●Empty Boxes, Leprechauns, and 90's Hair●

Packing is the worst. The.worst. I've had to do this far too many times in my life, and if it wasn't for the fact that I was such a sentimental person, I'd gladly walk out and hand over the key, leaving everything I own. Only this time, it's different. You know those "3 things that you'd grab if your house was on fire"? Well mine were stolen a couple months ago, along with a hundred other items I was most attached to. I had more like 300 things. Mostly heirlooms that were passed on, which I'd hoped to be able to continue to pass on to many more generations of women who would follow after my grandma and mom and myself and my daughters, giving them a piece of these courageous women who had stared adversity in the face and kicked back.

So I was looking around thinking about "the important stuff", maybe it's just me, but I feel like I need all of that in one place during a move, for fear of it being lost. That box is riding shotgun with me during the move kind of important. I don't care about the price tags, most of these things are actually worthless to anyone else, but to me, they're irreplaceable. 

It's funny how a little 8 pound person can change my entire outlook on what I carefully wrap in newspaper and place in a box labeled "IMPORTANT, DO NOT BREAK, DO NOT TOUCH WITHOUT PERMISSION UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO CRY AND BREAK YOUR ARM."

Maybe that's an exaggeration, I'd probably just end up giving you an Indian burn. 

What can't I live without? I'll tell you about 3.

The empty blue box covered in fingerprint dust, the one that used to hold a necklace I was given for Mother's Day, from my own mom, just a week after Isaiah died. The teardrop shaped diamond was worn for a year straight, reminding me that God has counted every tear I've cried grieving the loss of my tiniest boy. The stolen necklace doesn't change my attachment to that time in my life, and the empty box will forever remind me of all of the ways I overcame empty arms. 

A list scribbled in blue marker, on the back of an essay about a leprechaun. The last list I made before I understood the value of life. Nowhere on that list was "Pick out flowers for Isaiah's funeral, pick out pictures to showcase his short existence, have your cousin shove a breast pump on your boobs before they explode because your son CANNOT be dead, he's going to come back at any time and need to eat." It reminds me that what I have planned isn't THE plan. Embrace each day. 

A picture of my family in an ugly gold frame that was probably purchased in 1992. My sister and I were in matching Christmas dresses, my brother had buck teeth, and my parents both used copious amounts of hairspray. I was around 4. My parents are divorced, and most people probably think it's weird to showcase that, but not me. That's my family. Regardless of where everyone is in life, those are the people who were there and helped shape who I am. Sometimes, walking alongside me while I figure it out on my own, and other times coming to my rescue when I've made a mess of life. 

I'm so thankful for these completely invaluable reminders of who I am. I have walked out countless instances that should have made me wave a white flag of surrender. But I smile. I don't have a new home yet. I have close to nothing of value. And yet, I can smile. I know who I am, and I know a God that has graciously provided me with much more than I deserve. And I know a family who stands by me. And I know that I don't need to worry about a tomorrow that isn't promised.

So I pack, and I smile, and I sing Taylor Swift like it's nobody's business.

Happy Saturday.

Love you Mama's Mans.