Dear New York,

I hope you're doing well. 

It's been a while since we left you, but we certainly haven't forgotten you. You're still very much in my heart. I think of you often and smile, the occasional tear creeps up when I'm feeling sentimental but I'm okay. We left in a bit of a rush, and I'm sure that's a big reason why I just can't seem to get over you. Our time together was cut short, but regardless of that, I'm so thankful that we got to wander and explore while we did. 

We moved to a much smaller quieter town, on the other side of the world really, and she couldn't be more different than you. She's quaint, and sleepy, and friendly. Calm, and slow, and covered in overgrown greenery. Despite the massive change, I'm surprised to find my day-to-day life hasn't changed very much at all! We still hear sirens for late night fires, and see the occasional police arrest. We walk to parks, to go shopping, and sometimes just to get out of the house. We still fill our days with busy toddler projects and games. We still watch cartoons on sleepy mornings and bake yummy treats in the kitchen. The overall scenery has just changed. No high-rises, underground subway rumbles, or relentless cab honking. No verbal abuse from passing strangers, dog poos to avoid on the sidewalks, or pompous rich people snubbing our humble background. No brownstones, stoop sitting or late night catch ups with mom friends in the stairwells... 

We loved living in your city, New York. You have so much to offer, and I can only hope we were able to give, even just a little bit, back. Somehow, while living with you for two years, we missed out on some of your charms and historical characters, dozens of places we didn't make it to but wanted to. We did SO much, and saw so much of you, but still didn't manage to do it all. Which, of course, is why I'm glad you're still there, waiting for us to return. 

I miss you, so very much, but I think my time for grieving is needing to come to an end. It's time to move on, my dear New York. I can't stay sad over you any longer. 

I can't wait to see you again, to return to your gorgeous skyline, become another dot in the otherwise endless sea of faces,  and soak in the electric vibe you ceaselessly expell. It will be an amazing day, when I get to return to you, but until then- I've got to live my life. You can move on, too, welcome new families and visitors alike. Let others leave their small, but important mark on your map. I'll be excitedly awaiting my return to you... And until then,

Stay lovely, New York. I'll love you forever.

This Christmas.

Christmas is approaching quickly and I'm glad to say that, although I'm slacking on the present purchasing, we DID get our tree up.. Our first real tree since we've been married, y'all. Now that's something I can get excited about.   

Out first Christmas was only a few weeks after our wedding and a few days after arriving home from our honeymoon. It was a lovely and quiet one with friends in KC, gathered around my childhood mini Christmas Tree feasting on my very first attempt at making crépes. I think we even did a little secret Santa exchange with a $10 limit. 

The next year was spent in California with Nic's family, and we decided against decorating our apartment too heavily since we'd be gone for 3 weeks! We all got a stomach bug (Nic's parents and sibling included), which made it a little bit miserable of a trip, but we still managed to get out and do some dirt-biking and go-karting, and enjoyed lots of family time. Plus, sharing our exciting news about baby #2 made it a really special trip! 

Last year was spent in Albuquerque with my family, and once again, we decided not to put up a big tree since we'd be gone for a solid 3 weeks. We got to soak in some sunshine, hike and snowboard, and enjoy heaps of quality family time at random brunches and dinners. Truly a wonderful Christmas vacation! 

This year is so different. 

We don't have to travel more than 5 minutes to see family (2 siblings currently LIVE with us, so it's as simple as going downstairs, haha.) We are staying home, and attempting to create some of our own traditions in a new country and a yet another new home. And we have a little preschooler who is TOTALLY into all this Christmas stuff. I am really looking forward to seeing how this side of the world celebrates Christmas. From what I've seen so far it all seems pretty similar. Jesus' birth is a central theme and advent is pretty well observed, in fact, this Christmas marks the 200th year since the gospel was first shared with native New Zealanders, which is super exciting! And of course, the fat man himself Santa, is also all around and a huge part of celebrations. Although, this Santa wears shorts and looks a little bit like a beach bum. Haha. Still rocks a long white beard though! 

Summertime Christmas may never feel normal to me, but thankfully, summer in NZ still means random cold and cloudy days. Which means I can still gladly find an excuse to stay in all day and bake, or drink hot cocoa, or cuddle up and watch Elf! Definitely a Christmas tradition I refuse to let die. :)

Hasta luego, lovely people. 

Precious, isn't she? 

{found my "thing"}

Yep.

I've figured it out.

Turns out I do have a thing.

It's making babies. 

Yes, indeed, you read that correctly. Our precious little Numba Three is on his/her way! Apparently, part of my "thing" is getting unexpectedly pregnant, about 2 months or so after we move somewhere new. (Or to be fair.. 3 weeks after we got married, too!) And with patterns like this emerging I may have officially asked Nic that we not move.. Like ever again. Because I'm not sure I can handle any more surprise pregnancies like this. Haha! 

My excitement has ebbed and flowed like the tides, it seems. But I am finally in a place where I'm genuinely pretty stoked and excited and hopeful for the days to come. I still occasionally feel overwhelmed and like I have a lump in my throat threatening to escape in the form of ugly crying. Which of course, draws the attention of my 3 year old, who tries to comfort me by singing songs and bringing me his bunny to cuddle. But yes, peace and joy is finally what rests in my heart. I mean, seriously, we make some pretty precious little beings.. And aside from the colicky phases, crazy toddler defiance and potty training that seem to follow shortly thereafter, they've been an absolute delight to raise and watch grow.

To be completely honest, I was definitely not ready for this. And if it weren't for needing to bust out my trusty hair tie trick to fit into pants these days I still might have a hard time believing it ;)

Obviously, I'm not the first person in the world to have a bit of a surprise pregnancy, and not even the first to have 3 in a row but never in a million years would I have seen myself with 3 kids at 25.  In fact, I don't think I would have seen myself with any kids at 25. My perfect starting age in my perfectly mapped out life plan was 27- have a few spaced out by a couple years each and wrap it all up by about 32 or 33. But, as with most things in this life, God had a completely different plan for me, for us! And that's okay. 

Does it make me any less thankful to have these babes? Of course not. 

Does that make me any less in love with my children?! Don't be ridiculous. 

Does it make me a little envious of people who can use all the varied kinds of birth control and skate by without ever wondering why the heck they're starting to feel sick all the time and just.. so.. tired.. And oh wait, oh no... Yep, that's a plus sign..? Well...Yeah. Haha! Not about to lie about that one.

We're officially 0-3 as far as baby planning goes, and for a girl who's always trying to organize and plan and process outcomes of things LOOONG before ever having to face them.. This has proven to be quite a challenge for me, mentally and emotionally. 

Regardless of my initial feelings, however,  I've taken much comfort in knowing that we could not be in a more perfect place to be expanding our little family. And no matter how much my heart still grieves over leaving my beloved NYC, we could NOT be doing this if we were still there. God's timing truly is perfect. We have space to grow into here, which we severely lacked in our little corner of East Harlem. We have a fully fenced in backyard where the kids can play for hours without much need for mommy intervention at all, which of course was not the case there. Here we are surrounded by family, and while we had a handful of wonderful close friends in NYC, it's not quite the same as having dozens of aunts, uncles and cousins around the corner. We are blessed to have full maternal health care coverage, completely midwife lead, which is my preference by far, while birthing in NYC is a pretty tough business that I'm not sure I'd be up to dealing with again.. Ultimately, this is the perfect place for us to be. And I am so thankful for that. Even if I didn't know, God knew. 

I say it's high time to focus on the positives and joyful moments... Like having Hudson and Charlotte in the checkup with me when we got to hear baby's heartbeat for the first time.. And these little kicks and flutters I've been feeling for a while.. And the crazy amounts of kicks that start up when Hud or Lottie are laying on me... And the excited reactions we get from people when we tell them because "they thought we were done!!" (Ha.. Us too!!)... And the look on Nic's face when I spelled a message out in the sand... 

And the funny ridiculous outtakes from trying to get the kiddos to take a cute Pinteresty type announcement photo.. 

And how Hudson keeps talking about the baby in mama's belly and what the baby's heartbeat sounded like. "Thump, thump, thump, mama!" He likes to lift up the edge of my shirt to see my belly and talk to baby and give my belly kisses. And even likes to take pictures on my phone of my belly profile. Too sweet, that boy. Such a tender little heart. 

Lottie still doesn't really understand, and I don't expect her to anytime soon.. But she is going to be a great big sister, I'm sure of it. From the baby to the middle babe.. It's gonna be good for her, our little diva could stand to be taken down a few notches ;)

Alas, joyful or slightly worried, excited or overwhelmed- it is time to face the facts, and my growing waistline (and nausea, and dizzy spells, headaches, cramping, etc)... Because ready or not, this babe will be here before we know it! All the uncertainty and worries will just be a distant memory and we will get to snuggle a precious little squishy, fuzzy headed, tiny babe. And that is something we can all can get excited about! 

And believe me, my quest for a thing is not over. I WILL have a thing, one day... Maybe when my kids are all a little older and don't require 100% of my time and energy 100% of the time. Until then, joyfully, this whole mom thing is my "thing." 

  

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.." Jeremiah 1:5

{some}times

Sometimes babies hate sleep. 

And when your name is Charlotte Rose, "sometimes" more often means "all of the times." 

And that can sometimes lead to late night typing just to stay awake while a certain babe thrashes in your arms. 

And if your name is Kristin Rose, that "sometimes" means right now. 

Nic ventured off with one of our Uncles to see the new Fury movie tonight.  I'm fairly certain Charlotte just wanted to make sure I didn't miss out on any opportunities to snuggle up and not get any housework done. You know, cause I don't do that enough during the day.. Although the daytime "snuggling" part is more so playing referee and consoling various worries. But that's alright. 

Tonight, I don't mind at all. I'll kiss her little sweaty head and giggle at her occasional snores while I still can. Soon she won't need me to cuddle her to sleep, or pat her belly, or stroke her head. She won't need Nic to get up a million times* each night to replace her paci or fix her blanket. She won't need us to help get her through the night..

And while that sounds like a dream come true right now, we may actually come to miss it one day. Maybe not the broken sleep.. But being needed, wanted even... Yeah, we'll miss that. 

Wanna know what else we'll miss? Hudson running around in his cape. He's recently started insisting on wearing his super-cape for various outtings as well as just around the house. He runs as fast as his little legs will allow him and shouts with delight, "I'm flying, Mom!! Look! I'm FLYING!!!" And then he'll fake crash into the bushes with gusto. My word.. That little man. He makes me smile! (Sometimes.) (Okay. A lot of times) Our most recent public display of SuperHud was for our grocery shop a couple days ago..   He was so proud of it and he soaked up ALL the compliments like any SuperHero would, with a bashful grin from ear to eat and a high pitched, "thank you!!" I'm pretty proud to be raising a polite SuperHero.

In some of my weaker moments, or the heated moments (ahem, cue mommy rage for a toddler pooping on the front porch**) I forget. I forget that these days are fleeting and these babies are growing. In fact, they're not even babies anymore! I forget that one day my house will be empty and I'll be left hoping and praying that I did enough.. That I didn't somehow ruin them. That their lives would be a reflection of a wonderful, well rounded upbringing with loving parents who pointed them to Jesus at every opportunity. In any case, I'm thankful. I'm thankful to have the sweet moments, the ones where I can sit, breathe in their sweet scents and remember.. Even if just for a moment. These sweet little babes. They're hard work. They're exhausting. They steal my chocolate. But man, they're worth it. 

*obvious exaggeration but at 3am and he's out of bed for the 4th time for whatever reason, it feeeels like a million. 

**not an exaggeration.

Hey Ya

Ever have random old memories come rushing over you out of nowhere?

I'm all for moving forward and continuing to learn and grow and not dwell on the past but I gotta say, sometimes these sorts of memories overwhelm my heart and mind and I get all warm and fuzzy, nostalgic, or sometimes even a bit embarrassed. 

For instance, I was sitting with my kids the other day playing with them when a pretty popular over-played song came on, Hey Ya, actually. It reminded me of my freshman year of high school. And more specifically it reminded me of a guy that had made a big montage of photos from a class trip with the song in the background.. And then THAT reminded me of when my spanish teacher was upset with me. To the point where she kept me after school to have lengthy discussion. (I had her class for the last period of the day.. which meant she could keep me in there as looong as she wanted.. Yikes.) Why was this all connected? Not because I was being unruly or not turning in homework or distracting the class with my awesome rendition of the Hey Ya chorus, but because I was a jerk and I had to cancel on going to prom that guy who was also a student of hers. She was concerned for him and expressed her distaste for girls "like me" who "hurt nice guys.." It was all a big misunderstanding and it was awkward to say the very least.

This guy had been a good friend of mine. A senior who was in Continentals with me, no romantic connection on any level, just a friendly Christian guy and he'd asked me to be his date! The majority of my friends were seniors and he offered to let me come with so I could be there with them. Sure, now looking back, I can understand that he likely had a bit of a crush on me but I was none the wiser and I would have loved to go. Truly. But, the BIG but.. I wasn't allowed to date, on any level. And I didn't know how to express that to him.. So I tentatively gave him my reply- a big fat maybe. I was pretty certain my parents would say no, but for the sake of being a good friend, I thought I could at least ask.

Before I knew it, it was the week of the dance and I hadn't even yet gathered the courage to ask my parents. I knew what their answer would be but I felt like I couldn't tell him a direct "no" until I had heard it for sure from them.  So Monday morning rolls around and I stroll in planning to let my friend know that I just couldn't come, annnnd there he was, gifts in hand. There was a THEME for every single day that week of gifts to bring your date, and he had them ALL. I hadn't even said yes officially and here I was arms full of snacks and random "Under the Sea Royalty" trinkets... I was so overwhelmed. And incredibly embarrassed. It was like one of those moments in a movie where the stunned silence somehow gives way to this bubbling excitement from the other person and the silent one is almost ignored in the wake of the excitement... How on earth could I break it to him now?!

I went home that night with my assortment of treats, practically begging my mom to ask, "What the?," which she did, thankfully. And I spilled it all, finally, telling how much I wanted to go so I could be there with my friends, and how excited this guy was and how much he'd already spent on getting me presents... To which my mom, very gently, explained that there was no way I was going to be going to prom, muchless with a date. The way she put it, (then infuriating but now totally understandable), an 18 year old guy does not need to be taking a 14 year old to prom. Plain and simple, no matter how "friendly" the terms. It just didn't need to happen. He could find a date his age and I could hang out with my other friends that night.

I draaaagged my feet into school the next morning, hoping to muster up some sort of sugar coated excuse to tell him for why I couldn't come.. I even offered to give him the gifts back so he could hand them off to his new date but he took it like a pro! He genuinely seemed like he understood! I was shocked. He was totally cool with it. 

Or so I thought. He must have spoken with my spanish teacher that same day, before I had her class, whether he was harsh about what happened remains a mystery but either way- she was fired up and ready to lay into me. I pretty typically tried to lay-low in all of my classes, unless the teacher was a bit more of a friendly personality who liked to joke around with their students, to which I'd always grab onto and try to keep going all year. Regardless of any kind of "friendship" with a teacher I always had an underlying fear of them and their power and always desperately tried to stay on their good side.. Teachers pet? Maybe not in that extreme but definitely a little bit of a goody-two-shoes.  I never ever wanted to give reason for a teacher to not like me.. Annnnd here she was, using her grown up stern voice and telling me how big of a jerk I was... 

Oooh it stung. And I'm sure I fought back tears when I tried to explain what had happened but I pretty much lost every chance to be on her good side from that point on. And my friend never really mentioned the situation again. Hindsight, of course, I could have handled it all very very differently but I guess that's part of growing up. Gaining perspective and learning from mistakes. And being able to laugh at yourself for being, well.. Childish. 

Shake it like a Polaroid picture, right? 

Little baby Kristin and the rest of the freshmen in my first year of Continentals.. So presh. 

-rightnow-

How many times do we sit back and reminisce about the "good ol' days?" Whether it was childhood or high school or college or earlier years of marriage? 

And how often do we get caught up dreaming about the future and the hopes of what will be? Successful career, dream house, or perfect family? 

We often spend so much of our time living in our pasts or dreaming of the future that we kind of miss out on the right now.. I know I'm guilty. Wishing old memories to be present moments, thinking back on what "could have been," rewording conversations so I came across more wittily... Thinking of what it will be like when Hudson is in school, or when my kids are teenagers, wondering about how long I'm going to be living here and when we'll move again.... Maybe it's just part of the human condition but I find that we can easily spend too much time thinking about anything but the now.

I've recently been struck with the reality- we have NO idea when we're going to think back to this very moment and remember how sweet it was.. And wish we could have it back. Or that we could change something about it. 

And I know this isn't some new revelation that no one has thought of before, like I'm some deep philosopher who has stumbled upon some new idea about life, but it is certainly a new reality to me. Something I've always "known" but am really feeling a stronger grasp on.

I want to love the moments I'm in while I'm in them. Not be wondering about what its gonna be like in the future or wishing things were like they used to be. 

Granted, I do think there is some good to be said for both remembering the past and thinking of the future! I'm definitely not saying we shouldn't do it. That's part of the beauty of this life, being blessed to have memories worth reliving, and futures worth looking forward to- but my point, or at least what I've been realizing, is that spending too much time dwelling in those mindsets can bring an uncanny amount of sadness. Or depression. Or even downright bitterness. 

And my right now deserves some joy. 

Driving around on one of our little adventures with my little family yesterday I tried my best to focus my attention on the right now. I wanted to intentionally pay attention to the precious little moments that may (or may not) eventually be one of my "think back" memories.. I want to find the freedom in right now. Not yesterday or tomorrow..

I want to revel in the joy of right now.  

 

Weighty.

Oh my.

So it's been a while since I've written anything about this. And I think there's good reason. For one, I vowed to myself that I wouldn't obsess any longer, at least not publicly... And I've been mostly successful in the sense that I haven't posted anything online. Ha. 

I've still struggled a bit on the inside. My mind has sometimes been consumed with self-loathing from time to time. I've commiserated with friends over seemingly ridiculous body-complaints. And I've shared openly with my husband about each of my different struggles, but finally... Something is clicking. Something has changed.

It could be a few things, really. Either I'm growing up or wising up or maybe the fact that I haven't weighed myself since April (which is a big deal since I've been an obsessive 2-3x daily kind of girl for as long as I can remember... No bueno) or maybe because I'm living in a country where there's no real pressure to be extra thin and normal, healthy curves are the absolute norm... Or likely the combo of all of the above.

Buuut I'm actually kind of happy with the way I look these days.

"Soft edges" and all. 6-pack abs will probably never be a part of my life, and I'm actually pretty okay with that. I know I could stand to slim down a touch, firm up from here to there, but honestly? There's a time for that. And now is not that time for me. I've only recently started getting sleep on a regular basis and starting some super strict work out regimen is in no way appealing. Running when Nic gets home from work some days, sure. Trying to squeeze in some push-ups and crunches while the kids are distracted (or climb all over me), of course. Sprint up the stairs with laundry in tow, well yeah, that's just fun. Beyond that, I am making no commitments, not yet.

Of course, I still see slender, toned women and think, "Wow, they're really beautiful." And maybe even for a half a second I feel a twinge of guilt for not trying hard enough during my work-out (or lack there-of.) But for me to commiserate and beat myself down for not looking like that right now is absolute absurdity. And I'm thankful that mindset of mine has been coming to an end. It isn't healthy and it isn't the way I want to live. And it definitely isn't the kind of body image I want to pass down to my children.

I know this may not seem like all that big of  deal, but for me, it is quite literally life-changing. I have had a horrible body image for most of my life. It started when I was 8. EIGHT, y'all. I remember starting to see girls in my class in a whole different way than just my peers or friends, I saw girls who were smaller than me, girls who were more athletic than me in P.E., girls who could wear really cute outfits that looked like mini-Barbie dolls and I hated it. I started calling myself things like fat and plump. And likened myself to just being the "funny fat girl." That was going to be my place. Because surely, I couldn't belong amongst these tiny, beautiful girls in my class. It didn't help that I also had family members who would forbid me a second helping of dinner, or would look at me in disgust if I wanted more dessert, or heck, pinch my sides and tell me to run more. (Seriously? Can you imagine saying that to a 9 year old?!) I look back and that "hideous fat girl" I thought I was, turns out it was merely a little bit of pre-pubescent chub. That's all. Puberty hit and I slimmed out, thank God for that, but the mindset never really left. Those beginning thoughts of an 8 year old, who didn't listen to her mom when she said she was beautiful and rather listened to the other voices that said she was lacking, she wasn't good enough- that is what shaped my life. It's truly tragic. I've hated my body and all of it's flawed pieces for so long, it's hard to remember a time when I didn't look in the mirror and loathe what I saw. There's been an obsession with "skinny" my whole life, and I've never really even achieved it! That's the funny thing! I've been slim, yes, and nice and toned and all that jazz, but truly skinny like I longed for? Ha. No. My body is simply not built for that. And I've haaaated it for that.

How can we change this? How can I assure that my daughter, even if those thoughts flit through her sweet mind, won't buy in to the age-old pattern of body-hatred? What steps can I take now to open the doors of communication with my kids so that they feel freedom to discuss these things, rather than erupting in a fit of hysterics during jean shopping in middle school because a size 5 suddenly qualifies you as a "fat ass" {yes, that happened. Mom, you're a saint.}?

I find it incredibly sad that our culture is consumed with one body trend after the other, super skinny or overly-fit, "real women have curves" or thigh gaps, body-concious or overly-body-obssessed. I have super fit mom bloggers staring me down with 3 kids on her hips questioning, "What's your excuse?" and another less fit mom in the next saying, "I don't need one."  I, for one, am happy to move on and find my own happy place. My own comfortable shape. I think it's high time we stop letting other people define what we should look like. If you want to work out 7x a week and eat a Paleo diet, then by all means, please do. But don't shame me for opting out of gym time to have dinner with my family and more than likely finish off with a giant bowl of ice cream in front of the TV. If you want to control your portion size down to the gram and calorie count, oh my goodness, I applaud your efforts,  because that takes some amazing dedication. But please, for the love of God, don't give me the stink eye when I get up for seconds. Oh, and if you feel like never working out and eating every meal until you feel like you're going to pop, go for it. But don't feel offended and suddenly self-conscious if I decide to forgo dessert. I think there is a fine line between sharing your excitement for something that is working for you (because let's face it, that's exactly what I am doing.. right now.. you're reading it) and practically forcing your ideal on someone else, to the point of making them question their own worth.

We're in this together, y'all. Let's encourage each other to find their happy comfortable self, and if that looks a little different than our own personal ideal, then so be it. Take care of yourself, find what works for you. And if that stops working, make some changes, ask questions, but don't hate the in between time. Enjoy the process. I think barring life-threatening habits; i.e. bingeing and purging, anorexia, overly-working out without proper protein and calorie intake (yes, it happens and no, it is NOT safe), and I dunno, extreme unhealthy weight gain or loss, we should support overall health and wellness, healthy minds, and nutritional and physical education for children and adults alike. The more we know about food and our own bodies, the better off we all will be.

Guess what? I think I've eaten more ice cream and fried foods in the past 3 months than I have ever allowed myself to, and you know what, my jeans are fitting a bit looser these days. Don't ask me how, or why.  {Some might argue it's because of "muscle loss" but these hips don't lie, and I'm not sure how much "muscle" was there to begin with, others might argue that it's because I don't wash them often enough, but I digress ;) } As I said in the beginning.. Maybe I'm getting older, or wiser, or no longer obsessing with the number on the scale but... 

... Freedom. Ahhh. It is sweet.

Go get yourself some. (And have a second helping while you're at it!)

25.

There is no official mark of adulthood. 

When I was growing up I thought it was as simple as drinking your coffee black (uh, no), having kids (yeah, I'm pretty sure I act less mature than they do at times), having a job or paying your bills. 

As it turns out adulthood is an ever evolving process that I'm not sure anyone ever officially masters {and if someone says they do they probably need a lot more work than the rest of us ;).} It's learning when to speak up and when to be silent, when to hold on and when to let go, when to act a fool and when to be reserved. Learning how to maneuver through difficult situations with grace and love. Learning to respect ALL others regardless of race, religion, age, income, education, sex, sexuality or mental stability. Learning to be you in the truest sense of the word. 

In light of my quarter life crisis, I thought I'd share some of the Things I've learned in my first 25 years:

Some people will never apologize. I read somewhere that we must learn to accept an apology we will never receive.. And that really hit home. It's tough, but it is crucial to be able to move on. It doesn't make it "right" or okay or easier to forget, but it makes life just a touch more bearable.

Potty training is not for the faint of heart.

Teddy bears can break things when thrown. 

Living joyfully isn't a "gift" to be acquired. Living joyfully is a daily choice.{Of which I often fail.}

No one can hurt you more deeply than your very own family members. 

And while that ^ may be true, family can also be your biggest support in this life, your best friends and a guaranteed good time. (Seriously, I have the best brothers {and sister in laws!!} in the world. You should be jealous. Very very jealous.) 

Some friendships were meant to last forever, but most are just for a season. And that's okay. 

Always, always, always wear underwear with a short dress. Never underestimate the wisdom behind bloomers, pantyhose or spanx. Use them. 

Faith is less of a one-time commitment and more of a lifelong journey. Of which you are constantly having to reassure, reassess, and respond. 

No one makes it out of this life unscathed. 

Don't marry someone because "it makes sense." Marry them because you can't imagine life without them, because you never want to make a new memory without them in it, because there is no one else in this world you would rather fight with, sit on the couch staring at your phones with, hold hands with, cuddle up for 5 minutes before returning to your respective sides of the bed with, laugh with, celebrate birthdays and holidays with, or kiss. Marry your best friend and everything else will fall into place. 

Parenting is one of the toughest challenges I've encountered. It has stripped me raw and exposed things inside of myself that are far from lovely. Yet, these tiny little humans look up to me daily with nothing but love in their eyes. Devastatingly wonderful. 

Considering all that happens in our world, spiders really aren't that scary. But that doesn't mean I'll go near one, or touch one. Ever. 

Getting out of pajamas at the start of the day is essential for any productivity to be achieved. 

Say I love you, and say it often. 

Never underestimate the impact of a simple hand written note. (Saying thank you, I love you, I miss you, a dumb joke, etc) Snail mail is a lost art form and I intend on fighting that loss, even if I have to fight it alone. 

The time it takes to make things messy pales in comparison to the time it takes to clean up. It's just a fact of life.

You DON'T hail a cab and then run to meet them in the middle of the road. Stay on the curb until they pull over, dangit. 

Kids have a sixth sense to know when; you've finally finished cleaning and are ready to relax, you are laying in bed and are just about to fall asleep, you have a sweet treat of any kind, and when you might possibly be having any fun without them.

You can't eat a ton of junk food or fried food and not get a tummy ache. It's simply a law of nature. 

Speaking of laws, you know Murphy's Law? You may as well call it "Life-As-We-Know-It Law." The pocket of your cardi gets stuck on the door handle as you rush by because why wouldn't it? You drop the LAST piece of cake frosting side down... Well, you should have been more careful. 

Hola, mi nombre es Kristin. ¿Comó está usted? Estoy muy bien, gracias. Mi español es muy malo pero conozco un poquito mas que una persona promedio.. Ooookay. ¡Adios! ¡Dios le bendiga!

You will never know the true meaning of "stealth mode" until you desperately try to back out of a sleeping infant's bedroom unnoticed, or try to waltz through the living room without making eye contact with one of your little people. Oh and remember that Murphy's Law we talked about? You WILL somehow run into that toy that you SWEAR you picked up not even 5 minutes ago which causes the kids to come running to your side thinking it was an invitation to play. 

My times tables and long division. Carry the one... (Thanks Mrs. Gunderson!)

And last, for now, if it smells like it's burning, it is most definitely burning. Get your butt to the kitchen. 

Were you keeping count? That was 25. Cause, you know, I'm 25 now.

Clever, I know. 

(no)thing

So there's this episode of Friends where they're all sitting around, as usual, discussing life and one of the guys starts lamenting over the fact that he "doesn't have a "thing," where everyone else had their "thing" in the world that made them unique or was their specialty in life that they we're passionate about. I've actually been debating in my head whether it was Ross or Chandler, because I can imagine it both ways and I think I'm probably mixing one or two or three episodes all together. Either way, I remember enough bits and fragments to have a scene in my head that's been playing over and over the past few weeks where someone shouts, "I don't have a thing!!"... Why? Because I've realized, over the last few years, I've kinda lost myself. I don't really have a "thing" anymore. 

Music used to be my number one "thing" in life, my biggest dream, my passion and pursuit, my be all and end all. You could ask just about anyone, "What does Kristin do?," and they would more than likely respond something to the tune of, "Well, she sings. And plays piano." The whole basis of Nic and my relationship was on that shared interest, music. We played shows together, wrote songs about nonsense, wrote songs about us, made googly eyes across the guitar while singing songs about our love story, fought over lyrics and melodies and timing, lead worship together, dreamt of a life traveling the world playing our songs for all to hear, made plans to never stop... 

And then things changed. Life got in the way. Kids came along. 2 huge moves took place. And here we are, nearly 5 years later without a single instrument in our home. Bits and pieces of old music books are in a pile in the garage, only because we couldn't bear the thought of throwing it all out when we moved to NZ. Somewhere along the way we've lost it, lost heart, lost the passion. 

I was pondering what people would say these days, to that same question, "What does Kristin do?" And to be honest, I've genuinely had trouble coming up with an actual answer beyond "mom stuff." Even I don't exactly know what I do anymore. But that can't be. Surely there must be something I do that means something to me...  Crumb Corraler, Vaccum Queen, Toddler Referee, Diaper Changer, Laundry Attacker, Meal Planner, Snack Supplier.. The list is endless. And yet, none of them feel like "my thing." I don't find any joy or satisfaction from them. They're more so what I have to do rather than what I want to do.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I do love my children and I know that being home with them is a blessing beyond measure, (That I'm sure in the coming years I will look back and be even more thankful for,) but the want for a "thing" is still there. I know that all of this comes with the territory, and should be expected, and is also pretty much unavoidable especially in the first years of your children's lives. I mean, everything is SO hands on. It's truly a 24/7 job that requires total dedication. It costs sleep and sanity and the ability to not pee yourself everytime you sneeze unexpectedly.

I think "losing yourself" to motherhood is somewhat  part of it all.. A part that no one really warns you about. Or maybe they do, but you somehow believe you can be different, that it won't affect you, that you can beat the system. Either way, I am ready. I'm ready to branch out, even just a little. 

As we are nearing Lottie's first birthday, (and she seems to be enjoying sleep all little more these days, *squeee!*)  I can almost feel some of the pressure releasing, I can see somewhere off in the distant horizon a shred of light, some hope for a happier, less overwhelmed me. Maybe I can become a runner again, or play my piano and write music again (somebody, find me a piano!) or start building and making things, or finish my degree!! 

Or maybe that's just my cup of coffee talking. Sigh. 

Mark my words, I WILL have a thing again soon. 

"But now, what do I look for? My hope is in You, Lord." Psalm 39:7

We made it!

If you have been around my dear Hudsy boy in recent months you have most likely heard him exclaim, "We made it!," as he greets you.

It's his new thing.

We got off the airplane,  "We made it!!"

We pull up to a grocery store, "We made it!!"

We pull into our garage,  "We made it!!"

We drive up to anyone's driveway,  "We made it!!"

We walk up to the playground, and goodness gracious,  "We made it!!!!!"

We've had a long few months of transition, and we are still in the midst of it all, really. The home we're staying in is not our own, and we should be shifting into our rental in the next couple of weeks, if all goes according to plan. Until then we have a LOT of shopping to do, with limited funds in a very expensive country, and thankfully, since we only came with suitcases of clothes and such, not too much packing at all! Should be fun! 

Hudson's little phrase started while we were on our big long road trip in the States, everytime we'd hop in the car we'd let him know where we were going. And everytime we'd stop (food,

gas, or the real thing) he'd proclaim, "I'm hoooome!" It broke our hearts a little bit each time. He seemed to be longing for a home as much as we were. Overtime, and after having to hear us explain that, indeed we weren't home yet but that we'd be home soon, he changed his little exclamation to a little less specific, "we made it!" He's growing up so fast, and really starting to understand so much. It's so wild to me that I can look him in the eyes, explain something, and actually get a positive response, with proof of comprehension shortly thereafter. Kids are amazing, seriously. 

Anyways, it's pretty crazy that we've already been here a month. It just doesn't seem possible. And yet, somehow, it has also felt LONGER than just a month. You know, that whole two-extremes-at-once dichotomy that is my life, haha.   

We're enjoying life here and loving being close to family. It's the first time in our short marriage we have lived near family, and boy, are they close. Quite literally, nearly everyone is only a two minute drive away. We could leave our driveway, turn any direction and be at someone's home in less time than it takes to listen to a Coldplay song. It's awesome! Just the other day, I was walking home from my new favorite grocery store (Bin Inn, holla!) and waved down Serena while she was taking her kids home from school, and minutes after we arrived home Nana and Jessica pop in for a quick little visit. That's what you do here, pop in, no notice, no call ahead! Its wild. And guess what else? People genuinely don't care if your house is cleaned up or not, they just want to see you. They're popping in to say hello, possibly have a hot drink if you've the time to sit down and chat, and then they're off to get along with their day. I love it! A little part of me still gets anxiety whenever I see someone pull up and my house is less than perfect (ahem, two tiny tornadoes live here) but either way, I really love the laid back nature of Kiwi life. I definitely think I could get used to this.

After all, we've made it, right?

Until next time-

Cheers, love and French Press coffee. 

So, it's tomorrow.

The day I am leaving my home country.

The day we board a plane with nothing but our suitcases to claim as our own. 

Tomorrow is the day we have been waiting for, preparing for and stressing over.

The day I walk away from 4th of July celebrations and Thanksgiving to adapt to a new culture, with new holidays. 

Tomorrow is the day a new chapter begins.

{our last glimpse of NYC *sigh*}

Kinda poetic, isn't it? I like to think so. 

I'm genuinely struggling to find words for this current state of our lives. It's a bit bizzare, absurd almost. There has been a whirlwind of decisions, planning, travel and packing (and repacking, and repacking, and repacking etc) since March 24 and there are no clear indications of when the whirlwind will slow. 

In the same swift manner we got the job that took us to New York we lost it. Out of nowhere, with no warning and no severance to speak of. It came as quite a shock but there definitely was some peace that came alongside it. We have always known we were not meant to live in New York forever and we never quite knew how we'd transition away from the job and home. And as always, God had a plan all along. 

It didn't take long for the moving talk to begin. With the cost of living being so high in NYC we knew we couldn't last more than a couple months on what we had saved up. And the likelihood of Nic or I finding a lucrative job quickly enough seemed pretty low. So, where to go? 

We talked about Cali, we talked about Texas, we talked about KC, we even talked about New Mexico or Colorado. None seemed to be promising on the job front. So we started discussing New Zealand. With Nic's family and friend connections we knew a job couldn't be too difficult to come by, not to mention the fact that Nic has been talking about moving home since I've met him. It just made sense. We immediately started making phone calls, asking questions and sorting out plans. We were gonna do it. 

Little did I know, it would involve some of the toughest things I think I am yet to endure... selling EVERYTHING and saying goodbye to some of the best friends I've ever had, and leaving my children's first best friends. My heart has been heavy for so many weeks. I can't even express the grief that came from leaving our little corner of East Harlem, our shoebox in Manhattan. It was my little tiny world. My safe place. It kept us safe from Sandy, housed two wonderful (and HUGE!) Thanksgiving meals and a gender reveal party, welcomed our second beautiful baby, rested our weary bones after hours of walking the busy streets, housed guests and friends and late night coffee and tea dates, early morning play dates, brunches and brinners and family dinners. It had the perfect floor space for dancing to Frank Sinatra in the kicthen, Hudson's first steps in the living room and Charlotte's first crawls throughout the home. The couch served as a prime spot for movie nights, sick day cartoons, snuggles and cuddles- the perfect height to teach Hudson to race his HotWheels and Charlotte to cruise. Our bedroom was my safe haven with a big cozy bed that fit all 4 of us with ease. And the comically teeny excuse of a second bedroom is where Hudson learned to sleep in a big boy bed, share his toys with his sister and friends, read countless books and spent many nights staring at the Dino Glow lights on his ceiling.  There my heart remains. 

I've left a little piece of my heart in all of our homes. That's honestly one of the most beautiful (albeit painful) parts about moving around. With every home we settle down in and make our own, we grow roots. Wether we intend to or not. And when we leave that place, just like an uprooted tree, we can't help but leave a little bit of ourselves behind.

I find peace and comfort knowing that bits and pieces of my family are spread out all over Manhattan. From strangers who purchased our things at a stoop sale, to friends we gave things to and families who will find our things in second hand stores. Precious books, furniture, kitchen items, wedding gifts, toys, meaningful things with special stories.. All belonging to someone else now.

And so, we move on. We've spent the better part of the last month traveling around to spend time with family and friends before we embark on this journey half way around the world. Nic thought it just wouldn't be right to take me from my home without giving me a chance to get some good hugs in. I am so so thankful. My phone is now bursting at the seams with photos and my heart is full of love. 

To everyone who took time out of their busy schedules, made time for my little family, and made it a priority to see us: Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. You will never know how much it means to me. I feel so blessed to have such incredible family and friends in my life. 

And even to those who were unable to: I love you, and I can't wait for the time that we will be able to spend together in the future.

It's tomorrow. 

And I think I'm ready.

"My presence will go with you and I will give you rest." Exodus 33:14

 

Change is a' comin'

Who has two thumbs and has barely had time to think, much less write a blog post  these days?

This girl.

Life. It's an amazing thing, isn't it? 

Always ebbing. Changing. Moving. Flowing. Pushing forward, granting us only the choice to accept and glide along or push back and fight the inevitable change. 

Change. It's coming fast.

And no, it isn't another baby (that I'm aware of.)

10 Easy Steps On How To Potty Train Your Two Year Old Son:

Nah, I'm just kidding. But hey, guess what?

I only have to buy diapers for my baby girl these days!! Our Toddler Man, Hud the Stud, has said goodbye to the diaper days and moved onto bigger and better things. 

I assure you, it did not come easily. 

And it didn't happen overnight.

And it sucked. Hard.

And to be totally honest, we're still working on it. 

Who knew getting a kid to use a toilet would be so tough?! No one told me that when I signed up for this whole parenting gig. 

We tried a few different versions of a few different methods, started and failed, took a break, tried again, took a longer break and then came back to it at the beginning of December. And honestly, it all spawned from a good kick in the rear and some encouragement while talking with my good friend who'd had success training her twin girls that are about the same age as Hudson. I literally got off the phone with her that afternoon, stripped Hud's diaper off, packed away the rest of them and said, "that's it, wee man! We're doing this!" Surprisingly, we actually had some pretty good progress before our trip and I was hopeful that we'd be able to keep it up but the break from usual routine and being away from home caused our potty-train to sort of derail (har har).. I'm pretty sure he spent the better part of those 3 weeks in a Pull-Up but I digress. 

We picked right back up when we came home and I am glad to say, a few weeks later, that we have finally succeeded. 

Granted, there's still the occasional accident, and random rebel from potty time and I feel like that's to be expected this early on in the game with him still technically on the "young" side for potty training. But who knows, maybe I'm just tooting our horn a little too early.. Quite frankly, I don't care. 

I have no secrets to share, nor fool proof methods to divulge.. But I will say, oh my word, the headache, the endless mess, the frustration- it has been worth it. And I am so glad to be moving forward. I'm sure there are plenty of great excuses in favor of the waiting game, but I haven't changed the kids diaper in about 2 months and it feels GREAT. 

I have, however, cleaned crap off my floor, the toilet, his hands, my hands, the bathtub, his legs, etc and done more "bathtub laundry" to clean peed on nundies and pants than I can express. So. There's that. 

Step one: just do it.

Step two: don't give up.

Step three: no really, don't give up.

Step four: I see that look in your eye, you wanna give up, and really, you could... No one would think less of you.. But don't.

Step five: oh hey, look at that. There's a little light at the end of the tunnel, keep going.

Step six: hardcore regression.

Step seven: okay, it's past the point of frustrating and quite possibly the most infuriating thing you've ever dealt with... But it's gonna be alright, keep pressing forward. 

Step eight: make him help clean the crap off his clothes. See how much he likes THAT.

Step nine: he hates it.

Step ten: sweet victory.  Sort of.

{... Yeah, he's gonna hate me for this one day... But that's what parents are for right? Embarrassing you and documenting milestone moments?? You're welcome, kid ;) }

Valentine's Date

We have some pretty amazing friends out here, let me tell you.

We feel so blessed. 

For Christmas we were gifted with some tickets to the opera for Valentine's Day along with a promise of free babysitters for the night from our beloved Kennedy's. I just can't even express our joy for having such fantastic people here to be living life with. They take every opportunity to bless us and I can only hope that we are reciprocating even half  of the love they've poured out on us while we have been here.

They have played such an important roll in our stay here, truly filling some of the "family" void  in our lives since we all are lacking in that department in NYC. We take every chance to explore the East Coast together, and hang out to talk, share, joke.. It's so fulfilling. Truly. We typically all get together on Saturday nights for brinner and games.. It's become a bit of a tradition and I love it! We are so thankful for their friendship/familyship!

Anyways, they gifted us this fantastic evening, and we had a blast. Dinner at a fancy pants restaurant, and the opera... Hudson even managed to sustain his first bit of a head injury while we were gone and Alee handled it like a pro! Sent us pics, gave us a play by play and we were able to decide that he was a-okay, no stitches needed, and we could continue on with our evening. We came home before the opera ended, though.. It was a 4 hour production and neither of us were too confident in our abilities to stay awake throughout the rest of the show. Haha, we headed home and spent a few hours hanging with Tyson and Alee and watching the Winter Olympics together. We love our friends.

Just your average, run of the mill, Mom story.

I'd like to paint a picture for you. 

It's a Thursday night. We've been indoors all day because of arctic temperatures outside that I'm simply not willing to endure. Nic is working late. It's just after dinner time and the house is a wreck. 

I take a look around the dirty house and think, bathtime. Bathtime will flow perfectly into bedtime, which will flow into mommy clean up time, which can then smoothly transition to relax time, maybe work out, watch a movie, wait for my honey. 

What. A. Perfect. Plan.

I get Charlotte cleaned up while Hudson is climbing all over me begging to get in, and "helping" with the whole bathing an infant process. I don't typically do their baths separately but decided it would be a little easier to manage since I was home alone and could use the time that Hud bathed alone to get Charlotte ready for bed. I had it all mapped out in my head, so his pleas for diving in were met with calm responses like, "No, my honey. Let's be patient, alright? First we will wash baby and then you can get in with your cars and toys. Aren't you excited to get a bath all by yourself?! You're such a big boy!"

Anyways, I make the transition of moving the big kid in and taking my tiny one out. I start to fill up the tub with more warm water, wrap Lottie in her pink owl towel and carry her off to get diapered and dressed while she coos and kicks like a dream. I hear some unusual sounds coming from the bathroom so I call out, "Huuudson, what are you doing buddy!? I need you to stop that, alright. Momma's coming. I'll be right there." I snap up Charlotte's pjs in record time, get her in a safe spot surrounded by her toys and rush to the bathroom where my suspicions were confirmed. Hudson had been filling cup after cup of water from the spout and dumping it straight to the floor.

Awesome.

I scold him briefly and let him know that is not okay, accidental splashes are alright but purposefully pouring water out is not allowed. "It could be dangerous, okay bud?" Shut off the water, give a few more toys, and rudely try to mop up some of the water. 

"That's okay, not a big deal. That won't take but a couple minutes to clean up later. Gotta keep getting Charlotte ready for bed." 

I head back to the living room where my angel is sitting there playing with her feet, chewing on her hand and looking up at me like dinner had just arrived. 

We settle in on the couch for a pre-bedtime nursing sesh, all while, of course, keeping an ear out for my toddler in the other room, splishin and splashin and racing his cars. 

And then. Maybe not even 3 minutes later.

Chaos strikes.

Hudson starts calling for me, not in a normal playful sort of manner, in his hurt sounding voice. I'm thinking he must have his fingers caught in something or.. Who knows. Doesn't matter. I can't just sit here. 

I pull the sleepy baby off of me and lay her down amongst her toys once more- she of course, is not too happy about this.. So she starts yelling but I can't delay, I kiss her lil head, tell her I'm sorry- I must get to Hud who is now screaming at the top of his lungs. I come around the corner to him standing in the tub (always a no-no) rubbing his eyes and crying. My eyes immediately go straight to a floating bar of soap and I know what's happened. 

I turn the water on and start using my hand to cup the water and splash it in his face to flush his eyes out. This kid already hates having water poured on his head, when it comes to bathtime and washing his hair, but now that there's soap in his eyes? I've just become his worst enemy. Even more than the soap in his eyes, apparently, because he keeps pushing me away, rubbing harder and harder, to the point that there's now a thick lather going on from his hairline to his cheek bones. 

Alright, kid. What the heck. 

Now I'm starting to get a little frantic: I'm  thinking he's going to go blind if I don't get this dang soap out of his eyes, he needs to not be flailing while standing in the bathtub and oh by the way, my baby is still crying in the other room and from the sounds of that thud just rolled herself onto or knocked herself into something and I need to rescue her stat. Leaving me no other real choice, I grab the cup he'd earlier been using to dump wate out of the tub with and start to dump water down his face and hands to get rid of what has to be THE foamiest soap I have ever dealt with. 4, 5, 6 huge cups full of water and it finally rinses clean, but he's still screaming at the top of his lungs.

I pull him out of the tub, onto the soaked bathrug, wrap him in his towel and dry his face off. "Are you alright, bud? Are your eyes still burning? No?? Okay, I gotta go get your sister." I sit him down on the toilet seat and run out.

Or shall I say, slip and slide out. 

Wet feet, meet dry floor. Oh, you two don't work well together? That's too bad. Crash, bang, boom. Mom's out for the count. 

Awesome.

But wait, my baby is still crying. Gotta get  up, gotta go get her!! I stumble into the living room and scoop her up with my now throbbing wrist and try to console her poor little hot body, with BRIGHT red face- the girl screamed herself into quite a fit of rage. And yet, not a second after I have her in my arms, she starts giggling. Why? Cause Hudson just struted out of the bathroom. 

And apparently shark towels are hilarious.

Woosah.  

Today.

Today has been a lot of things. 

Easy, unfortunately, has not been one of them. 

It's been a cross between frustration from potty training struggles and toddler rearing, insane sleep deprivation from infant care, and absolute heartache because my babies... They're growing up so fast. It's so cliché but it's becoming more and more real to me with every passing day.

It first struck me when Charlotte woke from her first nap this morning. We had the Businelle boys over for some playtime and I could hear her stirring, so I got the boys all distracted in the living room and I walked into the kid's room to find her laying in her crib giggling and grinning from ear to ear like she'd been excitedly awaiting my arrival. I picked her up and she immediately grabbed my face, and hugged it, slobbering all over.. My heart broke, just a teensy bit. This little girl, this joyful little being isn't a newborn anymore! She's nearly reached her 1/2 year mark and I am still trying to desperately cling to her little bitty baby moments. She's well on her way to mobility, sitting up, gets herself onto all fours, rolls across our living room, and scoots to get to what she wants.. I found myself tearing up as I walked her into our bedroom and stood in front of the mirror with her while she smiled back at herself.

These precious moments are but a blink. And then they're gone. It's unbelievable. It's wonderful. Devastatingly wonderful.

Then the rest of the day happened and I found myself totally and utterly frustrated, and unhappy. It's pathetic how quickly everything can take a turn for the worse. 

I fail, so miserably, every day. And my children get to witness it firsthand. Day in and day out, I get it all so wrong. Every night almost always ends with me vowing that tomorrow, somehow, I'll get it all right. Tomorrow, somehow, will be better. I'll be that perfect mom. I'll be that perfect wife. I'll be perfect. 

I found myself sitting next to Hudson tonight as he struggled to get to sleep, holding his hand, patting his chest, silently just staring at his sweet face. He's  two. Two whole years of this wonderful little man in my life and I still manage to forget to tell him how amazing he is. I went in upset with him, because he didn't nap today and was fighting sleep so heavily tonight I couldn't hardly stand it anymore. I wanted to snap at him, tell him he was being naughty and that he needed to close his eyes and go. to. sleep. But I took one look at his sweet little face, eyes swollen from exhaustion, full of tears, and my heart broke. He's only two. He's just as frustrated as I. Sleep isn't coming easy and it's painful. He needs me. Plain and simple. 

I turned on his little Dino glow light, and sat down next to his bed. Simmering down from my frustrated state to try and help him also calm down. I patted his chest, let out a sigh, and he followed suit. 

We just sat. I stared at him. He stared at the lights on the ceiling.

We have my old iPod hooked up to a little speaker set in their room to play worship music while they sleep, sometimes all day long.. Quite frankly, it's more for my sake than theirs.  But tonight, while I sat in there with him a  song came on that just broke me.. I cried. I couldn't help it. 

{Hide me now

Under your wings

Cover me

Within Your mighty hand

When the oceans rise and thunders roar

I will soar with You above the storm

Father, You are King over the flood

I will be still, know You are God

Find rest, my soul

In Christ alone

Know His power 

In quietness and trust 

When the oceans rise and thunders roar

I will soar with You above the storm

Father, You are King over the flood

I will be still, know You are God}

Ah, Hillsong, you've done it again. Worded something beautifully and melodically. Something my heart can cling to and sing along to even when my mouth cannot utter a word. Why does it take a worship song to remind me that I can't do it on my own?! How many times am I gonna have to tell myself that before it gets through this thick skull?

Not by MY power or strength or drive. No, beloved, in Christ alone. 

Today has been a tough one. But it is not the whole story. 

Today, I failed. A lot. But it is not who I am.

Today broke my heart. But it is not the end of my story.

Find rest, my soul, in Christ alone.