We’ve had our last ballet class.

We’ve had one last solo dance in the kitchen.


She’s ridden her bike like a beast down the driveway.

She practiced her one-handed cartwheel and some dance moves.

She took a good jump on the trampoline, perfecting her handspring and front flip.

(insert maternal heart attack here)


Andrew read Psalm 91 for family worship and we celebrated God’s faithfulness and His safety. We laid hands on her as a family and each person prayed for her.

And if you think I wasn’t weeping at a fast clip, you haven’t been around here long.


And when Willa piped up with her own prayer, her voice shaky and her hand clutching her sister’s tightly, I managed not to Snoopy wail. (applause, please.)

We promised her one last family dance party: and so we did.


She’s had her pre-surgery bath, the scrub down with the weird chemical-laden cloths, and I dug up some clean underwear and pajamas for her to wear to the hospital.

Let’s go grow a leg, people.

Thank you for your prayers.

(I’ll be updating on Instagram, Lord willing.)


Temporarily Beached

Due to a simple twist of the calendar and a strong sense that we should travel now before we are all housebound for a bit, Andrew and I are squeezing in some adventures this week. He and I snuck away to the beach for two days. Admittedly, he was working at a conference, but we’re calling it our “early anniversary getaway” since we’ll be in the hospital with Mira on our actual anniversary.

Getting us out of town is never easy. It’s not easy when we’re taking the kids, and it’s not any easier when we aren’t. I’m not sure if it’s just us, if it’s having all of these people, or if this happens to everybody, but something always goes slightly awry before a trip.

This time, it was a whole bunch of little things conspiring against us until we looked at each other and asked, “Is this really a good idea?”

Andrew forgot to pick up his dry cleaning, which meant he had no fancy work duds to wear to his conference. Commence closet scrounging… There was the usual kid drama that comes with all the moments in our lives. Parenting is rough, man. Plus, our work schedules last week got out of hand and bled into the weekend and suddenly we were out of steam and out of time to get our lives in order before it was time to leave.

Sometimes, it just feels like it would be easier to stay home.

But: Beach.

So we pressed on…

And then our water quit working. Just… nothing coming out of the faucet. For 12 hours. We managed to fill up a few sinks before the water disappeared completely so we were fine. I did have to wake everyone first thing in the morning and inform them: “Girls, don’t flush. Boys, go pee in the woods. And nobody poop til we get to church.”

Things we never think we’ll have to say…

Fortunately, the break at the main was fixed just in time for Andrew and I to pop a wheelie in the driveway and screech out of town.


Our precious people gathered round and took over the kids for us. I will never fail to be awed by those sweet souls who just say, “Yes, tell me when,” if we ask for childcare. Bless ‘em.

Of course, we picked the two busiest days of our week to skip town, so my poor sister was left to run the kids All The Directions and get them to co-op with their backpacks, homework, and shoes firmly in place.

She is a wonder.

Meanwhile, I sat in a hotel room and watched the rain fall on the beach. Not that I minded. A rainy beach view is still a beach view, if you ask me. It is my happy place, and I’m happy no matter the weather.


It did take me a full 24 hours to wind down and get the praying, crying, and re-centering I seek when I hit the sand. Nothing like mingling your tears with a great big ocean to get a healthy dose of perspective. So I gathered my wits, put all my fears in the hands of a Great Big God, and squared my shoulders to face another year.


Meanwhile, Andrew was still working. Poor thing. I resisted the urge to send him pictures of my toes in the sand. But just barely…

We scrambled back home to see our people. I gathered them all up for hugs and then ran to unpack my suitcase so I could pack it up again. Mama was headed out for a girls’ weekend…

I wasn’t even home 24 hours. In that time, we did all the re-packing, all the talking about our days apart… and then there was Willa’s rash.

She had it before we left for the beach, but it was tiny and I thought it was just a scratch. By the time we returned home, it had spread down her face and neck. We were pretty sure it was hives, but while I put the finishing touches on my suitcase, Andrew dashed her off to the pediatrician just to be sure. Sure enough, she’s allergic to the horses next door. I honestly thought that was just a made up allergy for people who are scared of horses. *Sheepish face*

Her heart is broken that she can’t be friends with horses and her booty is a little sore from that shot she got. But she looks better now, according to Andrew. The whole gang dropped me off at the airport and I’m sipping a ginger ale with 100 other strangers in a tiny tube mid-air. It’s a little bit blissful.

But I miss my people and our brand of crazy already.


I’m gonna take this chance to breathe, to laugh with my buddies, and to have an adventure or three. But mostly the breathing part. And then when I get home, it’s the next big adventure: #miraclegrow.

Nothing like a little beach time and some bone-growing on the horizon to make you feel like anything is possible. See you next week, Gang!