One year.

It's hard to believe, but this sweet angel is one today.

I don't consider myself a very emotional person.  My voices of excitement, of sadness, and of anger all basically sound about the same: monotone.  But today, I've got all sorts of emotions swirling around as I reflect on the last year, which has by far been the fastest of my life.

I'm thinking back to where I was at exactly this time on June 28, 2013.  Standing on the frozen foods aisle of Target, I was trying to hurry because I was miserably sick with a bladder infection and needed to go to urgent care before Andrew and I went out to Lawton for a sprint car race that night.  (Yeah, you probably don't care about that, but you're reading my blog, which means I don't have much of a private life anymore anyway.)  That's when the phone rang, and I suddenly forgot about my discomfort, the rest of the groceries, and my evening plans.  My daughter was being born.  (You can read more about her birth story here.)

Everything about that day and the next stands out so vividly in my mind, perhaps even more vividly than if I had actually given birth to her.  85 mph.  Anna.  Caleb.  Hand holding.  Epidural.  Pushing.  Screaming.  Tears.  Jet black hair.  "It's a girl!"  More tears.  7:00 p.m.  Qdoba.  Conversations.  Holding her.  Pictures.  Visitors.  Praying.  Checkups.  Firsts.  More visitors.  Goodbye Anna and Caleb.  Sobbing.  Pain.  Joy.  Love.  Overwhelming amounts of love.

The first night at home was awful.  She slept for no more than 20 minutes at a time throughout the entire night.  At one point, Andrew took a turn to get up with her.  15 minutes later, she was screaming again, so I went into her room to find her... on top of the changing table because, according to Andrew, "It looked more comfortable than her crib."  After a lecture from me about how "one of the first rules of parenting is to never leave your child unattended like that!", we both dissolved into fits of laughter because we were so deliriously tired.  Interestingly, the sleepless nights really never bothered me, and I love to sleep.  I had promised myself that I would do my best to never complain about the demands of having a baby because we had waited so long to get one.  I also think a mom's body instinctively knows that those sleepless nights are a passing phase, so it naturally produces the adrenaline needed to keep going (and is aided by lots and lots of coffee).  During middle-of-the-night feedings, I used to whisper in her ear, "Stay tiny forever."  She didn't listen.

One of the great dilemmas of being a parent is wanting your child to grow, be healthy, and experience new things, all while also wanting her to stay in the exact stage that she currently is in so that you can soak up every moment.  As each milestone has passed, I have found myself feeling that dilemma and trying to savor even the difficult moments of "the little years".  Everyone told me, "It will all go by so fast!" but I never really believed them until it started happening.

The past year has taught me so much.  For one thing, I've learned a lot about responding to people's unwanted advice and rude questions.  (To be clear, some advice is wanted, and not all questions are rude.)  Yes, Piper is adopted.  Yes, it's an open adoption.  Yes, we love her birth parents.  No, she doesn't look like me.  Yes, she's really mine.  No, she doesn't have brothers or sisters.  Yes, adoption is hard.  Yes, it's worth it.  Yes, it's expensive.  Actually, we have tried such and such, and it didn't work.  I genuinely believe that most people ask questions with great intentions, so it's hard for me to hold that against them.  But when it's the random person at the grocery store or the coworker that I've literally spoken to once, I have a hard time not getting defensive.  Yeah, kindness is hard for me sometimes.

I've also learned a lesson or two about patience.  I always thought I was a fairly patient person because I taught special education.  Ha!  The entire adoption process showed me that I am, in fact, extremely impatient, selfish, and easily annoyed.  Every day since Piper has been home has been a further reminder of how much of those very characteristics I unfortunately possess.  Being a mom is hard.  People don't talk about that nearly enough.  Motherhood is truly wonderful and I wouldn't trade it for the world, but the fact is that we are all only humans, and the screaming, incessant crying, messes, missed naps, and other challenges that come with babies will plain wear you thin at times.  However, I would like to believe that every day that she teaches me one of those lessons is a day that I'm turning more into the kind of woman I want to be.

Finally, I never knew that my heart had the capacity to love this much.  This has probably been the greatest thing that I've learned this year.  I didn't think I could love Piper's birth parents, but I still think about them and want the best for them every day.  Mostly, though, I never imagined that such a tiny baby could make my heart grow so big.  Even after a hard day, I'm always ready to see my little girl again the next morning.  Sometimes the noises she makes are so precious and her doll face looks so beautiful that I think I couldn't possibly love her any more than I do in that very moment...and then I do.

Yesterday, I was laying in the grass with her in our backyard when she looked over to give me the biggest grin, for no reason.  My only thought in that moment was, "This is the perfect life."  Truthfully, no one's life is perfect, but this is exactly the one that I want, and Piper is exactly the daughter that was made for me.  Happy first birthday, sweet girl.  The best is yet to come.

I hired a housekeeper (and other thoughts on imperfect parenting)

I did it.  I bit the bullet, swallowed my pride, and am paying somebody to clean my home every month.  She has only come once so far, but already, hiring help has been one of the best decisions I've made in awhile.

To many of you reading this blog, employing a housekeeper probably doesn't seem like a big deal.  In fact, you may have had one for months or years.  For me, this is huge, and it's really about more than our house.  Before Piper was born (and to some extent after, too), I took a lot of pride in making our house look like a museum. Hearing, "Your house looks amazing!" from a guest would swell my already large ego to the size of Texas (although I would undoubtedly feign humility every time).  I liked to believe that I really was Superwoman.  I could teach full-time, be a wife, run marathons, tutor kids after school, host a small group every week, cook dinner, AND have an immaculate house.  I never would have told you, but I looked down on people who made excuses for not exercising, for having laundry on the couch, or for picking up McDonalds for dinner.

The real truth is: I can't do it all.  Actually, I've never been able to do it all- that perfect girl on the surface was an illusion.  I'm not naive enough to think that the only busy people are the ones with kids; however, for me, having a baby finally made me realize my finitude.  There are limited hours in a day, and I am not immune to fatigue or the constraints of a clock.

Several weeks ago, I met with a group of working moms from church and heard all of them say things like, "Oh, we definitely had chicken nuggets for dinner tonight."  "The only reason our house is clean right now is because my husband got the kids this afternoon."  "We have laundry all over the floor.  All the time.  I'm too tired and don't care enough to pick it up."  There is so much comfort in community.  I'm not alone in my chaos and exhaustion.

I have long bought into the notion that women today should be like 1950's housewives: They should pour themselves into chores and slave over elaborate meals every night, all while wearing sexy dresses and having flawless hair and makeup.  Hats off to women who can still do all of that; it isn't my life.

Here's the deal: Most people have to-do lists that are miles long, every single day.  But not everything on that list can be a priority.  The most important things for me are primarily my relationships and then my work, so I am very slowly having to let go of some things in order to focus on my priorities.  I want to be a great mom, but I think that the things I teach her are far more significant than having organic, homemade suppers every night.  I want to be a great wife, but
making time for my husband is more critical than always looking put-together (and thankfully, Andrew says that sweatpants and a ponytail can still be sexy).  I want to be a great friend, but sometimes that means meeting someone at a coffee shop instead of stressing myself (and her!) out to have her over.  I want to be a great teacher, but I am significantly less effective when I am not
rested and not seeing my family.  I want to have a gorgeous home, but, meh.  At this point, if it's clean and safe, that's good enough.

The bottom line is this: I'm not a failure when I have to ask for help.  (Neither are you!). If I can hire someone to deep clean the house and that frees me to do more of the things in my life that matter most, the few extra bucks were more than worth it.  This step was small but necessary, if for no other reason than the fact that my pride in my own abilities probably needed to be crushed.  While there are seasons of life that may be busy, I don't have to be pull-my-hair-out-crazy all the time.  Thank goodness.

For my brother

This is my brother, Tim.

If he knew that I was posting this, he would probably roll his eyes, tell me to take it down, make a snarky comment, or do some combination of the three.  But since he rarely gets on Facebook and he's not twiddling his thumbs in anticipation of my next blog post, I'll carry on.

For the past few years, Tim and I have generally lived in separate states, with the exception of the two years that we overlapped at OU.  Although we lived apart, I had the comfort of knowing that I would always see Tim when I went home to Flower Mound, a short 2.5 hours away.

Today, Tim moves to Boston and then on to Puerto Rico or the Virgin Islands after 6-8 weeks of training for his new job as a commercial pilot.  Undoubtedly, either location would be a perfect vacation spot, and while I'm happy for him in his new venture, I'm sad for me.  Texas is temporarily losing a pretty great guy.  (I say temporarily because if you know how much Tim loves Flower Mound, you know he'll eventually make his
way back.)

There are days when I think that Piper will be our first and last child.  She is such a good little girl, but babies will inevitably be babies, and I wonder how I could possibly handle another one. Then, I think that one day in the distant future, I will regret the fact that she is an only child.  My own brother makes me want to give her a brother or a sister.

Tim and I fought constantly as kids.  From the back of the stroller, he would yank on my curly blonde ponytail, so I would stand on him until his face turned red when we got home.  He took my toys, so I hid
his stuff.  Every game was a competition, and every family vacation was a bickering mess in the back seat.  But in the quiet moments, probably when we thought our parents weren't looking, we were friends.  He taught me everything I know about Legos, and together we made secret plans to play tricks on our mom.  When we stayed at my grandpa's house and shared a bedroom, we laid in our beds, sometimes for hours, and talked until one of us fell asleep.  As we've gotten older, our friendship has grown, and all of the things that caused fights as kids seem so trivial now.  No one quite understands you like the one(s) who grew up with you.  I want that kind of relationship for my daughter.

Tim and I have a mutual dislike for talking on the phone, so we probably don't communicate as often as we should or would like, but I always know that he'd be among the first to come running if I ever needed anything.  He's one of the most consistent, caring, passionate, hardworking, humble, and selfless people I know.  That became even more evident today as a constant stream of friends stepped through my parents' doors to wish him well.  Obviously this isn't "goodbye," but it seemed like a good time to talk about the guy that people call "friend," "son," "uncle," "grandson," "nephew," "coach," and "instructor."  I'm the only one that gets to call him "brother," and I think that makes me a pretty lucky girl.  I love you, Tim!

30 Before 30

I cried on my 25th birthday.  I had been excited to celebrate all of my birthdays up until 25, but this one was different.  25 felt old.  I was no longer in my early twenties; I was fast approaching the dreaded 30, when (in my mind) life stops being fun and adulthood truly begins. The "twenty-something" years are for making plans but allowing spontaneity, for trying several options before finding your career path, and for deciding who you really are and what you actually believe.  By 30, I thought, I should have all of that figured out.

I turned 26 a couple of weeks ago, and I didn't cry.  In fact, it was one of the best birthdays I've ever had.  In the words of that over-hyped kids' movie, Frozen, I just "let it go."  The truth is, I'll always have things to figure out.  Growing older does mean obtaining more responsibilities and dealing with some harsher realities, but it also means getting to experience more adventure. Life doesn't have to stop being fun after marriage, having kids, getting a job, or turning a certain age.  Sometimes I do miss the days of childhood when my greatest worry was whether or not my brother would share his toys with me, but I wouldn't choose to go back there. Along with some of the hardest decisions and trials I've faced as I've gotten older, I've also started to grasp the meaning of "coming alive."

This year, I made a list of 30 things to do before my 30th birthday. I like lists.  They make me feel purposeful, and crossing something off the list is exhilarating.  (Confession: Sometimes I add things that I've already done to my to-do list, just so I can cross them off. I could go into that another day.) I'm not really sure why I decided to make this list now.  Maybe I want to prove to other people that married, twenty-somethings with kids and full-time jobs still get to live.  Maybe I want to prove it to myself.  Either way, here is the list (in no particular order):

1.  Get a Masters degree.
2.  Qualify for the Boston Marathon.
3.  Have another kid.
4.  See Blake Shelton or Luke Bryan in concert.
5.  Go back to Peru.
6.  Visit at least 3 new states (in Alaska right now!).
7.  Learn 400 new Spanish words.
8.  Get a tattoo.  Don't freak out, Mom.
9.  Own a gun, and obviously, be able to shoot it accurately.
10.  Go fly fishing.
11.  Own a pair of real cowboy boots.  Check.
12.  Grow an herb garden that doesn't die in less than a month.
13.  Go camping, for real.  Cabins don't count.
14.  Take a cake decorating class.
15.  Learn to drive a stick shift.
16.  Write a book.  Realistically, I'd like to just have a draft done.
17.  Bake an apple pie from scratch.
18.  Donate hair to Locks of Love.
19.  Read ten new books.  (Two down.)
20.  Start a college fund for Piper.
21.  Get Nationally Board Certified.  Teachers will know what this means.
22.  Hire a housekeeper. (Check.)
23.  Drink more water. (Working on that.)
24.  Skydive.
25.  Go to the Chili Bowl.  It's a car race; look it up.

So, I only have 25 things on my list of 30 Before 30.  And it's okay. I also might not do every single one of these items.  That's would be okay, too.  It seemed like there was no point in adding things to my list just to have them on there, and that stressing over accomplishing everything would defeat the purpose of these goals anyway.

You can steal my list if you want.  You can make your own.  Or, maybe you hate lists and you think mine is a dumb idea.  My point is that wherever you are and whatever you're doing, it is never too late (or too early) to come alive.  May you find what it means to make a life and not just make a living.