A Blanket of White.

Since Sam was born, I've struggled with finding a new normal in my life. This winter has been particularly dreary and dark. I've felt exhaustion, anxiety, stress, and sometimes extreme frustration and rage. Having two babies at home means that the soundtrack of my day is usually more screaming than it is squeals of delight. I long for the moments of peace that come when everyone is asleep. I long for something gentle and peaceful to brighten my world. In the winter, that peace comes for me in the form of snow. This winter has been even more of a challenge as I waited and waited for the snow to fall. I would see the glorious flakes in the forecast, only to feel disappointment as the dusting only touched our cars or the grass to melt away before the day was through. The sky would darken, and the rough brown grass would mock me. There wouldn't be a soft blanket of white brightening my day anytime soon.

I would be joking if I said I didn't feel like it was symbolic of the dark gloomy world inside my head.

This morning when I lost the game of rock-paper-scissors that meant I'd be feeding Sam his early bottle, I finally didn't feel angry about being awake. I sat on the couch with a bottle in hand and suddenly something felt different. "Christopher! It smells like snow." (That sweet man was unloading the dishwasher instead of sleeping in.) As soon as Sam was finished eating, I looked out the window. There it was. After I had given up hope that our world would be covered in brilliant white, allowing us to forget how dreary life can be for just a little while, there it was. My snow.

Sometimes snow doesn't come to lift your mood. Sometimes it waits to fall until you've learned to lift your mood yourself. Sometimes it's the light at the end of the tunnel that says,

"You did it. You made it. And look how beautiful it is out there."

I knew God loved me.

So I talked to Sam about the snow. I told him what it means to me. Snow means God loves us. It means He wants to give us something beautiful to look at for a while. It means He knows who we are, and today it means, "you did it."

Spring is just around the corner, and we won't need the snow anymore, but for today, a little symbol of God's love for me. Sorry if you had to clear your car off this morning, but I needed it.

It's always been a challenge for me that I don't have any extra-special pictures of myself with my mom, so we've made a point of taking pictures of the boys with me when we have our first real snow. When March got here and we still hadn't had any, I had almost abandoned hope and started to write Sam a letter to tell him that I was sorry, but we waited and waited for his special snow day, but then it came! Chris came home for a few minutes to take these very important pictures for us because we're not positive it'll last very long.

I really love that little giant. My little Samuel.

And I'm thankful we got to share the snow today.

I think it's going to be a good week.

I rocked this day.

Sometimes I think that women are taught from birth to downplay themselves. We question what we do, we look for approval, and when we don't get it, we think we've failed. We work, and work, and work... and for what? To finish the day thinking about all the things we didn't get done?

Well guess what? When I got home from the grocery store tonight, I looked in the mirror and for the first time ever thought, "You rock. Seriously. You rocked this day."

I grew up hearing this verse of scripture:

"The worth of souls is great in the sight of God."

For some reason, I always thought that only meant that everyone else's soul was worth a lot. Not mine, not little old me! I have so many shortcomings. I have so many failures. I never get anything right. I'm too fat. I'm not spiritual enough. I'm too dumb. I'm too lazy. I'm not good enough. I'm not happy enough. I'm not worth anything.

Oh no, no. I was sorely mistaken. Because guess what? The verse doesn't say, "The worth of everyone's soul but yours is great in the sight of God." Souls. Everyone's souls. Even the people we don't like-which most often includes ourselves. So make a list. Write down everything you accomplish, because you may discover that you actually accomplished quite a lot, and then acknowledge your own personal wins for the day.

Then, you look in that mirror at the end of the day and say something to the effect of,

"I rocked this day. I mean seriously. I took it out back, and I beat the crap out of it. I took care of a sick, whiny, clingy toddler today. I worked out. I went to the grocery store. I unloaded the dishwasher. I did laundry. I kissed my husband.

Maybe I didn't make a ton of (or any) money. Maybe I didn't earn some big award. Maybe I didn't only think nice things.

But you know what I did? I loved on my kids. I didn't kill anyone. I even took a shower and let myself look at pinterest for a while. Take that, Thursday."

You know why? Because you did. You made it through the day. And you did some good things. So. Here's to Friday. Rock your day, and then give yourself credit. You're worth it.

Loud.

Sometimes there’s an undeniable disparity between who I am and who I want to be; between who I am and who people think I am. Sometimes in the quiet hours between the time when everyone else falls asleep and the time I finally drift off (read: wrestle my racing mind into submission and force my weary eyes to close) I have the opportunity to sit and ponder who I really am.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

When I was a teenager, I was LOUD. Not your average, run of the mill, no volume control loud, we’re talking loud voice, loud laugh, loud personality. Everyone knew who I was, and people either loved me or hated me. (I like to believe everyone loved me, obviously.) I told jokes that weren’t funny, they were just louder than everyone else’s. I made fun of people behind their backs loud enough to make myself seem cool. These deafening traits weren’t a mark of confidence, they rarely are.

I would spend my entire day at school refusing to eat, the bulk of the afternoon and evening cramming every morsel of food I could find in my mouth (duh, I was starving) and a portion of the night in a locked bathroom throwing as much as I could back up. But I wasn’t loud about that.

When I was about 12 and starting to have all those really super bizarre physical changes that happen to a girl, I really started, for the first time, to realize that my mom was dead. She’d been gone for six whole years, but it hadn’t sunken into the deepest parts of my mind. I missed her profoundly. I felt isolated and alone. I felt like nobody in the whole wide world would ever be able to understand me. I felt dark and depressed. I felt the agonizing mental torment that accompanies the death of a parent. But I wasn’t loud about that.

When I was in high school, I wanted more than anything to be cast as the lead in a musical. Nearly every time I came in second or third. It made me question whether or not I had the musical talent I’d been told I had. My senior year, I was cast as an absurd character who goes on stage and makes a fool of herself. I played my part well, earned a mention in the newspaper for my less than ten lines, and never felt talented again. But I wasn’t loud about that either.

And now I’m an adult. I’m not so loud anymore.

I’m strong.
I’m a fighter.
I’m fiercely loyal.

I went through my own personal Hell to get here, but I survived. I made mistakes along the way. I’ve spent my share of nights crying myself to sleep, and regrettably my share of nights screaming at anyone who would take it. (Usually my husband, who happens to be perfect for me in every way, but that’s another story for another day.) It’s been a hard road, and a long one. In fact, I’m certain I haven’t yet reached the end of this journey, but there’s one thing I know for sure:

I don’t have to be loud anymore, It’s okay to just be me. Even if I’m not completely sure who that is yet.

Katrina's Kitchen

Want to know how we made this transformation over 6 months without going on a diet, and while still eating dessert every night?

I had the opportunity to be a guest-blogger at Katrina's Kitchen, and my post will be up on Tuesday! Stay tuned!

I can do hard things.

Sometimes being a mom of two tiny ones is the hardest thing I've ever done. Strike that. Being a mom of two tiny ones is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I've ever done. Hard isn't always bad, per se, it's just, well, you know, hard. (I think there might be too many commas in that sentence.)

Sometimes it feels like the whole world is spinning around me and I can't even have a second to clear my head. Sometimes it feels like there's so much screaming going on in this house that it will never be quiet again. (This is a result of having two children who are not capable of talking.)

James has taken to loving a new game. Not really a game, but something we do together. I hold him in my arms, with his legs around my waist, and we spin. Fast. He lies back, closes his eyes, and then he laughs. I change directions, and he laughs harder. Well, I noticed something when I was doing this the other day. The whole world was spinning. Fast. All I could see clearly was that sweet little boy's face-laughing with me. For a split-second, I was carried away into a world where no matter how fast everything was spinning, all that existed was my little boy and me.

Laughing.

I guess the only real difference between that moment and every other crazy second is that I took a moment to focus on what was right in front of me.

And who wouldn't feel some peace in the crazy world while looking at something as precious as that face?

Our new little munchkin

As you all may know by now (seriously it's been 4 weeks!) we welcomed our new little man into the family in the wee hours of October 14. At 10:48 PM on October 13, I felt a contraction. I was cranky and skeptical because I'd been having contractions for almost 4 straight weeks, but I started timing. I had a few hard contractions about 4 minutes apart, and then they stopped for 10 minutes. I settled in to watch Psych with Christopher before bed. When the contractions returned, they were vicious! After 20 minutes, we knew it was time to go. We called Cindy and Kevin, and they decided to send Cindy over here so James could sleep in his bed over night.

By midnight, we were headed to the hospital! When we made it into labor and delivery, I was 7 cm dilated. Our little man was on his way! I had planned to go all natural this time, but I'd forgotten how painful giving birth is. Nothing is quick at the hospital, so after an excruciating 90 minutes, the anesthesiologist finally showed up. I was at 9 cm when he arrived in my room. I don't know if I'll ever be able to describe the reason I still chose to have an epidural after I'd made it that far. Honestly, I was just a few moments from being completely done with the experience. Regardless, I got the epidural and I finally relaxed.

I asked Christopher to take my picture while I was in labor so that I could see what I looked like. This was taken immediately after I laid down and started to feel relief, 2:44 am.

A few seconds later, they told me to try a practice push. I started to push, and the doctor basically yelled, "Wait! Stop!" Suddenly the room was filled with people-collapsing the bed, getting suited up (honestly, did they expect a bloodbath?) and ready to go.

At 2:48, I began to push. That's the end of the story, because he was born that second.

Samuel Christopher Feldmann. My long, skinny, squidgy baby.

I'll spare you the gooey just-exiting-the-womb shot. You're welcome.

Now a sidenote: in the picture you just saw, he looks just like James. While that was the case for a fraction of a second within 5 minutes of his birth, it never happened again. James is the spitting image of his father, and Sam is undeniably related to the Unklesbay clan.

Just a few minutes before Sam was born (ha. All the minutes I was in labor were minutes just before he was born, really.) I explained to the nurses that James was whisked away immediately after he was born, and I didn't get to hold him for over 5 minutes, (I understand that this isn't a long time...but just enough to bug me.) and nobody explained what was going on to me. To this day, I can't watch the video of James's birth because I still freak out when they take him away. The nurses at this hospital, even though Sam needed a little extra care, made sure to put him on my chest and let me see his face for a few moments. They took him away to make sure everything was ok-saw that he needed some extra attention in the nursery-and then let me hold him a little while longer before they took him.

Remember that epidural that I still got even though I was already at 9 cm? It had at least one major side-effect. When Sam was born, I was 100% comfortable. Well, at least as comfortable as one can be with their legs up in the air and something the size of a watermelon being forcibly removed from your body. But because I was so comfortable, and because the hours of pain were over, (4, if you're counting. 4 hours exactly from first contraction to delivery.) as soon as Sam was born, I was SO happy. So. My tiny guy and his dad went off to the nursery to make sure everything was okay, and to monitor him for a little while to make sure his breathing was just right. I was bored, and they were gone for nearly an hour. I took the time to call my dad and Ethan, (surprise! I knew he'd be up!) get changed into a fresh gown, and straighten up the delivery room. (ah! That nesting instinct finally kicked in!) I texted Christopher a few times, and he sent me some pictures of the baby.

Up to this point, I still didn't know my little guy's stats. I was BEGGING to know! The nurse who was checking on me was undoubtedly frustrated with me, because I kept asking every single time she came in. This little guy I KNEW was really long, but I was certain he was a lightweight. 8.5 lbs tops. Finally the measurements arrived!

9 lbs, 6.6 oz and 23 inches long.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I did it again.

So what if my kids are the size of toddlers when they're born.

But seriously, he's the size of a very skinny 3 month old.

Long legs, feet and toes.

Long arms and fingers.

An adorable baby-sized Unklesbay nose...

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

So. After an hour or so, Christopher finally came back to retrieve me, and we went to our postpartum room. The nurses were all talking about how this 9 lb baby was out in one push.

Ever wonder when you're going to get your 15 seconds of fame? Well, that was mine. Not a terrible thing to be famous for, and I'm telling you...I was the talk of the maternity ward at U of L hospital that night-sometime around 4 am.

After we got settled, we finally got a chance to take a picture of daddy with his tiny guy.

This is my favorite thing in the world, by the way. Christopher with our kids. He's incredible, in case I haven't mentioned it.

The next day, our awesome friends Cindy and Kevin came to visit us at the hospital, and brought James. Now-even though I was 5 days overdue, somehow I hadn't put together a survival kit for James. Honestly, nobody could find any clothes for him. I really need to get a system for the kids' clothes! So Cindy's sweet friend (insert name I've completely forgotten. Sorry!) bought James some new clothes.

We got to take our very first family picture. We look exhausted, but as one of my friends pointed out, more like Christmas morning than like we're dying of sleep deprivation. (A current picture might show something different.) I can't describe how wonderful it was to see James after being away from him overnight. It didn't feel right to be together without him there.

Saturday in the hospital was wonderful. We laid around, went for a couple of walks, and my parents came to visit. We pulled some strings at the hospital, and convinced the doctors to let us go home at 40 hours instead of 48, and then they messed up on something and it ended up being 39. I was beyond thrilled! Nobody gets rest in the hospital. Nobody. Perhaps I could have convinced them to put me in a coma for the time I was there so I could get some rest?

So we dressed up our new little man.

Put on the famous booties,

And went home.

Now for the best part of the whole story. By 10 PM on October 15, 2011, I had my whole family at home where they belonged. We were all soundly sleeping in our beds. Just the way it's supposed to be. Nobody missing.

Finally.

Um...do you know me?

There's been a lot of talk at our house lately about the changes in Facebook. When the new features were first presented at the f8 convention, they were announced as a way to "know your friends like you've never known them before."

Interesting.

As the changes take place, you'll continue to be able to see what things your friends "like" and comment on in REAL TIME! You'll be able to see what your friends are listening to in REAL TIME! You'll know what your friends are watching in REAL TIME! Is this sounding a little big brother-ish to you? It is to me. Not like the-government-is-watching-my-every-move Big Brother, more like there's-a-camera-in-every-room-of-my-house-and-everyone-is-watching Big Brother. It's okay, I guess...if you're into that sort of thing.

I mostly am not.

But the whole point I'm trying to make is...does this make it so you know your friends like you've never known them before? Or does it take us all to a new level of stalking, yet never really knowing anyone? According to Mark Zuckerberg, when Facebook first came out, people would spend 5 minutes perusing someone's profile. Now the number is 20. 20 minutes. No wonder it's so easy to waste your life away on Facebook! You can click through everything someone's doing! You can learn things about them you never knew before! And with the advent of Timeline, you can click through someone's WHOLE LIFE!!!!

uhm...hey, Creeper. Wouldn't it be a lot cooler if you talked to someone for 20 minutes and learned all about them?

I was at a gathering once and heard someone say, "My friend was saying the other day_______" making it sound as if these two people had a meaningful conversation. They never did. I saw it on Facebook too. According to my 17 year old brother, Facebook is automatically uncool as soon as you talk about Facebook outside of Facebook. But...what happens when there's so little interaction in real life that Facebook is all that's left? I mean-sure-I'm not going to call everyone I know to tell them about the funny little thing James just did, but I post it on Facebook so I can feel validated in thinking it was awesome.

Facebook and Spotify will link together and tell you that I spent an hour listening to Josh Groban yesterday. If you knew that, would you feel like you knew me better? Maybe. But I can guarantee that you wouldn't know that I'm not a huge Grobanite. I desperately needed to relax, I was soaking in the tub, and I was interested in listening to something different than my typical instrumental music. You'll never know why I needed to relax. You'll never know what was going on with me yesterday.

What about when it tells you I'm listening to

Breaking Benjamin?

Dave Matthews Band?

Mika?

There's always a reason. You may discover that I spent an entire week listening to the exact same music. So what if it was Michael Jackson. It doesn't mean you know me. (Okay, shut up! It's something that is just REALLY catchy about the song "Earth Song." I can't stop listening to it. And if I don't play "This is it," "Blame it on the Boogie," and some other selected MJ songs once a week, I feel like I'm not truly living.)

So all this to say, with the advent of the new and improved Facebook...do we really know each other at all anymore? Or do we just think we do?