Friday, August 26, 2016


I have a new tattoo and I love it. It means many things to me and brings a happy little smile to my face every time I look at it, which is often since it's front and center on my right wrist.
Still red and swollen, it's my fresh new tattoo
Here is what it means to me: The balloon meandering away symbolizes life, the fleeting beauty of it and the teeny tiny blip of time that we have the honor of living and loving here on earth. We can watch it float away or we can grab on and go for a ride. I hope my life reflects my decision to grab on. Although my favorite color is blue, I chose deep purple to honor the lives of those who have died of pancreatic cancer, especially my friend, Jenna. It is another reminder that our time here is limited so we might as well live, really live, while we're here.

The string of the balloon says believe, which means many things to me. It means believe in Christ. It means believe in the good of this broken and hurting world. It means believe in the strength of myself. That last one is key. I've been battling myself and losing for quite a while now. That time is over. I got used to living half alive. I went through the motions, I put on a smile, and then I retreated into myself as soon as possible. The song "Jar of Hearts" was on repeat in my brain. At one time, the words felt like the only thing I would ever know. Now they remind me of where I was and where I am and where I can go from here.

On Wednesday I signed up for my second marathon. I finished my first marathon in October of 2015 and it is an almost constant reminder of how depressed and sick I was and of me giving up on me. I am in a different place now, I am working to be in an even better place, and I want redemption. I want to step up to the start line prepared and I want to finish the race proud. I believe I will succeed on both counts. Running is a mental game and my head is back in the game. I believe.

On Thursday I did my first training run for a trail half marathon in November, then I have a marathon next May, and trail Ragnar in June. I am setting goals. Last night I made lasagna and unloaded the dishwasher and corrected math and did the dishes and read books to kids and tucked them in. It's regular mom stuff, but it feels really impressive because just a few months ago getting dressed was quite a big accomplishment for me. But that's then and this is now and I'm setting goals. It's scary to put that out there. I don't want to fail. I don't want to fall. But trying and failing is better than living a shell of a life. I believe. I have to believe. I have to believe I'm worth the effort. Because it's still effort. It's still work. But I believe.

Also from "Jar of Hearts," this is my message for depression
We all have our demons. Mine overwhelmed my life. With my history of depression and my family history, I can't say they're gone forever, but I can say that I feel a lot better and I believe in me again. No matter what you're struggling with today, I hope you can say the same thing.

Peace for the journey, friends. We're all in this together.

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Cuatro es tres.

Our littlest fellow turns three tomorrow. Well, actually he'll wake up tomorrow and the magical changing of the year will have already happened. I've hugged my two-year-old for the last time. Audrey and I had a good cry about that one when I tucked her in. She's so sad that he is growing so big because he's so cute and funny and sweet. I reminded her that she did the same thing. She even had the audacity to turn ten. It's a grand injustice of motherhood, is what it is. What I wouldn't give to rewind 12 1/2 years to begin again with all four of my kids. Instead, tomorrow marks the beginning of 7th grade, 5th grade, 3rd grade, and 3 years old. It's really too much for one mama to handle in one day. Too much new growing and changing of the guard and pangs of the heart.

I hugged Asher before bed, a nice and tight one that I never wanted to end. "I would start all over if I could," I told him. He smiled and laughed, oblivious to what that meant, oblivious to the tears trying to slip down my cheeks, oblivious to how incredibly happy and sad I am that he is turning three. I think mamas are especially good at the mingling of sad and happy feelings, at watching little people grow to big people, at mourning and celebrating the exact same moments.

All he wants is an ambulance. A few weeks ago, we purchased a used playset for the backyard. Jim and my cousin took it apart and hauled it here and were carrying it to the backyard when Asher boy looked down from the deck and incredulously shouted, "But I wanted an ambulance!" Good grief, we laughed about that. Really, we're still laughing about that. (He'll be unwrapping an ambulance in the morning.) Tomorrow he wants homemade pizza and sweet potatoes and cake and ice cream. We're having a small party next weekend. He wants to play at the park and have cupcakes and ice cream.

Those are the details. But then there's the boy. He's a nonstop talker, hugger, magnet block builder, car driving, game playing, game inventing, dog hugging, sibling chasing, bike riding boy. When he laughs or smiles people melt. His personality is as big as his buddha belly. He talks up strangers at the grocery store and gives peace at church while waiting impatiently for his communion bread. Carbs are his love language. He is a mama's boy through and through. He loves to help dada feed the dog or change the oil, and especially loves Ace  Hardware. He is ridiculously verbal, but won't use the toilet. He sleeps in a crib, but wants a big boy bed, which he'll get soon. He told me he sees an old lady in his closet. (creepy!) He loves books in laps, rocking in gliders, and snuggles. Then he wants to run like the wind! He wakes up in the morning, still early, but not so terribly early as he used to, and we snuggle and he tells me he loves me 1000 times and I kiss his cheekers and he drives cars on my arms.

Sweet boy, our sprinkles on top of our ice cream sundae family, will I remember you as you are now when three years more have passed? Your dimpled elbows and chubby cheeks and Ys that sound like Ls so you say Les instead of Yes. The way you open our dinner devotional, ask all of us to be quiet, and "read" it. "Don't kick. Don't kick a head off. Be kind." The way you wait mostly impatiently for communion at church so you can get bread, and then Pastor Vera gives me two pieces so I can give one to you and Audrey and dada tear off little pieces to share with you. The way you bike on the driveway with Elliot and chase Isaac around the yard while he plays disc golf. The way you play groundies with the big kids and they let you catch them sometimes. The way you fit in my arms just so with my head resting on your head, then you lean back and I see your eyelashes, long and blonde in the sunshine. The certainty with which you jump off the edge of the pool. The feel of your head nestled into my neck when you're unsure. That and more and all of it.

Our cuatro. Our Asher boy. We love you. You are our most unexpected gift and a lifetime of thank yous would never express our gratitude that you are ours and we are yours.

Happy third birthday, choochie face.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Ideas for soaking

A few weeks ago I wrote this post. It's safe to say that my life and the world hasn't magically gotten its act together. In fact, more hate and violence has filled our airwaves, newsfeeds, and lives. I am equal parts horrified and relieved that this violence isn't actually new. People have created war and divisions since the beginning of time and we're still here. On the other hand, people have created war and divisions since the beginning of time and we continue to do it.

As a Christian, I wrote of my need to soak in the goodness of Christ. A few of you mentioned interest in joining me. Therefore, I thought I'd follow up with my plan. A blog reader recommended She Reads Truth. I read the last part of a series on Paul in Acts, and yesterday they started a new series on the juxtaposition and timing of life and death, fear and bravery, grieving and dancing. Unless my favorite early rising toddler is up ridiculously early, I start my day with that study. You can check their website daily or have it emailed to you each morning.

As simple as it sounds, making the time to do this quick devotion each day starts me out on the right foot. It has already shone a light on areas of my life and clarified some thinking in other areas. In short, it's doing just what I hoped it would do.

While I continue with She Reads Truth, I wanted something more. I did some online searches and came across this book that guides readers through reading the bible in a year. Chime in if you are interested in reading the bible in a year along with me. We'll pick a start date and figure out a way to check in weekly in hopes that the accountability and habit forming act of consistent reading will keep us on track and point our hearts and minds in the right direction.

That's my plan so far. If I haven't made it clear, I'm not an expert. I'd hardly call myself informed. I'm just someone trying to get through this trying, confusing, hurtful, beautiful, amazing life with my eyes pointed toward God and my actions reflecting Christ. I'm still open to suggestions on bible study books, especially since I like to write all over them and get my hands on the written word.

Happy, healthy, life-affirming soaking, friends.

Saturday, July 9, 2016


When our muscles are fatigued, we soak in a tub with epsom salt. To aid recovery, we are instructed to soak in an ice bath. When we have the chicken pox, we soak in a tub with oatmeal. When we have a burn, we soak it in aloe.

When we need to recover and heal, we are instructed to soak.

I do not think I am alone in my need to recover and heal from the horrific news that bombards us constantly. I am weary. From the safety net of my little, white, middle class, mountain world, I am weary. I can only imagine how those raising black sons, those living in black skin, those wearing police uniforms, those who love police officers, feel every time they step out of the door and into a world that seems stuck in a cycle of hate and violence, violence and hate.

I need to soak.

I have to remind myself about a billion times a day that there is so much good. There really, really is. But there are also people being shot while lying helpless on the ground and people being shot while keeping the peace and doing their jobs. There is so much evil. There really, really is. And the evil is noisy and visceral, ugly and grotesque. I have to fight to keep my focus on the good and away from the evil. Sometimes I fail.

I need to soak.

I am a Christian, which all too often feels like a bad word. Apparently Trump is now a Christian. Those crazy, hate-filled Westboro Baptist people purport to be Christians. Far too many Christians make the news for getting all bent out of shape because people say Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas, but can't seem to muster up the energy to support equal rights for non-white, non-male, non-heterosexual people.

Soak? Yes. Please.

I really am proud to be a Christian who tries her darndest to live like Christ did. I fail repeatedly every hour, but my guiding forces and compass are love, grace, and God. Repeat, I fail repeatedly every hour.

I am realizing more and more that I need to quiet the world around me. Beyond spending more time outside, reading more good books, and laughing with my family and friends,  I need to take a long and luxurious soak in God's word. I need to focus on the truth, beauty, and hope found in God.

There are those of you currently rolling your eyes. You're thinking about the wars started in the name of religion and the Westboro Baptist psychos. It's possible you're also the people who remind others that crazy people who radicalize Islam don't speak for the majority of Muslims. They most certainly do not, in the same way that Westboro doesn't speak for me.

I am overwhelmed and weary and the world is too much for me. Maybe you know the feeling? I could numb myself with reality tv or booze or drugs or shopping or whatever other vice is out there, but I don't want to do any of those things. I don't want to drown my sorrows by creating more sorrows and ignoring my responsibilities. I want to take my sorrows to God. I want to rest in God's shelter. I want to be reminded that the world is bigger than the moments we are living right now. Those things happen when I grow in my relationship with Christ. If it is true that we become more and more like the people we spend the most time with, I can honestly say that I want to be more like Christ, so I need to spend more time with the bible.

It sounds hokey, even to me as I write it. It's so different from what most people do today. But then I remind myself that what most people do today isn't working. We're more angry and more medicated and less connected than ever. Maybe now is just the time to do something that most people aren't doing.

So I'm going to soak. I'm going to read the bible and pray more. I'm going to set time aside each day for quiet and contemplation and soaking.

**Are you interested in joining me? Or are you already doing this and can you be a resource for me? There is so much of the bible I don't understand. I don't want to just read the words to say I read them. I want to soak in them. I think a bible study or guide would help. I want to be encouraged, but not babied or spoken down to, and also challenged, but not overwhelmed. Please share any bible study or reading guides that might help me. Thanks.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Happy 8th Birthday-star wars style!

On the off, off, off, OFF chance that anyone ever shows up at my house and thinks, "Dang. That DeNae girl really has it all together," I share these snapshots into our day of party prep for Elliot's 8th birthday party.

Elliot wanted to try a new cake recipe and I try to oblige the birthday kids' cake requests. Fortunately the recipe made 3 round cakes and I only needed two because this happened:

Unfortunately, the other two didn't fare much better. Fortunately, frosting cures what ails ya. Unfortunately, the cake was tremendously ugly. Fortunately, it was delicious.

At about 2 pm, (the party started at 4) while I was mentally trouble shooting my cake dilemma, we decided to set up the Jedi training obstacle course in the backyard. This involved moving an 8 foot wooden balance beam from the back of my car to the backyard, along with rolling two tires from the side yard to the back. Isaac and I were on balance beam duty, while Audrey and Elliot were on tire rolling duty. Apparently there was a mishap because as Isaac and I made our way to the backyard, we saw an out of control tire picking up speed as it headed down the hill of our backyard and a sprinting Elliot not far behind, but losing ground quickly. The tire ended up in the neighbor's front yard, about 2 acres from where it started. Isaac dropped the beam, literally, and ran after the tire, then kindly pushed it back up the hill. That was exciting.

I lost my temper and shouted at the kids to move faster to help me. Then, a few minutes later, I asked them to come sit on the couch and I apologized for losing my temper with them. I told them that I get stressed out before parties, that they were being incredibly helpful, and that I shouldn't be short with them when I'm stressed. I commented on the fact that the important parts of any party are making people feel welcome and having fun with friends. Those reminders were as much for me as they were for them.

At 3 pm, I carried a pajama clad and barefoot Asher to the car so he could join me for a trip to Papa Murphy's for the night's gourmet dinner of pizza and carrots. Go big or go home, I always say. Just kidding. I don't really say that. Plenty of time to get home for that 4 pm party start time, right?

I arrived home at about 3:30 and there sat my two crumbly, but mostly intact, cakes. I had the kids clean a bathroom while I tried to get the cakes from the cooling rack to the plate. Let's just say that it didn't go so well, and three cheers for frosting. I remembered to print up some Star Wars coloring pages for people to color as guests arrived. Then the first guest arrived and my kitchen looked like this and my kid was still wearing this:

Is this where the hastag #keepingitclassy originated? Maybe not.

The kids arrived, the light saber committee had a meeting in the front yard to go over key rules for a successful Star Wars party, and then the pool noodle light sabers were distributed. If you hand a light saber over to a group of kids, you have to be prepared for some battling. I let the kids go at it for a while, and then when it seemed like it was about to get out of hand, I took possession of the light sabers and told them they had two minutes to think of and practice their best jedi saber move before showing it to all of us as part of a Light Saber Talent Show. This got each person in their own space for a few minutes.

they were going for it!
The kids showed off their moves, and then it was time to head to the backyard for the Jedi training obstacle course. Elliot showed them the course, and then each kiddo took their turn running the gauntlet. The last person finished just in time for a short spurt of rain, so we headed inside for Elliot to open gifts. He will be one happy, Lego-building fiend in the morning.
running back up the path while deflecting bullets with the light saber

tire jumping and balance beam

a little disc golf thrown in for good fun

Asher prepared to run the course, then got scared and asked Elliot to go with him

Audrey finishes up the balance beam

The rain ended, so we headed back outside for a little pinata busting. We had a pinata etiquette session, with the intent of making sure everyone got candy and toys and no one got knocked unconscious by a swinging plastic bat. I am happy to report that we had success on both counts!

At that point, it was time to head in for pizza, carrots, "The Attack of the Clones," cake, and ice cream.
Happy birthday, big 8 year old!

Not one kid commented on the state of the kitchen, but they did love the cake and asked to lick the butter knife I used to cut the cake. The kids played well and got along and had fun. I had a lovely opportunity to chat with the mom who stayed and was so helpful with the party.
The six boys. (Audrey was in the bathroom)

The six boys + Audrey show their silly sides

I tucked my Elliot belliot woo woo into bed and his smile spread from ear to ear. "Did you enjoy your party, buddy?" "YEEESSSSS!!!"
Good night, sweet boy.
That's what matters. The guests felt welcomed, people had fun, and friendships grew. That, right there, is what matters.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016


I like to write. It clears my mind and makes me joyful. Looking back on things I've written in the past is a lovely little trip back in time as I recall the little moments that make up my little life. Sometimes I worry that the stuff I write here doesn't carry enough weight or matter enough or sound good enough. That's when I go quiet, filled with doubt. I mean, really, I could just be writing a journal and no one would know the difference. I think that, but then I hear from someone who was moved by a post and I think I should just do a little more writing. Words matter to me. They really, really matter. Through words, the crafty rearranging of 26 letters, I am moved to laughter and tears, compassion and understanding, questions and sometimes even a few answers, but usually just more questions as I ponder my place in this world, in this time, surrounded by these people.

I'm hoping to pop on here more often. Maybe you'll read. Maybe you'll scroll on past. I'm fine either way. We all have our stories to tell, and this is an easy way to record mine. I'd love to hear more of your stories, too.

For now, we'll spend the day prepping for this sweet boy's 8th birthday party, complete with a pinata, Star Wars obstacle course, and movie night.

  Peace for the journey, friends.

Saturday, May 7, 2016

what we remember-to my mama

The cards were stacked against her. Fifteen. Unwed. Pregnant. Therefore, the cards were also stacked against me.

She straightened up her act in a hurry. I was born. She finished high school, in spite of many obstacles placed in her way by an administration that thought new moms had no place in their high school. She and my dad got  married. She and I moved out of my grandparents house. My mom, dad, and I moved a few times. My favorite game was standing on our brown and yellow couch, jumping high in the air, and landing on my knees on the hardwood floor. My brother was born. She had an in-home daycare so she could be home with us, but still earn money. As we got older and went to school, I remember her working at a chiropractor's office. My parents divorced. We moved a few more times. My mom got a job at United Way in St. Cloud, then at the College of St. Benedict. She started working on her degree when I was around middle-school age. She graduated from college while raising two kids and working full time.
the kids obviously get their good looks from yours truly

awww. Sending love to my dad and mom

Christmas love

a new baby brother and neither of us look too sure about the whole thing

Happy Halloween from the clown

I liked perms

a lot
My brother and I grew up and graduated from high school and college and got married and had babies. My mom moved, both geographically and up the employment ladder. Today's she's Vice Chancellor of Gift Planning at a prestigious university.

Apparently my mom doesn't give one crap about how the cards are stacked. She's going to reshuffle. She's going to come to a dead end and make her own road, a closed door and pull out her axe to bust it open. But she's going to do it with humor, killer music, flawless hair (although she loves to be reminded of her mullet days), raucous laughter, generosity, pasta, wine, bread, okay, carbs in general, and love.
the laugh, including the knee slap, the face we make, and the disbelief that others might
not find us as hilarious as we find ourselves are identical

rocking modern, black furniture since way before it was cool
I'm sugar coating it, obviously. There were fights and hurts, tears and bitter misunderstandings. I had classic teenage moments. There was depression. To this day, in the ways we are alike, we are identical, and in the ways we differ, we are polar opposites. I have made and continue to make many decisions that disappoint her, and she's done things that make me shake my head in disbelief.

But at the end of the day, when all is said and done, there is love, acceptance, and support. No matter how deep my hole is, my mom will lean over, extend an arm, and help me start the climb back up.

I didn't understand the depth of love, the depth of pain felt on someone else's behalf, the depth of awe at another person's accomplishments until I held Isaac, then Audrey, then Elliot, then Asher. I cannot begin to express how fortunate I am to have had Kellie as my mom, how fortunate my kids are that she is my mama role model, even with the cards stacked against her and against me, too.
since having these four, I get it.

please let them remember these moments

please let these moments outnumber the angry, poorly handled moments
What will they remember of me? There are certainly millions of mistakes, but I hope that at the end of the day, when all is said and done, they will remember love, acceptance, and support. I certainly do.
Mom, Cory, and I in my post-birthing Asher stupor. It's a good look on me, right?

Celebrating my mom's birthday, December 2014.
Our sense of style is clearly not identical!
From me to you: