A few months back I was reading this post by Michelle Duggar, yes, the one with all the kids.

Today was a no good, horrible, very bad day around here. It started bad, got worse, and then went down hill.

It was about 5 o'clock this morning when I heard Zoe crying. I was dead asleep and the idea of getting out of my cozy bed was not appealing, not in the least. I was warm. The blankets were molded just right. Everything was optimal.

Today someone asked me about the benefits of cloth diapers, over disposables. They asked because they knew that I was using cloth now, after 3 babies in disposables.

I gave her all of the environmental/cost/coziness answers. Those answers are all good ones. Keeping dirty diapers out of landfills. Diapering for hundreds of dollars less. Cozy cotton on baby's bum. All good answers.

There was one answer I couldn't quite put into words though. One I have started a million blog posts on, and then left them half finished and unpublished. the answer that I'm going to try to give again.

When I hold Zoe, there is something even more precious in her big blue eyes, something even sweeter in her toothless grin, than with the babies before her. There is a knowledge of how fragile and miraculous her little life is. I want to drink in every second, every act of parenting her. I want to rock her to sleep in my arms and rest her warm cheek against mine, every minute.

The rush of "when will she...?" is replaced by a desperate desire to slow her down. She is my baby. My last baby. The baby born after a baby lost.

When I diaper her in cloth, it's a little more effort. It's a little slower. I wash them, i hang them on a line to dry. I smile with every clothespin because I am savoring a tiny part of her babyness in those moments.

I am taking the part of parenting her that is least precious, and I am making it special.

I never got to diaper Eden. I never had to meet that basic need for her...and that has made me choose to be fully present in that need with Zoe.

So there you go. In many ways I don't even want to post this, because even I think it sounds a little crazy. In other ways, maybe I'm not alone in finding such a simple way to connect with my baby, and someone else out there will read this and think, "Yes. That!"

Yesterday started like any other day, except it wasn't. Yesterday was my dear baby girls 8th birthday so the day started with a bit of magic to it.

There were no big parties or giant plans, just a plan to enjoy our family and celebrate the gift of this little girl turning young lady.

And it couldn't have started any better than the email I received from one of her church teachers...

"I know that you know your little girl more than anyone else but I just have to say that she is special! She has a heart for the Lord. There's more going on here than just a 'smart little girl'."

I always wonder with this one, she has a certain maturity to her that I fear leaves her a little more open to becoming jaded towards the things of God. I can see her storing hurts and disappointments in her heart that could prevent deep roots from forming. She was who I worried about most when God did not heal her baby sister. I feared she would be angry and not understand God's denial of our plea for healing.

I am a grown-up and it's still sometimes hard for me.

I have seen though, in this past year, she has turned her tender heart more towards Him. She has, in her way, sought more of Him.

When she prays she expects God to move mountains, and my faith increases as hers grows.

Even in the ER waiting on the doctor to come and seal the small gash in her forehead, she told me after we prayed, that she could feel God holding her hand.

This must be what they mean by childlike faith.

I have a really remarkable and interesting post for the great day that was my daughter's birthday today... but with the exhaustion that sets in after rushing to the ER for a bloody head wound I just can't do it now.

Everyone is ok. The hospital was great. But I need a nap....goodnight.

Some days I see a gimps of the relationship I'll have with my darling daughter when she grows up. I see glimpses of the two laughing and talking over coffee or while getting our nails done. I see us talking about the important and the ridiculous. I see myself weeping over her babies when I hold them for the first time and falling in love with the young man of God who will win her heart.

I see some of this in the midst of the daily battles over things both small and great. Over acts of will and acts of defiance and the moments of sheer joy that punctuate our days.

Tonight I kissed her goodnight on the eve of her birthday realizing that these past 8 years have gone by in a mere blink and I only have so many days left to help mold her little heart and guide her into a real and deep relationship with Her Savior.

I saw her sly smile and I thanked God so much for the gift He gave me those 8 years ago. And, once again I sat, slightly awed that He sees me as capable of guiding her wild and beautiful spirit.

Just help me show her how real you are Lord and how in love with her you are!

Sometimes, when my husband is home and my children are giggling it's just best if I don't ask questions. Dad's seem to find the most bizarre and, occasionally terrifying idea of fun.

Today though I couldn't help but step into the hall to investigate when I saw my oldest son streak by with a bottle of barbecue sauce. It's not so much that I wanted to know. More that I couldn't not know. What on earth could be happening in a hallway, with a condiment and all those giggles?

As I rounded the corner I couldn't hepl but let out a laugh myself. All my kids in a pile being tickled by Dad, unable to contain even a molecule of excitement and glee.

Apparently it wad dinner time and Daddy was having kid ribs, tickled to perfection. When he joked they should have sauce, my ever litteral 10 year old grabbed the bottle. Thank heavens it was new and yet unopened.

Soon there were little ones and not so little ones dog piling me and bringing me into the fray. And I though once again how different my life looked than I once imagined. How God had turned the dreams I spent so many years invested in, into something totally different. How He had brought me from a place where I never dreamed of even considering marriage an option until I was at least 30, where I had a firm limit of two kids at most, and certainly not before I hit 35, where I wasn't going to give up my identity for any man...to this.

Wife at 18, and birthing four beautiful and amazing children by the age of 33.

And my identity, not given up for a man, but created new and amazing in the light of the Son of Man.

I am so glad, so grateful that His plans do not always match our own. Even when His plans leave me a little baffled and confused. Even hurting a little.

I have found over and over again that when God promised me "the desires of my heart" (Psalm 37:4) that His intention was the whole Psalm... if I commit my mind to Him, commit to living a life walking and delighting in Him, he turns my heart to desire the great gifts he has for me.

Jesus, continue to mold me into the woman you want me to be that I will be inline to receive and recognize your blessings.

I wish I could say i am one of those amazing mom's who wakes up at 5am everyday, cheerily bounds out of bed to spend an hour in prayer, before cooking a four course breakfast for my family. But, I'm not.

I squeeze every second of sleep I can, generally waking to some sort of bickering or need to referee my kids, who have already eaten a nice healthy bowl of something akin to Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs.

This morning when I stumbled out of bed I heard giggling and water running. I was slightly afraid but still trying to pretend my day hadn't started. As I was just beginning to muster up the courage to enter the kitchen, water still running, I reminded myself to stay calm. That any damage was likely reversible or replaceable. Before I even made it to the halway, my daughter was beckoning me to "Come See" with a smile spread ear to ear.

When I got to the kitchen I saw why, my two oldest absolutly beamed with pride as they showed me the sink , empty of the dishes I had left overnight and the prunny fingers they had from washing.

As if that wasn't enough to bring about the perfect beginning of the day they sang me the song I had overheard amidst the giggles...

Son: Now that I've got my little buddy
Daughter: Doing dishes is less cruddy
Son: Now that I've got my little buddy
Daughter:All the dishes will be less muddy
Together: Now that we're using teamwork, teamwork
Now that we're using teamwork
The chores will be all done

I wonder what tomorrow will bring?

I've been kicking around several ideas. A lot to post about. But I have been, well, exhausted.

I am equally exhausted today. I have been in a phase of some very difficult parenting. I've come to the conclusion that I have imparted a very important lesson to my children that has come to bite me in the fanny.

I know compliant kids. I know kids that know that when the parents get "that tone" they better obey or change their names. My kids...well...they aren't those kids.

My kids are painfully aware that their opinions on life and justice matter to me. Painfully. I am rarely left to wonder what they think of a particular chore or request. Seldom is their plan unknown to me. Or their reasoning.

In an effort to mold them into confident and assertive future grown-ups, I have molded confident and assertive kids.

This has been a strange week, a strange month really, so it's been a strange time to be recording so many of my thoughts.

I've been thinking a lot about my family. I have fallen in love and adore my family even more than I did even a year ago. I love them in a way I never knew was possible.

My oldest son amazes me a little more everyday as I see the great character that is developing in him. Just the other night he and I had a conversation that still brings pride filled tears to my eyes...

I casually mentioned my concerns over his growing fascination with the video games he gets to play at church. It's not that I think it's bad but it seems to occupy so many of his thoughts...when he, all on his own, recognized that it might be best to stop playing the games after his class so that he could spend more time focusing on what he had learned so it didn't slip away.

And then my sweet daughter, who unfairly carries the burden of being our only living daughter. She is sassy and difficult but so amazing. She has a will of iron and a love for her family, her God, and her friends that is unmatched. All she wants is to have relationship. She wants to give her whole heart to every friend. She wants to give gifts and give pieces of her self to everyone she loves. And with each piece what she has to give grows even more.

My youngest son is the one who makes everyone smile. He's the one that, even in mischief, brings a smile to everyone around him. Who stands at the door of his Sunday School class calling for Miss Wobin, knowing she'll show up and he can once again tell her about all the cars. The one who, when told he's loved, replys with "That makes me so happy." He sucks the marrow out of life and thinks just being alive is amazing.

And my daughter who has forever changed me but is now in the arms of Jesus. The privilege of being chosen as her mother can't even be put into words. I will forever be grateful...

Here I sit, a mother to four but my last pregnancy turbulent and my last baby at home in heaven rather than in her bassinet next to my bed.

I ask myself almost everyday if that bassinet is meant to stay empty? If this is the end of my birthing career? I honestly can't imagine what the answer might be. How do I even answer that? Do I use logic? Emotion? And who's logic or emotions do I use? If it's mine, which set of facts or feelings do I turn to?

I think this is contributing to some of my sadness. Just not knowing and not knowing how to know.

So I wait on God. I wait and force myself not to answer. I choose to trust, even when it hurts and it's uncomfortable, I am choosing to trust.

Well, my brain is chocked full of cluttered thoughts to share... none of which are fully formed thanks to lots of good sun and adult onset allergies.

Today I was at a local park, an old favorite from my childhood filled with tons and tons of wonderful memories. My kids were playing with friends, celebrating the birthday of one.

A regular afternoon when tragedy struck just a little too close...

A boy was missing. Not one of our boys, but a boy who was at the park with his grandfather and brother. Grandpa turned away for a second and his two and a half year old grandson was just...gone.

People from another birthday party fanned out. A few from our party...looking in trees, trashcans, bathrooms...scouring the adjacent neighborhood. Everyone seemed so calm in the midst of it, but I know that inside I was screaming.

I thought of the call to the parents, the guilt of the grandfather, of the brother who would always know they had been playing together. I made the connection to the boy being about the same age as my youngest boy. Inside I broke. Now I am sure the people with me reading this are thinking "Huh? She didn't seem all that invested actually." But inside I imagined losing another child and I just broke.

Within about 15 minutes the park was surrounded and swarming with police. It's been said before, but police in that city, they just don't mess around.

So we, at the party, gathered together and prayed. What more could we do? We didn't see the boy, there were probably 20-30 people already on foot...so we prayed.

When I spotted a mail truck I went to check with him, grateful for a few seconds alone just walking over. He'd seen nothing. But Thank You Jesus, while I was talking to the mailman, the boy was spotted just wandering a few streets over.

The police picked him up and brought him back to grandpa, we took him some water, and settled into a nice relaxing party. One where our own children were constantly counted and recounted...and told to stay just a little bit closer.

I just tucked a handful of kisses and an armload of hugs into my pockets. Kisses flung from the little step that leads to the upper level of our house, flung by a little girl who is going to be grown before I even blink.

These kisses were fought for. Not tonight, but it seems everyday brings new challenges with her. Everyday we seem to butt heads a little more. So it's these moments where we can find reconnection that keep us both going.

It seems like this aspect of our relationship sprouted over night, and at times it breaks my heart. She is not bad or disobedient, really. It's just a special kind of tension between mothers and daughters. A tension I once thought I was never going to experience, but here it is.

In quiet moment, when I really think about it, I'm kind of proud of her fierce determination. Proud that she has such a strong sense of self, that she'll not be swayed even by her own mother. I can only hope I have had some of the honor of imparting that to her. And I can only pray that I will be obedient to God in helping to mold that into the dynamic woman of God she is called to be.

I am amazed everyday at these little people that God has entrusted to my care. Amazed at the profound responsibility to parent them and that He chose me to do it.

That El Roi, the God Who Sees Me, believes in me enough to give me this great honor...and I thank God for that.