All posts by Shawizms

Wife, mother of three adorable humans, dog mom of two mischievous dogs, Christ follower, football lover, and living out life in completely disorganized chaos. But loving (almost) every minute.

A mother-less Mother’s Day

Another Mother’s Day.

It’s a good day, the celebration of mothers. Goodness knows moms deserve a little celebration at least once in a while.


So too it can be a painful day, for those of us without mothers here anymore.

It’s a day flooded with pictures and anecdotes and praise and “the best mom evers” and “number one moms” or whatever else can fit on a mug, and the list goes on.

Which is all wonderful and beautiful and well deserved.

But painful.

I know, or at least I am told, that someday the pain will lessen into something not quite so raw.

But I’m not there yet.

Still now nothing quite takes my breath away like the constant reminder that all those “mom” things,

Those wonderful mother daughter things,

She and I will never do again.

I will never bring her flowers or give her a gift, we won’t sit down to brunch or get our nails done, and there are now no more deep conversations while out for a run.

Any well deserved words of praise for her I put on social media,

She’ll never read.

I now navigate the “celebration of mothers,”

Without the reason for which we are celebrating.

It’s hard.

Raw pain or “accepted” pain I know I will forever wish that she was here with me still, walking through life beside me as she always did.

Encouraging me and loving me like only a mother can do.

But for now,

For now, mom, I will celebrate all you meant and mean to me. I will honor you memory by sharing you with my children and anyone who will listen.

I will try and walk in a way you would be proud of, and I will try and show Jesus in all the ways you showed me.

And someday, someday we’ll celebrate Mother’s Day again together ❤️

(They do that in Heaven, right? Celebrate Mother’s Day? I mean, surely they’ve got to look for reasons to have cake up there too.)

How to “sleep train” your (almost) one year old in 12 easy steps.

Step one:

Decide it’s time to move baby into the room she will share with big sister. Say it is for her benefit, but we all know that you’re just tired of having to be extra quiet in your own room.

Step two:

Hype the move, so big sister is excited. Please note that you are not overly concerned about big sister having any issues, but this is a nice preventative measure.

Step three:

Prepare room. Ensure the room that has had a solo occupant for 6 years is safe for incoming baby. Plug outlets, remove tiny Legos, make sure there is nothing within baby’s reach, and construct a very, very crude blockade with which, you are telling yourself anyway, will help baby sleep, as she cannot see big sister.

Step four:

The new night routine begins. Extra hugs, songs, and giggles for the new roommates.

Extra wine for mom.

Step five:

Spend an abhorrent about of time trying to calm down overexcited baby, who has realized that big sister is also currently still in the same room. And also that she’s in a new space. With new sounds. And lights. And basically everything is different except mom keeps trying to leave.

(Please note that big sister, at this step, is asleep)

Step six:

Repeat step five for what feels like an eternity. It’s not, but it’s dang close.

Step seven:

Fat chance. You are probably still somewhere between step five and step six.

Step eight:

In the unlikely event that you were able to calm down baby enough for her to be somewhat asleep in her crib, and thus allowing your exit, take this opportunity to quickly and quietly exit the room.

Step nine.

Kick over doll house left in middle of the floor by big sister. Repeat steps five through eight.

Step ten:

Finally, finally, after hours of trying, utter exhaustion, zero patience or sense of time left, baby is asleep. Collapse on couch, think of all the chores you saved for when kids went to bed.

Step eleven:

Crawl into bed. Maybe tonight is the night the dishes will clean themselves. Get indescribably comfortable. Close your eyes.

Step twelve:

She’s awake again.

Dear Mom

I broke this week.

Just, totally broke.

It was silly, really.

My pretty little big girl colored me a picture.

Not anything special, really, just a picture she colored of a doll.

Not even a fancy doll, just one that caught her eye in a coloring book

But somehow, somehow she knew.

She informed me that it was “to help me remember Nini by” because “it was pretty.”

And I just….

I just broke.

I don’t think it was the picture, not really.

You’ve just been on my mind a lot lately.

Not that you’re ever far from my mind.

But it seems lately that everything we do reminds me of you.

From something I say that I learned from you, that of course I swore I would never say…

To the kitchen reno we finally finished.

Boy you’d be proud of how we did that kitchen mom.

I so wish you could be here to see it.

And every time we do a math page in school it makes me think of all those times you suffered through math with me.

Looks like your oldest grandchild got your head for numbers.

I’m pretty thankful for that.

How you’d chuckle if you could see me now, trying to teach someone else math.

We have a new rug too, in the hallway. Somehow without even trying it’s the same color scheme your bedroom always was.

Dark blue and white.

I see and smell and feel the inside of the antique shop you loved every time I walk down it.

I laugh every time I bake a cake, because that was your favorite!

It’s not a party unless there’s cake, you always said.

If only people knew how seriously you meant that.

You’d get such a kick too out of your only grandson, and how much he’s stretching me these days.

I never knew how so very mischievous and wild a little boy could be.

You’d just smile and tell me it was good for me, I know it.

The same way you’d laugh about me having such a girly girl daughter, the total opposite of myself.

Just like you and I in reverse.

And every time I look at the baby I think how she’s the only life in our family that you never got to touch.

I promise she’ll know who you are, even if she never got to meet you.

We gave her your middle name, you know.

So, I don’t think it was that picture after all.

Boy I miss you mom.

I miss your laugh, I miss your humor.

Heck, I even miss you telling me off for any number of things.

Most of all I miss your wisdom. Your encouragement.

Your company.

Shopping trips and lunch dates and someone to tell me that I’m not going to go completely crazy now that I have kids and no that rash is totally normal and it’s ok that you don’t look like a 21 year old anymore and to remember every-so-often

To just breath.

It’s true though, what people say, and there are slowly more good days than bad ones.


This week was a rough one.

I can’t count the amount of times I have paused in front of your picture over the last two and a half years and wondered how you could possibly be gone.

And so, I just


This sharp pain will dull again, I know.

But I thought you should know that I miss you.

Even on the not so bad days

I sure do miss you.

Merry Christmas, Mom

Every year I can remember (while living in Vermont anyway) my mom hung wreaths in the windows at Christmas time. My parents house boasted about a million windows, so naturally, you could see that baby from space. At least that’s what we teased her about every year.

When the Hubby and I moved back to Vermont I finally had some windows of my own to decorate, and without hesitation I went and got myself two little wreaths and hung them proudly.

Just like my mom.

And for the past nine years every December (ok ok, late early November…) I pull out and hang my wreaths in the windows.
Just like my mom.

I have always felt a little pride seeing those wreaths, hanging cheerily in the windows. Shining brightly against the cold Vermont weather that we are forced to able to enjoy every year.

I have always felt a little pride in any area I could model my mom.

From little things like wreaths smiling in the windows to what I wore (because let’s face it, without her input I’d be living in sweatpants and Keith’s sweatshirts 🤷🏻‍♀️), to how I try and portray my faith and serve my family.

My mom, she was (is?) my biggest hero.

And although pulling out my wreaths last Christmas and this Christmas bring pain now as well, I still hang them with pride,

just like my mom used to.

I know I will spend the rest of my life trying to be half the mom and wife and friend and daughter of the King that she was.

But at the very least,

I’ll start with the wreaths.

Two years and counting – we miss you Mom.

Merry Christmas.

‘Twas the Night Before…well, sort of

‘Twas the night before
The week before the week before the week of Christmas…

Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Except for three young children who needed a drink of water and help fixing a Lego truck and oh the baby is hungry again mommy I need to go potty!

The stockings where hung by the chimney with care
Well actually on a low mantle because otherwise the two year old might pull the stocking holders down and smash his face.

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
But Santa isn’t real and someday I’ll get to be the parent of THAT kid who ruins it for some other kid. Oops.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
Not snug enough because someone needs to be tucked in again and oh my gosh mommy why do I keep seeing these strange dancing candies whenever I close my eyes??

And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.
On the couch. Because we were both too tired to actually crawl into bed.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Those dang mice in the garage again somebody reset the trap will you?

Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
Oh great more snow now we’ve got to go shovel the driveway.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
Hey Hun I think the neighbors got a new vehicle. Looks like it runs like a deer!

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
Shouldn’t there be an age limit on flying a sleigh?

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: “Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
And to think I can’t even keep the names of my three kids straight.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, so up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys – and St. Nicholas too.
Man, Amazon is really stepping up their game this year.

And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
Hun I think there are squirrels on the roof, somethings making an awful clattering noise.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
Can we please try and not get that all over the carpet I just vacuumed and I really don’t have the time or energy to do it again…

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
If any of those toys make noise, Santa, I’m coming for you.

His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; his droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
Hey Santa hook a girl up with your skincare routine?

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
Now what kind of example is that for the children?

He had a broad face and a little round belly that shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump – a right jolly old elf; and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
Other than, you know, this strange man suddenly showing up in my fireplace. Somebody call the cops?

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
Can you teach my kids how to do that?

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, and laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
Either I’m delirious from lack of sleep or we need to get our chimney looked at, because something isn’t right here.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
Seriously where did this man get his license?

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
Finally I can go to bed oh wait

the baby’s up.

The Year They Call “2020”

Over the past few many months I have written, rewritten, erased, started, stopped, and ultimately given up on quite a few blog posts.

It seems 2020 has cornered yet another victim in “speechlessness.”

I’m still not really able to put into words everything that I’m thinking and feeling and sorting through.

But today, being the anniversary of a diagnosis that completely upended our last year, I just wanted to acknowledge that.

That I don’t have the right words – any words, really.

Although I am going to babble on anyway…

See, it seems on top of the whole global pandemic that the hits just keep on coming.

As we approach the two year anniversary of losing my mom the hole there seems just as large as it ever was.

In July we said goodbye to my grandfather, which has left another large hole in the fabric of our family.

And as I process the last year with the Smurflet, regarding his Epilepsy diagnosis last Halloween, and all that has come because of that,


I just don’t know how to say it all.

I guess I could say that it’s been hard but nowhere to go but up!

Or I suppose I could go the pity-party route and ask why me? Why us? When does it stop!

Or maybe I should do some combo of the two.

But I think what I really want to say is that it’s hard.

Maybe it’s just me, but I have found that it’s hard to walk down roads that one, you desperately don’t want to walk, and two, are both mentally and physically painful to endure.

I find it’s hard to have your world upended over and over and over again, until you feel like you’ll never catch your breath.

It’s hard when the world around you is telling you that you are doing it all wrong, when you’re just trying to keep some piece of it all even a little bit afloat.

It’s hard to balance the weight of it all.

And embarrassingly, it’s often hard (again, speaking for myself) to run back to the Gospel.

It’s hard to say that this is all good.

Not that what’s happening is good, it certainly is not, but that God is good.

So it is ultimately good.

Or will be good, one day, when we reach the glory of Heaven.

If I had to pick a word for the end of 2019 through this point in 2020 it would be: hard.

It’s a simple word, I know, and probably doesn’t pack much of a punch, but it just seems to sum everything up.

It is hard.

And I don’t have any words of wisdom for moving forward or clever quips about how it’s all going to be ok.

But what I do have are those surrounding us (from an appropriate social distance of six feet away) with the love of Jesus.

I have the continual reroute from brothers and sisters in Christ to get myself refocused on the end goal, rather than remaining focused on the here and now.

And I have my Savior.

Not that it makes it any less hard right now.

It doesn’t.

But a cure for the pandemic, healing of seizures, those things may never happen.

We certainly don’t live in a world where my mother or grandfather are going to suddenly come back.

But I have this.

Psalm 13:6: I will sing the Lord’s praise, for He has been GOOD to me.

I was given this verse a while ago by a dear friend and mentor.

Her admonishment to me, as I curled up under the weight of every crushing thing, was simply “Christ.”

Just Christ.

I was reminded that no matter what, even were I to lose every single thing I call good, I would still have Christ.

In today’s world it would seem that doesn’t come as much of an encouraging word.

We want the hard to go away.

We want to say that it’ll all work out in the end!

But sometimes,

Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes they lose the battle with cancer.

Sometimes the diagnosis goes from pediatric epilepsy that they will grow out of to suddenly exploring the possibility of future brain surgery because nothing else seems to be working.

Sometimes there is a global pandemic with no end yet in sight.

Sometimes the hard just gets, well,


So I remain thankful for the faithfulness of those around me as they remind me that ease and peace and smooth sailing is not the way of this world.

But rather, the hard, the exhausting, the painful, and yes, even the global pandemics, are to point us to Christ.

And were I to lose all I call good,

I would still have Him.

5 Ways to Successfully Survive Quarantine (According to a 4.5 Year Old)

Bake all the things. Start each day off by begging your mom to please please please let you bake something. Anything will do: cookies, muffins, donuts, etc. When she finally caves, the important piece here is to finish the fun part and leave immediately. Then tell your mom to let you know just as soon as the food is ready so you can come back and eat it. Also, she definitely doesn’t need help with dishes.


Do all the crafts. This should follow a similar pattern as outlined above. Make sure she gets everything out and prepped and ready to go, then decide you’d rather do something else. But ask mom to finish it for you. Obviously it’s important to finish what you’ve started.


Ask all the questions. Carve out some time in the day to rapid fire some “why” questions. But avoid simple ones like “why is the sky blue” or “where do babies come from.” Stick with important questions like “why did this bad sickness start?” “Who started it?” “Why won’t it go away?” You must continue your education, after all.

Wear all the clothes. Being trapped at home indefinitely requires no less than 27 outfit changes per day. And remember, if it so much as touches your body, it’s dirty. Now you’re also creating more laundry without even leaving the house. Success!

Finally, after all that, mom may need a break. She does seem a little tired these days (though you haven’t any idea why). It’s probably best to take over little sibling duty for a bit to give her a chance to recharge just a little.

sibling takeover

Then rinse and repeat.


E is for…

I have never much cared for Halloween. Probably because one: my mom never put much stock in it, and two: because when my family was living down south many years ago we used to do cool things like go to the Discovery Place for Halloween. After moving up north to the middle of nowhere just dressing up and collecting candy, which could simply be bought in large bags at the store, (and not handled by total strangers) seemed like a letdown.

I know, I’m sure I’ll hear about it from a few people. But it’s the truth.

Why do I bring this up? In March of all times?

Well the biggest point is that many a year has gone by when I’ve actually forgotten that it was Halloween.

In fact, the past few places I have lived also came with no trick-or-treaters, so it was even easier to overlook the day.

But now, as of Halloween 2019, that date is permanently seared into my mind.

Not because I’ve suddenly developed an affinity for dressing up in strange attire or asking people I have never met for candy, but rather, it was another notch in the “let’s rock your entire world” belt that my family has worn for the past few years.

Halloween 2019, for us, was spent in the hospital, ending the day with a vague but definitive diagnosis of Epilepsy for the Smurflet.

We had no idea just how tough this diagnosis was going to become.

And on top of that, with all my family has walked though in recent years, nothing,

I repeat nothing,

Prepared me for having to walk with my child through something like this.

That small tiny creature that you have been tasked with protecting.

Then suddenly, despite all your best efforts, it all seems to unravel around you with the future ahead looking very, very long.

And overwhelming.

Since the initial diagnosis we have had many tests and medicine changes and doctors appointments and I never knew you could spend so. much. time. on the phone and still get


As of this post our little Smurflet is still battling largely still uncontrolled, daily seizures.

I will say that the bright spot in his diagnosis is that he technically has “Partial Epilepsy,” which means his seizures don’t affect his whole brain, so they aren’t as heart-stopping as say a Grand Mal seizure. They are, however, still seizures. That can happen up to 20/30 times in an hour.

They can knock him right off his feet, out of a chair, etc.

Despite a myriad of medications, we are still fighting to gain control.

Despite a myriad of tests, we are still looking for a root cause.

(In all transparency, we may never find an answer to that second one)

And I’ll be honest, I’m tired.

It wasn’t that long ago we lost my mom.

Truthfully, I am largely still working through a lot of that. And now, it feels like “here we go again.”

Here is another unknown that’s overwhelming and scary and we have no idea what tomorrow will look like, let alone two or four or ten years from now.

Of course, a necessary asterisk here to say that I fully understand our journey doesn’t hold a candle to many others. We’re mere months into this, and I know many other families have walked through fire (if you) will for many years. I definitely don’t want to take away from their journeys.

I just want to say that it’s hard. Watching your kids walk a difficult path while knowing you can’t do a whole lot to really help them hurts your heart like nothing else.

It’s easily the thing that’s brought me to my knees more than anything.

It’s humbling and terrifying and so many other words I can’t think of right now.

And I don’t wish it on anyone.

And although I admit it’s hard and I need constant reminders, I have to keep bringing myself back to the cross where I know my hope ultimately lives.

Because even my precious kids aren’t promised an easy life in this broken world.

So while I pray for healing in a physical sense, I’m driven also to pray that the Lord uses this to bring both my kiddos to Him.

As I watch my little Smurflet somehow turn two years old today, I am thankful for a big God, for the Smurflet’s strong little boy spirit, and for a world of modern medicine where even scary and relatively unknown diagnoses like Epilepsy aren’t a death sentence.

But mostly I’m thankful for a big God, who is strong when I am weak.

And who holds my little boy in the palm of his hand

No matter what.

Even if E is for Epilepsy.

Come to Me all who are Weary

The other morning I walked by our bathroom mirror, and, for the first time in my life it actually stopped me dead in my tracks.

I looked absolutely terrible.

Not in the “I should lose a couple pounds” or “I hate my haircut” way, but more like I looked utterly weary.


Beaten down.

And although inside I have certainly been feeling that way, seeing it physically reflected back at me was shockingly breathtaking.

It’s been a long few months, mentally, as I slogged through the summer.

Not only was summer my mom’s favorite time of year, but it also held so many lonely “firsts” that it often left me trying to play catch-up with my emotions.

The Mini’s first birthday without Nini.

My first birthday without my mom.

First time going to the fair, first time going to the pool, first time not going to the beach, first time having to buy the kids new clothing without her tagging along.

And of course, there was probably the hardest of all, her birthday.

But as it’s been said before, time continues to march on, and however painful these events, these firsts, eventually passed us by.

However, I would be lying if I said that physically and mentally these months haven’t beaten me down.

The truth is that some days I feel like I’m barely scraping by, just trying to get one foot in front of the other.

Trying to fill the time with whatever distraction I can to try and go just twenty minutes without thinking about the giant gaping hole.

Mentally exhausted from just getting through the moments in the day.

Although I’m hoping to talk about it more in coming posts, since my mom’s passing I have also been at the mercy of some merciless anxiety.

This not only leaves me mentally defeated, but physically exhausted.

And that moment in the mirror was a vivid and awful reminder off the weight I carry these days. The mental and physical burden slowly trying to suffocate me.

It was a reminder of how incredibly weak I am.

Even more convicting, it was a reminder that I am commanded to NOT try and shoulder the weight of the world by myself.

Come to Me all who are weary, and I will give you rest.

That moment in the mirror was a reminder of how quickly I fall back into the pattern of just dealing with it myself

Instead of relying on the One who spoke and created life.

The One who holds all things in His hands.

The One who can and did carry the world on His shoulders.

The One who went through the same trials and fire I now walk through and knows exactly how painful it is.

The One who has extended salvation and grace to an undeserving and lowly sinner such as I.

How simple and silly am I to think that I can take the difficulties of this life and hold them securely in my weak, pitiful grasp.

How quick I am to forget that even if I lose it all, I still have Christ.

Him I cannot lose.

That moment in the mirror was one of many that has sent me crawling humbly back to the foot of the Cross, begging not only for forgiveness, but for the strength to carry on.

The good news, in all of this emotional mess, is that while I am unable to carry myself through the hard moments,

He is willing and




I need only come.


Loving Love

This year (more specifically last week) marks, for the Hubby and I, nine whole years of marriage. While this alone I feel is somewhat impressive, if you will allow me to toot my own (our own?) horn for a moment, it does not in entirety sum up the length of our relationship.

Before marriage the Hubby and I dated for two years, and before officially becoming a “couple” the Hubby and I were good friends for about another two years.

For those who don’t feel like doing the math, that means that for approximately the past thirteen years in some way or another we have been in each other’s lives.

In addition, a quick fun fact, I actually met one of my husband’s younger brothers a couple years before I met him, so all said and done I’ve been somewhat connected to the Hubby’s family for a LONG time (does this make me old? It does, doesn’t it?).

Ok. Other than to give you all a quick math lesson, what’s my point here?

Well really the above information is just a little brag that I have been with this man:


A long time and I haven’t killed him yet.




But on a more serious note, celebrating an anniversary always puts me down the path of “let’s think about love.“

If I had to guess, I would say that most of us, and more than likely especially the women in the house, have spent a lot of time loving love.

Yearning for love.

Seeking fulfillment of that deep-down desire to be wanted and loved by that one special person.

Searching for the I want to fall asleep and wake up next to you forever you are my whole world I will always love you the stars shine brighter with you


I know for me (and a lot of people I’ve talked to over the years) it was especially in my formative teenage years that I longed for nothing more than that picture-perfect Tom Hanks’s “You’ve Got Mail” style ending.

(Shameless plug here for my favorite rom com. Ahem. Moving on.)

There’s something special about imagining the rest of your life alongside that person who loves you more than life itself.

And it gives you all the warm fuzzies in the world when you picture a future of you and “the one” living out your days in the perfect romantic atmosphere.

But, if I have learned anything over the past nine years it’s this:

That “perfect” love we all picture? The movie version of romantic walks on the beach and cuddling by a roaring fire and always saying the perfectly timed perfectly romantic thing and just spending hours and hours staring into each other’s eyes?

That is so, SO shortsighted.

Don’t get me wrong, being with someone you love certainly begs for moments like those mentioned above.

But real love? Real true we will be together forever love?

Yeah. It just doesn’t look like that most of the time.

Real love is washing out the kiddo’s vomit bowl because your spouse just. does. not. have. it. in. them.

Real love is painting a fully functional (just not your style) but horribly ventilated bathroom in thousand-degree weather with paint that splatters like a nicked artery.

Real love is putting in overtime you weren’t planning on at home so your other half can go spend time with an old friend.

Real love is making coconut cupcakes for a birthday even though you HATE coconut.

Really hate coconut.

And real love is hard. Real love is getting to know the best and worst of someone.

Real love is disagreements and hurt feelings and angry nights spent as far away from each other in a full-size bed as you can get.

Real love is having to humble yourself to ask forgiveness when you’ve done the other wrong.

Having to humble yourself again when you mess up again.

And real love is forgiving the other person even when they’ve hurt you (again) because you have chosen to spend the rest of your life loving them.

Real love isn’t always cheesy quotes or that perfectly ended movie.

Again, don’t mishear me here – when you are working through life with the love of your life there are absolutely romantic walks in the beach and high-class dates nights and moments of staring into each other’s eyes (or so I’m told. Not so into that last one myself…).

But that’s not all love is about.

And honestly, that real in the trenches it’s your turn to get the crying baby please for the love of goodness can you do the dishes tonight love is so. much. better than anything you can imagine.

It’s so much better than movie love.

Because it’s real. It’s doing life with someone who’s been there at your best and your worst.

It’s knowing they aren’t going to walk away when things get hard because they have chosen to love you no matter what.

And it’s choosing yourself to work through the difficult moments because you too have made the decision to love them no matter what.

Real love isn’t found in perfect looking social media posts or picture perfect book endings.

Real love is shown in those hard, exhausting moments.

But moments that leave you treasuring the gift you have been given in that “special someone” to walk through life with. And having the privilege to continually choose to love them as you have been loved.

Despite them asking for coconut cupcakes on their birthday…