A New Eve.

Last year, on Christmas Eve, I spent some time mourning a loss of the life I had envisioned for my baby boy.

It was necessary in that moment to feel that way.
Retrospectively, within those moments much of the grief that was still abiding very deeply inside my heart was able to heal.  Although I do not credit myself entirely with the awakening that began in that time, I am very proud of the place I've come in terms of Deak and how his journey will be here, with us. 

I am okay.

I am okay with where he goes and what he does.

I am okay, as long as he is happy.
More accurately, I am loving every single moment of his happy.

I had a friend a few years ago, who traveled the special needs road with her own son a couple years before me.  She and I were discussing our feelings on "mainstreaming" vs. specialized service classrooms. At the time I had VERY strong feelings about what Deakon's school picture needed to "look" like in order for him to be successful.  She listened and said, "You know, as long as Rems is happy, I am okay with whatever."

I thought she was crazy; I didn't understand why she wouldn't want to push and push to get her son as "normalized" as possible.

Sometime earlier this year, I had a conversation with her about this discussion we had had a few years ago.

I told her that although I pretended to be nice, I thought she was nuts.
But, not now.
Now, I get it.

She laughed in a I knew you'd eventually get here with me kind of way.

Happy is what's important.

Not skill sets, or developmental levels, or IQ scores.

Happy.

Does that mean I will not provide every opportunity within my reach for Deakon to achieve his highest potential?

Absolutely not.

I am just okay with the journey, and the length of time he needs to get there.

I am okay, because I get this:

And this boy LOVED Christmas.

Abby is an over-achiever in all areas, excitement at Christmastime being no exception.

She FEELS the Season.

So much so, that a phone call to the pediatrician and a dose of Melatonin each night has become necessary for all of our survival.

This year was a little different for her.  We did not have our own house, our decorations that she has grown up with were tightly sealed in the mad chaos of a disaster we like to call a storage unit, and she had to share the Christmas morning spotlight with a few more.  On the other hand, she got to spend the most awesome night/morning of the year with her Grandparents and Maddi, and that was extra special for her. 

In fact, I think Santa did a little over-compensating for this year of changes in the toy delivery department.

A few extra toys can add oodles to one's aptitude for resiliency.

Christmas Eve was spent eating dinner at Texas Roadhouse, listening to Grandpa Payne read from Luke,

opening a new Christmas book and gift from Grandma Payne,

and Christmas pajamas.

Cookies, milk and a little something extra were left for Santa to enjoy.

A wonderful beginning to a wonderful day; celebrating the birth of a boy without whom I would not be able to experience my little family's realm of happiness.
And...happy, we are.
(Mostly:)

Santa, Baby.

We are pretty stoked over here for the big night.

Thank goodness for Melatonin.

This is it.

This shall go down as the first year I have not sent Christmas cards since Ab was born.

I really love keeping in touch with friends and family, but something had to give this month...and the card was it.

So, an ecard via blogging it is:

In case you were wondering, I literally took around 46 pictures of these two crazy people.

Forty.Six.

And, this is just about the only one that turned out.

They sure are cute crazy people.

2010 for the Howe's:

Deak:  Crawling, eating, signing, eating, Heaven-sent preschool teachers, eating, Yo Gabba Gabba and most recently Dora, eating, walking lots and lots in his little green walker and eating.

Abby:  Cheer, major tumbling (she's up to round off triple back handsprings on the mat), soccer, friends, 100% over achiever academically, kind-hearted wise cracking and a not sleeping.

Jen:  Fancy machine imaging systems, work at work, work at home, TiVo, loving on her babies and not sleeping (see above).

Blair:  Work, Ute Football, Broncos Football, Jazz Basketball, Lakers Basketball (Boo) , supporter of Jen,  avid Deak flipper and quite frankly...sleeping rather well (so well that he even "sleeps" when he is watching Deak...let's just say I came home to a very naked child who had stripped himself and was kneeling in front of the big screen alone watching Dora for who knows how long.)



We hope your year was filled with a much crazy happiness as ours.

We love you,

Blair, Jen, Abby and Deak

Christmas, Christmas and Christmas.

It's an exhausting season, right?

I think that is partly why I love it, though I do feel as if I've been hit by a mack truck at the end of some days.

I am thankful for its' message and opportunities to spend time with family and friends, but am somewhat relieved to feel a little less hectic when it is over.

(Although, for some warped reason I do feel a bit of a let down after).

Regardless of my feelings, this season has provided some great picture taking material.

Festival of Trees Encore.

Santa stopped by unexpectedly after we made Gingerbread house, and coincidentally (or not) right after the girls had "emailed" him.



 (Pants are always optional).

We finally were able to slow down long enough to spend some time decorating the tree (or more accurately...watching Ab, Maddi and my mom decorating the tree).

Love it all.

Love how this crazy, busy insane season likes to force us to focus on spending time together.

Festival of Trees, Tree #2

Abby's third grade class (and all the other third grade classes in her school), rallied together to create a tree for one of their classmates, Aumberlee, who has been battling Leukemia this past year.

Cute Aumberlee chose the theme of Pink and Puppies, and all the students got to participate by making some of the ornaments which adorned the branches.

The third grade classes also worked very hard on a Christmas Choir Program which they performed at the Festival of Trees during the week.

It was darling.

Such a neat experience; grounding all these kids together by serving one of their own.

I got to go with Abby's class while they performed at the Festival of Trees, and Abby got the opportunity of showing many of her classmates the tree she had worked so hard decorating for her brother. 

It was double awesome in her book.

I'm fairly certain this year will go down in the memory books for Ab for several different reasons.  This festival and both trees she experienced being a couple of them.

The opportunity to serve and think of others' is a gift that when given to us, we should latch onto and appreciate...and I need to keep that idea as close to the surface as possible.

(Cute Ab and Elle)
I am thankful that the teachers in Abby's grade provided this opportunity for my daughter and her friends. It will forever impact their lives, and hopefully it will permeate the way they think about this Holiday season for a long time.

Smile.

If this doesn't make you smile, I'm not sure what will.

Deak and his school bff, Indy, sure love each other.

It's a classic boy/girl relationship; Deak does crazy things like dancing while eating his snack...and Indy giggles and thinks he's so funny.

It is absolutely endearing.

Endearing all the way through to your soul.

Indy and Deak are connected with funky chromosomal changes (his the 18th and a ring, hers the 13th and a little bit extra), but I have a strong suspicion they would've found each other one way or another on this Earth.  Yesterday while I visited the classroom, Deakon's teacher even suggested that we (the mom's) exchange phone numbers so the two can have play dates.

Wow, play dates.

Now...that is an awesome, unexpected miracle.

Lucky me, I get those kind of miracles all the time.

Guess those funky chromosomes are worth a lot more than the world may think.

Speaking of Deak, he is amazing.

I've purposefully stopped creating lists of what he can/cannot do, because that's not what his experience is about. 

It took me a while to realize that. 

I do have to say that he is doing so well.

He is progressing steadily in his new private physical therapy (going from his knees to standing with minimal support...yay!!!), he is progressing with his infinite ways of communicating (signing being the fave for the moment, we especially love, "Touchdown"), and (knock on wood) he has not missed more than one day of school due to illness this entire first half of the year.

Miracles indeed.

I'm lucky to have his miracles by my side forever.

Football Season

Love our Utah Season Football tickets.

Love.Them.

We have chosen to spend what little extra money we have had the past couple of years buying these tickets, and we are more than happy we have.

Awesome Memories.

(Except the TCU game, that one sucked big time this year).

 Ab actually decided to use her ticket a couple of times, which we have loved.

She even braved the poncho weather for a good two hours during one game.

Blair was proud.

Oh, this hat.

It could tell a thousand tales, I am sure.

It belongs to a man, who may or may not be leading a double life.

Let's just say...when you sit behind someone for three years, and they "appear" to bring a certain mysterious woman on occasion...you may begin to question fidelity.

(I glared him down pretty hardcore the following game; he didn't care.)

We are super stoked about the Ute's new conference and look forward to getting/recruiting half decent quarterbacks in the future.

(Seriously cannot stand Jordan Wynn.)

Chapter Five - Sometimes it's Okay to Turn your Head.

The fire burned intensely; needing refueling every night around 10:30 when his swing shift would end at Chevron.

I'd wait for him...sometimes even show up a little early.

I was going to school most mornings and working most afternoons, and he was working most evenings.

The 10:30 - as late as I could get away with while living under the same roof as my parents - schedule was one we lived with for quite a while.  It's amazing how few hours of sleep one needs while tending to the coals of a newly formed flame.

The lapsed time between the first date and the second was invigorated with nightly trips to SconeCutter and basement movie "watching."

Although "watching" could probably be considered a relative term.

We were not apart for one night; it was infatuation at its' best.

Our second date was an actual group date and involved a group of people with whom I had had no real experiences with.

They were older, and one especially, thought she was so much cooler.

She may have been more cool before, but she had not yet met the new me.

We were supposedly going bungee jumping, a request which I backhandedly complied with.

I wore sandals.
(Sandals are not allowed...he.he.he).

He busted me on the sandals.
The stars were aligned in my favor though, because when we arrived at our destination we discovered the tower had closed.
Shoot.
So, our group collectively decided to go inside the 49th street Galleria and bowl.
Amidst the clapping of pins knocking into one another, and awkward I do not know you, so I'll laugh at whatever pretentiousness...the older girl attempted to make everyone do push-ups if they got a gutter ball.

Fat Chance, as if I was going to do that.

She looked at me disgustedly and said, "Hey! Get down and do them."

I glanced her way and calmly said, "Um...no. I'm pretty sure I don't have to do push-ups just because you told me to."

The tone of my response may have vaguely resembled "you can go to hell."

The older girl then whined to her date about the fact that I was refusing to be bossed around.

It was awesome.

He smiled.

My red heels were capable of handling their own business, thank you very much.

The drive back home was infinitely longer due to the fact that the older girl and her date were our drivers.

But, longer drives were so much more fun when he sat next to me.

He walked me to my front door, mentioned how nice of a time he had had, and leaned in.

I knew it was coming.

His friend had glanced over his shoulder as we exited his car and said with his eyes, "Good luck."

I wanted to be kissed.

But, not on my front porch...it just felt so contrived.

So...I turned my head.

On purpose.

I wanted the first one to be special.

And...when it came...

It was.

It's Back.

Abby's Christmas Crack disorder.
This disease left me in tears at 11:45 pm last night, after the umpteenth attempt at getting her to bed failed miserably.

She can't help it.
The gingerbread house-making, tree-decorating, Santa-emailing, and surprise Santa visit left with too much "stuff" for her little tiny 8 year old body and brain to process properly.

Yesterday, during church we were given an opportunity to think and write about our Christmas childhood memories.
Mine are bittersweet.
Not because my Christmas's weren't awesome, because they were.
But, because I never allowed myself an opportunity to really show how I felt.
I guess I was born too old for that.

It felt warm and breezy, and there was no need for a coat.

The drive to the beach wasn't far.

I didn't know then how deeply the salty air and the white foam crashing waves could permeate and soothe my exhausting thoughts.

We drove home, past the red and green adorned palm trees and short-sleeved Santa's, after spending Christmas Eve celebrating with our new found family composed of great friends who were also missing extended loved ones.

My eyes kept darting upwards in hopes of seeing Rudolph's nose lighting the sky.

I truly believed.

I had logically come to the conclusion that there was no way my parents could possibly afford to get all the presents that were brought beneath our tree Christmas morning.
 It just wasn't financially possible.
It left me no choice but to believe.

I had a very concise and organized list, as usual.  I knew what I wanted, and truly knew I would get it. It was a luxury, that now grown, I clearly understand.

This  year, I wanted a Cornsilk Cabbage Patch doll.

The hair was long and fell past her shoulders, not made of yarn like the previous Cabbage Patch dolls. 

I could actually brush the hair of this doll.

I'm fairly certain my list that year also included a tee-shirt made and spun with puffy paint at the mall, and few unit belt outfits.  There was this girl who went to my church, a few years older than me, and she always wore unit belt outfits - I thought she was so pretty.

My dad read from Luke and my sisters and I left homemade sugar cookies and milk out for Santa.
Santa always wrote a note in handwriting eerily similar (though never questioned) to my mom's, telling us how good we had been that year.  I always felt I had deserved that note, but often wondered about the reasoning behind its' meaning for my sister.

I anxiously attempted to fall asleep in my Strawberry Shortcake canopy bed. I had been warned that Santa did not come until we were completely asleep...and I really wanted him to come.  As I struggled to tire, I heard the bustling of packages and rustling of wrapping paper outside my closed door and downstairs in the living room where our Christmas tree stood. 

I knew he was there.

I awoke early that morning, before the sun.

Fearful of waking anyone else up, I glanced to the book on my nightstand and decided to read.

The Helen Keller Story.

I wept as I finished it.

As soon as the sun began peeking through my window blinds, I went next door to my sister's room and we gathered our parents.

He had come.

My doll had gorgeous auburn flowing hair and green eyes.

I politely said, "Thank you. I love it," as I did after every single gift was given.

It felt magical.

I was eight that Christmas.
Just like Abby.

The return of her Christmas Crack disorder may propel me in age me five years and leave me in tears, but I really think it is okay.
She, gratefully, got a few strands of her Dad's DNA and allows herself the opportunity of not only feeling, but showing the excitement that has no choice but to radiate from her pores during this season.

She has perfected the balance of advanced wisdom and crazy psychotic joy, and I am happy to revel in it for the first time through her eyes.

It feels magical.
Even when I am too tired to walk.

Jay-Z and Phil Dunfee.

1.  I drove to my (now) routine neuro appointment at the U this morning. I enjoyed the drive; always loving any opportunity I have to play my own music and not the Black Eyed Peas The End Album for the billionth time (thanks Deak) (PS...Hallelujah that group just came out with another one. Deak needs it in his stocking.)
As I sat in my car, waiting for the light to turn green in between the Conference Center and Church Office Buildings, I began tapping my foot and mouthing lyrics to one of my personal faves:  30 Something by Jay-z. 
I heart the lyrics to that song.
But, those lyrics may or may not include (many) words that may not be entirely appropriate while played at max volume as very sweet elderly people with missionary tags cross the street 15 inches in front of your car.

Being the opportune analyst that I am; I thought how that moment was a perfect representation of me.
I am the girl who plays a little Jay-z outside the church grounds and is completely okay with it.
I am okay with it because I know my heart is (usually) connected to the right things.
I don't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing...it just is....me.

2.  My husband and daughter laughed hysterically during a scene of Modern Family last night.  The one where Cam brings out his guitar and sings Lily a song about biting.  The very awesome and classic last line of that song is paraphrased as follows:  "and as a side note...private parts are private."  (I promise, very, very funny in context - watch the episode - I linked it above.)
Okay, so it's funny, I laughed...but, then my baby-thwarting husband said, "Oh....that is SO YOU."  Which was promptly echoed by my daughter who uses all opportunities in life to jump on any wisecracking bandwagon that comes her way, "Ya mom...that is totally YOU.  Private parts..ha.ha."
What?
So, maybe I'm a counselor.
So, maybe I like songs.
So, maybe I am a LOT paranoid of crazy things happening to my kids (comes with the territory).
So, maybe Abby has had the "private parts" talk since 15 months of age (Which, I might add came in mighty useful when Abby's Dora doll became a little bit of an extra special friend in the tub at two years old...if you know what I mean).

I'd like to still think I'm not a chubby homosexual man playing guitar to his adopted daughter.
I don't even know how to play guitar.

*For the record...a few weeks ago Blair purchased a U fleece pullover to wear to the FANTASTIC  BYU-Utah game.  He put it on, and Ab very decidedly announced, "Ah...Dad. You're wearing a girl sweatshirt just like the dad on Modern Family. People are going to laugh at you."
It was so funny I cried.

A little Jay-z and a little Modern Family; perfect recipe for a night of awesomeness.

A Sign.

Really, who wouldn't want to have a baby girl after having these Must.Have.Now items pop up on your facebook sidebar.

No, no...no babies to announce.

But...I think it's a sign from Heaven via a social networking site.

Can't you just imagine the squishy little legs and striped bear bum tights that would squeeze into those babies?

Divinity.

(I'm just sayin' Blair.)



Purpose.

This is it.

The reason we are here.

I got to stand by and watch my daughter hold my son and share with him the project she had created with her heart.
"Deak...that's OUR tree. YOUR tree.  See it?  It's a Goodnight Moon Tree.  Do you like it? It's yours.  I made it for you."
There was no hoopla, no reporters, no one even clearly within earshot.
Just her heart and his.

That's our purpose.
That's what this journey is about.
Yes, there are hard days...and even hard years.
But, those moments give us an opportunity to have these kind of moments.
And, these kind of moments are the ones that build a lifetime.

If I were not to make it another day, I would be fulfilled and content.
I feel the purpose; much like a fuzzy blanket around my shoulders as I cuddle my kids together with me on the couch.
Cozy and perfect.

For this night, in this moment, I get it.  It is absolutely undeniable.
And, it feels amazing.

Worth.It.All

This Smile was worth it.

Every single second.

It was an emotional day for me.

Ab and I stood and bossed Blair, my dad, my mom and sister around as we put together this tree we had literally poured our hearts and pockets into.

I didn't want to leave.

I looked around at the pictures of babies who had not survived and I just lost it.

Why was I so lucky?

Why do I get this boy who brings vision and purpose and hope to my day to day business?

I do not know all the answers, but I do know how tremendously grateful I am.

So much so that I overstate it too often.

But, man...I am grateful beyond comprehension.

Ab and I walked hand in hand out of the convention center after spending a solid 8 or so hours decorating yesterday evening.

I turned to her and said through tears, "Ab...I cannot tell you how proud of you I am.  Without you I wouldn't have done this. Not for one second.  Because of you I get to feel this feeling and experience today.  The fact that you wanted to do this for your brother is amazing, and I love you.  I hope it is everything you hoped for when you decided to do this tree."

There were no rolling of eyes, or wisecracks...she just looked into my eyes, genuinely smiled and shook her head "Yes."

It was perfect.

From the beginning, I knew that if Ab and I were going to do this project...we were going to do it.

I think we did our boy justice.

Ab very meticulously placed the items from the story around the display. She had a vision as to how the intricate details of the story was to be brought to "life" and she scored big time.  We're talking details down to the old lady (bunny) in the rocking chair's crochet needles and the spoon in the bowl of mush. 

It is perfect.

 I cannot begin to express the thanks I feel from my heart and undoubtedly owe to my friends and family who helped and participated.  We had close to $1600 worth of books donated; close to 350.  It was unbelievable. 

I had friends and family spend their precious time envisioning and creating and aiding a very time-challenged and craft-less little old me.  Your time spent doing something to help my little family will be forever remembered.  You literally saved me.

We had monetary donations given all the way from Ab's friends and their piggy banks...to very generous corporations and families.  I had no idea of the costs doing a tree like this would entail, and I promise, every single penny helped.  Blair and I put everything we had to give into it, and would not for one second would've been able to do all that we did without you.

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

We love you, and hope you love the final product as much as we do.