The moment before the photo

Confession: I'm terrible at documenting moments via pictures. I have a sister in-law who is great at it; she always seems to remember her camera, snaps a photo at just the right time, and makes awesome picture books for her kids. She isn't a professional photographer, but her pictures have captured some beautiful moments.

My style is much more...lazy casual. I take photos on my crappy cell phone and then do a mass printing of them two times a year. I give my kids the stack of photos and task them with putting the photos in their plain colored photo albums void of scrapbooking embellishments, fun captions, and stickers. I made two photo books for them once on Shutterfly, and each time it was a huge pain in the ass. I tend to be paralyzed by choice, but I also can't make an uninformed choice, so I spent an hour scrolling through all 1,764 embellishment options...for one page. My kids love these Shutterfly books and look at them often, but they also look at their giant, simple photo albums just as much.

My inability to snap photos at just the right moment paired with my preferences for interior design, means that we only have two actual photos hanging in the public spaces of our house: a picture of Nate and his dad and a black and white photo from K's adoption day in July 2015.

Strength in Accepting Help

Here is a snippet of my latest post on Her View From Home; feel free to read it and share it on social media if you're feeling generous!

One Sunday afternoon before dinner with friends, I frenetically paced the kitchen finishing the prep work for dinner. Appearing to be strung out on meth, I washed dishes, scrubbed counters, tidied our office nook, and packed the kids' lunches for the next day. When I slip into this state of crazy, there is no pause between shifting tasks. It never occurs to me to ask for help......

To read more from this post, click here! 

Do I hear five dollars? Five dollars?

Author’s Note: It’s been a while since I posted any of my personal writing that goes beyond thought spewing or a chronicle of life’s happenings, so I took time today to work on a poem to get it ready enough to be posted on my blog. This is the second draft of a poem I wrote after my grandma’s auction last month. It’s not perfect yet; it needs at least one more round of revision. I didn’t think her auction would be difficult, but, apart from the funeral, this day turned out to be the hardest part of saying good-bye to my grandma.

Do I hear five dollars? Five dollars?

Unfamiliar with the narrative behind each item

the auctioneer held out each thing or box up for grabs

and simply spit out descriptions and dollar amounts to start the bidding

Lining one room in the exhibit hall at Ag Park in Columbus were

rows of banquet tables, 35 total tables separated into sections--

knick-knacks, kitchen items, antiques, toys, electronics, books, glassware

each table piled high with Corningware, brass figurines, china,

stuffed animals, pots and pans, VHS movies, toys, baskets, afghans, and other trinkets

One smaller room connected to the larger exhibit hall contained furniture

Appliances and antique chests and chairs and benches and upright radios

stood like soldiers around the tables

and a 1961 Oldsmobile Dynamic 88 was parked in front of it all

gleaming white, hood propped open for passersby to examine

an American flag stuck proudly in its antenna hole

and the doors open displaying the car’s maroon leather interior: flawless

Strangers and a few distant relatives and family friends filed in and rifled through boxes

turning things over to examine and then dropping the items carelessly back in boxes

making lists of what they’d bid on

I weaved in and out of the aisles thinking of the memories attached to each item

the apple peeler---

that peeled the skin from Red Delicious apples--

a luxury our parents denied but grandma gave into

the multi-colored afghans---

my cousins and I layered on the living room floor,

enough to make us feel like we were sleeping on a mattress

sleepovers at grandmas watching

The Sound of Music, Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead, Lion King, and others all on VHS

a cast iron skillet---

grandma used to teach Shantelle and me how to fry an egg

7 years old, pieces of shell stuck in the yolk,

the eggs scrunched into an accordion

as we made our first attempt at flipping an egg.

Corningware--

that held orange jello salad, deviled eggs, tortilla roll-ups,

cranberry jelly in the shape of a can, and instant mashed potatoes at every Thanksgiving.

A clear coffee mug--

the only mug I ever saw grandma drink from,

coffee, hot water, or a little boxed wine.

I moved to sit on the side with my kids resting next to me,

coloring quietly in their notebooks unaware of the significance of this day

and I watched the items disappear from the tables and into the hands of strangers

the remnant of my grandmother fading

and suddenly I found myself desperate and frantic to hold something of grandma’s

My legs wobbly, my hands shaking, I hurried to the row of kitchen items

Where’s grandma’s clear coffee mugs? I asked a cousin, my voice breaking

She reached into a nearby box and withdrew the only clear coffee mug left

Do I hear five dollars? Five dollars?

Unfamiliar with the narrative behind each item

the auctioneer held out each thing or box up for grabs

and simply spit out descriptions and dollar amounts to start the bidding

and strangers and a few familiar faces held up numbered slips of papers

and carried away the apple peeler, afghans, skillets, and Corningware

back to their homes where the items would take on new narratives

but the clear coffee mug rested safely in my bag

After the auction ended, and the stuff in new homes,

I slowly sipped my coffee from the clear coffee mug

watching my kids play the night away

Mom, that’s a weird mug, my son quipped as he pumped his legs on the swing

My voice steady, I replied It’s from Great Grandma Kush

and satisfied with that answer, he went back to his swing

another sun setting

another day gone.

Hey! I have two kids

It hit me tonight that I have two children. It's a little late for the revelation, I realize. But I guess I've been so overwhelmed with scheduling doctors appointments and therapy sessions and helping K and J adjust to school and a new family that I haven't really taken much time to think about it all. I don't really know what it was about tonight that sparked a sudden epiphany. Maybe it was because Nate was gone at a show choir competition, so I parented solo (quite the handful with two five year olds!). Or maybe because tonight might have been the first night that the kids did not fight at all...it really was quite amazing. They talked about school in the car on the way to violin, they laughed through dinner, they wrestled and giggled underneath the kitchen table, and K helped J cut his hair tonight while I stepped out of the room for literally 30 seconds. I've always wanted two kids and for so long, this dream felt out of reach. All of the struggles with infertility and our failed adoption have been worth it though I never thought they would.

Hanging onto Christmas

It's four days after Christmas, and I am still listening to Christmas music. Last night I drank cocoa out of a Christmas mug one of my students gave me a few years back. My tree and decorations are still up. Nate mentioned taking them down today, and he got a scowl in return. I just can't let go of Christmas this year.

On the 19th my Grandma Kush passed away after battling cancer. This was not out of the blue as she had been steadily declining for a few months, and we did get to say goodbye. Nonetheless, it was a difficult loss for my family. My grandmother was one of the most selfless people I have ever met. She was always thinking of others. If you went to my grandma's house and told her you liked something at the house, she'd send it home with you. Because of this, our Christmas plans changed a bit. We were originally going to spend a few days at home before we galavanted to Ogallala to see our best friends. Our last day of school was the 20th, so we decided to stick out the last day and then drive to Columbus on the 21st after we celebrated our Christmas at home. We're a new family, so we had big plans of starting new traditions for the holidays. Nate and I always spend Christmas Eve looking at Christmas lights while drinking a steamy beverage, and since just about every little likes bright and shiny things, we wanted J to experience this, too. J had been struggling with his behavior for two weeks (I think he's struggling with missing his birth family...more on that later), and had a terrible day at school on Friday. We struggled through dinner and one tantrum wanting badly to keep this tradition alive. We managed to get all of us in the car, pajama clad, and spent an hour gawking at lights. We planned on doing the traditional cookies for Santa shenanigans afterwards, but as the Scottish poet Robert Burns wrote, "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry" (he used way more Scottish vocab than that). When we got home, all hell broke loose. J had a major melt down that ended with us putting him in bed early kicking, screaming, scratching, and begging to get out. We spent thirty minutes in the hallway catching him when he ran out putting him back in bed. Santa did not get cookies that night.

The next morning we ate monkey bread, opened presents, played with our new toys, packed and hit the road for Columbus. The next few days were spent prepping for what would be a beautiful funeral service to celebrate my grandmother's entrance to heaven. Though we spent our days in a hotel, we had an adjoining room with my parents, brother, and his fiance so we enjoyed quality time with them. There was just a twinge of sadness that clouded our time as we all struggled with losing grandma.

After this, we drove to Broken Bow where my parents now reside to spend a few days. We exchanged presents with the family on Christmas Eve and then eagerly awaited Santa's visit on Christmas morning. J has never shown any interest in Santa before (he even told our 4 year old nephew that Santa was fake), so we really hadn't played the Santa game. But my brother had an app on his phone that showed where Santa was, so throughout the day, J and my bro tracked Santa's whereabouts. J's excitement grew. When we put him to bed, he was anxious. Nate and I traded off for an hour laying next to him, helping him fall asleep. J was scared of Santa because he couldn't see Santa's mouth through his beard; he worried that Santa would catch on fire when he came down the chimney. Eventually, he fell asleep. On Christmas morning, in true J fashion, he came tearing into our room at 5:30 screaming, "He came! He came! There are toys in the stockings!" We spent the morning opening presents from Santa; I think we all enjoyed watching J's excitement. Because our car broke down on our way home from church on Christmas Eve, we had to catch a ride with my brother and his fiance back to Grand Island to spend some time with Nate's family. Though it was a bummer not having our own car, it was great to spend a few more hours with Nathan and Abbi.

J was so excited to see his cousins; he had been asking about them for the past two days. We enjoyed Christmas day in our pajamas as we watched all of the kids tear into gifts and then play the day away. We all went our separate ways at the end of the day. Because our car was still in Broken Bow waiting for my dad to fix it (thank God for mechanically inclined papas!), we enjoyed extra time with Nate's mom and his brother, daughter, and his new girlfriend and her kids.

6 days, 3 towns, 2 Christmases, 1 funeral, and 1 broken-down car later....we were home. Saturday was spent unpacking, purging the house, and playing. We ended the night watching J's gift to me: All Dogs go to Heaven. J fell asleep in his new tent, snuggled in a sleeping bag. While Nate showered and readied for bed, I spent a little extra time downstairs staring at our tree (which was decorated this year with my Grandma Kinzer's old ornaments) thinking about the crazy vacation we had already had. My grandmother died, we didn't get to see our best friends in Ogallala, we're having to pay hundreds of dollars to fix the remaining crap on our Subaru, and we weren't home as much as we wanted to be. Surprisingly, none of this bothers me (well, we really were looking forward to spending time with the Josjors, Parrishes, and Cones in Og) because all of this was shrouded with family. Maybe that's why I can't let go of Christmas this year.

Dwelling on blessings

It's easy in the daily grind to dwell on how difficult life sometime is. This week in particular has been trying for our new family. Little man is still trying to find his place and role in our family, so he is busy pushing every boundary. A lot is changing in his life, too. He's experienced more than many adults have, and because he's only four, he doesn't quite have the language to express himself. He expresses himself the best he knows how: through tantrums, fits, and negative behaviors. Oh...and we started school last week. It's been an exhausting week.

I'm still balancing this mother act (poorly, I might add), and this week I feel like my Bible time has been limited. Pre-kid, my quiet time was in the morning before school. It set a great tone for the day. I've tried to read the Bible in the mornings while we all eat breakfast, but inevitably I'm interrupted with puddles of syrup dripping from the table, at least six almost spilled glasses of milk, and random facts from little dude as he muses about the world over frozen waffles (I seriously never thought I'd feed my kid a frozen waffle...now I have a box of 60 in my freezer---thanks Costco). Morning Bible time= 0, little man= 17. I've tried reading at night after we put little man to bed and after I squeeze in an hour of work. This is usually an utter failure as I wind up asleep after two verses (no offense God). Tonight I switched it up. Right after we put little man down, I grabbed my Bible--before my work. I was heading to my favorite chair when little man wandered out in his Angry Bird pj's and whimpered, "I'm scared...will you come rub my back?" ASDOIUHAGER('8350q57717357! I thought. I love this child dearly, but I feel like the minute I might be able to sneak a bit of me time in, I'm needed again. After the week we've had, I was really ready for some quiet time in the Word. Nevertheless, I brought my Bible into his rom and laid out the conditions: I'd sit in his room with him, but I was going to read from the Bible...and not the one with pictures...and he couldn't talk and needed to close his eyes. I flipped to Ephesians for no reason other than I felt like it and began reading.

A few verses in I read, "All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ. Even before he made the world, God loved us and chose us in Christ to be holy and without fault in his eyes. God decided in advance to adopt us into his own family by bringing us to himself through Jesus Christ. This is what he wanted to do, and it gave him great pleasure. So we praise God for the glorious grace he has poured out on us who belong to his dear Son. He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. He has showered his kindness on us, along with all wisdom and understanding" (Ephesians 1:3-8). The whole first chapter of Ephesians is gang-busters. I just love it. But these five verses really sunk deep into my heart tonight. This week I've let my frustrations claw their way into my heart and fill it almost entirely so that I was blinded from the blessings God has given me...the most important: My inclusion into God's family; His grace through His son. It was like a dope-slap from God.

This year will be crazy as we figure out how to be a family on top of teaching full time, and I'm sure the crazy will sneak up on me drive me bananas. But I know it's easier to be a good mother and a decent teacher when I'm overflowing with joy than seething with irritation, so my goal this year is to guard my heart from frustration replace it with gratitude. No easy task for sure, but a worthwhile venture, I'd say.

If I Should Have a Son

Author's Note: This piece has been a long time coming. Earlier this year I ran across this TED Talks video from poet Sarah Kay where she performs her piece, If I Should Have a Daughter (see below). I fell in love with the poem instantly. Much later this school year my English 9 students had some great conversations about society's expectations of girls---and many of my 9th grade young men surprised me with the maturity in their comments. One of my boys stated poignantly, "I'm attracted to girls who are more natural, the ones who don't wear make up," and right then I thought, man, if I have a son--I want him to be like so many of these young men I have in my class. This summer I finally got time to sit down and write the piece in response to both of these incidents. I should also preface that I realize this is all a bit idealistic of me--but I've always been one to dream big....

______

If I should have a son I will be sure he knows we will always be here. His dad and I will not leave him like so many parents do. We will stay and remain firm, and though we won’t have all the right answers and make all the right choices, he will know we love him. And later, much later, he’ll want the same for his own family.

I’ll teach him that he was divinely and wonderfully created, and though he was adopted, his momma loved him more than words. She loved him so much she made the difficult choice to grow him and then give him to us so he could have all he needed. I’ll let him ask questions about her. And I’ll work to keep her involved in his life, and I’ll be sure he knows that she is his mom just like I am his mom.

I will teach him that to be strong does not not require hours in the weightroom; instead it requires openness to feel, to respond, to engage, to love, and to stand firm on his convictions when all around him the sand shifts.

I’m gonna be sure he opens doors for me so on that day long in the future when he picks up a girl for a date, he does the same without thinking. And when he drops her off, he will walk her to the door, thank her parents, and shake her father’s hand for allowing him the privilege to date their daughter. I wanna teach him to look beyond makeup and clothes, to see each girl as beautiful and unique and worthy of his respect. When that first girl breaks his heart, his dad and I will be there to comfort him. We will not let him speak hate out of hurt or turn to destructive outlets to ease the pain. We’ll teach him to get back up though he might not want to. And if he should choose to marry, he’ll pick a wife who loves Jesus and serves others before herself, who brings out the best in him and helps soften all those not so awesome qualities.

“Because you are a man, you have the responsibility to lead well” I will tell him. And he won’t like it because some of his friends will neglect this responsibility and it will require him to be different, to be bold during the tough moments when he’ll want to give in like the other “cool” guys. And he’ll mess up and take wrong turns. But we won’t yell at him, even though we’ll want to. We’ll help him examine the situation and find out where he slipped up so he won’t make the same mistake too many times.

I will raise my little man to be decent towards others, to be genuine, and when that one boy in his English class doesn’t get picked for a group because he smells funny and talks different, I want him to reach out to him and say, “Come work with me.” And later on in life when it would be easy to slip into a middle class comfort zone, I will encourage him to step out and into tension so he doesn’t remain stagnant and close-minded.

When he asks a thousand questions a day, and when he questions my rules, I will breathe deeply ten times reminding myself that to question is to learn. “What else do you wonder?” I’ll ask.

And when life catches up with him, and he feels too tired to take another step, I’ll teach him to go another mile. I’ll run alongside him in this marathon and help him fight past the wall of exhaustion that so often paralyzes because giving up is not an option.

Finding a place to call home

When I think of a dream home, I picture an old craftsman style abode with stucco instead of vinyl siding. I want a large, covered front porch from where I could sip my coffee from a swing early in the morning while I watch the neighborhood come to life. I picture built in bookshelves, bay windows, and original 1920s woodwork. Of course, this home would sit on a quaint street in a small town located outside an urban area. Our neighbors would be a mix of cultures and backgrounds and would be the type of people from whom you could “borrow” a cup of sugar. And of course, our kids would be able to walk to school by themselves and play catch in the streets with the other neighbor kids.

It’s funny how our dreams take shape; I’m not really sure when I concocted this romantic world. But as my husband and I transition from small town living to urban dwelling and begin searching for a home, I find myself struggling with more than simply sacrificing a bit on my dream home decor.

The issue of where to land and grow a family is a contentious one. Omaha is a much bigger city than what I’m acclimated to--and it seems there are more issues affiliated with living here. I talked with one Omaha native about looking in the west Omaha area for a home simply because it would be a manageable drive for both me and my husband. “Oh,” she stated. “Well, just know that people will think certain things about you if you live out there.” While the comment might seem rude on the surface, I believe she said it simply to let me know of the realities of living in a suburban and largely affluent portion of Omaha.

A significant part of me wants to live and raise kids in an area rich with diversity and easy access to arts, culture, and local flavor--somewhere that seems quite the opposite of west Omaha. At times I feel uncomfortable in suburban areas because I feel sorely out of place. I don’t have the clothes, the vehicles, or even the furniture to fit in. However, living in suburbia has its draw: proximity to jobs, the familiarity of a primarily homogeneous area (a quality similar to where we both grew up), and homes that are more than move in ready. Familiarity seems alluring because in my mind, familiar equals safe. Who doesn’t want to feel safe--especially if kids are added in the equation?

It seems crazy, but I’ve really been struggling with these issues this week. It’s hard not to assume that a diverse area is isn’t safe. It’s also hard not to assume that suburban areas are filled with white middle class folk who don’t want to interact with much diversity. I’m trying to dismiss my preconceived notions about each segment of Omaha and search instead for the “right” place to call home. For me, it’s important to be intentional about this decision so we can live well in our new place. I’m confident this will be a difficult decision for us. When it’s all said and done, I hope I can look back and be thankful that we were so deliberate.

A deep imprint

My friend Ryan runs a home medical equipment business, which means he often visits patients in their homes in order to get them what they need to make life more pleasant for them when they're ill or in their last days here on earth. I don't know how he does it. The smell of hospitals and sick people makes my stomach turn. The sight of oxygen tanks and tubes sends my heart racing. Ryan's currently working with a patient who used to be a hired hand for his own grandfather, and this patient is one of those who's in his last. Earlier this week he told Ryan he'd like to hear some gospel music. Being the nice guy he is (I have great friends), he gathered our little bluegrass band up and today we drove to this guy's house to put on a little mini concert for this guy, his wife, and his son.

The guy was in a hospital bed and on oxygen. He looked so frail and small in his bed. His wife stood barefoot, leaning against a bed post. The son lounged on the bed near his father while the pet Cocker Spaniel slept between the two men.

We started with Gillian Welch's "By the Mark," and the first note out of my mouth was shaky beyond belief. I had shoved my hands deep into my front jeans pockets in an attempt to hide the shaking. Tears welled in my eyes as as I sang "When I cross over, I will shout and sing..." My legs felt rubbery, like they'd give out any moment. I couldn't get my body to stand still--nor could I tame the vibrato in my voice. I've sang this song at least 100 times and know the lyrics by heart, but still I kept my eyes glued to the music. I couldn't make eye contact with the man we were singing to; if I did, I'd lose composure.

Throughout the song my mind wondered to the last time I'd seen someone so sick and frail. I think I was 7 or 8, and it was my grandpa. He had lung cancer. I vaguely remember a hospital room, and his small frame tucked in those sterile looking white hospital blankets. I remember the oxygen tanks and the hum of the machines in the room. I think I remember hearing people cry, but mostly I remember feeling scared out of my mind. I'm not sure what I was scared of. Maybe deep down, I feared that was the last time I'd see my grandpa.

We fumbled our way through many of our songs that are, ironically enough, mostly sad or about death. As we sang, my voice eventually settled and calmed to its original straight, smooth tone. I slowly gained courage to peek at the wife who kept her eyes mostly fixed on her husband, and the son who seemed deep in thought. A few times I glanced at the old man and give him a sort of half-smile as I sang. During one of the songs he stared straight ahead, and I wondered what he was thinking. Was he negotiating with God for more time with his beautiful wife? Was he remembering days spent with his children? Or was he thinking of the long list of regrets we sometimes think of when we come close to death?

Soon other family members crowded into the house, so we ended with "I'll Fly Away"---another song about death. Though it's a hopeful song about being free and joyful to meet the Creator of the universe, I couldn't stop myself from thinking about all of these people who'd soon be without a loved one. The shaking returned and the tips of my ears grew a deep hue of red and felt fiery. I was thankful when the last chord rang. We packed up and drove home, making small talk until we finally got back to Ryan's house. After I shut my front door behind me, I let myself cry for just a few minutes as I remembered the frail little man we sang for and my own grandfather. Those 40 minutes left a deep imprint in my memory; I hope we brought a little joy to Ryan's patient and his family during what I'm sure is a tough time.

We have a doctor in the family!

For the past few years my sister in-law, Amy, has gracefully pulled many all-nighters, sacrificed hours of time, juggled an insane schedule, etc, etc. while she's pursued an Doctoral Degree in Education. Her husband and kids have cheered her on every step of the way...and today...she defended her dissertation. We got word this afternoon that we can officially call her Dr. Nebesniak! We are so proud of Amy and of all she has accomplished. She is a great inspiration to us!

Congrats Amy Dr. Nebesniak!

Blessings

As usual, it's been a busy Christmas season for us. So far we've celebrated with my mom's side (including my grandpa who made the long trek to Nebraska from Texas), my dad's side, and my husband's immediate family. We live far away from our families, and we don't always get to see them as much as we'd like; I'm grateful for the time we've had to spend with all of them. In past years, I've struggled immensely with holidays and have seen them as a reminder of what I don't have. This year has been different. During some of our traveling, Nate and I took time to talk about how blessed we are. It's easy to dwell on what we don't have, and sometimes I tend to do this. But as I drove down highway 30 with my hand in my husband's, listening to Christmas music, I was overwhelmed with all God has given us (in no particular order):

• Salvation. I am overwhelmed by the gospel message and am thankful for those in my life who have aided in deepening my faith.
  
• Stable finances. We've been blessed with a sense of frugality and have in turn been able to give to our church and missions, save money, pay for graduate school for both of us without taking out loans, and take a few trips here and there.
  
• A healthy marriage. Our relationship is certainly not perfect, but over the past five years we've grown as a couple and have learned more about what it means to have an Agape kind of love.
  
• Fulfilling jobs. Working with kids every day is maddening but is the most rewarding experience I've ever had.
  
• Supportive and loving family and friends. We can count on our families for just about anything, and we consider some of our friends to be family. I can't imagine going through life without these people.

If you're not able to celebrate with those you love, if you're experiencing an emptiness, or if life has brought about unexpected changes that leave you feeling alone and restless--I hope you can find peace in recognizing and thinking about all you have.

Outstanding Young Choral Director of the Year

Nate and I after he received his award...ignore my cheesy smile!

I spent Friday in Lincoln because my husband received the Nebraska Choral Directors Association Young Choral Director of the Year award! A good friend of mine from high school and her dad (both are choir teachers) nominated him for the award and worked to gather all the letters of recommendation which I'm sure is time consuming work. I truly believe Nate is deserving of this award. He works tirelessly to place his students first in his job--politics are not a priority for him and furthering his career takes a backseat to doing what's best for his students. He doesn't get a lot of recognition for his job, and I think he has sometimes felt undervalued. But he is amazing! Here's a short list of what he he's done in his six short years of teaching:

• Directed a K-12 choir program in Elm Creek for two years and a 6-12 choir program (with jazz choir, show choir, and musical) in Ogallala for four years
• Was a clinician for a middle school music festival in Colorado last year and will be a clinician at two honor choirs this winter
• Has had several students selected for the All State choir (too many to count!)
• Took two groups of students to Chicago to perform at various locations
• Is currently serving as the high school Repertoire and Standards Chair for NCDA and has become active in the organization this year...he is very concerned about supporting young teachers in particular, and does a great job of blogging and maintaining their Facebook page encouraging and promoting intellectual conversations.
• Almost completed a Master's Degree in Music Education
  

I'm sure I'm forgetting something! But the list isn't as important as how much he cares about his students. His passion for kids is my inspiration. Watching Nate receive that award was one of my proudest moments as a wife. He's truly deserving of the award! Congrats Nate!

I'm a terrible wife and forgot my camera at home, but my mom was there to snap photos as was Nate's entire family. So, as I get them, I'll post them :)

Celebrating Men on Father's Day

I never really knew how important fathers and men were until I read Don Miller's book, Father Fiction: Chapters For a Fatherless Generation---a book about the impact of dads and what happens to kids when they grow up without one. I am grateful to have so many great father-figures in my life.

I'll start with my dad, Mitch. Though he's not my biological dad, he will always and forever be my dad. From the time he and my mom got married, I was his daughter---he's always been there for me; I know I can count on him for anything. From him I've learned to be an individual--to be strong and take crap from no one. He's taught me that nothing comes easy, and a little hard work pays off in the long run. Next, my Grandpa Kinzer. Though he's not a father to me, he is worthy of celebration on this day. I don't remember a game, meet, performance, tournament, or concert without my grandpa. He came to everything! I could always hear him cheering for me during races and games. My grandpa has also taught me to work hard, appreciate family, and have a little fun. Next--my dad, Dave. Though we haven't spent as much time together as each would like, I have learned an important lesson from him: to keep God at the center---to make Him my rock, to study His word and let it be a guide for my life. This brings me to another dad---the most important--my heavenly Father who has never and will never abandon me. Who offers me the greatest gift of all: grace.

Even though today is a day of celebrating our dads and father-figures, death, divorce/separation, absence due to military service, or the inability to have children make this day tough for some. And we should be sensitive to this---we should pray for those who struggle with this holiday. This brings me to my next dad....my father in-law, Denny.


This is Nate's favorite picture of him and his dad. Nate's dad died 18 years ago, so I never had the chance to meet him. But I've heard loads of stories, and I know his kids well enough to know that he was an incredible father. Even though I've never met him, I celebrate him today for being an amazing father to his three kids---for helping to shape my husband into the man he has become. I know that he would be proud of Nate.

And last, but not least...my husband. My husband is not a father---but has been a father-figure for so many kids. He loves our two nieces and one nephew like his own children, and he's been a strong male role-model for so many of his students. Today, a student of his wished him a happy father's day and said Nate was like a second father to him. I am so blessed to be married to someone who makes this big of an impact on kids. Though today makes me sad that I can't celebrate him as a father to our own children, it also makes me hopeful that we will one day have this chance.

This holiday is technically set aside to honor fathers, but I think it should be set aside to honor men. Fathers are not the only people who have an impact on kids---there are many fatherless kids (kids without dads or kids growing up with distant, uninvolved dads) who NEED a positive father-figure. Fathers or father-figures just offer something that a woman can't. Kids need dads or men who are willing to act like dads to teach them, support them, love them, help them grow, and lead them to Christ. So---thanks to all you guys out there who are fathering your own kids or who are providing a father-figure to kids in need.

Nate

As I went about my business doing housework today, I got to thinking about my husband and how great he is. Actually---great is an understatement---but a stronger adjective escapes me at the moment.

I am in awe by this guy. Here's just a couple reasons why (if I listed them all--this post would be insanely long):

• His hard working nature---if you know Nate, you know that he works hard. He is committed 100% to his students and always tries his hardest to do what is best for them. It's really inspiring to me. Though he won't admit it, he's had great success in his job. Each year he's been teaching he's had students selected for multiple honor choirs and this week he was asked to hold a leadership position with the Nebraska Choral Directors Association. For the past two years he's been working on a Master's Degree in Music Education from UNL so he can better himself as a teacher. Not only does he work hard at his job, he works hard at home, too. Whether it's yard work, dish duty, paying the bills, etc---if it needs done, Nate does it. I'm so blessed to have a husband who shares in the housework load.
• His support---I give him crap a lot for not being as sentimental as he was when we were dating, but he really is a sincere and supportive guy with a big heart. The past three years have been rough as we've struggled with the emotions of infertility. But Nate has never once made me feel like my emotions are too extreme or over the top, and he's always been willing to listen or hold me when all I can do is cry. He's also been so supportive with me this year as I've taken many steps (which inevitably means more commitments) to further my career. He's the one person in my life who I know I can count on 100%. Not only is he supportive of me, but I also see him lend this same commitment to his family. His mom, sister, brother, brother in-law, nieces and nephew are so important to him. Though we live far away and don't always get to be at every celebration or get-together---he tries hard to make sure these people know he cares for and loves them very much.
  

I am so blessed to have him by my side!

My mom

Me, my mom and my brother's girlfriend at Christmas time

At our house on Sunday night...

My mom is the best mom ever...seriously, she rocks. Here's one reason why:

A few weeks ago I was talking to my mom about how stressed I was with musical, school, grad classes and our adoption, so on Sunday afternoon she drove four hours to come see our musical. When we came home from striking the set, she had the table set and an amazing dinner and desert waiting for us. Then...she took Monday off so she could clean our house to help us prepare for our home inspection for our adoption! She left this afternoon while we were at school, but when I came home---the house was spotless, the table was set and dinner was in the crock pot. What a great woman with a servant's heart; a great example as we prepare to hopefully start our own family!

Thanks mom for all of your help!

Fun with Denelle

Nate and I had some fun with our four year-old niece, Denelle, today. We played around with Photo Booth by taking silly pictures---it was great hearing her laugh hysterically at the distorted faces on the screen. Once we finished taking photos and making videos, Nate did a great job of putting it all together to create this short iMovie:

Playing Dress Up with a 5 Year Old

A few weeks ago my niece, Alexis, was spending the weekend with her dad (my brother in-law) and we happened to be in town. So we had some quality time together to: practice her spelling words (she's in Kindergarten), watch movies, build a fort in the living room, and play dress-up. This little girl is so creative and full of energy--she's a blast to play with because her imagination runs wild. We were playing some form of house and our dog Sampson was "the baby"--so Alexis and I dressed up Sampson:

Sampson sporting his new I Love Kindergarten t-shirt and green tutu.

Playing with little kids is great. Not only does it make me excited to have my own children, but it reminds me to lose my inhibitions. To just go crazy and wear the silly, sparkly angel wings and make up dialogue for a half-naked Barbie doll. We can learn a lot from little kids about living in the moment...

A day with Deni and Kael

A little over a week ago we had the opportunity to spend an entire day with our niece Denelle who is four and our nephew Kael who is nine months. Because we live so far away we don't get to see the little boogers as often as we'd like, so it was awesome to spend a full day with them.

In the afternoon we went to the park behind their house. After Deni played for awhile she ran up to me and said, "Aunt Elle, remember last year when we collected pine cones here? Can we do it again?" I couldn't believe she remembered that! So...we collected pine cones :)

This little guy is so smiley nearly all of the time! You just can't help but love him!

I love this photo of Nate and Deni--she was walking him to the park :)

Fun at Branched Oak Lake

Last night Nate and I went to Branched Oak Lake near Malcolm with Amy, Pat, and Denelle to start a campfire and eat brats and s'mores...we ate way too much and had a great time :)

Fun with Denelle

These are some photos we took on Photo Both with our niece Denelle...she loves the goofy, or as she pronounces it "doofy" pictures :)