but she can't take them off yet, so they are also a very safe bet when in public.

We gave Vesper a stool for something. She was DELIGHTED, tucked it into this corner, and camped out for large portions of the day, grabbing the red buttoned cord on the floor and making our Christmas tree into a multi-colored strobe light, eating her snack, or just sucking her thumb and practicing sitting down ON the stool instead of ALMOST on the stool.

be careful out there

because wine

I had planned to take the week off from chores. It's Christmas, after all. Or it was. Like I care: anything to NOT do chores, amiright?!

I scanned the floor with Blake earlier today, searching for the ball bearings to a small maze he'd inadvertently opened and spilled, and I saw much more than I bargained for, but I reminded myself: Christmas. Be strong. Wear slippers.

Vesper finished lunch before me, so I let her out of the high chair, opened a magazine, and tucked into my own meal. About twenty minutes later, I looked down at her, leaning her head contentedly on my leg, and saw a sizable puddle around her. And numerous dots and puddles elsewhere. Her idea of fun these days is taking a mouthful from her sippy cup and slowly dribbling it out over her chin and clothes. Most of the time, we let her suffer in her damp clothing because while we'd prefer she NOT do this, it's not a big deal with water. The juice I had given her after a meal of bananas and cheese is an entirely different story. Why juice? Well, bananas and cheese. I wanted her to poop sometime in the next three days. Why bananas and cheese? Well, she vigorously defied anything else. Why defiance? If you have to even ask that, you've clearly not spent enough time with an 18-month-old.

And why can I observe all of this with a benevolent - dare I say indulgent? - smile upon my face? Check the post title again. It will make sense now.

A previously unshared photo from 2008. You're welcome.

elevensies

Last year was ten, and I didn't feel like saying anything about it online. This year is eleven and I'm more emotional, probably because grief is weird. And because I'm feeling heavily for those in fresh grief around me. And because each year that passes makes little Blake ever more an echo of his father.

I have a harder time imagining what things would be like if big Blake were alive and an easier time just missing him as a person. I still find myself occasionally surprised by someone who looks like him in passing, or caught by a memory, long buried, that bubbles up and brings a wave of sweet tenderness with barely any sting.

Then I go to an elementary Christmas program, and every year, it makes me cry. Every year, I sit and stream tears with a sincere smile on my face, my heart aching for what big Blake is missing. I don't know what he knows, and I don't presume that a life of brokenness here on earth is more compelling to gaze upon than the very presence of God in heaven... and it doesn't really matter. He's missing out. He's missing nothing. Both are true.

I have the privilege of speaking to a Bible study in a few months, on the topic of "A Heart Restored." Perhaps that is lending to my feelings this December 22, as what I will say and how I will say it have been on my heart and mind. Something has changed in the last year, and it's subtle, but important: Rather than telling my story and including God, I can talk about God by telling others my story. His sovereignty comforts me more and more, rather than being an unknown terror. My understanding of His ways is not really greater, but my trust in them has grown by leaps and bounds.

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” - The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Snow is coming down in buckets here in Billings, and we're taking our family photo today in the hopes that I'll get to send Valentines now that the opportunity for Christmas cards is largely past. Vesper is raiding my purse for mints while Blake read Psalm 23 aloud in order to earn another 30 minutes on the iPad. Rob is helping Dad work wood for our dining room table. Mom and I will probably play some mahjong at some point.

Happy anniversary to me, married just before Christmas eleven years ago, still carrying a torch for the love I lost, still madly in love with the husband I have. Life is beautiful, and I'm grateful for all of it.

this is my tribe

From a time in August when nearly all of my immediate family was together in Coeur d'Alene. I found it written on a slip of paper in a forgotten book. Because of the sheer number of people (both small and tall) involved, I've listed names and kids' ages for more context.

Lane: No more calling "poopface" at the table.
Maddox (4): OK! I understand that!

*****
Grammie: Hey, Sawyer! How's it going?!
Sawyer (3): (tearfully) WELL, WHAT THE PROBLEM IS, IS THEY CALLED ME A BABY!

*****
Sawyer (3): (indignantly) Maddox won't play with me! I only just called him an idiot last night!

*****
Reese: Maddox is outside with the hose.
Lane: Uh, NO, he's NOT.
Mason, Smith, Addie, & Blake: Uh...
Lane: I mean, I know that he IS, but he should NOT BE.

*****
Lane: I got this steak just for you. I even massaged it, Mom. Just for you.
Bing: Well, there's a word picture. My wife, the meat massager.

distraction

Blake has gotten shy and requested that I not post photos or videos of him before he's approved them. He's also gotten very difficult to get photos or videos of in the first place. Thankfully, I have someone who is not so opinionated to make up for it, and I don't have nearly as many snaps or vids of her at this age as I do of him at this age... just so that you know I am not playing favorites.

Besides, if I were playing favorites, don't you think I'd choose the offspring that wipes their own ass?

 Our little wood sprite, sporting new duds from Grammie (who also gets the photo credit).

 Rob's Tennessee orange hat that is now too small (due to washing, I think, not his head swelling). Vesper loves it and tries to put it on herself, and will wear it willingly for up to a full minute or two.

Some of the Halloween crew. We loaded up on chili and cornbread with our neighbors, then hit the streets. Those boys aren't excited at all.

expansion

I keep meaning to write something here, because goodness knows I'm talking about it ALL THE TIME, but I don't feel like writing something here, because I'm talking about it ALL THE TIME.

In short, our hearts are well following last week's miscarriage. I had suspected the pregnancy's viability for a few weeks, so getting confirmation was hard and disappointing, but not devastating or even shocking. Tuesday was very difficult, as was Wednesday morning, but then... something changed. I don't know if I was simply tired of crying (that doesn't mean I'm DONE crying, just tired of it), if I was ready to move forward with conviction and knowledge, or if God was doing a work in my heart. Probably all three, and more I'm not even aware of. We met with the doctor Wednesday, he wrote us a few prescriptions, and we went home.

So, here's the thing with miscarriage: they are all different. Still upsettingly common, but my experience seems unusual to other women who have shared with me their own losses. I've now had two miscarriages, have had to take drugs both times to force my body to finish what it started, and I have very little pain. Some cramping, yes, but compared to the women who went to the emergency room for the agony that felt like a hot knife in the gut? No. Not me.

Dr. B: Have you ever taken oxycodone?
A: Um... yes? Is that Vicodin?
Dr. B: No, that is HYDROcodone.
A: OH! No. I've never done oxy.

(long pause)

A: That sounded terrible. I have never taken oxycodone.

Turns out I do not NEED to take oxycodone, a fact I learned about twenty minutes too late, as I sat on the couch feeling the worst kind of drunk, with my head in my hands and a bowl next to me. I had to text Rob (who was upstairs at the moment) to come get Vesper after her nap, because not only could I not go pick her up and feel safe to do so, I couldn't even rise to a standing position. The rest of Wednesday was unpleasant, but not as uncomfortable (I took half doses of the oxy after that, and probably could have stuck with ibuprofen). Rob took two days off to help out and treat me gently, and the kids were not even a little bit aware or respectful about what was going on.

We had friends over for dinner all three nights this past weekend, and I wouldn't have done it any other way. It was good for my soul to serve others, and this past week and a half has been a testimony of God's strength in my weakness, because I NEVER have that much company, EVER. On purpose! I'm too lazy! Rob's been working the late shift for the past two nights and eating at the office, so Blake and I have the easiest kinds of dinners that require almost no cooking because we can! But cooking for a bunch of guests? Yes. Sign me up. Taking meals to others in need? Yep, I can do that, too.

I've still been surprised by tears, and I deliberately asked for prayer from our entire church family. I knew that if my fears of miscarriage were confirmed, I would need to talk about it, openly. Not often. Not lots of gory details. But enough so that folks knew what to pray for, why I might need gentleness, and to give others courage to speak up about this otherwise very private suffering. Rob and I had hesitated to go public with our pregnancy, and we did keep it from the internet. But I told damn near everyone face to face, because I was SO EXCITED! I wanted the news from us to be pregnancy and joy FIRST, and if we had other news later, so be it. We weren't going to lead with grief or keep the grief tucked away. I don't operate like that, and if others do, God bless them.

And if God can bless others because I'm an open book about joy AND suffering, then I will let them read. The pain of my past doesn't give me a "get out of suffering free" card, even if I wanted it to (ok, I kind of want it to). The pain of my present isn't all there is. We are hopeful and expectant, anticipating good news and positive pregnancy tests (I LOVE THOSE THINGS and I take more than one because they are FUN!). Our baby Maui and baby October will always be in our hearts, and one day, I'll hold them in my arms.

Until then, I have some pretty amazing people to wrap my arms around today.

it is well with my soul

Though we had hoped to make a joyful announcement of another Bedford joining our family, unfortunately, we've received confirmation that we've lost this wee-est of babies. And the reason I'm telling you all like this is because miscarriage is shockingly common and shockingly quiet... but I have never been quiet about anything. God is ushering us through a season of disappointment, tears, and pain, and we are praying expectantly for hope-filled tomorrows. He has been replacing my "what ifs?" with "even ifs" - "What if this pregnancy isn't viable?" into "Even if this pregnancy isn't viable, God is still good and we trust Him with our lives." Each child is a miraculous gift from God, and we now have two in the arms of Jesus. I am excited to meet them. And once the narcotics wear off, I will be having a glass of wine in their honor. Love to all, and we're so grateful for all the love being lavished upon us.

the not so fertile road, part 3

(Read Part 1)
(Read Part 2)

On the day after Christmas, I was saying goodbye to my folks as they headed back to Billings when I got a text. I opened it to see the picture of a stick on which a friend had peed. It was a positive pregnancy test.

The text was from Hannah.

I screamed. I cried. We had an immediate conference call with the three of us. It was a miracle. Just mind-blowing. The statistics that I haven't shared (to protect Hannah's privacy) made this such a miraculous gift from God. This wasn't one of those "relax, stop trying so hard, and you'll have a baby!" moments. God had moved. Hannah was pregnant.

The emails continued in a flurry, because even though the miraculous had happened, Hannah was experiencing the following in full force:

I'm worrying a lot... remember this email from Addie a long time ago? "Just know that the fear and worry do not stop when you get a positive stick. They actually increase, to the point where you might be fearful of sharing with others because that jinxes your pregnancy and you'll lose it (wrestled with that one). Then you're fearful if you don't feel movement as often as you should." I vacillate between panicking every time I feel a sharp twinge when I cough or sneeze (1 of 14 indicators of an ectopic pregnancy; I have no other symptoms of ectopic, but sharp twinge when I cough) or panicking because I don't feel sick or in pain, which of course means that the embryo has died and that I'm going to miscarry. There's no winning with me!

Hannah had the unenviable task of sharing her happy news with other infertile friends, and her wisdom and compassion for both sides of that aisle grew in admirable ways. She knew how her younger sister had felt, sharing her own pregnancy with a still-trying Hannah.

Missy and I demanded a belly shot.

On September 6, a mere two months ago, Charis Alene entered the world. Charis is a Greek word, meaning "grace," because after three years of infertility, God gracious gave my friends a daughter. She is ridiculously cute.

Just borned.

Ridiculously cute.

And while this "not so fertile road" ends in the most unlikely of results, I know that for many, it's still a painful, lonely road. Perhaps by talking more openly about such things will help it be less isolating, will help keep the fertile from smug answers, will help us grieve and love and walk TOGETHER, because we'll have discovered the enormous truth that we're all on the same road, after all.