Brown

Brown play dough.

You know that feeling that you get, when you crack open a new pack of play dough?  All the colors await you, sitting nicely in their appropriate containers. There they sit. Smooth. Cylindrical,  perfectly formed to fit the tube in which they arrived to you in. 

You know it will never go back in that way. It will never be perfect again. It will never again be untouched or flawless. 

But, still....you take it out and play. 

You roll it, and slam it, cut it into bits, roll it into balls. Try to create something prettier than that perfect cylindrical product that you found just moments ago.  

It's inevitable. 

Every time.

No matter how hard you try.

No matter how much you say you won't. 

You mix the colors. 

You do it in hopes that the masterpiece you are left with will be worth it. 

Sometimes it is. Sometimes you make all the right choices, and its a wonderful day.

Sometimes,  its just poop-brown play dough. 

Sometimes, you need to try again.

Figure out where you went wrong. 

What shouldn't mix again. 

The next time,  you're more cautious. 

You stop. 

You think about the choices youre making. 

Because you don't want poop again. 

It's funny, really.

Whether we are five, twenty-five, thirty-five, or seventy-five.... the allure of play dough is always there. To mold it. Shape it. Squeeze it into something new. 

It may seem juvenile. But, maybe it's just practice. 

Play dough is just doing its job. 

Stress relieving. 

Reminding us to slow down. 

Make wise decisions.

Or, we get poop. 

And have to try again. 

Number Four

I love my husband.

I love my kids.

I love my family.

& I love babies.

But, for the first time in my life....

I had just started to love ME.

I had committed to eating clean, and to exercising.  

Something I had never been able to do.

Not in 27 years of my life. 

I had tried and failed. 

Tried and failed. 

Never being able to make any progress.

And after Nola was born, it didn't get easier. 

My body was shaped differently, and nothing went back to where it belonged. 

I struggled for three years, being bigger than I'd ever been, and fighting the mirror and the scale. 

So when I lost 30lbs, it was no small feat. It was a Big. Damn. Deal. 

It was nothing to scoff at when I wore a pencil skirt and magenta pumps to work. 

When I started running, I felt like a whole person again. 

I have struggled with finding an identity as a human for a while. 

I always have my Wife or Mama hat on. 

I love both roles.... but I forgot who Nichole was.

Somewhere running on the pavement in my Brooks.... I remembered who I was. 

During those 2 or 3 hours a week, I found myself again.

And, I started to enjoy who I was! 

I was HAPPY to just be ME.

I made a decision to get fit, and change my life. 

I equated a large part of my future with all the positive changes that my body would experience,

and the journey I had started to get there.

Then.

The shock of my life.

#4.

I know many of you mean well with your comments about fitness. 

When you say, "you can still be healthy, and pregnant. I think!"

Or "You have plenty of time to lose weight after..."

Or "How many pregnancies to your goal weight?"

Or "Well, if you keep throwing up from morning sickness....you won't need to diet."

It isn't funny. 

It's so painful.

I don't know if any of you have struggled with weight or body image. 

It is an awful battle. 

And I finally thought I'd won. 

I love my husband.

I love my kids.

I love my family.

& I love babies.

And I was devastated when that second line popped up on the Clear Blue screen. 

I mourned the loss of myself that day. 

For four days I cried uncontrollably. 

Not because I'm terrified about affording four children. 

(I am)

Not because we thought we were done with newborns.

(We did)

Not because I just got rid of the very last pieces of 'baby and maternity' items and have to start over. 

(I do)

But, because I just found myself.

(JUST!)

I feel like I need to say goodbye again.

Once more I will be cloaked in spit up. 

 I will spend days not showering, and wearing sweats.

Again I will live in a land of diapers. 

I will be knee deep in postpartum depression. 

I will feel the pain of having to leave and return to work and all the emotional anguish and guilt that comes with that necessity.

It took so much longer than I expected to recover me.

Took so much longer to WANT to go on dates.

Took so much longer for me to feel like a woman, and not a human milk machine and walking stretch mark.

To be a woman again. 

I love my husband.

I love my kids.

I love my family.

& I love babies.

I will love this new child inside of me. 

I will dote on him/her and cherish being able to tend to an infant one last (unexpected) time.

I anxiously await first steps and first words. 

I miss the sound of coo-ing in my home. 

I miss seeing an infant asleep on Sean's chest.

But, please. 

For now. 

Please understand that I have mixed emotions. 

I am happy, but I am struggling.

I don't need jokes.

I don't need you to tell me it will be okay.

I know it will be. 

Little Ones, with BIG words.

Bedtime.

Tucking in your children can sometimes lose its magic. It's something we do each and every night and, truth be told, every now and then we are more focused on the dishes waiting in the sink or the agenda we have at work the next day to really stop and enjoy what really is a magical time in our day. Putting our Little Ones to bed, tucking them in, holding them close, and kissing their little foreheads... it's something we forget to cherish from time to time.

But, today.
Today is Thanksgiving.

I took extra care tonight when tucking my Littles in and with helping them say their bed time prayers.

The boys share a bedroom, and thus take turns saying there prayers out loud.

Holden always goes first, because Gavin likes being the last one in the room to talk.

Tonight, Holden finished and Gavin began to speak.

Gavin gets stuck on things repetitively, his prayers are almost the same word for word night after night. So, this evening I prompted him to try and thank God for the things he is Thankful for. {All of his parents, Holden and Nola, his Wii, Artax, Gummi snacks....these things all made his list} Then I asked Gavin to pray for people who need blessings. People who don't have a Wii, or Gummi snacks, or maybe even lights or heat or a home.

At this, Holden stirred in his bed across the room, and responded with a puzzled look.

I asked him what was wrong, and he said, "No houses?"

"No honey, no houses. Some people don't have blankets or beds or even houses. That's why we pray for them. We pray because we want God to keep them safe and warm and to help them find a better life. We pray for those who need it."

At this, Holden burst into tears.

"That's so sad", he said.

I comforted him, told him it is sad but that we pray and we help. We can be Helpers.

I kissed my Boys, and tucked them in.
I turned on their night-time-sounds, shut off the light, and went to shut the door.

"Mama?"
I pushed the door back open, it was Holden's small five year old voice.

"I know what I want to do once I'm Bigger-Bigger."
I turned on the light.
"I'm gonna build the houses. I'm gonna build them waaaaaaaaayyyyyy big, up to the sky. And Gavin(turning to his brother)....you can make the lights."

Bedtime.

Bedtime is a magical time of night.
Don't forget it.

The dishes can wait.

The Reality of Being Grown Ups

It.Sucks.

For just as many reasons as it is a wonderful time in all of our lives, its also a sucky time.

Now as awesome, and adorable, and adjusted ( if I do say so myself =P ) as my family is...it does not change the fact that I am 26 with no college education between myself or my Husband, with three small children to keep alive daily. (Little Cooties want to eat EVERY DAY!? wassatabout???)

For the first time since he and I met, Sean and I are both working in "Big Kid" jobs. I have a desk, and snazzy business cards. While he dons a suit 3 (soon to be 4) nights a week. We finally have an income that allows us to (rent and) live in a HOUSE, and *gasp* have money left over at the end of the month.

Now, as awesomely awesome as we both are at said Big Kid jobs.... I work during sunshine hours, while he earns a paycheck under the cover of night. (All the while trying to convince me that he may, in fact, really be Batman)

So, the price I am currently paying in order to live in this adorable and beautiful house and to have dollars in the bank at the end of the month....has me sleeping in bed alone 5 nights a week, and the Hubster walking in the door as I'm getting ready for work.

It.is.HELLLLLLL.

I am a strong, confident woman/wife/and Mama.
But this shit sucks.

There are no words to describe the loneliness of being married, and still going to bed alone.
I have a new found appreciation for anyone in a relationship where one of you gets deployed for MONTHS at a time. Because I am throwing major hissy fits over not seeing Sean for 5 days a week.

I am so very proud of both he and I for FINALLY getting high enough up the ladder that neither of us is in water. It was hard. REALLY hard, especially without any college degrees to boost us up the ladder. But, here we are. We made it.

The first 6 weeks were ROUGH.
But, we are finally figuring out what our new schedules mean.
It means I need to set an alarm for 2am, and wake up to say hi to him when he walks in the door.
It means he needs to do laundry during the day while he's home, in between naps.
It means we needed to get AWESOME(r) at communicating. There is no room in a schedule like this for us not to be on the same page. One small hiccup on a Thursday in communication and we don't see each other in person for more than 45 minutes until Tuesday of the next week. And that....means so much of the fighting.
(Needless to say, several hiccups lead us to finding a fix and so far so good!)

But, alas....
I miss my Man.
The kids miss Daddy at bed time.

I guess I just need to hit the Lottery, and this can all be solved ;0)

Until then, communication. Communication. Communication.

I know some of my friends out there are having marital issues.
I know it isn't easy.
But all relationships have seasons.
Some are chillier than others.
But, then you need to start a fire!

It was very easy for me to be angry (unfair anger, but anger nonetheless) when I would have to feed 3 kids dinner, bathe them, put them to bed alone, clean the house, and then get into bed alone myself. I felt like he was abandoning me. Like, here I was. Six years into this relationship. And now that we finally don't have the financial stress..... I'm in this house, in my bed alone! UGGHHHH! Why?! How the Hell is that fair?!?!?!??!

It isn't.
But Life doesn't owe us anything.

I chose to skip college, start a family, and marry my Man.

So, if this is the season I'm in right now....I'll take it.
I have the Family of my dreams.
I have a wonderful job.
I have an amazing man who works all night, somehow finds time to sleep AND put our boys on/off the bus each day AND raise our daughter all damn day, before going back to work the minute I walk in the door at 5pm each night.
((OH! And did I mention he also has a part time job, so he works SEVEN days a week?! Because he does.)) ((I married a Superhero for real))

So, here we are again.
The Crazy Purcell's, and their unconventional way of doing things.

So, if you need me.....
I'll be up from 2am-3am saying good morning to my Hubster before we climb back into bed to finishing the night sleeping TOGETHER. <3

My Husband

My Husbands hair is graying, in a salt and pepper fashion, from loving so hard and from caring so deeply. It is gray from worry, and it is gray mostly from decisions that others made in his life. He is a kind Man, one who follows lovingly and who doesn't like to fight. He has traveled on other peoples roads, and although I am loud....and stubborn....and I hate to 'lose', I always try to meet him half way because he has had his fair share of giving and not enough taking in his time.

My Husband has kind eyes. Eyes that look at me and all my flaws and still decide to stay and to Love. Eyes that watch our children grow, and eyes that cried each time one of them entered this World.

My Husband has soft lips. Lips that kiss for no reason, or kiss with passion, or kiss away tears.

My Husband has strong arms. Arms that scooped me up the first night I met him. Arms that hold me any time I'm scared. Arms that pull me back, when I push him away to see if he will leave like everyone else. Arms that never let my push be stronger than his hold.

My Husband has a gentle heart, one that beats for his Family and one that welcomes back ones who have broken it. His heart could fit the World twice over, and I am still unsure how I am so lucky to hold such a large place in it.

This Man that I married 365 days ago.....
This Man that is my everything.....
This Man that made me a Mama & a Mommy....
This Man will never be able to ask of me anything that will amount to or equal  what he has given  to me.

He has given me stability, helped me reclaim my sanity when I thought I had none, and he has given me my Family.

I, the girl who swore off marriage, have completely given this Man my Heart....my Life...my Love.

Happy Anniversary, Love.