zach n kali

My dance card is full... but not because I don't want to dance with you.  It's because there are three little lives who have currently filled out lines 1-10. With their tiny little hands they have scribbled in their names and in the margin they have written "we get 11-20 also".  Their dances do not mesh with mine - I'd prefer a slow dance to the cacophony of sounds they are currently jamming to. Courtesy of Special Collections, University of Houston Libraries The dance of the week is Sickness - not that they chose it on purpose, but it is what they are playing.  I'd prefer Health or Energy.  And while sometimes just two of us dance, at other times all three join in.  We look like a one-man-band, stumbling around, one on my back, one trying to lead, one dancing to a completely different rhythm, and me, just waiting for the song to end.  The other dancers have cleared the floor, because, let's be honest, Sickness is not a dance anyone wants to join. ...

Have you seen the Verizon commercial that follows a little girl through childhood, where she shows a bright eyed curiosity and a knack for science but is discouraged from it, is consistently told that she is pretty, told to keep her dress clean, to put the drill down and to be careful?  And then in middle school she sees an advertisement for a science fair and doesn't give it a second glance?  Yeah, as the mom of a little girl I felt a bit convicted.  It's easy to focus on the cuteness of our little girls and to let that cuteness force them into pretty dresses.  It's easy want to protect them from all harm, and thereby keep them from exploring things that might seem dangerous. So Zach and I have been trying to be mindful of not stressing Peyton's outer beauty and instead to focus on all of her gifts and curiosities.  We try to allow her to get dirty, to play with rocks and trucks and jump off of things.  We dream that if we allow her to explore her true i...

A few weeks ago I went on my first "first date" in about 10 years.  I'm a bit out of the whole dating-game.  As we looked at each other across the table, each of us awkwardly clutching our drinks, I couldn't think of a single good conversation starter.  Each one felt stilted; I'd know this person for a few years, so the basics were out of the question.  I knew the number of siblings, the favorite food, their opinion on most sporting events.  But it just didn't feel right jumping into questions like their views on education reform or religious freedoms or political opinions.  Who wants to be that girl?  But as I looked into the most gorgeous blue eyes I'd ever seen, I felt myself wanting to know only one thing, asking the same question I had almost two years ago when I first held this beautiful little girl in my arms: "Who are you, little one?" A month away from her second birthday and I still don't know.  You would think that as a Stay-At-H...

There.  I said it.  Now, why is that so hard to admit?  Why is it that I feel the need to put on a happy face and pretend that I am so constantly energized by my two bouncing children that I want to take on the whole world; that being a stay-at-home mom is the greatest single feat I have ever and will ever accomplish?  Why can't I just say that I love what I do, but I'm tired - that there are highs and lows to every day, just like there are in the working world? ** Side Note: If you aren't a stay-at-home mom, feel free to insert your own job.  I simply say SAHM because it's my job.  But I'm sure everyone has felt these things, be you a teacher, a doctor, a marine biologist, or a wedding planner (those are just some of the other things I wanted to be growing up). So why can't I admit that I am bone-tired?  It's pretty simple, really. I would rather say, "Hi, I'm SuperMom!"  Because being honest, might make it seem like I made a mistake in my...

Worship is a wonderful thing.  To live your whole life as such is something to strive for. I heard a story about a man who would set his alarm throughout the day to remind himself to stop and pray, with the goal being that he would train himself to always be in the Spirit.  But some days worship is the last thing on our minds.  Sometimes your environment - sometimes the very thing that makes you want to worship - tries to keep you from doing just that.  The nature that usually brings you closer to the Lord is suddenly hailing giant pellets on you as you run across the parking lot or blowing your lawn chairs across the pool.  The music that usually transports you to another place screeches in your ears as the microphones give off nasty feedback.  And sometimes "Mama!" is the last thing you want to be called.  The sound of your name being called for the umpteenth time as you are trying to have a conversation with another adult is grating to your ears. ...

Over the past few months I've been in somewhat of a drought. A dark night of my soul, if you will. I haven't felt fulfilled. I haven't felt productive. I haven't felt like myself. I've wondered whether or not I should re-enter the workforce, whether we should take another foster placement, whether I can get away with spending the day in bed because I just feel so blah.   When I went to the dentist the other day, she asked how in the world I could possibly stay home with two little ones. She never would have the patience. Considering what I look like at the end of most days, I don't really have an answer.  Trust me, I do not have super-natural patience.  I've tried reading self-help books with campy titles such as The Stay At Home Mom Survival Guide and Stay Home, Stay Happy, hoping to find some validation, some joy, some peace.  And yet I still feel like I'm paying $300 a month to wipe bottoms (thanks, student loans!).   I've been struggling late...

It's been a few weeks since our sweet baby D went back home to his family.  What a roller coaster! Sometimes fun, sometimes exhausting, sometimes frustrating, sometimes fulfilling... you name it, we probably felt it.  And our family grew in leaps and bounds.  After a very rough first week, I told Zach that I didn't think we could do it, that I was too tired, and that the kids were suffering - suffering, gasp, because they no longer had my complete and undivided attention!  Suffering because they had to wait their turn, and suffering because my lap was sometimes filled with someone else!  And Zach said the most amazing thing, the thing that carried me and will carry me through each new placement.  He said, "Our kids are fine.  They know that we love each other and that we love them.  Matt is at an age where he needs to learn that we have an open home, that we love other people too.  And Peyton is at an age where she needs to learn that she is ...

 Spring has sprung here in southern California, and the gorgeous photogenic days mean one thing in the Hocking household - dirt.  I saw this adorable wall decal once that defined "Boys" as "noun.  Noise with dirt on it". Truer words may have never been spoken.  But let's not count out little girls.  Sweet P might be sugar and spice and everything nice, but earlier today she looked like she had a beard.  I'm sure the dirt offers some sort of protein.  I think I've already swept up an inch of dirt off my living room floor today.  Dirt has always been my enemy.  I'm not fond of camping because of dirt.  I don't like gardening because of dirt, and sometimes I don't like the beach because of dirt.  And then I had toddlers, and Dirt became a supervillian that you could make a movie out of.  When I look at my dirt-speckled children, all I can think about is how all that dirt will soon be in my house.  I'm just done.  Over it...

I woke up this morning with a bad case of The Mondays.  I mean bad.  Monday is usually a reset day for us after busy weekends.  But this morning I was just over it.  I didn't want to unload the dishwasher.  I didn't want to change Matt's sheets (potty training is great, but exhausting).  I kind of just wanted to sit in a corner with my coffee and pout.  But if I decide to be Mrs. Crankypants, then the kids become Crankypants Jrs, and that just makes everything worse.  I just felt like life was on this 'lather, rinse, repeat, lather, rinse, repeat' cycle of monotony. Pick up the toys just so the kids can dump them out again.  Unload the dishwasher just to load it up again.  Read Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs again.  Again again again. But then by my second cup of coffee, I remembered what someone at church said a few weeks ago.  A Stay-At-Home-Mom herself, she felt caught up in the same monotony.  But she shared that ...

Dear Mr. Manning, This is my daughter Peyton. She is 8 months old, and the most adorable, precocious, and sweet spirited baby you will ever meet (except for your own, of course). She is a wiggler, a giggler, a smiler, and is in fact named after you. She might not be fond of being named after a male football player when she's 15, but if it wasn't this, then I'm sure she'd find something else to be angry at us for.  Many people who don't know us well assume that my husband chose her name and that he's the big NFL fan, but it was in fact me; I've known for years that I would name one of my children after you, boy or girl. I've been your fan since you were drafted, and have watched you take the Colts from the worst team in the NFL (I have proof in the form of a Monopoly board ) to being Super Bowl champions. And when you became a Bronco, it brought me full circle, back to my dad who has been a lifelong-live-and-die-with-them-don't-talk-to-him-ti...

A funny thing happened to me about a year ago. I found out we were pregnant! With all the joy and excitement came something commonly called Pregnancy Brain. I've mentioned this before. Where before I could spend an hour telling Zach about the latest episode of "The Biggest Loser" (sad, but true), I now couldn't remember if I had watched it. My vocabulary was turning into one syllable words. And grocery shopping? If it wasn't written down, it wasn't bought. This unfortunately left us toiletpaperless several times. So writing definitely wasn't going to happen. I would stare at my journal or the computer screen and wait for words to magically appear. But they wouldn't. So I decided to give myself maternity leave. I knew that once our baby girl was born, my brain would return and I would be so inspired by the wonder of birth and new life that the words would just flow out of me. Ah... Hindsight is not only 20/20, it's often hilarious. Peyton was born ...

M and I are having one of those days.  He's acting like a 1 year old and I want him to understand me like a 5 year old.  Every time I turn around, something has been pulled off a shelf.  Every time I try to do something like empty the dishwasher, M needs me with sudden clinginess.  Instead of saying please, I constantly am reminding him not to whine.  His room is covered in books, clothes that he's pulled out of his drawer, and diapers (thankfully clean!).  I'm exhausted and ready to close my bedroom door and cry.  But instead I bend to pick up the books and realize that his daily flip calendar is still on March.  So I change it to today's date, and here was the verse: 1 Samuel 1:27 (NCV) "I prayed for this child, and the Lord answered my prayer and gave him to me." Then the tears came.  I have been praying for this sweet little boy since before I knew him.  It has always been my  heart's desire to be a mother, and he has heard ...