Calm Amongst the Chaos

Mama of 5 seeking calm in the chaos

“On Saturday, he ate through one piece of chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake, and one slice of watermelon

That night he had a stomach ache.”
― Eric Carle, The Very Hungry Caterpillar


Life lately has had a difficulty factor of an 8. (and if I come across a recipe with that kind of ridiculous hardness, it’s a hard no) And it’s not like we aren’t used to hard. I like to say we swim upstream in hard, but this is different. We are swimming in change and I do not like change. Not one bit. I do not like change in a car or on a plane or in a truck or on a train.

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Andi had an away volleyball game the other day and her team was winning yet again. Her 8th grade team is undefeated and they are killing it this season. I was not paying the greatest attention because the littles are obsessed with the bleachers and they were running up and down them like the wild hyenas they truly are. The 3 of us finally compromised on the very top row of the bleachers while my desire was to sit with the rest of our family on the bottom row. You know compromising with two 2 year olds is a little more yin than yang. Whatever, it’s them telling me where to go and me crying please if you just sit there you can have my phone and all my money and all my gum. You can have anything in the world if you just sit here and let me watch a few minutes of this game.
I’m sure you get the gist. Toddlers are a gift to us. Eat them up.

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I only allow myself to do this once, one time a year. One time and not on her actual day. I am allowed to cry. I am allowed to just get it all out. I can have my fit, wash my face and move on and celebrate. But it seems like August 27th every year is the day I just want to punch life in the face. 
I know the gifts I have been given. I thank God every day for another day with Lily. Always. 
But birthdays are hard. And friends… 16. 16 is like a punch in the gut.
16 is the year I always seemed to referenced when I would think of the nevers. It always seemed to be more focused on the big things. Driving, boyfriends, prom, college visits… gah. The place we expected and the place we are now. 

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August 1st 2018 our family officially grew by 4 feet! Nordy party of 5 became the Nordy party of 7 and we are blessed beyond measure to have added Alfonso Maxwell and Isabella Rose to the Nothdurft family forever.

Thankful to my friend Ashley for these incredible shirts!


Absolutely adore this chalkboard by my friend Lisa Chalked up Charm

My heart exploded the day we met each of them as it did when we met Lily, Andi and Oliver for the first time, but I also tried to hold them at a distance as I knew they weren’t “ours” as we knew for a true successful foster care story the end game results with the kids going home to their rehabilitated parents. On paper this makes perfect, beautiful, redeeming sense.

In this mamas heart that idea was excruciating.

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I played basketball all the way though Jr High and High School, it took years to be semi decent at it. I was always yelled at by coaches to be “more aggressive”, to “be a tiger”, but it was hard for me to do that. Aggressive is not an adjective used to describe me. As I got older and more experienced I got better at basketball and although offense was definitely an easier side for me to play, I did get better with my defense. I got stronger, I learned how to box out and I have an enormous reach making blocks one of the best skills I had. It was fun, I played with my best friends and I have nothing but awesome memories of the sport. I still remember so clearly however one day after a game I was red faced, sweat slicking my hair back and I was talking to a friend who said “I just love watching you play, you are so graceful”. I was like what? Did you see my points? My blocks? I was hustling all over that court and you thought I looked graceful? I still chuckle thinking about it because in my head I was the tiger out there I was trained to be and yet from everyone else’s vantage point I was a giraffe leaping around the court.


I am not complaining. It’s not like she compared me to a bull in a china shop. Being accused of being graceful is not an offensible crime. But I didn’t want to be seen graceful. I wanted to be seen tough.


This is still my lot in life.

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I love the movie My Best Friend’s Wedding. I am pretty sure I saw it in the theater multiple times and then on loop on VHS. I love the characters, the actors (hello! Julia, Cameron, Dermot and Rupert), the humor, the music, the story line. It’s just chick flick perfection. Of course the Oscars weren’t calling their name to stand up and accept an award in 1997, but all of us young women dreaming of our futures cared and that what mattered.

The very opening (pre Julia) scene is a bride and her bridesmaids singing the classic Wishin’ and Hopin’ in a cutesy 50’s style fashion. The bride is basically saying you won’t get a man just by wishing and hoping, and thinking, and praying, planning and dreaming each night. Oh no, you need hold him, kiss him, love him and show him that you care. And how you show him that you care is by wearing your hair just for him, and doing the things that he likes to do. Then you get the ring and hook, line and sinker. Ha! It’s so cute and silly. And then song gets stuck in your head in a very serious way.
I haven’t thought about the movie or that opening scene in a long time, but lately we are in a huge waiting period of our life and sometimes I will be humming.. Wishing and hoping, thinking and dreaming… and it gets in a loop. I kinda wish someone in a cute dress will sing to me and tell me how to get this wait over. Like maybe if I dress a little nicer. Pray a little harder. Maybe if I stand on my head and wiggle my legs. Just tell me and I will do it.
Yet we wait.

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Dear God,

Thank you, please, please, please, please….

please , please, please, please..
In your holy precious name,
MY will be done.


Oops I mean your will. Your will be done.

But God, can you please, please, please match yours to mine?

I don’t actually really trust your will. Your will scares the s*#t out of me. I’ve seen your will. I’ve seen it go seemly really bad. I think if you just see this from my perspective you will see that MY will be done is a whole lot better than yours. I mean, just this time. OK. Please.


Living in fear in Arizona


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So my last post was in anticipation to a huge life change and somehow that change has come. Actually 6 weeks ago.
I outta post more often.
So before we were even licensed to foster I got an email asking if we’d take in a 9 month old baby boy. I said, (with my heart beating out of my chest thinking it’s too soon) “sure, but we aren’t licensed” they said they knew and we’re working on it. That was a Thursday, the following Monday I had our licensing worker inspecting our home and meeting us, Tuesday we had our license and Wednesday we had baby A. in our homes stealing our hearts at first smile.
He wasn’t an abused baby, he didn’t come with lice or ringworm, he was actually Gerber baby squishy delicious and has a heart breaking smile that I know will tear us all apart.
What are we doing? How can I not ask myself that question every day as I rock him, feed him and stare into his almond shaped eyes. Every day that he throws a fit and demands the only cure is me holding him. Every moment he yells his sweet baby yell just because for 2 seconds our household isn’t totally focused on him.
What are we doing?
Multiple times a day I am told by others “I could never do that, I would get too attached”.
Funny thing is, we’re attached. We are doing this and we are attached. Probably too attached. Like so many fear. We were attached the moment the doorbell rang and I opened the door and my heart and we were all goners.
We are all attached and he is attached to us.

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About a year ago, long story short, we rescued some kittens. Little, dirty, angry kittens.
My sister and I split them up, she took two and named them Jack and Jill. We took two and named them Cinco and Mayo. Give you a hint what their “gotcha” day is 😉


Rescue mission
I love cats, I do. I can watch cat videos on YouTube all day long. We always had them growing up. My dad would say things like “I’m allergic”, or “they cause my asthma to get worse” all those little excuses for us not to have them, but they never worked. We always had cats. 
But myself as the mom of my family we had gone many years without a cat. I had become OK with the no cats thing, no litter boxes to clean out. No cat food to buy. I kinda have a lot already in my life with 3 kids, a husband and 2 dogs so yeah I was really OK with the whole no cat thing and totally honesty here, I wasn’t “all in” when I brought these guys home. I wasn’t super excited we had kittens, I felt dread that I had 2 more responsibilities to add to my plethora of responsibilities. 
Why did you bring them home then Kim? Well because my heart is often way bigger than my brain. It’s a thing.

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Today is the one year anniversary of the scariest day/weeks of our lives. On this day, April 7th, last year Lily had her spinal fusion surgery. It was an awful day that turned into an awful 2 weeks. Well maybe an awful 6 months. Things happened we never expected. Our fears caught us off guard as they were rational fears. Believe me, I am used to irrational fears, but these were rational. She was a sick girl and it was hell to witness.

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