Every day on the way to school, Dad would pray with us. I don’t really remember much of what he said, but I know he took it more seriously than I did. It wasn’t a somber time or anything, but it was important, very important. To him at least. I, on the other hand, often rattled off some quick prayer about having a “fun” day. I was just little, and that seemed to be the only thing that mattered in my light-hearted, care-free world.

We’d pull up to the building, and Dad’s last words to me were always the same. “I love you. Remember who walks the halls with you.” I knew exactly what he meant. Sometimes my answer came with an eye-roll in response to the routine. But usually I, ever the sarcastic one, gave him a different reply. “Yep, I do, Dad. Amy Holliday.” She was one of my first best friends in elementary school, and we were often found side-by-side at recess, in class, or yes, in the hallways.

Fast forward 28 years…

My own girl is about to start Kindergarten. She is so ready. She can spell her first and middle name – ANNALiSEJoY – knows her letters/letter sounds, and she even reads a little. She can count to 100 and write numbers almost that high. She adds quickly in her head, slower if she has to write it out, and not at all if I’m asking her to do it. Like I said, she is so ready.

And we – we are clearly first time kindergarten parents, because we had everything on the supply list and all her school clothes neatly tucked away in her closet by mid-July. We have lunch fixings in the pantry and fridge, and currently, we are working our way back to better/earlier night-time routines and earlier mornings. We are so ready.

But the truth is, we really aren’t. At all.

School and Kindergarten Assessments start after Labor Day. Annalise has a paper chain that she tears off each night, then counts the remaining chains and announces the number of days until her first full-day of school, the following Monday.

The shorter that chain gets, the tighter my chest gets. Tears are flowing more. The lump in my throat is lasting longer. I just don’t know how you did it, Mom and Dad.

We are just days away from that first time we send her off on her own, surrounded by a bunch of little strangers. Questions are flooding my mind. Will she be nervous? Will she be confident? Will she find a friend? Will her friend be kind and have a compassionate heart like her own? Will she know, really truly know, she is never ever alone???

I’ve been up at night, praying and weeping for her. I cry in the shower, so she doesn’t see. Her mind, it’s just so vulnerable. Protect her mind, Lord Jesus. She’s just a baby! But her heart, it is so big! Protect her heart. Make it bigger, a bigger heart for YOU. Help her to see herself – and others – with YOUR eyes. Bring her a friend with a heart as big as hers, no, as big as YOURS. Bring her a friend with a heart after YOUR heart. Help her to be brave, to stand up for others and for what is right, even when she stands alone. Help her to know, to feel, that you are always with her, that when she walks the halls of her new school – or runs on the playground, or sits in class, or wherever she goes – you walk with her side-by-side. Remind her of that, to bring her comfort and peace. Remind her of that, so she will think twice before making choices she knows she shouldn’t. Remind her of that, so if she makes those choices anyway, she will remember that she is still loved, no matter what. Remind her that you are with her, because she is YOUR child. 

And now I know. I know what Dad was thinking, each day as he prayed in the car. I know why it was so important to him, not just a routine. I know how desperate he was for me to really truly know what I desperately want my own girl to know.

…I know why the words he left me with each day were used to make sure I knew that he loved me, and that Jesus is always with me. Thank you, Daddy, I know now. But pray with me for my girl, please?

I’ve thought a lot about what words I might say to her on her first day. I want to tell her how much I love her, how proud I am of her. Not because of what she can do, but because of who she is. I want to remind her that it’s ok to make mistakes, that she is there to learn, so she won’t know everything. I want to tell her that, more important than learning a thing, she can be a light to others, that this world needs Jesus, and our school is full of the world. I want to tell her how every day she can be Jesus to others just by showing them love and kindness. Practice this. Practice being Jesus to others. That kid that’s all alone? Jesus loves him too. Show him. And the kid that’s being mean to someone? Jesus loves her too. Show her. And sometimes, even the grown ups don’t know, and they need students that show them the love of Jesus. And Heaven knows, even the ones who do know need that, too! I want to tell her that her most important job is to show the love of Jesus to the world, and to give the glory to God for it all. That’s it.

I imagine all I want to say won’t come out as planned, and probably shouldn’t come out all at once to my wide-eyed, already very nervous 5-year old. As much as I’ve thought about it, I still don’t exactly know what I will say. I just know how it will end…

Annalise my Joy, I love you. Remember who walks the halls with you.

Dear readers,

This note is not meant to bring tears or sorrow. I am not crying (much) as I write it. On the contrary, I am renewed. It is a letter I am writing for me. But I pray it may encourage others, too. For that reason, I am also posting it. I would ask that if you choose to read it, you read it in it’s entirety, and in the light in which it is written: an open and honest conversation from a mom to her girls, sharing what God spoke to her heart. NOT an emotional, feeling sorry for oneself outpouring of heartache. And if you feel like you want to respond, please keep that in mind. I am not looking for empathy. I am sharing what God put on my heart. Again, I write it for me, I post it with a prayer that it may encourage someone else.
Much Love, H.

To My Sweet Girls,

I don’t visit often enough. It’s just never been a place I get excited to go to. And I know you’re not even really there. It’s just a remembering spot, and the truth is, I remember everywhere. I don’t need to go to a spot to do that.

Just the same, it’s your spot.

And so I go. But only once in a great while.

Can I just be honest? Going to that spot… it’s kind of a drag, really. Looking around at all the spots for others gone far too young. There are just so many. Their mommies and daddies come and lay flowers down through tears. By the time I see them, the petals are wilted and dying, ribbons faded and tattered. I imagine the broken hearts standing over spots where the dates are written for lives taken so soon, wondering, questioning, aching. The whole scene is just depressing. So going to that spot, it’s something I really avoid doing.

And when I do, I never, never bring flowers. I can’t bring myself to leave them there for another Mommy to see wilted, drooping and dead over your spot. I don’t want them to come to their spot and feel saddened by more death. (Why is it that even with you gone, I have Mommy Guilt for that? Mommy Guilt for not putting flowers on your remembering spot? I suppose if I did, I’d just have Mommy Guilt for leaving them there wilted and dead far too long.)

But on Memorial Day, we decided to go, to take your sister and brother, and leave some flowers for you both. Your sister and I, we picked out a small potted plant with bright pink blooms. I wanted something that might last a while. Something that wouldn’t just die.

We kept the visit to your spot upbeat, wanting a Happy Memory. It was easy to do, because there were lots of others there doing the same.

Your brother made us laugh. He asked anxiously, “When are dey getting here, Mommy?!?” I asked him what he was talking about. “Madison and Taylor!” he replied with a tell-tale look on his face, the one that means Duh, obviously! I told him you weren’t coming. He looked at me like I was crazy, with one cheek scrunched up under his eye – his confused look, “You mean, dey aren’t even coming to get deir flowers???” I smiled as I shook my head no and explained that you’re not coming, because you’re in Heaven. He scrunched his face again, but spoke rather irritated, “Well… why won’t Jesus dist let dem come?”

Body and soul is a hard thing to explain to a 3-year-old. I gave up, and we left when he started playing hop-scotch on other babies’ spots. Sometimes, you just have to laugh at the awkwardness of it all.

That was the last time I visited.

Then this weekend approached. You would have turned 7. (When I said that to your sister, she quickly replied, “NO, Mom. They are seven. Just because they’re dead here doesn’t mean they don’t get a birthday. They are alive in Heaven, you know. Probably Jesus and everyone sang to them there already.” She then burst into an operatic version – arms spread wide and all – of Happy Birthday, dear Ma-di-suhhhhhhnnnnnn.)

I found myself alone when the first date approached. I wasn’t sure what to do. Do I go? Do I not go? If I go, do I bring something? Oh dear, I remembered. We brought something last time. That was months ago. It’s probably dead by now. How I hate going and finding dead stuff on your spot. I almost didn’t go, just so I wouldn’t have to see it and throw it away.

But, it was your birthday, Madison. And as your sister reminded me, you’re still alive in Heaven. So, I decided to bring you both a balloon, a Happy Birthday balloon.

Picking out the right one proved to be a bit challenging. The one with bright yellow happy faces all over it? No, that didn’t seem appropriate. How about the one with confetti and brightly colored ribbon? I didn’t really feel like celebrating. Hello Kitty? Thomas the Train? The florescent one with the dancing cupcake surrounded by dozens of Happy Birthdays? Too pop culture. Too boyish. Too… chipper.

I began to think mixing a celebratory theme with a not-so-celebratory feeling was just a bad idea. I was about to leave empty-handed when I found one. Sky blue with a simply written Happy Birthday and two butterflies. One green, one lavender. Perfect. No, wait. There were actually four butterflies. 2 were larger, like they were closer up just right there, and 2 were smaller, like they were far away, but still very much alive. Even more perfect.

I made my purchase and headed to your spot, still dreading that dead plant I was going to have to dump.

When I got there, I rolled down the window and turned the car off. Maybe I’ll just sit here, I thought. I don’t need to actually walk over. It’s just too depressing to see, to stand there in the awkward silence, staring at your names. Even more awkward when I break the silence and talk to you.

I sat there for a minute and closed my eyes. That’s when I realized, it wasn’t silent at all. I could hear the birds chirping in the distant trees, the water flowing in the nearby fountain into the pond. It sounded… happy? No, that wasn’t it. It sounded… alive.

I glanced over to your spot. The sun was peeking through the trees, shedding light on the place we picked just for you. I could see the plant we set there, months ago. At first, I just noticed the tattered, faded floral paper and the brown, wilted flowers. But then I saw it, pink blooms, poking out of the brown.

More life.

I picked up the balloon and headed over. A new patch of clover was growing over the words in the bottom corner. I plucked it away to reveal “In God’s Nursery.” I wondered for a moment how accurate that was and what “age” you are in Heaven. The thought – one that usually sits and consumes for a while – flitterred away as I noticed more of the life around me. Grass growing over the edges of the stone marking your spot. I picked it away too, but not too much. Bright flowers blooming around the bubbling fountain. More birds. And bees, I hear them, too.

I remembered now why we chose this spot for you, in the shade of the sweet little tree near the little fountain and pond. It was so peaceful. But I just never noticed it before, it is also so… full of life.

I took a few pictures before I left, to show Daddy. He misses you, too.

My mind swirled as I drove away. Never have I felt this way leaving. Never have I left your spot feeling like there was life. I always focus on the death surrounding me there. Why am I suddenly noticing there is much more than that?

It is all in my perspective.

I know you are alive in Heaven, but do I really act like I believe it? I stand there, staring at your names, your dates, picturing the pink gingham box that holds your teeny tiny lifeless bodies below. When all along, you are very much alive.

“They would’ve been 7,” I had said to her. “NO, Mom. They ARE seven,” she replied. Even your 5-year-old sister knows.

My problem isn’t just there, standing at your spot. My problem is my daily focus. My mind is centered on this earthly place, where lives end and things die. And it’s perfectly okay to be sad about that. But how easily I forget how this life is but a speck in light of eternity. Where is my focus? On this life or the next?

I drove from your spot to where Daddy was, and he and I got to witness a beautiful union of two amazing individuals, so full of life. The outdoors, the ceremony, the dancing… alive and joyous. Several times, I got choked up as I became overwhelmed with the same feelings from when I stood overlooking your names: the overwhelming abundance of new life. Pure Joy.

Madison, for the first time on your birthday, I was overwhelmed with a sense of Joy. I kept thinking of this verse: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” ~ John 10:10

Your little lives didn’t turn out how I had hoped and planned and dreamed. There are days where that time seems like a lifetime ago, a different life altogether. But there are days where the weight of losing you both is suffocating and could easily destroy. Yet we go on.

But it isn’t about that. It isn’t just about life just goes on. I don’t want to live minimally. That isn’t what God intended.  I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. Just living isn’t enough.

And Taylor, when your birthday came two days later, I was reminded again. 7 years ago, I could never ever have imagined our house being as full of life as it was on this day that I quietly celebrated you. 7 years ago, I felt so empty. Hopeless. Your birthday was a stark contrast to that feeling. On your birthday, it was just me… and 7 little people. All full of giggles all day. 7 happy mouths to feed. 7 joyful voices talking, playing, laughing, singing. I should have taken a picture of the 7 sets of dirty little bare feet after running outside in the sunshine all day. And then when Daddy came home, we had a dance party with 7 littles all in their PJs. What a day full of life. Full of hope.

And I thought of this verse: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.” ~ Romans 15:13. Another translation says, “…so that you may overflow with hope.”

Filled. With all joy. Abounding and overflowing with hope. That’s so much more than just living…

…And it requires a focus beyond here.

I want to live, teeming with life*. Like at your spot. Like at the wedding. Like here, when the house was full, teeming with joy and laughter.

I want this kind of joy, hope, life to spill over to others. I pray it does. I pray that – just like the new blooms appearing through the wilted brown, new life – eternal life – will come from your earthly death and the hopelessness Daddy and I felt 7 years ago.

From your death, new life.
From our hopelessness, eternal hope.
This I pray.

I love you forever, My Girls.
Love, Mommy.

*John 11:25,26 Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”

*John 14:6 Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me…”

I have an issue I call WCS.

To some extent, it’s not uncommon among parents, mostly moms I think. Some have it worse than others. I am one of the former crowd. Some days are better than others. But some days are bad. Very, very, bad.

WCS = Worst Case Scenario

I go there. All the time. WCS is really no good at all. It’s really just imagining the unimaginable…

Husband gets on a plane to head to NYC. WCS: I don’t even want to go there. But I did. I went there. Each and every time he boarded a plane.

Kids ride in the car with someone else. WCS: Several versions of this WCS. None are worth going to. So why do I???

Taking the kids on a bike ride along side roads, driving over Deception Pass bridge – who am I kidding, driving over any bridge… or inside any tunnel, letting the kids get in a pool, climb a tall ladder on a slide, go out to the car all alone to get a toy they left in there. Pretty much anything that involves letting the kids walk out the front door without full padding and a helmet. And maybe also an armed body guard that loves them as much as I do.

WCS = living in fear, worry, full of anxiety. I know this is an issue for me. I have verses* I cling to. Verses I’ve memorized, not because I was trying to, but because I’ve had a need to read them so often and remind myself this isn’t how I’m supposed to live.

The good news is, I’ve gotten (somewhat) better about giving my fears to God, reminding myself He is sovereign and a God of Love.

So the other day, when I found a lump on my gums, I joked and laughed about it. I didn’t go there, to the WCS I mean. Not immediately anyway.

Not until I looked up reasons for gum lumps and found out cancer actually was an option. (I know, I know. Don’t ever Google symptoms. Cancer always comes up as an option.) The truth is, I didn’t really think it was that. But I allowed my mind to wander to the WCS and all the things that would follow.

So here is what happened: I called my dentist, but they were closed for the day (Friday afternoon) and wouldn’t be open until Monday morning. I called and messaged two friends who work in the dental field and have knowledge of this kind of thing, and who are probably going to be laughing once they realize how much I freaked myself out. Both guessed it was an abscess at the tooth root that might require a root canal. (This is almost WCS for me, I fear dental work that much.) I spent the weekend worrying and gave myself a stress bump. I thought about what would happen if I died. I planned a conversation with Matt – and no, I’m not even kidding – about remarrying, that as hard as it is to imagine them with a different one, the kids need a mom. Yes, I might be a tad bit of a crazy over-reactor.

Please know, I’m not making light of what is a very real and very serious situation some people have to endure – including people I know and love and even have lost. I do have a point in all this.

That entire weekend, when I worried about the lump on my gums to the point of giving myself an additional lump on my face (my tell-tale sign of stress), planned conversations with my husband that would never happen, and imagined my kids growing up without me, I had several occasions where I was prompted to turn to scripture, but I didn’t. There were a few times when I knew without a doubt – almost as clearly as if I had heard an audible voice – that I should stop, sit down, and focus on my Savior instead of my strain. Lean on my Lord instead of wallow in my worry. It was made very clear to me that what I needed to be doing was resting in the arms of He who is my refuge.

But I didn’t.

Monday morning came. I called the dentist. They took it seriously and wanted me to come in as soon as possible. This added fuel to my worry-fire. I couldn’t eat all morning because of my churning stomach, and at my 11:40 appointment which lasted exactly 4 minutes, I discovered I don’t have cancer and don’t even have an abscess tooth. I have, and I quote, “A completely normal abnormality” in my jaw bone. My bone grew out and formed a lump under my gums – a lump of bone. While the dentist said he’s not sure why, he did say there is a theory that it is your body “growing bone” to compensate for extra pressure on your teeth and jaw because of clenching and grinding your teeth. Which often happens when you’re stressed and worry.

Ironic, isn’t it? I was in a tizzy of worry about the lump that was probably caused by grinding my teeth from worry tizzies.

I left the office 4 minutes later and was met by my husband in the parking lot. He knows me all too well and came to give me a hug. And maybe also to gently remind me that my weekend and morning of worry was really me letting my own thoughts run away instead of trusting in Him who holds the future. (He may have also pointed out that I now had two lumps from worry.)

I went home, determined to do better next time a potentially stressful situation arises. The next morning, I sat down at the table for my devotions. I opened my Bible to one of the books I’m reading through – Psalms.

I’m right handed. Coffee mugs go on the right. Except when I read my Bible and have my journal and pen on the right. Then coffee goes on the left. And as I sat there contemplating the weekend and my wasted worry, I noticed my the shadow of my coffee mug perfectly circling one complete verse. A very familiar verse. A verse I’ve underlined, read many times, and clearly should have reminded myself of over the past few days:

Can you see it? “The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom (or what) shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom (or what) shall I be afraid?”  ~Psalm 27:1

I quick took a few pictures. Thanks for the reminder, I thought.

I read through my chapters in Psalms, then turned to my daily devotional, Jesus Calling, by Sarah Young. I hadn’t read it for two of my worry-filled days, so I decided to read the entries I missed over the weekend. This is the first one I read, the first entry I had missed in my weekend of worry:

DO NOT WORRY ABOUT TOMORROW! This is not a suggestion, but a command. I divided time into days and nights, so that you would have manageable portions of life to handle. My grace is sufficient for you, but its sufficiency is for only one day at a time. When you worry about the future, you heap day upon day of troubles onto your flimsy frame. You stagger under this heavy load, which I never intended you to carry.
Throw off this oppressive burden with one quick thrust of trust. Anxious thoughts meander about and crisscross in your brain, but trusting Me brings you directly into My Presence. As you thus affirm your faith, shackles of worry fall of instantly. Enjoy My Presence continually by trusting Me at all times.

Matthew 6:34 “Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
2 Corinthians 12:9 “But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
Psalm 62:8 “Trust in Him at all times, you people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us.”

Just in case the little circled verse wasn’t a good enough reminder, here’s a brick to the face to remind me. I really could have used this two days ago… right about when I was ignoring that prompting to just sit and be near to Jesus. (For any Doubting Thomases, no passages from the days leading up to or just beyond this particular entry were about worry. Oh no. Just this one. Just the one I was supposed to read but didn’t. Just this one that had the exact words I needed to be reminded of on the exact day I needed to be reminded. I know this, because I checked.)

Moving on… I turned to Genesis. I had read Genesis 1 and 2 the other day, so I picked up on chapter 3 today. I’ve read it before. I know the story well. Genesis 3 is about the fall of Adam and Eve. Eve is tempted. She wants to be wise like God. She does what God tells her not to do. She eats. Adam eats. They are ashamed and hide themselves.

I think to myself of a conversation I had with my aunt one day about this story. How Adam and Eve, their decision right there in the Garden of Eden is what eventually led to this sin-filled hurt-filled world. I remember making a bitter comment towards them. My aunt had replied, “Don’t be mad at them. If they hadn’t sinned, some other idiot would’ve.” Thinking of it now, the comment made me smile to myself. At first, at least.

I smiled to myself right up until I realized, I AM THAT IDIOT.

I am Eve…
…not trusting in the Goodness of a loving God, in His provision.
…wanting to do things my way, on my own instead of seeking Him.
…listening to the wrong voice, ignoring the Truth, and doubting God’s plan.
…wanting all the answers. I want to know. About today, tomorrow, and the next few days and months and years after that. And I’d like to know now, thankyouverymuch.

I worry. I stress. I fear for what might happen and what if and how do I know this won’t?

I am Eve. Not content with the blessings and provision of now…

…Thankfully, there is grace.
…Thankfully, my God is patient. Enough that when I ignore several promptings to give Him all my fears, He gently reminds me that I do not need to continue to fear, that He is sufficient for me.

…And thankfully, I don’t have to continue to be that idiot. (Romans 8, 1 Corinthians 15:57)

* Additional verses about fear I read often:

I have not been given a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound-mind. ~ 2 Timothy 1:7

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. ~ Deuteronomy 31:6

When I am afraid, I will trust in you.  In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me? ~ Psalm 56:3-4

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. ~ Isaiah 41:10

Recently, I found myself home alone.

I know, I know. That is total shock and awe to all you moms out there. We don’t get alone time often, do we?

But it was more than that. It wasn’t just home alone. I woke up alone. Showered alone. I EVEN HAD TIME TO SHAVE MY LEGS. (<— Be jealous.) I got dressed alone. I ate breakfast (a slice of strawberry pie, just because I could), and later lunch, alone. I read uninterrupted, shopped without “help,” and visited a friend for coffee without finding someone to watch the kids. Later, I took a long walk with another friend, without pushing a stroller or monitoring traffic for my biking girl’s safety.

Things I didn’t do: Get others dressed. Feed anyone. Tidy anything for there was no one to untidy anything in the first place. Get out of the shower before I was done to help with an emergency potty or to separate fighting children.

It was heavenly.

But I also found myself trying to figure out what to do. It was like I was uncomfortable with the silence. I just wasn’t sure what to do with all my new found time. Strange as it seemed, I even had difficulty focusing while reading.

That day, I realized how much my identity has changed in just a few years. I am a wife and a mom: a caretaker, a homemaker, and a million other things. Without the people that fill my life with mounds and mounds of joy (and a never-ending to-do list), I was lost.

And so, in honor of my lost-ness, I am dedicating this post entirely to… ME. That’s right. At the risk of having no one read beyond this statement, this post will not contain a single kid-antic. Instead, I’ve listed 10 random things about me that you maybe don’t know. Count how many of these you already knew, and check your score at the bottom.

1) I once sang on stage at the NW Washington Fair. Seriously. My cousin Andy and I sang at a talent show, and someone heard us and asked us to sing the same song at the fair. We were that good. So of course, we said yes. You know the grandstands? Big Time, right? Well, we were about half a mile away from there on a teeny-tiny stage, with an audience made up of our parents and probably our siblings who were dragged along by force. And likely also our Grandma June, who thought we were amazing in every way. She probably even loved the rayon white shirt with black polka-dots I wore that matched my rayon black shorts with white polka dots. Bless her.

2) I love ice cream. As in, LOOOOOVVVVVEEEE it. I know what you’re thinking. That’s too easy, you say. Who doesn’t love it?, you say. My mother, for one. My very own flesh and blood doesn’t like it, because, and I quote, “It’s too creamy.” WHAT is THAT? I’m likely adopted.

3) I have a serious issue with hotel rooms and their (lack of) cleanliness. Which is why I wear flip-flops in the room and go into full-on freak-out when my kids run in and jump on the bed, rolling around in what is certainly someone else’s filth and dead skin cells. (They don’t always wash the bedspreads, you know. GROSS.) It is also why I get giddy with excitement (to the point of taking pictures) when I enter a room and see this posted on the headboard:(That is now the only hotel we’ve stayed in more than once. I love that sign so much.)

4) I’m a terrible cook. No, seriously. Some of you only think I can cook. Need I remind you of this dinner travesty? The truth is, I am extremely good at reading, measuring, and following directions. I can follow recipes like nobody’s business. I have a cupboard full of (what I assume are) wonderful cookbooks, but I look at them and don’t even know where to begin. My sister once went through one and marked all the recipes she thought I should try and wrote notes telling me why. “Make this… It’s so easy and so good.” Of all the recipes she marked, I’ve tried exactly two. And she was right, I absolutely loved them both. The rest of the things I make are recipes from My Mom or My Sister or My Google.
Side story: I once was going to try to make a homemade lasagna. My husband commented that maybe I should work on mastering boxed mac n’ cheese and grilled cheese sandwiches first. In his defense, I had just served him charcoal with mushy noodles for lunch. Not in his defense, he says he prefers his mac n’ cheese noodles “al dente.” Whatever. You’re already eating mac n’ cheese. You don’t get to be too picky.

5) There is one recipe I’ve made up entirely on my own, my World Famous Guacamole. It is – I don’t mind saying – ridiculously deliciously awesome. It’s not world famous just yet, but it really should be. It’s that good.

6) I spent 4 months on full bed-rest (except potty breaks and super quick showers) when I was pregnant with Annalise. I didn’t finish a single book the entire time. My mind didn’t focus well. I’d get too antsy and skip to the end. Too bored and start a new one. Too fidgety and I’d have to find something to keep my hands busy, since the rest of me had to be still. (In the end, she is totally worth it.)

7) The summer before my senior year, I lived with a family in Maasbracht, a small town in the Netherlands. Toska, the mom, served the same food for breakfast and lunch every day: sandwiches with Nutella or butter and chocolate sprinkles, and orange Fanta. No produce or “sides” whatsoever, and unless I asked, water was only served at dinner. Dinner was the only meal that varied, except on Saturdays. Our Saturday breakfast was the same, but lunch was an array of Belgian cheeses, breads, and chocolates that we would pick up earlier in the day. Super delish. And to think, I actually lost weight that summer. (I once tried a diet of Nutella sandwiches and fancy cheeses to see if I’d get the same results. No such luck.)

8) When I get stressed out, I have a tell-tale sign on my face: a sore that appears under my right eye. Some people get cold-sores. I get face sores. In the end, it’s all herpes.
A particularly bad stress case:

9) I’m super clumsy. I broke my arm in third grade when tripping over a giant army beanbag. (I was watching some cute boys at the time.) And I once – to Matt’s utter delight – ran into a ginormous planter pot in the middle of Alderwood Mall (about 4 feet tall and 3 feet in diameter). Smacked right into it like it wasn’t even there. (I was watching Matt at the time.) I’m noticing a theme here. Maybe this one should be: #9) I’m easily distracted by charm from the opposite sex.

10) I am a tad OCD. Which is why, even though I didn’t have another thing to write, I am including this last fact about me so as to end on a number 10 instead of ending on 9. Also why I turn mug handles the same way, point all pencils in a holder the same direction, and drove to 6 (yes six) different Dollar Tree stores to find bins of the same color for the art cupboard. (I had all but 2.) In the end, I gave up and have 2 mismatched bins. But they must be in this order, or they don’t look right:
And I’m kind of hating that picture because of the stack of workbooks that are off-centered, but they don’t fit anywhere else. I also hate the pink art case because it doesn’t match and makes the workbooks sit awkwardly, but Matt said I need to get over it and store the art stuff in the art cupboard, even if it doesn’t match. GASP.
Other things I’m OCD about: kids not touching things in the bathroom, kids scrubbing and sanitizing completely after touching things in the bathroom, and more recently, checking for fly eggs in my food.

So… How’d you do?

0-1 Stranger-danger. Hi, I’m Holly. Do I know you? Or did my mom send you to this page?

2-5 Acquaintances. Likely, we’ve met. Or else you’ve met my mother. She likes to tell stories about us kids.

6-9 Friends. We must be. Or we should be. Except, of course, if you don’t know me and you know this much about me, that kind of makes you a creeper. Or friends with my mom.

10 Relative. Hi, Mom.