"I want to move far away.
Since we said 'I Do', the thought of leaving this place and my family behind scares me completely. BUT in the last few days I have been feeling like God is saying strongly to prepare myself mentally to give it all up and go. For the first time in four years I would. I am willing to do it in a heartbeat. For now I will keep this tucked in my heart. I need to keep it there until I decide to pray and seek God again. Through this I feel as though I am going to learn how to sift through the old, misguided beliefs I had, and the permanent truths about Christ I've learned."
~January 2, 2009

I don't remember writing this. Not even a little bit. But I found it in a forgotten journal. It's my handwriting. No argument there. Apparently I knew all along, I just tucked it away so deep I misplaced it!

An average night consists of dinner, (possibly, nay probably, a movie), stories and bed. Then The Hubby and I retreat to the couch to watch Netflix in silence until we crawl into bed and start the days rush all over again.

Last night we had a family dinner at 4:30pm. We didn't show the kids the clock, just turned the lights off and let the setting sun dim the room as we ate.
We snuggled on the couch as BOTH kids sat mesmerized watching Spy Kids 4. The best of the series. Well, the least painful.

I texted The Hubby across the couch at 6:30pm. Let's bail on an early bedtime and go on an outing, after all, it was Friday night? He looked across the Kids elbows and knees at me, the sad, tired eyes of a Daddy ready for bed. I smiled and told the Kiddos we were leaving in ten minutes. The Hubby groaned and it took us twenty to actually get out the door.

We went to visit a stunning shopping centre. One where there were Merry-Go-Round rides, an ice rink, a ferris wheel and stores to browse. We had lattes and fresh fruit. We wandered aimlessly as the Children decided that Santa must know about ALL these TOYS, and their Christmas Lists grew. I would grin at the sales people and let them know, "Santa" will do her rounds without the loud Munchkins one afternoon.

I love routine. I love early bedtimes and blankets wrapped around my cold feet. But sometimes, the last minute surprises are the sweetest. No plans, no expectations, just simply, seizing the moment.
Moment: Consider yourself seized.

Giving Thanks.

Yesterday was precious. I woke up and immediately set in on my potato masterpiece. I should've had my coffee masterpiece first because I put the peels in the pot and the chopped potato in the garbage for quite a few minutes. The Prince was enlisted to help by entertaining Noe and Popops on Skype and The Princess was enlisted to help make sure every single chopped piece fit perfectly in the pot. A difficult job.

The Kiddos ran around excited for the party they were going to get to enjoy. The Hubby made breakfast and The Munchkins chicken was cooked. We packed up four bags of food (what you get for special diets and a big buttery get-together), we listened to the new Daughtry album and enjoyed the empty, palm tree scattered highway.

As we pulled onto Flower St. in Costa Mesa we rolled the windows down. The street was lined with trees losing their leaves and it smelled like Ontario, it even looked like Ontario.

We carried our four bags (and borrowed crock pot) into the beautiful home. The kitchen was packed with chefs working their brilliance. The Minions made themselves more than comfortable and we spent the rest of the day and evening eating, talking, eating, laughing, eating, drinking, eating.

It was lovely. A very perfect Thanksgiving. And this year, we have a whole lot to be extra Thankful for. First of which was being invited to the best dinner imaginable. And the single guys at the dinner who thought it was a riot to entertain four young children. It was awesome.

This week I have been inundated with news and updates from people celebrating their families coming together for Thanksgiving. American Thanksgiving. It's nothing like a Canadian one. It's taken quite seriously and family time is not opted out of.

After (stupidly) watching Love Actually tonight, I was overwhelmed with just how much I miss my family. Our people. The ones we adore, have history with, share memories. I miss the time I get to spend in their presence. Shopping with my girls as we check off the pressies on the list. TIme alone with Josh while my parents spoil our kids. Sitting around my in-laws kitchen table talking World News and bowel function. I miss the Tuesday coffee dates with my sister, and popping in to see my Gran Gran for a cup of tea with cookies. I am missing seeing my Dear Emma's belly grow with her precious baby, feeling it's gentle kicks. Soon, I will miss the birth. One of the biggest births in my circle, yet.

With tears pouring down my face I went to check on the noises coming from my bedroom where The Princess was supposed to be sleeping. She giddily looked up at me from under the covers, far from tired.
She saw my wet cheeks and I lay down beside her and looked into her magnificent almond, hazel eyes. Her soft lips curled downward and her eyes shut tight. She asked why I was crying, even as she was starting too, my sweet little soul. I told her I miss Noe and Popops. I miss all the people back home. And as she wrapped her little arms around my neck to pull my face into her chubby shoulder she began to sob and said "Mommy, you're not going away too, are you?"

I reassured my beautiful daughter. Her smile instantly returned and the hug was tightened. I was never leaving her side. And I wanted to be with her always. And as much as it pains me to be 3000 miles away from pieces of my heart, for her, the most important thing is we're a family. She loves everyone we've left and everyone we've grown close to down here. But she NEEDS me.

Isn't that what the holidays are all about?

There is something very special about Church.

It's not that I've been in Church since the first Sunday after my birth. Or that I lived in my childhood church on any given day of the week and knew every nook and cranny in every hallway and every room.
It's not that at six, I was given the joy of singing a solo in the Christmas pageant, or of attending youth group a couple of years too early.

Church isn't special simply because my Father was a Pastor, or that The Hubby's Father was a Pastor. Church wasn't special because of the decor of the sanctuary, the sound of the worship or the freedom to dance.

Church is a place that I enter to see God. I come expecting to sense His presence, to spend time with friends and loved ones. I anticipate to be renewed and have some clear direction given by my leaders.

I live Church everyday. God is present in my waking. In my eating. In my parenting, my working, my driving, my words. God is the centre of all I do and what I do. Yet so often I fail to show my God in the best light; and so often He reminds me of His unfailing love, His unfailing grace, His unfailing mercy. I see Jesus in My Children's smiles, in their affection. I see Jesus in the way The Hubby treats me in kindness and with patience. Church surrounds me.

But there is something precious and honouring about the Going To Church. A statement I make every time I walk out the door at 9am on a Sunday morning. A declaration that I believe in the power of Church Gathering. I believe in the Spirit of God showing up when we take the time to praise Him in His House.

I have seen my life change at the Church we stepped out of in Pickering and the Church we stepped into in Newport. We have been blessed with wise teachers who speak out the Word of God with authority and passion. We have been blessed by others who have stood in our mess with us to give us strength when we felt weak. We have been blessed with people opening their arms wide to welcome us in. We have been blessed by relationships that cross a continent and time.

Church builds my faith.
There are mornings I come in broken and finished. There are mornings I come in excited and expectant. There are mornings I come in cathartic and uninterested. But God NEVER FAILS. He always shows up. So I do too.

I haven't been waking up at the crack of dawn like I love doing. The last couple of weeks it's been a groggy, slow process to break the slumber and get out from under the warm covers.

Gone are the warm mornings with coffee on our patio. Now it is winter. Which is ridiculously awesome, and nothing to complain about, but it's also too cold to wear PJ's with the crispy morning breeze causing goose eggs to crawl up your legs..

My nose is still stuffy and the fog over my brain is beginning to drift off, but mornings haven't improved.

Unless we have a Family Sandwich.

And since we spent so long snuggling our Monkeys and squishing their squishy selves, we were rushed for school. They made it. Though not without a few threats of under-caffinatted Mommy getting annoyed.

And once they were out The Hubby and I stole a date before work. Just long enough to read off emergency questionnaire cards and not long enough to get bored. The perfect date combination.

Do not get me wrong. I am a firm believer in spending quality time with your spouse. But we have just spent FIVE! days on a couch together, watching endless scenes from the Back To The Future Trilogy while blowing our noses and drinking peppermint tea. A good, short escape from the house together was just what we needed. Short.

While The ever growing Munchkins are tucked into their beds tonight, I will paint my nails. I will have a glass of wheatgrass juice and maybe finish off with a glass of red.

I will curl up onto the couch that I have spent the last 5 days glued to (thank you seasonal cold), and I will endlessly watch some television series on Netflix.

My Christmas tree will be lit up. Because who sits in a dimly lit room with wine and the tree lights off?

I will wish that we had a fireplace. I will wish that my sister and friends were sprawled across the floor, also painting their nails.

I miss my people. But we are making new traditions and meeting new people. It is well and truly beginning to feel like home. Only half of it is in the wrong place, the wrong side of the continent, the wrong country.

Hopefully endless phone calls and pictures of palm trees with change that. I say Toronto comes to the West Coast. Permanently.

(Photos are thanks to The Hubby who sat on the couch with his box of tissues and "supervised".)

Tonight I snuggled my beauties.
And I sang to them. Along with music to hide my poor pitch.
Then The Princess looked at me and said "you've got a beautiful voice Mommy".

If you're looking for a reason to have kids, these moments are it.