Staying in arms reach of each other

Lennon and I visited a Montessori toddler program a few weeks ago in Mansfield, Massachusetts and were both pleasantly surprised that he absolutely adored it. He loved all of the colorful gadgets and toys, the festive alphabet that decorated the wall, the sweet teachers and of course the fun-sized sink where he could wash his hands fifty times a day if he chose to do so. He got a kick out of high-fiving the other children, pounding fake nails into the wooden tool bench with a scarily real looking hammer and dumping the basket of plastic letters on the floor so he could pick out his faves. But his absolute favorite thing to play with in the classroom was a "Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar" Jack in the Box. No matter what he was exploring, he continuously found his way back to the small metal box that was painted with lollipops, ice cream cones, pickles, cake, salami and whatever else the hungry caterpillar ate in the famous storybook. With wide eyes, he would, ever so slowly, rotate it's silver crank around and around, knowing that at any moment the inevitable would happen. Knowing that at any moment he would be scared out of his shorts when the caterpillar eventually burst through the roof of the box and flailed around turbulently, inches from his face. And every time it popped he would leap back, shriek with excitement, quickly close the lid and take a deep breath. Without fail, he would grab for my hand to make sure I was within arms reach. Then once again he would reach for the handle. It became a guilty pleasure, a strange addiction to the rush that he felt when the music suddenly stopped and he found himself face to face with a googly eyed creature that seemed to spring from the depths of the underworld. I couldn't understand why he kept going back for more and more of the same torture but there was no reasoning with him about it. Some part of him loved the chaos of it. Over and over, he cranked that handle, knowing exactly what would eventually come, and he couldn't help but perpetuate the insanity.

Two days later, the Jack in Box that Danny and I had been cranking over and over for 8 years popped right in front of our eyes. The lid just flung right open. It had no regard for how many cranks we were sure we had left and we were shocked. We were beyond shocked. We honest to God just didn't see it coming. And we were abruptly reminded that when you're addicted to the thrill of a game, one rule that you can never discount is that you don't get to decide when it's time to pass dice. You don't get to question it, you don't get to debate it, and it simply is what it is. You are forced to realize that at the end of the day, there is no reasoning with a game. No reasoning with past decisions or roads taken. No reasoning at all. And if you're all in, no matter how scared you may be to do it all over again, you just have to close the lid, take a deep breath and keep cranking.

When Danny was recently released by the New England Patriots we were abruptly thrown into unchartered territory. For the first time in almost a decade, the football season started without us. Sometimes it's easy to forget that the NFL is a business first and a livlihood second and when you're in the thick of it all it can become an Alice in Wonderland-esque adventure in which you can't quite decipher what's real and what's not. Regardless of the unpredictability of the game, we had figured that as long as Danny did everything he was asked to do and if he did it well, nothing else would matter. So when he did well, we made plans. When he did very well, we got comfortable. We enrolled Lennon in school, we got a dog walker, we gave Lennon's babysitter a calendar for the season that highlighted games, date nights and charity events, and with the help of friends we found a doctor who would deliver Baby Fells #2 come November. As much as our nomadic past existed, we refused to accept the possibility that business politics could outweigh performance. So when I got the text message that set the pandemonium of uncertainty into motion, I was more confused than anything. 

Just as we had done in the previous weeks, we spent the following few days making plans, only they were plans to leave rather than stay. And we did so with urgency. Over the years we had learned that there is very little time in which you are allotted to dwell on the emotional side of the game and this is especially true when you have a family. There is less oxygen in limbo and, as you can imagine, it doesn't have the comforts of home. If you make the conscious decision to keep playing the game you must first acknowledge the truth that there will continue to be ups and downs, there will continue to be turbulent surprises, and if you're lucky, there will continue to be fun to be had. So here we are, back home in California, attempting to savor each day of the offseason that has come mid-season for us this year and just simply staying ready. Staying ready to stay, staying ready to leave, staying ready for our family to expand at a moments notice and staying ready for new beginnings, no matter where they may be and when they may come.

Moving around the country at the drop of a hat isn't the easiest thing in the world, but we manage it well with moving companies and car shipping services on speed dial. Missing birthdays, weddings, and the births of our closest friends' children because of the grueling schedule of the NFL season can be incredibly difficult, but we know that one day when this temporary career is over we'll make up for lost time with them. But one thing that is simply unmanageable, the one thing that without a doubt hurts the most, is abruptly leaving the friends that became family on each one of our stops on our wild journey. The turnover in the league is staggering and just as quickly as you say hello, you are often forced to say goodbye. It is a part of the package that never gets easier, one that you never get used to. A part of the deal that makes you afraid to let people in. When we left St. Louis three years ago, I swore off friendships with NFL wives forever because leaving some of my closest friends in the world had left me reeling. But sometimes you get comfortable, sometimes you let your guard down and sometimes you make a life long best friend even when you weren't looking for one. In an industry where every move is a wager, you can't go all in without putting a piece of your heart on the table and when you lose you have to leave it all behind.

My sweet Danny turned 30 years young last week and I can't help but smile when I think back on the 12 years that we have spent in each others' lives. So many highs, so many lows, so many moments just like this, when we had no idea what the next page in our book would read. Whenever I get anxious about the "what ifs" I remind myself that every "what if" before this has brought us to where we are today, so no matter what happens, I know in my heart that tomorrow will bring love. Tomorrow will bring resolution and tomorrow will bring a plan better than one we could have drawn up ourselves. Maybe sometimes we learn more from our children than they do from us and maybe Lennon has the right idea. Maybe as long as we can reach out and grab each others' hands for reassurance, as long as we're always in arms reach of each other, we can continue to play games that both terrify and excite us all at the same time. And maybe we will.

Another year, another campaign

I recently came across a craft lesson on Pinterest that showed me how take an ordinary map of the US and turn it into a cute wall hanging using pins and thread. When done correctly, the pulled thread would create a cozy heart around the city that I call home and the framed product would be absolutely adorable. Once I decided that this might be a DIY project that I'd actually like to take on, I started to think about all the "homes" that Danny and I have had over the last decade.

Over the past 10 years we've endured more than 10 moves. Some of them hand in hand, some of them independently, but all of them together. With each year that went by, each move got more elaborate and more demanding. More loaded in a way. With each truck that we filled to the brim with boxes, we had more to move and more to lose.

Lennon lived in three different states and was a passenger on 16 different flights all before his first birthday. And now, with 3 more round trips under his belt, he's racking up miles so fast we might as well get him his own SkyMiles credit card. As our tiny family of two expanded we couldn't help but feel that we had more and more on the line and this year was no different. With a little one and two aging pups in tow we couldn't help but realize that we were suddenly responsible for more than just our own ambitions. The lifestyle that is the byproduct of following a job around the country would soon begin to shape the childhood of our sweet little boy and we needed to take heed.

Thus, in 2012 we moved again. Although we had packed up so many times before, something just didn't feel the same this last time. I couldn't put my finger on exactly why that was but I did know that there was a sense of peace amongst the upheaval. It may have had to do with the fact that, in an effort to relieve the stress of it all, Danny and I both made a conscious decision not sweat the small stuff (or even the big stuff for that matter). We decided to trust that no matter where we were, we were exactly where we needed to be. That the road that we were on was the right one because it was leading us somewhere unitedly. The career related ups and downs that we've experienced over the last seven years have taught us that life is, in fact, about more than just following a dream and that sometimes dreaming is often more about who you want to be rather than who you are. While having a goal, an aspiration, even a doggone mission, can be magical and incredibly motivating, it can also be all consuming. And we were really just ready to live in the here and now with the loved ones that inhabited each moment with us. We were ready to stop trying so hard to control our uncontrollable future. Maybe our priorities had changed, maybe our outlook had become more clear, but whatever it was, it was lovely.

This year Danny's job has oriented our furthest move yet. A 6.5 hour flight over three time zones to the appropriately named New England, given that the "old" England is just a hop over the pond. About forty miles south of Boston is a quaint little town called Foxboro, also spelled Foxborough oddly enough, that we will call home for the next 3 years. This last offseason was spent prepping for the move (researching local resources, parks, gyms, doggy hotels, and grocery stores) while also soaking in every minute we could spend with family and friends before heading off to the East Coast. Thankfully the move went smoothly and it didn't take long for the five of us (Me, Danny, Lennon, Lily and London) to get settled in our new, yet temporary as usual, digs.

With training camp in the rear view and preseason now winding down, football season is officially knocking on the door. Danny couldn't be more excited to take this year by the horns and his teammates, the steaming field turf and the endzone are all calling his name. New city, new team, same game, same grind. Same task. Same opportunity. Same passion. Same campaign. Same fight to make a name for himself and earn precious moments under the bright lights. Different reason. Different drive. Different goal. Different perspective

Everytime Danny kneels down and whispers to Lennon, "It's all for you" my eyes swell with tears.
Every single day we celebrate our family, our downright resilience and our relentless spirit. While we love the game and this life, we choose to hold our relationships with friends, family and each other on a pedestal higher than any crossbar on any field on any given Sunday and we hope that Lennon is watching.

An Open Letter to NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell

Dear Mr. Goodell,

I see that you've been catching a lot of heat lately. In fact, you seem to be quite the disfavored crusader these days. I'm sure that you're very aware that the rule changes you've implemented in the NFL over the last few years haven't been very popular among the masses. Fans, broadcasters, even players, continuously criticize the effort you've made to make the league less hazardous to the health of those who play the game. Some say you're trying to take the contact out of the contact sport of American football. That your over-enthusiasm for concussion testing is making the NFL a league for pansies. That by taking the violent, bone-crushing hits out of football, you're making it less entertaining, less exhilarating in some way. Some say that your juvenile safety rules are, quite frankly, making their game watching experience a little less enjoyable. Well, Commissioner Goodell, this is what I say...this is what I say from the bottom of my heart...
Thank you.

I know that in the sticky business of the NFL you and the players often reside on opposite sides of the fence. The lockout we all endured this last year portrayed a player vs. owner scenario in which you appeared to be a ring leader for the "other side." And it's hard to deny that your authority to use your discretion to discipline players for off-field matters occasionally paints the picture of a dictatorship. But I'm willing to look past all of that Mr. Goodell. I'm willing to extend to you an olive branch of hope. You see, your attention to the health of the men who are the backbone of the NFL is attention to the man who is the backbone of my family. And you should know that you have the undying support of a select few regarding this issue.

There is no doubt that being married to an NFL athlete comes with it's highs and lows. A high being a Sunday on which I watch my other half do what he loves for a good living. A low being a morning on which I strip a blood-stained bedsheet off of our bed and wallow to the laundry room. A high being the smile on my sweet husband's face when his celebrity enables him to touch the life of a young soul. A low being the wrenching pain in my gut when I see him gasp for air after a vicious shot to the ribs. He doesn't gasp for air alone, Commissioner, and when he takes a moment to gather himself before standing, I take a moment to pray.

I'm sure you've heard the harrowing statistics and that you know the numbers well. Based on the changes you've made to the game, I have no doubt that you are fully aware that the suicide rate for ex-NFL athletes is SIX times the national average. And when it becomes front page news that another former player has passed away before his 50th birthday from heart failure, stroke, or another physical anomaly, I know you take notice. They say that playing in the NFL takes 10 years off of a man's life, but that number is quite modest isn't it? And the life that most of these guys live post-career are often riddled with surgery and chronic pain anyways, aren't they? They replace their knees, rebuild broken bones and medicate the ache but there's no cure for an early onset of Alzheimer's and despite all of the medical advances we benefit from these days, you and I both know that dementia is still a lock him up and throw away the key kind of diagnosis.

Earlier this year, when two time Super Bowl champion Dave Duerson took his own life, I was devastated. He was fifty years young. When I heard that he shot himself in the chest to spare his brain for neurological research I cried. He left a note to his family, asking them to donate his brain to the NFL Brain Bank. He wanted everyone to know, needed them to know, that the demons that tormented him for the latter years of his life were a direct result of the game. That he suffered from the debilitating brain disease Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, an unlivable condition brought on by years of head trauma on the football field. A death sentence brought on by the savage hits that your naysayers want to see more of.

I heard Dave Duerson was a good man. That before he began to deteriorate from the disease that ultimately took his life, he was a good husband and a great father to his four children. I heard that his son Tregg spoke at his funeral and that he hopes that his father's death was not in vain. I share in his wishful hope, and it is because of your recent rule changes that I believe that you may as well.

My husband is a good man too, Commissioner. In fact he is the best man. If you knew him, you'd agree. He's kind, playful and generous. His favorite holiday is Thanksgiving and he's the true definition of an animal lover if there ever was one. He's my best friend, a devoted father to our precious baby, and I need, more than anything, to grow old with him.

It gives me a small sense of peace to know that you're looking out for him. It makes me sleep just a tiny bit better at night. Because I know this man won't walk away from the game as long as his legs hold him upright. And I know that the league will have to shut him out one day in order for him to put it behind him. Even then, I know he won't go without a fight. So thank you for making the way in which he provides for his family a little less dooming. Thank you for doing what you can to try to give the violence of the game an ounce of order. Thank you for giving my husband the bit of protection that may allow him to know our son in his adulthood.

I appreciate your continued attention to this matter Mr. Goodell. Because to some of us this matter is all that really matters.

Oh the Adventures...

Yesterday I put the peanut butter in the dishwasher, a few days before that I put bibs in my underwear drawer and a week before that I pumped hand soap onto my toothbrush. I haven't actually known what day of the week it was at any given point in time over the last two months and it seems as if I've recently spent more time explaining the jumbled words that come out of my mouth rather than having actual conversations. Oh yes, sleep deprivation will sneak up on you when you least expect it. I’ve actually put the lid of the toilet down before sitting on it, thinking it was the seat, even though my husband hasn’t left the seat up in years. Danny and I thought we had seen it all, but these last two months have been our most amazing (and amusing) adventure yet.

Our precious Lennon Daniel has taken us places we didn't know existed and he's made us feel things that we never could have imagined, both for him and for each other. Oddly enough, labor was surprisingly fun in a weird way. Yes, it was fifteen hours of agonizing pain for the most part, but knowing that our little guy was on the other end of it all made it feel like some sort of challenge, like a twisted, cruel game show. Every time a minute was eliminated between contractions it was as if the ante had been raised, like we'd been promoted to the next round. And finally, at the end of what truly felt like a show, thanks to the bright lights, nurses, doctors, family, and even the housekeeping lady who kept coming into our room at inopportune times to take out the trash, we were ultimately rewarded with the grand prize of a brand new baby.

As much as I felt like Mel Gibson in the gut-pulling torture scene at the end of the movie Braveheart through out the process, I quickly realized that there really wasn't anyone or anything that could detract from my excitement to meet my little one. Not the pain, not the anxiety, not even the epidural guy sticking around to ask Danny for his thoughts on Sam Bradford while I was in active labor.

Once our little man finally showed up Danny and I were wide-eyed to say the least. Overjoyed, nervous, ecstatic, confused...the flurry of emotion was unreal. We had always felt like we were family before that day, but witnessing the creation of something that connected us on a level greater than feelings was enchanting. It's true that you can't really describe it, and it's also true that there is nothing like it. It's both magical and extraterrestrial-ish at the same time.

Over the days that ensued, we continued to marvel at what we "did." Every time Lennon smiled in his sleep or did something absolutely adorable, like yawn, one of us surely took credit for his cuteness with a simple "you're welcome sweet pea." Oh yes, we've definitely become those parents. Immensely proud and excited by everything he does. From his neck strength to his "big poops" (said in baby talk), we're impressed, and we aren't afraid to admit it. We've embraced our new family dynamic, and the fact that our lives absolutely revolve around our little bundle, with open arms. In fact, we wouldn't have it any other way.

I guess you could say that the dynamic of our new family is somewhat related to the first nickname that Danny gave our little Lennon. On the day he was born, the first term of endearment that popped in his head was "franchise." Yup, I said franchise. And soon after that, he started calling me "coach" and referring to himself as "the owner." Lennon's the star of the team, I call the shots, Danny supervises. It seems to work so far. Other nicknames that have come and gone have included Tarzan (because he was born lean, mean and muscular), Angry guy (because of the ever-present scowl he had on his face for his first few days of life), and Houdini (because no matter how tight we would swaddle him, he would ALWAYS find a way to squirm out of it). My sister also likes to call him Joo-joo bird. "Joo-joo" means "little bird" in Farsi, so in essence she calls him "bird bird." Not so cute translated, but pretty darn adorable when you hear it in person. At the end of the day though, he will always be my little sweet pea. 

The bond that Danny and Lennon have created has been one of the most precious things I've ever witnessed. Danny holds him protectively in his big strong hands and they interact through a gaze that truly speaks thousands of words. And gaze aside, Danny takes every opportunity he has to talk to him. He likes to ask him what life was like "on the inside" and he speaks to him in the broken Spanish he learned in school to "expose him to other cultures." He sings to him and lulls him to sleep (Bruno Mars' "Count on me" is officially Lennon's bedtime song) and he has been trying to teach him how to crawl since he was two days old. He says he'll have him moving by six months...refer to paragraph number five.

As cliche as it sounds, little Lennon is the light of our lives. And we're not really sure how we've navigated this far without him.

In other Fells family news, it seems that this year the adventures are never ending...Lennon and I will soon be joining Danny in Denver, to cheer on our favorite Bronco, for the 2011-12 NFL season. Although we miss our STL Ram family tremendously already, we're excited about the next chapter. A new city, a new team and the new opportunities that follow in suit. I couldn't be more proud of Danny and all that he's achieved over these last few years. I can't help but smile when I think about how he continues to beat the odds as an accomplished NFL athlete who started out as an undrafted free agent out of the Division II football program at UC Davis. He's the hardest working guy I know and I appreciate him and the physical sacrifice he makes for our family everyday. That guy inspires me in more ways than I could count and I think Lennon is blessed to have him for a dad.

If I've ever expressed a sense of gratitude in any blog I've ever written before this, multiply it by a million for this one.

I am incredibly grateful for the love-filled relationships that I share with my family and friends. I am humbled by the divine process of life and the miracles that perpetuate it. And I am completely in awe of my beautiful boy.

Gifts from God are truly the greatest gifts of all. 

The "Mom and Dad" That We're Becoming

To everyone who warns me that my life is about to change dramatically, I insist that it already has. It may not have changed in the ways that it will in a couple of months but I can't help but feel light years away from the existence I knew just a few months ago. For one, I used to just be me, just myself, just Nahall. I used to be just one person, and somewhere along the way I became two. "I" became "us" and "she" became "they." I have two heads, two spines, two smiles, two heartbeats. And even though billions of people have experienced, and will continue to experience, the same duplicity that I'm experiencing now, it still feels unique. It still feels utterly special and completely one of a kind. Because it's me and him, after all. And no combo, two-fer, or double has ever been me and him.

A little while ago, I told Danny that when I go into labor I want him to remind me that women have been having babies since the beginning of time. That even cavewomen experienced the agony of childbirth, and they endured it without any of the comforts we have today. I wanted him to tell me that if they could do it, I could do it. For some reason, I wanted to be reassured that we were all the same in some way. I thought that hearing those things would make the experience feel more universal and that those feelings would make the pain less severe in some way. But over the last couple of months I've started to look around a little, and as I've looked around at mothers-to-be, first-time moms, and even veteran moms, I've started to realize that having the same anatomy doesn't actually make me like any other woman at all. In actuality, it seems to almost magnify the differences between us. Regardless of whether I've read the same books or attended the same classes as other moms-to-be, I've learned that no two mama bears are exactly alike. Just like no two sets of parents are alike either.

I've come to accept that Danny and I will most likely be a unique parenting pair. As a matter of fact, I've deduced that we'll possibly be unlike any of those that have come before us. That's been made painfully, and somewhat hysterically, obvious as I've continued to "look around" during the course of my pregnancy. While most first-time-parents tend to gain a sense of adulthood and maturity in preparation for a little one, we have seemed to gain a sense of humor.

My husband has done the "robot" to the sound of our unborn child's heartbeat. Yup, the most popular dance move of the 60's somehow made it's way into one of our early prenatal doctor appointments. No typical "oooing" and "ahhhing" at the miracle of life over here, just a bass he could work with...
When we went in for our 20 week ultrasound, our tech measured the baby's limbs and began to tell us what growth percentile each one fell under. After all of the measurements were done Danny politely asked her to measure a limb that she had skipped over to see how "well-endowed" our fetus was. I, on the other hand, kept asking her if she could please find his "cute little tooshie" again...

Our "Childbirth Preparation" class also put into perspective how different we were from the average first-time parents. In the car on the way to the class I felt relieved that I had been able to convince Danny to change out of his "People who think they know everything annoy those of us who do" t-shirt, but was a little curious as to how the other parents would feel about his "subject appropriate" Sesame Street t-shirt that said "All my homies are from the street." Although he was the only one with a printed t-shirt on when we arrived, we didn't stand out too much...just yet. I suppose that it was my constant, incessant giggling during breathing exercises that got most couples staring and scoffing at us. I didn't mean to disturb their concentration, I just don't know how you're supposed to keep a straight face while looking in your partners eyes for a whole minute! And of course his silly faces didn't help the cause. I'm not sure what was worse though, the giggling or Danny's uncomfortable squirming during the birth film we watched. Other dads-to-be shed a tear or two while Danny ducked and covered his eyes while occasionally peeking through a crack between his fingers. Maybe even more distracting than those things though, was when I began wincing in pain while Danny massaged my lower back during a pressure-point labor exercise. The instructor noticed my discomfort and came over to ask me what the problem was. When I told her that sometimes my husband doesn't know his own strength she pushed him aside and started massaging my back herself. When I literally yelled from the intense pressure she was putting on the bottom half of my spine I heard her whisper a hopeless "Good Luck" to Danny. Their under-the-breath conversation continued with mild laughter as she walked back up to the front of the class and I was pretty sure that I heard her call me a "woosie!" When we got home Danny informed me that she didn't actually call me a "woosie." She did, however, call me something that could be mistaken for that word. I had just misheard the first letter of the word. Encouraging right?

We recently learned that reading aloud to the baby is great for his IQ, so we've tried to read to him often. Sometimes the only reading materials we have laying around though are fashion magazines and instruction manuals. So we're thinking he'll be a good dresser and a pro at building TV consoles and hooking up surround sound systems...

Oddly enough, I also find myself wondering if the baby will be born with a love of boxing. All of the simulated sparing sessions that Danny has had with him over the last few months have to have left some sort of lasting impression, right? Danny bounces around in a fighters stance, taps my belly with his index fingers and then ducks when the baby jabs back. He says he's teaching him to stay on his toes...

At some point along the way, we were also advised to sing to the little guy. We figure that Disney songs are most appropriate at his gestational age, so even though we only know the choruses of most Disney songs, we give it our best shot. Bet ya never heard the song about a handsome prince that flies around a whole new world on his magic carpet and then finds himself under the sea with a buddy that teaches him about the bare necessities and how to paint with all the colors of the wind...

Sometimes I wonder if we need to take the "parenting" role a bit more seriously, but most times I hope that we'll keep the humor alive through late night feedings and brutal diaper changes. We are who we've always been, and I guess that we choose being ourselves over being who a book or parenting philosophy has told us to be. I suppose that somewhere along the way, we decided that it's just fine to be different from the billions of parents that have come before us. It's okay for us to learn from our mistakes and laugh it out when one of us ends up with a hand full of poop or a spit-up soaked sweater.

You really never know though, maybe once the little guy gets here we'll find ourselves in a completely serious state of parenthood. Maybe we'll become obsessive about his sleeping and eating routine, trade in our Bruno Mars playlist for a Baby Einstein one, and install a hand sanitizer dispenser on the front door. Maybe we'll become those parents. I kinda hope we don't though...because I'm reeeeeally excited to dress the baby in the "Sorry Angelina, I'm taken" onesie that's hanging in his armoire and Danny can't wait to see what his tuxedo t-shirt looks like on him. Like I said, we are who we are, and, for now, we're okay with that.

Change...The One Thing We Can All Depend On

I find it somewhat ironic that uncertainty and change are all that I can actually "depend" on these days. While most details of my life continuously dangle up in the air, the one constant that always seems to remain is that nothing ever stays the same.

After spending the last few months in the frigidly cold Midwest for football season, we've recently found ourselves back in our sunny California, off-season routine. And just as we started to feel settled back at home, our rapidly changing reality began to feel somewhat unsettling. 2011 will undoubtedly be a year that will go down in the books.

Per usual, the past few months have been full of highs and lows, ups and downs, wins and losses. We enjoyed the immediate success of my debut novel during the first half of the year and then turned our attention toward the exciting commotion of football season for the latter half. Danny produced a career-high season of catches and yards, while also adding to his resume of "laid back/Cali swag" touchdown celebrations. There is no doubt though, that tangled among all the buzz, we endured our fair share of adversity. 2010 was also a year of overcoming unforeseen hardships, making difficult decisions, leaning on family for emotional support and resolving to have a stronger resolve.

I'm convinced that 2010 decided to end with such an intense amount excitement for the mere purpose of preparing us for the chaos looming ahead. We wrapped the year up by expanding our family by two! We adopted another puppy dog who has fit into our family like a puzzle piece. He's a nine year old yellow lab that looks just like Lily, but he's a calm and mellow cuddler, while Lily is her usual busy-body self. Two weeks after we welcomed the furry little love bug into our home, we found out that our brood would continue to grow. We're expecting a baby boy in June and couldn't be more excited/nervous/impatient.

The first half of my pregnancy went by smoothly and swiftly. Other than feeling a bit like an alien out of a sci-fi movie, I've pretty much felt like my usual self. Danny hit his lowest weight since college during my first trimester because I wasn't doing much cooking and I didn't have an appetite, so now that I've entered, what I like to call, the "bottomless pit stage" at month 5, we're looking forward to making up for lost time together.

The last few months have been interesting, to say the least. Towards the end of season, Danny often came home from work with little bits of pregnancy knowledge that surprised even me. He once explained to me his strategy for buying in bulk when I began to get specific food cravings, and on another day he asked me if I was finding that my equilibrium was off just yet. I soon realized that, as a part of the Rams baby boom 2010, we were in good company. I had a support group of amazing ladies to bounce my "Is it normal that..." questions off of and he clearly benefited from the "new dad" locker room speak going on at work.

I've heard that having a baby during the off-season has many perks, so we're lucky to fall into that category. Apparently the likelihood that dad will be able to get home (back to California in our case) for the birth goes up tremendously in the months of Feb-July. And I've also heard that the possibility of getting help during midnight bottle duty goes WAY up when the boys don't have to be at the facility, sitting in the cold tub, at 6am.

The excitement we have for welcoming a "mini-us" into the world is, quite frankly, the most amazing feeling we've ever felt, so we've been trying to completely ignore the many impending unknowns ahead. During a time when most expecting couples are painting their nurseries and scoping out local "mommy and me" activities, Danny and I are registering for foldable bassinets and strollers fit for travel. The only certainty in the months to come is that at some point we'll need to just pick up and go. Not sure when or where just yet, but we do know that it's inevitable.

So many more questions than usual seem to hover over us this year than they have in years past...Will there be football in 2011 or will a potential NFL lockout or strike keep us in limbo for months to come? Would lockout limbo mean we have no health insurance during the months I'll need it the most? Will Danny's free agent status take us to a new state, new city, new team? Will the potentially new off-season schedule allow him to get home in time for the birth of our son if he's in the middle of OTAs or a mini-camp thousands of miles away? Should we be buying west coast-friendly short sleeved onesies or cold weather baby gear for the Fall ahead?

I suppose there is irony in this post. I sat down at my computer to write a new "what we're up to these days" blog, and I'm slowly realizing that I have absolutely no idea what we're up to. I have no idea what we're up to, or even what we'll be up to in the near future. No idea what-so-ever where we'll be or who we'll be with. No idea how we'll get there, how long we'll be there, or how we'll like it. So I suppose that rather than being a blog of "updates," this has turned into a blog of "I'll keep ya posteds."

So here's to having faith that it will all work out, like it always does, and to being excited for the adventures around the corner. Thanks for all the love and support, the blessing of having amazing family and friends is the one we cherish the most!

Movies and Real Life

Anyone ever thought about how actors and actresses often find themselves in real life situations that reflect roles they've played on the big screen? Sandra Bullock became the adopted mother of a beautiful, burly African American boy in "The Blind Side." Sandra Bullock became the adopted mother of a beautiful, burly African American boy in real life. Liam Neeson mourned the loss of his dear wife in an emotional funeral scene in "Love Actually." Liam Neeson mourned the loss of his dear wife Natasha Richardson after a tragic skiing accident. Katie Holmes often gushed over her dream guy, Tom Cruise, in the T.V. show Dawson's Creek. Katie Holmes Cruise is now a household name. I could go on for days.

I've recently taken note of the countless theories about the law of attraction that swirl around these days. Theories that suggest that if you think it (even if you're being fed your thoughts the way actors and actresses are) it will exist. It will exist and also manifest itself in your life. And I think it's true.
The Bible says that we are all created in God's image and I believe that to be so. I believe with my whole heart that the reflection of Him that exists in us, is our thoughts. It's the little voice that you hear when you read silently and the one that gets loud and frantic when you're lying in bed at night worrying about something. The voice that narrates the dreams you dream when you close your eyes and the one that silently curses the guy that cut you off on the freeway. It's your divine spirit, your "I." It's your subconscious and it's the most powerful thing you possess.

A few months ago I started to create a football scrapbook for Danny. I began organizing all of the newspaper clippings and magazine articles I've saved over the years. I rummaged through shoe boxes of photos and Tupperware of pins and paraphernalia and I attempted to lay them out in chronological order. I was somewhat taken aback when I found that the earliest "football" picture that I had of him was taken at the age of 9. My surprise, of course, stemmed from the fact that he didn't actually start playing football until he was a freshman in high school. In the 1992 photo, Danny is posing behind the wooden cut out of a Los Angeles Rams football player at Magic Mountain in Southern California. The smile that connected his chubby cheeks was bigger than life and I couldn't help but think...one thought, one photo. There are no coincidences.

So if the law of attraction exists and if God really does exist in our thoughts, shouldn't we all do our very best to wipe negative and/or fearful thoughts out of our heads? I know, it's harder than it sounds. Every time I get a phone call after 11pm my heart skips a beat and I immediately become nervous that there has been some sort of tragedy or mishap that couldn't wait until morning. So sad. And it's usually just someone who forgot that there is a two hour time difference between St. Louis and California. Every time there is even a smidgen of turbulence on an airplane, I instantaneously imagine what my last few seconds of life would be like if it began going down in flames. Just plain unhealthy. I let my subconscious take me to places that tie my stomach into knots instead of places that make me feel safe and secure, and I'm tired of wasting my magical subconscious powers.

Can you imagine how different our lives would be if we took all of our negative energy and replaced it with happy thoughts? Hopes and dreams. Faith and confidence. Our entire bodies would unclench and we could open our minds to the endless possibilities that would undoubtedly make up our futures. If we have the ability to take one thought, one photo, and turn it into our reality, how can we not make the best of them.