I am a creature of routines...

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...As I assume most people are to some extent. 

I always thought that at some point I would reinvent myself to be a more carefree individual, that I could somehow trick my soul into following a go-with-the flow spirit. Eventually, I learned that my soul knew me better than I know myself. A life of carefree"ness" was just not written in my book. 

Growing up, I was the first born and with that, I think came this inherit need for perfection. For this so-called persona to be manifested, orderly and well-kept routines needed to be in check at all times. My parents recognized this need for stability and at the young age of ten they bestowed upon me my first Dayplanner. nerdy, yes? I often bragged to my friends about my new scheduled life and the tool that helped to make it possible. I often stated in a matter-of-fact tone that "I would love to come over to play, but first I needed to check my Dayplanner schedule." ...Because we all know how full of a schedule a 6th grader can have...

Perfection was this illusion that I strove for in school as well as at home. I remember watching Cinderella as a child and admiring how clean and minimal her room seemed to be--let's not forget her evil Stepmother sentenced her to a life of servitude. But I wanted her minimal life! I was driven by routines, well established rules, and a structured lifestyle. As I grew older, in the back of my mind I would always tell myself, "I will be ready for marriage when I have graduated from college,  have a career that I love and the money to pay for my own wedding--if I have those things my life will be right on track--then I can share my life with someone else." 

;)

As with most of our lives, reality didn't seem to work out the way. Marriage came and we were dirt poor--so poor that for a good portion of the first year we bought groceries exclusively from the canned food section with gift cards from our wedding. Graduate school came and went with the hopes of high paying jobs, which were soon over shadowed by Brecken's early birth and, not long after, Addison's arrival as well. God then granted me with two child who would defy all odds and not want naps starting at an early age. Soon my desire and need for perfectly maintained routines were replaced with erratic schedules, sleep deprivation, over-indulging in chocolate and snot-covered clothing. 

The Dayplanner has long been retired and now has been replaced with a refrigerator calender that looks more like an elaborate algebra problem--full of scribbles, doctor appointments, grocery lists, and play groups. Motherhood has taken it's toll, while my mind may not be a sharp, and my fashion may be last season, a new sort of perfection has arisen from the piles of dirty laundry in the form of a little boy and little girl that call my Mom.

For me, admitting to being imperfect at motherhood has become perfection. 

A few thoughts about what we are going through...

If you haven't noticed I have been neglecting my blog lately--late posts, missed Feature Fridays, no giveaways, and less then stellar tutorials. 

Recently, we found out we were preggers.

Bells and whistles rang out in our house that day.  It was bells and whistles of terror when we began to realize that we I would be pulling double duty on diapers, tantrums, feedings, throw up messes, and sleepless nights.

Once the terror finally wore off it was replaced with thoughts of pink and blue, white crib or brown crib, boy name or girl name. Delightful thoughts began to fill my mind of a cooing little snuggler, then I started to bleed and thus began the daily visits to the doctors office which meant multiple check ups and lots of needles.

When the pain started to set in the thoughts of a miscarriage were then replaced with the words ectopic pregnancy. Luckily, the doctors figured out what was wrong with me before a rupture occured.  So for the last two weeks I have been poked and prodded more then a few times.

While I am so grateful for wonderful doctors and kind nurses, the medicine they have injected me with, which by the way is given to chemo patients, now makes me feel nauseous at all hours of the day and has made me so tired that sleeping is no longer something I enjoy.

And if that weren't enough the cramping and gut wrenching pain has made me somewhat immobile for the last two weeks--and when I have gotten out of bed my slow movements resemble that of Quasimodo.

Yesterday, was the first day I was able to move around without pain shooting throughout my every movement and I am thankful that for the time being the pain has subsided. Now, I am just trying to come to terms with the emotional and mental portion of this ordeal.

Really I am fine, but there are a few things I am still trying to sort out in my mind.

 I realize and know that the pregnancy would have never been viable, but I think what I am having a hard time with is knowing that pregnancy will always be one of those trials I will have to overcome. For those of you new here, Punk was born at thirty weeks and between the two of us we spent nearly three months in three different hospitals. It's a story for another time, but the point is, so far pregnancy has not been easy or enjoyable.

I always imagined how wonderful of an experience it would be, and that I would be one of those pregnant women who would gush my growing tummy and my soon to arrive stork flown package. I then imagined kissing my little snuggle bug in the hospital and bringing home my bundle of joy to a wonderfully prepared house. None of those dreams happened--which is life and I am fine with that.

What I am having a hard time grasping is that I have no control over my body or the situation. It will take time for me to come to terms with the fact that I will never have a house of ten kids. I must clarify, I never wanted ten kids, but the thought that if I wanted to I could would have been nice.  

I am not planning on writing a book or a mini series (hahaha) on my feelings, but I just wanted you to know that my neglect has nothing to do with a lost desire to blog anymore.

Quite the contrary actually, once I feel well again I have major plans for grand home decorating projects, fun new summer tutorials, and lots of great guest posts and features.

For right now, though, I am going to keep writing posts about my family and feelings because those seem to be the things that are making me feel better.

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I hope you all have a fantastic weekend and know here in the Bishop house we hope you can find some comfort for all your trials as well!

Mom this is for you.

I wish my Mom would have told me about all the sacrifices that were included with motherhood.

She always made raising four kids under the age of five seem so easy.

She sewed multiple dresses,

stayed up late finishing school projects, 

helped us paint our rooms,

taught us about garage selling,

let us wear MC Hammar pants and neon shirts,

never admitted the truth about Santa Claus,

listened to our stories about our boyfriends,

taught us to say our prayers,

designed extravagant Halloween costumes,

helped with the ACT's, 

spray painted my first car,

helped achieve girl (boy) scout badges,

came to sporting events to scream loudly... and filmed all eight laps of the two mile,

baked our wedding cakes,

sang to us in bed,

wiped away our tears,

drove us to college,

taught us to forgive,

made us hug,

sent us care packages,

built homemade parade floats,

let us have hamsters, goats, chicken, horses, dogs, cats, cows, gerbils, fish, boyfriends....

baked school cookies,

helped us find our own confidence,

and always loved us.

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It wasn't until I became a mom that I a finally had a glimpse into my Mom's sacrifices.

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 And, even though my life is now inundated with teething, squeaking toys, sleep deprivation, unrolled toilet paper, diapers, bruises, Baby Einstein, diarrhea, childproof locks, Finding Nemo, runny noises, Pirates Booty, cardboard books, sippy cups, ba-ba's, banging pans, late nights, throw up, and band aids....

I know that with every bump and bruise there will also be a ten gut busting giggles, tender hugs, gleeful gibber-gabbering, waddling runs, warm cuddles, endless pic-a-boo games, and slobbering kisses.

Thank you Mom for your unwavering love. You're a rock star.

Love you.