Fear. It's a Scary Thing.

Maddie is sick. Again. It feels like her illnesses are never ending. This time, she has a fever. And a cough. And a cold. And she won't eat. Just like every other time she's been sick over the last four months. And it's wearing on me. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm frustrated. I'm confused. But most of all, I'm afraid. Not afraid that her fever won't get better. Not afraid that her cough won't improve and her cold won't go away. Not afraid that she's underweight. Not even afraid that her breathing will get worse again. I'm afraid to lose her. Don't get me wrong; I know that there is very little chance that there is some unyielding, evil disease lurking below the surface of my baby. But when she has constantly been sick for so long, the fear starts to set in. Not a timid, gentle fear. A thick, heavy, intense fear that crushes me, to the point where I can physically feel it suffocating me. And my daughter can sense my fear. Tonight, after I'd given her some ibuprofen to try and lower her temperature, Maddie looked me in the eyes and said, "Don't worry, Mama. I won't worry". When I promised her that I wouldn't worry, she looked my in the eyes very seriously and said, "Don't cry, Mama." And I wasn't crying. Not yet.

My fear is centered around the unknown more than anything else. Right now, my life is certainly more planned than it was a few weeks ago, when I was sitting at home, in Wickenburg, wondering where life would take us next. Maddie was sick, we didn't know where we would be living, we didn't have a job, we didn't know how we could keep our insurance which we desperately need. Through that difficult period, I had more faith than I've ever had before. I believed that God would point us in the right direction, put us in the right place, and meet our needs. And He did. I don't know why this fear has overwhelmed me today, when we've always been okay. It's not pleasant. It's not comfortable. It's not how I want to feel. I don't want my daughter to have to comfort me when she so desperately needs my comfort. But this fear...it's hard to shake. It's hard to let go of. It's hard to believe that my daughter will be okay when she seems to NEVER be okay. So, for tonight, I'm going to be afraid. I'm going to be really, really scared. I'm going to imagine every mystery illness, every worst case scenario, every one of my worst nightmares. And then tomorrow? Well, tomorrow I think I'll let someone else worry about those things. So tomorrow? God, you're it.

Four Months Old

Today, my little man, William Joseph, turned four months old. The last four months have been full of ups and downs, but I just can't believe how much richer my life is since he's joined us.

A few highlights of his first four months:
1. We met Will fact to face on February 5th; he weighed a hefty 8 lbs, 4 oz.
2. He came out looking JUST like his Daddy, with the faux-hawk and all, but now looks more like Mommy.
3. At two weeks old, Will was admitted to the hospital for 10 days for a kidney infection, which turned out to be the result of severe kidney reflux.
4. Will takes antibiotics daily to keep from getting another infection.
5. Will is a VERY healthy little guy, weighing almost as much as his 20 month old sister.
6. Will can roll from his front to his back.
7. Will can roll from his back to his front.
8. He smiles and his whole face lights up.
9. His giggle is infectious.
10. He only has eyes for his Mama.
11. Will loves his caterpillar toy, and has started to grab it and bring it to his mouth.
12. Will spits up more than any baby I've ever met.
13. Will eats more than any baby I've ever met.
14. He has the Brown booty and the Cramer thighs...poor kid.
15. He recently found his feet and loves to play with them.
16. Much of Will's baby hair has fallen out...he's just left with a permanent mohawk.
17. He LOVES the water and to soak in the bath.
18. He had a swollen eye at around three months that scared me half to death...it turned out to be a blocked tear duct.

The list could endlessly go on. I'm constantly amazed by my little man. He's rolly polly, cuddly, adorable, sweet, and we are so blessed that he is a part of our family.

Here is was four months ago



Here he is today

Who Says You Can't Go Home?

On Memorial Day, I left Wickenburg, the town which became my home, to return to my childhood home in Albany, OR. The trip took three days, countless hours, and sent my kids, my Dad, and I through four states. The trip itself? Long. Very long. I do NOT recommend traveling 1300 miles with two small children under any circumstance. That said, my kiddos are troopers and did far better than I thought they would (and far better than I did, for that matter).

Since I've been back, I've been thinking...I love coming home to Oregon because no matter how much the town changes, no matter how much I change, no matter how much my family changes, home is still home. Since I left Albany after high school, the town really, truly has changed. It's grown. It's flourished. It's struggled. Sometimes as I drive around, things seem so unfamiliar. And then I step into my parent's house, and that's all forgotten. I feel safe. I feel protected. I feel loved. It's such a relief to know that I will always have this place to come to. Unconditionally.

Wickenburg, and our home there, started to become this same safe haven for me. I had a community of people there who I really could count on. My husband has a group of guys he enjoys. My daughter had some great friends, one in particular, who she really knows and loves. I found some great friends, one in particular, who I really know and love. And then we had to pick up and leave. Now that I'm a mother, I desperately want to provide my children and family with a home like I've been so blessed to have. I want roots. I want a place where we stay for our whole lives, where my family always feels safe, comfortable, protected...where they feel home.

As I look toward our new life in Texas, my heart hopes that this is it. That maybe, just maybe, we'll have found our home. Our permanent home. One that we'll be able to love and grow into.

For me, home has always been Oregon. Now? Now I hope that the Brown family plants firm roots so our kids can alway, always come home.

Here are a few of my favorite pictures from our very, very long trip.

Moving On Up...

Today marks the last day that I will be an Arizona resident. I am a mess of emotions. Happy, sad, grateful, resentful, hopeful, terrified, brave, cowardly, faithful, fearful...loved. When I came to Wickenburg on March 28, 2006, I had no intention to stay. I figured I would go through treatment and go back to life in Oregon as I knew it. Instead, I stayed for more than four years. I came to town defeated, broken, a shell. I came alone. I didn't know myself, I didn't know my family, I had few friends who would still put up with me, I didn't know God. I came with my suitcase and my dreams of a better life.

Four years later, I'm leaving. Finally. But I'm leaving with so much more than I arrived with. In Wickenburg, I met my husband. In Wickenburg (and Buckeye), I met my children. In Wickenburg, I was reintroduced to my family. Since coming here, I've been reacquainted with God. I've met some of the dearest and truest friends I could ask for. But most importantly, I've gotten to know myself. Not the self I hoped I'd be, or the self that I wanted to be. Just me. And that me is okay today.

As I sit here, on my bed, between my kids, I can see out into my backyard, and beyond that, into Wickenburg. I can hear the birds chirping through our open window. I can see the boxes full of our things, ready to be moved to a completely different place. A new town awaits. With different birds. I guess the things that really matter will still be here though. I'll still be able to sit on my bed, between my kids as they rest peacefully.

I never, ever would have guess how much this small, sleepy town has given me. I will forever look to this time in my life with a smile. I came with my suitcase, and I'm leaving with my life.