And if you got the news late and missed the free promotion, no worries – for the next 30 days the book is only $2.99. Still a steal!

See you later!

But one job did in fact contact me, and after jumping through a couple easy hoops, I found myself with a job. A writing job, no less, for Remilon, the folks behind Education Portal Academy, which is a pretty sweet system, let me tell you. I’m honestly able to say that I’m honored to be a part of this company, which is awesome, because it would really bite to have to strain my brain for some lame job that I could care less about. And I am straining my brain. Wow. A very different kind of writing. The best part is that the hours are completely up to me, as long as I complete a certain number of articles or work at least 15 hours a week. Which means, once Dan snags something (and it looks like he may be close!) I’ll be able to pull back a bit and have more time to write.

Then a unique opportunity presented itself to me via a friend on Facebook–one of those friends that you don’t actually know, but somehow got connected with anyway. She is a distributor for It Works Global, a health and wellness company that sells, among other things, this cool herbal wrap that both detoxes you and firms your skin in as little as 45 minutes. They’re the only company making this thing, and they’re growing at an insane rate, and after reading about the product and realizing that, if I wanted to get in for half the usual price, I needed to move quickly, I jumped on the bandwagon to become a distributor myself. Dan and I wrapped for the first time this past week, and inches (and pounds!) were indeed lost. I joined just in time to get in on the $10,000 bonus promotion, too, so I’m busting my butt (which will soon be smaller, thanks to the wrap!) to obtain it because an extra $400 a month for the next two years would be mighty nice to have.

This does not mean my blog will become some big sales pitch–per company rules I would have to create a blog dedicated solely to my business if I wanted to blog about it frequently, and heaven knows I have a hard enough time finding time to blog here! But I do hope you’ll check out my distributor website and let me know if you have any questions about the products or want to try a body wrap for only $25 (or for free if you know a few folks who’d also want to join you in trying one), or if you want to take advantage of the half off start-up sale they’re doing and become a distributor yourself. Success with network marketing is more about timing than anything else, and this is definitely a perfect time to join It Works. (They even have UK, European and Australian offices, for my international friends!)

So, all that to say, we’re hoping and praying that all this will be enough to keep us afloat so Dan and I can continue to spend hours at a time basking in the glow of our computer screens as we pursue the muse and set our imaginations free in the worlds of our minds’ making. Dicey though it sounds, I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Fast forward six years, and I could fill pages detailing all the opportunities I’ve missed, all the experiences I’ve let pass by. And with each one I faced a choice: Do I hold true to my parenting philosophy? Practice what I preach? Choose my child’s needs over mine? Or do I draw a line and say, “Enough–it’s my turn now”? It’s possible my writing career has suffered because of my choices. I turned down television interviews because it would have meant leaving my still-nursing daughter for 24 hours while I flew to the sets. I’ve passed on writing conferences that would have provided training and publicity because I knew my girls weren’t ready for Mommy to be gone for an entire weekend. What might that exposure have done for my sales?

I get four afternoons a week to work–a total of about 16 hours a week. That’s my time to write emails, blog posts, social media updates, newsletters, do online interviews, market and publicize my books and, oh yeah, write the books. And while I manage to sneak onto Facebook and Twitter and Gmail here and there outside of that time, I’m not in a place where I can concentrate much at those times, so it’s not like I can tackle anything of importance. Somehow God made it possible for me to pump out four novels over the last few years on that schedule. Just think what I could have done with forty whole hours a week! All I had to do was put my girls in school instead of clinging to my homeschooling ideal. But I couldn’t do it. I sacrificed productivity for my children’s education, for our family’s bond, for my girls’ innocence.

I’m not going to lie to you. There have been times that I’ve wondered if having children was the right choice. Think of all I could have done without having to make those sacrifices. Think where my career might be. Think of the speaking ministry I could have built. Think of the people I could have met, the opportunities I could have taken. Heck–think of the sleep I could have gotten, of the money I could have saved on chiropractic care to help un-kink my body after dozing off for most of the night while nursing a child to sleep. Think of the stress I could have avoided by not having to think about things like whether or not to vaccinate my girls or if my child’s sensory issues were going to cause life-long problems for her. Instead, I was called to sacrifice.

And it’s a good thing, too. I’m a selfish person. I’m selfish with my time and I’m selfish with my effort. Altruism and self-denial don’t come naturally to me. And without children to tend to, I would be a very self-centered person indeed. God knew what he was doing when He gave us these girls. He knew the lesson I needed to learn–namely that it’s not all about me. And he knew I wouldn’t learn it without being the one on whom a little life completely depended.

Now, don’t go jumping all over me, saying that I’m condemning those who don’t make the same choices I made. I think I can honestly say that this blog entry IS all about me. The choices you make are between you and God. All I know is that I was called to sacrifice. I really didn’t want to. And it’s been really, really hard. But I found that I couldn’t look my children in the eye and tell them their needs weren’t as important as mine. And I’m trusting that God knew what He was doing, and that I’ve been obedient to Him in my choices.

This week I face another choice, another opportunity to sacrifice–though I don’t actually know yet what the sacrifice will be. I haven’t figured out yet the choice I’m supposed to make. Either way it goes, it will be tough. But either way it goes, I know God will go with me. And since He knows a thing or two about sacrifice, I know I’ll have good company for the journey. He knows the plans He has for me. And that’s the only reason I’m able to let go of the “what if’s” of those options I didn’t take. It doesn’t matter what might have been had I taken those interviews or gone to those conferences–God had my route, sacrifices and all, mapped out before I ever left the gate. It’s the balm that soothes the sting of sacrifice: the knowledge that He goes with me. He knows what my career is to be, what my marriage is to be, what my children are to be.

And so I open my hands. Not my will, but Thine. Whatever You ask, Lord, I will sacrifice.

And then PJ was born. Again, the second princess was brought into the King and Queen’s bed at 4 months old. And lo, the princess did return to sleep after nursing at night, and lo, the Queen did not lose her mind from lack of sleep. And all was once again well in the Morrow Kingdom.

Now, when Princess PJ was born, Princess Abby did see that the baby had her own bed, for the Queen and King had brought out the Arm’s Reach co-sleeper for the baby to see how long she might use it, and the Princess Abby did indeed burn with jealousy. “I want a special bed, too!” she cried, and the King and Queen said, “You’ve got it, kiddo!” And off they drove to the closest baby furniture store to find a toddler bed for the first princess. And lo, Princess Abby did love the bed, though it took time and much, much nighttime parenting from the Queen to get her to remain in it after lullabys had been sung. But stay in it she eventually did, and so the King and Queen’s bed was not that full anymore. And all slept (though the King and Queen did have to admit they often missed the snuggly princess) and all was well.

Until the Kingdom was moved to Colorado.

In the new castle, the Princess Abby was a little wary of sleeping alone. So she returned to the King and Queen’s bed until she had acclimated to the new surroundings. The King and Queen understood her reticence and were happy to let her return, though things were a mite tight in the royal bed. “Fear not,” they thought, “she will become comfortable in the new castle and will soon return to her own bed.”

And the first princess grew. And the second princess grew. But lo, the bed did not grow. And neither did the first princess return to her own bed. And neither did the second princess want to move to her own bed. And soon the two princesses were sleeping quite well, but the King and Queen, not so much.

So the King and Queen had a choice to make. The toddler bed sat unused in their bedroom, but Princess Abby did not wish to use it. And really, it made no sense to encourage  Princess PJ to sleep there, because she still nursed and the Queen did not relish the idea of trying to nurse her in the middle of the night through the bars of the toddler bed. They could force Princess Abby to sleep there, but they knew their children well, and their knowledge told them that forcing the princess into a situation she feared would cause nighttime to become a scary time. The Queen’s childhood memories of nighttime were nothing but scary, and she did not want that for her princesses. She knew that someday Princess Abby would be up for the challenge, but she was not yet there. “She will become ready in her own time,” she reminded herself, “and she will ask on her own to move to the bed. It is not something we need to force.” But still there remained the problem of the bed made for two that was trying to hold four.

“Eureka!” cried the King. “We have a guest chamber no one uses, with a queen-sized bed that sits empty all year. Let us bring it in here!” And so, with much shuffling and grunting, the queen bed was relocated, and lo, the family bed did grow! “Huzzah!” There was now plenty of bed for the royal family. No longer did the Queen awaken with a princess draped across her or a wee hand flung in her face. And again, the royal family slept, and again, all was well.

And then, one day, the two princesses did beg to have “a sleepover. In our own chamber.” The princess’ chamber where they kept clothes and toys did have a crib-turned-daybed. “We can bring the toddler bed in there,” said Princess Abby, “and Princess PJ can sleep on it and I’ll sleep on the daybed.” The King and Queen were skeptical that any sleeping would actually occur. But they agreed, knowing that small forays into independence would eventually lead into true independence, and if nothing else, the novelty might make it last a little longer.

And so, the toddler bed was relocated to the princess’ chamber, and lo, the girls did have their sleepover that night.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

And lo, tonight they celebrate the five week anniversary of when they moved to their own beds in their own rooms. And yes, Princess PJ does still nurse at night, and yes, it is a little bit of a bummer that the Queen has to get out of bed and go nurse her back down in another room. And yes, the King and Queen find it very strange to not have their princesses within arm’s reach at night and tend to worry that they’re too cold. But, the baby monitor works just fine to alert them when the princesses require them, and really, ’tis a small price to pay for the King and Queen to have a very, very big bed all to themselves.

Certain reasons are more important than others, and their importance changes up sometimes depending on our current philosophy or where the girls are developmentally, but the  reason that will always remain at the top of the list is the simple fact that we have been entrusted by God with our children’s education–not the government, not other people. We will be the ones held accountable for how our children were raised, and that includes how they were trained and taught–it’s not a responsibility we can pass on to someone else.

Closely tied to this is the fact that we cannot trust other people to teach our children the beliefs that we hold. Even at a Christian school, children are going to pick up theology and doctrine that doesn’t necessarily line up with what their parents believe. And when it comes to theology and doctrine, Dan and I are pretty picky.

But those reasons aside, I really just can’t imagine sending my children away from me for six (or seven, or eight) hours a day, five days a week. I know that makes me sound like a mom who just can’t cut the apron strings, but it’s about so much more than attachment. It’s about wanting to be involved in what they learn. It’s about wanting to be the one who sees the light bulb go off when they finally learn to read, or how to do long division, or what it means for a liquid to become super saturated. (I have the *coolest* experiment to do with them for that one!) It’s about tailoring their education to their strengths and weaknesses and passions so that they never lose their enjoyment for learning. It’s about protecting them from bullies until they’re ready to defend themselves. It’s about keeping them innocent for as long as I possibly can. (And no, innocent is NOT synonymous with ignorant.) And yes, it’s also about wanting to strengthen the bonds of our family.

Homeschooling is not for the weak, or lazy, or self-involved. Sadly, I’m often all three. But I believe God has called us to homeschool, and I believe Scripture when it says that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. With the advent of 2012 we instituted a morning schedule that includes daily lessons, something we’ve never done before, and something that is still quite laid-back and small-scale right now–only 10-15 minutes per girl–but it’s inspiring discipline and diligence, and all of us are reaping the benefits. When we begin more rigorous, formal academics next year for Abby, I will hopefully have shed some of my weak, lazy, self-involved ways and become even more dedicated to our homeschooling lifestyle. Until then, I will continue to plug away at our daily Hooked on Phonics, to play fun games like Quirkle (the girls beat me 224 to 225 today!) and story cubes and Math Animals and Inchimals, and to pack up half the food in the house for day-long outings to the zoo or the museum or the Garden of the Gods. Hopefully God will allow us to send the girls to dance classes, and the co-op in the Springs that Abby liked so much, and art classes and music and swimming classes, but if those things aren’t in His plan then we’ll look for other ways to get them education in those areas–we’re blessed to know a lot of very talented people, and who knows what arrangements might be made? Regardless, the adventure that awaits us over the next 15 years is daunting and exhilarating all at the same time, and I can’t wait to see how it turns out.

Here’s the thing: When I read the Bible, I don’t see a God who punishes His people. He disciplines, yes, and allows the consequences of their actions to be experienced, but He does not inflict further shaming, guilting, or pain on top of what the child has already reaped. (His dealings with those who are not His children are another matter entirely, but that is of no consequence to me because I am His child.) But somewhere along the line, Christianity has developed this weird split personality view of God. He’s full of grace, we say, and His love is unconditional and His mercy saves us…but then, in next Sunday’s sermon, we’re told about how the pastor really got “spanked by Jesus” and how God punishes us in order to drive our sin from us. And the thing is, I don’t see any Biblical evidence to support the idea of God punishing us. And yet, so many Christian parents turn to this skewed view of God and point to it as their model for how they parent their own children.

Part of the problem is that we’ve allowed the use of the words “punishment” and “discipline” to change. Even online dictionaries now use “punishment” in their definition of “discipline.” But discipline has never meant “to inflict punishment”. Its true meaning is simply, “to teach.” The life of a parent is a life of discipleship–24/7, we are teaching, instructing, correcting, training–and not once is there a need for us to insert pain into those lessons. Do you have to spank your child make them learn the alphabet? To learn to tie their shoes? To learn to read? Learning proper behavior is no different from those lessons. With proper modeling, correction, instruction–and by the child reaching the necessary level of maturity–proper behavior and the development of a moral heart will form. Along the way, there will be some consequences for negative behavior. Privileges may be removed. Toys may be put up for a time. Fun events may be missed. On their own, those consequences can hurt plenty–but the truth of the matter is, not every consequence is going to hurt. And that’s okay. Because again, pain is not absolutely necessary in teaching.

When I think about my goals for my children, the list is topped with, “To teach them God.” What message does it send them if I tell them that God insists that I physically hurt them when they make a mistake or a poor choice? What kind of relationship does that set them up for with their Heavenly Father? It creates a fear-based relationship, and yet we are told in Scripture that perfect love casts out fear. If God’s perfect love should cast out our fear, then our children shouldn’t fear Him. But how can we tell them not to fear Him when, in the next breath, we say God tells us to hurt them? We’d be asking our children to not fear pain–and yet, the whole point of pain-based punishment is that the fear of the pain will stop the child from exhibiting that behavior. There is no logic here.

The other issue I take with punishment is that it doesn’t actually do what parents want it to do. Parent want their children to be moral beings with a moral compass that points to true north. But teaching children to suppress a negative behavior by threatening pain doesn’t teach morality. It teaches fear. It teaches them to push down the desire for that behavior–not to change their desire and their heart completely. And when the threat of pain is no longer scary enough to stop them, that behavior will surface again, because they weren’t taught morality in a logical way.

So what’s this “logical way” of teaching morality? I believe natural and logical consequences do the job just fine. The one thing parents have to remember, however, is that their children’s emotional and mental development plays a key part in their ability to learn any particular lesson. If you expect your three-year-old to exhibit self-control, then you’re going to be constantly disappointed, because child development shows us that the ability to control one’s impulses and desires does not fully develop until around age 7. Until about age 5 or so, which is when self-control slowly begins to form, whenever a child does what you ask them to do, it’s because complying with your request is the only thing they want to do in that moment–which is another reason why developing a trusting and deeply attached relationship with your child is so important.

And, lastly, we parents have to remember to show our children grace. In those times that they’re overtired, we need to recognize that their choices are not being driven by a brain that is functioning on all cylinders. In those times that they’re hungry, we need to realize that we can’t expect them to sit patiently for you to finish a conversation. In those times that they’re angry, or scared, or anxious, or lonely, we need to take a deep breath and say, “Something else is going on here that they can’t control.” And in those times, we need to extend them the grace that God gave each of us when we could not control ourselves against our sin. And when they’re fed or soothed or have gotten a nice long nap, then we can sit them down and say, “Next time, instead of screaming at me and throwing your toy because I wouldn’t give you ice cream, you need to express your frustration this way.” An easy rule of thumb is to ask yourself, “How would I want to be treated if I were in my child’s shoes?” Hence “Golden Rule Parenting,” which could be summed up as thus: Parent your child the way you’d want to be parented. Treat your child with the same grace, compassion, mercy, empathy, and understanding that you hope others will extend to you when you’re having a crappy day and not being the most stellar wife/parent/friend/coworker/Christian on the planet.

So, to sum up: Look to God as your model for parenting. Never let up in your gentle and empathetic correction and discipline. Allow your children to experience the consequences of their actions. But above all, remember grace.

When I think about all the parenting decisions I’ve made–especially the ones that raise eyebrows or draw criticism–I see that trust is integral in why I do what I do. In some cases, it’s about trusting God–trusting Him to draw my children to Him, trusting the Spirit to work in their lives, trusting the Scriptures that tell me there’s nothing I can do to *ensure* my children will follow God, but that the decision is up to God. It’s my job to point them to Him.In some cases, it’s about trusting my instincts. I find it fascinating that the loudest voices in parenting advice have been men–Spock, Dobson, Ezzo (*shudder*)–and yet women are the ones whom God has called to be the ones in charge of raising their children. I also find it sad that women have chosen to ignore, stifle, or silence their instincts, rather than trust them, simply because of what they’ve read in some book. God designed us to be life-bearers and life-nurturers, and along with the ability to grow a child in our wombs and produce the perfect nutrient for them once they’re born, He also infused in us that sixth sense/mother’s instinct/women’s intuition that allows us to connect with our child on a level that most other people never will. On more than one occasion my instinct has told me that conventional wisdom didn’t make sense given my child’s temperament or personality, and had I quashed that instinct I would have found myself fighting a losing battle against the child whom God created to have that temperament and personality.

In the case of PJ’s homebirth, it was about trusting my body. Western medicine has done so much to damage women’s trust in their body’s ability to birth. And while c-sections are an absolute necessity in some cases, they are an unnecessary risk in far, far more. The very fact that there are some OB’s out there who believe a first-time mother *must* have an episiotomy (and yes, there is at least one doctor out there who thinks like that; a woman in my hypnobabies class had him for a while) or that twins or breech babies simply cannot be birthed naturally, or that mothers who have previously had c-sections cannot deliver vaginally shows a frightening trend towards disempowering women from believing they can do something Go designed them do and which the vast majority of us will have no problem doing, contrary to popular belief. My c-section with Abby was, it turns out, medically unnecessary; the only reason I had it was because my OB literally did not know what to do about a baby that didn’t want to engage. When I asked my midwife what she would have done had she been attending Abby’s birth, she gave me a whole laundry list of activities that could have helped her engage fully so she could be naturally birthed. Not once during my labor with Abby did my OB or attending nurse touch my belly to try to reposition or coax Abby into a better position. I can’t tell you the anger and grief I felt when I learned something could have been done to prevent a major surgery that left Abby unable to nurse for a week and left me with an incision that refused to heal. I refused to go through that again with PJ, and I thank God that there was a midwife in SoCal who was willing to take me on when my OB slowly began to go back on her promise that I’d be allowed to attempt (gotta love that–*attempt*–it screams, “Well, you can give it a shot, but we don’t really think it’ll work) a VBAC. I knew my body could birth naturally, and I wasn’t about to let some uber-conservative hospital policy tell me otherwise. I prayed, I researched, and in the end, I trusted my body and baby to be able to work together for a successful natural birth.

And in many other cases, it’s about building my child’s trust in me. Not leaving my child to cry alone or making her wait until some arbitrary time to eat shows her that she can trust me to address her felt needs when they’re bothering her and not only when it’s convenient for me. Not forcing her to detach before she’s emotionally and developmentally ready (for example, forcing separation during times of separation anxiety) helps her to trust that I will always be there for her and to feel safe and secure–which, ironically, will help her to detach with confidence and be more independent later in life. And disciplining her with grace shows her that she can trust me to be a safe person to be honest with, even when she’s messed up big-time.

But, most importantly, I parent the way I do to help my children build their trust in God. We as parents are the first concept of God our children have, and the way we parent will eventually be projected onto God (if we teach them about God, that is). An interesting fact is that all the “big name” atheists throughout history have either had no earthly father, or had a father who was either abusive towards or neglectful of them. Is it any surprise those men hated the concept of a Heavenly Father? I can’t teach my children that God is merciful and full of love and grace if I’m also telling them the Bible says I have to hit them when they’ve made a mistake. Besides setting children up to accept abuse as normal, it gives them a completely warped idea of God’s love and character and can hinder them from experiencing a truly loving and intimate relationship with Christ as they grow to adulthood.

Again, feel free to leave sincere questions, concerns, and critiques in the comments, or to email me them through the website, but please refrain from making judgment calls that you have no right to make (about how my children will turn out, about my beliefs or faith, etc.) or your comment will not be approved and your email immediately deleted. I see this post series going on for a few weeks at least, so I welcome any requests for topics or discussions.

Time in the church nursery helped me reach those opinions as well. I vividly remember one couple dropping off their nine-month-old for the first time and requesting that we page them immediately if she started crying. I assured them that we always call parents when we’re unable to soothe a baby, but that apparently wasn’t enough. They were of the belief that she’d only be calmed by being nursed, and that the attachment they were fostering with her would actually help her becoming more independent later on. I pitied these poor people. Once they were gone I rolled my eyes and almost hoped the baby would get fussy so I could prove them wrong.

Fast-forward to the birth of Abby. She was a dream–until she turned 4 months, at which point she stopped going back to sleep in her Arm’s Reach crib beside our bed after nighttime feedings and began to fight naps, too. With both of us exhausted, one night I finally just pulled her into bed beside me to see if she’d nurse to sleep. She did. Fearing that she’d wake if I moved her, I decided to let her stay next to me–just this once.

It worked. We both slept. The next night we fought the same battle, and again I pulled her into bed. Again we slept.

I was a little appalled. Babies were supposed to sleep in cribs. I told no one, save Dan, that she was sleeping with us, because I feared the criticism I was sure we’d get. But the longer we co-slept, the better we both slept, and I finally decided that maybe, on this one thing, I’d been wrong.

Dan and I started leaving her with my parents so we could go to Bible study. After a few nights we noticed she was always crying when we got back, or that she’d cried herself to sleep. You could tell because she’d do that little post-sob shuddery sigh every now and then. Mom assured me they played with her and held her the whole time, but she cried anyway. I knew I was supposed to chalk it up to her learning that she can’t always have mama when she wants her, and that he had to get used to being held by other people–but I couldn’t do it. We started taking her to Bible study with us.

I started to worry that I was becoming one of those awful permissive parents, the kind of mom who is wrapped so tightly around her child’s finger that she can’t break free for a half hour coffee date with a friend and has no hope of ever ridding her bed of the baby.

And then, when Abby was 9 months old, I found Gentle Christian Mothers.

GCM is an online community for, well, gentle Christian moms. Moms who raise their children through attachment parenting. Moms who discipline with firm boundaries and consequences, but never a spank or a smack. They nursed past 6 months, they co-slept, they wore their babies when they were fussy rather than leaving them to cry on their own. The relief I found was indescribable. I wasn’t the only one, and I wasn’t a bad mom.

Then PJ came along. We homebirthed with the only midwife we could find in Southern California who would take a mom whose previous birth had been a cesarean. We tried the Arm’s Reach crib again and, just like her sister, she loved it until she was 4 months old, and then joined us in our bed. I wore her, I nursed her whenever she wanted to, and when she cried, I didn’t hesitate to pick her up and show her that she could trust me to take care of her.

God has used Gentle Christian Mothers in more ways than I can recount to change me as a mom, as a wife, as a friend, and as a Christian. I shudder to think where I’d be without it. If you’re the kind of mom who can’t imagine leaving your baby to cry himself to sleep, or who wonders sometimes if you’re damaging your baby by not pushing solids sooner and acquiescing to her strong desire to simply nurse, or who cringes whenever you hear someone say that children have to be spanked or else they’re going to turn into holy terrors, I hope you’ll join me there.

I’ve been wanting to blog more about grace-based discipline and attachment parenting lately, and today’s post is going to kick us off for a few weeks on those topics. If you have any questions or issues you’d like to see me address, please feel free to contact me through the site or put them in the comments. Fair warning, however: this isn’t a forum for debate. Sincere questions and concerns will be addressed with complete seriousness, but don’t expect your comment to stay up long if you try to blast my parenting choices or try to steer readers to websites that promote spanking, baby scheduling, or other non-gentle practices. Feel free to write at length about those topics on your own blog.

I am the queen of multitasking and squeezing every last bit of productivity from my time. On the surface this sounds like a good thing–being lazy and unproductive and aimless certainly isn’t a good use of one’s time. But studies have shown that multitasking actually makes your dumber, and I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much more I get done because of multitasking, and I’m realizing it’s not as much as one might think. So there’s definitely no reason to wreck my brain over it.

Besides precious brain cells, multitasking has also robbed me of quality time with my family. Looking back over this past year–over the last couple, actually–I am sad to see my family has gotten a lot of half-present wife and mom time, a lot of leftovers and wrung out me. I knew it at the time, too, but I justified it and excused it because I was Building A Career or Looking For A Job or Trying to Save Money By Making Most Of Our Christmas Gifts This Year. All good and necessary things to do, yes, and I’m not saying I shouldn’t have been doing those things. I’m just saying I shouldn’t have tried to do them at the same time as I was supposedly spending time with my husband or kids. Every once in a while? That’s no big deal. My kids don’t need me watching their every move as they climb and crawl through the McDonald’s Playland Habitrail. Dan doesn’t need me completely invested in every sport match he watches on TV. But it became the rule, rather than the exception, and another year is gone from my girls’ childhood that I’ll never get back, another year over in my time on this earth with my husband, and I didn’t invest nearly as much time in them as I should have.

So, starting today, I’m slowing down. I’m not rushing my girls through things like a drill sergeant anymore. I’m not neglecting alone time with God anymore. I’m not giving my husband my worthless five minutes before I go to bed tails of my day anymore. I’m not passing the pile of stuff on the stair landing that’s been waiting for months to be taken upstairs and put away anymore. I can take five minutes to sort an armload of those items into their proper places. I can take the time to put the dishes away immediately after a meal. I can take the time to clean my desk before I start working.

And because resolutions are pointless without a plan to make them happen, I finally drew up a schedule for the girls and me to follow in the morning. This is something I’ve been wanting to do for months, but–ha!–never found the time to do. Yesterday, however, I did it. I think the loosey-goosey approach we’ve had to the start of our day has contributed to my feeling of never having enough time to do things, and I think having a specific routine to shape our morning time is going to help tremendously. As usual, implementing it this morning was a little rocky–we’re not a family who takes easily to new habits–but we’ll get our act together soon, and just knowing that my time was already accounted for in a God-honoring and -serving way, and a family-serving way, made me feel really hopeful and positive.

I’d love to hear what resolutions you’re pursuing this year. Do you, too, have a Word or Theme of the Year? You know what they say–putting your goals in writing can make you more likely to achieve them. So share them here so we can cheer you on!