The first is May 23…the day I officially adopted her when she was six months old. Of course, she had already been mine from the very beginning. I was in the birthing room. I cut her cord. I held her from day one.
My heart had chosen her long before the paperwork caught up.
But May 23 is still sacred to me. It is the day the world officially recognized what my soul already knew:
She was my daughter.
Then came July 9.
After Doug and I were married, he officially adopted her too.
Seven years ago, a dream came through for him; the chance not merely to love her, care for her, and help raise her, but to become her dad in every legal and lasting sense of the word.
So July 9 became her second Love Day.
This year, Dad celebrated her with the most perfectly Tatum gift possible: a Target gift card.
Her home away from home.
The card said, “You are one of my favorite humans on this big blue and green ball.”
“Wow. Seven years ago a dream came through for me—to adopt you! I’m so glad to be your Dad!”
There are some words that hold far more than the PENCIL (I love that he writes in pencil so he doesn’t make a perm. mistake).
That morning, I had to go to Mayo Clinic. It was one of those harder days…the kind filled with appointments, uncertainty, and the weight of a body that has demanded so much attention. The Mayo bracelet around my wrist was not exactly how I imagined beginning Love Day.
And then there was Rio, bright yellow and full of personality, showing up like a tiny beam of sunshine. That little bird has a way of brightening everything without even trying.
Maybe that is what love does too.
It does not always remove the difficult parts of the day, but it reminds us that the hard is not the whole story.
July 9th is official, but the truth is, Dad chooses her every day.
Happy Love Day, Tot.
You are one of our very favorite humans on this big blue and green ball.
It started with matching shirts, because sometimes motherhood requires coordinated outfits and absolutely ridiculous filters. Tot and I laughed trying on oversized glasses, cat-eye sunglasses, fuzzy ears, and whatever else the camera decided to place on our heads.
These are the moments I love….the completely unserious ones.
Then Tot discovered the newest craze: mystery blind boxes. You buy the package without knowing which little character is hiding inside and simply hope for the best.
Honestly, it feels like a lot of emotional pressure for one tiny box.
But her first surprise was a Hello Kitty HYOJO figure, and she was SOOO excited. Naturally, Hello Kitty needed to ride home safely in her own little car seat, buckled in like the important passenger she clearly was.
And then, because things apparently come in threes, we wandered into MINISO.
Oh, MINISO.
It was overstimulation and overpriced cuteness packed into one very brightly lit store. There were shelves upon shelves of things we absolutely did not need…but SHE suddenly felt strangely compelled to own.
Tot tried on the fluffiest glasses she could find and struck a pose, because of course she did.
Then she chose another mystery blind box.
We opened it.
Another Hello Kitty!
You would have thought we had won the lottery.
Hello Kitty really did come in threes.
And while the little toys were fun, my favorite part was simply being with my girl. Laughing. Being silly. Watching her excitement over something small and sweet.
There is so much joy tucked inside ordinary days when we slow down enough to notice it.
Especially when we are wearing matching Hello Kitty shirts.
Every afternoon, around the same time, he comes home
Most days, by the time Doug walks through that door, I’ve had a battle no one has seen. Maybe it’s been hours in bed with heating pads. Maybe it’s another day of trying to figure out a body that refuses to cooperate. Maybe I’ve spent the afternoon discouraged, wondering if tomorrow will look any different.
And then he listens. I mean really listens.
He’ll heat up my heating pad. He’ll offer to help with dinner when I can’t. He’ll sit while I try to explain another symptom that doesn’t make sense. Sometimes he offers ideas. Sometimes he just offers his presence.
Doug has done so much more for me than times I can count.
Recently, he is working a different job at Honeywell.
He’s brilliant. He’s an engineer’s engineer. The kind of person others seek out when the problem is too complicated or when no one else has the answer. He carries enormous responsibility, and somehow he still finds time to help the people around him.
Screenshot
Everyone at work really trusts him. I’m not sure people always realize how much he carries.
He is steadfast, faithful, patient, and dependable.
When my world feels unpredictable, he becomes one of the few predictable things.
I know there are many people who don’t have that.
So today, I’m choosing gratitude. Not because our circumstances are simple.
But because God gave me a husband who faithfully carries our family.
There are days that don’t look like much on paper, but to me, they are everything.
These are the days that end up meaning the most.
Tot and I went to see the Minion movie, and honestly, I think half the fun was just being together. The dark theater, the ridiculous little yellow guys, the silly faces, the shared laughs.
She still can’t wait to drive.
She got behind that arcade steering wheel like she was already headed somewhere important.
And I get it.
But I also want to freeze her right here.
Her eyes are just intoxicating to me.
I know every mama thinks this about her child, but there is something about Tot’s eyes.
And then there was Rio.
Our fun, vivacious little Rio. That bird has no idea how much personality can fit inside such a tiny body.
Then came the red, white, and blue.
Paint on the cheek. A patriotic popsicle. A little early excitement as we get ready for America’s 250th birthday.
This is what I love most.
SIMPLE
A movie screen full of Minions. A silly arcade game. A popsicle melting in her hand. Rio being Rio. Tot being Tot.
Because I know these years are moving. I know she is getting taller and older and closer to the day when she really will drive away in a real car, with real keys, toward a real life that God is unfolding for her.
My daughter once learned about a butterfly fighting its way out of a chrysalis. Like any tender-hearted child, she wanted to help it break free. She saw the struggle and wanted to make it stop. She wanted to open the way, free the butterfly, and rescue it from what looked like unnecessary difficulty. But the teacher explained that the struggle was not a mistake in the process. It was part of the process.
The butterfly needed to press and push and fight its way out because that very struggle was helping its wings develop. To release it too soon would not save it. It would weaken it. Isn’t that what we want to do with struggle?
We want to get out of it as quickly as possible. We want someone to fix it, explain it, remove it, or rescue us from it.
Yes, sometimes, help is good and necessary. I am not talking about pretending pain does not hurt or refusing the support we need. But I am learning that not every struggle is proof that something has gone wrong. Sometimes the struggle is the place where strength is being formed.
The same is true for a tree.
Wind may look like the enemy, but wind teaches the tree to root deeper. A tree that never faces resistance does not become stronger. It becomes fragile. But a tree with deep roots can withstand storms that would have once taken it down.
Maybe we are more like that than we want to admit. We were not designed to live unmoved by resistance. We were designed to grow through it.
Now, I don’t want to romanticize suffering like it’s something we should embrace and celebrate. Especially health struggles. I would not wish health struggles on anyone. Chronic illness can steal time, energy, confidence, plans, and pieces of the life you thought you would be living. It can feel less like a meaningful lesson and more like being grounded from your own life.
Many days, I don’t feel inspired by the struggle. Truly, I’m just exhausted and sad.
But if I look back at pictures of myself from years ago, I see a girl who had no idea what it meant to suffer in this way. I do not judge her for that. I love her. She was doing the best she knew how to do. But I also see something now that was not there then.
I see deeper roots.
I see more compassion. More dependence on God. I see more of a heart for people who are carrying pain. I also see more gratitude for ordinary moments and awareness that strength is not always loud and fancy. No, usually strength is simply staying tender when life gives you every reason to become hardened. That is part of the struggle too.
But here’s the thing that I have realized: The thing that feels like it is breaking us may also be the place where God is making us.
Struggle, whatever it looks like for you, will never fully disappear on this side of heaven.
The wind keeps coming. The roots keep growing. The chrysalis gives way, but only after the fight. Becoming is not instant, and growth is rarely painless.
The question is not whether we will struggle.
We will.
Jesus told us plainly, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).
So maybe the better question is this: What will the struggle form in us?
Will it make us bitter or brave? Hardened or tender? Fearful or rooted? Childlike in our dependence on God, or childish in our refusal to grow?
I am not saying everything that is hard is good. I do not believe God delights in our suffering. But I do believe God can use what He allows, and that with Him, even the hardest things can form something holy in us.
I believe God can bring good from every hard thing.
That, my friend, is my hope. It has to be.
The wind does not get the final word. The cocoon is not the end of the story. The struggle is not always where life is being taken from us.
Sometimes, somehow, by the grace of God, it is where the wings are being made.
And honestly, she looked so grown up. She wouldn’t let me take a front view. Sad face…but
Zero, Brandy’s pup, got to hang out on her lap at the salon, because apparently even the dog knows where the safest, sweetest place is.
Then we got home, and Tot wanted to PLAY.
Not scroll. Not disappear. Not be too old for it…..Play!
We started going through all of her old bins and found the cars and the little toys and all the things that used to fill our days. She had a blast pulling everything out, remembering pieces of who she was, and letting herself be imaginative and silly and free.
I love this side of her.
The playful side. The creative side. The side that reminds me she is still a kid, even as she is growing up right in front of me.
It felt like a tiny gift from God, like He is letting you revisit a room you thought had already closed. For a little while, I got to see my little girl again. Not because she went backward, but because childhood still lives in her. And I am so grateful.
Today….CHURCH! Some Sundays feel daunting…just the thought of missing. But today. We all went! That was enough.
Tot and I sent selfies back and forth later, because that’s just what we do. She told me I was gorgeous.
Then she said, “I take after you.”
Melt me into a puddle.
She probably has no idea how much that meant to me. Not because of the compliment, but because of the connection. I felt the sweetness between us.
And then there’s Coopy.
He is absolutely glued to the set, watching TV like he is waiting for his big scene. Toy on the floor, eyes locked in, fully invested. I don’t know what he thinks is happening up there, but he is committed.
It was just another weekend.
Dad doing the beautification of our home and fixing things that need it. He is so helpful and selfless.
Father’s Day. A day to celebrate DAD! Cards of love; sunflowers in the kitchen. A new shirt. Tatum’s quiet way to honor him.
There is Doug….Our steadfast one.
The one who works hard, protects us, covers us, keeps showing up, and somehow holds this family together when life feels like it keeps throwing one more thing our way.
We love him for all he does for us, but even more, we love who he is to us. He is the safe place. The one who makes sure we are protected and provided for. The one who watches over his little flock.
Honestly, he reminds me of the daddy quail outside our house.
We have these quail families that come around all the time, and I am obsessed with watching them. The mama and daddy stay close to their babies, guarding them, guiding them, keeping watch. There is something so beautiful about it. So simple. So faithful. Just like Doug. He is standing guard over his girls, his home, his people.
Because love is not just the big, romantic moments. It is not just the pretty pictures or the perfect holidays. Sometimes love looks like sitting in a doctor’s office. Sometimes it looks like driving your wife to Mayo. Sometimes it looks like holding the family steady when the plan changes again.
On Monday, Mommy had to go get tested at Mayo.
Yes, a nuclear medicine test and eating a radioactive egg sandwich so they can track your digestion for 48 hours.
Yes. A nuclear egg sandwich.
I had my little paper with all the return times, my instructions, and my strange hospital breakfast/lunch situation. Coopy patiently waiting for me.
This is what we do: We keep going.
Tatie loved on Ollie with a cucumber. The bird cage was probably messy five minutes later.
Cooper waited for Dad to play with him, staring at his toys like the loyal little fluffball he is. He knows who his people are. He knows when Dad is home. And he knows exactly how to guilt someone into playtime.
Then, because apparently we needed one more adventure, the power went out.
So we camped in the living room.
No big plan. No perfect setup. Just gathered together in the dim light while Tatum read to us. No power. No distractions. Just us. Oh, and Coopy freaking out.
It was quite the few days.
Father’s Day.
Mayo.
A nuclear sandwich.
Cucumber bird love.
A dog waiting for playtime.
A power outage.
A living room campout.
And in the middle of it all, there were my sunflowers. They are the KISS from God to me. That’s what they represent. So I keep them always in my kitchen.
Yes, I have Faith in Him. Faith that God is still carrying us through the storms.
Faith that even when our days look nothing like we planned, He is still near.
We are tired. We are stretched. We are often unsure of what is next. But we are also loved. Covered. Protected. Held. Thank you Honey. Thank you Jesus. Love still wins.
