Ellie’s birth was a scheduled c-section. When I arrived at the hospital in the early morning hours of September 24, 2010 I went through the usual protocols- the ultrasound to confirm her position, the IV placement, the forms and releases. They then walked me to the operating room as Brock was instructed to sit in a chair outside while the nurses and anesthesiologists prepared my body for surgery.

Alone, for all intents and purposes, and naked (both literally and figuratively), the skilled team went about their work.

I hunched over my 40 week belly as the nurse held my shoulders and the anesthesiologist began the process to administer the drugs that would remove all feeling from my chest down.

He was the same anesthesiologist I had at the birth of my first daughter. Clearly a veteran of many c-sections, he set me at ease with his kind eyes (the only thing I could see) and his clear tone.

A pause in conversation as he concentrated while inserting the needle in my lower back.

“Well, that needle just bent, let’s try this again” he told me.

And again he tried but again the needle bent while he attempted to puncture my back.

“Mrs. Schmaltz, do you work out a lot?” he asked.

“Well, I only run” I responded.  I always felt the need to articulate that I was not an athlete just someone who enjoyed an evening jog five times a week.

“You are strong” he told me. “I’ve had this happen a few times over the years and its always the athletes, always the runners who bend my needles. You are very strong”.

I was stunned.

After the third attempt he punctured through the muscle and less then 45 minutes later our beautiful Ellery Jane was born.

After the excitement of the birth and the feeling in my legs returned, I replayed the conversation with the anesethesiologist for Brock. We both got a chuckle and I never spoke of it with anyone else. But I did replay it for myself  many times in the days and weeks after September 24, 2010. In fact I have rewound that moment on almost a daily basis for the last 4 months.

You are strong he told me.

You are an athlete.

I am not the girl who ran cross -country in high school only to gossip with her friends, not because she wanted to truly participate in an athletic endeavor.

I am not the teenager who hated her thighs so much she  ducktaped them under her prom dress so she appeared smaller.

I am not the nineteen year old who was so desperate to loose the dreaded freshman 15 that she worked out every morning for hours on end and ate nothing but peanut butter on rice cakes for an entire summer before her sophomore year in college.

I am not the young woman who doubted her worth on her very first “real” job as she sat in the offices of some of america’s most influential DC politicos.

I am not the young mother who was in such a hurry to get back in shape after the birth of her first child that she walked four miles a day with her daughter strapped to her chest in the baby bjorn at only three weeks postpartum causing a six week setback in her recovery.

I am not the middle aged woman who questions whether she will ever love again.

I am strong.  Plain and simple.

A strength that emanates from my core.

I will not be ashamed of it.

I will not question whether I am worthy of that title.

I will own it.

When I reflect on the moment three years and four months ago in that operating room, I want to track that doctor down and give him a gigantic hug. I want to tell him what a seemingly mundane comment did do and has continued to do.

It is in those seemingly meaningless moments that we have an opportunity to enormously impact a life. It is with that doctor in mind that I will continue my year of looking up.

Dear Audrey,

It’s 5:30am on the morning of your seventh birthday. You, my wild-eyed child, are awake sitting next to me as I immortalize your day with the traditional birthday letter. This is the first year you can read the letter on your own. My how far you have come!

One of my all time favorite photos has to be the one of Sidney and I cuddling on the couch at our old Hickory Valley Drive house. It was just days before you were to make your appearance and my belly was huge with what would prove to be all 9lbs. 1 oz of you. It was the calm before the storm!

You arrived screaming into the world on January 12, 2007. The whole family was beyond excited to meet you just two years four months after your big sister Sidney had made her presence known.

We named you Audrey Hope.

It was a name your Dad and I choose to honor the symbolism of your birth; at a time of great personal turmoil you brought such hope to our lives.

The hope and the joy you brought to our lives that first year and for six more after that has made this family strong and whole.

Your personality is larger than life. Your energy is contagious.

From the minute you wake up each morning, to your head hitting the pillow hard at 8:30 each night, you live life to the fullest.

We all could stand to learn a thing or two from the way you choose to approach life. Smile on your face, arms wide open ready to tackle the world and give everyone in your path a healthy dose of the “Hopie charm”.

Remember your first day of school outfit for the Childhood League Center? The one that at three you picked out all on your own and had such pride wearing it and showing all your new classmates your “style”.

I could drop in millions of pictures of you and your style over the years (in fact I almost did). But it’s not about the way you look my love. It’s about the personality behind those skirts and dresses and stylish haircuts. You own who you are and your Dad and I could not be more proud of the “who” inside of you.

You are our strong, confident, intelligent, seven-year old.

You are the light of our life and the joy in our days.

Thank you for letting me be your mommy. It is a privilege that every day I thank God for granting me.

I am looking forward to watching this next year unfold for you. I know it will be a good one, but do me a favor will you? Remember every day that you are loved beyond measure and that no matter what your family (me, dad, Sid and Ellie) will always be here for you no matter where the miles put us.

I love you Audrey Hope Schmaltz. Enjoy your day.

Love,

Your one and only Momma

The best part of our week was connecting with folks we haven’t seen in months. Kicking off the week by spending time with my Uncle and Aunt. The girls think of them like another set of grandparents and I appreciate that we all have another set of role models to look up to.

New Year’s Eve had Sid coming into the office and working with me for a morning. There is something amazingly rewarding when you leave for home after 5 hours at the office and your little girl turns to you and says “I wish I could come to work with you everyday. That was so much fun Momma”.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Audrey and Ellie were co-designing a piece of artwork for me. 

New Year’s Eve Sidney had a friend sleepover and Audrey and Ellie were in bed by 9, so I curled up with two of my favorite guys to ring in the new year.

New Year’s Day saw me starting my detox and the big girls insisting we dine at Cheesecake Factory. My will power was strong and I enjoyed my salmon salad and no desert. Sid devoured their red velvet cheesecake (she has her daddy’s palate).

Finally, this one’s been on repeat this week-

Breathing deeply.

Exhaling into the new year.

Living in the here and now.

Realizing that while one chapter closes it creates the space for new chapters to begin.

Waiting to see what her colors will be-

how this butterfly will spread her wings.

Thank you for the cups of coffee, the glasses of wine, the hugs in passing and the smiles across the room.

Thank you for your encouragement, for your visits, for the meals, for the generosity shown to my family and I.

Thank you for the words uttered in prayer, over emails and in late night phone calls; those words have carried me through these months.

Thank you for making me feel strong.

Thank you for making me feel loved.

On this Christmas, I could not be more grateful for the opportunity to fully appreciate all that this life has given us.

With our sincerest appreciation and much love for the kindness shown,

the Schmaltz Girls wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy, Healthy, Joy-Filled 2014.

I am not Superwoman.
I do not have all the answers.
Every day I fail.
I fail -
at home, 
at work,
in my relationships with others,
in my relationship with God.

We are taught from a very young age that we can have it all;
that we can succeed at absolutely everything.
But the fact of the matter is that no person can possibly live up to those
standards.

It is in the failing each day that we gain the most- 
the most insight,
the most humilty,
the most love.

I hope my girls walk away from their years with me with the understanding
that it is ok to fail.
Not that we are striving for nothing, but that in order to succeed we must
understand that the chances are just as good that we will fail. 
Failure adds, it does not diminish.

I am not the sum of my failures but I am their learning's.
They stretch me.

So tonight I will forgive myself for my failures.
I will forgive myself-
for the wrong words used with Ellie,
for the inattention to detail at Audrey's party,
for the promises I didn't keep,
for the misstep at work, 
for the failing to give thanks.

Tomorrow I will get up and try again.
I am not Superwoman.
I am simply a woman striving.

These girls are magic.

They are spit fires.

Their smiles light up rooms.

They have an ease about them that makes those who encounter them feel instantly accepted.

They fight hard and love hard.

They know who they are and own it with confidence.

They are love.

Sometimes the days fly by in such a blur you feel like all you’ve done is chase them down all week.

And finally, when given the chance to pause at 6am on Saturday morning with a blanket of freshly fallen snow lining the backyard and three little girls sleeping in other places, you realize that the days flying by were a gift. A gift not in that time moved so fast, but a gift in that your days were so full of love and adventure that you hardly had time to realize it when moving through them.

Every Monday morning at 8:30am I meet with my boss. Often on a Sunday night at 8pm I find myself scrolling through the previous weeks emails to refresh my memory and gather my thoughts before our weekly standing. It can be overwhelming when you look at life through the lens of an inbox. But this morning, when trying to recall all that filled my week, I went to my inbox – this time not focusing on the work but on everything else.

There was the $5 Starbucks gift card emailed to me by a former coworker now turned dear friend. She just wanted me to know she was thinking of me. The love in that simple act reminding me of all of our “coffee breaks” together over the years.

There were the countless emails planning for a trip to the range with a coworker. On Thursday night that hour and a half trip made me feel unbelievably strong and capable.

There were the emails about Sid’s desire to scout horses with her riding instructor. Ah the joy in her eyes when she came back that night from her adventure.

And there were emails from coworkers asking me to lunch or planning the pre-holiday party get together. The get together that coincidentally made me laugh until it hurt.

This is my life- my crazy, beautiful gift of a life.

How privileged am I to be able to chase down these days and run through these weeks?

Fourteen years ago today, on a crisp, clear, post Thanksgiving Saturday I said I Do.

Had I choose not to I would not have-

Those three precious girls asleep in my bed;

The people on that day who became my in law’s but who I now call friends;

The friendships made over years of football games, concerts and summer barbeques;

This house with it’s freshly fallen snow lining my backyard;

This job that each day makes me feel stronger and more connected;

This city.

Today there is joy.

Joyful life,  grateful heart.

Look at this face

That’s her “I am happy and mad at the same time” face.

It’s hard to get angry at a face that cute and a personality that large.

Three has to be one of the most beautiful and difficult ages. They live their lives with a split personality, turning on a dime. They are stretching and growing; just trying to figure out their own boundaries.

I love watching her stretch herself each day.

I love watching that little face go through 4 emotions in the span of 5 minutes.

And I love when she comes home from school singing a song about turkey’s landing on her head.

Yep that’s right she says she learned a Thanksgiving song on Tuesday and this is what she came home singing-