my piece of foreign sky.

When I went off to college at 19, I had a plan.

One part of that plan was to study abroad in London.

I love history, and Europe is dripping with it.

I had always wanted to go, and to live there would be beyond my wildest dreams.

And then, a month later, I met Chris.

There were prayers and prayers and prayers.

And in the end, my choice was no choice at all.

We married and began our life together.

I became a mother 3 years later.

And 2 and a half years after that, two more babies showed up on my doorstep.

I see people going to Europe, jetting off to exotic islands, and experiencing the beauty of the world, and I am happy for them, but my heart aches to do the same. It longs to see it all.

I first saw this shortly after Carly was born, and whenever I read it, it hits perfectly home in my heart:

You are the trip I did not take;

You are the pearls I cannot buy;

You are my blue Italian lake;

You are my piece of foreign sky.

Some day I will go to Europe.

Chris and I will make it one day, even if its when all our kids are grown and gone.

I'll see the sites, I'll soak up every drop of history and beauty, and I will love every second.

But I already know the most beautiful piece of Europe will not hold a candle to John's sloppy kisses, Quinn's sweet giggles, or Carly's brilliant words.

Just today John started taking shaky, unsteady first steps. You should see his face when he comes falling into my arms. You should see how thrilled he is. And my soul soars with every step he takes, every success he and his sisters make.

Motherhood is so incredibly hard.

But these little wild ones are my greatest adventure.

And here in a small townhouse in Michigan, where I spend my days cleaning and feeding and singing and reading and wiping tears and giving kisses, they are my piece of foreign sky.