Hay Happens and Hay's Happen

Tatum had pickleball camp all week,

so we ended the week the only reasonable way: with a room makeover.

Not a full HGTV situation, but close enough for a 13-year-old girl who now has enough products to require real estate. (and there are many).

Yes, she is officially at the stage where a “beauty routine” is no longer one bottle and done. It’s cleanser, moisturizer, sprays, lotions, hair things, lip things, and then a few more things after that. Then maybe she’s done. But probably not. So we finally got her a vanity to hold all the many, many 13-year-old products.

The reviews for this vanity said things like, “Easy to build! My dad did it!” Which, honestly, should have been our warning. Dad worked from home that day, which basically meant Dad worked from Tatum’s bedroom. But before he did, Cooper had no idea why Dad’s home. So he does what he usually does: Torments him with the stare. The stare and the toy. Play wit me?

The box arrived, the pieces came out, the instructions appeared, and suddenly Doug’s whole day had a very different assignment.

To be fair, Tatum did build the chair herself. Completely herself. I was so proud of her. Then she immediately sat in it, spun around and around, and basically made herself nauseous. So, you know, independence with consequences.

Meanwhile, Cooper had absolutely no idea what was happening. So, again, Cooper kept bringing toys. The pineapple. The rings.

Whatever he could find. Then he would stare at us like, “I have presented the offering. Why is no one responding?” Poor guy was completely confused by this whole work-from-home-but-also-build-furniture situation.

While Dad worked on the vanity, Tatum reworked her dresser. Her room is not just a room. It is a whole little world. Every tiny figurine has a story. Every stuffed animal has a place. Every random treasure means something. She gave me a full tour of who lives where, who does what, and why each little character belongs in its spot. That is Tatum.

And honestly, I love that about her. She wants a vanity with lights and shelves for her skincare, but she also still creates tiny worlds with little animals, cars, squishies, and stuffed friends. She is becoming older, but she has not lost that magical part of herself that sees stories everywhere.

My favorite part of the day was not even the finished vanity. Although Dad was doing GREAT!

It was sitting on the couch with her while Dad worked, our feet touching. That is one of Tatum’s love languages. Not always big hugs or dramatic affection. Sometimes just a foot touching mine.

By the end of the day, the vanity was built, the products were organized, the room looked beautiful, and Tatum had a new space that felt a little more grown up.

Cooper still did not understand why no one had thrown the pineapple enough times, but he survived. He now listened as Tatum gives us a tour of the contents/placement of the routine products.

It looks so nice now that we have put the pics back up.

It was such a good summer day. Room makeover, Dad building furniture…ALL DAY. (MY HHH is such a hero), Cooper delivering toys, Tatum spinning herself sick in her new chair, and me sitting there realizing again that these ordinary days are the ones I want to remember most.

“Excuse me. I noticed my mommy went into that room without me. I would like the record to show that I am deeply disappointed by this decision.”

Then he sits there dramatically, staring at the door, staring at Dad, staring back at the door, making absolutely sure everyone understands he has been wronged.

And….Those eyes!

“I am a sweet, innocent baby who has never done anything wrong in my entire life. Also, I am currently judging every choice you have made today.”

And then there’s the under-the-bed routine, which is honestly genius. He doesn’t hide because he’s scared. He hides because he knows you’ll come looking for him.

“Oh no, where’s Coopy?”

Meanwhile Coopy:

“Excellent. The operation is proceeding exactly as planned.”

The thing that makes him so adorable is that he’s not just attached to you; he wants to be included in whatever is happening, especially if mommy goes somewhere (ANYWHERE), he wants to know. If someone closes a door, he immediately assumes there must be a very important meeting occurring that requires his supervision.

And Coopy has this very specific little family ritual: he only truly comes alive with Dad when mommy’s in the room. If I come home, he doesn’t just greet me NOPE. He runs to tell Dad that I’m home, then brings Dad the toy like, “She’s here! The audience has arrived! Let the show begin!”

He doesn’t really play with me the same way. Dad is the play guy. But apparently, I am the required witness. Coopy needs both of us in our assigned roles: Dad as the official toy-thrower, me as the emotional support audience.

It’s the funniest thing. He’s not just playing; he’s performing. And if I’m not there, the whole production shuts down. That’s Coopy: part dog,

…part tiny family entertainer, part drama king who needs his people exactly where they belong.

Yes, that is our Coopy. My constant companion.

Time for us to do math and Latin. BUT FIRST…

It happened.

Tatum wanted a bite of my odd conglomeration for breakfast yesterday, so she begged to have the same thing the next day. This vs. the protein pancakes, watermelon and egg. It’s really good and she wants it everyday. What have I done? Yes, I know. It’s rice, avo, blueberries, chicken and olive oil all over it. It’s actually very tasty. REALLY.

While we did Math, the birds napped. Simultaneously.

And there was peace before Latin.

Then:
Sum Nauta; Nauta Sum. Agricola Sum. Es Agricola. Et Agricola et Nauta.

We started to argue over who was a sailor or farmer. Multiple personality issues here. You had to be there. LOL.

It really couldn’t get better.

But then it did.

You see, we went to Target and all heck broke loose. We laughed so much we almost got kicked out of the store. I felt like I was back in time with my friends at the mall circa 1981.

Tatum insisted we buy the SAME shirts too. It doesn’t get better than this. It was a photo sesh.

Pose darn it. Stop making me laugh you.

We accidentally went up to a guy in a red shirt and realized he didn’t work there. I told him you are not allowed to wear red if you shop at Target. It’s TOO CONFUSING!

Well we had side aches so it def was time to head home and eat lunch. Coopy was glued to the set.

Yes, he is a bit addicted to the screen.

Anyhoo, it was just another day in paradise at the Hay home. More to come. I can’t take it!

Learning to stay grounded when answers are still unclear

There is a strange tension in healing. Sometimes we need to pay close attention. We need to notice patterns, listen to symptoms, and make wise changes. But sometimes paying too much attention sends us down a rabbit hole of self-focus, overanalysis, and research mode. I am trying to learn the difference between listening to my body and obsessing over it.

Food is one of the places where this gets complicated.

When symptoms are mysterious, even familiar meals can start to feel complicated. I am not questioning food itself. Food is still nourishment. What I start questioning are the ingredients: the dairy, the whey, the cream, the fiber, the fat source, the things I have added back because they helped me survive one season but may not be helping me heal in this one.

And that is the part I am trying not to let take over. I do not want to ignore my body. But I also do not want every meal to become another piece of the puzzle.

Anyone who has lived with lingering, confusing symptoms may understand this. Digestive distress. Stool changes. Inexplicable fatigue. Pain that moves around. A nervous system that seems to overreact to ordinary things. At some point, even a familiar meal can start to get picked apart. Not because food is the enemy, but because you are trying to understand whether something in it might be contributing to the bigger picture. It is exhausting. Trying to figure that out can become a full-time job all by itself.

Is there dairy in that? What about gluten? Was it too much fat? Too little fat? Too much fiber? Not enough fiber? Is this histamine? Is it the timing? Is it the food at all?

Healing can become myopic. It is not wrong to ask questions. Sometimes questions help us find patterns we genuinely need to see. But when every meal becomes difficult, and every symptom leads to more questions, it can create a vicious cycle. You start wondering what you missed, what you should change, what you should remove, or what you should try next. Before long, eating becomes tangled up with the exhausting work of trying to figure it all out.

I do not want to solve a puzzle by creating more puzzle pieces.

There comes a point when you are not sick enough to be in crisis, but not well enough to stop wondering. You feel like you are doing all the right things: Eating, sleeping, showing up, trying to live normally, and then your body does something confusing and life-stealing again. And suddenly, a normal meal becomes something you start trying to decode.

There was a long stretch….and I mean a long stretch…when I would have gone searching for the next answer. A new doctor. A new test. A new supplement protocol. A new theory. I have done all of that. I have spent the money, taken the labs, followed the plans, bought the bottles, tracked the symptoms, and hoped the next answer would finally explain everything.

I wish it were that simple.

I wish someone could say, “It was the dairy. Stop that, and you’ll feel better.” Or, “It was the cream. Remove that, and the itching will disappear.” Sometimes there are pieces of truth in those discoveries. Sometimes a change really does help. But for me, it has rarely been one clean answer with one clean solution.

And at some point, the search for the culprit became a job of its own.

That is the part I am trying to step away from.

Of course, I will still make wise adjustments. I may try a short elimination. I may remove something that seems worth testing. I may add something gentle if it makes sense. But I am no longer willing to live as if the next magic bullet is always one new doctor, lab result, supplement, or protocol away.

There is a kind of hope that comes with anything new. A new plan can feel like a fresh start, and a new doctor can feel like the person who will finally see what everyone else missed. A new protocol can feel like a way out, and sometimes new help really does help.

But the newness of something is not the same as healing. This year, I want to heal in the quieter way God keeps bringing me back to: the basics of eating, sleeping, resting, moving gently, praying, and participating in life.

And yet, I still have to listen, and that is the real tension. I am learning that I can be curious and peaceful at the same time.

Maybe this is not really about food or the mysterious symptoms after all. Maybe it is about the way we live with anything unresolved.

Most of us have places in our lives where we are tempted to keep searching, keep fixing, keep analyzing, keep trying to find the one missing piece that will finally make everything make sense. Especially now, with so much information coming at us all the time. Health can become that place. So can parenting. Marriage. Work. Faith. Grief. Identity. The future.

Yes, many times, we do need to pay attention and make changes. We do need to listen closely enough to notice what is no longer working. But we also need to be careful not to let the search become our new home. 

For anyone else living with something unresolved, maybe the goal is not to stop asking questions. Maybe the goal is to ask them from a more grounded place. To stay curious without becoming consumed. To make wise changes without making your whole life about fixing yourself. To keep showing up to your actual life even while you are still waiting for answers. That means having faith in the process and letting God take the wheel of results. 

I still want healing. Of course I want a breakthrough. Some days, it’s all I can do to hold on to God for that hope. But I will not lose who I am while I’m looking for more answers.  

So for now, I am practicing this: listen without spiraling. Make the wise change slowly and deliberately, not out of panic. I’m not perfect at this. It’s a work in progress. God has a way of gently grounding me when I get off on an extreme path.

My body is not my enemy. And this puzzle, however frustrating, does not get to become the place where my soul abides.

In every way that matters. And bonus? It was Bluebell’s Birthday!

Our house celebrated exactly the way you’d expect us to.

Going to the bird spa to get nails, beak and wings upleveled.

A dramatic bird retrieval involving a net because Rio decided personal freedom mattered 

Of course Coopy joining us.

We celebrated Tot later with some LOVE earrings, a watch to tell her ALL THE TIME how much I love her, and a few knick knacks.

Wild, loud, funny, tender love.

The kind that turns a little girl into your Tot forever.

Truly, it ended up being one of those beautifully ordinary days that somehow feels sacred when you’re in it.

School got out Wednesday, and we all slept a bit longer. Hallelujah!

My aunt came over, and it was just so good to sit together and talk. She brought up memories I hadn’t thought about in a long time, and, she helped me see my life with fresh eyes.

You see: Tot saved my life. (Jesus saved it the first time).

Before her, I was on the road to becoming a full-blown Type A mess. Overworking. Overdoing. Over-planning. Over-everything. I thought achievement was the goal. I thought control was safety. I thought staying busy meant I was doing life right.

And then, three months before she was born, Tatum dropped into my lap. Literally!

Everything changed: She interrupted the life I thought I was building and became the life I actually needed. Then Doug came into our lives when she was two, and somehow, piece by piece, God started building something I could have never planned for myself.

A family….A REAL home (not a condo or apartment). A REAL kind of love. Not conditional. ..not performance based.

Doug had the day off today and went on a bike ride, which made me happy for him. We had originally planned coffee together, but honestly, our whole day became this ongoing connection anyway…little conversations, checking in throughout the day.

And Tot and I? We had the best little day.

First she made a protein’y breakfast (I have taught her well) with protein pancakes. (and whipped cream because we put that on everything.

We went to Michaels and wandered around looking at crafts, laughing, taking ridiculous pictures, and being completely unserious. She wanted us to wear matching Crocs because apparently being “twinsies” is still cool at 13. Honestly, I’ll take it while I can.

In Michaels, she’s posing dramatically in the squishy aisle. This was “restock” day, and we had to be there because these sell out immediately. Go figure.

Meanwhile, Coopy lived his absolute best life today playing monkey-in-the-middle with TWO identical tennis balls because apparently one is emotionally insufficient.

And maybe my favorite part?

I felt good today.

Not survival mode. Not forcing it. Just…present. Light. Happy. Grateful.

At level 57, I feel like my life is just beginning; not as the old me trying to do everything, prove everything, hold everything together. But as the new me: softer, freer, and the me God was patiently leading here all along.

These are the moments I used to think were too small to matter. But now I relish these little things.

Happy half birthday, Tot. Thanks for making life fun.
And thank you for saving me in ways you’ll probably never fully understand. Thank you HHH for being there steadfast.

Thank you Jesus for giving me a second chance.

Before the day even really began, hubby handed me the smartest, sweetest card: “We’ve been through a lot, but I’m still here.” Honestly, after all these years and all the seasons, that means everything to me.

Then came the last day of finals for Tot. So the ride to school was filled with “Happy Birthday to you” cheers.
Math and History. Her hardest ones. She was NOT in the mood to celebrate anything this morning. We drove to school with that finals-week energy hanging in the air. But when I picked her up later, she jumped into the car relieved and proudly announced:

“I’M AN 8TH GRADER!”

Then immediately jumped into the pool in her school uniform.

That pretty much sums up her spirit perfectly.

My mom came over later and spent time with me, which meant so much. Tot and Grandma stood back-to-back comparing heights because somehow Tot is suddenly growing up overnight.

Mom also gave me an incredibly generous gift that left me overwhelmed with gratitude. New clothes are officially coming, and apparently Level 57 is leveling up in the wardrobe department too. (If I can find something that fits!) HA!

Throughout the day, my phone just kept lighting up. Friends. Family. Long-lost friends. Messages from people I haven’t talked to in forever. It felt like little reminders all day long that connection still matters. That people remember you, and that friends are forever even if you don’t talk in years.

I even got to talk to my BROTHER!!

Then hubby surprised me AGAIN with my favorite flowers and another beautiful card.

Coopy adores him too.

He and Tot also got me a Target gift card because apparently everyone agrees it’s time for mom to have some fun clothes

WOW. His cards are better than a new diamond ring. (Wait..what did I just say?)
The best part was this:

I didn’t feel good, but I had my family, friends, and this little guy. I just love to stare at him.

Level 57 is looking really, really good. (Well, I have to put on my glasses to see that most of the time. Maybe I should just go glassesless because what you don’t see doesn’t hurt you!) HA!

And I’m deeply grateful for every person who helped make it feel so special.

AMEN.