Lisa Bonnema

Mom. Writer. Speaker.

Hello, Sunshine

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Well, we are back this week linking up to Small Style at  Mama Loves Papa. Sorry we missed last week, but you know, we had some extra snuggling to do after the whirlwind of surgery. We did have a little excitement Friday and ended up back at the hospital with a high temp, but we were home before midnight and back in our own beds, which is always a blessing to this mama.

The temp is now gone, and our rock star is on the mend. She is already trying to figure out how to scoot around on those bandaged legs! Obviously these photos were taken pre-surgery, but trust me, we are finding ways to rock those casts. Stay tuned!

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I have to admit that there is always this “down time” for me after we go through surgery or one of our Spina Bifida “reality checks.” The adrenaline (and the prayers!) get me through it all at the time, but it’s the “after shock” that tends to be hard on me emotionally. Life does indeed go on, but my heart needs a few days to get back into the swing of things.

Although part of me feels weak for not jumping back in full force with thanksgiving, the other part of me is starting to realize that a little “down time” is probably healthy. It gives me time to feel, to reflect. I mean, one minute I’m sending my baby off in a stranger’s arms to be operated on for almost 5 hours, and the next day I’m getting Emma off the bus and searching for misplaced library books. It’s all a bit much for any one person to process.

But as I seek Him to guide me through this journey, He — as always — is enlightening my perspective and easing the burden. The clouds are now parting, and and I am starting to see the rays of sunshine. And although I’d love to think that someday this might all become second nature to me, somehow I don’t really think that will be the case. My trust in Him might grow as we get farther in this journey, but I have a feeling my human nature will always take me back to Him, asking for His help, His encouragement.

And, really, isn’t that the point?

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Making it Work… 
Shirt:   Carters (1st b-day gift)
Pants:  Baby Gap (niece hand-me-down)
Shoes: Star Child from Urban Baby Runway (Emma hand-me-down)

Quick Update

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So, yeah, no surgery again this week due to Tuesday’s fever and what appears to be an ear infection that never quite went away. That’s three canceled surgery dates in one month. Annoying, yes, but really, I’m okay with it.

Granted, I was beyond frustrated Tuesday morning when I felt Brooklyn’s hot head, but as the day went on, I realized it was absolutely ridiculous to be upset about not taking her in for surgery. I mean, who wants to take their kid in for surgery?

Last night, as I nursed and rocked Brooklyn to sleep, I thought about the fact that I could have been doing the very same thing in a hospital rocking chair. I could have been kissing my hubby goodbye as he headed home to our girls.  Our girls could have had someone other than me tucking them in for the night and sending them off to school in the morning.

But instead, I was nursing a snuggly, sweet-smelling baby as my other two babies slept soundly next door, and my hubby waited on the couch with a cozy blanket. And I got to start my morning with all four of them piled into my bed. Really, there was no where else I wanted to be — and for that, I was grateful.

Yes, I want to get this surgery done and over with. But it isn’t an emergency (thank God!), and I don’t want to send my baby off to the OR if I have even an inkling that she is not at her best. I will wait until the time is right, whether that takes another week or another month (although hopefully not another month… 🙂

As always, thank you for your prayers. We promise to keep you posted. Until then, there is a man and cozy blanket calling my name. Have a great weekend, everyone!

On a Star

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I can still feel the grit of the shingles scraping my toes, the salty tears trailing down my cheeks. The promise, the hope of the stars — reflections of something bigger than me. Bigger than my one whispered request.
Let me find him, Lord.
Little did I know that just five years later, I would find him. He would ride up on a white horse with four wheels and steal my breath while gently asking for my heart. He would see my soul, my mind, and love every inch of my awkward frame, erasing all of the painful words of childhood.
He would boldly defend my honor and reintroduce me to my Father, making me feel safe, cherished, loved.
He would ask for my hand in our favorite place away from home, and we would eat frozen raviolis every Thursday on the hand-me-down table we positioned right in front of the TV. At times it would seem there were more fights than laughter, but always – always — passion.
He would give me three beautiful girls, every one special and a wonderful surprise in their own way. The miracle of the first. The joy of the second. The blessing of the third.
Together, we would build our dream house, our home. A living memory box of three little girls giggling on the playroom floor, two humbled adults crying on their knees in the office, a family of five grateful for sleeping under one roof.
One little request, softly spoken, yet heard. Answered. Bringing more to my life than I ever imagined, more love than one star could hold.
Happy Anniversary, sweetheart. I couldn’t dream up a better person to spend this life with. Our love isn’t perfect, but it is unconditional and it is forever.
I love you. I like you. And I hope you already know, I’m so glad I found you.
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Different

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I admit that lately I’ve been feeling like I’ve been lacking in the Mommy Mo-Jo department. I’ve been working a lot again and things have felt “off” around here. And when things feel “off” I tend to go off the deep end — over-analyzing all that went wrong, is going wrong, and may go wrong in the future — when really I probably just need a good night’s sleep.

But last night was a good night. A night that told me everything is okay and maybe, just maybe, I can be good at this Mommy thing after all.

I have said before that my Emma is a complicated child. She is passionate and expressive in many ways, but when it comes to the deep-down feelings, she tends to tuck them away. But as with all of us, I know those emotions will find their way out one way or another, so I do my best to pay attention.

I could tell something had been bothering her all week and after a little probing about why she didn’t want me to pack a rice milk box in her lunch, she revealed that she is embarrassed about her food allergies. Actually, she told me that she doesn’t understand why God made her with allergies.

Now, we’ve already had the talk about Brooklyn and why God made her the way He did (I may or may not write about that some day), but this wasn’t about Brooklyn. And, really, I loved that. As much as my mind wanted to go there, this was about Emma and only Emma. It was about her feelings about being different, which are just as important, just as real, and just as valid as the ones Brooklyn will have some day.

I know this seems obvious–and it is–but I have been worried lately that Brooklyn’s special needs have been taking priority over the girls. So it was just really, really nice to focus on Emma’s feelings. To know that I could still see them lurking beneath the surface and, more importantly, help her express them.

So last night, at her bedside, we had a nice discussion about how God makes us all different and unique, and how we should try our best to be proud of those differences. And if for some reason we don’t like or understand some of the decisions He makes, we have to choose to trust Him and focus on our blessings. We can either choose to sit in the corner and be sad about our allergies — which won’t change a darn thing — or we can choose to be happy and be thankful that we have lots of other foods we can enjoy.

She understood, cried, asked a few questions, and we ended it all with a few hugs. I honestly thought we had a Full House moment — I swear there was music playing the background — and then I asked her, “Do you feel better?”

Her response?

“Not really.”

Okay then.

But somehow I think she did feel better. And if she didn’t, I know she at least learned something. I know I did.

I can do this.

I may say the wrong things most of the time and at the wrong volume — and God knows I will certainly do my share of messing up in the future — but I am learning to see her heart. To ask the right questions. To listen.

I can do this.