Dear Little One

Dear Little One,

I saw you tonight. You don't know me but I remember you. I knew your face before you even turned around. I've seen it in my dreams.

You were asleep. You had no idea Mommy had overdosed and Daddy was on his way too. A stranger called 911. I was the second officer on scene. You woke up at the sound of the sirens. Your scream drowned it out as of it were a soft spring breeze over calm water. Your sister had seen all these things before. She already knew Mommy was going in "the white box". She told me that Daddy would wake up in a while. She asked if I had a snack. You just cried and pulled to get out of your seat. It was half strapped on your leg. Your diaper had obviously not been changed in some time. You screamed but you let me pick you up without a fight. You kept yourself as far away from me as you could at first but as I talked to you and rubbed your back, your stiff body eased ever so slightly. It was finally a blue pen on my vest that made you smile. You liked the clicker on top. I finally saw some light come into your eyes.
I remember the comment made by another officer.
"I don't know how you can touch her, Jensen. She nasty. That whole van nasty."
He was right. Your fingernails were coal black. Your clothes had holes in them. Your hair was matted and unkempt. Your stench could have cleared a high school locker room. I remember washing my uniform twice to get it out. I just let you lay your head on my shoulder. I bought your meal. I remember the way your sister stuffed chicken nuggets in her pockets to have for later. She knew there wouldn't be any food and she told me she'd save fries for you. She could barely pronounce the word. "Frees".
Your case was like any other. Arrests made, warrants served, CPS called, vehicle towed, carefully articulated report...
They put me on standby for court. You were still with family members. I waited and waited in anticipation of trying my damndest to come to your rescue again. You needed a home. A safe place. Food. Shelter. Basic human kindness and blue pens. You needed lots of blue, clicky pens.
I wanted to put my fist through the attorney's face when she told me your parents got their third round of unsupervised probation and, after an 8 week parenting class, you would be reunited with a happy family who had missed you so much. My services would no longer be needed in this case. Well done, Officer Jensen.
I had geared up to go to battle for you. To give you your best chance but nobody cared. "They didn't mean to do it...drug addiction is so overpowering...it's a mental disorder"... The same old pleas had won again. The system failed you. I failed you. With all my ability and all the power the badge gave me, I could do nothing to help you any further. I gave you 8 months of relief. Now I would know you were back in hell, hungry, scared and alone again. My hard work was irrelevant. Your suffering didn't matter.

I saw you tonight. Your hair is longer and your eyes are still big and brown. Your hands are still tiny. Your smile is gone. Your eyes are dead. Your body is numb and your spirit broken. I am so sorry, Little One. I tried to save you and I failed. For this, my spirit is broken.

In the light of dawn, push on, Little One. Push on. The war is not over for either of us yet.

   I can hear it in the dead of night. I feel it in my bones. His words still cut as if they were spoken to me in that instant. 

   “You don’t matter.”

   Here I sit. Alone. Single mother of 3 children. Tired…no, exhausted. Struggling. Pulled in every direction. 

I am left to feel like I am not their mother. I must work outside of my home to provide everything they need. This was the last thing I ever wanted. I fought with everything I had to prevent it. I spend countless hours sitting in a patrol car watching my back for an ambush and wishing I was at home, hearing them laugh. I sweat buckets on the side of the road hoping not to get hit by a car while thinking about their quiet, sleeping faces. I spend hours drenched to the bone wishing I could just curl up in somebody’s arms and be the one who is weak and loved for once. I struggle. I cringe. I grieve. I rage. I push on. 

   Then, in quiet moments as I look through my daughter’s kindergarten folder, I find the unprompted words she wrote about me over a year ago. In the moments when I am weak and I least expect it, I find the true thoughts of my 6 year little girl. When I doubt the life that God has allowed me to provide for her, I find quiet reassurance and peaceful understanding in the pencil of a child. Though I doubt my value, I know that hers is beyond compare. It is that value that keeps her close to my mind in the middle of the night when I am called away. It is that sweet spirit that calls me home. Taylor, my sweet girl, you are loved beyond words.

March 2017

What do you like to do at home?

I like to spend time with my Mommy.
I like to ride my bike. I like to climb on my (translation please??). I like to feed my chickens.
I like to jump on my trampoline. I like to watch TV. I like to wash my Mom's police car.

May 2017

What do you love about your Mom?

I love my Mom because she puts me to bed.
I love my Mom because she jumps on the trampoline with me.
I love my Mom because she is a beautiful mom.
I love my Mom because she buys me clothes.

November 2017

Write a sentence telling what you are thankful for.

I am thankful for Thanksgiving.
I am thankful for my Momma.
I am thankful for my Pap Pap.
I am thankful for my GiGi. 

"...I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you." Jeremiah 31:3

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for good and not evil, to give you a future and a hope."

Jeremiah 29:11

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old things have passed away; behold, all things are new." 

2 Corinthians 5:17

A small perspective from behind the Thin Blue Line

   We're all aware of the current controversy surrounding law enforcement officers. I don't feel the need to touch on that subject. I'm thinking of a different issue. One I am accused of nearly every shift I work.

"WHY DON'T YOU DO YOUR JOB???"

   For the record, I am doing my job but I can't always do exactly what you think I ought to do. The law is the law. It does not change because of your anger. It does not give heed to your ranting nor does it care how many times you cuss me out. I have sworn an oath to protect and serve you. I WILL DO SO...lawfully. Please understand, the same oath that I swore to protect you, protects the one who has offended you. 

   You must remember, in the state of North Carolina, there are 9.9 MILLION residents who may have an emergency at any time of any given day. We won't count those who are visiting family from out of state and wreck their car or those who are passing through but still decide to steal from the local Wal*Mart. There are only 23,000 law enforcement officers to save the day and all of us aren't on duty at the same time. 

   23,000 vs. 9.9 MILLION

   If you can't see that perspective, think of it like this. While your husband is convulsing, somebody else's house is on fire containing the family dog and a two year old little girl. There's a tree down. Your officer, who would normally take 5 minutes to get there, takes 20 minutes because two of the major roads have been shut down without any information being passed along. There are two car wrecks. The first, is only property damage while the second has a severely injured 8 year old little boy. A mother has a missing 15 year old. Across the street, people are shooting at each other all while an important city official is calling for an escort to the bank. 

   There are only 5 officers on duty. 

   We are your first responders. We are your law enforcement officers. We swore an oath to protect and serve you. I meant that oath. I took it to heart and I don't regret it. You matter to me.  I am rushing around to coordinate your safety.  I'm taking curves a little too fast and skipping lunch to help you. I'm furiously wracking my exhausted brain to find an immediate solution to your problem all while watching my back and yours. My bullet proof vest is cutting into my shoulders. My duty belt weighs 30 lbs and it's not being kind to my aching feet. I've worked so many hours in the last 3 days that I haven't been able to hug my children. I feel guilty about it. As my focus lays entirely on you and your problem, there are 3 other calls demanding my attention. I understand you may be hurting and you're afraid. I am here to help in any way I can. Just please, when I finally arrive, be patient and kind. You can't see the whole picture. You also aren't the first person to scream at me, call me lazy, or accuse me of racism in the last 3 hours. Let that sink in as I say, I have at least 9 more hours to go.

Dead Dreams, Living Hope

   In light of some recent uncontrollable circumstances in my life, I have been forced to find a new dream for myself and my children. This ultimately includes a career. It had been my dream to be a permanent stay at home mom. I believed that it was my biblical role to be my children's sole caretaker.
   While that belief still rings true, it is not the reality of my life. The mental transition to this was a miserable one to make. I felt like I was being forced to abandon my children. I was being dragged against my will into a dungeon with no window. First and foremost, I was supposed to be a mother. How could I be a good, attentive, involved mother if I wasn't at home with my children every day? How could I possibly make them understand that not only was Daddy suddenly gone but Momma wasn't going to be there to kiss every scrape or read every book they fancied? I could find no answer to that. I was just going to have to treasure the remaining time I had at home before I took the plunge.
   Through this grief, I finally began to understand what my mother meant when she told me, "God does not give us grace for what if. He gives us grace for what is." This was just another aspect of my husband's choice to abandon our family. This was just another trial I would have to overcome because of my husband's sin. I faced it with great anger and resentment. I faced it with fear and disgust. Ultimately, I faced it because I had no other choice.
   I spent the better part of a year researching career opportunities. I learned the requirements be a lawyer, a personal assistant, a masseuse, a personal trainer, a therapist, an accountant...blah blah blah. The only career I didn't consider was a truck driver. As much as I love to drive, I don't see myself brushing my teeth in a public sink. ;)
   In the midst of this quest, there was one career that stuck in the back of my mind but I was too fearful to bring it out of the shadows. It was just too crazy. My abused mind convinced me that my family would laugh at me. I was certain they would dismiss the idea as impossible. After all, I had already convinced myself that I'd never make it through the required training. Why did I need anybody to affirm what I was already certain of? Still, it nagged at me.
   As this desire swelled with each passing siren, I began to recognize the abuse I had suffered at the hands of my husband. I saw the way he manipulated and deceived me. I understood that the voice in my heart telling me how useless and unloved I was did not come from my own mind. It came from love. A deeper love than you could imagine. Because I loved my husband far more than I loved myself, I accepted his words as absolute truth. My desire to please him was so deeply rooted in me that I even began to put myself down in his place. If I wasn't good enough for him to love me, I wasn't good enough for anything. I wasn't a good mother. I was fat and ugly. I was worthless...stupid...a waste of his time and energy...greedy and incapable of even picking out my own clothes.
   As the Spirit slowly revealed this abuse to me, He also began healing me. He allowed me to grieve the loss of my love and recognize truth. He showed me how to let go of the lies I had been fed day after day for 6 years. He reminded me of who He had created me to be. I desired, more than anything, to come out of my self-preserving bubble and do something daring and huge. To find the me that was once impulsive and courageous, whose mind and heart pushed her body fearlessly forward when others said, "No, you aren't capable". I wanted to be better, to believe in myself again. I wanted to be strong but most of all, I wanted to be free from the fear choking the very life from my heart.
   Yet, I wouldn't let myself. Each time these desires welled up in me, I squashed them. I ducked back into my cave and listened to the sneering, taunting voice of my once Beloved...'You don't matter.'... 'Your family will laugh at you.'...'That's not going to work.'...'You're crazy.'...'You're being stupid.'....'You can't do that!'.
   It was in one of these moments that I heard a still, small voice say, 'When has your family ever laughed at you?'
    DING DING DING. QUEUE THE LIGHTS, PEOPLE.
    I saw the brilliant light that only the Holy Spirit can bring into your life. My family was my safe place. Were they not the ones who God sent to rescue me when not only my life was in danger but the life of all three of my daughters? Were they not the ones who had powerlessly watched the horrific destruction of my marriage? These were the people who already knew my struggle. They already knew the heinous things that were said and done to me. They knew better even than I, that my mind accepted my husband's statements as absolute truth. Thankfully, they also knew my strength and my drive. They understood that my broken spirit and my Holy Spirit were at war.
   It was in this revelation that I found a measure of peace. My fear did not lesson. My anxiety didn't disappear. However, I could finally admit it to myself and my family. If I was to be forced to work away from my children, I didn't want to simply sit behind a desk and earn a pay check. I wanted a job that mattered. I wanted to be a Police Officer.
   I can't tell you that my family's reaction was over the top. Supportive? Absolutely! Was my Dad crazy about me having a job that requires a bullet proof vest? Not hardly! But they rallied. My parents were the backbone of my training. Daddy gave countless, much needed pep talks. Momma, with quite a few pep talks herself, was the ever-present caregiver of my girls while I spent 10-15 hours a day in training followed by countless hours of studying with a pinch of sleep thrown in.

For the record, fingerprint dust
gets everywhere!!

   Basic Law Enforcement Training was a Mount Everest for me. I went from doing very little exercise to an intense workout 4-5 times a week. My tired body ached hourly. My recovering mind struggled to focus on the countless paragraphs of law in front of me. I was convinced I would fail my weekly tests before they were ever placed in front of me. Yet, I pushed. The Spirit reminded me daily, "When have I ever set you up to fail?".  So, I found a partner who helped me study and work out. I found courage in my rising test scores and strength in my extra workouts. I even found myself enjoying my life. I, once again, found my God to be faithful.

   When my final, dreaded physical abilities test arrived, I passed. When I heard the passing time, I stood in amazement with laughter billowing from my soul.  All things are possible through Christ who strengthens me.
   My next step was to pass my state exam. The days prior are an incoherent blur. I recall some very long paragraphs, a few hours of sleep and a lot of pizza for dinner.
   When graduation day arrived, there was some confusion with my test scores and even as I stood ready to walk across the stage, I wasn't sure I'd be given the chance. There are no accurate words for that panic attack! My gracious Captain settled the issue for me and even gave me scores for each block of my test. I passed with flying colors. Have you heard the Hallelujah Chorus yet??

   June 4, 2015. I swelled with pride as I swore my oath to protect and serve. I smiled as Daddy pinned my badge on my shirt and cried when I looked into my proud mother's eyes while she held the Bible on which I placed my left hand. A moment I thought was completely impossible turned out to be my first breath in a brand new life. That was one moment that I began to accept what once represented the end of my life. I changed my mentality of being robbed of my dream to being blessed with a new one. I didn't have to lose my children. I had to adjust my entire life but my life is still in them. They are the most precious beings on this earth. I have done so much with so little because the vision of their tiny faces has put power in my step and the strength of a Holy God has renewed my mind.

...I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore, I have continued my faithfulness to you. 

Jeremiah 31:3

 
 

September 2015 Status Update

   Hello one and all. It's been ages since I've updated this and I must say, I've missed it.
 
   Our little family has had some major changes in the recent years. I said goodbye to my stay-at-home mom cape and am now working as a Police Officer. My job has long hours and crazy events but I must admit, I love it. There have been innumerable trials as of late and most have left me wanting to be wrapped in a ball in the corner of a dark room. However, I am reminded of God's loving, tender hand each time I hear, "Meet Officer Jensen." I am still in awe that He would give me such a title in this world. He is good!
 
   My girls are doing well. Paige is now 5 years and started Kindergarten in August. Being the social butterfly that she is, she is adjusting well and throughly enjoying every scrap of homework she receives. The girl did have a few bumpy days in the beginning. Just 2 weeks into school on a pretty summer morning, I noticed her yawning in the back seat. She said,
"Momma, do I always have to go to school every day?"
I explained that she would have weekends off but for the most part, yes, she would have to attend school every day.
Her response, "But do I have to go in the morning?!".
 
   Taylor is now three years old and is thoroughly enjoying her time to be the boss while Paige is at school. In true big sister fashion, she takes care of Allie in Paige's place but she also gets in her fair share of torture. There just aren't enough baby strollers or crayons to go around in this house!
 
    Allie Grace is doing great as well. Most of you don't know that we had some issues with her losing weight as an infant and young toddler but you'd never know it now! The child will make your back hurt. She is 2 years old and speaks as well as an English professor. My little ball of laughter is also the clown of the whole family. She loves nothing more than a good reaction.

    All things considered, we're doing great.

Momma's Girl

   My mom is nothing special.

   She's not an amazing musician who waves to the paparazzi from her BelAir home. She's not a red carpet celebrity with millions of followers on Twitter. She's not up for the Nobel Peace Prize and wouldn't be caught dead in an Emmy dress. She's never going to have her own reality show or shake hands with Bill Gates. She's not going to get on her private jet and fly to Paris just for dinner.

   My mom is nothing special to you.

   To me, my mom is the pinnacle of motherhood. She is the strongest, most beautiful woman I know. There isn't a soul on this planet or the next who can compare to my mother. She is my best friend, my mentor, and my whipping post. She can see my foul mood coming a mile away and head it off like a bull fighter. She can spot my sadness eons ahead of me and find just the right perspective to make it better. She can handle my wild, spontaneous outbursts with an even keel. She can recognize my self doubt before I even know it's crept up on me and diminish the problem with all the ease of a lioness. She can see the color of my soul through my gated eyes.

   I admire too many qualities in my mother to list them all. How do I begin to talk about her integrity or patience? Her constant devotion to myself, my brothers and our families? What sentence can describe the adoration I see in her eyes when she looks at my dad? How can you begin to say a mere thank you to a woman who raised you in the fear and admonition of the Lord? When do you find the right word for a woman who once had no car, no telephone, not even a radio, believed her husband was going to disappear with their two sons leaving her alone and pregnant with you but firmly decided 'If I have to, it will be me and you against the world, little girl.'? How can you possibly find a word to describe that kind of woman? That type of mother?

   My mother is an absolute treasure. A cornerstone. She houses a strength and love that can weather any storm. I have watched her sacrifice her life in favor of mine for 25 years. As her child, I have always been her priority. I've seen her struggle with how to be a parent. I've known her to make tough decisions that wouldn't be pleasant for me or her but in the end, I came out better. I learned. Despite giving her all to me, she has never resented me or felt deprived of her own life.

   I am her life. She is my hero.

 Strength and dignity are her clothing and she laughs at the time to come. 

She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. 

Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also and he praises her. 

Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all. 

Proverbs 31:25-29

Facts

   I've seen a lot of 'random facts about me' status updates on Facebook. I love to read those kinds of things so here is mine.

I'd love to write a book one day.

I like to have my nails done but think the price is ridiculous.

'Gifts' is my love language.

I'd love to own a store or restaurant of my own one day.

I wish I was a put together woman who's makeup & hair is always done. Heck, I'd take just knowing how to do my hair and makeup!

Although it has gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion, I like how rough & tough I am. Don't believe me? I've got the scars to prove it!

I wish I knew how many people read my blog.

I'm a very picky eater. I'm trying to work on it but come on, wheat pasta is just nasty!!

I love to hear stories about me as a child. I usually end up hugging and apologizing to my Mom afterward. ;)

I'm in constant physical pain. A skateboard & I lost a fight with a half pipe 10 years ago. I had 2 black eyes for 8 months, chipped my teeth, scarred my knee & permanently messed up the alignment of my spine but never went to the hospital.

I often wonder why God gave me 3 girls. What do you do with so much pink?!

I love musicals!

The way to my heart is simple...accept me for the disaster in recovery that I am and love me anyway.

If given a choice about color, I will always choose black. (with the exception of my coffee)

I actually enjoy physical labor and despise the fact that I can't do it because my body aches. It makes me feel like a wimp and I hate that too.

I am terrified of being a mother. Seriously. I have no idea what I'm doing and constantly wonder what permanent scar I'm creating today.

There is only one man I love more than my Daddy.

Some of my favorite things are cute little boxes, funky cups, crazy pens & notebooks.

I want to dye my hair pink but only because my Mom firmly says no to black! ;)

I want to be fluent in sign language and spanish and learn how to play the piano before I die.

If I saw Captain Jack walking down the street, I'd follow him home. However, Johnny Depp wouldn't get so much as a nod from me.

I wish high heels didn't make my feet hurt so much!

I wonder what my reputation is. I want to be well thought of and liked but I know that everybody will not be pleased and I do not try.

I'm not a good follower. I have my own mind and I will make it up for myself.

I want my life to matter.

I hate my toes!

I can't wait for my girls to get older so that I can get rid of all the baby crap in my house. Seriously, who needs that much stuff?! Only baby humans.

I want to be treasured.

I love to make things. I can sew, quilt and am learning to crochet. I wish I was better at painting but since my kids don't care if their room is decorated by Thomas Kincaid or the Easter bunny, my lack of brush stroking skills is ok.

I'd love to have land and horses one day.

I think it's cool that my eyes are blue with a ring of yellow around my pupil.

I want to grow and learn. I love to know things even if they're pointless facts.

I want to kill a deer on a hunt with my Daddy.

I despise how long winter is.

I think a career in interior design would be awesome. I love to decorate and organize things!

If given a choice of any vehicle in the world, I'd choose a 1998 Dodge Ram. (I'd just spend the money to replace the engine)

Music is my delight.

I want to travel! I've been to nearly half of the 50 states but it's not enough.

I love craft shows, festivals, and concerts.

When I eat Skittles or M&Ms, I separate the whole bag into little groups with one of each color. I then eat the largest group with the most colors first and go on down the line.

I like to stand out.

I swear I will own a mini pony one day!

There can never be too much dessert on my plate.

I want to be an encouragement in my friends lives. I want to somebody they respect and come to for advice.

If I was granted 3 wishes, I'd spend my first on ridding the world of morning breath.

Wisdom of the Ages

   I have often been told that I lean on my parents too much. I've spent a great deal of time thinking and praying about this accusation. I have settled on a simple response.

   When I need my truck worked on, I take it to a mechanic. Why? Because a mechanic has knowledge that is out of my reach.

   My parents have lived this life far longer than I. They have struggled and persevered.

   When I need advice about life, I seek the people who have lived it before.

But as for you, teach what accords with sound doctrine. Older men are to be sober-minded, dignified, self-controlled, sound in faith, in love, and in steadfastness. Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled. Likewise, urge the younger men to be self-controlled. Show yourself in all respects to be a model of good works, and in your teaching show integrity, dignity, and sound speech that cannot be condemned, so that an opponent may be put to shame, having nothing evil to say about us.

Titus 2:1-8

One year

   Today marks the one year anniversary of my best friend's death.
  
   I assumed I would have a better handle on my emotions by now. They're as haywire as they were this time last year. I don't know which emotion to feel today. I'm angry, heartbroken, confused, and happy.
  
   Angry because of the way you died.
   Heartbroken because you're gone.
   Confused about why you chose that.
   Happy because you're at peace.

   In spite of all of that, there is one feeling that isn't haywire. One that never lessons or allows me to forget. One simple emotion.

   

   Love.

Self Inflicted Misery

   As a young mom of very young kids, I am frustrated...often. I get so tired of repeating the same commands all day every day. I get so sick of disciplining for the same issues I dealt with yesterday. I often think, 'We've been through this already! Why can't you get it? It's not that difficult!'
   Then I think of what a bonehead I am. I mean, come on! My oldest girl is barely 3 and my middle girl is just shy of 20 months. Seriously, is it even valid to get frustrated because I have to repeat myself? I'm going to say no to that.
   Is it not I who set my own expectations? Am I not the one who decides that she should 'know that by now'? I am the one who chooses to ignore everything she has accomplished and to focus on the one thing she is failing to comprehend at the moment.  I am the one who chooses to forget that learning and growth come slowly! All too often, I tell my 3 year old to do something and get aggravated when she just looks at me. Sometimes, I get aggravated despite the fact that I can tell she has no idea how to accomplish said task. I know she is not being defiant or disobedient and yet, I fuss at her anyway. I think, 'Well, why can't you figure it out?!'. How often do I make her feel stupid and worthless for something that is not her fault? How often am I guilty of simply being too lazy to get up and teach her how to do what I asked?
   I am very well aware of the commands my daughters understand. I know what each one is capable of and I believe I have every right to require they perform some tasks on their own. However, what right have I to fuss at my children for failing to meet every demand I make based not on what they know but on what is convenient for me at the moment?
   A unmet request is something that should be greeted with love and compassion. Something that should be met with understanding, grace and patience. My girls are not stupid but I can easily make them feel like they are. If I treat them like they're dumb, eventually they will believe it and act on it.
   Sometimes, my girls are completely ignorant of how to accomplish what I ask. It is my responsibility to get off my rear end and show them. It is my task to teach them their worth and value is not based on their ability to perform. They are quick, willing learners and desire my approval. It is my job to give it. I should acknowledge their effort, even if it is wrong, then show them the proper way to respond.
 
   I am a young mother. I am frustrated often. I get tired of repeating the same commands all day every day.

   I am a young mother who must remember that I am training my children. I am a frustrated mother who must remember that training takes time and repetition. I am a tired mother who must remember that training often means repeating the same commands all day every day.

Allison's Birth

   This is a story of childbirth. Therefore, if you are a man who chooses to read this and you read something that is TMI, it's completely your fault. You were warned.

   The story goes...

   After being turned away from Womack twice on Friday due to lack of available beds, I returned on Saturday morning expecting to be induced. When I arrived, there were still no beds available so a non-stress test was ordered. The nurse said I could go home if everything was ok and I would be a priority for a Monday morning induction.
   During the previous week, I had had 2 other NST's done. The line that was supposed to be measuring contractions looked like someone had drawn it with a ruler. Boy, that was a major discouragement, so I was not looking forward to what this NST might reveal. Happily though, I was having contractions this time. Whoo-hoo!!!!! After an exam, which told me I was 4 cm dilated, I allowed the doctor to strip my membranes. (Seriously, is there not a less painful way to do that?) I was told to go home and to expect a call on Monday if they did not see me before.
   I spent the rest of Saturday having erratic, barely noticeable cramping. It was 6pm before my contractions got my attention but they were still really far apart and easily ignored. They became uncomfortable around 945. My mom noticed a grimace on my face and we started to time them at 10. They were coming steadily at 4 minutes apart and lasting about 60 seconds. As I was sitting on the couch, I thought, 'We probably need to go. We're 40 minutes from the hospital and they're going to be really strong and close together by the time we get there.'

   And then...my water broke.

   In less than 2 minutes, my contractions brought me to my knees and I was spewing my dinner like Old Faithful. No longer erratic, no longer far apart, each contraction demanded my full strength and attention! My Mom helped me breathe through the pain while my Dad called an ambulance. They swear that it was at my house in 5 minutes but it seemed much longer to me! Thankfully, after some hastily asked questions it took only a few minutes to get me on the gurney, down the porch steps, and into the ambulance.
    I was supposed to deliver at the hospital on Fort Bragg but we knew it was too far away. I vaguely remember the EMT offering to take me to either Sanford or Dunn. Daddy immediately asked which one was better while Momma asked which was closest! They went with closest! That little scene still makes me giggle.
   There isn't much to say about the ambulance ride. It was horrendously painful and the 23 year old EMT was definitely worried about having to deliver a baby on his own. He kept asking me if I felt the need to push. He was very gentle but pale as a sheet. For a moment, it made me wonder if he was new at his job but the bigger thing on my mind was that they weren't going fast enough!
   When we finally made it to the hospital, they wheeled me into the ER then sent me upstairs. I've never been so nauseated in an elevator before! I'm certain the memory of that ride will always make me queasy! To add insult to injury, the upstairs hallways appeared to be longer than Route 66. When the EMT and nurses finally got me to the bed and told me to get off the gurney, I wanted to say, 'NO. Just leave me right where I am and go away.'. By that point, my contractions weren't letting up and I was seriously wondering if my legs would work. I was speechless when a nurse changed the command. She told me to go into the bathroom and get into a hospital gown. Didn't that woman know the bathroom was across the room, AKA located in Siberia?! I almost said NO again. Was this seriously necessary?! Of course, it wasn't an option so I got into a gown and somehow made it back across the room and into the bed.
 
   Little bit of a fox trail here... when I reached the bed, I told them that I needed an epidural. Most of you don't know this but when I was induced with Taylor, I tried to labor naturally even though I was given Pitocin. Let's just say it didn't work out. I was rolling along and happily miserable for a while. My contractions were coming hard and fast. I just knew that I could make it through the terrible pain. I was positive that I making progress and that baby girl was close to making her entry. WRONG.
   I remember with perfect clarity, the moment my nurse checked my cervix and told me that youngin had moved back up and I wasn't dilating any more. That was the moment that I wholeheartedly gave up. I made them turn the Pitocin drip off and told them I wanted an epidural on the spot.
   This time, my contractions were the same intensity and I just knew that they were about to tell me that I was only 5 or 6 centimeters. I was positive that I was a long way from giving birth and that I wasn't going to make it.
   Ok, back to the story. It will make sense in a minute, I promise.
 
   I remember a nurse telling me that I needed to lay down so they could check my cervix. Lay down? Flat on my back? You have to be joking. There was absolutely no way my stomach muscles would have relaxed enough for me to do that! After a few minutes, they gave up on that endeavor and checked me while I leaned slightly back.

9 centimeters.

   Holy cow, what a relief!!! I was seriously surprised and so, so grateful! I could do this. I could finally have a baby naturally like I'd always wanted to do.
   By the way those nurses flew into action, you'd have thought the Pope had just walked in the room. There were people, carts, and monitors going in every direction. They were taking the bed apart and giving me multiple commands that I barely heard. When the midwife arrived, they had me in those awesome, awkward stirrups and ready to push.
   After a couple of pushes, the midwife noticed something was wrong. My cervix had not thinned all the way and Allie was stuck. The only way around that problem was for my midwife, aka my new best friend, to reach her hand inside and pull it back. Oh my stars. You want to talk about intense pain! My entire body was focused on pushing and she was shoving.
 
   I screamed. More than once!
 
   Thankfully, though it didn't seem like it, the horrid pain didn't last long. Baby girl was ready to make her entry so I pushed for less than 5 minutes. When she started to appear, the midwife pulled her half way out and suctioned out her mouth. That was the last major pain. If I had thought my legs would have responded, I'd have given that woman a concussion.
   Allison weighed 9lbs 3oz, measured 22 inches and had a big head. She didn't make a sound and was the strangest shade of purple I've ever seen. It seemed to take a lifetime before she made a peep but when she did, the people 3 doors down heard it. Baby girl was here and healthy. Whoo-hoo!!

   There is no doubt that her birth was an absolute whirlwind! I am still shocked at how fast everything transpired. The ambulance left my driveway at 10:34pm and Allie made her entrance at 11:16pm. We were at the hospital less than 20 minutes before she got here. I hope she decides to slow down now!

Welcome to the world, my beautiful girl! 

Scars of Motherhood

   I'm 23 years old. I've had 3 babies in 3 years. My perky breasts now hang and sag. My strong muscles are limp and my skin is loose and flabby. My once flawless stomach now has a roadmap of bright red and purple stretch marks across it.
   I hate my body. I hate the marks that keep me from feeling attractive. I hate the floppy skin that keeps me from wearing the clothing I like. I hate the way my saggy boobs look in lingerie. I hate the way my limp stomach gives me a muffin top in my favorite jeans.
   I don't feel beautiful. Wait, forget beautiful. I don't even feel slightly cute. I avoid eye contact with the huge, laughing mirror after a shower. I rush to find baggy clothes that I can hide in.
   Will I ever like my body again? Nope. Am I ever going to be comfortable while naked again? Yeah right. Would I trade my stretch marks for a flawless belly like I had? Absolutely. Is it a huge struggle to accept what I look like after 3 babies? Obviously. Is it a mountain I have conquered? No. Is it a conflict and sacrifice that I willingly accept? Yes.
 
   I accept my body for what it looks like now because there are 3 tiny bodies that I carried for 9 months. It is true, I could have my perfect body back, but would I take it over those 3 tiny smiles? No freakin' way. I did 'sacrifice' my body when I got pregnant. But was it a real sacrifice? Is it not something that I can get over? Is it not something that is worth the change? I can buy new clothes. I can work out. I can realize and remember that I am important, no matter what my body looks like. Heck, I can buy a push up bra and save money for a tummy tuck if I want to. My stretch marks do not define who I am or what I'm worth. They do not take my beauty away. They don't make me undesirable. They make me a mother. They make my dreams come true. My dreams of 3 brilliant smiles and happy little girl giggles.

   It is because of one of these happy smiles that I am able to write such words. It is a scene that I will vividly remember for the rest of my days.

   On August 14, 2013, I was 2 days past due with my 3rd baby. I had just finished my shower and was doing my usual hurried routine of applying lotion to my very sore belly. I remember thinking that I just wanted to get it over with and get my shirt back on. I was so nervous that somebody would walk in and see my ugly belly or notice my flabby thighs.
   Suddenly, the door shut. I felt that familiar panic wash over me because there was nowhere to hide. I was slightly relieved when it was my 3 year old who came into the bathroom. She walked over to my side and stood quietly for a moment. Then, she reached up and gently stroked the large, painful stretch marks on my side. Her innocent words made me choke up.
 
   "They're so pretty, Momma."
 
   My instant thought was, "No, they aren't, but you are."

Broken Trust

I don't know where you are
But I know where you've been.
I don't know the truth
But I know the lies.

I can't understand the reason.
I can't see the end.
I don't know this sorrowful road.
I can't see around it's curves.

I know your angry.
I know your hurt.
I've heard your excuses.
I know your deceit.

My trust broken.
My heart in turmoil.
My mind in fear.
My dreams shattered.

Saying Goodbye

Kyle, Sergio, Brandon

 
   One of the hardest aspects of military life is saying goodbye to friends. It happens all too often and does not get easier.

Kyle & Sergio- basic training

Kyle & Brandon-
just after arrival at Fort Bragg

Kyle & Sergio shared their
first and last airborne jump.

    Kyle, Brandon and Sergio have been together since day one of basic training. The three of them have shared everything from promotion ceremonies to golfing on the weekends. They've attended every major school and training event together. Kyle and Sergio had their first baby girls within 3 weeks of the each other. They have shared boring work days and a long, drawn-out deployment. They've shared the grief of missing home and family along with the exhilaration of falling out of the sky. They've sharpened each other and given aid when needed. They've become a strong, three-headed spear.

   As Sergio and his family leave for Colorado, goodbye is hard and unwelcome. However, there are many things that do not change. They are not only comrades, teammates and best friends. They are brothers. They share a bond and an understanding that few have experienced. There is no doubt that each would fight the other to take the bullet for him, no matter the distance between.

         

All proudly wearing the rank of SGT

 

Memorial Day 2013

   This Memorial Day, I see everyone thanking Soldiers, past and present. There is only one Soldier who has ever caught my eye and he is so much more than a Soldier to me. He is my best friend. He's my favorite person in the world. He's my husband. My Kyle.

    My husband is a strong, skilled Soldier. He's dedicated and sacrificial. He excels at his job and his training. You can't find a man more willing to lay down his life for his team. He is honorable and worthy of the praise he brushes off. Plus, he's an absolute stud in his uniform!!

   Still, he is so much more than that. He's the one who still makes my heart leap when he smiles. He's the only one who's kisses I crave. He's the one who's strength draws me in close and safe. He's the person that I want to spend every day of my life with. He's the man who is my confidant and security. He's the one who protects me. He is where I find peace in this world of turmoil. He is the one who fills the lonely, endless void in my world and makes me happy. He is and always will be my greatest treasure.

Our first MP Ball

 
   There is nobody like My Kyle and there is no one as proud of him as I am. I have witnessed first-hand the sacrifices he has made on behalf of myself and our country. These are things that I will be eternally be grateful for. I am proud to stand by his side and hold the title of Mrs. Jensen. I am honored to know that he loves me when he doesn't have to.

 The day he left me and Paige behind
to hold down the fort in Iraq.

    On this Memorial Day, I want to thank you, Mr. Jensen, for being the man who comes home every night. Thank you for working so feverishly to support our family. Thank you for holding my hand and bringing home flowers just because you want to. Thank you for loving me when I fail you!
 
   I also must say thank you to you, Sgt. Jensen. Thank you for volunteering to serve our nation. Thank for wearing your uniform with pride and upholding the standards of a true American Soldier. Thank you for choosing to put your life on the line so our children and I do not have to. Thank you for answering the Call of Defense.

I love you more than all the raindrops in the world!!!

Sisters

   Have you heard the news? Our newest addition has been confirmed as a baby girl! We're excited to welcome her into our clan and I can't wait to get to know her!
   I have always loved the differences between Paige and Taylor. In true sibling fashion, they could not be more opposite. I love the way that it comes naturally too. Paige absolutely loves anything sparkly but, shockingly, she's not into jewelry. Taylor has loved jewelry from day one, especially necklaces. I also love that they look nothing alike. I know quite a few people have found that statement odd but I know that if I had a sister, I wouldn't want to look just like her. Paige has been obnoxiously loud since she found her voice at a few weeks old and Taylor is calm and quiet. As quiet as she is though, Taylor is without a doubt, the adventurous and mischievous one. She attempts things at 15 months old that Paige won't even consider at nearly 3! Taylor has always been a little trailblazer and nothing is out of her reach. I love how brave and fearless she is! Paige is very, very timid and receives multiple heart attacks each day from Taylor's ramblings. I can't help but giggle at the way Taylor turns to look at her. It's a look that is all too familiar to the muscles in my own face... 'Seriously, what is the big deal? I can do this. Just watch me!'.
   Another huge difference is, Paige has always been a little momma. She loves any and all babies! She is so excited for our newest edition to get here and asks me every day why it's still in my belly. Taylor, on the other hand, is a jealous little thing. She can't stand for anybody to be in my lap, including Paige. Seriously, the girl will be on the other side of the room, playing happily with her back turned and then she realizes that Paige is in my lap or next to me. Oh boy! She will immediately drop whatever she's doing and make a beeline to my side. She will fuss and yell at Paige and if she doesn't move, Taylor will shove her out of the way. I don't think that kiddo is going to take a new baby sister attached to Momma happily!
   Like I said, I'm very excited to see what our newest girl will be like. I'm guessing, being a 3rd child myself, that she will be a mix of Paige and Taylor's tastes. I was always up for anything my completely opposite brothers were doing. I loved to fish like Ryan and I tried my best to play video games with Randy. Sadly for him, I'm the worst gamer in the world and I realized it early! Instead, I went outside and attempted skateboarding with Randy. Although I turned into a rollerblader, I was still on his heels on those ramps! I was my own person but I enjoyed both of their hobbies.
   Most of all though, I am looking forward to seeing who our newest one looks like. In my opinion, Paige looks like me now and Taylor looks like me as a child. They both had their Daddy's red hair when they were born but it's long gone now. I would love for our new girl to have red hair and hold on to it! I'm also ridiculously curious (and slightly scared!) to see how much this one will weigh at birth. Paige was 8lbs even and Taylor was 10.3lbs so I think baby girl has her options open!
    Well, thankfully, my curiosity won't last long. Barely 13 weeks left to go!

Anguish...I mean 'Pregnancy'

   When I had my first, I was pretty sure that I didn't like being pregnant. I made myself remain optimistic though because I realized at the time, there were a wide range of factors keeping me from having a clear head. Then, my second showed up and I knew that I legitimately hated being pregnant. Now, expecting my third, I have discovered that I don't hate pregnancy at all. I loathe it. Pregnancy is the most miserable thing ever and I'll tell you why...

~I am severely nauseated before the strip even turns pink and it intensifies as I get farther along. I've lost 10 pounds this time around simply because I can't even hold a saltine cracker down. Have you ever thrown up spaghetti?? I promise you can't even imagine what that is like.

~We've all heard that bogus line...'You look so good. You're glowing!'. No, lady, I'm not glowing. I'm sweating!

~I have an unexplainable rash that covers most of my body, itches like poison ivy, and looks like I have some kind of gross fungus. 

~I, who was once the queen of tan, sunburn faster than a redhead in Hawaii while pregnant. 

~Would you enjoy having to change your underwear every time you sneeze?

~I have a previous back injury and my joints ache the entire time. Don't even get me started on the pain in my pelvis and hips. 

~I'm not one of the ones who is 'blessed' with missing sleep toward the end because I'm uncomfortable. I have insomnia the entire 9 months or longer. 

~We will not even discuss my going down the detergent aisle and I firmly believe that Yankee Candle is Satan's morning breath when I'm pregnant. 

~Make sure you always have a regular strength Tylenol ready for my headache, TUMS for my heartburn and do not leave the house for an hour without 3-4 snacks and some apple juice. 

~I should be in a nursing home with all of the other patients suffering from memory loss. 

~Would you consider it fun to feel like you have the Amazon River raging in your bladder only to realize that it's just the St. John's Creek?

~With my first two, I didn't have a single craving. There was nothing that I wanted other than sugar but since sugar is my cocaine, that wasn't anything abnormal. However, this time around, I have one craving. One ridiculously gross craving...hotdogs. I've eaten perhaps 4 hotdogs in the the last 5 years and now I want one so bad that my mouth waters. Really?! I don't even like hotdogs! Can you imagine how horrible it would be to throw one of those up?! I do believe that I shall resist said craving even if it's the death of me. 

~Seriously, why do severe leg cramps only occur between 1 & 4am? Ever heard of 3 o'clock in the afternoon??

~Stretch marks and weight gain don't need to be discussed. Ankles? Who has ankles?

~One blessing I have received in pregnancy is that I have never had diabetes. However, I absolutely cannot allow myself to get hungry. My blood sugar drops so low and so fast when I get the least bit munchy, that I often have to sit down immediately. My legs turn into Jell-O and I am so weak that I have a hard time focusing. My head spins and I will be weak and unsteady for the rest of the day, especially if I can't keep food down. It is incredible how quickly I can bottom out and there is minimal hope of return.

   People always look at me like I have 3 heads when they hear about my hatred of pregnancy. Well, do you get it now?? It is not and has never been a pleasant experience for me. I have no doubt that people also wonder why I'm still having children if pregnancy is that miserable. Well, that is simple. Have you ever heard someone say, "You'll forget all the pain of labor once you hold that baby for the first time."? I think that saying is ridiculous. I haven't found that to be true of labor pain or pregnancy. I hate being pregnant, I know it and will not forget it until my dying day. However, I love my children. I am blessed and honored to be their mother! I am flabbergasted that God finds me worthy of raising His children and astounded that He's willing to give me more! I have always wanted a big family and greatly anticipate the day that all of our children are here. I enjoy my family and my children are my jewels. It is difficult to carry them and hard to tend to their every need. However, I know that this is a short phase in our life and soon, we will move on to something else. That is what I choose to focus on. The truth is that I wouldn't make it through another pregnancy if I didn't know there was a pot of gold at the end. 
   My hubby has always said he wants 4 kiddos and if that is the number we settle on, I'll have made it through 3 out of 4 in August! *Whew* 

March Status Report

   Hi strangers!! A lot has changed with our little family since the last time I wrote. It seems like I've opened a lot of entries like that lately.
   We're doing well! We are now living in Lillington. We've found a rental house out here that is considerably cheaper than our apartment and we are enjoying it so much! However, I would very much like spring to show up so that we can finally enjoy our yard. How I hate the cold and this year it just can't seem to make up it's mind.
   Our girls continue to grow like weeds. We've been having a rough time with Paige lately. She's been sick for over a month and we have no idea what is going on. As most of you are also mothers, you can understand how ridiculously frustrating that is. I can't seem to make any sense of her symptoms and neither can her doctor. The girl will be totally fine and then she will throw and run a fever for a few days. After her fever fades away, she will be fine for 5-6 days and then it will start over again. Her appetite is nearly nonexistent most days and she has off and on diarrhea. We're also having a very hard time with her getting out of bed at night. I feel like it is something I could easily fix but I'm not sure how to go about that when her fever or nausea will randomly sneak up on her in the middle of the night. I've taken her for blood tests and collected stool samples. They are looking into a parasite because blood tests for Rotavirus and other infections are negative. We have also been referred to a 'gastro-something I can't pronounce' and are waiting for an appointment.  As you can see, it's annoying and we are dying for an answer. Our girl is clearly sick but we can't help her. Ughhh!!!! In the mean time, since she is also fighting pink eye, I'm pumping her full of probiotics and every other good thing I can find!
   As for Taylor, she's doing well. She has had some diarrhea but has none of Paige's other symptoms so I'm blaming hers on teething. As I've said before, teething has never been a kind process to the poor girl. She currently has 4 jaw teeth pushing through and another canine on it's way. I don't know why that child can't do anything on a small scale! Her weight seems to broken even in the mid twenties but her legs don't seem to be getting the message. She was the average height of an 18 month old at less then 13 months. She's now just over 14 months and her 18 months clothes are snug and too short. That's another reason that I'm hoping for warm weather soon. I have an entire wardrobe of 24 months and 2T clothes but not one piece of it is cold weather stuff. Come on, spring, I need you here!!!
   My pregnancy is going well, if you can call it that. I'm as nauseated as ever but I've found some things to ease it. Nothing makes it disappear but I wasn't expecting that. I had my first ultrasound done last Saturday and, at 20 weeks, everything looks great. We still aren't sure what we're having though. The ultrasound tech tried so hard to see the sex of the baby but that youngin is curled up in a ball and absolutely refused to move. When I say the lady tried, I mean she really tried! There were a couple of times that I had to ask her to stop pushing on my stomach so hard. She did get a very hazy picture and guessed that it is a baby girl but said that she couldn't give me a definite answer. We assumed that it would be a very long time before we could get another ultrasound scheduled but I got a call from my doc today and she said that we have to have another one done soon because some of the pictures are not good enough. Fingers crossed for try number 2! On the upside, I've been feeling life for a few weeks now and those kicks are steadily getting stronger. That will always be the strangest, most amazing feeling ever!
   My hubby is doing good. He's been training hard lately and will be out of town for next couple of weeks. He will get weekends at home though and I always appreciate that! It always reminds me of what it's like to miss that man for too long. Kyle will be preparing to get out of the Army in December so he is always busy on his hunt for another job. We don't have a solid direction from God but we have a couple of possibilities to explore. We're both excited and nervous to begin another chapter. The Army is all we've ever known and we aren't sure how to be regular civilians but we know that we serve a mighty God who knows exactly what He's doing!
   In short, our life is chugging along. There are a lot more details to it than what I've written here but I'll fill you in on those later. Bye bye, pals!

Black Mark on My Soul

I am a writer to my core.
But when my thoughts turn to you,
All words are swept away.
I feel the harsh sting of grief.
I sense the endless pit of sorrow.
I cannot bring myself to write of you.
I refuse to utter our final goodbye.
You remain forever
A black mark on my soul.

Happy Birthday, Friend

   Today is my best friend's birthday. I've been fighting emotion all morning. I am so heartbroken that she is not here to read her card. However, I have decided that today will not be a sad day. Today is a day that I have always celebrated my friend's life. Why should this birthday be any different? Yes, she is gone and I am still grieving her loss but I'm tired of being sad about her. I want to remember the joy of who she was and relive the smiles and laughter we shared. I don't want to grieve today. I want to tell you about her and how much she meant to me. I want you to know what a treasure she was. I can't promise that it will make sense. As I said, I'm very emotional today.

   I knew Ashley for a solid year before I became close to her. I remember it as clear as day. We were at a summer camp with our church and I had an accident the morning after we arrived. When I say accident, I mean disaster. I, in all of my 14 year old brilliance, had decided to drop-in to a 6 foot high half pipe. Now, I was not a skateboarder but I strapped on a helmet, got my footing on a friend's board and went face first onto the fiberglass bottom. I broke my nose, bit through my lip, and had 2 very swollen, black eyes for 8 months. I didn't recognize it at the time, but my body was in a slight state of shock and I definitely had a concussion. The days were easily 80 degrees yet I was freezing most of the time. My hands trembled and I couldn't remember things people had said 2 minutes before. Years later, I remember very few details about that week but I know that Ashley was there. She was the one who went to find my Mom after I fell. She shared a bunk with me at night to keep me warm. She stuck close to my side when I felt dizzy and had a hard time walking. She became my friend.

   After that, we were normal teenager pals...sleepovers every weekend and long shopping trips where we argued about who should wear what. My favorite shopping trip will always be the time we went to the mall and tried on the ugliest clothes and shoes we could find in the store. I love to look back at those pictures! They're full of her laughter and smiles.
   Another favorite of mine, is one of our sleepovers. I came over after her younger brother and sister were asleep and had brought a new CD. When I turned the stereo on, it was REALLY loud. I remember her mom calling her into the other room. When Ashley came back, I asked what happened and she said that her mom was upset because she was afraid the music would wake everybody up. Then she said, she told her mom that it was her own fault and that she would turn it down. When I asked her why she didn't say it was me, she brushed it off and said she didn't want her mom upset with me. Now, her mom wasn't about to beat her with a red hot poker or anything but that was the first time somebody had willingly taken the fall for me. I felt both surprised and loved.
   Ashley had a beautiful smile and could be the most loyal of friends. She was a hard worker and did her best to help when she could. I loved all the things about her that made her different. I remember little details about who she was and these are the ones that make me smile. Like, as a teenager, she wasn't wild about sweets yet had a whole drawer of candy in her bedroom. She loved juice as much as a toddler and was a talented artist. Her love of butterflies was apparent to anyone who knew her. It made her so mad when people called them 'flutter-byes'. I used to say it just to tease her.
   I have no desire to sanctify Ashley. As with all humans, she wasn't perfect. We disagreed, fussed, and argued but it never changed anything. She was and will remain a treasure in my life. Make no mistake, there are few people on this earth who loved Ashley more than I. There are even less people who miss her more than I do.

Happy Birthday, my Friend.