Living Water

Two years ago we brought both of the girls to Rockport for Norah's first trip to the beach. She was just over a year old and was as itchy as ever.
The first day we went to the beach, Norah sat in the cool water and giggled and squirmed. This was new for her and she loved it. She had rarely been in a pool because harsh water conditions and bacteria posed a serious threat to her skin, but this she loved. Admittedly, I was worried about the toxicity of the water (being the Gulf of Mexico and all), but (despite many accusations of just keeping her away from "fun things" for my own benefit) I was willing to let her try it out at least once. The patches on her skin turned bright red as she played and I held my breath. We all were amazed as tiny little minnows came up to her legs and ate off the dead skin- and she let them! As we packed up to leave I prepared myself to come home to The Itchy Kid, having left Happy Smiley Beach Baby back on the shore.

What we found was just the opposite. The salt water had taken away all irritation. The patches were no longer raised or inflamed, her skin was (for the first time in her life!) somewhat smooth, and she seemed to momentarily forget that she was usually in pain and cheerfully played the rest of the day. When Norah has a bad reaction to something, we often stick her in a bath with some Epsom salt and essential oils with minor results so this was huge.
We rearranged our entire trip to get her in the water as much as possible that weekend. We even considered bottling up the ocean and bringing it back with us to Fort Worth, but knew the stagnate, contained conditions would spoil the water.


Fast forward to a year later when we moved to Rockport.
One of the (very few) things we were excited about getting our tiny lady out to the beach as much as possible. We couldn't apply sunscreen to her skin because everything we found triggered histamine release (this year we will be using coconut oil and carrot seed oil!) so we went to the beach at sunset and let Norah play every few days. Being in homes that were full of things that make her sick was very, very rough on her little system, but the salt water still worked magic for her.


Fall, then winter came and went. Though the weather was mild, it was still too chilly to get in the water.


But spring is here. The water is warming, the sun is out.

A few weeks ago we took the girls out for their Nature Study Day. Since the fishing was supposed to be good, we headed to the beach. The water was still chilly, but not so unbearable as to keep you from ankle wading. We ventured under the pier looking for hermit crabs, identified wildflowers, and dug a few holes. Then Norah got brave and waded out to a sandbar. The sand was soft that day and her little chubby body sunk fast with each step. I watched her patiently, expecting her to need me to catch her from falling at any moment. But then, she remembered.

She dug her plump fingers into the wet sand and began rubbing them on her legs saying "Mama! It feels so good on me 'kin!" and I won't pretend that I didn't cry.

Jesus scooped me up in that moment proclaiming His sovereignty as the Living Water.
I know that I often get caught up in thinking about the woman at the well and imagining babies in third world countries dying of thirst, but this time, I understood His picture of living water so much more. See, the chlorinated, harsh water that dumps from our tap can visibly clean Norah, but it does little to heal her. Christ is like this salt water. Teeming life that not only washes away our filth, but deeply refreshes our spirit and heals our wounds! Salvation has brought me this flowing gift, and today I am grateful for it.

Happy Humpday, Y'all!

"Daughter, By Your Faith, You Are Healed"

In six weeks, my darling Norah will be three. She is at a frustratingly tumultuous age where she is either in soul ripping tears over minute inconveniences in the world (eg, her beans and rice having too many beans) or gut bursting laughter over improbable entertainment (eg, identifying Phoebe's poop as whole raisins.)
But in that tiny jungle of a soul, a seed is sprouting, trying to take root.
When she looks to me while reading about Naaman and says "Jesus will heal my skin, too, mama.",
When her eyes light up as Lily explains the wonders of New Jerusalem like only a big sister can,
When her skin, for no reason at all, has betrayed her again and bleeds and she refuses her bath, and oils, and salves, and she just wants to be held and prayed for,
The seedling of her faith is growing.

With her birthday coming up, it's hard for me not to hear the echoes of all of the doctors that said "She'll grow out of it" bouncing around in my head. "By a year," they said. "By 18 months," they said. "Sometime after about two it should..." they said.

Norah's condition, whatever it may be, points me to Jesus constantly. She is a blessing into my life like nothing else just for this. The reliable reminder that repeat exposure to things that trigger a negative reaction in our hearts will lead to sickness throughout our bodies. The confirmation that our flesh craves to be more than just exfoliated, but MADE NEW to be wholly in Christ.

And tonight, I wonder about the woman in Luke who bled for twelve years. Was she taken from doctor to doctor, doing everything that she knew was right? Did her mama read Isaiah to her, revealing the foretelling of The Great Healer? (Watching your daughter suffer incurably could not have been easier two thousand years ago!) Did she grow tired of all the accommodations that had to be made for her if and when she left the house?

But Hallelujah!! that the seedling of Faith that resided in her drove her out into a crowd where she ought not be, that she reached out and touched the Man that would bleed immeasurably for her to end her bleeding! What a God. He took on her pain, her affliction, her rejection, her "condition"
And by her faith, she was healed.

Luke 8:43-48

New International Version (NIV)

43 And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years,[a] but no one could heal her. 44 She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped.

45 “Who touched me?” Jesus asked.

When they all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.”

46 But Jesus said, “Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me.”

47 Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet. In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed. 48 Then he said to her,“Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

Daughter, whatever your "incurable" affliction may be, whatever isolates you, pains you, drains you of your hypothetical or actual blood, reach out to Jesus. Not only am I comforted that He has taken on Norah's pain, but mine. Because we can not go unnoticed. He knows my depression, He knows your scar of abuse, your all consuming addiction. And He is good, making Himself easily accessible to us, that all we need do is have Faith and grab on.

Bathed in Serenity

Last night (and the one before) have been hard, hard, hard for our sweet Phoebe. Flu and teething and getting to that point where just falling asleep peacefully in mamas arms just isn't an option anymore make for a very unhappy babe.
I rocked, prayed, sang, cried, nursed, everything I could think of, she still squirmed screaming. Her hair was curly with sweat, little voice worn out, I felt completely helpless. Husband went downstairs, giving up on trying to sleep with us.
I drew a warm bath in the dark and readied fuzzy towels and a diaper.
We climbed in, I blanketed her in a washcloth that barely covered her doughy rolls, and slowly poured the warm water over her. She quickly slipped into sleep.

I dared not moved, hunched over, holding her chubby being curled up into me.
I washed the sweat out of her hair...
I was left to my own thoughts and began to weep.

Everyone around is buzzing about this year being almost over and reflecting on the good and the bad.
2013 was a wash for me. It is not what I planned, not what I wanted. A kick in the gut. A fresh start turned Series of Unfortunate Events.
Phoebe's birth was beautiful, God's provision has been undeniable and abundant (this is where I am writing that down to convince my unbelieving self.) But, while not necessarily a bad thing, my identity's been shaken, my pride sucker punched, my heart humbled. And the truth of the matter is that there is NO PROMISE that tomorrow will be better. Mercies will abound and renew, undoubtedly, but our heavenly circumstances await in Heaven!

The first night of Phoebe's fits I sat in our stairway crying to God, "Lord, let me long for Heaven as much as I do right now when I am on the mountain top and not in the valley."

Sitting there in the dark, soothing a sick babe I realized that the essential oils I poured in the tub must be helping. The blend I used was called "Serenity."
I smiled as I realized once again that my faithful Father had used my babies again for my edification.
Her pain was legitimate, it was real, it hurt in a way she couldn't express. But, (once I overcame my frustration) being bathed in Serenity, she was able to relax.

For just a moment, the haze of PPD lifted and I was able to let out

"Blessed is the Lord who bathes me in His Serenity!"

Isaiah 9:6
For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us;
And the government will rest on His shoulders;
And His name will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father
Prince of Peace.

They Do Not Even Know How To Blush

We've all been there, ladies.
Hangin out with your lady friends, trying out clothes at the mall or in someone's living room at a clothing swap, or bathing in our pantaloons near a wild riverside... No, slap out of it, that never happens in real life, weirdo... Anyway there's that one girl with the rockin' bod- long legs, big butt (but not too big) teeny tiny waist, big boobs, appropriately trendy hair- and all the other lady friends are silently hating her (or not silently, if you're into verbally abusive friendships) while she tries on that one pair of jeans that seem to not fit anyone "just right". Except her.
A friend recently recounted one of these scenarios to me at a loss for words. Her friends urged her to try on a crop top. There is little to no evidence that she's grown several giant babies in her Barbie tight tummy so her friends NEEDED to see what this non-complete piece of clothing is "supposed to look like." Since she and everyone else there was saved, she offered up "I'm way too modest to wear something like" to which all of her friends- whom she had prayed with, walked through engagements and marriages with, had pledged to raise up chaste children with- stood in protest. "Noooooo, you are so hot!", "If I had YOUR body..." She just rolled her eyes, threw the shirt back on the "Ain't nobody got time for that" rack and changed the subject.
No one wants to be the wet blanket and kill the Girls Night Out Buzz (except for me, apparently. don't invite me to fun things, your other friends will hate you. I'll probably bring up how the sushi you ordered isn't sustainable, or how slave children mined for your engagement ring diamond. no like, YOURS specifically) so she kept her thoughts to herself, but what she couldn't help but think "What if you DID have my body? Then what? You'd show it off?" Her friends, who know and love Jesus, momentarily let their guard down and mistook modesty for self-hate.
See, we've tricked ourselves into thinking that the calling to not bring attention to our bodies (1 Thess 4:6) brings devastation on our beauty. We've flipped "modesty" on it's head and rather than using it to honor ourselves, we've assigned meekness and unworth to it. We have even over-corrected the attitude of "girls, dress yourselves not like hoes to protect our defenseless men" (wrong) to "men, don't be dawgs, ladies be dressin like hoes if we want, quit yo starin!" (still wrong) instead of embracing the empowerment of handling our beauty in a Godly manner, which produces a righteous shame.
And it's hard to do so, REALLY! I've got bewbs for days. Like, if breasts were a trade-able commodity, I could run a co-op out of my shirt. And according to society, this is what er'ybody wants (men and women) and I need not be ashamed of my "curvy" goods but WORK. IT. OUT. But ladies, in the world of deep v tees, shorts that require underwear that is thinner than most of my favorite pasta types so they don't hang out, and skirts that my toddlers could wear as a headband, we've just got to say no. Let's remember that the Kingdom's riches are far more satisfying than any sideways, stolen gawks- wanted or otherwise. To be "shameful" as Jeremiah pointed out (Jer 6:13-15) is to still have the ability to blush at sinful behavior. To be able to recognize and weep for sin, and that is BEAUTIFUL!

(I'm currently working on a series in my head, "Modesty Matters". If you'd like to pray for my heart as I write this, I would greatly appreciate it.
Be back soon with lots of info about more changes in the Burke home)

Audience of One

A funny thing happened to me last year- I lost my voice.

Not from illness or injury, I guess mostly from lack of use, but suddenly the voice that I'd won competitions with, serenaded my hubby with, led worship with... Was gone.

I remember opening my mouth at our new church and the noises I wanted to make were not the noises that came out of my mouth. I was a little devistated.
I came home and tried singing along to the radio only to find the same story. My vocal chords strained finding new limitations in their range. I was unbelievably embarassed even though I was alone in my kitchen with Lily & Norah paying no attention.

Tonight we took the girls to Padre Island to escape the heat and the trappings of the little apartment (Norah can't go outside because she breaks out in hives once it's over about 90° which happens around 9 am ). I took some pictures, played in the sand, stripped Phoebe down, played in the water with everyone and watched the sun set behind the dunes.

Twilight set in, Lily & Norah continued to play with Eamon along the shore and a lightening storm danced across the sky to the north. I rinsed Phoebe off, swaddled her in a towel, popped up my beach chair and began nursing her as I soaked it all in.
In front of me, over the water, behind my family, the sky started turning the deep blue/black that it gets when fall is around the corner. The moon was vibrant and by the time the first stars started to wake, I began to praise Him. The funny thing about singing at the beach is that you usually feel like the waves are trying to compete with you, drown you out with their crashing and bubbling. The wind will carry your song far as if it's hiding it away.
But tonight, my Lord wanted to hear my broken voice. He hid my missed notes and cracked pitches from eavesdroppers by the waves and lifted up my song to His ears on the wind. I didn't realize that in the midst of moving, and business planning, and teaching, and cleaning that I hadn't spent sufficient time praising Him, let alone with wild abandon! Hadn't my voice been lost by the lack of using it?! My Love wanted to remind me of how He created me to worship Him. Salt air in my lungs, baby at my breast, sand in my toes. It was such a tender gift that was intended to serve as a reminder that I am created for Him.
My reigning audience of One.

(more on our new tiny apartment and homeschooling to come soon!)

Endurance

Some days it's easier to dig into the Word than others. Some days I can't get through a chapter without it ripping me to shreds. Today was one of those days.

During the girls nap I sat down with Eamon's bible. Lily & Norah had been fighting all morning, I'd been on the phone taking care of various business matters, impatiently waiting to hear back from a leasing department about an apartment... It had been a rough one. I chose joy ever minute of the day, but it was exhausting.

Eamon had mentioned (while I was glued to my mom's tv, waiting for the Prince & Dutchess to show off the new babe) that the royal fam was conaidering one of "his" boy names, "James". (oh no they di'ent) so I flipped over to James to see what the Lord inspired this Saint to write.

" 2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. 4 Let endurance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God,who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.6 But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. 7 That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. 8 Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.
9 Believers in humble circumstances ought to take pride in their high position.10 But the rich should take pride in their humiliation—since they will pass away like a wild flower. 11 For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich will fade away even while they go about their business.
12 Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him."

Line by line, a painful blow that broke through to some long sought after clarity. I've read James... I don't know how many times, but today my heart felt something new.
My stubborness and unwillingness to take joy in our circumatances finally stung. I reflected on the dozens of times where friends or family have said "Wow, that's gotta be rough" and my reaction was "rough... ROUGH?!You're freakin kidding me, right? Betrayal by your father leaving you and your family of five, FIVE, living in your MIL'S craft room without a penny to your name, praying that you can get into a 950 sq ft, 2 bedroom appartment in government housing when you had a cute house with a yard and happy little life... Yeah. ROUGH's the word. Bitch." I didn't ever actually call anyone a bitch... I just felt like that should be there...
^That, my friends, is the response of a heart who has not let Endurance do it's work. Who has yet to see the fruits of Maturity.
"Oh, Lord, forgive that heart. Break it more, rip it away, help me LET. THIS. GO."
And then immediate affirmation of receiving no answers... My doubt. My ever reoccuring, pitiful, unfounded doubt. I thought about the seaweed that washes up at Padre Island. The waves bring it to shore from the depths of the Gulf. Before it is beached, it's tossed from surf, to sand over and over, incapable of controlling which direction it will take. To the shore if the wind is angry enough to blow it there, or back out to sea if the tide decides to reclaim what is her's. The seaweed cares not. It goes as it's surroundings dictate.

I got to verse 9 and remembered my plea to Jesus in the monthals preceeding Phoebe'a birth, begging him to strip me of my wants, my need of THINGS, my love.of my possessions, and then remembered crying at Eamon over the fact that our STUFF was too big and too much for an apartment and too "important" to let go of. I could only hang my head and shake it. My own greed, filling me with ugly pride.

And verse 12... A prayer answered.
I have been fighting bitterness over Phoebe's birth for months. "Why so long, Jesus? Why didn't you show up sooner? Why didn't you "redeem" Norah's birth? Why couldn't I have a normal "third time mom" birth?"
It has become very, very clear to me God has done for me, ever so sweetly, in my births. Lily's- cake. Lily's labor and birth could not have been hard, or fear inducing, if it were, I wouldn't have had the confidence *or endurance* to make it through 8 hours of painful transition with Norah. And now I truly believe that I made it through Phoebe's day long non progression because I knew that it was nothing compared to my pain with Norah and that Jesus WAS there, and she would come. I had two births worth of endurance under my belt to get me through it. Thank you, Jesus, for building that endurance in me, and for the lives of my sweet girls that it produced.

In truth, endurance scares me. It gaurantees that fruitful maturity is being grown, yes, but also that there is even more on the horizon. But in these past few weeks and months of trial, and having a hard time finding where God's promise is in all of this- I will cling to this:
"...that person will receive the crown of Life that the Lord has promised to those who love him."

I love Him, and I will take that crown for me and my house.

XO,
Mae

Tomorrow Will Worry About Itself

Yesterday marked the sixth week that we've been in Rockport.

Some days are worse than others (like today). I'm torn between falling on my knees, thanking the Lord for His protection and storming into town to light my father in law's house on fire, 'less I take my anger out on my God.

The house we were going to move into- wasn't actually an option. When confronted about this, Eamon's dad made it clear we needed to leave his brother's house (where we were staying, which he owns) leaving us & our three girls without a dime to our name (bc we had used all our funds to get down here & then worked on the house for a month sun up to sun down instead of working) and without a home.
Luckily, my family is here too. We have been staying in my old room at my parents house. The Lord gave Eamon a job as soon as we were kicked out which was amazing.

The first day we were here I bought year passes to all of the beaches in the area, so as long as we have gas we can go to the beach whenever we want. Friends & family have helped us feed all these hungry mouths. My mama's been there to let me cry on her shoulder and tell me how she survived her "homeless with three girls" (and she had one more on the way!) period of her life. For a week we were terrified they were going to lose their home too, but we got to watch as God protected them.

Things could be a lot worse, and I mean A LOT worse, but when you've got PPD (third time's a charm, right?!) and you've been through so much in six weeks, things start becoming harder and harder to deal with.

Like when I remember all of the adorable newborn clothes I had for Phoebe but she can't wear them because she already outgrew them and I have them packed away in storage bc I only had one week of clothes packed bc that's how long we were supposed to be staying with family...
Or when I think about all the amazing things I was going to do with her "this time around because now I know everything about newborns" but I can't because everything we own is packed away...
Or when Lily exclaims "I can't wait to sleep in my big girl bed in the new traylor!" because she saw Eamon work every day on it and I have to sit and explain to her (again) that not only did we leave her bed in Hurst bc we couldn't afford a bigger truck to bring it in last minute, but we also won't be moving into that traylor because Grandpa doesn't want us to...
Or when Norah is so overwhelmed... So overwhelmed that all she can do is scratch her legs til they bleed because her little world is turned upside down. First mama has a new baby, then she moves in with her uncle, then she moves in with her grandma...
Or when Lily talks to her imaginary friend Chocky Mocky on the phone and tells him "No, we can't ever see Henry or Ruby Kate or Hazel ever again because Fort Worth is too far away"...
Or when Eamon and I argue  because I'd rather save our money for a deposit on a house instead of my stupid PPD supplements...

Or any of the other thousands of tiny things that make me question what type of man seduces his son & his family away from all they know and love only to throw them on the street.

Not my God.

My God led us here with confidence.
My God has kept us out of the heat.
He has kept all of our bellies full.
He has given my girls clothes to keep them dressed and adorable.
He has washed my sweet Norahs skin with His gentle, salty hands of waves, meeting her at the shorline each time she goes to the beach.

He has reminded me, as I was starring down at my sweet 9 week old babe, to just rest in Him. To allow Him to nourish me, body & soul, exhale and sink deep into His embrace.
Phoebe loves me. I don't ask her to, and she can't verbalize it, but I know she does. She cries out to me when she's hungry or cold, trusts and allows me to take care of her, and then completely surrenders all of her weight into my arms, fulfilled.
Lord, I beg of you, LET ME LOVE YOU LIKE THAT!

Matthew 6:25-34
" 25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worryabout your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?
28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

Learning through Lent

About a month ago I hit a wall.
I was exhausted, rotting with depression, unable to control my girls, and spoiled with my self obsession.
I was terrified of continuing to school Lily at home, constantly making "jokes" about enrolling her in school. And I was completely incapable of talking to her without one or both of us screaming and in tears.
I was uninspired as my call to be Eamon's wife, his servant, his companion.
I was done with my life being ruled by Norah's diet and never ending scratching (and constantly having to talk about it.)
And most confusing of all, I was so ready to hold my new baby...but didn't know if I could handle the pressure. For about a week I entertained the thought of adoption (yep, that really happened).

I began to pray.
Hard.

This happened to be a few days before lent, so for the first time in many years, I began to prepare my heart for a time of fasting. My obsession and dependence of facebook was out of control again so that was obviously something I should give up. I went through the gospels and read through Jesus's time in the desert to gain some more insight of what Lent is. Lent was the 40 day period of time where Jesus fasted and prepared Himself for His public ministry. Ah, perfect... but what is *my* public ministry... hmmm.

I've always struggled with women who say "My mission field is my home."
It has always seemed like such a cop out. As if they were saying "Nah... I don't need to get out in the world, I am fine just washing dishes" That's what I always thought they were saying. But after my first few days of praying, I found that is exactly where my heart is called. To my home. That was such a tough pill for me to swallow. ME, once "feminist," modern woman, can do anything a man can do better... Me. But over time, as God worked in me, the importance of what it means to have my ministry focused on my home sunk deep and held on.

My children need me. Yes, children in Africa need to be shown the face of Jesus, but I have two (soon to be through) temporarily tiny faces looking up at me every minute of every day who need to be shown Jesus, too. If I'm not showing Him to them, who will? Who will show them a servants heart? Who will demonstrate the strength in a dignified, loving woman? Who will show them forgiveness day after day? Who will shape their minds to be artistic, imaginative  wholesome, and witty? Who will fill their bellies with food that will strengthen them? Who, who, WHO!?

Me.

This is my conviction. This is where God has placed me and my ladies. This is the role that Jesus has knit me together for when I was in my 15 year old mother's womb. To be a mother and wife that builds up the Kingdom of Heaven? What an undeserving honor...

I feel like I'm a bit all over the place with this. It's silly to think that I could fit one blog post with all that has been poured into me this past month. There's just too much!
But this is where I am now:
I have reactivated my personal account on facebook and am hating myself for every second I'm back on it... such a hard decision to make. Friends think that I'm being a careless friend because I didn't see that they were having a rough day, or that I must be hiding them in my feed because I don't care about them, when really they haven't even noticed that I was off of facebook for a month, lol.
I have finished the (LONG) process of restructuring my business to only take a few clients a month and still be able to produce art as well as having a thriving business. When I come back to work this summer/fall, it will be worth it.
I've prepared my home as an educational environment for my children. After much prayer and research we have finally decided to implement the Charlotte Mason method.
My husband and I are a little bit head over heals right now (THANK YOU, JESUS!). Even though by 9 every night I am overjoyed by the thought of sleep, and usually chase that soon after. He works around 60 hours a week and it's still such a huge transition for our family, but we are learning to rest in peace about not being around each other 24/7.
I am OVER THE MOON excited about our new Babe and am as prepared for his/her birth as I'm going to be! The team's been hired, plans are set, I'm ready to celebrate. A few nights ago, Eamon thanked me for growing him another baby, telling me he knows it's exhausting having so many pregnancies back to back. He tucked me in and kissed me goodnight and said "This is the last one we get new...next one will be pre-owned ;)" I love him.

Here are a list of books that I've been reading:
Desperate: Hope for the Mom that needs to breath (READ THIS.)
Loving Our Kids on Purpose
Educating the Wholehearted Child
Charlotte Mason: The Early Years

And here's a picture of our growing family :]

My darling Norah will be two on Sunday. I'll be back with a little post about her soon :]

Happy Thursday,
Mae

Forward Motion

I've been talking in my head for weeks about spiritual gifts, raising little girls, being a young wife, and increasing my milk supply/cup size by drinking Mother's Milk tea on the regular (the illusion of perkiness is what matters here, folk) but instead, I bring to you this little nugget of my life:

Running.

Back up to last Saturday.
I quit my fast, decide I'm special enough to back out of my promises to God. And I'm antsy.
Monday comes along and I tell Eamon "I just need to sweat" (which I follow up with a stern reminder that certain sweaty activities need to wait 'less we end up with Burke Baby number 3).
So while the girls nap I pop in 30 Day Shred and get after it. Strange thing though...I don't die. True story. I lived to tell the tale. As a matter of fact, I hardly broke a sweat. The sad, sad truth of it all, is that it's so much easier for me to work out with 40 pounds off of me that I was working with this time last year. (From post-partum weight until now, I've lost a total of 60 pounds. And I would gain it all back if I could have pizza once a week again. Bet.)
The next morning I woke up sore, but not the dibilating soreness that I'm used to. Sure, I played it up and made Eamon get all the groceries off of the bottom shelves for me, but it really wasn't that bad.
Then, one of my friends posted on facebook that she needs a running buddy. I live like 5 seconds from her so it was kind of a no brainer. The catch- H is flipping super woman. Homegirl runs like 10+ miles a week which is exactly 10+ more miles than I've ran in about 5 years. So there's that.
All week I stay active, stare at Jillian's flexi-Barbie Doll abdomen, make sure I sweat a little (which, by the way is harder than it used to be. Why didn't you skinny people tell me you're freezing ALL THE TIME?!) and kinda dread Friday morning. The morning I said I'd "run" with Hannah. It finally occurs to me, I've never ever ever in my whole life ran without an inhaler. I used to have acute asthma and use 3 different inhalers a day, at least. My body has never ran without steroids in it's lungs. Yes they help, and man did they take away the pain, but I have no idea what my body is actually capable of.

This morning comes, and I'm pretty sure I'm in the clear, it's raining. YESSSSS. Time to stay in bed.
But lo and behold...7:30 rolls around and the rain has subsided. That takes care of that. Let's do this.
I stretch and decide to take a "warm up run" to the farmers market where we are supposed to meet. The first few blocks are up hill, then it's all downhill. Halfway up the hill I start having a hard time. We're talking a few blocks people. But I decide to just go, just push, let's see what I can do today.
I make it to the top of the hill, then feel the freeing, exhilarating feeling of running down hill on a misty morning. I've never actually experienced that. I realize then that I've been keeping my pace with my favorite praise song in my head (couldn't find my ipod) and take the few minutes to enjoy the morning and invite God into my run. And just like that, I was at the Farmer's Market.

By the time my sweaty, still somehow gorgeous at 8 in the morning friend gets there she says "Oh, I've already run 3 miles, but I could do another if you want."

Oh. right. You already did three. I did...what, 5 blocks...that's like...at least five miles. Psh. Easy.

As to not look like a wimp, I take her up. My run there was great. I felt good. And just like any great 90s sitcom, I all of a sudden can't run. My calf starts seizing up on me and this spritely gazelle in front of me sees past the gorgeous, ambiguously mixed race goddess, and sees the frizzy headed 7th grader complaining to her basketball coach that "It Hurts." Thanks calves. Traitors.

So I go around the block with her and take the walk of shame limping home.
Loser.

Oh, but don't worry, once I got on my street I made sure to sprint the last few blocks home,  I also laid out in my front yard, did some of my best yoga cool down moves, and some bicycle crunches so, you know, everyone would think I was doing that the whole time. Chumps.

Rewind again to Thursday. Eamon is trying his hardest to sweetly tell me how foolish I am for quitting my fast because it was hard. The fasting part wasn't hard, but the not getting any business, not being able to stay in touch with my friends, not feeling supported (read, not having someone cheer for me every time I didn't log on to facebook and tell me how awesome I am). Forget the fact that instead of wasting time I've been digging deep into my photography craft. Instead of scrolling through friends that I've hid on fb because I am jealous of their lives, stirring up bitterness in my heart, I am more familiar with the map of my Bible. Forget the fact that instead of thinking in status updates and concerning myself with why I didn't get more "likes" for the clearly hilarious comment I left on someone's picture, I have actually caught myself praying, or worshiping our Savior without knowing it.

As I sat down to write this, I realized that this fast has been like my first run without an inhaler.
I'd never done something like that before. I was so excited to see how far I could push my body, to defy what I thought my lungs were capable of, and fool myself into thinking I wasn't going to smack myself in my face with my boobs. I was eager to see what my body could do without those helpful steroids. But my soul...my soul I've kept more guarded. Instead of nurturing an eagerness to push my spiritual limits, I was content with the help of those steroids. I wanted that '"feel good fast." The one where, since your fasting, you and all of your friends become closer, you get a raise, and you never have a bad hair day. You're encouraged by all of these good things that forward motion is easy. Your lungs never burn, your calves never seize up.


A few hours ago I checked my "Map My Run" website, knowing that I didn't actually finish the route that I'd planned for that morning. Mapping what I ran and walked back [not including the block that I totally failed at being impressive with my friend] and it was a mile and a half! Not bad, right?! Then I mapped just what I ran... Three quarters of a mile! Half of that was uphill! I can't remember when I ran .75 miles consecutively, let alone without my inhaler.

Needless to say, I am continuing [possibly starting over] my fast.

Here's something else I've been "digging into" (boooo! ;] )

Hopefully this fall we will have sweet potatoes!
Hope you all have a great Father's Day weekend.

XO,
Mae

Boogers & Blooms; How He Loves Me

First of all, I forgot to thank you all for your feedback, love, support, and questions over this post. It's one of the most popular posts I've ever had and have received all sorts of emails, texts, comments, fb messages, you name it, that have all been really humbling. Thank you for allowing us to share this part of our life with you.

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A few weeks ago I was talking to one of my amazingly talented birth photographer friends about a birth she had attended. She told me the story of this mama's little girl and how she had desperately wanted a little sister, so she and her husband told their daughter to pray for it. Soon enough, they were pregnant with their fifth baby. Then, halfway through, they found out this new blessing was going to be a baby girl! So then she gets to the make me bawl my eyes out part. When she calls her kiddos into the room after the delivery she stops big sister and says "This is God's gift to you. God did this for you K because you asked Him. He will always do these things for you when you ask Him."

[fastforward to about 3:40 to see this tear jerking moment]

I am blown away by this mama's ability to give God all the Glory and instill this kind of beauty in her children.
So wanting to steal a piece of this beautiful uniqueness, I decide to have my own deep, tear jerking moment with Lily at bedtime, because, you know, that's how it works. I read to her, lay her down, sing to her, pray for her, and tuck her in. Before I turn off the light I lean in close and say "Lily, you are a special gift from Jesus to me, did you know that? He loves us very much and loves giving us things, and he gave me YOU!" As I'm talking, she's staring at me very intently, and as I finish, she lifts her hand, points her finger...and sticks it straight up my nose.
I couldn't help but laugh and say "Ok, God, I got it, you're a comedian, you got me." He said "These are your children, I have given you a special joy in them, delight in that joy!"

So days go by and I've completely forgotten about all of this. Eamon and the girls woke up early to drive me to a midwifery convention and we're stuck in morning rush hour traffic. Along this particular stretch of highway, the Texas wildflowers are covering everything in sight. It's my favorite time of year.

From the back seat Lily yells "Hey Mama..." 
"Yes, Lily?"
"Those flowers for Lily Burke?"
"What baby?"
"Those flowers! They for Lily Burke because Jesus loves me!!"

I actually turned into a puddle of liquid emotion and gratitude right there.

Jesus has always courted me with sunflowers. I have a tattoo on my ring finger to remind me that I am first Christ's bride and that He loves me in a very special way. He has given me indespensible knowledge while gardening, and pulls me into nature any time He wants me close. I have always loved this part of my relationship with Jesus.

Lily, at the ripe old age of 2 and three quarters years old, had realized that her Father, Creator, First Love, and Friend, not only loves her, but loves her in a way that her mommy and daddy can't, and GIFTS her because of this love.

I am still in awe of just how invested He is in my life. In my growth as a woman, wife, and mother. And I could fall on my face in gratitude that He has chosen to continue His work in my precious daughters.

Hope you are having a great week,
Mae

PS,
we're headed out to see family this weekend, so a major photo dump of my babies in their bathing suits is about to happen ;]

When You've Had A Good Season

Things around the Burke household have been...GREAT.

The girls are growing so close every day. Norah is so adventurous and bright. Lily is so dramatic and loving.
I feel like God's given me all the things I've asked for.
Amazing friends who are close, wise, funny, Godly.
A house that suits all of our needs. We eat out on the porch at least once a day and have friends over to grill...JUST BECAUSE?! Who does that?! ;]
God led us to a church that believes in spiritual gifts and is disciplining their congregation to learn them, humbly practice them, and grow closer to God through them.
My photography schedule has been appropriately busy, despite how many inquiries I never hear back from and yell at God 'WHY DO YOU CURSE ME SO!?" I'll be sharing some big, exciting, amazing, holy sh- is this really happening/it's about time I'm workin meh ACE off over here news with you all about that soon.

aaaand...best of all...

A huge, gigantic, fantastic prayer has been answered.
Eamon had his first day of exclusive self employment today.
Yep. He's done with the kitchen job and doing what God has been perfecting him to do for the past two years. I'm so proud of him. So. Stinking. Proud. Of. Him.
Life is going to change so much with having us both work at home, but we are ready.

I feel like as I'm writing this, there's so much to say. So much that my God has done that I just want to brag about. He is extravagant!! I feel like I "owe it" to my readers to let you know about all the little details and happenings, but things are just good, friends. So good. And it kinda makes me nervous. Life happens in seasons. So what's next? A lull? A chatastrophe? I couldn't tell you.

We will just continue to soak this all up and love all the moments. In the meantime, take a gander at these two sleeping babes. These will most definitely be hanging in the girls room soon ;]

Happy Tuesday friends!

Daylight Savings Suck & How God Loves Us

Do you see this beautiful, well adjusted, not a care in the world little toddler?

About 5 hours after this picture was taken, she was replaced with a small, terrifying, deafening creature of which the likes of M. Knight Shyamalan could not even imagine.

Daylight Savings Time is such a piece of crap. We've NEVER had issues with the time change before, NEVER! But now I know why toddler moms across America get drunk prepare themselves for this most unholy night of the year. The terror it brings is unmatched.
I'd much rather be creeped out by that one stuffed animal in your kid's bed that looks JUST like another person than deal with the Grimlin my Mogwai turned into.

Until, that is, God gave me a very precious gift.
After about an hour of sitting, ahem, screaming bloody murder, in the hallway over not being able to finish her Bible story because I took a toy away and she threw a fit (Yes, this story actually starts with me punishing Lily by not reading her the bible. Awesome parenting, anyone?) Lily gave in. I heard her apologize to daddy in between her shaky breaths, and heard her chubby baby feet stomping down the hall towards me.
I tried to be all "Ya, you are a bad kid, what the hell have you been doing for an hour, you better not wake up your sister when we get in your room" but God quickly, lovingly, slapped me outta that.

"Hu, hu, Mama?"
"Yes, Lily" (In my stern, but beautiful stepmother voice)
"I-I sthowwy for cwyin mama"
She lets all of her weight fall into my arms and I feel God there with me. Right there.
I have a flash back to minutes before when she was thrashing around in the hallway like an adorable, deadly, miniature killer whale, and I'm asking myself "WHY is she doing this? She's screaming about wanting to go to bed, but refuses, she's doing this to herself!"
But as soon as her chubby cheeks covered and boogers and tears rub up against my chest, and the weight of her little frame becomes heavy in my arms, and I can feel the conviction of her repentance, I feel- and momentarily understand- God's love for us. I can see all the times I've fought Him, though His plans for me are just and for my betterment, thrashing around in a fit of inobedient rage, only to be worn down by His patience (this is where I fall short, naturally) and want nothing more than His embrace.

He is so good.
Daylight Savings Time, is not.

Mark 9:36-37

"Taking a child, He set him before them, and taking him in His arms, He said to them,

"Whoever receives one child like this in My name receives Me; and whoever receives Me does not receive Me, but Him who sent Me." 

Home at Last

...oh yeah. I have a blog. Oops.

Sorry it's been so long since I've been around these parts! I've been busy nesting.
Oh, no, I'm not pregnant. Maybe that's not the right word for it. I haven't really been interacting with society lately. My vocabulary is shrinking.
But I have been using my shiniest spit and sturdiest twigs to make our new house look all Burke-y.
Oh, yeah. New house. That happened!!!

Let's rewind:
WAY BACK in November Eamon and I found a house in a neighborhood that we love on Craigslist. The NEXT day it was already taken so we were like, eh, no biggy. As we drove away from the house I turned to Eamon and said "God says He's going to give us a house in this neighborhood, just you wait." He chuckled and we drove home.
A few weeks later we found a house not in that neighborhood, but near by. It was perfect(ish). Three bedrooms, extra large washroom that could be a classroom, gas stove, shed out back for Eamon to work out of, big back yard. The paneling on the walls, along with one or two other minor things were easily overlooked. We got our deposit ready, gave notice to our apartment, got all the signatures we needed-and the day before we were supposed to hand over the money (12 days before move in) the real estate agent flaked. We were pissed, devastated, confused...it was so bizarre.
Fast forward to church that week (oh yeah, we do that too now...I basically morphed into a different person. I'm also blonde, 6'1" and don't grow pit hair anymore) and God tells me that Eamon has to take the lead in finding our house, but I have to help. Because that make total sense, right? Oh, it does? Glad you understood, bc I didn't. So I deleted my "This B has way too much time on her hands and looks up house listings every five minutes" app on my phone and restricted myself to 30 mins of searching each day (because I'm so disciplined)  and saw this weird listing on craigslist.
It had everything that we were looking for in a home, at a price cheaper than we had seen anywhere else, with some extra perks, within walking distance of the first house we looked at. It had to be a scam. I sent the listing to Eamon and just sat back.
Fast forward to one month ago- boxes packed, trucks getting loaded.

God always finishes what He starts. Remember that. And He never disappoints on a promise.

We are having our housewarming party this weekend and after that I'll post a home tour! I didn't decorate our last apartment bc I didn't know when we'd be moving and I was OH-VER it. But now, I feel so much more comfortable in my home. (Thank you pinterest!) Well, except the office. Everything that doesn't have a place is in our "office." It's the last thing we have to tackle.

Hope you all are doing fan effing tastic. It's spring break here, hubby's off all week...maybe I'll shave my legs.
Mae

Oh, and Norah's...almost ONE, so with that and lots of other fun stuff, hopefully I'll be blogging here more frequently again. Hopefully.

Dirty Little, Ahem, Huge Secret | Prov 31:27

This post is pretty difficult for me to right, but for the sake of having some accountability and share some truth...here it goes.

When we visited Austin in October, I noticed that my friend's house was like...immaculate. My husband said something about it to her and she said "Yeah...I'm kind of obsessive about it."
WHEW!!!
For a second, I thought I was a total slob.
I watched her clean up her kids toys as soon as they were finished with them, she wiped down her counters as she was cleaning, her dishes...I mean, WHAT DISHES? They were no where to be seen, except, well of course, her perfectly beautiful cabinets. She has two kiddos, the exact same age as mine, I just didn't get it.
"BUT, she isn't a photographer who was in the busiest season of her life, and she can take a break and get out of the house so it's not overwhelming, and she, and she...she isn't me." *eyeroll* Whatever, that's what I told myself. Over and over again.
Not long after, Eamon and I had dinner with some new friends at their house.
Same story. You couldn't see the vacuum cleaner lines on the floor, but you just knew that thing had never missed a day of being cleaned.
After we got home that night, I laid in bed listlessly, and tapped Eamon's arm [you know, that tap that says, "Hey, I'm not trying to be a pain in the ass, and I know that you are probably ALMOST asleep right now and this is probably gonna wake you up and make you think you're falling from a 30 story building, but I have something to talk about. Right now. At midnight."] After he realized he wasn't falling to his death, he gave me a very patient "....yes?"
"I think there's something wrong with me."
thinking that we were doing the weekly "Guess what fatal illness Mae has this week" game I got an "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah....why are we so messy?"
*crickets*
"Uh....are we?"
"yes, babe! We are! Why doesn't our house look like the Smith's or the Jones's?"
"Hmm...Well, we do live in apartment, ya know? We don't have any storage, you're really busy with your photography, and the kids are just messy! It's hard to keep up with them all day, no one really does that!"
WHEW!!!
See, that's what I thought. I just have a knack for picking really clean people to be friends with. Opposites attract, amiright?! *eyeroll*

So then I take pictures for these new friends of ours, sorta as just a thank you for their friendship. She loves them and asks me if she can repay me by cleaning our house while we were in Rockport.
*tires screeching*
"Uh...I mean...Is it really that bad?" She nervously laughs and acts like it ain't no thang.
I hand over the key to our apartment with way more reluctance than I thought possible.
To make matters worse, as we're leaving for Rockport, Eamon empties out our car, dumps all of everything he found in our living room, Norah has a HUGE blowout on my bed, and there's a ton of laundry that I didn't get to do that's just sitting there stinking the place up.

About once an hour on the trip I get a pit in my stomach.
"It IS that bad, Mae. She's not gonna want to be friends with you after she sees how bad it really is. You don't even have a sense of smell, you don't know how bad it smells like pee in there!"
Day by day the tension in me builds and I just don't know what to do. I bring it to Jesus and ask Him what on earth am I supposed to do about this? He simply tells me that it's time to start over. To start fresh. And it terrifies me.
I immediately remember the Proverbs 31 woman and start seeing "She does not eat the bread of idleness" Ouch...is my home a wreck because of this? Then I think back to looking at houses and remembering hearing in my head "You don't deserve this house, this house is too nice for you. You will trash it." I felt sick, how had I not realized that was the enemy keeping me under this bondage. And I just listened to him and accepted it as truth.

After some texts and emails back and forth to Erin, I was nervous to go home.
When I walked in the door, I felt like I was on an episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. I didn't even know that my house could look like that. From top to bottom, it was spotless. The pee trap of a couch was gone, every stitch of clothing and bedding we own was washed and put away, every thing had a home...it was [and still is] so unreal. Eamon and I were humbled, embarrassed, encouraged, and hopeful.
Almost immediately, the Lord began to instill confidence and knowledge into me. He specifically pointed out areas of my life that were causing and allowing the filth to just pile up, led me to resources to find management systems that will work for our family, and created an excitement in me and even Lily to start cleaning every day. The first few days were easy. We even took pictures of the entire house before we unpacked so that we would both know how clean the house could be and use it as an encouragement. But after about day 3, I felt the idleness creep in. Dishes started piling up, dirty clothes weren't going in their hamper, beds weren't being made, spills weren't being wiped up right away, and I kinda just got overwhelmed. Slowly I started to build momentum again, giving myself little tasks here and there to keep things up to par, but by Thursday of last week, I knew it wasn't...great. Not bad, nowhere near what it was before, but not what it could be. I took the day to wash/fold/hang all of the clothes and diapers, and room by room just, DID IT! I wore Norah and gave Lily little tasks to do. At the end of the night, I got into a bed that had been made all day, looked around my room that didn't have anything on the floor, and no clothes in sight, laid down and sighed a sigh of relief. I can do this!! I can't tell you how freeing that moment was right then. There wasn't more mess hiding in the bathrooms or closets, there wasn't a sink full of dishes, there wasn't a pee diffuser in the living room...my house was clean. ALL OF IT! And I did it! All by myself!

There are curses that have had their hold on Eamon and I that the Lord has been faithful enough to break, and this happens to be one of them. Sexual immorality was a sinch compared to this. This was harder than probably anything we've dealt with so far. I'm so grateful to be given this time that we have in our apartment to become confident in having a clean space to live in, that way when we move, it will be a much easier transition and we'll have a clean home :]
I want to encourage you to take this time in the New Year glow of hopefulness to let the Lord grab hold of the things in your life that have become too overwhelming. The things that embarrass you, that you ignore or hide away, that terrify you just thinking about them. Let God pull them out and work through you to move past it. It's going to hurt. Probably a lot, but when it's done, it's done. And you don't have that weight over you or your family anymore!

Oh, and here's something cute and completely unrelated to look at :]

Hope you all are having a great week,
Mae

One More to Go.

Last night I got really excited and overwhelmed.
I was about to tell one of my friends who was having a day of remembrance that dates are always hard. Then I realized...September 19th had come and gone without me even noticing.

I suddenly got really exciting thinking that the time had finally come, I had been free of cutting longer than I had been trapped by it, but as I sit down to write this, I realize that it's only been four years since my last relapse. I mean, four years, THAT'S GREAT, but I'm not out of the woods yet. I feel like I HAVE. TO. get to five years. I have to show Satan that my life is not his to toy with, that the Lord's hope is more powerful, and runs deeper than any mind games that snake can conjure. Even as I sat to write this and realized that I had made a mistake, that it's only been four, not five years, I felt him. I felt his gloom, his imprint of disappointment that he leaves on me.
While going through the PPD that came around after Norah, I heard his seductive voice in my ear everyday. He loves it when I melt into that weak weeping woman who was in love with pain, but with support, I did not find comfort of any sort in his prickly grasp. I can hear him telling me to be wary of this next year, to fear what destruction he is capable of causing me driving me to relapse, but I recognize his familiar sneaky tone.

My heart gets tangled in knots thinking about the days where I swore I wouldn't be here, that I'd never see my wedding day, a big swollen belly, or my babies smiles. Today I am thankful for the healing that Jesus has provided for me from the life threatening self imposed sickness of depression and self mutilation. And here's to one more year. Eat shit Satan. My wrists will spill no more blood, the strength I have found in the Lord has reinforced them to hold my babies as they sleep, to hold my husband's hand in never ending support and reach out to my brothers and sisters who need His strength too.

Day One: Thankful for the growth of my business and the supernatural provision that God has given me through it.
Day Two: Thankful for fall foods, cinnamon candles, and cold fronts, creating a balanced, inviting home.
Day Three: Thankful for a husband that loves me and his girls in such a way that it makes me want to be a better wife to him and mother to our babies.
Day Four: Today I am thankful for Norah.
Day Five: I am thankful for co-sleepingDay 6: today I am thankful for laughter. My baby girl's giggles, spit takes caused by Eamon, texts that make me "lol", watchin my mama laugh on skype, all of it
Day seven: I am thankful for the desire to have an organized home
Day Eight:Today I am thankful for my best friends from high school living in DFW. Haven't been to a movie together with them in years, and tonight I get to! 
Day Nine: I am grateful for Mama's Girls
Day Ten: I am grateful for house hunting with my family and getting to look for the perfect place to settle down :]
Day Eleven: I'm thankful for my Papa and my father in law. I'm grateful that they were able to come back home from Vietnam and somber that my Papa was the only one from his small town to do so.
Day Eleven: Today I am also grateful for friendship. The new friendship of a mama with a sweet and familiar heart, and the old friendships who will always remind me that it's Leo's birthday. Love you friends :]
Day Twelve: I am thankful for repeat clients. For their patience to watch me grow and their recomendations that keep my calendar full. Thank you, Jesus for this awesome opportunity!
Day Thirteen:  i'm thankful for family. Blood, chosen, God given, all of it. Love my Rockport family and so glad i get to see my Thailand family today!
Day Fourteen: I'm thankful for the Lord creating a passion in Eamon for his business. I'm so honored when other knife makers and enthusiasts from around the country seek him out to do their finish sharpening :]
Day Fifteen:  since we are *hopefully* finally moving into a house, we're going through all of the furniture we should keep and get rid of. Today I'm thankful that we haven't had to buy any furniture, bedding or appliances the first 3 years of our marriage.
Day Sixteen: I am grateful for God's healing.


We're going to look at a house that sounds absolutely perfect for us Thursday afternoon, if you'd like to pray for us, pray that the home is in line with God's vision of where he wants us and that we will know exactly what to do when we walk through those doors :]



Happy Thursday All!
Mae

Mama's Girl. How Awful.

Gonna be a whole lotta whining in this post, with absolutely no need of a pity party, just venting. You've been warned.

" While you were judging me you should have thought 'Is it possible that she has no one else to watch after her children, leaving her as the only one to hold her child except for her husband on occasion by default?' before you said 'Oh...Mama's girl, are we?' with that look on your face. While you're at it, please raise two small children on your own with no help and get back to me before you judge my parenting techniques."

Almost said this to a near to her grave, very well intentioned elderly woman at the store recently.
It's been that pent up in me.

I've been getting that same look for months.Now this old lady didn't deserve it, and thank God I didn't actually say it, but every frikkin time I hear this, accompanied with the held tilt, eyebrow raise, and lip pierce, I have to use up every ounce of energy I posses to remain graceful.

This raising kids on our own is wearing on me y'all. It's getting under my skin.
Every time I hear a friend talk about how she can't wait for her mom/inlaw to come over and cook/clean/alleviate insanity I want to just scream.

Let me vent for just a second.
My mom has never [been able to] come over to clean my house while I take the kids to the park. [though I did have friends help me keep the house clean the week before/after Norah was born, which I am grateful for] She has never [been able to] taken my kids to the park/store/movies so I can sleep.
Eamon and I have been on three dates since Lily was born, all of them over a year ago. Three. Total. I'm not even talking about "grown up dates" or "dress up dates" or whatever it is that most couples whine about missing. I'm talking me and Eamon out of the house together, at the same time, sans children. The last date we went on was in October of last year, and that's because we were in Rockport.
Norah does not take a bottle. Both times I've left her to go work past her bedtime, she's cried non stop for four hours straight.
Eamon has made trips to Rockport by himself, so he technically has had nights away from our girls, not me. Every single night of her life, Lily has been no more than a room away.

So what do I do?
Move back to Rockport is the immediate answer. We've tried. every 3-6 months for the past two years. It's just not in the cards for us. Our family cannot survive in that place.
Make good friends and have them help you out. Well, I'm trying. BUT, when your baby doesn't drink from a bottle, you only have one car which the husband takes to work because he has a never ending bleeding toe, and a house that is apparently so disgusting because I'm so worn out of constantly picking shit up that no one wants to come here and I always have to meet them somewhere, ya. It's not going that great. I guess. I don't know.

When in Austin one of my friends was talking about how worn out she was. About how glad she was to just get a break and recoup to be a better mommy. I bet I sounded like a Grade A Snob when I said "I just can't go there" when she asked if I knew what she meant. I just can't get in that mindset of "HOW FREAKING AWFUL IS THIS RIGHT NOW?! I'm so ready for XYZ so this will be over." There is no grandma coming to pick the kids up. There is no next door neighbor watching the girls for a night. And there most definitely is no end to the "Ahh, Norah/Lily's here" in a sweet voice and then the look of "poor you" on a friend's face. And, you know, I guess there is no time for me to recoup and become a better mommy.

I'm just.
I'm just sick of it. I don't even want it to change at this point. I just want to be done being insecure about it, being defensive about it, BEING SICK OF IT. I'm so freakin grateful for the resevour of patience and contentment that the Lord has given me for over two years, but hot damn. What the heck are you supposed to do when they run dry? I mean come on. My whole family is asleep and I can't settle down because I just need to get this off my chest And I'm dreading the feeling that people will get all sappy and pitiful on me "Oh my god, you're life is so hard, you're a better mom than me, I don't know how you do it, I'd jump off your surprisingly low balcony." I don't need that.
I need..shoot, just to vent. To get an "Amen!" For someone to say "DAMN you look good wearing that small child in that Boba even though you haven't had a full night's rest in God knows how long, haven't ate good food in six months" [not true, but who's life isn't better with dairy and eggs?! WHO'S?!] and I'll give you one more, I need other moms to be more grateful for the help they have! God bless your mom's for wanting to deal with miniature you's again! They already done it once, they don't have to again!

Hmm...
I guess on Day 9, I'm grateful for my Mama's Girls. I mean, there are far worse things they could be, sister wive's for one. I'm grateful for the strength the Lord is pouring through my reluctant body allowing me to just go. To just do it. To pop these kids out, nurse em, love em, literally always be there for em, and I guess on occasion, give them a bath [add that to list of why people don't want to hang out with you AND your children, Mae. Sheesh.] And for the inspiration that said attached Mama's girls give me to write hilariously depressing blog posts about what a frustrating joke my life is. Can be. Yeah, can be.

We now returned to our regularly scheduled broadcast of puppies and pig tails. Thank you for your patience while we deal with routine maintenance.

Happy...Wednesday, yes, the clock says it's now Wednesday, fellow sleep deprived friends. Happy Wednesday.

Our Weekend in Pictures: Fall is Here...Almost

Friday I started working out again. It's freakin tough, especially living upstairs and having to haul this thing up and down the stairs every day, but we'll see. Having thighs that don't touch might be worth it ;]

I let Lily listen to Eamon's iPod to keep her busy.

Saturday I had TWO shoots at the ass crack of dawn and when I got back Eamon went to Wichita Falls for the day. So there are no pictures to share, lol. It was long, tiring, and aggravating ;] My computer had ZERO memory on it left so I had to wait to get an external hard drive for it. Who knew my pictures were taking up 75 gigs...lalalala.

Sunday was the tenth anniversary of September 11th. My mind had been reeling all night thinking about that day, about the way my world has changed since then, what I think about the "never forget" mentality, the "us versus them" mentality...all of it. Well anyway. We got in the car to head to Central Market, as our usual weekend schedule dictates. NPR and mostly everyone else was playing different coverage of memorial services. [Go check out this week's broadcast of This American Life] So we get to Central Market and get in line at the cafe for lunch. We see the cashier standing where she usually does. Every time we come in she lights up and totally falls for Lily. She's always so nice and gives Lily special treatment :]
I noticed immediately she was having a rough day. Her eyes were puffy, her hair was kinda messy, she looked really distracted. And she wasn't wearing her Hijab.
I almost started crying for her. She almost always has it on, especially on Sunday's, but because of everyone's heightened ethnic/racial sensitivity yesterday, she wasn't allowed to keep her modesty. My heart broke for her. I thought "Would her employers make her take her scarf off if she were Jewish on Good Friday?" We ordered our food, sat down and ate. I asked Eamon if he noticed and he even said that it looked like she was having a rough day. I couldn't get her off of my mind.


















I asked Eamon to get Lily started shopping while I went to the restroom, when I came out, I went back to the ordering line. When she had a minute I pulled her close and hugged her. I whispered in her I was sorry that she wasn't allowed to wear her hijab, and that I was looking forward to seeing her pretty scarves. I told her I was praying for her [safety and peace] for the day and that she was loved. She choked back tears and said "No, it's ok, I'm ok...I'll be ok. Thank you." and she went back to her station.
I know she get's looks every time we're in there and she's wearing her pretty scarves, and I know every year must be hard for her, but I can't begin to imagine what she [and other Muslims] went through yesterday. It's hard to say you wouldn't look at them or treat them differently. I mean, I DID!

At the beginning of this year, one of my goals was to be a kinder, more loving person. When I was sitting on the toilet at Central Market, I felt Jesus tell me to hug my sister, regardless of how awkward it seemed, because if He was there with me, it wouldn't be. He was right.

[Lily. Hates pictures.]

I hope you all had a lovely weekend, can you feel Autumn in the air?! It's coming soon!

Happy Monday,
Mae

A Home For The Burkes: How God is Like a Bunch Of Hot Air

See that curvy woman to the left there? For the past three years she's been raising her hands in the most dramatic way possible yelling at God "WHY HERE?! Where do we belong?"

See this honey eye'd babe? Every week we go to Central Market with her. She gets a purple or green balloon [usually purple] once we get to the produce section. She has it secured to her wrist and proudly shows it off to anyone who notices at the store. Every week after being in our home for a few days, the helium escapes the balloon and the balloon floats across our floor til I decide it's time for the trash. Sometimes it's already popped by the time I get to it. Have you ever tried to stretch out a balloon to make it look like it did when it was inflated? Can't be done.

A few days ago I found Lily's popped balloon, stretched it over my knee and started pulling every which direction, trying to make the CM logo look like it had before when it was full of air.

We had an amazing opportunity this month to find someone to take over our lease, move into a friend's house for a month, rent free, then move into our own rental home in September. We've done everything we can think of to try and get out of this place, to make things progress. To inflate our dreams.

As I'm stretching out this balloon [aka, playing with a piece of trash] I think "This is never gonna look the same unless it's whole and there's helium in it." Then I kinda feel God roll his eyes and say "THAT'S WHAT I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU!!" It all hit me right then, while examining the logo from all angles, Eamon and I can tug and pull and push our dreams into existence, but it will never be the same as if we let God start off with his plan, whole, and he fulfills them.

While in the DFW, the Lord has provided us a place to nourish our babies. How foolish am I to think otherwise... He brought me to women who know how a woman's body works and who helped me welcome my girls into the world. He's brought be true friendships that were worth the wait. He's provided Eamon jobs when there were none. He's given me a calling into a career that is becoming fruitful. Even since telling us that we are to stay here to the end of our lease, the management changed [again] Biggie Smalls and his possy have been evicted and they started cleaning up the apartment complex. I feel rewarded, loved, like He's proven Himself when He didn't have to.

Right now, our home is in this apartment complex. Soon, I'm certain our home will be in the Mid-Cities of the Metroplex, not Rockport. I feel like we've been faithful in exploring each avenue the Lord has pointed us to and where ever we end up, he's gonna take care of us.

Thank you to all of you who have been praying for us along the way. We love you very much.

Mae