In our second apartment, year two of our marriage, we painted feature walls in the living room, kitchen, dining room, and master bedroom. Our ground floor apartment got little light and had all white walls. Before the feature walls, our living space was both dark and stark. Not a good combination.
My favorite wall was the orange faux finish we did in the dining room. I don’t really like orange, so I don’t know why I ended up going with that color, but it was rich and deep, and made me happy every time I walked past it. I was sad to paint it over with primer when our lease was up at the end of the year and we moved into our first home.
While I miss my orange feature wall, I could never make myself do anything so bold in this house. Each time I paint a room, it means my kids have to fend for themselves for 24-48 hours, which they don’t mind, but means that laundry, dishes, and cooking aren’t happening. Plus, my energy waxes and wanes, and if I paint it and hate it, I may not have the get-up-and-go to fix it for months.
I don’t know about you, but for me, winters have gotten harder as each year has gone by. My body and mind suffer from the lack of light. Many times when I start getting my energy back in the spring, it is spent working to bring more light to the house to help with the dark next winter. I paint lighter colors on the walls, add timers for my lights (the poor man’s smart bulb), and make new pillow covers and quilts.
During one of these nesting pushes, I painted two walls in the gold living room a shade of cream, thinking it would help bring more light in. I had already painted my dining room blush pink and loved it, and figured this would have the same effect.
My two middle littles are often up to no good. At 5 and 6 and a half, they are always scheming and dreaming, and don’t always think about the consequences. Consequences of things like, pouring water in a trash can with apple cores and diapers in it and letting it sit for a week (talk about a home brew), or drawing tiny people with speech bubbles above their heads that say “Mom” on the trim work all over the house, or bringing a little container full of bugs into the house and losing track of it.
Then, sometimes they come up with fantastic ideas. Like the quiet time last week when they completely detailed their room, including dumping out drawers, refolding everything, and putting it away in neat little stacks. I was so impressed, I told their dad. He then congratulated them and offered to have them organize his drawers for a little cash.
Pictured above at ten months, on our first trip to Tobago.
She was my first daughter.
And she’s always kept us on our toes. As a baby, she refused to nap for fear she might miss something. She was walking at eight months old, an impossibly tiny creature on two legs.
By a year, she was a confident runner. And she still takes that same courageous, energetic spirit into whatever she’s tackling next. Unless she doesn’t want to.
She simultaneously fascinates us and infuriates us.
When we went out when she was a toddler, I was sure she would find another family she liked better than us and leave with them. Starting as a small person, she could always find someone she knows in a crowd.
Once, when we were at Jones Beach, she disappeared. I was terrified until I found her a little ways down the beach playing with a family she knew from her grandparent’s church. On a huge beach, in the summer, she found familiar faces.
Now, my fears are more along the lines of how we’ll survive her teen years. 
She is in turns amazingly helpful and completely maddening. We often marvel how such a dramatic, fantastic, social person came from two introverted homebodies. I’m sure she will continue to amaze us.
And drive us nuts.
We love this kid.
This girl has been bringing us joy from the very beginning. 
The day she was born, I was struggling to surrender to the process of birth. Her older brother, born just 18 months earlier, had subjected me to the hardest labor I’d ever experienced, and I was terrified about having to do that again.
We knew the baby was coming; my parents had already traveled in and were caring for our other kids. The pressure was on. At 11 a.m., in frustration and desperation after hours of an early labor phase that wasn’t progressing, I messaged my husband’s family and asked them to pray. After that, I was finally able to let go. Real labor started almost immediately.
This child’s entrance into the world was the closest thing I’ve ever experienced to a painless birth. She was smiling from the very beginning. 
These days, she has grown into a fierce fighter and a nurturing helper in equal measure.
If there is a disagreement or a brawl at our house, chances are, she’s involved. 
I love her independent spirit and her ability to advocate for herself. Those traits will serve her well in life. 
Another important quality of a fifth-born child is the ability to shine brightly in chaos.
We are so glad to have this little spitfire in our family.
A while back, I came across these artistic representations of mental illness as little monsters. I can’t remember who first sent me their way, but I really resonated with the idea. Especially that anxiety is a little, hairy living being. In my mind, it latches onto the back of one shoulder and hangs on to different things in my life, whatever is providing the most interest and fuel. Recently, its entire existence was being fed with our marriage problems. We are still cautious, but the crisis seems to have passed. Anxiety got hungry and after just over a week of calm, it latched onto my self worth.
The last four days have been tough.
