Complete this thought: "Today I Hope..."

The clock on the wall reads 10:37 pm.
I lay there, staring at the red letters, trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I've been looking at those numbers count up for the last hour. Why can't I sleep? My body is beyond exhausted. Growing a baby, keeping up with a three year old, and staying up with the chores has kept me busier than my last full time job. But my mind is going a thousand miles and hour. Did I do a good job at teaching Hesston something new today? Did I let him help me clean up enough? Did I let him finish his projects? Did I feed him healthy enough? Did I let him play outside for too long? Did I fulfill my duties as a wife and mother? Did I show Ted how much I love and appreciate him? Did I give him enough love? Do I show him enough support? Does he know how much I need and love him?
The questions are endless. They go in a circle, over and over. Then the scary ones come in. Like, what would I do if someone broke into the house? How would I escape? How would I keep Hesston quiet? How would I defend my family? These types of questions make me grumpy, because these are questions I shouldn't have to answer. Why can't there just be good people everywhere? Then I wouldn't have to worry about things like this and have a plan to defend my family.
The clock now reads 10:49 pm.
I've just wasted another twelve minutes of sleep. I tuck my pillow under the left side of my enlarged belly and try to find some semblence of comfort. I give up after a few tries, realizing comfort is overrated.
Burning acid rises up from my stomach into my throat. I try to swallow it down, but it keeps coming up. I keep thinking this baby must have some awesome hair growth, either that or the old wise tell is just something to keep the mind off the pain. My mom says it's my diet. Maybe I really am eating too much. Or not healthy enough. I did eat some of Hesston's Easter candy today. But how could I say no when he gave me a puppy dog look and was sharing so well?
A little grunt sounds from the other bedroom. Then a rustle of sheets.
"Daddy Lion?" A pause. "Momma?" Hesston's sleepy voice is followed by the sound of his feet hitting the floor. Then rapid footsteps as he flings his door open. "Daddy Lion? Momma?" His summoning has woken up Ted, who rolls over and lifts his tired body out of bed. I can hear his body groaning as he stands up and gently directs Hesston back to his room.
A feel a lump of guilt in my chest. Shouldn't I be the one going and putting him back to bed? After all, I don't have to go to work tomorrow. But I guess in a way I do, even if it is stay home and keep things together on the home front. A little relief eases the guilt. But then I feel bad about having relief that Ted comforted Hesston instead of me. What is wrong with me?
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Should I wait up until Ted comes back to bed? Should I show him support by staying awake until he can get back to sleep? Or should I just try to get some sleep while I can? Ha ha...if I can.
I try to round up my crazy thoughts. Taking each and every one of them and putting them in an imaginary file folder that I will lock up tonight, and reopen in the morning. It takes another ten minutes to sort through all the thoughts and file them away. But soon, my mind is clear, and the file folder is stowed in the back of my mind. The thoughts threaten to escape, but I keep the lock firmly closed. Instead, I decide to think of one thing. Something that will keep my mind off everything else. A heart comes to mind. Love. I will focus on love. Today I hope that I showed my boys how much I love them.

If you could go back in time exactly 10 years and give yourself some advice, what would you tell yourself?

The truck door slams as I pull it closed behind me. The lifted, white Ford diesel pickup was harder to get into than I thought, especially with my tight jeans. I wonder if I ripped a hole in them from the climb. I quickly check while my date rushes around to the driver's side. Nothing like making a first impression with a huge hole. Thankfully, the seams are still stitched together. Barely. Guess my social life isn't the only thing hanging by a thread.
Finding something suitable to wear was hard. I have to look just right, and it's been a while since I actually cared how I look. Dressed to impress, but not overly so. Not casual, but casual enough to be able to be prepared for anything the date could include. It's like a dance, trying to guess the move of your partner before you know what it will be.
Tonight is another one of those for me, another first date. Even though I'm only twenty years old, I've had so many first dates, I've lost track. I really wish they were over. I am ready to be done dating. My soul is ready to settle down with someone I love and who loves me in return.
A surge of anticipation and adrenaline races through my system. What if he doesn't like me? What if I do something stupid? Do something wrong? How many more of these dates can I take? I shove down my worries and paste on a smile. 
My date, Steve, jumps into the cab. He makes it look effortless. Must be because he's got about ten inches of extra height than me.
As he shifts the truck into drive, I take a moment to check him out, because come on, let's be honest, physical attraction is a big part of dating.
He's cute, in a non-assuming type of way. Athletic build. Broad shoulders. A total cowboy, complete with Wranglers and a plaid shirt.
I've dated a cowboy before. I didn't think I would do it again, especially since a true cowboy only has one thing on his mind: When's the next rodeo. Guess I will have to find out if he's a cowboy or farm boy. The two can sometimes be hard to discern from each other at first, but there is a huge difference.
His side profile is like a portrait. I want to paint it, capture how perfect it is, even though I'm not an artist. A pang of insecurity pops in my belly. My side profile is something I don't like about myself. I concentrate on keeping my gaze toward him.
He turns to look at me as he asks me where I want to go for dinner.
I can't help but add his gentlemanly manners to his good qualities. The fact that he opened the truck door for me, and how he's asking me where I'd like to eat instead of just deciding for me. I like a man who has respect and consideration for those he's around.
I ask him what he feels like, hoping that he will give me some sort of hint. I hate making the date decisions all on my own. If I am to end up in a relationship with this guy, I want it to be a joint thing, not one sided, where he or I make all the decisions. Been there. Done that. Not going back.
He takes a few moments to think before he suggests a great pizza place in town. I love the idea, and quickly agree. 
As we get into the restaurant and take our seats, I make sure to sit up straight.
My whole list of things to make sure I do on a date pops into my mind. A checklist, if you will. My date doesn't have to be perfect, but I do.
Sit up straight until conversation begins. Then lean in and engage not only with words, but with eyes, facial and body expressions. After all, body language makes up for a lot more than words.
Listen. Don't dominate the conversation. If anything, ask most the questions and then pay attention. The details are key. And stories. You can learn a lot about a person with the stories they tell.
Be polite. Thank them for their good manners. Everyone can use a little appreciation now and then, especially if they deserve it.
The list goes on and on. I won't bore you by continuing. But it's perfection. Truly. I've gotten it down to a science. Most of my first dates turn into planning second dates before the night is over. It's not something I'm cocky about, it's just that I've been here so many times, I've got it down.
As I sink into my pillows later that night, I review my evening. My heart gives a little leap in my chest, because to be honest, I had a really good night. Not only did the conversation go well, I feel a great connection with Steve. And connection is everything. If you can't connect, then how are you supposed to form a relationship?
I run my fingers over the top of my comforter, wondering how my life will go. Will I be looking back in ten years, thinking my problems were small and insignificant? Will I be regretting my choices? Will I make the right ones? Marriage is such a huge part of my future. And I want my future to be filled with happiness and success. So the decision of whom I will marry is kind of a big deal. In order to find my Mr. Right, I need to be Mrs. Right. I hope that day comes sooner than later.
************
Ten years later...
Life has turned out much better than expected. Not thanks to me, but to God and how He guided and directed my life. Not only did my Mr. Right find me, he is more than I could've ever imagined. The funny thing is, once I stopped looking for him, he found me. That's my first piece of advice. Stop looking for Mr. Right. You will find each other when the time is right. And no, my Mr. Right is not my date in this story. But Steve was a very nice young man who I am sure has made some special lady very happy in life.
Another thing I wish I could go back and tell myself is: to be myself. I tried so hard to be perfect and make everyone else happy. By trying so hard to please others, I lost myself in the mix. Forgot who I was. It wasn't until I began to just be myself that I found out who I was and what I wanted out of life, and in someone else (to love me for me, not the perfect person I was trying to be).
Lastly, I would say to hold your head high. This was an extremely rough time for me. I had just gotten out of an abusive engagement and I was trying to figure out what a healthy relationship was again. I had low self esteem, and thought that if I wasn't perfect in every way, then I wasn't worth even considering as a human being. But I realize now that no matter how beaten down you are, that you're still important. Still loved. Still have a purpose in life. Don't give up. Hold on. Life does get better.

Think about a time you were recently in public. Describe what you were doing from the point of view of a stranger observing you.

The door chime alerts me that someone has entered the bakery. I dust the flour off my hands and walk to the counter.
A little boy's voice fills the air. He's talking so fast I can barely understand him. He stands at the display shelf, staring at our selection of doughnuts. He's clearly excited about the prospect of having one by the high tone of his voice.
Pulling on the suffocating disposable gloves I'm required to wear before I handle food takes me a moment to collect myself before I greet the customers.
"How many would you like today?" I ask the lady, I presume is the little boy's mom, standing next to him.
She looks a little flustered, but wears a smile. Her eyes dart around the store, then land on the doughnuts her son is pointing at.
"Umm...we've never been here before." Not exactly the answer I was looking for. "But, umm, can we get a chocolate one?"
I glance down at the little boy. He's pointing at the chocolate glazed doughnuts. I grab one and place it on a tray.
"Anything else?" I scrutinize the mom as she looks over the rest of the doughnuts.
Her hair is in a messy pony tail, that she somehow pulls off with a trendy shirt and sweater. Her skinny jeans are tucked into cowgirl boots. She must be from out of town. Not many people wear boots like that around here. As my eyes scan back up to her face, I notice she's hiding a baby bump under her flowy shirt. I wonder how many weeks along she is. Is that what drove her into our doughnut store around lunchtime? A pregnancy craving?
My stomach twists at the thought of being pregnant. Even though I'm in college, working to pay my way, and getting good grades, having a baby would crush all my future plans. As soon as I'm done with this small town, I'm headed to the city to get a real job. Of course, making doughnuts all day isn't exactly rocket science, and the owners are more than fair with wages and hours, I do aspire to do more with my life. Being a mom can come later. Much later.
I look the woman over again. I wonder how old she is. If she planned her life to turn out the way it has. Did she always dream of being a mom? I can tell by the way she talks to her son that she loves him. Her soft replies to his demanding questions are better than I can say of most moms, mine included. Did she learn to be kind from her mom? If so, I have no chance at being a good mom. Better leave that one to someone else.
"I'll just get a chocolate one too." She interrupts my thoughts. It takes me a moment to remember that she's talking about the doughnuts.
I place the second doughnut next to the first and take it over to the register. Best get this order finished before I botch it.
The little boy is standing at the counter, his blue eyes full of anticipation. You can practically feel it rolling off him. His blond hair is gelled in a hip style, and his clothes are a cool enough to make most grown men jealous. Clearly his mom has taste.
He must take after his dad, because his mom has brown hair, and a tan complexion. But their blues eyes do match. That must be what she passed on to him, a genetic trait that connects them as each other's.
The mom grabs a chocolate milk from the fridge and sets it on the counter. Her cell phone and wallet follow. I assume she is ready to pay.
"Will that be it?"
"Yes, thank you." 
I put the order into the register, trying not to pay too much attention to the huge diamond ring on her finger. She must be married, to a generous man. The way her eyes sparkle and constant smile lights up her face, she must be happy in her marriage too. That kind of happiness you can't fake.
I wonder if I will end up as lucky as this woman, with an adorable boy to show for it. Is that what I want?
I think back over my life. Being raised by a single mom, barely able to make ends meet, let alone go out for over priced doughnuts during the middle of the day, I never imagined myself getting tied down to someone for the rest of my life. Couldn't imagine myself making that commitment. But maybe, just maybe it is worth it.
I wish I could ask her about her life. Ask her about what makes her so happy. Is it her son? Is it her husband? What makes the light in her eyes fill the store with warmth? She has the answers. I know she does. If only I could ask.

If this week had a theme to it, what would yours be?

Back in the Game
The last five months have been filled with sickness, whether from pregnancy or seasonal illness. I've been home bound, locked away in my little refuge. But this week, I've broken free. We've had more activities, and people to share them with. I feel refreshed. Energized. Like I'm finally physically back in the game of life. It's been too long. My soul yearns for the social engagement, even if my body is still fragile. My spirit is ready to be freed.

Where do you like to do your journaling? At a desk, in your bed, at the coffee shop?

I twirl the pen between my fingers. It's been too long since I've last written. I need to update my life.
The last journal entry reads like a bullet point list. I've been doing that lately, falling into the habit of just listing major events. But what I really need to write about are specific experiences, or cool things we've been doing, or maybe even neat little Hesston stories.
I read the last line of the entry and turn to the next page. The blankness stares back at me. Where to begin?
I lie back on my pillows and pull the covers up to my neck. Closing my eyes, I run through the last couple months of my life. So much has happened. How do I record it all? Gah...I need to do this more often.
My comfy bed calls for sleep. But I have a mission to do. If I don't take advantage of the quiet time now, I'll never get to it.
The clock ticks off another minute. I have about an hour before Hesston will wake up.
Taking the pen to the paper, I begin to spill my life onto the page.

Write about a memorable experience you have had staying at a hotel

It's our first night together. First day as husband and wife. First night as a couple.
A strange feeling grips my stomach. It's full of anticipation. Expectation. Fear of the unknown. And fear of being completely clueless when it comes to fulfilling the duties of a wife. Don't get me wrong, I've been looking forward to this moment for months. After all the planning, waiting, and keeping our clothes on, it's a little scary the time has finally come to reveal myself to another person in that way.
It's been one thing to open my heart, my mind, my hopes, my dreams, my emotions, and my trust to this man. Especially since he's proven himself more than worthy of all of them. But there's something about giving yourself over physically to another person. And not just out of lust or selfish desire. Out of love and mutual respect. The bringing together of two souls. To unite in love will be different than anything I've ever experienced. 
The elevator ride feels a little awkward after all the formal festivities of the day. Being surrounded by people didn't give us any alone time. Now it's just the two of us. The reality of the situation is hitting me. I'm married. Joined. Never to be parted again. This is how it will be from now on. Me and him against the world. United. Forever.
The thought gives me a thrill. I've always wanted, no, needed someone to have my back. I've had it periodically with different friends, but never in this concrete form. And never with someone so worthy of my loyalty in return.
I glance over at him, the thought of us sharing everything with each other bringing a smile to my face. I've wanted that since I realized he was the one for me.
His blue eyes are kind, gentle, calm. His shoulders relaxed. He's leaned back against the elevator's shinny crome interior, a small smile pulling his lips up at the sides. I realize just how big he is in that moment. He's like a lion, with his curly mane and broad shoulders. It's one of the many things I love about him. I feel so safe wrapped in those arms. Even though he's a giant, he's gentle. My gentle giant.
I wonder how I must look to him. Small. Scared. Maybe even a little nauseous. Is he feeling the same as me? His exterior gives nothing away.
As we arrive at the floor we're staying on, the doors slide open. I take a deep breath, tensing to enter the hallway. But my husband stops me before I can take a step, with a hand on my shoulder. He tips my head up so I look him in the eye, a finger caressing my cheek.
"Whatever happens tonight is up to you. We can take it as slow as you'd like."
His words comfort me. Remind me who I married. He's not a predator. He's my protector. I love him. I trust him. And I will give everything to him.
I lift my lips to his, standing on my toes to reach. This is the first of countless kisses. Just as this is the first of endless nights we will share by each other's side.
I  drop back down to my heels, ready to capture another first.

Write about the most recent gift you gave someone

I stand outside our son's bedroom and listen to the soft sound of my husband's voice as he sings our son to sleep. It is dulled by the closed door. But the lullaby is the sweetest sound I've heard all day. I can't help but share in this special moment.
A soft murmur of love comes from our son. He loves his daddy just as much as I do.
As the song comes to a close, I pull my ear away from the door.
My day has been filled with requests. I feel like a slave. A slave to a three year old. I just want to fall into bed. But the morning always comes too quickly.
There is another person in my life. A person who usually takes a back seat to the frequent requests. Or becomes the new request slave. My husband.
It takes almost a half hour, but the time finally comes when my husband joins me in bed. Even though I feel like I could close my eyes and be asleep in seconds, I know I must cherish this precious relationship. If I don't nourish it with time, what will make it continue to grow?
He must be feeling the same way as I, his eyes half closed and sleepy. I resist the urge to turn off the light and call it a night. Instead, I reach for his hand and cuddle up to his side. His free arm finds it's familiar resting place around my waist. We lay there for a moment, just relearning the planes of each other's faces. I tuck away the color of his eyes, the way his full lips tip up at the corners, the way his chin dimples, and how he has never looked more handsome to me than he does in this moment, even with his cheek pressed against his pillow and his curls a tangled mess. There's nothing sweeter than a kind and loving husband and father, and he is worth all the time in the world. A few less moments of sleep is worth him knowing how much I love him.