butterfly. babies. love.

You are six years old. And I will be forever thankful that I have known you outside of my womb for this long, that I have gotten the chance to watch the beginnings of your unique and dynamic journey, and that every single day our family has gained something special from you being in our lives. You are six years old. And I love so much of what that means. The parts that make me smile with the confidence of knowing you are still a small child. The parts of being six that make me take a deep breath and just soak in the moments of your innocence. You are six years old. And I hesitantly accept the parts that I do not completely love. The parts that make me look at your daddy with trepidation in the middle of one of your stories or questions. The facets of this age, of this growing up, that make me wince and tense up and struggle with letting you go. I know that you are only six. I see the way your face brightens when you point at a full moon or the proud smile when you re

pictures and pictures and pictures.  some blurred by the swift movement of spontaneous laughter or sudden change in direction. some lit by bright eyes and wide smiles. some accidentally taken, by sticky-fingered sneaky hands. some grabbing the complexity of layers upon layers of color in the sky over Kerala and transforming it into tangible glory. some capturing the simplistic joy of running through the green grass of our backyard. some embodying the dreams of my parents and the faithfulness of a Mighty Creator. some attempting to freeze the exact moment i see a world of hope in the dark pupils of a small child's gaze in a busy village. some are posed and orchestrated to include all participants' best smiles and angles, all in coordinating colors. some are candid and realistic, no pattern or planning, just life.  some of these photographs will never be shared or rediscovered; some of them will not be looked at in the near future, maybe not for years and yea

happy mother's day.... to the women who love their children from the moment they are born, and for the ones who slowly fall in love with their sweet little ones, like a beautiful slow waltz. to the women who have given birth, when things went just as planned, and to those whose entire pregnancy went against all odds, sometimes scary and sometimes trying, but working towards the perfect crescendo. to the women who prayed for a miracle and got it, and for those who are still praying, and still waiting. to the women who believed that life with children would be one way, and were shocked when it wasn't, and to the women who were somehow realistic with their expectations from the beginning, but were still surprised by the challenges and the beauty. to the women who have adopted or fostered, to the ones who have the special heart to love a child as their own, and the wisdom to know that when she has the ability to do that, that child truly is her own. to all the women who

days have passed and seasons have turned and my children are growing... the past months have been filled with laughter brought on by joy, tears brought on by circumstance, decisions brought on by demand, and change brought on by necessity.  from the time i last posted, much has changed, shifted, or rearranged in our lives.  my two brave four-year-old children who entered private kindergarten were bombarded by one undesirable scenario after another and we were forced to pull them from their school. my still brave, resilient, and bright five-year-old girls are now thriving in a private pre-k that seems to be preparing them for their first year of public school kindergarten in the "big building" come august.  my littlest bubba is now walking and clapping and inserting herself into her older sisters' activities. she is independent most of the time, entertaining herself and priding herself on silly antics that make us laugh and cheer. she is headstrong, undeniably