If it isn’t posted on Facebook, did it really happen?

November 4, 2013 by Kelli

I hardly remember how life existed before Facebook. How did I survive the hilarious moments of the day or stressful World Series games without my funny friends laughing alongside me?! I love my little online community…but sometimes I love it a little too much. I need a break from the world of the internet.

Plus, I’m kind of curious to see what will happen if I stay off of Facebook for awhile. If I stop posting, will the world stop spinning? Will life go on?!

If I don’t take and post a photo a day, then did that day even exist, or will I get lost in some sort of Matrix of suspended life? WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN?!

I’m taking a week off of blogging and Facebook. I am a weak creature indeed, so I’ve deleted the Facebook app off of my phone, and I am turning off all notification so that I can stand firm on my resolve to stay away. I will still be checking email, working on my book and doing some editing work, but the vast majority of my days will be spent looking up and around instead of down at my screen. I’ll let you know next week if life truly does exist outside of the internet.

In the meantime, if you didn’t have a chance to read my 31 Day series on becoming an author, I’d love for you to check it out. I loved writing this series. It was stimulating and exciting, and it reminded why I love this business of writing so very much.

So, friends – I’m off to take a walk, and I will leave my phone behind. What?! Walking without my phone?! What is that all about?!

I’ll see you all in a week! Wish me luck. *wink*

Filed Under: 31 Days, Blogging, discipline, Life Tagged With: Blogging, did it really happen? Life, If it isn't posted on Facebook, Internet, Taking a break, writing

Crazy is as Crazy does so don’t miss the Crazy, Yo!

September 20, 2013 by Kelli

Daddy has been out of town for a week. Five solid days of crazy without the buffer of a male voice to TAME SAID CRAZY!

I’ve done fairly well, but last night I hit a wall. Tired, I was. Exhausted. I wanted the small children in my midst to go to bed. To sleep. Because honestly I was starting to feel a bit like this:

So we made it home from soccer practice, had the obligatory ice cream snack, then I asked the small children to stop screaming (why with all the screaming?!) and go get ready for bed. Instead, this happened:

Now my first reaction was to get angry because HELLO?! Did you not hear the words that came from my mouth? I said get ready for bed, not put on cheesy music and have an air guitar jam session.

But then I took a breath and simmered down a minute to actually watch them, and a strange thing happened.

I laughed. I laughed because these small children are freaks in the best sense of the word. They’re so weird and I do really love their weirdness.

It became quickly apparent that however ready I was for bed, they were not ready to the same degree. So we put on our shoes, grabbed the dog, and took her on a walk. In the dark. In the rain.

They ran around the block yelling and somersaulting through every. single. yard. (Sorry neighbors.) And we all laughed, which felt good because this solo parenting thing can be a drag.

We made it home and through the bedtime routine quickly and when the house was finally, mercifully quiet I whispered a prayer of thanks before falling into bed. I’m glad I didn’t miss that moment last night.

That crazy moment, with my little freaks.

Happy Friday, friends. May your weekend be filled with just enough crazy to keep you laughing. *wink wink*

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: Crazy town, Exhausted Mom, Family Guy, Kids, we are freaks

A Post About Nothing, Everything, and the One BIG Thing

September 4, 2013 by Kelli

Okay, friends. It’s confession time.

I’m bored with blogging.

Gasp!

I know! It’s like I just insulted my dearest friend and her mom in one fell swoop! I feel like I should buy the internet an “I’m So Sorry” bouquet of daisies and an Edible Arrangement to make up for what is clearly apathy and a bit of laziness on my part.

I think this is just a temporary lull in the old blogging Mojo. I sense that it will return to me at some point and that when it does you all will roar in delighted laughter and the internet will forgive my indiscretion and will sweetly ask me if I enjoyed my little jaunts away from the the glimmering screen.

To be clear, I’m not leaving the internet. I like her too much to walk away completely. But there are other delights calling me and I feel like I need to answer. I miss writing, and by writing I mean the art of getting lost in a story. It’s a funny thing, writing a novel. It’s like the longest, most mentally exhausting labor in the history of ever, and then when it’s all over, you look at this little creation in your hands and think, “Man. When can I do this again?!”

There are other issues that make blogging more of a challenge these days than they did in the days of yore. (Because the internet moves and changes and matures so quickly, it’s very easy to refer to two years ago as “Yore.” You understand.)

First, the kids are older and I just feel kind of squicky sharing all their secrets now. I mean, they’ve provided me with a truck load of stories lately. There’ve been some real humdingers, to be sure. But somehow it feels like those stories should be theirs to tell, not mine.

Well, okay. That’s not entirely true. Some of these moments I’m just saving up to share with their prom dates, at their wedding rehearsal dinners, or any other occasion when it feels appropriate to dig into my cache of awesome and give away these treasured stories that I hold. I just don’t want to tell the whole world every little thing any more.

I’m also (lean in close, now, so I can whisper this in your ear) kind of enjoying my long quiet days. When the kids get on the bus in the morning, I know they think I head into the house and weep softly, but I don’t. I put a little music in the iPod, grab the dog and shimmy my way through the neighborhood for a walk. I come back and enjoy a long shower without fear of someone walking in to tell me how deeply they’ve been offended by a protesting sibling. And when those two things are finished?

I sit at my computer and think, “Huh. I have all this time. I bet I could start making a little more money now.”

So I’ve been brainstorming ideas, writing, editing, querying agents and publishers, and talking with friends who are in need of a writer and have the funds to hire. Then I scoot over to my little corner of the web and dust her off a little, wishing I could give her more of myself.

That’s where I am. I’m here, but my brain is a few other places and my brain has never been very good at doing two things at once. I do have an upcoming project that I’m taking part in, though. I can’t give you all the details yet because…well, because I don’t have them. But I have a little teaser, a photo to show you something big, something HUGE, that we can all do together.

Check out ‘dem apples!

We’re going to be a part of this one big thing together, my friends, and this is a good thing. This is the sort of thing that makes the internet happy and makes me never, ever want to leave blogging ever because our words and actions are going to change the world.

This one big thing is something we can all be a part of. We can help make huge improvements to this amazing ministry from the comfort of our own homes, while still wearing our slippers! Glory!

So I’m not leaving. I’m staying. I’m just confessing that I know I’ve been a little stale, but the internet is quick to forgive and you all are so very patient while I work out the kinks of this new phase of life.

So hang with me just a little while longer? And if anyone would like to send me an Edible Arrangement, I’d happily accept it…on behalf of the internet, of course.

Peace out.

Filed Under: Blogging, funny stuff that happens, Life, Novel, Random, writing Tagged With: (in)courage, (in)Mercy, Blogging, losing my MoJo, Please don't ever leave me, writing

When the land before you seems dry

August 22, 2013 by Kelli

This was a summer of healing for me.

As we close it out, I find myself somewhat reminiscent of the last few months. They’ve been good. Really, really good.

For reasons I can’t explain because I don’t understand, God has led me to a place in life that feels very dry. It goes beyond the terminated adoption. There are other hopes – other desires – that have been removed. The big prayers that I’ve uttered for over a decade all fell apart at the same time. Literally on the same day – January 11.

I’ve built an altar on that day as I think it’s important to remember the place of destruction because I still have hope that dreams can be rebuilt. Perhaps they’ll look a little different. Maybe they won’t be what I thought they’d be, but I don’t believe God will leave me in this wilderness forever.

Adding to what has felt like a very dry time has been the fact that for the first time since I was fifteen I have no contact with Russian speakers. No day to day contact, that is. When I first went to the former Soviet Union as a fifteen year old, I had no idea what was in store for me, but I realized almost immediately that I was supposed to be there.

Since that time, no matter where I’ve gone or lived or traveled, I have always been in contact with Russian speakers. Even when I went to Tanzania last year with Compassion International, I met a Russian girl in the airport and shared a lengthy conversation with her. This is what has always seemed to happen.

Everywhere we went, Lee and I would run into Russians and Ukrainians. From my time working at WOGA in Dallas, to our many years at the Russian-American school in St. Louis, I’ve always had the opportunity to listen to, and speak, the language that is so magical to me. Even after moving to Tampa, we met a sweet Russian woman and got to be quick friends with her and her family. We went to birthday parties and spent time on the ocean, and it seemed that, once again, I had tight community with the people I love so dearly.

Unfortunately, these friends had to move rather suddenly, and right around the time that the adoption fell apart, we lost contact completely. Since that time I have not run into a single Russian speaker. I haven’t even heard the language.

It’s so strange to me, really. Why did God give me such a love for this language, such a heart for adoption, such a longing to be a part of His story in a child’s life only to take it all away, all at the same time?

I have questioned God and doubted Him this year. I’ve been disappointed in Him, so very disappointed in the way this part of our story has played out. A few months ago I would have been scared to admit those things publicly. I would have tried to water down how extremely angry and sad and frustrated I was with this God in whom I’ve placed so much trust. What do such doubts and attitudes say of my faith?

You know what it says? It says I’m real. For the first time I couldn’t coast on a blind and unassuming faith. I needed to swim a little in the fire of doubt to see if my faith in this God I proclaim to love could withstand the heat. It did, but there were some dark days inside the refining fire. Days when I didn’t know if God really could be good, when I couldn’t see any beauty or grace in the current landscape of life.

Many days I could utter nothing more than the words “I don’t understand” while hot tears dripped off my chin.

But I don’t have to understand. This is where the healing has come into play this summer. I don’t have to understand, and I also don’t think this is the end of the story. I think these things have been removed for a time, not forever. I feel peace right now. Genuine peace. I’m still sad, and I still cry at the drop of the hat, but I’m not devastated.

God continues to be silent right now. He is not speaking in a tangible way that makes sense…yet. I’m still walking through the desert, but there is actually a lot of beauty to be seen in the desert, and I mean this both literally and figuratively. My friend Jenni spent several months in the desert earlier this year and the photos she took there are some of the most breathtaking I’ve ever seen. God created so much to see in the dry places.

In the same way, there’s been a lot of beauty in these last eight months, and there have been moments filled with the joyous beauty of laughter, an emotion created by God to empty the dark corners of the soul for a brief moment and fill them with light.

If I sit still long enough to catalog it, I’m almost shocked at how much grace I’ve been given in what has been such a difficult year. This desert isn’t completely void of good things. I can now honestly say that I’m thankful for these dry months. They aren’t over, but I don’t feel like I’m lost anymore.

If you’ve found yourself in a desert place where life feels overwhelming and hard, can I encourage you to hang on tight? The road may be long and you’re undoubtably tired and weary, but don’t give up. It’s okay to be sad, and it’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to ask why and it’s okay to not understand. This life is a mysterious path of winding roads and bramble paths, but in the midst of it all, if we’re willing to look for it, there’s so much grace to be seen and felt and pulled in tight. Whenever you can, look for the beauty.

And if at all possible, try to laugh out loud. Laughter reveals a whole lot of pretty things in this world.

Blessings to you all today.

Filed Under: Adoption, faith, Family, Grace, Life

Insta-Wednesday: School’s In!

August 21, 2013 by Kelli

Our last day of summer was idyllic. We went to the beach where we played, collected shells and swam in the ocean with the dolphins who were feeding not fifteen yards from where we stood. The water was clear and cool and sweet and it was just an awesome day.

Then reality set in. If you’ll notice in the “thumbs up” picture, Tia looks less than thrilled. She did not have a good first day, but I suppose that is to be expected. She’s not a huge fan of school in general. She tolerates it at best. It will take her a few weeks to settle into a groove. Hopefully.

Now I’m off to do a little work, and by work I mean get dressed and go to IKEA.

Happy Wednesday everyone!

Filed Under: Instaram, iPhone, Life, Photography Tagged With: Insta-Wednesday, Instagram, iPhone photos, iphonography, Photography

First Day of School 2013

August 20, 2013 by Kelli

Alternately titled Mama’s Gonna PARTY!

Yesterday we bid adieu to summer with a trip to the beach. It was awesome and perfect and lovely and beautiful.

Last night, the kids were bouncing off the walls, a combination of nervous energy and extreme fatigue. Everyone was in bed by 7:45, lights were out at 8:00 and I didn’t hear a sound from anyone.

It was a modern day miracle.

Today they woke up ready to go. I didn’t have to wrestle anyone from their beds. There were no tears. Clothes were changed quickly and teeth were brushed. I’d made their lunches the night before and I had already prepared pancakes so they just had to be heated up.

This is the most prepared any of us will be all year.

I mean, seriously. It was almost exhausting being that prepared.

Give us a week and we’ll settle into a nice groove of WHERE ARE MY SHOES?!

I DON’T WANT TO WEAR THAT!

I DON’T LIKE THIS BREAKFAST!

I DON’T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!

For now, I’m relishing in the beauty of a peaceful, simple morning. And now I’m sitting in my big, fluffy chair by the back door, looking out across the pool while I sip my hot tea. In silence.

Modern day miracle.

Of course all this silence will get old, which is where my playlist will come in handy.

*wink*

Filed Under: Kids, Life, Motherhood, School Tagged With: First Day of School, Motherhood, party time, pictures

The Playlist

August 18, 2013 by Kelli

Tomorrow I will put my three children on a school bus and ship them off to a building that (if I’m being totally honest) looks a bit like a prison. They will be gone five days a week for a solid seven hours. In case you’re new here, you should know that I only have three children right now. So that means that for the first time in a decade, my house will be devoid of sound for a routine amount of time five days a week.

That is scary. If I’m going to be totally honest one more time and as blunt as I can possibly be, I’ll tell you that it’s scary as H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS.

If I think too long about sending all my babies off to a prison-like building inside the belly of a giant yellow bus, I feel a slight panic attack start to rumble somewhere in my gut. It kind of moves around before settling like a giant weight. If I’m super lucky, that weight will push itself up into my throat where it will expand until I can’t really breathe, at which point my eyes will involuntarily fill with tears and my heart will race and I’ll wonder if 10:00 am is too early to start drinking.

So instead of thinking about ALL THE QUIET, I’m thinking about fun stuff.

Like that fact that Lee and I are going to go to Busch Gardens on Friday just the two of us so we can ride all the roller coasters as often as we want without small people whining at our feet.

I’m also thinking of an IKEA trip where I can slowly meander through the aisles without worrying about having to buy a broken vase because someone couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

I’m considering a Tuesday morning Bible study for the first time in ten years because I will finally have the time to attend and the quiet moments of my days to think.

I’m looking at that pair of jeans that fits a littler more snugly than I prefer and I’m envisioning the time I’ll have to work out.

I’m thinking about the fact that I may actually be able to earn a little more money doing this writing thing I love so much because I’ll have actual stretches of time to piece together coherent thoughts.

I’m pondering how many actual home cooked meals I may be able to feed my family now that I can wrap my mind around dinner before the 4:00 hour.

There’s a lot to be excited about this week. Well, there’s at least enough to hopefully keep me from chasing the bus down the street sobbing and wailing and tearing my clothes in utter and complete grief. I’d prefer not to gnash my teeth this week.

There’s a price to be paid when you choose to stay at home with your children. It’s an easy enough sacrifice when they’re very young and there’s work to be done in the house. It’s hard work and exhausting, but at least you knew you were needed during those long daytime hours. But now? Now that they’re going to be gone and my job is less seen, less cumbersome, the sacrifice feels more…sacrificial. What will I do?

I’ll tell you what I’ll do.

I’ll start by cranking the music and having a dance party. My “Kids have gone to school playlist” includes the following songs:

I’m a Survivor

You Gotta Fight for Your Right to Party

I’m going to hold my head up high and embrace this time because I honestly don’t know how long it will last. There may be another little one in our future. In fact, I rather hope that there is.

I may end up homeschooling again. In fact, I rather hope that I do.

I’m embracing this year as a blessing and with only a small amount of trepidation. I’m nervous about being alone. And I’m excited. I feel both emotions, and if ever there was a reason to jam, the conflicting emotions of freedom and loneliness was it.

So…what songs should I add to the playlist?

And who wants to jam with me?!

Filed Under: Family, Homeschool, Kids, Life, Motherhood, School Tagged With: back to school, Life, loneliness, Motherhood, stay at home mom, work at home mom

The forgotten one

July 22, 2013 by Kelli

As the kids went through the usual nighttime routine last night, Sloan looked at me over his toothbrush.

“Hey, Mom,” he gurgled. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

“Oh, not much, babe,” I answered. “Tomorrow is just another day.”

As I said these words, I had a nagging feeling that I was forgetting something. What could it be? It’s been a doozy of a few days. I can’t share publicly what’s gone on behind the scenes because my children would die ten thousand terrible deaths if I shared everything that ever happened ’round these parts.

All I can say is motherhood is NOT for the faint of heart.

And also, thank heavens for wine and mindless chick flicks, because I might not have survived otherwise.

“So we’re not doing anything?” Sloan asked.

“No. Not really anything at all. All I really need to do is get my oil changed, but other than that it’s just…”

My anniversary. That’s the thing I was forgetting. Thirteen years ago, I said ‘I Do’ to my studly stud of a man. Thirteen years of making babies, raising babies, moving, growing, laughing, learning, and navigating this awesome adventure called life.

Life is so different now than it was thirteen years ago. If someone would have told me what I’d be doing in the year 2013, I’d have laughed at them. Out loud. Right in the face.

Before you think I’m a terrible person for forgetting, I should tell you that Lee and I were talking last night about something that was concerning me and he leaned forward and looked at me with his serious Lee-face.

“What have I been telling you for the last fourteen years that we’ve been married?”

Me: “Uh…we’ve only been married for thirteen years.”

Year thirteen has been a doozy and I think we’re both ready for it to be over, but if I had to ride out a storm, I’d want to do it alongside this guy.

1999: Rocking the short overalls and a hottie on my arm.

I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be on this journey with for all sixty years, four months and twenty-two days…plus.

Blessed.

I am blessed.

The one with the pictures

July 18, 2013 by Kelli

I really admire creativity. I am always in awe of the way that people see the world. Some see it as a concrete place of numbers and statistics. I don’t understand their view of the world but I can appreciate their brand of creativity.

I see the world as a series of images. They move and flow together in mostly word pictures and that’s how I’m prone to create. I weave and piece together the words until the world around me lights up.

My five-year-old sees the world as one giant surprise. He’s delighted with every step because he never really knows what’s coming next. I wish I could bottle that wonder up and sip on it awhile. Kids are master creators because they aren’t bound by predictability. I hope he never loses his sense of awe. I pray that a little piece of that always sticks with him.

And then there are the photographers. Those who see the world through a lens have a unique ability to create. Last month, my friends Tammy and Jenni reminded me once again that photographers are some of the most creative and inspiring people that God has placed on this earth. They see life in vivid color and dramatic black and white. They see life as a tapestry and with a tiny click, they capture an image that gives testimony to a single moment in time.

I’m a fan of photographers.

Before we left for California, Tammy told us of a project she’d like to work on. She wanted to capture a single image of each one of us that told a story. In the weeks leading up to the trip, we sent countless emails back and forth, each trying to determine what our image should look like.

Bethany’s image was a bit like a feast of words. Bethany may be the smartest person I know. Her grasp of literature and writing is impeccable, and her understanding of story and poetry is awe-inspiring. Add to that the fact that she is stunning, and you have a recipe for some pretty spectacular pictures.

Of course, Tammy took more than one image of each of us. Knowing that we’re all busy moms, Tammy understood that we rarely get to stand in front of the camera. We’re usually behind it in yoga pants and t-shirts capturing the life that plays out before us. So she gave us the opportunity to get prettied up and she gave us the gift of being in front of the lens for a little while.

When it came time for my photo shoot, I had in mind something vintage and simple. Tammy went above and beyond. She captured images that signify the emotional journey I’ve been on and merged them into a single image to tell our story of hope and healing. I thought that it would be easy for her to capture that image of me, but it wasn’t. I struggled to display the emotion necessary to really tell the story.

I’m a writer, not an actress.

But in the end, Tammy (and Bethany, who acted as her assistant) pulled it out of me. Because they’re that good.

After we took the serious image, Tammy let me have a little fun. We risked our lives inside a rodent infested house to capture this image. (And by rodent infested, I mean you could hear hundreds and hundreds of mice scurrying in the attic above us while mounds of mice feces piled from corner to corner. Horrifying…)

Tammy then had me change into a more vintage inspired outfit and just have a little fun. I felt like a supermodel and for over and hour we just laughed and enjoyed the art of creating.

It’s a little embarrassing for me to share fancy pictures of myself. It feels slightly narcissistic and strange, but this isn’t about me so much as it’s about my friend’s amazing talent. What Tammy does with a camera is nothing short of magical. She takes an ordinary girl – a minivan mom of three who’s life is not glamorous by stretch of the imagination – and she transforms her into someone else entirely.

This is the beauty of art. It’s taking the ordinary – the plain – and focusing in on it in such a way that it becomes extraordinary. I’m grateful for friends who use their gifts in such powerful and beautiful ways!

Click this link to see the rest of the photos Tammy took during our morning in California. You’ll want to “Like” her on Facebook as well so you can keep up with her work as she continues to grow and expand as an artist.

Filed Under: Life, Links, Minivans, Motherhood, Photography Tagged With: Artistic Photography, Northern California Photography, Tammy Labuda Photography

They say it takes two years

July 15, 2013 by Kelli

Two years ago, we played Tetris with all of our earthly possessions, stuffing and shoving and twisting them juuuust so into two giant PODS and the back of our (smokin’ hot) minivan. We waved goodbye to the POD men and began a three month odyssey of moving from one place to the next until we finally found and bought a house.

It’s been a hard, hard two years.

The first year was spent just trying to figure out our place in this new town. We spent a lot of time mourning the loss of seeing and being with people who were more than just friends – they were family. That first year was spent visiting the beach, sticking our toes in the sand and trying to convince ourselves that we made the right choice – that everything would be okay.

The Beach – God’s Glory Land…

“It takes two years in a new town to feel settled,” we heard from more than one person and I’ve clung to that adage these last 24 months. On the nights when we’ve paced the house in the wee hours of the morning fighting hyperventilation and panic attacks, I’ve told myself to wait for that magic two year mark. Other days, as I felt lost in loneliness, I searched out the Facebook pages of my dear friends so far away for some connection to the life I missed, and I told myself it wouldn’t be long before this all got better.

After the first year, I felt like the worst of the mourning had passed and we finally began the arduous task of rooting ourselves to this new place. We found a church, made some friends and looked for ways to plug ourselves into this place that we desperately needed to call home.

This second year has been equally difficult, but for so many different reasons. So many times I have desperately longed for the friends who knew me best to come close, hold my hand and let me cry. Early on this year, I started to get a little lost inside my twisty head and I knew I needed to get out and meet people or things were going to go down hill quickly. So I found new friends who met me for coffee and even though we hardly knew one another, they listened as I let my broken heart roll down my cheeks. Just thinking about those glimmering moments of grace in such a dark time brings tears to my eyes once again.

Moving is hard. It’s so very, very hard to start over, to not be known, to feel like you have to smile when you just want to cry. But one thing our new friends have taught me these last two years is that there’s no faster way to get to know and love someone than to be raw and real with them. I could have stuffed all my sorrow inside and kept it hidden, but I would have been a miserable person as a result.

They let me be real. They passed me notes in church when they noticed my eyes were full of tears. They called just to check on me, to make sure I wasn’t staying in seclusion. When I apologized for crying so much they shook their heads and told me not to worry about it as tears glistened in their own eyes.

These people who were practically strangers felt my pain and in so doing, they took some of it on themselves, relieving me of carrying the burden on my own.

They say it takes two years in a new town to feel settled and I’m embracing this two year mark. I still miss St. Louis so deeply that sometimes I feel a physical ache in my chest. I miss my friends so very much. Just today I called three of them because I just needed a little more than a Facebook status.

In two weeks, we head back to the ‘Lou to touch home base again. I think it will be perfect timing. Five days won’t be enough time, but it will quell the ache of the heart enough to allow us to continue to grow here – to continue to plant roots and gain a familiarity with this new place we call home.

Yesterday, I woke up, got dressed and it dawned on me that I was really excited to go to church. I was excited to see the people that are settling into that special place in my heart that’s reserved for the closest of family and friends. It’s been two years since we waved goodbye and I think “they” were right.

It’s starting to feel like home.