Our household boasts three cribs, two bunk beds and dressers filled with at least $100 in diapers every month. We own two pack-and-plays, two bouncers and four car seats. There are no twins in our home — just three toddlers and another babe on the way.
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We didn’t get here overnight, and with each additional child, we learned more fully how to manage our household, keep our sanity and love our children better. Nick and I welcomed our first child in March 2016, and a year and 10 days later, we became foster parents to a 4-month-old. The transition from one child to two happened by design, but it was not easy.

We expected our second child to fit smoothly into the schedule we’d perfected with our firstborn, and we were sadly disappointed to learn how unrealistic that assumption was. Becoming parents of two was a huge lesson in logistics and juggling. It took about six or eight weeks of drudgery to get a handle on managing adult conversations, tag-teaming dinner and knowing who was better fit to give someone a bath.

Read the full article here. 

Call me crazy, put me in the category of cold-hearted mothers and judge me all you want. I have relieved myself of one of the biggest pressures of modern motherhood, and I am here to invite you to do the same.

When our eldest was born three years ago, I talked to countless moms about what they looked for and liked about their childcare. As I toured a few sites and talked to program directors, I came upon a particularly interesting characteristic. It wasn’t related to safety practices, pick-up times or extra amenities like apps that allow parents to watch their child’s classroom during the day.
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What made me sit back and wonder was a little piece of paper that asked parents whether they would like to know if their baby crawled for the first time or took those first momentous steps while at daycare — or would they prefer the provider say nothing about it? 

​Read the full article here. 

We bought him a puzzle in the dollar section at Target this week. And Zeke asked when he’s coming home.
 
I cry my eyes out in the car at least every other day and text my girlfriends, mentors, and family numerous times throughout the week just to take a breath.
 
I feel like I’m in a lion’s den of confusion and pain I didn’t see coming. I knew that reunification would be hard—I didn’t realize that reunification could turn out quite like ours did. 
 
Add the pregnancy and I'm a hot mess. It is a unique pain to not be able to see the boy you called son, while looking ahead to the birth of another child. He can’t be replaced and he or she will be his or her own person. *Deep breath*
 
So, despite the beautiful photos strewn across the internet and the positive steps you might perceive our family to be taking in grief, we’re still wrecked.
 
Yes, it is seriously AWESOME that we’re going to a gym now (should’ve done this a year a go, see Instagram), but going to the gym won’t preclude me from hanging on to every word in the faithful text of support I’ll receive from my cousin tomorrow. He's not forgotten just because he's not here.
 
This isn’t a blog post to elicit sympathy—truly—but one to just be real and write it out in. I can't share the nitty-gritty details, nor would I. But I can just tell you that expectations are the root of a lot of pain and when you love someone big, it's going to hurt big. And that's OK. Pain isn't to be escaped-- we have to walk through these seasons and feel all the things. We’re doing well at what we can, but ‘doing things’ and ‘talking over things’ and ‘showing up for life’ won't turn this story around or suddenly erase sadness and grief. This season will last as long as it needs to because we’re not control of this process. Only God can dictate what is ahead of us.
 
If you’re pursuing foster care, please don’t stop. These kids and their families need people to step into the mess of state dependency and show up. What we did and hope to do again is n e c e s s a r y.
 
The end.

About this time last year, I entered a cloud of loneliness in friendships that often left me begging Nick to explain to me why I felt like I was 'too much' for everyone around me. My closest friends were and have remained the people I met in grade school, high school, and college. There are a handful of exceptions-- and to those fierce women-- I am so grateful. 

But last year, all I could see in front of me was the time I spent with other people who I just couldn't totally click with. Everything about us was congruent on the surface but I felt like I was holding myself back and just couldn't sink in to a genuine friendship. Then, I took the Enneagram and as trite as it sounds, my perspective shifted and the clouds literally parted. 

We decided to become foster parents because we knew there were kids needing homes and families needing support. We did not become foster parents because we were seeking heartbreak, looking to struggle with intense trauma, or become more wholly aware of generational challenges. But, here we are. We’re here because we feel called, we know it’s needed, and dammit, we signed up for this.
 
So how does reunification actually feel? It's as painful as people assume and more revealing of God's blessings than you'd ever guess.

It's basically a rollercoaster of every emotion ever. 
 
Here's my list of all the feels...