Cure for the Common Mom

Summer Time Kids; The Good, the Bad, the Ugly

2016-06-17T12:29:00.000-04:00

For years, I have had all the kids home with me, 24/7, all the time, forever. We had some bumps in the road, but for the most part, they knew and understood what was expected of them.We had a routine. I always wondered why moms were so anxious for school to start in the fall, when summer had barely just begun.

I love my kids, and I like them too. They were home all the time, and I still missed them if I was out without them, once in a blue moon. I thought for sure, if they ever went to school, I would LOVE having them home during the summers.

So they entered school in January. And now I test my theory.

Years of 24/7 time with my kids could have never prepared me for this day.

Y'all, it is not even noon yet, on their first day of summer vacation, and I can't even look at them right now.

They have completely forgotten how to act. It's as though they used up all their good listening, well-behaved, normal human being skills during school hours, and they have nothing left.

They have been bickering all morning. Isaac, the 3 year old, is just happy to have them home, so he's maybe a tad bit annoying, but they've been snapping at him all morning, bossing him around. They are demanding of more food almost immediately after I've fed them, and at the bold suggestion that they help me keep things tidy around here (and I made Elijah do the dishes, since he was suddenly starving after being full 10 minutes ago, and already putting his dish in the sink ((I'm not running an open buffet here!)), melt downs ensued. Chastity stomped off to her room when I told her she would no longer be keeping her backpack downstairs, and that it should go in her closet. She threw a fit on the couch when I called her out for her nasty attitude toward Isaac, and she burst into tears when I told her that the pretty dress she was putting on could not be played in outside.

Elijah cried when I made him do the dishes, he snapped at Isaac more than once, and he and Chastity both have done nothing but snap at each other.

So, I get it. I have a better understanding for all you summer worn moms.

But then, came my least finest moment as a parent. And I'm still processing it...

My husband and I just celebrated our 10 year wedding anniversary. 10 amazing years. 10 years we have had a beautiful engraved cross that we opted for our wedding cake table instead of a cake topper. 9 years, said beautiful cross has survived a rambunctious dog. 8.5 years it has survived children. It has survived 7 moves, across 3 different states; multiple toddlers, basketballs, baseballs, soccer balls, footballs, wrestling, sword fights, and even the kids on wheels, in a small space. We don't have many nice things. Most of what we've assembled together in our home came from our college days or WalMart. Our highest end items might be from Target. But this cross, this glass cross with our names and wedding date engraved, was one, very nice thing, with more sentimental value than monetary.

Today, my oldest, shoulda-known-better child, playing with his plastic toy sword, decided that the large space in the middle of the living room was not living dangerously enough for him. And our beautiful glass cross met it's untimely demise, shattering before our eyes.

And I lost it.

Every part of the morning boiled over in me.

"ELIJAH!!" I yelled.

And, in the spirit of honesty, I may have even yelled before the cross hit the floor. I saw it unfolding before me. Maybe, had I not yelled, my athletic child would have caught it, and I wouldn't be confessing this all to you now, but I yelled, immediately.

As soon as it shattered, his blood curdling screams met my ears, and I had no patience for them. Also, aware of the glass all around him, I quickly dragged him, by the arm, to the other side of the room. He was sobbing screaming. And in that very moment, I didn't care.

I cried while I cleaned it up. Chastity cried because Elijah was screaming and hurting her ears. Isaac obliviously watched The Cat in the Hat in amusement. It was a scene out of a sitcom, but no one was laughing. Oh, except Isaac.

As I vacuumed, I was talking myself down.

It's just a thing. A nice thing, but a thing. A sentimental thing, but a thing.

Elijah was upset even more, that I wouldn't allow him to help clean it up. Protecting him from the glass was important, but mostly, I needed this time to myself. I needed to be alone, and I need to grieve this thing, that I loved but rarely looked at.

When I was finished, I scanned my wedding album for picture of it. There are none. Somehow every angle of our cake table has the cake blocking the view of the cross.
So, this is all that's left:

Then, midway through the writing of this story, Elijah, still in tears, walked over to me, to apologize, for probably the 10th time.

I finally gave him the response he needed, the response I wish I had been wise enough to have immediately.

Elijah, it's ok. I forgive you. I'm sorry I seemed angry. I was really sad. It was a special thing to remind me of the day I married Daddy.

He began to cry harder.

I took his head in my hands. But it is just a thing. I don't love it like I love you. You are more important to me.

Then, he handed this to me:

It is just a thing, a small thing, but it has infinitely more value than any shattered glass.

She Lost Herself

2016-05-16T00:34:00.000-04:00

There's this well known phrase about women, particularly moms, who no longer look like their younger, fitter, childless selves; a phrase that has never, to the best of my knowledge, been uttered in a positive or kind way; a phrase which holds so much power in the attitude in which it is spoken, that it resonated deeply within me as a child, when I would hear adults speak it of someone, with pretentious, gossipy, indignation:

"She really let herself go."

Let herself go where exactly?

Because, as I see it, she probably hasn't let herself go anywhere.

I have been battling feelings brought up by this phrase for a long time now, not that I have ever actually heard it directed at me, but who does? No one. No one hears that insult. That insult falls onto the ears of other pretentious, judgmental adults, and young children. Young children who grow into adults and come to realize, they are likely the ones being spoken about in this way.

See, a while back, I discovered that I am practically unrecognizable to people who haven't seen me in 10ish years. I was briefly excited to see an old friend, until I noticed the tilted head and squinting eyes of "I think I should know you." And it's not her fault. I am currently still roughly 60 lbs overweight from a very large pregnancy. I have very few clothes that fit comfortably, and so I look like a sloppy, hot mess most days, and most days, I hope against all hope, that I never run into anyone I knew back in college...or high school, or anyone who knew my former self. You know, the one worthy of being known and seen. You see, because it is now my perception that I am that embarrassment of a person; the one people have to squint at and do a double take at, and then go home wondering, "What happened to her?" The one who sees the occasional Facebook rants about adults wearing old sweats (of all things) in public, and women who don't wear make up, or do their hair, or make themselves look nice for their men. What horrible and lazy moms and wives they must be, right?

Wrong.

In fact, it's probably the exact opposite of everything you think about them. Last year, I had my 4th child. She was just about as close as you can get to 10 lbs, without actually being 10 lbs, so we'll just say it; she was a 10 pound baby. I gained close to 70 lbs, on top of the almost 30 I was still hanging on to from my third pregnancy.

I had been homeschooling my oldest 2 children, in grades 1 and 2. I had been nursing a baby. I had been trying to cater to the needs of a toddler somewhere in between. At about the 3 month mark, postpartum, my back decided to stop working properly. Putting the baby into the crib, and taking her out, suddenly became breathtakingly painful. I worked through it, remained functional, and discovered one of the possible causes was diastasis recti. This was a devastating blow to my former self, the athletic self, the one with a ridiculously strong core because her other limbs were always injured and core work was all she could do.

It hasn't gotten any better either. Charlotte is now over a year old. I stopped homeschooling the older two children to give myself a break, and maybe, just maybe, more time to take care of myself. I recently went to a dentist for the first time in 4 years, to discover my teeth are falling apart. I take very good care of them at home, but don't have time for many doctor's appointments of my own, not to mention a complete lack of dental insurance. Sooooo, the dentist was my first stop on the "take better care of mommy tour," and now, I might need oral surgery to keep my teeth in my head. Spine specialist is stop number 2, since last week, when I tried a muscle relaxer for my back for the first time (after finally weaning the baby from nursing), it disoriented me, caused one eye to dilate like crazy, and kept me in bed all day with motion sickness from simply standing.

You see, when you are a stay at home, homeschooling mom of 4 children, with no available family nearby to watch the kids for you during the week, and a husband who works during the operating hours of most all other medical places of business, getting out to see a doctor yourself, or do anything for yourself, is a near impossibility. Any available hours for that are quickly taken with everyone else's appointments (including the dog's), and grocery shopping and errand running. See, she doesn't let herself go. She gets completely lost.

She loses herself to love others and make sure they are well taken care of.
She loses herself in a schedule that circles rapidly around her, but doesn't include her.
She loses herself to herself; her own guilt, shaming herself for stealing away any alone time that doesn't involve grocery or birthday or necessary shopping for her family.
She loses herself in social media, a rare outlet, where anyone and everyone is there to invalidate every thought, opinion, or emotion she has; the only place in the world where she is surrounded by thousands, and completely alone at the same time.

And once she's completely lost, unrecognizable to even herself, she battles different emotions. Feelings of complete worthlessness. How did she get this bad? She doesn't even deserves this family. And these kids...these loving kids? While she's so busy, self loathing herself for even taking the time to self loathe, she can't find the time/energy/strength to enjoy what's right in front of her. Her inner struggle is a constant tug of war between wanting to freeze and enjoy every single moment with her rapidly growing children, and counting down the seconds to when they go to bed.

She hasn't let herself go, people. I beg of you, please stop using this to describe women who, to you, might look run down, overweight, exhausted, or seem to be aging poorly. She hasn't let herself go. She forgot how to make herself a priority. She has lost herself, sacrificed herself for the sake of those she loves, not to the point of martyrdom, but just far enough to not quite know how to claw her way back. Instead of judging her, labeling her, or thinking her a negative person who must love misery, love her, and know that she doesn't need pity or even unsolicited advice, but rather love, support, and understanding; to know that just maybe, she's not as alone as she feels.

**Update, I am working toward a healthier me. Do not allow my honest and uncomfortable, heartfelt emotions here to scare you or worry for me. I will soon update with a blog about the journey to a healthier mommy. :)

It's Not You; It's Me: Confessions of an Introvert...Unable to be an Introvert

2015-09-10T15:47:00.001-04:00

As a little girl, I was shy. By shy, I mean so shy, my parents held me back from starting kindergarten because I spent a whole year in Pre-K refusing to talk to anyone or participate in any group activities.

Years and years of playing basketball sort of changed that for me. By high school, I was an active part of drama club and LOVED getting on stage to perform funny skits in front of the whole school. I enjoyed playing in front of a big crowd. I liked being around people. In fact, sometimes I needed to be around people. But I still loved to shut myself up in my room with a good book or my journal from time to time. I would have identified myself as an extrovert with occasional introvert tendencies.

Fast forward to today. I am raising and homeschooling four children in a 3 bedroom, 850 sq ft home, and I am more convinced than ever, that I am as true an introvert as they come. And I am never alone. Y'all, they never leave.

For a few years we only had 2 children. Close in age, they always napped together, and I had some much needed time for myself. When we had a third child, and Elijah and Chastity outgrew naps, they would spend a quiet time in their room, playing creatively while Isaac napped. Then number 4 arrived, rooms have been switched around, and now Isaac and Charlotte take naps in two different rooms, sometimes at different times, and Elijah and Chastity are always here. Up until about a week ago, at the very least, I would have a few uninterrupted moments to myself in the morning. After my husband would get up to get ready for work, and the kids were still sleeping, I would stay in bed, in the silence. Sometimes I would read a little. Sometimes I would pray. Sometimes, I wouldn't do anything at all, but lie there, quiet but awake. Then, this week, Charlotte, my 6 month old, decided to start waking up anytime between 6:30 and 7:30 am. She's still sleeping all night, and I'm thankful for that, but that missing 1 to 2 hours in my mornings isn't about sleep for me. I get up with her, and the one perk to getting up earlier than usual with the baby is the *almost* alone time. I can sit in silence to nurse her, and be downstairs by myself for a bit. That time rejuvenates me, and helps me mentally prepare for the day. Except that I can't. Because she wakes up early enough to be early, but late enough to make the other 3 believe they should be up too. So, by the time I get comfy in my chair with my hungry baby, 3 other heads are peaking down the stairs at me. And it angers me inside. It takes every ounce of strength I have to say "Good morning," with a half smile, rather than snarl.

It used to upset me to hear mothers complaining during the summer about their kids. Wanting them gone, away from them, and in school all day was a strange desire to me. Now, I totally get it. I am never alone, and the slightest noise that is above average volume, emitted from my children causes a tightening in my chest and a whisper screamed "SHUSH!" which hurts my throat.

My time spent with them just consists of making them food, cleaning up messes, and trying to get necessary things done amidst the hundreds of daily interruptions. It is purely quantity, not quality.

And so, in the middle of all this chaos, when someone...anyone suggests that we get together, especially with their kids and mine or as whole families, I can feel my breathing becoming strained. I make jokes folks, but the struggle is real. It actually doesn't sound fun to me. On a normal day, my interruptions have interruptions, but now you're asking me to function in a day (or several) where my interruptions have whole families of interruptions of their own. I have days, weeks even, where I intentionally avoid phone calls from some of my favorite people. Let's face it, if there is a single moment in this house where no one is talking to me, I'd like to keep it that way. We have local family (if you're reading this, know I love you!), which, including us, consists of 10 adults and 10 children. There are birthdays and holidays constantly. Every occasion for adults and kids alike are cause for celebration, and we can't even fit all these people into our home comfortably. Meanwhile, I'm over here all like, "I'll spend my birthday alone, with some yarn...and a book, thanks!" Under normal circumstances, for normal people, this is a great blessing. And I know this. And I truly love all my friends and family. But it's like taking a person who is already suffocating; having difficulty breathing, into a sauna with the expectation that it will be relaxing and rejuvenating for them. It sounds good in theory, but it only exacerbates the already existing problem.

I think (I hope) I hide this well, because, the truth is, I don't want to avoid the people I love and alienate them. Contrary to what this may lead you to believe, they are important to me! I want to want to get together, and I will continue to do my best to suck it up because I love all the people in my life. But this is my public apology to all of my friends and family who might be under the mistaken impression that I don't like them, I merely tolerate them, or I don't enjoy talking with them.

This is a season. A season in which someone is almost always yelling, screaming, or fussing at me, always talking, always asking questions...the same ones...repeatedly, always interrupting me, or always touching me, stepping on me, tripping me, pinching me, hitting me, or scratching me; a season in which my interruptions have interruptions, cooking up interruptions, stewing in a pot of interruptions and I nurse a headache daily, unable to complete a full thought; a season in which my patience wears thin and my anger stirs with every. single. noise; a season in which I want to smack someone for trying to tell me "enjoy every second, because it goes by too fast!" You don't think I know this? You don't think I hate myself for being so miserable on days when I just need to be alone? I love my kids. I even like my kids. They are pretty great. And I miss them on the rare occasion that we are apart. But while I'm in this season of zero time to myself, for myself, or by myself, and the only time away I get is to get groceries, or see a doctor for a problem that's been going on for years, I don't want to feel guilty for having zero interest in being around people. Maybe this is a disorder. Maybe this requires therapy. It certainly feels dysfunctional. But maybe, just maybe, this is normal, and some other moms out there might be able to read this, relate, feel normal for the first time in a long time, and stop hating themselves for needing space and time to themselves to feel like themselves.

This is a season. A season in which it takes days and determination to complete a blog I need to write out for my own sanity.

Please know that I love you, even if the thought of getting together with you causes me physical pain and nausea.

It's not you; it's me.

No, really.

Top Ten Things I Think When You Tell Me You Would Never Let a Baby Cry (For Shame!)

2015-09-05T00:54:00.000-04:00

I am so tired of all the mommy shaming...

the daily sharing of posts to make every mom in the world feel badly about a choice that they made, in a desperate moment, to get their kids to sleep. The fact is, we sit around judging the decisions of other parents without ever having been there to witness that decision making process.

It's as though that business about walking in someone else's shoes doesn't apply to moms. "Don't judge, until you've walked a mile in their shoes, dear; unless it's about parenting, and then anyone who does things differently is wrong."

I could write a whole book about all the mommy shaming and judging; how we all judge each other to feel better about our own decisions which others are making us feel guilty for. It's a vicious cycle. But I'll try to keep this topic more condensed. Let's talk about crying.

Here is a list I have compiled, of the top 10 things I think, when you tell me you have never let your child cry.

10. You have never put them in the car for any extended period of time.

This could mean any trip outside your home town or city; any trip from, say, 30 minutes to 14 hours or more. Charlotte screamed the whole way home from the hospital at 3 days old. It happens. She had just been fed and changed, and it was bitter cold. We weren't stopping. The goal was getting home. We recently took a trip to North Carolina with our 4 children, one of which was only 5 months old at the time. We saved our money all year for this trip, but we still didn't have enough money to turn it into a 3 day, 2 hotel stays, trip. We had no idea how Charlotte might respond to the trip either. Isaac made it to Tennessee and back at about 6 months, with very little problem. Charlotte, however, got to the point where she screamed the second we placed her back in the car seat, no matter how long we stopped for. So we carried on, through her screams, because, well, we couldn't just stay in West Virginia forever.

9. You've never vacuumed.

All of my children eventually reached an age when they were terrified of the vacuum, and no longer slept through it. Tough break. I'd rather they screamed during my once or twice (not nearly enough) a week vacuuming, than roll around in filth, collecting dog hair in their mouths.

8. You have never made dinner.

Not every night is a disaster, but, as you must know, infants are unpredictable, as are their nap times. I can start dinner while she's napping, and be elbow deep in raw meat 10 minutes later when she decides nap is over. I have other people in this house who need to eat, and if I catered to every single cry, we'd all starve. Also, baby wearing has not been a viable option for me (so don't even suggest it), for a long time. I have back problems which become so much worse, to the point of not being able to move at all, if I strap her on me to go about my day. So, I do what absolutely needs to get done before grabbing her, and sometimes, she goes back to sleep before I get there.

7. You've never had a child claw, kick, scream, and hit you during one of their overtired fits.

Maybe your children are perfect angels and never fight sleep and only cry when they have a real need for your snuggles, or more. I have not always been that lucky. My oldest daughter became mobile at an early age and refused to even nurse beyond 10 months because it was too restricting. It would be 11 pm and I would go to her night after night because I couldn't stand the thought of letting her cry. Every single time, I'd try to nurse her, she'd twist her head away from me so hard, I would hurt her if I'd continued to try. I'd try to rock her, and she'd kick, scream, and claw to get away from me. I'd put her on the floor, and she'd play happily as though all was right in the world, while continuing to rub her overtired eyes. I'm sorry, but I'm not in the business of allowing my children (especially my 9/10 month old) stay up all night, just because they want to play. Maybe other moms and dads are ok with this. We were not. She was trying to manipulate the situation to get what she wanted, though she was clearly tired and fighting sleep, and she needed to learn that it was BEDTIME.

6. You've never cleaned their nose or face, clipped their nails, changed their diaper, or done anything good for their overall health, that they didn't particularly like.

Maybe you view these as separate and completely different things, but I do not. I've done a lot of things that are good for my children, that they didn't like, and guess what? I'm sure to do more. No, I don't sit there listening to them scream when they are clearly in need of something from me, even if it is just snuggles. Believe me when I tell you that, because most people refuse to hear that, too outraged by my apparent heartlessness. As stated in the above, that was not always the case. I am happy to cuddle my babies, and rock them to sleep, but they are not always going to go to sleep willingly, no matter how long I try to rock them. And, believe it or not, sleep (and lots of it) is an important part of our little ones' health, growth, and brain development. They may not always want it, but they need it, and when I hear a whiny, fussy child, even well beyond infancy, I hear a child who's likely not getting enough sleep. We remedy that quickly here.

5. You've never disciplined your child, in any way, shape, or form.

This isn't a debate about spanking. It could be spanking, sending them to their room, or just a firm yelling, but the hard truth is that children don't like to hear, "No!" They don't like being told what to do or what not to do. They also don't like disappointing their parents. These upsetting things can lead them to cry, and depending on the situation, the fit that's thrown, or the point you're trying to make with them, sometimes, you have to let it run it's course.

4. You don't have any other children.

Maybe you don't, and that's not a judgment on that, choice or not. But I too was able to cater to every cry out of my first born child. It's been down hill from there. When you have other children with needs, other children who need to be fed, and can't be ignored, sometimes, the baby needs to cry a little longer than you might like. I have had the occasional week here where my older children would never get lunch until 3 or 4 if I stopped everything for those midday infant melt downs. If it was bad enough (and believe me, a mother knows when it's serious or not), we did have a later lunch, and we figured things out. But many days, things needed to get done, they got done, and my baby survived and got plenty of cuddles during the parts of the day when I wasn't providing sustenance to my other offspring.

3. You have never left your child with a babysitter, caretaker, childcare provider, or school.

That may sting, and I don't mean for it to. The point is, our children will always cry for us, even when (or especially when) we are doing something that we need to do for them or the sake of our families. My babies and children have cried even when leaving them with family they know and love, because they want us. They desire to be with us, and they don't like being left behind for anything. But sometimes it is for their own good, the good of your mental, physical, spiritual, or emotional health, the good of your family, or the health of your marriage. These things are all important things, and though they may not like it, you are doing what is best by your family.

2. You don't actually have children.

Because...well...they cry. And sometimes, even holding them, doesn't stop it.

1. You just enjoy thinking you're right about everything and judging others.

This sounds harsher than I intended, but it's still true. Some people become so blindly passionate about particular topics, that they cannot find a gray area. It's black or white, and if you're not with them, you are wrong! That is really too bad, because we moms could find a lot of common ground in the gray area.

The point is this, I would never judge a working mom for dropping her crying baby off at daycare, or a parent for rightly disciplining their child, any more than I would judge the mom or dad who had tried absolutely everything else, before making that heartbreaking, last ditch effort to get her child to sleep. Just stop it. You don't know how they arrived at that decision. Contrary to what you might assume, it is not because they are lazy or neglectful or selfish. So stop trying to make them feel that way.

There is no such thing as a parenting expert.

No one has the proper credentials.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

2015-08-05T22:49:00.000-04:00

There's this story about my childhood my dad has always loved to tell; a not so flattering story about my character I might add. See, apparently, I used to really enjoy biting my new baby sister.

I bit her any chance I could get. I was 2 and a half years old, and who knows what was going through my mind, but my dad was anxious to put a stop to it.

So, this one time, we were driving somewhere. In the back seat, my sister was strapped in secure right next to me, helpless to defend herself and no where to go. I bit her. She screamed, and I felt the wrath of our father. Some dad's threaten, "Don't make me pull this car over and come back there!" Well, my dad wasn't one for empty threats. He pulled the car over, walked over to my door, opened it, and bit me.

The memory is more of a foggy dream to me than anything, probably encouraged by the repetition of the story over the years. But one thing is fact: I never bit my baby sister again.

Today, I put the baby down on the floor to play next to Isaac. He smiled and made faces at her. All was well. I turned my back to look up a potential birthday gift for our soon to be 3 year old, online, and then it happened. I heard the blood curdling, tear inducing, heart breaking scream of an infant who had just been given a shot. I spun my chair around to a very concerned, very confused, very fearful for his bottom, 2 year old. He saw the anger in my face, knowing she would not scream like that for no good reason. I saw the mark on her cheek.

Isaac ran to me, "Mommy, she no like dat! She no like dat!"

I could hardly contain my anger. Isaac has been left alone in a room with Charlotte for a few minutes or more before. What on earth did he do?

"Isaac!" My accusatory tone was unmistakable. "What did you DO?!" I ran to her and immediately noticed the teeth marks in her cheek, prominent, already bruising. He was nervously silent, and I already had my answer.

"Did you bite her?!"

"Yeths."

"Why would you bite her?!" Everything was a yell. I was so mad. How did such a sweet and happy boy inherit such a horrible trait...from me. It's possible I was even more angry at myself.

He didn't have an answer. I popped the back of his hand, "Go to your room!"

His heartbroken cry traveled all the way up the stairs while I cuddled my recovering, sniffling baby girl. Knowing my own history, I decided to take care matters before they continued. After a few moments of cooling down, I called Isaac back downstairs to apologize to his sister and explain to him how wrong that was. The problem with trying to talk and rationalize with him, is that his response to anything he doesn't quite understand is yes. Many conversations have gone like this:

"Isaac, is it nice to hit?"
"Yeths, it nice to-"
"NO, IT IS NOT NICE TO HIT!"

...and repeat. We've had that exchange so many times, I can't figure out if he's confused by the word, "not," doesn't understand the difference between "yes," and "no," or just enjoys pushing my buttons. He tends to hit when he's excited. Maybe he thinks they are playing. I don't know, but it's been a point of contention with us for a few months now.

So I sat him down, showed him Charlotte's boo boo, and told him how he hurt her. He had a look of concern on his face, but also confusion. I asked him to apologize.

"Sorwy, Charlotte," he said, after kissing her boo boo.

I asked, "You aren't going to bite her again, are you?"

"Yeths,"

"ISAAC, NO! It is not nice to bite!" I interrupted, frustrated. "That hurt her!"

He still seemed confused, "Sorwy, Mommy."

"Isaac, do you want me to bite you?"

"Yeths,"

I am so confused by his constant need to respond with this, but ok.

"Ok, I'm going to show you what it feels like to do what you did to Charlotte. I'm going to bite you on the cheek, ok."

"Ok."

I leaned over and gently bit until he yelled, "OW!" The tears began to flow. He looked betrayed. I didn't even leave a mark, but he understood that it hurt.

"That hurt, didn't it?"

Crying and wiping his tears he replied, "Yeths!"

"Now, are you ever going to bite Charlotte again?"

I braced myself for a repeat of my ongoing frustration when he cried, "Noooo."

I was heartbroken, but felt the mission had been accomplished. I hugged him and held him tight and told him how sorry I was that I had bit him. The rest of the day went on as usual.

I shared the events of the day with my husband upon his return home from work. I was aggravated, concerned, and confused by Isaac's response to the whole thing. We've talked about biting. He's heard me yell several times when Charlotte has clamped down while nursing. He would run to me and ask, "What wong, Mommy?" When I would explain to him what happened he would say, "She bite you like dis?" and clamp his teeth together, and I would say, "Yes," and explain how that hurts.

"So why would he think this was something she would like?" I asked while chatting with Jelani.

"Ohhhh, I know why he did that." Jelani went on to explain to me how they've played on the floor with Charlotte, together before, and he (Jelani) would 'nibble' her cheeks with his mouth.

My light bulb moment occurred as I remembered turning my back while he was playing in her face, making sounds, "booga booga boo," at her, just before the screaming. Guilt rushed over me like a waterfall. He is not even a smidgen of the horrible child I once was, just because he's mine. He thought he was playing, legitimately. His look of confusion at her response to his playful 'nibbling' was genuine. He thought that's exactly what Daddy was doing! His heartbroken confusion at my form of discipline was real and gut wrenching, and, as I cry while writing this, I have never felt worse.

Epic. Mommy. FAIL.

Jelani laughed, "Well, he'll never bite her again!" But I had to make things right. Or at least as right as I could.

We were going to the park for a walk, so before getting Isaac out of his car seat, I leaned over, "Isaac, when you bit Charlotte, were you trying to play with her? Like Mommy and Daddy do?"

"Yeths," he looked hesitant.

"Like this?" I asked, but as I leaned in to his cheek, he flinched and turned.

"No!"

"I'm not going to bite you, Isaac," I said, with a broken heart. I munched his cheek with just my lips, and he smiled. "Is that what you were trying to do with Charlotte?" I asked.

"Yeths!"

I did it again on the back of his hand. "You can't use your teeth, ok? Just your lips."

"Ok, Mommy!" He was excited that we now seemed to understand each other.

"Isaac."

"Yeths, Mommy?"

"I'm really sorry I bit you."

"It's ok, Mommy"

Before bed tonight, I asked Isaac if he wanted to nibble Charlotte's cheek with me. He still seemed hesitant, and honestly, as he approached her face, so did she, but we both nibbled her sweet little cheeks. Kisses and toddler slobber all over her teeth marked cheek brought a smile to her lips and her brother's, as he relished the chance at righting a wrong.

¹⁹My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, ²⁰because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires. James 1: 19-20

Dear Jesus,
Give me the wisdom to know when discipline is necessary, and when it is not. Help me to be much slower to anger, and never allow a necessary apology to go without saying.

Sanctuary!

2015-06-26T01:12:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, motherhood is a cruel form of torture. You know the days I'm talking about. The days when there is no limit to the amount of times you can get puked on, pooped on, or screamed at; the kind of days you find yourself getting your first shower at midnight and intentionally staying up even later just to sit in quiet.

I used to be a people person. I've always required a fair amount of alone time to be able to function at my best, but I've always enjoyed people. Anymore, instead of wanting to make plans with friends, I dread them. I cringe when someone tries to set something up. Plans are so daunting. What if our day is going lousy? What if I want to back out? What if I'm too exhausted? What if the kids absolutely require a nap that day? Nope. Too bad. Suck it up. On the flip side of that, I have, on more than one occasion, really enjoyed a surprise play date. Spontaneity works well for me. Text me, call me, ask me if we have something happening that very day, and I may just take you up on something, but try to plan something with me days or weeks in advance, and I will almost always look for a reason that date won't work. It's not personal. It's just that some days require more intentional, do-the-bare-minimum nothingness than others.

And what's the bare minimum for a stay at home mom of 4, you ask? Well, it usually involves doing all the things I need to do every day in order for my household to function and my kids to live, but allows for me to remain in the same clothes I slept in the night before, and allows me to cuddle my baby longer than I might normally, while reading up about all of you on Facebook.

Yesterday was an I don't want to do anything important all day kind of day. The day before that was too, except that we had plans, so I sucked it up, and I was a miserable conversation partner for my poor, dear friend.

There are only so many times you can get puked on, so many times you can repeat the same dang sentence, and so many times you can get asked the same darn thing, before you inevitably snap. And it's not pretty. Y'all, I'm tired, and it has nothing to do with sleep. I have a 4 month old baby who has been sleeping all night since she was about a month and a half old. And not just all night, but 10 hours all night. I'm still not getting the full 8 or even 7 or really even 6, but my exhaustion is not from a lack of sleep, it's from the constant do-all-the-things days, because our level of functioning depends upon laundry getting done every. single. day. And dishes, oh the dishes! I spend roughly 10 full days a year just washing dishes. WASHING DISHES! And that isn't counting all the interruptions. The bare minimum cleaning tasks require a whole stinking day between all the times I have to feed someone. Oy.

So, yesterday my entire morning consisted of telling Isaac no or acknowledging him when he needed me to look at him do something, while trying to get a pukey, fussy baby to sleep.

- Mommy!
Yes, Isaac.
---------------
-Mommy!
Yes, Isaac.
--------------
-Mommy!!!
YES, ISAAC!!!!!
-Go outside?
No, not right now. Wait please.

-Mommy.
Yes, Isaac.
-Put socks on?
We're not going outside right now. Please wait.

Meanwhile, Charlotte is screaming at me, clawing my chest, banging her head into my shoulder. She grabs a fistful of hair from the nape of my neck with the grip strength of a Marine, while using her other hand to strategically pull the burp cloth away from my skin, and promptly pukes right between my boobs.

-Mommy.
Yes, Isaac.
-Put shoes on?
between clenched teeth, NOT. NOW.

While I'm cleaning up the spit up, Elijah comes in from outside, and utters the two most dreaded words of my day, the two, seemingly most harmless words you can imagine, that really do me in.

-I'm hungry.

It is never simply stated. It is always whined, as though they must be starving, as though I never feed them, as though they didn't just eat 10 minutes ago.

-Can I have something to eat?

And I. lose. my. mind.

NO! NO TO YOU, WHO CLAIMED TO BE FULL WHILE I WAS MAKING LUNCH JUST 15 MINUTES AGO, AND WAITED UNTIL I PUT EVERYTHING AWAY! NO TO YOU WHO JUST ATE 10 MINUTES AGO! NO TO YOU, WHO STILL HASN'T FINISHED THEIR BREAKFAST EVEN. NO NO NO NO NO!

Ok, so I hold it together a little bit better than that, and I start counting down the hours/minutes to when Jelani will be home, and I can pass the baby to him and claim sanctuary.

You know, that one place in the house where no one questions what you're doing in there, how long, or why?

The bathroom.

I don't care if all I have to do is pee. I'm taking the Kindle in with me, and I will sit there as long as I want. I turn that vent on, which sounds like a really old, rusty helicopter, and do a whole lot of nothing in there. I might do my squats, and some core work. I might brush my teeth an extra time. I might even clean. You don't know, and you won't ask, and if the baby cries? Well, that's just not my responsibility, is it? Not from in there! I relish that time alone.

And then, inevitably, there's a knock on the door.

-Mommy?
Yes.
-I'm hungry.

You had to walk...by your daddy, IN THE KITCHEN, to come up here and tell me that!!!!!!

SAAAAAAANCTUARRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYY!

Our Children are Allowed to be Great

2015-05-16T19:06:00.003-04:00

In less than a year, two different articles have popped up in my Facebook newsfeed multiple times about how sports, more specifically travel or "elite" sports, are evil. I'd like to say I have a completely unbiased opinion on this topic. But that would be a lie. I'd also like to lie and tell you that travel sports are completely peachy keen, peace is love, everybody's a winner, organizations. But they are not.

The reason for that is this: NOT EVERYONE IS A WINNER.

And before the smoke starts billowing out your ears, I mean that in a very broad, life is hard, you don't always get what you want, sense. Not that people are losers.

Life is full of tough lessons, and one of the toughest, and most powerful lessons is that you are not always going to get what you want, and if you want something badly enough you have to work for it, like really hard, and not just wish for it blowing out a magical candle while throwing a coin into a magic wishing well, while wishing on a shooting star. You get the idea.

One of the biggest issues I have with these articles are the huge, sweeping generalizations. There are tyrant coaches and parents. There are coaches and parents alike who are driven by greed and pride and money. But this is not true of the entire concept of travel teams or "elite" sports. These articles, Where the Elite Kids Shouldn't Meet and The Race to Nowhere in Youth Sports, are, much like just about any parenting article found on the internet, guilt tactics for parents doing things differently. You don't want your kids playing travel sports? OK. You don't want your kids to be a part of an "elite" sports team? FINE. Maybe your kid doesn't want that either, and that is ok. But maybe, just maybe, other kids do.

I was one of those kids. You couldn't lock me out of the gym, and even the most tyrant of coaches who cussed and yelled at me at age 11, couldn't get me to quit. Instead, I took notice that he only did that with the players he felt had collegiate potential, and I took it as a compliment. Negative to a positive, just like that. Did my parents reevaluate that particular program? Yes. And after the season had been completed, noting that this program did not uphold the same family values which were important to us, we took our talents elsewhere, so to speak. I say we, but really, that was all the greatness of my parents. I cried and cried about leaving those friends behind, but they truly knew and understood what was important, and I made new friends.

I was a good basketball player. No. Actually, I was pretty great.

That makes you mad, doesn't it? That irritates you, and gets under your skin just to read it, and you're debating now, whether you want to keep reading this piece of garbage blog, or tell me what a pompous, arrogant cuss word I am.

But here's the thing; our children are allowed to be great. We are allowed to tell them they are great, and acknowledge, nurture, and cultivate their talents, and ya know what? They are completely capable of knowing that they are great at something without being a pompous, arrogant cuss word. There are plenty of well adjusted, kind and humble, talented athletes out there. You just don't hear about them in the news because they aren't raping or beating women, and they're not abusing drugs. See how that works? It's been nearly 15 years since I was in the prime of my basketball career, and it's taken nearly that long for me to actually admit that I was good. I learned, at an early age, that people don't like you when you're really good at something, and the people who actually admit they're good at something deserve nothing but seething glares and unmasked contempt. So, as much as I wanted to be able to take a compliment without turning around and awkwardly commenting on one of my flaws, I wanted friends more. I wanted to be liked. Truth be told, my desire to be liked was so strong, that I believe, if not for my love and drive for basketball, I could have been susceptible to a lot of tragic teenage mistakes. Travel basketball was a safe place for me. I was mostly surrounded by a team of other girls who loved the sport as much as I did, and understood me; girls who wanted to play it more than just the average school basketball season, and we had fun.

There's this misconception that if you are working that hard, it can't be fun. Not true. I learned that my hard work turned into fun. Newsflash: Winning is fun y'all! But we didn't always win. No. I learned a lot about losing. Which is why I take such issue with this next paragraph from the first article:

"We're nearing the point in youth sports where we need to stop the "elite" and "select" madness because we're raising a generation with too much self-esteem. They can't handle failure because they've been conditioned to believe they're too good to fail. They're being placed on teams that identify them as better than their peers on the whim of either a parent/coach or a businessman/coach."

Travel ball is exactly where I learned about failure. Playing against the best of the best is where I learned how to lose, where I learned how to appreciate the talent of others, where I learned that I wasn't the best, and where I learned that I wanted to get better. I played in a high school program that didn't lose a league game for 10 years. Even the referees wanted to see us lose. But when I traveled, I met more girls like me, who wanted to practice and constantly improve. Suddenly, I wasn't all that special. I was just another fish in the sea, getting my shot blocked by All-American athletes. It was through these "elite" programs that I learned about having a healthy level of competition where appropriate, and how to leave it on the court. I was friends with some of my competition, and I admired the talents of many players I played against who went on to play in the WNBA or the Olympics. We are living in a society that wants to teach kids about failure and losing, while also keeping them stagnant so that everyone is on a level playing field. If you want to teach kids that they aren't, in fact, the greatest, you need to show them what the best looks like. If you want to teach them about failure, you need to allow them to play against the best, and fail. You can't have it both ways. You can't simultaneously teach them about losing and failure, while not allowing them to opportunity to do so.

Also, with decent (not even exceptional) parenting, there are other ways to teach your children these things and still encourage them in their talents. Encourage them to try new things. Most people aren't instantly good at everything. To this day, I'm not sure if my dad encouraged me to play tennis because he genuinely wanted me to take a break and try something other than basketball, or because he felt the pressure of a community rumoring that he forced me to play basketball, not allowing me to do anything else. Either way, I went out for the tennis team my freshman year of high school, and I wanted to quit. Basketball, for me, was like learning how to walk. I'd been doing it so long, I didn't remember learning or ever being bad at it. Picking up a tennis racket at 14 taught me all about being bad at something. I went from being top of the league in basketball, to bottom of the league in tennis. I lost every. single. match my first year. I had a decision to make. I could either quit, learn to be ok with being bad, and just enjoy the bus rides and dinners out with my friends and teammates, or...OR I could apply what I had learned with basketball; the outcome of practice and hard work. It was a learning process, often uncomfortable, and often to the embarrassment of my parents. I stumbled through, throwing fits on the tennis court when I missed a shot, hitting myself in the calf with the racket (to the point of serious bruising) when I lost a point. I was told that if I smashed my racket into the ground, there would be serious consequences, so I used my body instead. Consequences still ensued...

I was never a great tennis player, and I was ok with that, but winning is far more fun than its less popular counterpart, so I worked hard to do that more often.

It should be noted that my basketball career didn't turn out nearly as stellar as I had once dreamed. I didn't play in the WNBA. I didn't play in the Olympics. I didn't get to play at my college of choice. I was never able to break into the career of coaching, and I'm not even using that free college education I worked so hard to attain. Oh, unless you consider the job of running a household and educating my children daily. Then, sure, I only use it every day. But even though things didn't work out according to my plans and my dreams, I don't blame the system. I don't blame my coaches. I don't blame my parents. Sometimes, things just don't work out, but we need to stop thinking there is something seriously flawed in a system where every child doesn't grow up to become a major success. That's LIFE. And success can be marked in sooooo many different ways.

No one is great at everything, everyone has different talents and gifts, and instead of making parents feel guilty about labeling their children great or, God forbid, "elite," maybe we should all just find different ways of encouraging our children in their gifts.Their greatness does not have to be in comparison to others. Teach them how to compete with themselves, and how to be the best version of themselves they can be.

So what if your child isn't the best kid on the basketball team. Maybe they're great at a different sport. Maybe they are really musically talented. Maybe they are very bright and excel in school rather easily. Maybe they are a beautiful dancer. Maybe they are incredibly artistic. Maybe they have gifts which cannot be measured in medals, trophies, or ribbons. My word, what a joy to hear someone compliment the heart of your child! That they may have a great heart for humanity and desire to serve and help others!

But don't stifle the greatness of other children because it offends you. Don't judge parents, trying to make a better life for their child because you don't like the way they're doing it.

But also, please, tell me all about how we are avoiding raising up elitist, entitled, pompous cuss words by removing the goals? Please tell me, how are we teaching our children the value of hard work and commitment in sports leagues where coaches are told to play every player equally, no matter how many practices they may have missed? Please, please, please teach me about how we are teaching our children about losing and failure in leagues which refuse to keep score, schools which no longer rank their students, and talent shows with no ribbons, because we don't want to hurt their feelings? That's a little bit pot and kettle, don't ya think?

It does not have to be one extreme or the other, but what exactly are you teaching your child when you remove their opportunity to be great?

I no longer have goals or aspirations to be the best basketball player I can be, but the lessons spill over. I want to lose this 75 lbs (that's right, SEVENTY-FIVE POUNDS) of pregnancy weight. I don't need to be the skinniest, the fittest, the most elite mom in the world. I want to be the best mom I can be, and I just can't do that feeling the way I feel right now. I know that that fat isn't going to burn itself, and my whining about other mothers losing pregnancy weight better than I can, isn't going to do the trick either. So I will hop off my high horse, and work for it. :-P

But seriously, you do what you do. Raise your child how you see fit, and I will continue to encourage my children in their talents and gifts, whatever they may be. I may even instill hope in them, that they might be able to reach their dreams one day, no matter how unlikely, and I may even utilize tools such as travel teams, elite teams, and AAU programs to help them to get there, if they so desire. I just might. But I can do those things, and still teach them how to be decent human beings.

Yours truly,
A less than stellar, average really, former but not bitter, athlete, who truly enjoyed the "race."

The Disastrously Successful Outing

2015-04-13T16:44:00.003-04:00

I never get to see the doctor. That is, any doctor that is not checking on an in utero child of mine. My husband only has one day a week where he is off early enough to schedule appointments for kids, dog, myself, etc, during other people's business hours. Friday afternoons. That's all I get. And up until recently, those afternoons were taken up with my OB check ups. Any free ones were quickly taken up by my husband's dentist appointments, children's check ups, car inspections and oil changes. Fridays are super fun. So, as always, I haven't seen a dentist now in almost 3 years, and I've been wearing the same contacts (the trial pair given me at my last appointment, because like a complete idiot, I kept forgetting to order the prescription) for 10 months. By the way, I thought they were 3 month lenses. Turns out, there's no such thing, and they were actually 2 week lenses. So I was even less responsible about my eye care than I originally thought. Woops. So this past week, my eyes got to such a state of dry irritation, that something HAD to be done. The WalMart doctor was booked solid on Saturday, so I, going without contacts or glasses at all, had no other choice but to make an appointment for Monday afternoon which meant taking all four children with me. Oy.

I was optimistic. I could do this. Easy. Make sure Charlotte's nursing schedule works out so that she eats about 30 minutes before we have to leave. Easy. Make sure we complete at least half of our school lessons before we leave. Easy. Make sure Isaac's diaper is changed and the three older children are ready to go out the door before I pack up the baby. Noooo problem.

We did no school. None. I didn't get a single lesson in, between the needs of each child, the dog, myself, there was never the time to get started, so I gave up. Then, I forgot to take into account the number one rule of being a baby. They are always in desperate need of something at the exact time you should be walking out the door. I knew I was in trouble when Charlotte wanted to nurse at about 10 am. She eats about every two and a half hours during the day, so that would mean her next feeding would be at my appointment time of 12:30. Greeeeaaat. I tried like heck to squeeze in a feeding at noon (which was when we should have been heading out the door). Though she acted all about it and hungry as anything, that 30 minutes early feeding resulted in a whole lot of spit up. At 12:20 I was finally getting her strapped in, no time for an outfit change. She spit up more all over the car seat. At 12:25 I was getting everyone into the car. I forgot the infant carrier. Turn around, get it, she spits up some more, this time, hitting her car seat cover. We were in the car to leave by 12: 32, two minutes after my appointment time.

I also forgot to take into account the nice weather. Oh, as soon as the sun shines in Buffalo, there's a traffic jam any given time of day, so we proceeded to our destination at a snail's pace. I arrived in the WalMart parking lot at 12:48. Now, there is no way of looking like a seasoned, experienced mother while trying to get 4 kids out of a car, including a toddler and infant, and not lose one to one of the ever so famous WalMart parking lot speed demons, who pay no mind to pedestrians.

I had the oldest two crawl out first, while I was strapping Charlotte into the infant carrier on my chest. They were so thrilled to be outside, in sunshine and warmth, that Chastity nearly darted out behind the van. "Stay RIGHT next to me!" I yelled, wishing I could duct tape them to the side of the van while I got everything. As I strapped Charlotte on, with careful burp cloth placement, my cell phone fell out of the diaper bag, crashing onto the pavement, battery flying. No time to put that back together, I threw the pieces into the diaper bag, and asked Chastity to hold the bag...which she promptly grabbed from the bottom, nearly turning the whole, open thing, upside down, "Chastity!" I took the bag back, zipped it back up, handed it to Elijah. Except the keys were in it, and I still hadn't gotten Isaac or the stroller out of the car. I took the bag back, got my keys, got Isaac into the stroller somehow, and by 12:56 we were on our way. That's right. 8 whole minutes at the van. Not even inside yet.

Disastrously successful. That's the optimist in me. I could have titled this, Successfully Disastrous, but I felt that would have been misleading. It was not, in fact, a complete disaster, because once we got inside, everything changed. The doctors were all incredibly patient and understanding. Charlotte slept through the whole appointment, right on my chest. Isaac sat in the stroller, playing with his car quietly while the doctor examined me. Elijah and Chastity sat in the waiting room, just two doors down, reading the books I had told them to pack. (Yay me, for remembering to pack entertainment! Win!) The whole thing took just under an hour, from appointment to frame fitting, to paying. And just as we were about to walk away, the woman who had checked me in, asked me, "What is your trick?"

"I'm sorry?" I asked, not understanding the question.

"What is your trick, you know, to such well behaved kids?" She smiled, "They are so well behaved!"

Oh, you know, frequent whoopings, I thought to myself, but decided she may not find that funny. I laughed, "I couldn't even tell you," I shook my head in disbelief of how smoothly that actually went. "We've just been blessed with these great kids!"

We walked away, and I took the kids to pick out a treat from the cookie isle.

That whole time, I was acting like a spaz. I was throwing tantrums. First rushing Charlotte through a feeding, in a panic about being late, then yelling at traffic, which is completely unproductive. Then muttering under my breath about my broken phone.

These kids were being dragged somewhere boring, somewhere they didn't want to be, when all they wanted was to go to the park. They were ripped from their normal, daily schedule, and asked to be still, be quiet, and behave in strange surroundings. And in spite of my own spaztacular behavior, they did so, no questions asked. They did not blink an eye at the things which were out of their control, and if I don't try, with all my strength, to be more like them, they, will inevitably become more like me.

Yes, they deserved the day off from school. They deserved cookies, they deserve the park, and, no matter how tired I may be, they deserve fun mom! Not beat down, dog tired, grumpy, whiny mom, who begs them to never act that way themselves.

Fun mom is putting on her shoes. Let's do this.

Playing Peek-a-Boo From the Trenches

2015-03-26T21:52:00.003-04:00

When I was a first time mommy, I can remember friends asking me, "How is it?" "How's it going?" I was one of the first of my close friends to get married and start a family. My response was always a positive, "Great! It's amazing!" not because I was trying to prove to everyone that I had it all together, but because I was genuinely oblivious of the hardships of motherhood. You do what you have to do and the rewards far exceed the difficulties. Money, finances, paying the bills, owning a home...oh. my. GOSH, home ownership! No body warns you about how difficult that is, and what's the reward? A roof over your heads? Just like you had before when you were renting? Yeah. Swell. But these are the difficult things. These are the things I stressed over, but motherhood? I was born to be a mother. It felt like the easiest, most natural thing ever. So, maybe I wasn't the best person to ask if you were looking a less biased response.

Fast forward to 2015 and 4 kids later. It's not so easy. The rewards are still immeasurable, but the difficulties...well, a little harder to overlook.

Every additional child somehow makes for double the laundry, so my laundry responsibilities have doubled FOUR times in the last 8 years. Each additional child means less time for cleaning but double the mess, more phone calls and appointments to make and less time to make them, more noise, less quiet. And each child comes with their own set of rules. This one can't be put on his belly or he'll scream til he pukes. This one needs to stay upright for 30 minutes after eating, or she pukes. This one won't drink day old breast milk...or he pukes. All the rules somehow involve puking.

Now I have four. I'm homeschooling two and trying to coax the third into sitting just long enough to color half a page. All the while trying to keep the fourth from...you guessed it...puking.

She is not going to be a basketball player, I'm certain. She couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with that puke. I need an adult sized bib to cover my chest and shoulders while burping her. As it is, I will use a large receiving blanket, because burp cloths are tiny and useless, and she will lean and scrape and crawl until she has the blanket pulled out of her way and a clear shot to vomit down between my boobs. On second thought, maybe she will be a baller, a scrappy one, and she likes a challenge.

And oddly enough, her "I'm gonna puke!" screaming and clawing is strangely similar to her "I need to eat!" screaming and clawing. Imagine an adult running around, frantically searching the cupboards for food right before puking. That's what life is like with her right now. And what's a mom to do when her new baby is clawing and scraping and rooting around for what I can only assume is sustenance? I feed her, and get rewarded with double the puke.

I could free up a lot of time in my days if she could keep her food down. Truth.

So, it's harder to overlook all of that from the trenches, where I am outnumbered, trying not to get taken out by projectiles, and trying to keep everyone else calm. The days go by faster and slower all at the same time...like these never-ending days which somehow pass me by weeks and months at a time.

But then there's a slow, quiet lull, a moment for me to peak up over the trench, somewhat skeptical of my safety, and find my toddler lovingly wiping the spit up from the babies mouth while my two oldest read to her and bounce her in her chair. And I am reminded that the rewards still far exceed the difficulties, no matter how much ~~laundry~~ ~~cleaning~~ puke is thrown at me, because each additional child means double the love, so the love in my home has doubled FOUR times in the last 8 years. ;-)

From Charlotte to Charlotte: the Birth of a New Chapter

2015-03-03T13:44:00.001-05:00

In the words of my husband, in his best mockery of LeBron James ever, "We have four kids; not one, not two, not three, BUT FOUR kids!"

You see, this was the dream. When we began dating and discussing the things we wanted in life, we both knew that we wanted four children. However, our opinions on that changed after the third. I do not enjoy pregnancy, my body rebels against me during it. In fact, labor and delivery is easier on me than the actual pregnancy. And my babies aren't little, y'all!

So after our third child, we took a hard look at our family and tried to decide if we were ok with this. I was unsure. We seemed incomplete, but at the same time, I really didn't want to go through all of that again. I had been looking forward to getting back into shape, and playing some basketball again. Then, last spring, my sweet daughter cried to me about how much she wanted a little sister. We couldn't guarantee her one, of course, but as a gal with sisters of my own, it broke my heart that we may not even try to give that gift to our own daughter. My response to her, "Pray about it." After all, that's pretty much where her daddy and I were in the thought process ourselves.

Just a few months later, SURPRISE! We were actually visiting my sister in North Carolina when I had a sneaking suspicion that I could possibly be pregnant. Sure enough, it was confirmed just a couple weeks later. I will admit, I was a little concerned as to how my daughter would react if we found out we were having another boy, but she calmed my nerves just a couple of weeks before that ultrasound, "Mommy, I really want a sister, but I will love him if it's a brother too." Melt my heart!

Then, if you read The Anti-Climactic Gender Reveal, you know that my daughter was actually the very first to know that she would, in fact, have a little sister. So fitting.

So this past Saturday, February 28, our little surprise, and Chastity's answer to prayer, arrived. I spent the last few weeks of the pregnancy in excruciating pain from my back to my hips, to my knees and ankles. I could barely make it up our stairs. My husband and I continually expressed our excitement that this was almost over. "Ugh, I am never doing this again!"

Then, yesterday, as we pulled away from the hospital, and my husband was still expressing how awesome it is to be done with all of that, a very strange and unexpected feeling washed over me. Suddenly my annoyed and irritated, "Ugh, I am never doing this again!" turned into a sad inner panic of, "Oh my gosh! I am never doing this again!" As we drove off, the hospital disappeared into the distance and a slow motion reel of every birthing experience I had ever had played through my mind, from my C-section with Elijah to my first, miraculous VBAC with Chastity, to the amazing and shocking VBACs of Isaac and Charlotte, my 9lb 11 oz and 10 lb babies (ok, she was 9lbs 15.8 ounces, but give me that 10).

I don't want to be pregnant again. It probably wouldn't even be wise, knowing all the problems I just had with my body. However, knowing that a door is closed on that chapter of our lives we only dreamed about just a short time ago, brings waves of emotions and uncontrollable rolling tears to this face of a woman who just birthed a 10 lb baby without crying. Seriously.

Exactly 8 years ago, we were beside ourselves with joy in the very early stages of our first pregnancy. It was all new and exciting. We could still hardly believe we were married, let alone increasing in numbers! We were living in a small apartment in Charlotte, NC, when this exciting journey began, and our family took it's first steps. Now, our own little (big) Charlotte Hope, completes that journey, ending that chapter of our lives, and beginning a new one.

As I watch my husband play with the kids in the living room, while Charlotte sleeps peacefully in her chair, I know that this sadness for a time now gone may never fully go away, but I can comfort myself in knowing that she is not so much the end of a chapter, but rather, the beginning of a new one.

Next Week on Seinfeld: The Unfriend

2015-02-18T19:02:00.002-05:00

Have you ever witnessed a child handle a dispute? As a parent, have you ever removed yourself from a situation and just observed your children, with each other or with friends, solve a problem themselves? If you have not, I would encourage you to give it a try. The next time you feel you need to interfere with all your mom (or dad!) power, and break up a potential disaster, sit back and watch it unfold. It might surprise you!

Now, allow me to digress for a moment.

Maybe I'm too vocal. Maybe I'm too trusting. Maybe I believe far too much in the power of people's intelligence and abilities to see varying opinions and multiple sides of a story, but I have been the victim of the most powerful, most poignant, yet most passive aggressive diss this new generation has to offer, more times than I can count. This generation doesn't know about "diss." ;-)

I have been unfriended.

Repeatedly.

There are times I stumble upon it and I am pretty certain it wasn't personal. Someone I hardly talked with anyway, just cleaning up their friends list. I get it. But a vast majority of the time, it is because we have a difference of opinion.

I have even had someone once admit to me that their opinions of people change when they find out they disagree on a particularly passionate topic. What? Am I the only person who doesn't really understand that?

An article was recently released about how Tim McGraw will be losing fans because he has stepped out and shown his support for President Obama, and that's just a big country music no no among his more conservative peers. That is weird to me. Why would I suddenly stop supporting him as a musician just because we have a difference in political opinion? Is he less of an artist? Is he less of a husband? Is he less of a father? The latter two, of course, being things I don't know about him for sure, but have reason to believe that he's a pretty stand up guy.

I recently went to listen to Magic Johnson, an avid Obama supporter, speak at a local university. Does his support of a president I don't necessarily agree with make him less of a basketball legend? Am I less impressed by him as an individual? As a business man? No, this stuff all seems like nonsense to me.

And these are the things by which I am constantly judged by my peers. I am accused of not having an open mind, while my friends with different opinions than mine are deleting me left and right. I for one, am interested in human beings and their humanness, not the color of their skin, not their looks, not their opinions, but who they are. I deeply enjoy finding common ground, a common respect, or an understanding with some of the most unlikely people. Because, the truth is, no matter what our religious beliefs or political opinions, we are all people with people we love, with concerns for our futures, our families' futures. We don't have to constantly draw lines in the sand, or worse, burn bridges, with our friendships!

Back to the kids. I could write a book about all the lessons I've learned from my children, but watching them handle a disagreement is one of the most beautifully simple things I have ever witnessed. They do not always play in the same ways as others. They do not always want to do the same things as their friends, or even as each other. But they can vocalize that honestly, and then move on. It's like a miracle. Like huge "a-ha" moment miracle of epic friendship proportions. Wait. What? You mean it's ok to tell your friend, "I don't like that," "Don't do that," or "I don't want to do that right now," and then just go about your play like nothing happened? Do you mean to tell me that grudges aren't mandatory during these situations? What about the other friend, on the receiving end? She's just ok with that? Ok, maybe not always. Maybe sometimes, moms have to intervene to suggest a compromise. They are learning, after all, but I have witnessed my children come of an age that finally understands the meaning of a compromise, and turn taking, and sharing, and they resolve so many of these issues themselves, and then, get this, they still love each other and have a blast together! Truly miraculous.

At church a few weeks ago, I was speaking with my friend while our daughters played.
One to the other: I don't like that. Don't do that.
Other: Ok.
Then one suggested another idea that they do, and off they went, full of excitement!

I paused my conversation with my friend to ask her if she had just seen what I witnessed. We both laughed over the simplicity of it, and how that doesn't usually fly among adult friends. "Oh, you don't like that?" UNFRIEND! "Oh, you don't agree with me?" UNFRIEND! "That is not the way I would play that game." UNFRIEND! The ultimate diss. I imagine that a Seinfeld episode of today could do this small and brief story justice, don't you?

Life gets more complicated than games and toys and nicknames we may not like. That's for sure. But why do we insist on changing the simplicity of friendship? Hey, ya know what? I like you. No, wait, actually, I love you. I think you are an awesome human being. I think there is more to you than which way you vote. I think, in life and love, we probably have a lot in common, but we are allowed to be different. We're allowed to think differently. We're allowed to have problems. We're allowed to resolve them, and we're allowed, still, to disagree. But ya know what else? We're allowed to pick ourselves back up off the floor and have some fun together.

My dad always used to say to me, "People are like water. They seek their own level." If this stands true, then the level I seek is not the level of your political correctness or the level of your republican or democrat loyalties, or even the level of your sainthood. The level I wish to seek is the level of love...filled with cheese. Because who doesn't love that? :)

Mommy's Tears for a Broken Lolly Pop

2015-02-09T00:01:00.000-05:00

I am 37 weeks pregnant, and a rare kind of emotional. Me. The athlete. I once played a quarter of a basketball game on a broken foot, a whole game on stress fractures; and contractions? Well, I'm never sure when they're real..until they're really real, because I can talk through them for hours, and they've never made me cry.

But today...today, I cried over a broken lolly pop. As we were walking into church, our greeter handed each of my children a little sucker, in honor of Valentine's Day week. We had hardly gotten to our seats, coats still on, when the kids were asking if they could have them. My youngest, Isaac, still in his minion hat, held the sucker up, eyes wide, "Peas?" in need of help getting it opened. Of course they could have their special treat, and maybe it would keep them calm and quiet during worship.

I obliged. I undid the wrapper on Isaac's sucker, only to have 3/4 of the thing crumble into my hand. My poor child! I couldn't give him the crumbles. A stick-free, hard candy is not something I'm ready to trust my 2-year old with. My heart broke for him, whose siblings were happily sucking on their whole suckers, while I handed him his 1/4 sucker, but that's not really what did me in folks.

He took the sucker. He didn't question the pieces in my hand, which I walked to the trash can. He didn't cry. He didn't complain. He took that 1/4 sucker with...get this...a smile. He was content to have any of it at all. My sappy, pregnant eyes welled up with tears as I watched his joyful reaction to something anybody else might have thrown a fit or shed a few tears about.

I imagined, briefly, how I would have handled that. It didn't take much imagination, since I have recently dropped chocolate on the floor, or in the sink, and immediately muttered something whiny like, "Are you kidding me? Seriously?" As though, in a string of horrible events of my day, that just takes the cake.

Then I remembered how we got nearly every green light on our way to church today, but I inwardly acted profoundly annoyed with the one or two red lights we still got. I remembered how much I have complained these last 5 weeks, having a cold return about every week and a half, but haven't taken the time to be joyful that I am carrying a healthy baby, and I did NOT test positive for gestational diabetes. That's a big deal!

My ankle hurts, every day, but I have two feet on which to walk, and even run sometimes!
My basketball career ended prematurely, but look at this healthy, beautiful family, I wouldn't otherwise have!
It snows in Buffalo...like a lot, and often, fall and spring are non-existent, but our summers here are beautiful!
I could go on and on about all that lolly pop taught me today.

How often do we focus on what we don't have, and forget to enjoy what we do have? Oh, the lesson I learned today from my sweet Isaac, so aptly named (he will laugh)! He finds joy in all occasions. He's been laughing, easily, since just days old, and he is incredibly grateful for the smallest of things, right down to that 1/4 lolly pop.

I, too, wish to be that thankful for all the things, even the broken. Lord, give me the grateful and joyful heart of a child! And may Isaac always find reasons to be so joyous and thankful!

The Anti-Climactic Gender Reveal

2014-10-06T16:30:00.001-04:00

Things always happen so naturally and beautifully...in my head. Much like today. I had this beautiful picture in my head of exactly how our family's gender reveal was going to go. For the first time, Jelani wasn't able to go with me. None of the available appointments worked with his schedule, so I went very early in the morning while he and the kids were still sleeping. I asked the nurse to please write it down, so I couldn't see it. In my head, we'd slowly open it, the anticipation just tickling us! The kids would be bouncing around in excitement waiting to hear, and as we'd pull open the envelope, we'd smile from ear to ear, no matter what, and hug and congratulate one another.

Oh, it just sounds perfect, doesn't it?

So I got up at 6 am this morning, got ready for my appointment, woke baby up with a little Earl Grey so we could get some cooperative photos, and went out to my 6:45 am appointment.

I've never began a Monday so beautifully. The nurse was informative and sweet, showing me every little detail. The baby moved rhythmically, in perfect timing for every photo she needed. We got great footage of the healthy beating heart, the beautiful brain, all the perfect little bones, and saw the most precious yawn. I was still imagining how beautiful our family's morning was going to be, as I arrived home with the magic envelope!

I was exhausted, but I smiled all the way home from the appointment. There's something truly beautiful in that moment of anticipation, in the not knowing.

I returned home to a quiet house. The kids were all still sleeping. Jelani was quietly getting ready for work.

I sat down to crochet, all the ultrasound pictures beside me, with the one telling picture tucked away in the envelope beside me. As the kids stirred and came downstairs, Chastity asked to see the pictures. Of course!

"Do you know yet if it's a boy or a girl?" she asked me.

"Not yet, but we're about to find out!" I explained, in far too little detail.

She sat down beside me, right next to the envelope, and begin looking through the string of pictures of baby's feet, head, and arms.

I couldn't get the internet to connect to the laptop, and I was trying to get the school lessons set up, so I took the computer over to the router to fix it, while Chastity still excitedly browsed the pictures. Just one minute before Jelani made his way downstairs, I heard, "Oh, Mommy, it's a girl! It says it right here." In a very quiet, very nonchalant voice from my daughter who had been praying for a sister for months. And in a tone that said, "Didn't you see this?"

In a split second of horror, I realized my moment was gone! That beautiful moment I'd imagined so thoroughly in my head...poof...thin air.

"Oh, Chastity! You weren't supposed to open that yet! That was supposed to be a surprise!" I said, before thinking, while silently cursing the moment I'd taught her to read.

She burst into tears.

Now my moment was gone, her moment was stolen, and Daddy still hadn't made his way downstairs.

I immediately backtracked, "Oh, sweetie, you're not in trouble! Don't cry! It wasn't your fault! You're going to have a SISTER!!!! Yay!!" I got the hint of a smile from her, as Daddy came downstairs.

"Would you like to know what we're having?" I laughed.

"Do you know? I thought you were going to wait for me."

"Yes, well..." I briefly recounted the morning's quick, unraveling events. Having already missed all the excitement, he looked at the pictures, ate his breakfast, and went to work.

We can't expect that our lives are going to get any more predicable, or that our moments are going to

~~always~~ ever go as planned, but they will always be our moments to hold dear, and we are perfectly excited to know even more about our final little treasure!

Camera Ready or Not

2014-10-04T16:34:00.000-04:00

I've always wanted 4 children, ever since I can remember thinking about the children I might one day have...back in high school. Four seemed appropriate; not too many, not too few, everyone has a buddy. There have been times throughout our marriage, my husband and I weren't sure we'd have 4. I've had a lot of discomfort during pregnancies, I tend to gain a lot of weight, we've had financial hardships, and frankly, I just don't like being pregnant.

With each pregnancy, I held out hope, hope that one of my 4 might just be a cute pregnancy; hope that I might, just might, have one of those all-belly, skinny everywhere else, can't tell I'm pregnant from behind or in head shots pregnancies.

It didn't happen with the first. It didn't happen with the second, even though I worked out and walked regularly throughout. And it didn't happen with my third, even though I played basketball well into the second trimester.

Then, for the first time ever, I became pregnant before losing the previous weight. My first concern was to hear the healthy heartbeat of the baby. Having had a miscarriage just 9 months prior, it was a concern I'd never known before. A miscarriage never even occurred to me or entered my brain...until I'd had one. But then, a very close second concern was, "Crap! I'm already overweight. This pregnancy is going to be my most hideous yet!" Yeah, I'm a fabulous mom, I know.

Of course, I started showing almost immediately. I put on weight during that first trimester just like always. It was embarrassing to have people think I was much farther along than I actually was, asking me, at about 14 weeks, "Do you know what you're having?" or even worse, thinking I was due this fall.

Greeeeaaaaat. I became much like a hermit, only going to church and attending things I'd already committed to, and I wasn't sure I was ever going to let the Facebook world know of this pregnancy. Come February, I'd just post a picture of the new little one all nonchalant like, "I'm so crafty, lookie what I made!"

Then, when I finally decided to let my Facebook friends in on our little secret, I wanted to use pictures of each of my pregnancies to announce this fourth one. And ya know what I discovered? There's not a single pregnancy picture of me with Isaac, our third. I remembered my mom trying to take some and my refusal, because I couldn't stand the look of my face, and how my whole body looked pregnant, from my toes to my hair. I hated my face, in particular, and how when I would smile, my cheeks themselves, all swollen and rosy, looked like they were about to give birth to a family of elves.

It occurred to me, that no matter how little I actually enjoy pregnancy, it produces my greatest joy, and to not have any proof of the love I had for them, in my being, is heartbreaking. Poor little Isaac. :( So today, I (me, I did it, I organized it, my idea, mine), planned a family portrait for us while apple picking. My mom was more than happy to photograph us, and I didn't hide every time she pulled up the camera. I smiled, I laughed, I embraced the family of elves living in my cheeks and cherished this moment with my growing family.

I'm 19 weeks and huge, and I'll be just fine. Baby is healthy, I am healthy, and we find out the gender on Monday. My husband thinks I'm beautiful, my children think I'm pretty, and their love can conquer all of my insecurities.

Besides, for the first time in my life, I can actually say this; when am I ever going to experience this again? Never. This is it, the last hoorah, the final piece to the Greene puzzle, and I'm not going to keep running from it. There will be plenty of time for dieting, and running, and being fit and fabulous after the elves, I mean babies, ;-) no longer need my body for their growth.

From this moment on, I will stop allowing moments to pass me by just because I don't believe I'm camera ready, and I challenge you to do the same!

A Letter from a Bad Friend

2014-07-10T18:38:00.002-04:00

I, for one, have never been a big fan of seeing everyone's relationship dramas play out on Facebook. Marriage, engagement, and dating are the first that come to mind. But posting about how bad our friends are is an ongoing and consistent trend from even those who are private about their other relationships. Even Zooey Deschanel is sharing blogs about the 12 Signs It Might Be Time For a Bestie Breakup.

And listen, I'm not here to tell you what you can and cannot say or post on Facebook. That's totally up to you. I just think that when it comes to friendships, our expectations are really inconsistent, and often outrageous, and maybe a touch hypocritical.

I am the bad friend who forgets to call.
I have three kids and a husband, a house to clean, and three meals a day to make and clean up after. Before this life there were jobs with odd hours. Before that life, there was basketball and school which was a full-time + overtime job. I have never intentionally avoided someone, but different seasons of my life have called for different priorities. It never meant I stopped caring about my friends.
I am the bad friend who prioritizes her husband and family ahead of you (in many, but not all, circumstances.)
Ummm, there's something wrong with a family in which the BFFs are constantly taking precedent over the spouses and children, right? Even in a dating relationship, many are dating with intent to see about a future. Now if the guy is all bad for your girl friend and causing her to make horrible life decisions, that may be different, but ladies, try to understand the life changes that occur when your friend falls madly in love with someone they want to create a life with.
I am the bad friend who often uses social media as her main form of communication.
I'm home all day, every day, with three loud kids. During the school year, I am their teacher, and I often forget to even turn my phone or ringer on until afternoon. But the computer is always on for walk-bys, and I try to communicate as much as I can on there. It doesn't mean you're not important enough for a phone call. It just means phone calls are often a frustrating task in my household. Ask my own sisters how often I call them!
I am the bad friend who will be honest, even if you don't like it.
I like the truth. I appreciate the truth, and I will always try to be honest, even if it is hurtful. I often ask questions people don't like because of that as well. If you can't have an honest conversation with a friend, then things are pretty superficial, in my opinion.
I am the bad friend who often gets wrapped up in her own mess and may, selfishly, forget to ask about yours.
I admit it. I am selfish sometimes. I am tired, or I'm so worried about something going on in my own life that it's often all I can think about. Haven't we all been there? No, it's not all about me. I don't ever expect it to be all about me, but sometimes, my brain gets stuck. Don't be offended by momentary lapses. We're all allowed to be a mess sometimes and sometimes, for some people, those messes last longer than others.

I am all of those things. And, if we're being honest, you probably are too.

I have spent years calling myself a "bad friend," and believing it, because I have never fully been able to meet all the expectations that come with the fun moniker, BFF.

But those are almost always unfair expectations to ask of anyone. Your bff shouldn't ever be your everything. It is ok to have lives and even close friends outside of each other. It should be ok if you miss a few phone calls here and there; even ok if they are sometimes one-sided. And it is OK if you disagree on things. Different seasons of our lives are going to provide different amounts of time for each other, and I think friends should understand that and be able to reconnect at any time. That doesn't mean your friends are never going to be without fault. No one is perfect, so no relationship will ever be perfect, but why oh why, do we not lend our friends the same forgiveness and consideration we would lend a significant other?

Ladies, I have seen y'all go through Hell and high water to forgive a man for horrible things; abuse, adultery, good old fashioned condescension and inconsideration, and yet, we can't forgive each other for minor mistakes, and often, completely unintentional ones.
Nobody reads minds. Hardly anyone who has ever unintentionally hurt someone, realizes they have done so if you don't tell them. And when you tell them, don't expect an automatic apology, but a give and take conversation. Often our own behaviors are reactions to hurts as well, so you may have hurt them too! Keep in mind that your emotions may be your reality, but that doesn't make them truth.

So your friend made you feel like this, and you posted it on Facebook.

Just because they may have unintentionally made you feel that way, doesn't mean they actually feel that way about you. Maybe they're going through a lot, and just know they can turn to you. It could just be a season of your friendship, but if you're starting to feel bitter about it, talk to them.

I've had friends who were there through the good times, when I was a college basketball prospect and then player, with a lot of potential, and people knew who I was. They sort of disappeared when that all came to an end and I became "just a stay at home mom," struggling financially and struggling with my own identity. Most people don't know this, but I really struggled through my first year as a mom. I felt very alone and unsure of myself, and for years I felt like friendships ended because I was just no longer "cool" enough. I didn't have enough to offer them. And it wasn't fun hanging out with a new mom who was tired and cranky, and whipping her boobs out every couple of hours. My feeling that way, doesn't make it true. It was a new life I was unused to, and I may not have even known how to be a good friend at that time myself. Life happens, people and friendships change, and that is OK. We shouldn't go around pointing fingers, assigning blame, or playing passive aggressive Facebook games. Doing any of those things will only prevent you from ever reconnecting down the road, past the seasons of busy-ness in your lives. It's as if we're not ok with the uncertainty, so we make good and sure it's over.

I can't help but notice that women struggle with these things so much more than men. Men don't get all bent out of shape if they don't hear from each other all that often. They don't assume they've been ditched or replaced, or that it's been done out of spite. They pick right up where they left off the next time they talk. "Oh, sorry I missed your birthday man. That was a crazy week." "You missed my birthday? No big deal. I was out with friends all day anyway. How've you been?" And the thing is, they really mean it. It's not a fake, "No big deal," while they spitefully plan to intentionally miss your next birthday. We women, myself included, need to stop battling each other inside our own heads! Stop letting our own emotional struggles and insecurities effect the way we feel about our friends.

No relationship is completely one-sided, or it wouldn't be one at all, and no argument, misunderstanding, or fight, is ever the complete fault of one person. There are always multiple sides to a story, so let's not all try to assume the worst.

Signing off and hoping to remember (and find the quiet time) to call my sisters tonight.

Yours truly,

The Bad Friend

Striving for 'Exellence'

2014-04-19T16:45:00.000-04:00

I have never taken a compliment well. Never. They have always made me uncomfortable in a really itchy, Sheldon Cooper (Big Bang Theory) anxiety attack, sort of way. I have never known how to respond, and I would typically counteract them by insulting myself. I believe most people find that annoying, as though I am fishing for more compliments or insincerely modest, but it is honestly the only way I know how to respond to a compliment. My husband has been very vocal about the ways in which this bothers him. "Just say, 'thank you!'" I hear from him repeatedly, but 'thank you' for what? Pointing out something that is not of me at all? Because I think, deep down, I have always felt that everything found good in me is not, in fact, me.

When I was young people were constantly complimenting my basketball skills. It made my skin crawl. I could instantly think of all of my flaws, and all the players who were better. This was more of a hindrance than anything, because not fully realizing my abilities held me back from being the best I could be. I know that now, but I also know that if not for the Lord, basketball wouldn't have even existed in my life. I had asthma so bad as a young child, that I couldn't even run across our yard without an attack. I never should have been able to play...but I did. Then, as I became more involved in basketball, and it became less and less affordable for my parents to help out, God kept providing extra income and ways for them to do what they could for me to compete. Basketball was never really mine, but I took it, I defined myself with it, I used it to pay for my college education, and I took it for granted. When my career ended prematurely with an unforeseen injury, all I could think about was how I had idolized basketball, and how I did not use it to glorify the One who gave it to me.

And so, compliments of any kind became even more difficult for me to accept.

Any physical beauty found in me was designed by the Lord.

Any talent or ability I have was given from the Lord.

Any good or kindness found in me is the work of the Lord.

And obviously any undesirable, unlikeable, horribly awful imperfect trait found in me, is me; wholly humanly little 'ole me. I tend to focus on those because those are the things I most want to change, and because those are the things within me, that make my skin crawl whenever a compliment is thrown my way.

Then I had children. And my children, imperfect though they may be, are amazing. I see them for who they are, their faults, their strengths, their struggles and triumphs. They are beautiful. Then someone compliments me, "What well-behaved children you have!" And I hear this a lot, because really...they are. And again, I can't just say "Thank you," and move on. I stumble and stutter, and think of all the times they are not, because this compliment falling on my ears, is not mine to claim. Everything good in them is from the Lord. Any good parenting decision we have made on their behalf, is from the Lord, and I thank HIM for the wonderful children they are.

But every now and then, I don't have to say a word, because every so often, in a perfectly timed, humbling moment, they will do it for me.

At a spaghetti dinner a few weeks ago the kids were quietly eating. They ate up their salad before moving on to spaghetti, which, I guess, in a lot of homes is pretty amazing. My kids love salad. They said their 'please' and 'thank you's, and finished their plates. As Elijah took his last bite, a woman to my right said, "Your children are so well behaved! They are very polite and well mannered at the table!"

I smiled, as my skin began to crawl uncomfortably, and Elijah promptly wiped the spaghetti sauce from his face with his sleeve.

She and I both laughed, and I felt relieved. Why? Being reminded of our humanness is comforting. Being aware that our greatness comes from Him, reminds us there is something more, something better, something perfect we have not yet seen.

All through high school I had a quote hanging on my closet door by Michael J. Fox, "I am careful not to confuse excellence with perfection. Exellence I can reach for; perfection is God's business." And yes, you read that right. I can't remember if I typed it up myself, or if one of my parents did, but there was a typo in the quote. The word 'Excellence' was misspelled. I never fixed it. I liked the irony.

Maybe one day I will be able to gracefully receive a compliment without getting squirmish. But sometimes, that humbling discomfort is a great reminder of who I serve and why. I am not here to serve myself. I am not here to collect rave reviews. I am merely a child of God who has some food on her sleeve.

Why Frozen Makes Me Melt

2014-04-17T00:41:00.001-04:00

Dick Clark once said, "Music is the soundtrack of our lives." For me, I know this to be true. A song, a few lyrics, or even the first few chords can take me back to a long lost memory; good or bad or somewhere in between. As a writer, I've always been sensitive to music and the implications of the lyrics. I liked story telling in a song, but I could also be mesmerized by something fantastically unique or a great beat.

Music stays with you. I can't even remember all the Presidents anymore, at least not in order, I have difficulty remembering very key historical facts and dates, and I often forget what was so great about that last book I just loved. Don't get me wrong. I'm no ditz. I was a great student, but I'm a memorizer, a crammer, a forgetter of all things I just needed to ace that exam the moment the test is done.

However, if everything I ever learned in school, had been put into song, I never would have forgotten a thing, and I'd be a stinkin' genius.

Alas, the soundtrack of my youth is not so much filled with history lessons, as it is overflowing with Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, and...The Little Mermaid.

To this day, I can sing every single lyric to every single song in The Little Mermaid. In fact, I can recite the entire movie line by line. But the songs were most important. If I even hear a hint of Ariel's voice, or a chord from Under the Sea or Part of Your World, I am instantly transformed into the little blonde girl with green hair from chlorine, swimming through the pool with my ankles held tightly together, certain that everyone saw me as I felt right then, a beautiful mermaid with a perfectly groomed head of hair flowing around me, beneath the water (ahhh the imagination of Disney).

I can picture the happy faces of my parents, like they are sharing an inside joke.

Only now, when I find myself in these reminiscing moments, I understand the looks their faces capture. The look of a parent basking in the moment, hoping to remember it forever; hoping against all hope that their little mermaid stays little forever.

Sometimes these old songs and old memories trigger emotions I don't fully understand; tears I'm not sure are happy or sad, and a longing for the slowing of the clock.

Today we took the kids to the roller skating rink nearby. Jelani skated with Elijah and Chastity, while I chased our toddler, who was causing skating accidents at every turn. At one point, with Isaac on my hip, I watched as Elijah and Chastity skated so slowly and delicately, scared of what might happen if they really tried. The song Let it Go came booming over the speakers and I watched kids (of all ages) begin belting out the lyrics. Little girls were stopping in mid skate to swing their arms open like Elsa in the movie Frozen, and a really strange thing happened to my eyes. Tears began to well up, completely unprovoked, seemingly brought on by a song that holds no really significant meaning or memory for me. We watched the movie once with the kids a couple of weeks ago, and that was it.

But what occurred to me as I forced back these tears which were bound and determined to embarrass me, is that I was listening to the soundtrack of my present; the soundtrack of my children's childhood. These were the songs my children would never forget, Let it Go, and Happy in particular will forever remind us of that moment, or silly dancing in the living room. For the first time in a series of busy days, in a bunch of busy weeks, on a string of busy months, I found myself frozen in a moment, realizing my husband and I are now our parents, sharing the inside jokes, and basking in the joy of our children...

...and I don't ever want to let that go.

What Does Your Favorite Bible Story Say About You?

2014-01-31T15:25:00.002-05:00

My two oldest children usually get along very well. They play well together, and they prefer to be together rather than apart. Elijah (age 6) and Chastity (age 4) play better together than any mommy could ever hope. They are not perfect. They still sometimes argue, but it never gets out of hand.

One of the factors in this, I believe, is that they are very different. They often times will be playing the same thing together, but they will be doing it differently. It's quite amazing to watch.

Elijah, my first born, is cautious and careful. He is very deliberate about all that he does. He's mindful of his actions, and remembers to pray for things even when I do not. He feels strength in numbers and comfort in having someone with him at all times. He still takes his sister with him to the bathroom even, where they will talk about books or movies while he's stinking up the house.

Chastity is independent. She doesn't mind company, but doesn't always require it. She is my little girl who likes to do big things, always behaving in ways much older than her age. She does not like to be told to be careful, or that she's too young or little to do something. Her response is almost always, "I can do it." or "I won't get hurt." She will pray, and she loves Jesus, but she doesn't like to be told when to do so. She's more about action, less about thought.

Today, I was doing some research for Easter basket gifts. I am trying to have an all handmade Easter this year, so I'm placing orders early and even working out craft trades with fellow crafty ladies who make things I cannot. I stumbled across a woman who makes hand painted, wooden peg dolls HERE, and she is so talented! I thought a fun and engaging way to teach Bible lessons with the kids would be to have some of these wooden figures painted is biblical characters, but I was really torn as to which ones to order...first, because I can't afford them all at once. ;-) Instead of stressing about it myself, I asked each child, separately, "What is your favorite Bible story?"

They answered without hesitation.

Elijah: Daniel and the lions!
Chastity: David and Goliath!

Huh...?

My quiet, mindful, prayerful son, who desires to be obedient, and who finds comfort in knowing God is with him, loves how Daniel was protected in the lion's den just for being obedient to the Lord.

My independent, adventurous daughter, who loves to take action rather than sit and wait, and who wants to do and be used for big things, loves how little David took action and was protected from a giant.

So I took a minute to think about my all time favorite story in the Bible. It was tough to decide, but I narrowed it down to two: Joseph sold into slavery by his brothers, and Jonah and the whale. In one story people Joseph loved and trusted sold him out of jealousy, BUT God protected him and used it for his and even his brother's ultimate good, saving them from starvation. In the other, Jonah refused to listen to God and thought he could run away. Once tossed from the ship, and expecting to die, God allowed a horrible thing (being swallowed by a whale) to happen to Jonah, to prevent certain drowning, but spared his life and had the whale spit him back out on dry land to continue doing what God had asked him to do in the first place.

In both stories there is the hope for second chances. Joseph didn't do anything wrong, but his horrible circumstances led him and his family to a better life. God not only saw him through it, but brought them all out of it stronger and brought the family back together in forgiveness which only comes from the Lord. Jonah was disobedient, and rebelliously decided he wasn't going to listen to God. It was a mistake, and God still saved his life, and allowed him to repent.

I have always been a firm believer in second chances. I believe some things have happened to me because I was being disobedient, and others because, though they were difficult at the time, they were and still are, leading me to something better. These stories give me hope, just as Daniel and David give Elijah and Chastity each hope.

Maybe their favorites will change still, and maybe mine will too, but I am enjoying watching them grow, and growing along with them in the Word of our Lord.

What Bible story or character gives you hope? If your kids are old enough, have this conversation with them as well. I think they understand things better than we realize.

Making 14 Better Than 13

2014-01-03T15:15:00.000-05:00

13 is my favorite number, and I always just assumed 2013 was going to be my favorite year. It wasn't, and mostly I only have myself to blame for that, so I have been collecting (in my brain) ways to make 2014 better than 2013, and thought, maybe my list could even help my readers!

1. Play with my kids MORE - I sometimes have to really motivate myself to get in the right frame of mind to play with my kids. I am with them all the time, but most days, I find I am only doing the necessary things, so really, I'm only keeping them alive and educated. Playing with them takes energy and patience and many things I run short on, but I have never regretted neglecting the cleaning to play with them, not ever. I have, on the other hand, regretted ignoring them to troll the internet, clean, crochet, or cook, but never have I ever regretted a moment spent on the floor, covered with toys, cuddles, and giggles. More of this is a requirement.

2. Spend less time on social media - There are many reasons for this. The above resolution being the most important, but also, I've discovered something. The internet wants us all to hate each other. I have read countless articles about what not to say to whom when they're going through any struggle from being a stay at home vs working mom, to miscarriages and infertility to single vs married friends, and it seems that every list out there really, desperately wants us to be offended by everything anyone says to us about anything...ever. Listen, as if we need any help at all misinterpreting someone's typed out words with no inflection or facial expressions with which to gauge them by, the internet is coaching us on how to be offended by everything they say! Seriously, there are very few, very few people out there who are actually seeking to offend, and I imagine most of us don't have friends like that in our circles, so no one is out to get us. And this brings me to...

3. Stop worrying about others' opinions - I actually don't get offended very easily and I enjoy hearing differing opinions, but I do tend to allow these opinions to consume my thoughts and take over my day from time to time. It's not just that someone's opinions differ from mine. That doesn't bother me. What bothers me and takes up space in my brain is how my differing opinion could have/might have/probably did offend them in some way. I am a chronic apologize-r. I tell people I'm sorry even when they were the ones who hurt me in some way. But I've learned a few things.
     a. I cannot control how my opinions or beliefs make someone else feel, no matter how diplomatic, kind, or loving I express them.
     b. I can, however, control how I allow them to make me feel. I don't have to be sorry all the time. I can be ok with being myself and stop worrying about those who are not ok with that (even if social media dictates that everything I've ever said to them should be viewed as offensive).

4. Angry less = Happy more - Contrary to popular belief. This can be controlled. If I stop allowing #s 2 and 3 to bother me and do more of #1, it stands to reason that # 4 is completely and utterly achievable. I find my children much less irritating when I am playing with them than when I am trying desperately and unsuccessfully to get some things done. Those things can almost always wait. Areas of my house were a disaster when we had guests over here for New Year's Day, and though they may have gone home and talked about my mess after leaving, everyone here still had a good time and ate some good food. And thanks to #3, I do not have to worry about their possible opinions on my cleanliness. :)

5. Take better care of myself - Aside from #s 1-4 helping in this department, I also need to spend more time in God's Word, and not just to get it done. I need to find time to exercise, even if it means getting up before the sun and finding the money to pay for decent running shoes. I need to make doctor's appointments for myself; see everyone from the family practitioner to the dentist regularly. And last, but certainly not least, I need to allow for time and money for regular hair cuts. I like long hair, but it's been nearly 2 years since I've seen a trim, and I get a little crazy and want to chop it myself when that happens, so this must get taken care of...soon!

Last but not at all least!!!!
6. Spend more REAL time with my husband - We get caught up in the exhaustion and have days when the only time we spend together is in front of the TV, and me with crochet hook in hand. That is nice and relaxing, but shouldn't be our daily norm, and it has been. The days when we've had guests, and had to clean up together after the kids go to bed are the most treasured times we've had all year, because the TV isn't on, and we're both in the kitchen, washing and drying and wiping things down. And we talk...like we haven't talked in months (probably because we really haven't, at least not about anything important). And in spite of the fact that we're cleaning, and our hopes and dreams now revolve around our children, it feels like we're dating again. Most days we do not clean together, because most days the mess isn't that big, so this happens rarely, and usually only before and after a party, but I hope to do much more cleaning with my husband in 2014. ;-) After all, he is never more attractive than when he is cleaning something. Seriously, he took it upon himself to clean and organize our small storage closet on New Year's Day, and I just couldn't take my eyes off of him the rest of the day! Mmm! You know I'm right, ladies!

I hope I've given you some things to think about, and maybe you even have some you can add that would be beneficial to me as well! Thanks for listening. Thanks for being my metaphorical ear to bend, and I hope you'll stick around for more of my future writings. Happy New Year!

The Night an Onion Made me Cry

2013-11-08T01:42:00.001-05:00

Onions don't usually make me cry. I discovered a long time ago that as long as I have my contacts in, I am protected from their evil potency.

I had my contacts in tonight, and the smell of the onion wasn't bothering me, but I was crying like a baby because it was 6 pm, and I hadn't showered or even put on a bra. It wasn't for lack of time though. It was a survival tactic + I just didn't want to, because if I spend any of my only alone time, while the kids are napping, doing anything other than crocheting, I want to send them right back upstairs 5 minutes after their nap has ended. While many people consider a shower...and maybe even a bra, great things to do for yourself, those things do not relax me. Crocheting in my living room, all alone, and ignoring all of the must-get-dones, is my happy place.

My one year old, Isaac, is going through this thing where he screams at me if he's not being fed or entertained. Most of my friends would never believe that. He's a pretty content baby when we are elsewhere or when others are here. Ya know why? Because he's being entertained. But when it's just us, here at home, and Elijah and Chastity are trying to do their school lessons, and I am desperately trying to teach them, Isaac is upset about everything. Today was no exception, so I decided that we wouldn't do any lessons at all while he was awake. In the meantime, he pooped in every diaper I put him in, leaving a red and bleeding behind for the wiping (which gave him another reason to scream). So the kids had an hour long bath/play time, so he could air out his sore little tush. And it was the only time, all day, that Isaac was happy.

During his nap we got a couple of lessons in, but not enough to call it a productive day. He woke up screaming, screamed throughout his diaper change, screamed because I had to put him down to wash my hands post-diaper change, and screamed because I didn't feed him quickly enough. I don't have anything in this house I can shove in his mouth quickly enough, except Cheerios...and he's getting really sick of Cheerios. And so he screams at those too and flails his arms all over his table until he has successfully fed the dog.

And I want to scream too. I am angry almost all the time. I wake up in the morning looking forward to naps; naps which my oldest is most definitely growing out of at the age of 6, naps I could use for cleaning or even for teaching my oldest lessons we didn't have time to do during Isaac's first nap, but I force the issue anyway, because I don't want to clean. I don't want to teach. I want to sit, by myself, and watch stupid TV shows that are so stupid I can spend the whole show with my face in a lap full of yarn, and not miss a single thing.

I should stop here and say, I love my children, and they know that. I hug them, even when I'm angry. I smile at them even when I'm annoyed, and I tell them "Of course I want to see that," every single time they ask me, "Mommy? Wanna see this?" And while I watch them jump in the air, and twitch their hands while shaking their heads, for the 100th time, I know, that that is the most fun I will have with them all day. Because I am the teacher, the chef, the maid, the do-all-the-things-yet-get-nothing-done Mommy. I am home with my kids all day every day, and we have no time for fun, because keeping them fed and educated (between screaming) and saving them from drowning in piles of laundry is a full time job. In fact, just keeping Isaac from getting hungry takes up most of my day. So no fun for us, or at least me, because the brief moments they all play peacefully and contentedly together are the only moments I have to keep my head above water. And so I feel like I'm losing myself. I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of chores that will never get done, and just when I get my head above water, just when I finally fold the laundry in the dryer and on top of the dryer, I'm pushed under again by the next wave of clothes, and dishes.

And this probably isn't the time or place to mention this, but...well, why not? I was once made to feel shame over a blog I wrote which I ended up deleting, because I had shared "too much information," but you know what, sometimes people need some of that TMI to know that they aren't alone in their struggles and to even find help. If women lived in fear of talking about their concerns or struggles, breast cancer would always win because God forbid we talk about our boobies. So I'm going to talk about this. Bam!

A little over a month ago, I lost a baby I didn't know I was pregnant with. Yeah, my story just took an uncomfortable turn, but let's push through. I have not dealt with it well. I haven't wanted to talk about it. I have suppressed it because I feel guilty for even being upset about it. I have three beautiful and healthy children, and it's not fair of me to feel sadness over a child I didn't know I had. So instead of sadness I walk around PISSED OFF (sorry Mom and Dad). I'm mad at everything. I yell sarcastically at the dog as if she understands sarcasm. I talk trash about every driver on the road, out loud, to myself. I find myself in a room alone and something as small as dropping the peanut butter knife on the floor will send me into a fit of flailing limbs hysterically, silently cussing out everything from the ceiling to the floor. The worst of it is when it effects our school day. Every now and then (about every other day it seems) Elijah seems completely dumb-founded by a concept he just understood the day before. I will so much as give him the answer and he will stare me in the face and still give me the wrong answer. And all I can do to hide my crazy is throw up the white flag and call it a day, and wonder when I should just call it on the whole homeschooling idea.

See, Jelani and I weren't sure we were going to have a 4th child anyway. We (me) weren't really ready for a permanent solution for that problem though, so we prayed that if it was God's will, and He so saw fit, that He would override any precautions we took. The majority of our precautions involved abstinence, however. Not on purpose, mind you, but because I am one of the lucky 1-3% of women who can't have intercourse (does that word make you slightly less uncomfortable?) during pregnancy or...OR while breastfeeding. Well, ladies and gents, that's flippin' 18+ months. My hormones make it very painful for me, and so Jelani and I are the best at...cuddling...that is until our backs start to bother us. Anyway, so Isaac was starting to ween, and things were starting to get a little bit better down there, but the month I would have conceived we made love (that one any better?) ONCE, and it was with protection. Now, I'm not a silly teenage girl. I get that these things happen. That's why there are so many unwanted pregnancies in the world. But the pure irony of it under these circumstances was just plain cruel. If I'm being honest (am I allowed to be honest?), my first completely uninhibited, human, horrible-Christian reaction was, "Wow. God was totally just out to prove something, like 'look what I can do. I giveth and I taketh away.'" I played the part of angry victim quite well, and most definitely failed the "Job test." I don't feel that way anymore, but I'm still having a hard time letting go of the anger.

I lost something I didn't know I had, but the moment it was gone I knew how much I loved it. I can look into the eyes of my other three children and know exactly what I lost and exactly how much love will be missing from our house without it.

And so I'm angry.

And as I stood over that onion at 6 pm without a shower, or a bra, nothing to show for my day and no fun stories to think about, and having left everything in the house less than half done, I chopped that onion angrily, recklessly and ferociously. I imagined, just for a second, chopping my fingers, not intentionally of course, but just, what if? And the thought didn't bother me at all. Me, who can't make it through a surgery scene in Grey's Anatomy, and can't watch my own children puke. The thought of accidentally chopping off a few fingers didn't bother me at all, because then I'd be forced to feel something other than anger or drowning OR I'd really have something to be angry about. But then as quickly as that thought came, I thought, "No! I wouldn't be able to crochet!"

My very first thought after imagining accidentally chopping my fingers while dicing a stupid onion was not about quality of life, or my children, or how traumatizing that might be for them, or even my husband, but about missing crochet, the hobby that replaced basketball after that career ended, and the hobby that I never tire of doing; a hobby that sometimes makes me wish my children would nap a little (a few hours) longer.

And that is why I cried over that stupid onion; because I have been so angry about losing a child I obviously don't deserve to have.

And while I've been busy being angry and hating myself, and hating myself for hating myself, my children have found sensitive ways to show me they love me. As Chastity watched me change the other morning, I self-consciously asked her, "Why are you looking at me?" She simply responded with, "Because I love you. And you're beautiful." And I know that for her, that is truth, and I wouldn't want to do anything, ever, to destroy that truth.

So I share this today for all the moms who have lost a pregnancy, at any stage, and felt as though they couldn't talk about it.

The moms who have felt crazy with guilt and selfishness over what any "rational" person would think ludicrous.

The moms who have been unable to have sex (oooooo, I said it!) because of pain, or depression, or illness, or various other complications, but are too afraid to talk about it.

The moms who have felt alone and need to hear that not everything you feel is crazy, even if it sounds crazy written down (clears throat uncomfortably) :-/

The moms who feel like they can't be honest about their emotions for fear of judgment.

And the moms who don't always feel like they like their children, but always, always love them not in spite of the children, but in spite of themselves.

Tomorrow will be better. Maybe I will shower, and maybe, just maybe throw on a bra.

Form of Payment; Food Stamps With a Side of Guilt

2013-08-21T17:49:00.000-04:00

Am I the only person who has literally never seen anyone have a kind word to say about someone using food stamps or other grocery assistance? I witness rude people behind them in the check out line talking very loudly about how horrible it is that people take advantage of the system. I see Facebook friends blast the latest atrocity they witnessed at WalMart on the first of the month with their cart loaded up, cell phone in hand and nails and hair done.

What are you going to do about it?

You aren't going to catch a "poor" bug if you talk nicely to them. Poor is not contagious. If you put as much energy into helping to feed the poor and the needy, as you do whining and crying about the government allowing "scumbags" to take advantage of the system, maybe the government wouldn't have to step in at all. See, before government supported the poor, people used to. Human beings with hearts to take care of others volunteered their food, their money, their time, and even their homes when necessary. Sure, that still happens occasionally, but mostly, it just plain doesn't.

Why am I telling you this?

I have been that girl. I have been the mom holding up the grocery line because the food stamps card isn't working in the machine, or the cashier doesn't know how to process the WIC checks. I have been that mom paying for snack items for my kids, ice cream for a birthday, M&Ms for potty training, or other items you've judged me for. I have been that mom receiving dirty looks from fellow customers, overhearing them talk about all the other ways I must be spending my money. I have been that friend on Facebook who has to read about how awful it is that a woman checking out with food stamps has a cell phone of all things. I have even been that mom swiping the food stamps card with freshly manicured nails. And I have had to block out every ounce of guilt I felt about it every time I heard the whispers, saw the looks, or came home to read all the nasty Facebook status updates about it. I have kept my silence on this topic for a very long time, mostly because of shame or fear of disgusted reactions friends might have, and also because it's really no one's business. But I want to set a few things straight.

My husband works hard...always. When he didn't have an income, he worked hard in school, and at being a great father. Whenever he could, he did work, sometimes working all day in the heat only to come home, grab a quick shower and sandwich, and then head out the door for evening classes. We did things honestly. We reported our income whenever it came in. We also had rent to pay, gas to put in a vehicle, debts to pay off due to expenses coming up during difficult times. We had (still have) cell phones, a computer (complete with internet), and a roof over our heads.

Does having those things mean we shouldn't qualify for food stamps?

That girl in the check out line paying with food stamps while talking on her cell phone probably has the internet too. I bet she even drove to the store in her very own vehicle. Do you think that should be taken from her as well? Why don't we go ahead and remove all of her resources before we're willing to provide some assistance so that then, she's so incapable, she can never get back on her feet at all, or the government has to pay out even more to help her.

Do you see where I'm going with this? Come on people! By helping with the necessities before it's too late, that family has the opportunity to put their money into other things, other resources so that they can educate themselves or find work. And what makes you think they just purchased that nice item while on food stamps? Oh, they have a great camera. They must be taking advantage of the system! Oh, look what they drive! They must be lying about income! No, no. Not everyone who has fallen on hard times has been falling for so long that they have lost everything. Believe it or not, some people had nice things before they lost their jobs.

To give you a little perspective:

Two of the family vehicles we have owned over the past 4 years have been hand-me-down vehicles from our parents. I was bouncing around in a Lincoln Navigator while paying for some of my groceries with WIC. Our parents have helped us in whatever ways they could, and that was one of them.
I learned how to coupon while on food stamps. And I learned how to make just about anything we wanted from scratch. That ice cream or those candies you saw in my cart, cost the government close to nothing. And that flour and sugar made a cake, bread, and a couple pizzas. Those $1.50 tortilla chips happen to go nicely with the $5 meal I had cooking in the crock pot which would likely feed us for two days. I have children, and while I couldn't give them everything I wanted, I could, at least, make them food.
My cell phone allowed my family to reach me if needed, and allowed me to call 911 if necessary, for goodness sake. We didn't (nor do we now) pay a bill for a home phone, so this is all we have.
We had a computer and internet to pay bills and for Jelani's school work.
The great clothes my kids were wearing were bought by their grandparents or they were awesome hand-me-downs from friends. Their toys were paid for by modeling gigs, and a small Christmas allowance we had. (Seriously, would you begrudge a person putting away a whopping $10 a month for Christmas?)
The nails I had done were dress code for a wedding for which I was a bridesmaid. Not something I do on a regular basis, but so what? Maybe that girl you saw with her hair and nails done was trying to clean up for a job interview, her sister's wedding, or maybe it was a spa day gift from someone who loves her and felt she deserved an afternoon of pampering. I'll bet your sour looks for her form of payment sure put a damper on her day out, looking and feeling, for once, like she wasn't a leper, only to receive your glares.

People, my point is this; not everything is black and white. Not everyone's circumstances are exactly what you think they are or should be. There's already a loaded amount of guilt piled onto a family resorting to food stamps without your judgmental accusations. I had to swallow my pride and guilt every time I purchased something other than a canned good thanks to a Facebook rant from a friend who believed food stamps shouldn't cover anything else. That's not fair.

So, I don't explain myself because I owe anyone an explanation or because I have anything to feel guilty about. I explain for the mom who recently lost her job, after purchasing the new iPhone and 2-year contract it came with. I explain for the mom whose friend just took her to get her hair and nails done so she could forget her problems, if only for a moment. I explain myself for the sake of all the moms out there who are doing the best they can to keep it together during crisis while having to smile at your smug face and pretend it doesn't bother them.

Do some people lie and take advantage of the system? Yes. But not everyone on food stamps or any other kind of assistance for that matter has to have just gotten off the bus, dressed in rags, and in need of a shower. The hope in food stamps, is that they will never get to that point of crisis. So calm down, love them, smile at them with genuine patience and understanding, and maybe, instead of judging that mom who's holding up the line because she went over her food stamps budget and has to put some items back, offer to pay for what she can't afford...no matter what it may be. I promise you, it will feel a lot better than ranting online hours later about what an awful waste of space you think that person might be, and it is a much more productive use of the space God has given you to reside.

31 Flavors (and Then Some)

2013-08-07T17:37:00.001-04:00

When I turned 30 there was so much changing in my life, that nothing slowed down long enough for me to really think about it. Sure, I was no longer in my 20s, but being 9 months pregnant on my 30th birthday, there wasn't much else I could focus on besides getting that child out of me.

Less than one month later my first born was beginning school for the first time. We were embracing home schooling for the first time with a newborn under the roof, and life was so happily chaotic that I spent most of the year not even remembering I was 30.

But then my 31st birthday was suddenly around the corner, and I was forced to remember that I am no longer a 20-something.

We had a really busy family reunion weekend over this past weekend. I didn't even have time to think about my upcoming birthday. I came home yesterday evening to empty cupboards, a cluttered house, errands that couldn't be put off, and, of course, the dreaded chore of unpacking a car full of bags stuffed haphazardly. Then it also occurred to me that my license expired today. Woops. I had tried to renew it online, but they needed proof of an eye exam, so I couldn't. Then our busy weekend came up quickly, and I didn't get the chance to go in.

I had been looking forward to this license renewal for 4 years. That awful picture had been taken when I was 9 months pregnant with Chastity. My face literally looks swollen, my eyes just little slits barely able to open from the fatness of my cheeks. I was glad for the renewal, but 15 years after the only birthday where going to the DMV is exciting sort of put a damper on my mood.

So today, on my 31st birthday, I woke up and got around to run errands. In anticipation of the dreaded license photo, I even did my hair and make up. I raided my jewelry box and found several pieces I hadn't worn in years, just like brand new! Happy Birthday to me! I strolled into a moderately busy DMV and waited in line. When it was my turn, I handed them my ID and renewal papers, and said, "My license expires today, but I was unable to renew online." They streamlined me right through the process. No complaints there. But in NY state, licenses expire on your birthday. TWO different women looked directly at my ID, aware that it expires on this day, my birthday, and neither one wished me a happy birthday. I went on with my day with a 30 minute drive out to Lockport to pay for the pavilion we're renting for Isaac's 1st birthday coming up. That had to be done or they'd give it to someone else this week. Then I went out for groceries which had to be done, or we'd have to survive on cereal all week.

I had left the house in the morning before Isaac woke up, and returned just after he'd gone down for his nap. Elijah and Chastity were also about to go down for their naps. My birthday was half over, and all I had to show for it were some groceries.

I started to hit a wall and spin into a funk. So this is 31. Running errands, cleaning, taking care of everyone else. My birthdays are no longer about me. They are just about getting older.

To uplift my spirits, I began to think about one of my favorite things; ice cream. (Doesn't everyone do that?) The old Baskin Robbins slogan, boasting 31 flavors, hit me. I am 31 flavors (and then some). I am not just a wife and mother, or picker-upper-of-things. But my birthdays aren't supposed to be about me. They are about the life God has blessed me with, the person he's molded me into being, the husband he's joined me with always and forever, and the little people he's entrusted to me to help shape and mold. I am goofy, fun, sensitive, loving, kind, and helpful. I can be loud or quiet at times. I am athletic, active and energized, but marked with life's changes. I can be controversial and opinionated. I am creative and focused. I can be both disciplined or flaky; sloppy or trendy; brutally honest or quietly kind; clean and organized or a messy Marvin. I am confident in some things; insecure in others. I'm not afraid of hard work, dirt, and sweat, or a sexy little dress. I am prayerful, faithful, hopeful, and above all else; full of love for the Lord. The list goes on and on, and it's difficult for me to talk about myself like this, but I think it's emotionally mandatory. My boobs, my butt, my hips, my thighs will never be the same but those are not the things which make me. I know who I am. I am so many different flavors, but not everyone's taste, and that's ok.

So this is 31; beautifully, chaotically, lovingly blessed with little and big people who know all my 31 flavors, prefer some over others, but ultimately love me wholly and unconditionally.

Today, in spite of the errands, the chores, and the unobservant DMV clerks, I am blessed. I am wrapped in love from Jelani's famous (really, it's famous!), homemade Buffalo chicken pizza, to the drawings from my littles to my very first phone call being from my very first, childhood friend. Your 31 flavors may look differently, but for me, this is 31.

I can smell the pizza in the oven, and my babies are waking from their naps. The journey must go on, and perhaps it will land us in the living room gathered around a Disney movie, but really, is that any different from any other distant year? Some things never change. :-)

Firsts, Falls, and Fruition

2013-07-26T23:36:00.000-04:00

We celebrated a first for our children last weekend. It was kind of a big deal, and this mom forgot the camera (not my mother's daughter). We were invited to a birthday party at a local roller skating rink. The kids have seen our roller blades and often played with them, so when we told them that morning where we were going, they bounced off the walls, declaring their excitement for hours before we actually left for the party.

I was nervous though. I knew it wasn't going to be as easy as they thought, and that they didn't fully understand the hard work it would involve. I was afraid they would be frustrated and wouldn't actually have any fun.

They got there, put the skates on, and attempted to stand. Chastity's legs would have fallen right out from under her if I didn't already have a good grip on her arms. I walked out to the rink with her and helped her for a while, holding her wrists tightly and getting an amazing bicep workout in the process, while her legs flailed about, independent from her body.

After Elijah was able to gather his balance and he learned to use the wall to help, Jelani took over for me so I could relieve our friend from baby duty. She, of course, wouldn't allow me to take Isaac back, and told me to put on my own skates. While Jelani was still trying to keep Chastity upright, I joined Elijah's slow progress around the rink.

After watching him fall a handful of times, I wanted to hold his hand so badly, but we quickly learned that it made it even more difficult because he would rely on me too much and lose control a little bit. So I let go. As I let go, and watched him fall, repeatedly, I learned one of my most difficult parenting lessons to date. I learned that I sometimes have to watch my children fall.

I was watching him fall over and over and over, on his butt, on his hands, on his knees, on his elbows, and doing splits. Not once did he even wince. His face was so serious and so determined, I became concerned that he wasn't having any fun, so I would repeatedly ask him, "Elijah, are you having fun?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to take a break and sit down for a bit?"

"No."

He was always very clear in his responses. I continued to skate next to him, watching him fall from only an arms length away, knowing there was nothing I could do. And it hit me.

This is parenting. This is life. My concerns were unfounded. He was having a blast, but it was breaking my heart. It was the first time something fun for my children was not fun for me. I had to retire from the rink to take care of Isaac and I was relieved to have the baby to distract me. Elijah had to learn to stand on his own two feet. He had to fall. He had to learn how to catch himself. And he would eventually grow stronger and be better.

Similarly, when God watches us fall, I believe it breaks His heart. But He can't do everything for us. He can't force us to stay upright. He gave us the gift of free will, and He wants us to learn and grow through our challenges. But He is there if and when we call on Him, walking right next to us.

We do our children a disservice by trying to hold their hands through everything when what they really need is for us to just be there to support, love, and encourage them. Right then, Elijah didn't need, or want, me to hold his hand. He just wanted to know I was there...watching.

This week, the kids learned to skate, Elijah learned to ride his bike without training wheels, and Chastity learned to finger knit. Mommy and Daddy learned how to let go just a little; just enough to watch them stumble, pick themselves back up, and ultimately succeed.

10 Years With My Sunshine

2013-07-19T12:03:00.001-04:00

Ten years ago today Jelani and I decided to be more than just friends. Ten years ago today, I made the best decision I have ever made, seriously. My dad always told me, when dating and thinking of marriage, look for someone who has the qualities and character you'd most like to see in your children. So on July 19th, 2003 I struck gold.

Over the years, the most frequently asked question I've received is, "How did you two meet?" I think our obvious physical differences are what usually prompts the curiosity. Really, I don't think people are nearly as curious about two similar people from similar backgrounds, but this little white girl, from a 99% white, small town, literally fell in love with a tall, dark, and handsome fellow, and no one would have ever imagined how "dark."

Similarly, I don't think any of Jelani's family and childhood friends would have imagined him marrying the whitest girl he had ever met. I know his mom was thinking, "Blond and blue eyed? Couldn't she at least be Italian with some darker skin and hair?" Joke's on her. I am part Italian and Native American even. Genetics are a crazy science, I tell ya.

Anyway, here's the story, as I know it. ;-)

In the spring of 2003 I had newly given my life to Christ. I was excited about all that I was learning, and as an English major who needed to take some summer courses since I was on campus for basketball anyway, I decided to enroll in Bible as a Literature for the summer. I could knock out some English credits and learn more about God's word with this class. Meanwhile, I had gotten a job in Alumni Arena as a monitor. I had to check student IDs as people entered the building, and was allowed to study and read at my post.

Jelani had just graduated and was an intern for Recreation and Intramural services, as well as a supervisor to the monitors. We had seen each other around during his internship in the varsity weight room that spring. In fact, I even thought he had a crush on me due to a mix up with a friend. She was telling me about someone else wanting to hang out with me, but when she pointed in his direction, I only saw the guy that someone else was talking to, which was Jelani. So for about a month I thought he was some guy with a different name, who had a crush on me, but was too shy to talk to me. (Really glad I didn't embarrass myself by making the first move there!)

The end of May, when I met my supervisors, I realized my mistake. As supervisor, Jelani had to make the rounds, checking in on all the monitors throughout the day. One day, he stopped and sat down across from me. Noticing I was reading the Bible, he began to interrogate me about what I believed. When I say interrogate, I mean that literally. He seemed angry and acted as though the Bible was foolish. I stumbled and stuttered, and didn't quite know how to respond. It was just two months earlier that I had given my life to Christ. I was so new at this, and had never really shared my faith with anyone, let alone an angry unbeliever. I panicked. I was thinking, Dang it! Here's this guy, searching, asking, and questioning, and I'm too new at this! I don't know what I'm doing! I finally just blurted out, as fast as I could, "I believe Jesus Christ died on the cross for our sins, and rose from the dead! Why? What do you believe?" Way to just rattle off what everyone knows Christians believe. Sheesh.

His eyes lost their intensity, and a smirk played on his face. "I believe the same thing. I just wanted to see where you were at," and he walked away, leaving me very confused and embarrassed. Now, instead of flubbing up and getting flustered in front of a skeptic, I did it in front of a peer who likely knew more about this stuff than I did.

After that, he would stop and talk with me for a while each time he made his rounds. Then he began coming in on his days off to work out, purposely during my shift, and he would often visit with me after his work out for extended periods of time. I knew very early that he was someone I wanted to spend a lot more time with. A mutual friend of ours invited a bunch of us over to her apartment to hang out and watch a movie. When Harry Met Sally was on the agenda, and happens to be one of my favorites. I called Jelani to find out if he was going, secretly thinking I would only go if he went too.

"Are you going tonight?" I asked him.

"Only if you are," was his perfect response, filled with what I later learned was a ton of false confidence.

We went, we laughed, and had fun in a large, safe group of people, and we all dispersed. After that night, Jelani and I began hanging out as friends outside of work. I looked for excuses for us to get together, usually involving a get together with multiple people. I had my first ankle surgery on June 27th that summer. He often helped me do my grocery shopping while I was on crutches. His smile lit up a room. I loved his smile so much I began calling him Sunshine. In fact, up until recently (silly, smart phone), he was Sunshine in my phone address book. :) We talked a lot, about things we wanted. We both wanted to be married by 25 and start a family young. 20 and 22 at the time, we joked that at the age of 25, if we didn't have anyone else (there was never going to be anyone else), we should just go ahead and marry each other.

The days leading up to July 19, Jelani was at an Exercise Science conference in Indianapolis. It was only a few days, but I missed him more than a person would miss a friend. On the 19th a few of us decided to head up to Canada to Crystal Beach for some swimming. With a bum ankle, I mostly sat in the sand, anxious for Jelani's return that afternoon. As we crossed the border back, after a long day of sun, I helped plan a trip out to eat for later, knowing it would give me a good reason to call Jelani (I'm so sneaky). So we all planned on going home, getting cleaned up, and then meeting up at the Outback Steakhouse.

I called Jelani to let him know of the plans, and ask if he'd like to meet up with us for dinner. He was just getting into town when I called. He said he might come, secretly very excited that I had called him.

I wore my cutest outfit (you've gotta rock something cute when lugging around crutches). And a group of about 6 or 7 of us went out to eat at Outback. We then moved the party to Anderson's for ice cream. As the evening was coming to an end, ice cream cones were disappearing, and everyone else was planning on going to a party somewhere I knew I'd be uncomfortable on crutches, I bowed out. Knowing Jelani was not the party type anyway, I casually mentioned I was just going to be watching movies at the apartment, and he was welcome to just hang out with me.

He took the bait, came over, and pretended to really like Lilo and Stitch, just to hang out with me. As the credits rolled, we again joked about our hypothetical marriage. He confessed to me that he had never really dated anyone before.

"You can't just marry me, having never dated anyone before!" I told him. "How could you possibly have any idea what you want?"

"I know what I want," he answered simply.

"Well, maybe we should date a little first, to see if it would work," I said, half joking, looking for a reaction.

He thought for a minute. "Ok," he said.

And he kissed me.

We never really talked about that night again. It was months before either one of us was comfortable referring to the other as their boyfriend/girlfriend for fear that the relationship was never really defined and we might offend the other.

Better yet, it was years before we ever mentioned that night again, and could laugh at how outrageous his response was, and how we swooped into a serious relationship relatively quickly based on an, "Ok."

But we already knew we wanted to marry each other. We wouldn't have bothered dating if we didn't. There was no real definition needed. Ok seemed perfectly legit and reasonable, and the best place to start what had already begun.

So, here's to the dating years, the funny pictures, the stories we have to tell, and the investment we made. Because on July 19th, 2003, I know I made an investment, paying handsomely into my future. God placed Jelani in my life at the most perfect time, and I couldn't have even prayed for all those awesome qualities I am finding in our children daily. I don't think anyone in either of our families could imagine life any differently, and no one cares that he's not white and I'm not black (or look Italian ;-)). Happy 10 years together, Sunshine!

p.s. No one has ever had a clue what was going on in that middle, right picture above. Don't bother asking. That is why it's one of my favorites. :)

Pinning Attitude: Why I Hate to Love Pinterest

2013-06-27T16:41:00.000-04:00

Oh boy.

I have had one of those days.

You know the kind; the kind of day when I day dream of having a nanny who can watch the kids mid-day so that I can go enjoy a movie...in an empty theater...alone...maybe with a smuggled in glass of wine.

Really, my day doesn't begin with just today, but no bad day really is just about that one day, or that one incident. It's always about the straw that broke the camel's back. I mean, really, extraordinarily, tragically bad days go without saying. But day dreaming about smuggling wine into an empty movie theater while a nanny watches the kids in the middle of the day is usually the accumulation of one type of emotion: annoyed.

I cannot be the only mom who has ever felt like an annoyed teenage sister to her children. They ask me questions, repeatedly, which they already know the answers to. They are on my heels, causing me to trip over them when I'm trying to do some cleaning. They are whining about every little thing the other one does.

**************
"Mommy! Chastity's saying what I say!"

     (Repeated by Chastity), "Mommy! Chastity's saying what I say!"

"Stop it! I don't like that game!"

     "Stop it! I don't like that game!"

***************
"Mommy, can I have lunch?"

     "Elijah, breakfast was literally 5 minutes ago."

"But I'm huuuuuuuuuuuungry!"
***************

The dog is on my heels because I haven't had the chance to feed her yet. Heck, I haven't had the chance to feed myself yet. Isaac sneezes all over me right after taking a big spoonful of food. The delivery guy delivers the package we've been waiting for, the one he attempted to deliver 5 minutes after we went to the park yesterday, the one my husband needs in order to avoid getting a ticket for driving without a front bumper (which fell off in the middle of the road Sunday) during my only bathroom break; pounding on the door during the baby's nap. Fun stuff right there.

Then I have a minute to myself, I sit down at the computer to look up a cake recipe I need, and I'm inundated with things of this nature:

I love Pinterest. I've found really great recipes and craft ideas there, and of course some great ideas for activities with my kids, but sometimes, it just really grates my nerves.

Let me catch you up. Everything that has happened this week has been ill-timed, from a destroyed bumper to a sneeze, my children are annoying me, I want to smuggle a glass of wine into a movie theater in the middle of the day, and now Pinterest is getting all high and mighty on me and making me feel guilty about not doing a bazillion really messy, time consuming, activities with my kids. And chances are good (really good) it will take more time setting up and cleaning up those activities than my children will spend doing said activities.

I love my kids, and I love spending time with them, but when 95% of the activities I find online are painting with food, painting with eggs, painting with fly swatter (real thing), body painting, powder painting, textured painting, edible painting, it. is. exhausting. I had a mini anxiety attack while reading the list and wondering about all the fun things my children are missing out on because I'd rather spend more time with them than cleaning up after them. Let's face it, that's already the majority of my day.

But then I remembered my parents. They didn't have lists. They didn't need lists of things to do with us in order to spend time with us. We played outside, went bike riding and hiking, took walks, went for ball walks (walking while dribbling a basketball, fun and challenging on bumpy sidewalks!), read books, played learning games, played sports, watched movies, threw rocks in the water (super fun, cheap, zero clean up, activity that a child will do for hours), watched cars driving by, and we colored...on paper...with crayons. And we turned out just fine.

I often times get caught up in the kind of mother I am not rather than the kind of mother I am. Pinterest can be like the devil at times, trying to make me feel lousy as though I am not as creative as other moms, or because I don't enjoy the clean up, I'm a lazy mom. Pinterest can, at times, feel like a one upmanship contest, like "look what I came up with to do with my kids," or, "look what I'm going to do with my kids," or, "look what I plan to do with my kids (but probably never really will. Swell idea though)." Pinterest doesn't keep track of the times I play baseball in the park with Elijah, or the times I push Chastity on the swings, or the times I embrace all three of my children in a tickle fight. Pinterest doesn't keep tabs on the times we've made cookies together, or the books we've read, or the bubbles we've chased.

Sometimes we all need to be reminded of who we are, not who we aren't. We don't need to sit at the computer looking at lists of things everybody else is doing with their children. Kids care more about being with us than about what we're doing. Heck, my children get more excited about going to the store with me than anything else.

Less is often so much more.

Know that you don't have to be perfect, and you are not alone when you become annoyed with them, but remember one day, those roles could reverse, and you might find yourself at the opposite end of irritated, short answers to multiple questions you already know the answers to, but are asking anyway just so they will talk with you.

So I ignored all the crazy things I could have done with my children according to Pinterest. But I acknowledged that I still needed to change my attitude. And clearly the best way to do that, was to join them.

I crawled onto the floor where Isaac excitedly greeted me, and climbed right on top of me.

Then I proceeded to blow up my cheeks really big...and "pop" them with his feet,

resulting in the most rewarding and attitude healing giggles you ever did hear. Elijah and Chastity joined in the fun by wanting to take pictures (excuse me, I'm not camera ready probably 99% of my daily life).

Later in the day, while Isaac was napping, Elijah, Chastity, and I sat by their bedroom window, watching the cars, and watching the rain clouds roll in, and just talking. I didn't find these activities on Pinterest, but they were food for my mothering soul, let me tell ya.

Embrace them, relish their laughter, and really look at them when they tell you a story. There is no app for that, and you cannot put a pin in it, because those little faces won't look like that forever.

Pin that, Pinterest.