This time of year, more than any other, the pressure is intense to get everything just right.  Pressure to be ready, pressure to go above and beyond, pressure to stop focusing on the wrong details, pressure to enjoy the season.

So many mixed messages.  "Are you ready?  Not much time left.  Hurry up!  Slow down.  More, bigger, better!  Simplify.  Shop till you drop.  Cherish family.  Enjoy the season!  Remember the meaning of it all."  All of the voices whispering.  "You're doing it wrong.  Get it together.  This is of utmost importance and you are blowing it."


Last week sickness hit the family.  Sickness.  Now.  Like I have time for this.  As if I don't have enough going on.  Sickness.

And when it finally passed, and I took a look around, I saw major setback.  I was already behind in my preparations.  My house wasn't quite clean enough to start getting out all the decorations.  I hadn't even pulled out the Advent stuff.  I was so behind.  Then add another week of just dragging ourselves through.  And do you know what happens to the house while I am waiting on two sick littles?  It gets wrecked.  Dishes piled up high and so much laundry.

I haven't even had time to address all the Christmas cards.  And I have already received two.  Two moms that have it more together than I do.

On St. Nicholas Day I forgot to put out their gifts until half way through the day.  I had to do the whole, sneak it out and try to pretend they have been there the whole time and no one noticed.

And here we are half way through Advent and we haven't even gotten out the Advent calendar.  Or the Jesse tree.  We haven't started making homemade ornaments for the Jesse tree like I promise every year we will do "next year."  Another year goes by and I still don't even own an Advent wreath.

And all the Pinterest moms are doing it so much better.

I remember my own childhood.  I remember doing the Jesse tree every year and lighting the candles on the Advent wreath.  I remember excitedly opening the doors on our Advent calendar.

I want my children to have those same memories.  To understand what Christmas is really about.

Mom had it together.  At least that's the way I remember it.  Funny thing is, I don't know for sure.  Did we always have all those things every year?  Did we ever get half way through Advent before we managed to dig it all out.  Maybe mom felt the same way I do and we were just too young to notice.  Maybe what really mattered was what we did and not what we didn't do.

Maybe other mothers have it less together than I think they do.  My friend, who sent the first card of the season.  Confided in me that half her cards went out without stamps.  Now she has to readdress and resend all those cards.  I'm ashamed to have felt a little relieved when she told me that.

I watch my kids get excited about their little pipe cleaner Advent wreaths.  And argue about who will get to put today's part of "The Story of Christmas" on the little tree.  And add a little bit of straw yarn to their wrapping paper tube manger to get it ready for the clothespin baby Jesus on Christmas.  In the back of my mind I see that box in the closet with all the other Advent items I haven't gotten out.  I don't even have the Nativity up!  Flashes of the Pinterest board, with all the other amazing ideas to take things above and beyond, fill my head.


Then I hear the Princess telling her brother, "Christmas is not about the presents.  It's about baby Jesus's birthday!"  I saw her eyes fill up with tears on the Sunday she was too sick to go to church because she didn't want to miss the second purple candle being lit.

I hear them make the connections.  Remembering a bible story, thinking to pray for someone, caring for each other and for "Mr. Cool."

Maybe I am doing something right?  Or maybe they are learning despite my shortcomings.

I think maybe there is a reason that now more than any other time of year we find ourselves falling short.

It's a pretty good reminder of what it's really all about.  Isn't it?

Because if we did have it all together.  If we were Pinterest perfect people.  We wouldn't even need Christmas.

Christ didn't come for the people who had their acts together.  He came for the struggling, for the weak, for the searching.

Even for the moms who are weeks behind on their blog, have a sink full of dishes, half a stack of Christmas cards to address, mount laundry ready to erupt, no Advent wreath, an undisplayed Nativity, and a mess in the corner where the Christmas tree is supposed to go.

Especially for those kinds of moms!



*This post contains affiliate ads.  Read my full disclosure here.

Yesterday this happened.



I may* have teared up a bit.
*totally did

So, I thought I would tell you about my memories of Saint! John Paul II.

My first memory of him is actually my first memory.

We were in Rome.  I was about 4 years old.  I just remember being in a huge crowd of people and my father lifting me up on his shoulders so I could see.  I saw a man in white go by and I vividly remember the excitement of the crowd.  That's it.  A flash of memory.

Then in 1987 he visited my hometown of San Antonio.  I remember getting on a bus and driving past the large pits that were being dug for a new theme park called Sea World.  It was hot.  Everyone had umbrellas to protect us from the sun.  It was amazing.  I couldn't believe the Pope was in my hometown!

1993 World Youth Day in Denver, Colorado.  My youth group took a bus to Denver.  That trip was life changing.  Still one of my favorite memories.  I still have the t-shirt we all wore.  Still know all the words to "We Are One Body."  Did I mention it was my 15th birthday?  Yup, doesn't get any more awesome.  And to save you time doing the math, that makes me 29.  Sadly my camera broke so I have no pictures of that trip.

In 1998 I spent a semester of college in Rome.  We attended a Papal Audience where he welcomed our University by name.  He was obviously tired and in pain but when a group of children started singing he perked right up.  It was beautiful.

Then on Good Friday I attended the service at St. Peters.  We were close to the aisle.  So very close.
He was that close to me.  He even stopped to bless a child at the end of our row.  I was barely more than an arms reach away from him.

That was the last time I saw him in person.  I still don't know why I was blessed enough to see him so many times in my life but I am very grateful.

Saint John Paul II, pray for us!


*This post may contain affiliate ads.  Read my full disclosure here.

September 24th, Matthew was born.
September 25th, Matthew lived.
September 26th, Matthew went home.

Imagine the roller coaster of emotion we were on.  We had gone from finding out our son had Trisomy 13 and learning he wouldn't have much time with us, if any at all.  To hearing the positive news at our Care Conference that, for a baby with Trisomy 13, Matthew had relatively few life threatening issues and he had every chance of going home with us.  To going into labor a month early and not knowing if having him early would put him at higher risk.  To giving birth to a rolly polly, 6lb 3oz, rosy pink, healthy little guy.  Healthy except for the occasional failure to remember to breathe.

This is the part of the story that is hardest for me to share.  Not because it's sad.  It has it's sad moments.  But more than that it is precious.  It's the part of the story I treasure the most.  Because it's the story of our private moments with Matthew.  It's the part of the story that only we know.  And as hard as those moments were, they were also my favorite moments with him.  Because it was in those moments that I felt closest to him.  And in those moments I was surrounded by saints and angels.  Those were the moments when all the prayers, the hundreds if not thousands of people praying for our Matthew, those prayers surrounded us and held us.  They carried us through.

But if I really want to tell his story, I have to share these moments with you.  Because the story is not complete without them.  I want you to know my son as I knew him.  And without the chance to introduce him to you in person, this is the next best thing.

 And he was beautiful!

Once I got back to the recovery room I was able to hold him.
 We started bringing family and friends into the room and everyone had a chance to hold him and love on him.  His brother and sister got the chance to meet him.
The Peanut helped to change his first diaper.

 And he got to hold Matthew's hand which is something he had told me he wanted to do.

Cousins

Everyone of his visitors got to spend time with him and hold him and love him.  He was passed around and around.

Let me tell you about my little "Matt-man."  (Feel free to hum the Batman theme song whenever you say his nickname!)

It's hard to know how to even begin to tell his story.  How do I begin to put into words what is in my heart?  It was really one of those, "you had to be there" times.  But I want to share his story.  Because part of being a mother is knowing your child is wonderful and perfect and wanting the entire world to know how wonderful and perfect he is too.  Before the details start to fade and blur.  I want to introduce you to my 36 hour miracle.  I want you to meet my precious Matthew.

I guess I will start at the beginning.

Friday September 21st was the Princess's 4th birthday.  We took her to Legoland.  Afterwards we took her to the toy store to spend some birthday money she had been given.  She proved her natural shopping abilities by scoring a few deals and walking out of the store with over $70 worth of toys for $30.  It was a happy day.

That weekend was a relaxing lazy weekend.  Not much productivity.  I wanted to write a couple of blog posts telling you about the day we sat our kids down and explained to them that their baby brother might not get the chance to come home.  I wanted to tell you about the name we had chosen for our son.  Matthew meaning Gift of God.  I wanted to tell you about the Care Conference we had just that week discussing all our plans for Matthew's birth.  How the doctors had all acted very positive about Matthew's chances for coming home with us.  I wanted to tell you about making preparations and writing a birth plan and packing a bag.  I wanted to publish the post I had written about two of my friends who have gone so above and beyond the call of friendship duty.  To whom I owe a life debt.  But my computer had gone from making a strange noise, to fan going out and overheating.

5 weeks until my due date.  4 weeks until my scheduled c-section.  Plenty of time.

Little did I know that there would be no more preparations.  No written birth plan.  A half packed bag.  And when all was said and done the list of people I owe a life debt to has increased significantly.

On Sunday September 23rd we went to church.  After Mass we walked around the church festival a bit.  Then we headed home.  I had a few contractions throughout the day.  Just tightening, no real pain.  All the same they had me a bit worried.  See, I never had Braxton Hicks contractions with my other pregnancies.  About a month ago I had contractions.  They were upper abdominal and clearly different than anything I had ever had before so I didn't worry about those.  These however seemed more like "normal" contractions.  So I did my best to relax and kind of hung out in bed all day drinking water and playing a lot of Spider Solitaire.

As the day went on they became more frequent.  I tried to tell my husband not to worry.  This was totally normal.  Inwardly I was starting to panic a bit.

Bedtime and I tried to get some sleep.  But the contractions were becoming more frequent.  And more painful.  I would start to doze off only to be awakened by a contraction.  I started to time them.  They were coming every 15 minutes or so.  I decided to take a shower.  Maybe that would relax me and they would stop.  Me stressing about them was probably not helping matters any.

I took an hour long shower.  Only had one contraction the whole time.

Good.  Now maybe I can relax and sleep.  By morning time they will have stopped.

I went back to bed.  It was 3am.

20 min

12 min

8 min

10 min

I moved to the recliner.

6 min

1 min

6 min

14 min

9 min

At this point I was timing contractions by how many Hail Mary's I would say during one.

7 min (two and a half Hail Mary's long)

11 min (two Hail Mary's)

5 min (three Hail Mary's)

I was panicking.  It was too soon.  My son would have enough problems without being premature too.  I was only 35 weeks.  I just needed at least two more weeks for him to be full term.

I thought of Mary on that road to Bethlehem.  Was she afraid?  Was she in labor as they searched for a place to stay?  Did she fear having no place to give birth.  That her child would be endangered by exposure to the elements?

Was my son about to lose any tiny chance he had at even a few hours of life?

This was not the plan!!  God and I had a bit of a chat.

"I'm not the only one whose plans will be affected!  There are lots of people who have made plans to be here.  Days off work have been taken.  Hotels have been booked.  They want the chance to meet him.  This is not the plan!"

And God answered, "It's not YOUR plan."

These contractions were exactly the same as the contractions I had right before my water broke with the Princess.  Fluctuating between 5 and 10 minutes.  Same pain level.  I knew.  This was real labor.

At 7:30 am my husband woke up.  We decided to call the doctor and head to the hospital.

Last week we had our first appointment at the new hospital.  Special thanks to our emergency last minute babysitter who met us at the hospital after a midnight text from me.  Because I have the bestest friends in the whole wild world!

We met with a nurse and a doctor who explained the program we will be part of.

Um.  Amazing!

Let's just pretend they sat me down and hooked me up to a mind reading machine.  Then they custom designed a program around me.

That's pretty much how it felt.  I'm sure it's how it feels to every woman going through it.  Because that is really what it is.  Let's figure out exactly what kind of care and treatment a woman carrying a high risk baby would want and then provide exactly that!  What a novel concept!!

First of all they are a referral center only.  They only provide care for women with babies who have some kind of high risk diagnosis.  Which means they are entirely equipped to handle care of high risk babies.  They also have actual experience with Trisomy 13 babies.

They are experienced and therefore know exactly how to react.  They know how to speak to us without saying the wrong things or avoiding the subject.  They are kind and compassionate but at the same time they are able to share information without watering down the facts.

At one point my husband asked what the doctor's experience was with the babies they had delivered who had Trisomy 13.  How long they had lived.  Because as he said, it's one thing to look at a bunch of statistics. It's another to talk to someone with actual experience.  The doctor immediately responded, "Oh, you really don't want to ask that question."  Then he stopped himself.  "Of course what I mean is, you do need to ask that question.  It's just not the answer you would want to hear."  He said that in his experience they usually make it anywhere from an hour or two to a few days.  It is pretty much unheard of for them to leave the hospital.

This is something we knew.  But again, it's one thing to see the statistics and another to talk to someone with actual experience.

But he went on to say that nothing is impossible and that is why they have to be prepared for anything.  (Thank you, this is what I have been saying.)  They have to be equipped to meet the baby's needs whatever they might be.  If that means going home, however statistically unlikely that might be, they are prepared for that.  He said they recently had a baby born with such a severe diagnosis, statistically he had almost a 0% chance of survival, even for a few minutes.  He said that baby went home.  As of our conversation, on day 20, that baby was still living.  The fact is that each baby has to be treated individually.  He went on to say they treat the babies the exact same way they would treat an adult.  (Wait, like real people?!)

Now wait just a minute.  You aren't getting excited yet are you?  Because there is so much more!

"A miracle is something that seems impossible but happens anyway." MIB3

Weeks ago, when we were freshly reeling from the difficult news we had received about our baby, we sat in Mass and listened to the Gospel.  It was about miracles.  We listened to stories about how Jesus had healed a woman and brought a little girl back to life.  I'll be honest.  At that moment it kind of felt like a bit of a slap in the face.

I am sure I felt a bit like some of the people in the crowd might have felt.  Pressing around Jesus.  Looking for miracles. Then one woman who touches the hem of His garment is healed.  Her faith healed her.  It makes me wonder if any of the people in the crowd asked the question.  "What about my miracle?  Why her?  I have faith too.  I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe.  Why not me too?"

It was a question I found myself asking.  "Where is my miracle?"

Because in that moment all I wanted was a miracle.  Not just any miracle of course.  My very own custom made to order miracle.  I wanted to be able to ask God for exactly what I wanted exactly the way I wanted it.

My vision is very short sighted.  I can't see the whole picture and because of that it is sometimes easy to forget that there is something beyond my field of vision.

It's all too easy to call out that challenge to God.  God you are all powerful.  I know you can do this.  So why don't you?

Sound familiar?

It's pretty much the same challenge the first thief called out to Jesus on the cross.  "Are you not the Christ?  Save yourself and us!" Luke 23:39

Of course the second thief had one simple request.  "Jesus remember me when you come in your kingly power." Luke 23:42  And we all know what Jesus responded to him.  He said, "get down off the cross.  Your faith has healed you."  Right?

No?

Right now I feel like I am sitting at the top of a roller coaster just waiting for the bottom to drop out from under me.  I don't know exactly when it will happen but I know it will and all I can do is hang on for dear life.  I never liked roller coasters.

I am normally not a very organized person.  I know, don't be too shocked.  When it comes to schedules and appointments I am a mess.  Usually I rely on things like the Evite email or the phone call from the doctor's office to remind me I am supposed to be going somewhere tomorrow.  I have a calendar in the kitchen and have been steadily working on improving myself by remembering to make little appointment notes in it over the last year or so.  Still, I usually have between one and maybe four things written down on that calendar for an entire month.
The other day I looked at my calendar for this month and next and felt the panic start to seep in.  My schedule is so busy.  Usually I feel busy when I have those four thing months.  Now I have something at least every other day.  Every week I have a doctor appointment scheduled with a different specialist.  Tomorrow we have our first meeting with a fetal cardiologist.  Sprinkle in all the added summer activities like Vacation Bible School and play dates with friends and add a few other appointments like a dentist visit.  We decided against putting the Peanut in swim lessons this year because we just couldn't find the time to fit them in.

Now, let me tell you what is making me feel so overwhelmed.

The Peanut.
He is the king of fit pitchers.  When he really gets going he will screech louder than any horror movie victim.  He can go for hours and never tire.  When he was still a tiny lil guy he would sometimes fight bedtime so hard that he would still be screaming 4 hours after he was put in bed.  I would think, surely he will pass out from sheer exhaustion at any moment.  No.  Never.  It was enough to drive me over the edge.  I would literally have to force myself to stay away from him because I was seeing red and there was no telling what I might do.  Somehow we both lived to tell the tale.  He has outgrown his fits for the most part.  Sometimes we still see glimpses of the little Hulk but they are pretty rare now.  And they never last longer than about twenty minutes or so!

The Princess.
She tries to throw little tantrums sometimes.  Something upsets her and she drops down to the floor crying.  She always does the little, peer out to see if anyone is watching her, maneuver.  Unfortunately for her, her older brother ruined me.  When she lets out her tiny squeals, that normally last for all of two and a half minutes, I can't help myself.  I laugh.  I try not to let her see it.  But it's so darn funny.  Like that little display is going to budge me!  I have lived through WAY worse.  When I send her to her room to cry it out she is usually done before she makes it to the room.

All this has me wondering.

Me.
When I pitch my fits, does God see red?  Does He throw His hands up in exasperation that I never learn?  Or does He laugh at me?

I like to think he laughs at me.  After all, He is infinitely more patient that I could ever be.  And I sure do need that patience.

Hopefully, as I have gotten older and wiser, my fits are less like my son's and more like my daughter's.  Because, in all honesty, I know better.

When something doesn't go according to MY plans, I know that I should put my trust in Him.  He knows what's going on.  He has a better plan than mine ever could be.  Like I said, I KNOW all that.  I'm just not always happy about it.

Recently, when things didn't go according to my plans, I managed not to throw a monster fit.  I refrained from shaking my fists at the heavens.  I even admitted that God probably knew what he was doing.  Didn't mean I liked it.  Oh, I pouted.  I whined.  "This better be good!"  I sulkily warned Him.

Yesterday morning I woke up at 7:30am to the frantic cries of the Princess.  ...have to go potty!!!  I struggled to drag myself out of bed.  My husband rolled over and muttered something about waking him up after she was done.

Mother's Day had begun.

We got to the bathroom and my daughter kept walking past it.  "I thought you had to go potty."  I yawned.  "No, my brother has to go potty."

We went into the bedroom and found him wiggling in the bed, still half asleep.  I roused him and he staggered out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.

"Thank you for telling me he had to go potty.  You can go back to bed now."

"But it's good mornin time.  The sun is awake.  I hungwy.  I want bweakfast."

It was worth a try.

We made our way into the kitchen, Zombie Mom style, and I put some waffles in the toaster.

At this point the baby was apparently squeezing my bladder with a vice so I went to check on the Peanut.  As it turns out, he had long finished and was checking out his handsome self in the mirror.

Our conversation awoke my husband who told me to go back to bed and he would take over.

A couple of hours later my husband woke me up to tell me he had gotten breakfast.  "Come eat before it gets cold."

Refreshed after my nice sleep in, I made my way into the living room.

As I rounded the corner, I was greeted with one of the sweetest sights I have ever seen.

I should be doing the dishes.  They have piled up again.  Instead I stare at the massive crusty pile and wish them away. But they stubbornly refuse to clean themselves.

I should be cleaning the living room.  It has been overrun with all the things that belong somewhere else but somehow creep back in when I'm not looking.  Then I turn around and am greeted with a scene from a horror movie.  I should be putting all the things back where they belong.  I should be scolding my children and making them put the things back where they belong.  But I lack the energy to follow them around pointing out each item and explaining in detail how and where it should be.  Instead I watch and listen to my children blissfully playing. Totally unaware of the chaos that surrounds them.

I should be writing a blog post.  Something insightful, or eventful, or charming, or witty.  Instead I stare at a blank screen as the words refuse to form themselves.  My head swirls with tiny snippets of thought that flee like butterflies from my net.

A couple of weeks ago, bright and early on a Saturday morning, my husband and I packed the kids up in the car and drove the hour drive to his mother's house.  After dropping off my husband, the kids and I then drove an hour and a half back, past our house, to a birthday party for one of my son's best buddies.  (My son was rather dismayed that for some reason it took 2 1/2 hours to drive to the birthday party!)  While we were having fun splashing and eating cupcakes, my husband and his mother were in her van, driving the five hours to my parent's house.  They stayed for a few hours and then turned right around and drove back.

At around 1am I got a call from my brother asking me if my husband had arrived home yet.  I looked outside to check and discovered, to my surprise, a vehicle in the driveway containing my brother and sister-in-law!

At around 2am my husband arrived home.  He had dropped his mom off at her house and we would be taking her van back the next afternoon.

Why?

Something rather mysterious has been occurring in my kitchen recently.

The other day I did dishes.  I know this in and of itself is nothing short of miraculous, but this is not in fact the mysterious incident to which I am referring.

I washed a load of dishes and then returned to unload them.  I KNOW!  Still not what I am referring to.

I had just finished unloading the dishwasher and was about to start reloading (yes, I know, STILL not what I am referring to...) when I looked down and noticed a little soap packet in the soap tray.

Wait...

Didn't I wash those dishes?

Did I already put the soap in for the new load?

Has the dishwasher started automatically refilling the soap?

Could the dishwasher be broken and not opening the soap dispenser until after the wash?

Do we have a Dishwasher Pixie?

Am I losing my mind?!?!

Remember how I told you the gas company is replacing all the gas pipes in the area?  Well in related news the gas company has been hard at work tearing up our street and sidewalks.

I believe I mentioned before that I woke up one morning and heard the sounds of a jackhammer in my driveway.  A temporary patch was put in place and a few days later that was dug back up and some nice pretty smooth concrete was put in it's place.  Seriously it kinda stands out like a sore thumb with the rest of our broken cracked bumpy driveway.  Anyway they even fixed the part of the curb that was missing because our driveway is all curvy and so everyone always ends up driving over the curb.

Nice right?

Pretty spiffy!

About a week ago, I had the car for the day and so I took my kids over to a friends house to visit with her kids.  We had to drive up over the other curb because of the cones and orange netting stuff at the end of our driveway.

After a lovely visit we arrived home around 1:00pm driving back up over the same opposite curb to avoid the same cones and netting surrounding almost dry brand new smooth concrete.

So very close to being dry.

So close . . .

Last night I was home alone with the kids while my husband visited my sister-in-law who was still in the hospital.

At 9pm I had tucked the kids both into bed and I sat down for a little "Mommy gets to watch what she wants to watch on TV for once" time.

I decided to watch a little DIY Network and catch up on some of my DVR shows. (HGTV, DIY, TLC . . .) :)

Me time!

I started my show, sat back and let myself relax.

CRASH!

SHATTER!