So...

Obviously I haven't written in forever. Two kids, a move, and life can hinder things like blogging. Not that I was great at it before, but ya know.

Today is October 15. Now pretty much everyone knows October turns pink with breast cancer awareness, which is completely fine and a very worthy cause.

But there is something else during this month much more near and dear to my heart: Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.

President Reagan designated this back in 1988 (just one of the many reasons why I SO respect this man). He believed that each life is so important, even the itty bitty ones. He realized the heartache in each grieving mother's being when she sends her little one to be with Jesus: 

"When a child loses his parent, they are called an orphan. When a spouse loses her or his partner, they are called a widow or widower. When parents lose their child, there isn’t a word to describe them."

It's been over a year and a half since we lost our second baby. And when I say lost, I really mean sent to heaven. Because we know where he* is. I love to picture what he's doing right now. I think of how he'd be 14 months old now and getting into all sorts of trouble. 

I remember telling one of my dear friends who helped me through this difficult time that "I bet he's playing with Jesus." And she laughed and replied, "Probably more like tearing heaven apart and Jesus is following him around cleaning it up." That made me laugh so hard, and I love to picture a little baby just discovering everything about eternity and, as all babies do, putting everything in his mouth. I picture Jesus just looking at him, smiling a huge smile, laughing, and putting everything back in place once he loses interest and crawls onto something else. I don't know what he really does up there, but it helps to imagine.

There are so many things I wish I would do differently as a parent. I lose my temper, I get frustrated, I get lazy. I regret those moments. I do still wish I could have parented our second, but I take comfort that he never had to see me get mad at him. He's with the King of Kings who is endlessly patient with His children.

I've only had to say goodbye to one child. And it was one time too many. I know friends who have miscarried multiple times or have lost children in other ways. I can't imagine their pain. I know many of them have ran to the Lord for comfort and healing, but I'm sure some haven't, and if that's you I encourage you to do so. He understands loss, pain, confusion, anger, and any other emotion you may be feeling. He can take your broken heart and bind it back up. Will you still miss your baby? Of course- I do every day. I still cry sometimes. A lot of times I have to force myself to think of other things so I won't completely break down.

This is one of the hardest roads to walk. But it has brought me closer to other women who have walked it as well. I may not have spent much time with those women otherwise, but now have gotten to know them deeply. We've cried together and encouraged each other. I wouldn't trade these deep relationships for anything. We understand the pain and through Jesus can be made whole again. 

I've read that one way to remember your baby today is to light a candle. I have done that and encourage others to do it too. Just a small reminder that our babies mean something special to us, and that they're waiting for us. To see his smiling face in eternity is something I SO look forward to. 

I love you baby. We miss you. Big hugs and kisses from Mommy and Daddy. Be good and listen to Jesus. ;)

*Now we aren't 100% sure he was a boy as I was only 8ish weeks along. I had the overwhelming feeling he was though. I will know one day though. But because I refuse to call any unborn baby an "it" and I feel he was a boy, he will be a he for all intensive purposes while I'm writing. :)

Christmas 2012- Letter with Pictures!

Christmas 2012

Hey everyone! We hope you’re enjoying this wonderful Christmas season as we are. I think this is the first Christmas letter I’ve ever done.

2012 was an interesting year to say the least. It didn’t start the best when January 19^th we sent our second baby to be with Jesus. We are doing better- time and God are continuing to heal our hearts. Nick has also changed jobs and is currently the store manager at Honeybaked Ham. The manager aspect of it is great for him, but these insane holiday hours are, well, insane. This has been the first full year I’ve been a stay-at-home mom and I love it but it definitely is the hardest job I’ve had, though it's the best!

Talia’s adorable, very high energy, and doesn’t stop talking. Her favorite things to say lately are “What’s that?” and “What doing?” and “What’s up?” so we are constantly answering questions. This is the hardest age (so far) I think, but also the best. They drive you absolutely insane, but they’re so cute doing it that you let them get away with it. I think this is the first Christmas that Talia is actually starting to grasp it all, and we love watching Christmas through her little almost 3 year old eyes. Her favorites are looking at Christmas lights, Christmas trees, eating cookies (of course what toddler doesn’t love that…), and oo-ing and aw-ing over Baby Jesus. She has this obsession with babies lately, so whenever she sees a Baby Jesus she gets this high-pitched voice and says something like “Aww Baby Jesus! So little!” The girl loves animals too so any Nativity Scene is a huge thing for her.

We are expecting our third little munchkin come April of next year. We found out it’s a girl last week. Prayers for this little one’s continued health would be greatly appreciated!

Merry Christmas to all our family and friends! May God bless each one of you abundantly this coming year!

Love,

Nicholas, Sarah, and Talia Brown

Just pretend this last picture is facing the correct direction. Ok? Ok.

Praying

I'm learning more and more what "faith like a child" is. From, well, a child.

Talia has really liked praying lately. It's super cute and funny and downright heart-melting. And she

We ordered pizza the other day while Daddy was working late. (Side note: whenever it's dinnertime, she goes to the stairs and calls down to Daddy. She hollers as loud as those toddler lungs will let her and says "DADDY!!!! DINNERTIME!!!!!!" And she'll keep at it until he's sitting at the table. So cute!) Anyway, back to my praying story. She tried to call for Daddy, but he wasn't home so instead she went "Thank you Daddy!" And I said "Why are you thanking Daddy? He didn't make the pizza. Well I guess we can thank him for working and making money so we can buy the pizza." After I said that she very vehemently said "AMEN!" So even non-official prayers get Amen-ed.

Other times, she'll wait to eat her food and say "Pray!" before we start. Other times she just dives in, especially if dinner is cheesy in any way- the girl loves cheese. Win some, lose some.

The other night was the best though. We said our goodnight prayers and I got up to leave and she said "Mommy more prayers!" So I had to go back and say more prayers. Then I got up again and she said "Mommy more prayers!" She didn't want to stop! I then told her she can pray and talk to God anytime. That seemed to make sense to her so Mommy was allowed to leave her room finally. :)

She's only two, but this much makes sense to her. Maybe all the faith stuff ain't so complicated after all. :)

More About Turkey

So this is a continuation of said previous post about turkey...

I made my furry turkey. I said I hoped this thing better taste good to be worth it.

It cooked for 4 hours or so. I then started to make the mashed potatoes, gravy, salad, etc.

I wanted to make giblet gravy. For giblet gravy, you need giblets. Correct?

I couldn't find the giblets and then it hit me- I LEFT THE GIBLETS IN THEIR BAG INSIDE THE TURKEY!!!!!!

Thankfully the bags didn't disintegrate nor did the plastic one melt. And a plus to this story is that I didn't have to cook the giblets separately. Yay! (See I can be super efficient and not even know it!) 

The turkey did taste very good. Was it worth it? I don't think any turkey is worth it...

I Hate Turkeys

I have a long history with turkeys. I hate them. I love eating them. I despise/loathe/would-rather-eat-dirt hate preparing them. And it really doesn't have much to do with the fact that they take a gazillion years to cook, and are messy to clean up, and give you leftovers for a decade.

Shortly after we were married Nick made me make a turkey, not once but twice. I think I had a heart attack the first time, and the second wasn't much better.

The first time went something like this:

Nick: "Okay so you need to reach down and grab the giblets out..."

Me: "I need to do what?! I have to stick my hand INSIDE this thing?! And grab onto some slimy neck or liver or something equally grody?!"

I was squealing like a little girl the whole time and I think the only thing that came out of my mouth was "EWWWWW!!!!!" (Yes my husband was rolling on the floor laughing the whole time...)

It kind of reminded me of in middle and high school when we had to dissect the frogs and pigs. GAH! At least the formaldehyde smell was wonderfully absent with the turkey...

The second time we had a turkey that was all fancy and came with it's own thermometer that apparently pops out when the turkey's done. You need to tell me (who only recently learned to cook due to being married to my chef husband) when a turkey comes with something like that. I am not Martha Stewart, nor did I grow up with a great cook for a mother (my mother cooks out of necessity to live and that is all).

I took a knife to that sucker and dug out the thermometer. (Do you know how hard it is to dig a hole in an uncooked turkey?!) My husband was out talking to someone and it looked all out of place in the turkey- this big old red dot that I was convinced was part of the packaging that I didn't take off before hand. No one told me 2 things about this: 1, what a thermometer was and 2, that you're supposed to leave it in the stupid bird! So that turkey had a big old hole cut out in it's side... And we had to stab it again to get another thermometer back in it. That was a very holey turkey...

Today, I made a turkey. Why? I don't know... My husband was working, why I didn't wait til the weekend so he could do it is beyond me. All these prior horrible experiences came rushing back once I started rinsing the turkey and panic slowly crept up. I woman-ed up and dug out those nasty things they shove inside the turkey (why can't they just sell those separately or put them on the outside or something?!?!) and got it all nice and clean.

And then....

I go to wash the wings. The wings... had... FEATHERS! UGH!!! I think my heart leapt and the squealing commenced again. I do NOT pluck birds. That is SO not in my job description as housewife and mom. And these things were like 3 inches long, not just like stubble (you know, like when you don't shave your legs for a week or so... TMI sorry...).

I remember once in a Beth Moore study she said that we were all born into specific times for specific reasons. Yeah, God in His infinite wisdom saw that putting me as a pioneer woman in 1825 would NOT go well. At all...

Thankfully it was just the one wing that was furry, so again I woman-ed up and plucked that sucker clean. Then I immediately finished the prep as fast as possible and scrubbed myself down with scalding hot water and soap.

Now that stupid bird is marinating in my fridge with syrup and brown sugar. It better taste amazing after all this.

And I told Nick he owes me some amazing dessert as payment for dealing with a turkey. His response was, "Well I'm going to be getting a ton of free ham now at my new job, so we'll have ham from now on instead of turkey!"

Praise the LORD!

A Bit of Life in Pictures

Talia's 2nd Birthday!

Explaining "how it is" to her sheep.

The girl loves books.

Helping Mommy wash her toys. The water was brown when we were finished. EW!

Naptime on the stairs.

Papa and Nana's kitties. Rosie (top), Baxter (bottom), and Bax (in Talia's hand).

Family with the real Baxter.

Anniversary weekend. So pretty!

Getting stuck in massive snow drifts on top of a mountain in a blizzard is EXACTLY how I wanted to spend our anniversary. :)

That's how deep the snow was- all the way up to the middle of my thighs. And yes, I sure did fall in!

Only my husband would be outside in a blizzard at the top of a mountain in a short sleeved shirt.

Husband getting sticks and stones to get us unstuck. (This ended up being my job after I stopped playing photographer.)

Apparently it's necessary to have handicapped parking at 12000 feet.

Here's the handicapped parking "lot." It was the road. Literally. There wasn't even a pull off area. Is it just me, or does that not seem so ADA compliant?

You can't read the sign, but it says "Don't block the driveway." The sign was sticking out of a 4 foot high snow drift that was indeed blocking the driveway.

Ahhh Mt. Princeton. So stinking pretty!!

A couple things, no I don't let my daughter take naps on the stairs... :) And yes we did get unstuck after hauling a bazillion rocks from up the hill and putting them under the tires. My husband had to push the truck while I drove and I felt pretty dang accomplished after that! Little old me, driving a 4Runner in reverse for 1/3 of a mile in huge snow drifts- I felt the girl-power! Not to self- next time we go 4-wheeling in February, make sure we have a shovel or two in the truck. Even though getting stuck up in the mountains where there's no one around for help was slightly unnerving, it ended up being a really funny experience, especially when I fell in the snow and couldn't get out... At least we had cell service had things gotten worse! :)

Angry

Contrary to the title, this should actually be a somewhat humorous post. So please read with a sense of sarcasm. :)

The day I miscarried, I think I was the angriest person I've ever met. Now I could blame it on hormones, but then again the anger hasn't completely subsided since then. So hormones probably aren't the best excuse. Although I am better now, that should should put a bunch of you at ease.

As to why I was angry, there were several reasons. One, I had just miscarried. That's the obvious reason. The other main reason: I was mad at the whole species of mankind. Solely for existing. The fact I had to share a planet with the rest of the world drove me crazy that day. Narcissistic much?

Let me share a story about just how angry I was that day. On my way back from my doctor's appointment, I had to stop and get gas. I had just pulled up to the pump and was getting ready to get out of the car. This sweet, innocent old lady pulled up behind me to wait for me to move. (Side note- there were a few other pumps open. I still don't understand why she decided to wait behind me in the first place.) Well any normal person, who hadn't just miscarried mere hours before, would have just looked at her funny and then gone about their business. Me? I got livid. I mean- LIVID. The fact that the lady pulled up behind me was just about the most horrible thing anyone could have done to me at that point. I can't even remember what thoughts were going through my head- all I remember is a very big sense of rage. I think I was thinking things like, "How DARE she stop behind me! The nerve! Why can't she just go away and go to her own pump and leave me alone?! Gosh what's her problem? Doesn't she see the other pumps open? Is my car a magnet for her car and she just HAD to be near me? WHY CAN'T EVERYONE JUST GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE?!" I think the only thing missing was me turning green, tripling in size, and smashing things as the Incredible Hulkette.

Now, keep in mind, the sweet old lady never talked to me, didn't really even look at me, and actually did move to another pump once she realized I was just starting to get gas. We never spoke or even gave each other the stink eye. The poor innocent lady had no idea I was shooting death rays out of my eyes at her solely for being within 50 feet of me.

So there it is. Hormones? Maybe. At least they played a part that day in particular. My excuse for being angry since that day? Hmm... I'll have to ponder that one. Not to worry though, I have gotten over my fury at innocent old ladies parking behind me at gas stations.