friday night lights

 

(Brother was off entertaining the masses.)

I'm sure I've said it before, but I'll say it again...

I love this small town of ours.

(Fun fact: this is the longest place I have ever stayed put in my entire life. Let's shoot for forever, God!)

The kids are finally both old enough that going to football games are actually fun and not "where's my kid?- did he fall in between the bleachers?- no,we aren't going to the bathroom again." stressful.

Half the team/band/cheerleaders are a part of the youth group.

The stands are full of church families.

Hutch marches from one group of people to another, entertaining them with his knowledge of dinosaurs, cool voices, fighting bad guys, etc.

Emmerson begs for candy the entire time and asks me all her football questions.

(I answer confidently, because, naturally, I totally know what's going on.)

We're smack dab in the middle of our community, surrounded by stand-in family, and I can't help but be filled with joy.

I love this small town of ours.

hashtaggoarrows

friday joys

 

the nightly routine where Remy slowly "sneaks" up on top of Brandon and Brandon acts like he doesn't love it. Hutch repeating "Happy Birthday!" to everyone who says it to him. finding Emmerson's "stories" lying around the house. sweater weather. painting pumpkins. friday night football games. zen match app. maverick city music. my sweet little library "regulars." crazy curly hair. 

hutch is FOUR

He's funny.

He's feisty.

He's forever my favorite red-head.

He's four.

 

saturday in the fall {a video}

 

Just a simple Saturday with my people.

when we started therapy...

when it started {here}  when it was time for help {here}  when we came here {here}

We started therapy not long after Hutch was born.

... there were tears falling

and fears spoken.

There were blames thrown

and convictions hitting.

There was trust tearing

and walls building.

It started hard, with defenses rising to deflect any pain.

It came each week with both dread and relief.

In my darkness, I had my realities and lies switched.

My lies were stone cold truth.

Reality was seen through twisted glasses.

Therapy gave my Husband tools to understand me.

To re-love this broken version of me.

To guide me back to the real reality.

Therapy gave me validation.

That I wasn't going crazy.

That I wasn't alone.

And that I wasn't going to stay like this forever.

After months of speaking all the words that could be spoken, 

we turned to medication...

tuesday letters

 

Sunday selfie while Daddy took for.ev.er. in the restaurant.

Dear Hair,

Grow.

Dear Arkansas,

Be colder.

Dear Hashimotos/Depression/Anxiety,

Get a hold of yourselves and let's live in peace, shall we?

Dear Clothes,

Why are there so many of you? Why do you have to be washed every week? #letsallbenudists

Dear Precious Baby Angel Nephew Jack, 

Stay little. Stop growing. I will be back soon. Wait for me!

giving myself permission...

 ...to not have it all together.

...to feel the things I've pushed away.

...to re-start the dryer once again,

...to snap at my kid (then later apologize.)

...to go to bed before tidying the house.

...to not know all the answers.

...to be quiet.

...to listen.

...to not be okay.

...to run to my Father again, and again, and again.