These Are The Things I Love (and More)

Benjamin pretending to be a human rug (like a bear rug...get it?)

I love sitting by the fire on cool winter evenings, having well-behaved children beside me as I read a lovely classic (currently, the contemporary classic James and the Giant Peach by Ronald Dahl), and coloring (which children love too, so it works out fine). I love homeschooling, being pregnant (every moment of it), going for an occasional coffee with my sweet husband (children in tow), and dreaming about the most adorable 1940s-style wardrobe imaginable (I'm working on my sewing basics). I like reading in the dark with a headlamp, smelling my children's heads, and doing pull-ups. I enjoy writing poetry for my family, reading the vintage and most magnificent novels of Gene Stratton-Porter, and pouring over the poetry choices of Helen Ferris Tibbets (Favorite Poems Old and New: Selected For Boys and Girls). I love watching my babies sleep (even at four and seven), finding something fabulously antique and dirt-cheap at the thriftstore, and listening to Django Reinhardt's melodic masterpieces over and over again. I like knitting with eco wool or organic cotton (and bamboo needles), walking through downtown Bend with my family (and running into people we know), and watching Woody Allen films with my obliging husband. I'm thrilled with early 20th-century French settees, 1950s-style dishes (without the lead), and the contented purring of a good cat (ours is named Gussie).

I have a good life. But if it seems I'm constantly trying to convince myself of my wonderful life, maybe I am. Because while I'm thrilled with my wood stove (and everything else), I desperately want a baby. One more would be great, two would be better. I've been told (on more than one occasion) that it's time to "give up" my dream of more children. But I can't. I watch with genuine joy as women around me (near and far) conceive and bear children with great velocity. And as years pass (and so quickly they do), I have conceived only miscarriage and near-death experience since my two miraculous beauties. Yet I don't completely regret those then-negative experiences. Out of them have come a more exact nutrition plan, a plainer view of the important things in life, and a deeper understanding of the sheer miracle that comes with each being born on this planet. But that doesn't take away the fact that I'm waiting for a child. And each month that passes without a positive test adds another month to my constantly increasing age (35 years, 4 months and counting). I daydream about babies being left on my doorstep (with a romantic note pinned to their hand-sewn, Victorian-esque clothing), I pray for twins (one boy, one girl upon Benjamin and Annie's request), and I buy pregnancy tests and ovulation kits in bulk (anotherblessing.com). As years pass, I've had to learn to juggle my current life with my hopes for a larger family. I don't want my children to have a memory of me always waiting for something more. I am happy now (and I let them see that). But that desire hasn't left despite prayers that it would. This is quite possibly more information than any of you want. This is, I know, the uglier side of life. The side none of us expects to see. But this is my life. And as always, it boils down to this. Whether or not I am blessed with another child, I AM blessed. I have two of the most beautiful children (inside and out), a devoted and caring (albeit running-obsessed) husband, and a God who loves me. I live in a beautiful place with lovely people all around me, and I am truly thankful. But regardless of what the world tells me, I'm going to keep on hoping. After all, babies have been left on doorsteps before.

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1)

Central Oregon snow day

Christmas miracles