Jane Caroline

We're All Just Taking Turns

2021-05-16T15:20:00.004-07:00

It's been two and a half years since I've opened this blog! It took me a moment to remember how to even access it. I was so surprised to see that people have been checking this site even when I hadn't been. If that has been you, I'm honored you'd check into this corner of the internet!

So much has happened in the past two and a half years and I'm going to just hop on over it because what brings me here today is my desire to capture the glimpse of family I saw this past month. And, it's the very thing that's readied my heart to welcome the 3rd brother to our crew. I'm so ready for him, in fact, that I just finished the spiciest salsa known to man in our attempt to get labor started!

Until this past week, my grandmother has spent the last month in the hospital, and my mom spent all but a few nights with her. And on those nights when she left, my uncle stayed with her. 24/7 someone was sitting next to my grandmother, caring for her in the most selfless ways. Because of hospital covid rules, it was hard to tag team, so 24 hour shifts were required.

A few weeks ago, Lawson, our 19 month old, woke up in the middle of the night and I held him across my 8 month pregnant belly and just rocked him. As he drifted off to sleep, all I could think about was how my mom was doing the very same thing for her mother in that exact moment. My grandmother had once held her, and now my mom was up every hour in a hospital room taking care of her mother in the same ways she was once cared for by her mother.

There's a shift that happens when generations all start to care for one another. It becomes reciprocal, and it's as if we all take turns who is caring for who. Today, Tripp, who is almost 4, laid next to me while I took a nap. If you know Tripp and how he doesn't stop talking, you know that him doing so was a gift to his super pregnant mom. He cared for me. The reciprocation starts so early. He will be playing and unprompted look up, smile, and say "I love you!" It's as if time stops in those moments as he so sincerely cares for me.

My dad always wipes down our high chair when he comes over, and I help with computer issues that frustrate him. I think of my cousin planting tomatos with my grandfather or my sister stopping by my grandparents after school pick up. My grandparents used to always pick us up for school and practices, and my grandfather would bring roses from his rose bushes to each of our recitals. It's as if the same roles reinvent themselves in each new season, and we're all the better for them.

What we need and when we need it is always changing, and as different family members go through different seasons, we seemlessly move in and out from serving and being served.

We are 4 days away from meeting our newest baby. I don't know if it's a 3rd pregnancy thing or what, but this pregnancy has been harder than the others. I feel like my body announced it was done several weeks ago! It's humbling for someone who likes to plow through hard things without batting an eye. But in true motherhood fashion, motherhood starting with pregnancy has a way of humbling - it requires you to ask for help and receive it when it's offered. I feel like this 3rd pregnancy, which has actually been our entire 9 months in a new house and new city, has ushered in a season of family caring for me as I care for our 3 boys. And I'm just so, so grateful.

A few days ago my mom packed her car to squeeze in a few days with my grandparents before baby arrives, and I was telling her to go. My grandmother called and said she better not leave town and that she better stay in town in case my baby came early. My mom said the spunk in her voice was the strongest her voice had sounded in months. I teared up because I know my grandmother could have used my mom's help, and I know others are stepping in in my mom's absense. But, I'm also so, so grateful to have her here.

It's messy to share the burdens of others. It really is. But when we do throughout generations, it's really easy to see how the love my grandparents showed to their children weaves in and out of each generation so that when I'm holding Lawson in the middle of the night, I'm aware that I've been loved and now I get to love. By no means is it easy or perfect and it's usually inconvenient. But in the moments when we get a glimpse of the impact of us serving the generations ahead of us and the ones behind, I want to capture it in writing so that as Lawson grows up, I remember. As I step into serving my parents when they age, I remember. As I hold our newborn throughout the night, I remember. We're all just taking turns.

Parenting Out of Control

2018-12-11T13:59:00.000-08:00

yesterday I was talking to my friend as she teared up. She's newly pregnant. She loves her little baby, and yet, she's filled with fear because she hasn't yet been to the doctor, hasn't yet heard the little heart beat. And really, from experience, I know that fear will continue to creep in until she holds that baby in her arms... and even after then, it'll still stay nearby.

I wanted to say everything thing will be fine, but I couldn't promise that.

I wanted to say that once she goes to the doctor and hears that heartbeat, the fear will dissipate, but I couldn't promise that either.

you see, I get it.

I completely get it.

Instead, I told her that I get it today like I got it the first moment I knew I was pregnant.

what begins as an uneasy fear in those early weeks is the start of the Lord slowly transforming a mother's heart. Motherhood - unlike any other area of my life - has caused me to lean into trusting the Lord - truly trusting Him. See, unlike other areas of my life, I can't simply work harder to make sure everything plays out smoothly.

In an effort to keep baby Tripp safe in my womb, I couldn't work harder, hustle a little more, or stay up a little later. It doesn't work like that. Instead of gripping harder to my own resolve to work harder, I have to do the opposite - release control.

If I'm in a conflict, as a people-pleaser, I can word-smith my way out or apologize just enough to ease the tension. If there's a problem with work or a stressful task at hand, I put my head down and conquer it. I'm an organizer, a stress-dissolver, and give-it-my all-er.

Motherhood asks of me quite the opposite of all those things.

Motherhood asks that all plans are laid aside, which is harder to do than I ever anticipated. Motherhood asks me not to try to plan around stress, but to embrace stress and begin to see it not as something to dodge but to embrace.

Motherhood doesn't ask me to give it my all to succeed, but rather, to surrender it all.

There's no checklist or child behavior and (thank goodness!) no long nap that can define a good day.

Instead, a good day is whether or not I lean into trusting the Lord.

What begins as fear for the health of a little baby is an invitation. It's an invitation to release control as we fully love a child - a child we cannot control and or fully protect in this world. From the moment of seeing the positive pregnancy test, to the moment waiting to hear the heart beat, to the moment of Tripp being placed on my chest, it's been an invitation to trust the Lord. Because Lord knows in all those moments I cannot do anything myself.

From the middle of the night rocking to the doctors appointments to the slow afternoons of wondering who I am - have I lost myself? - to the baby hairs to the sitting on the couch at 7:30 PM because everything about your world has changed...

it's all an invitation to come and trust and taste that the Lord is good.

It's not a choice of whether or not we are going to control;

motherhood snatches control out of your hands.

Instead, the choice is what we do when we can't control. We can either feel out-of-control or set our gaze on Him who controls everything.

With hands held open, it's vulnerable; it feels risky and a bit scary, so in my own surrender, I lift my hands high. Because though I cannot fathom a love greater than my own for my son, I know God's love engulfs him in a way mine cannot, and that same love holds me too.

I don't have to be in control because He is in control - from the first moment of new life until... forever.

I understand my mom more now that I'm a mother

2018-11-15T15:43:00.001-08:00

I understand my mom so much more now that I'm a mom. The things that I would inwardly roll my eyes at are now the very things I feel in my heart toward my own son. I just get it.

Have you told her that? Clayton asked me last night.
Yea, but probably not enough, I answered.

So, this is my attempt.

See, at each new stage, I understand motherhood more, and I understand my own mother a little bit more. I think it'll be like that for... forever. She will always be one step - one generation - ahead of me, and I'm pretty sure when my children are grown, I'll still be having this same epiphany over and over again.

I remember in high school, my mom would drive from store to store with me looking for the perfect homecoming dress. When we'd find it, we'd then spend an endless amount of time wandering for the perfect jewelry combination or getting alterations and then painting my nails. We did the same thing as we prepared for my dorm room all summer long, set up my wedding registry, and every other big stage of life. As I reflect back on these memories, I now see there was nothing in it for my mom except spending time with me - watching me experience joy and in doing so, she was too.

I never once thought of all the things my mom was putting on hold as she zipped up dress after dress or laughed with me as I tried on dresses we both knew we wouldn't look like. She had a house to manage, other kids to carpool or drop off, multiplication facts to drill, permission slips to sign, and a million other things calling her name, but in those moments, she was fully present with me.

There's almost a sweetness to the fact that I never comprehended the sacrifice. But, I see it now. I see it because I'm making the same sacrifice when I pause everything, sit next to my son, and hit a plastic ball with a plastic hammer and watch it roll down the slide over and over again. It brings him so much joy and wonder in his little mind, and it brings me the same joy and wonder as I watch him experience it too.

Yet, what I'm aware of is this: joy and wonder don't negate the sacrifice. It's still very much real, and yet, it's a choice to know it's worth it. My mom made the choice, and I want to make that choice over and over again. My hope is that Tripp doesn't see the sacrifice I'm making any time soon either, but rather, he feels fully loved when I am with him because I am fully present with him.

My mom gets kind of sappy when all my siblings are together. She incessantly wants to take our picture together, and most of these pictures are pretty terrible. Sometimes we pull my youngest brother out of bed for them, or the last one we took, my hair looked like I'd been electrocuted and my sister had queso on her pants.

In my mind, I tend to think these photos aren't worth the effort. But, as I try to capture Tripp's toothy grin on my phone, I realize it's not really about that photo. It's about attempting to freeze time for just one moment. Maybe if her grown children pause from chasing their own children and stand next to each other, the still frame will freeze time. I get it now. Those are her babies. We are her babies. The ones she stayed up in the night with, the ones she calmly disciplined as we threw tantrums (though she still won't admit we did), the ones she sliced up thousands upon thousands of strawberries and grapes for (my current reality). We are the babies she sacrificed over and over for. Some day Tripp will be rolling his eyes at me as I have him pause for a photo, and yet, I'll shamelessly insist that he does so. Not for the photo, but for time standing still just for that moment.

Sometimes I think I am 3-years-old in my mom's memory. As she tells stories, I watch her and think she can literally see my ringlet curls bouncing again as she reminisces. Some of the stories I could repeat back verbatim, but I think I get it now.

Just a few minutes ago, I was putting Tripp down for a nap he didn't want to take, so I held his cheek up against mine for a little bit longer. In that moment, I was instantly transported back to newborn Tripp whose face was so fresh that I'd brush my cheek up against his wondering if the baby I was holding was actually mine. Then I remembered 5 month old Tripp who wouldn't sleep, so I'd hold his cheek up against mine and feel his little breaths come in and out. And man, it was sap central.

Here I was, holding a 16-month-old who prefers his orange shoes over his black ones, has more opinions than I know what to do with, and spends his afternoons rearranging my spice cabinet, and yet, he is still a newborn, 5 month old, and every day in between then and now in my mind. I get my mom a little bit more. I am her 30-year-old daughter who brings her opinions on how to arrange Thanksgiving dinner or how we should handle conflict or a million other opinions I undoubtedly bring, and yet, I am still her baby.

Mom, thank you.

The One Thing I Remember From Driver's Ed & Think About All the Time

2018-08-25T10:31:00.001-07:00

Most of the students in Driver's Ed class enrolled in the course because you got to go driving during the school day. And, depending on your driving instructor, you sometimes got to pick up fast food. Leave school and eat Sonic? Yes, please.

Aside from the Sonic Happy Hour runs, Driver's Ed was the most boring class to ever exist. Of the stories, tips, and all the content that somehow filled up an hour and a half block for a quarter of the year, I remember nothing.

Except one thing. And I think about it all the time.

Our teacher asked us how long we could take our eyes off the road before we veered off the road. He gave us time to think about it. If the road was straight, could you last a few seconds longer? Was there a way to position yourself in a way so that you didn't veer? Could you rely on peripheral vision - and would that help you?

He had us raise our hands if we could stay on the road for 1 second, and of course, the whole class raised its hand. 2... 3 seconds? a few hands started dropping. I remember thinking --- oh I've got this.

4, 5, 6... and I finally pulled my hand down. He kept counting up and slowly the hands went down until there were only a few hands raised. There came a point when instead of being impressed, the hands left up actually just started looking stupid.

Our instructor was this short, old man. He was a coach; I don't even remember his name, but I will always remember what he said.

He looked at hands of the proud, overly-confident high schoolers who were all smiling at each other. His eyebrows narrowed as he glared at the boys, shaking his head. Put your hands down, he said.

A hushed snicker moved across the room because we all agreed that those boys deserved it.

But then the coach hushed us. He said, everyone's hand was raised at 1 second. Mine had been.

He went on,
Don't take your eyes off the road for even one second. Not one.

If you think you can, you are in danger. You are ignorant that something will not come out in front of you. You are ignorant to the fact that you are propelling a 2-ton vehicle forward. You are ignorant that your life and friends', and family and strangers alike need your eyes to be locked in.

The more confident you are that you stay on the road without your eyes, the more at risk you are.

The coach then went on telling stories about changing your oil or stopping all the way at stoplights. Who even knows what else.

But, I stayed in another world the rest of class, and I've thought of that snapshot moment hundreds of times since.

Don't take your eyes off the road for even one second. Not one. If you think you can, you are in danger.

To think that I can take my eyes of the road and not stray off course is setting myself up to wreck. That's true on the road, and that's perhaps even more true in life.
As soon as I take my eyes off of my Savior & begin to think that my morality, strong values, or good character will keep me from trouble, I am in danger.

I see this subtle thinking creep in all the time. When I think I am somehow "above" the effects of social media, I am naive. It does affect me. I do waste time & let it suck away energy; I mindlessly return to it. We are so quick to think we are immune to it, but hello, it does affect us. Or, when I let prayer slip from my habits and think that I will not ~~ever-so-slightly~~ drastically drift away, I am, in fact, drifting away into my own self-sufficiency in that very moment.

Even the goodness & beauty of motherhood can be twisted if my eyes are not focused above. I love Tripp with everything in me, and my heart swells up with joy and love in a way that only God can miraculously allow a mother's heart to do. However, if I do not lock my eyes on my Savior, even motherhood and serving my son and family can so quickly become selfish and all about me. And, let's be real for a moment, when that becomes the case, it is never pretty.

Even if we've kept our eyes locked on the things above throughout childhood and up through yesterday, we still must fix them on Jesus in this moment and then again in the next. The road is never straight enough and there's no position, discipline, or skill that will safeguard against needing to have my gaze fixed forward - in the first second and the 10th.

I've sung Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing countless times, and this former English teacher is embarrassed to admit I didn't know what the word fetter meant.

Let thy goodness like a fetter
Bind my wandering heart to Thee
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it
Prone to leave the God I love
Here's my heart, oh, take and seal it
Seal it for Thy courts above

Fetter is a chain, and it is most commonly used to restrain a prisoner. What? Am I the only one who didn't know this?

I am so easily swayed and can so quickly drift, and yet how beautiful is the the image of God's goodness binding my heart to His. I don't need a gentle nudge to stay focused and on the road, I need Him to hold me close - with a fetter.

15-year-olds about to get their licenses must know that there is danger, but keeping your eyes on the road will help protect you.

And, for me - an almost-30-year-old (!!!) who has walked with Jesus for 25 years, must know that there is danger, but keeping my eyes and heart fettered to Jesus, will protect me. No amount of confidence or experience negates my need for my eyes to always be forward - aware of risk and simultaneously, resting & sure that I am moving forward on the race set before me.

Let thy goodness like a fetter
Bind my wandering heart to Thee
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it
Prone to leave the God I love
Here's my heart, oh, take and seal it
Seal it for Thy courts above

Don't take your eyes off the road for even one second. Not one.

Tracing Words

2018-07-27T13:01:00.000-07:00

a story from 2014 & a story for today.

You are loved.

I wrote those simple words in her notebook.

Do you know that? I asked her.

She shrugged.

It's true, I told her.
Let's write down people who love you.

She stared blankly at the words I'd written on the page.

She was being bullied. I had talked to the boys in the hall. I had changed her seat. A student had laughed at her, and I made him feel like a fool. But, I could only protect her so much.

I can't hear everything; I have to turn my back; she's only in my class 70 minutes. 70 minutes cannot rebuild her fragile self-esteem. She has to leave my room. I wanted her to know she has a purpose.

I wanted to talk about Jesus. I've never wanted to talk about Him more than I do being a teacher at this school. I've never recognized how much He is my hope until teaching at this school.

As I watched her stare at those words, my heart broke. My parents told me they loved me every day. I never doubted it. This little girl, so broken, so alone. She couldn't even list just one person who loved her. I waited and the longer I waited, the more I stepped into her aloneness.

She then wrote a name down.

I looked down and saw my name.

She knew that I loved her.

In that moment, the fact that I was tired, that my students' reading scores had declined, the fact that I had no idea what I was teaching the next day or how I was going to get it all done, the fact that a student had just humped the desk during Reader's Workshop and that another had disappeared into the bathroom for 30 minutes, didn't matter at all. And, the fact that my love felt so imperfect didn't matter. It was love - love that some students don't receive from anywhere else.

The next day she sat in her new seat, and instead of doing her warmup, she sat there tracing the words I'd written down the day before -

You are loved.

And that's the most important thing she could have possibly done. Whatever else I was teaching that day did not even compare.

Lord, please use my imperfect love to show your perfect love.

Celebrating O N E Year of (M)otherhood

2018-07-18T14:25:00.002-07:00

I held you a little closer last night... and the night before. And let's be real... actually all week. I didn't think I'd be one of those sappy mothers who got all sentimental before your 1st birthday, but here I am.

We celebrated you with an indoor picnic (because #houstonheat), and I was overwhelmed by how proud I was of you (for growing up!). I think God does something in mothers' hearts because he knows that in this life, we need cheerleaders. I've been cheering for you from your very first breath when they lied you across my chest. I love cheering for you, and I love celebrating you.

I think the milestone of you turning one is not just about your age though because frankly, I wish I could freeze your little self at this age forever. Rather, your birthday has caused me to pause and breathe in all that has happened in this year.

Every new year I do the same thing to some extent, but there's something about the radical and drastic changes that occurred this past year that make me stop in my tracks. 1 year ago, we didn't have you; we weren't parents. The before and after of "you" is such a stark difference.

Before, I did what I wanted when I wanted; now, I can't even remember what that was like. Instead, I do what is asked of me whether or not I feel like it. If I'm tired, I still get up. If I don't want to change a diaper, I still change the diaper. If I feel sad or down, I still get down on the ground and play catch with you or hold you close. Even if something important like work bids my attention and you need me, I drop what I'm doing and help you. This blog post was written in spurts over the course of several days because you needing me is not an interruption; it's just part of the ping pong nature of productivity in motherhood.

Perhaps that sounds depressing or like I don't have a life that is my own. It's not that; no, it's not that at all. instead, this reality is the most freedom I've ever been given. Getting over myself and it not being about me is the greatest gift motherhood could have ever given me. Instead of analyzing what I want to do next or if something is fair or my responsibility or if someone is not valuing my time, I think a little less and just act. I've come to embrace the now and take one step at a time in the most simplistic and freeing way. Somehow, this new freedom frees up space to dream and think big and pour myself into other passions.

Somehow the diaper isn't so bad when you think about it a little less, and you just change it. That freedom I see trickling out into other areas of life. Whether it's a workout that I throw myself into without over analyzing the pain or discomfort or even choosing forgiveness in the moment instead of letting bitterness build, thinking less of myself is to experience freedom on another level.

Tripp, I want nothing but the best for you. One whole year of holding you, resting my cheek against yours, waking up with you in the night, and watching you take in this world with such sheer joy has changed me in all the best ways. We dance so much more in our home because you love a good beat, and your lively demeanor is music to our souls.

I will never look at watermelon - your favorite - without thinking of the way you eat it with such serious determination, just as July 16th will never be just a hot summer day; it'll be the day that I became a mother, your dad became a father, and the start of something truly wonderful. I do hope that this motherhood thing never becomes about me, and that as I grow and change and lay down my life for my family, that you see just how much you are loved and do the same for your family, for your friends, and for the strangers you bump into throughout your life.

Here's to one year of Tripp, one year of motherhood, and one year of celebrating the freedom of "otherhood".

I sure do want to keep up

2018-05-04T12:43:00.000-07:00

When Tripp was two weeks old, we took him to the ENT because his breathing was raspy. It wasn't a big deal, but the thing is, with a newborn, (it seems like) everything is a big deal.

Going to that appointment was our first time venturing to the med center with Tripp and it was an afternoon affair. It was pouring rain, the parking garage was full, Tripp was crying, and when we finally parked, it was then... do we take in the stroller? How the heck do I even open the stroller? Which elevators? And, of course, we were rushing because we were late. And then we sat there 30 minutes waiting to see the doctor while trying to console our baby that we didn't even really know how to console.

You know how it is. Nothing is hard, and yet everything is hard.

I think one of the hardest parts of motherhood early on was that everything was new and that nothing came easily. Even the simple things. Prior to having Tripp, I knew what I was doing in most domains of my life. The only thing that barely scratches the surface of the overwhelming newness of motherhood was my first day of teaching in a Title I school and that feeling of I am in over my head; I love this and am terrified all in one. Except with motherhood, it's not your workday that changes, it's your life. There's no clocking out.

This past week I took Tripp back to that same ENT for his little ears that keep getting infections. That afternoon, I ran a little late on purpose, and as I navigated the parking garage, popped his umbrella stroller open, and winded through the hospital, I was taken aback how easy something was that was initially so hard.

See, we go to that hospital every Wednesday afternoon for physical therapy, so we know that building, the always-full parking garage, and those congested elevators like the back of our hands. And because we know them, they're really not so bad. They're not new anymore.

Last week, the whole time we went in and out, I kept thinking how proud I was of how far we've come, and I bet every first time mom can relate. When you really look back to all of the fears and unknowns of that newborn season, you can see that as your little baby learned to hold up his head and roll over, you somehow learned to hold your head higher and roll with whatever comes your way. I sometimes can't believe that the little baby I see in his newborn pictures is him, and I sometimes feel that way about myself too.

Ironically, I was so proud and nostalgic that when we left the appointment, I lost my car. I had zero recollection of parking at all because my mind had been lost somewhere in July 2017. Tripp and I wandered that garage for longer than I'd like to admit until we found the car right where I had apparently parked it.

Things are still hard sometimes, but they're different things. Losing my car and going to appointments are not some of them anymore. And, I'm sure the things I think are hard now, will be like nothing in a few years... and certainly in 10 and 20 years, and maybe even tomorrow.

I love watching Tripp learn new things - new things are exciting for him, whereas new things are hard for me. But those new things are what bring so much growth. As I watch Tripp develop, I always want my growth and depth and learning to explode like his. He's hard to keep up with as he army crawls around every corner of our house, but I sure do want to keep up.

Hey New Mama, You're Going to Miss This

2018-03-07T08:09:00.003-08:00

it feels almost cliche to write this down because it's what everyone always says. I have heard it a million times. And yet, now that I'm the one saying it, I realize it's not an obvious thing to realize. In fact, it's oftentimes contrary to what you're feeling in the moment. It must just be that everyone who says it has had the same epiphany and is so intrigued by the epiphany that they have to tell everyone. I'm pretty sure it's an epiphany I'm going to spend the rest of my life having.

Alright, here it is:
You're going to miss this.

I already miss this. And this is always changing.

You're going to miss your baby falling asleep on your shoulder and the dance that you do to keep him asleep. Even though you spend so many of those first few months working endlessly to get him to sleep in his own bed so that you can shower or eat or do anything, as soon as he does, you are so proud of him, but you miss him there on your shoulder.

I spent so much emotional energy wondering if I was holding him too much (as if there were an alternative at the time!) or not enough, or how to get him to like his crib or the swing and wondering if swings were the right choice and on & on... and then bam. Here we are & he will only sleep in his crib. So, when he falls asleep on my shoulder as an almost-8 month old, I drink in every last drop of the moment because I know being his pillow and blanket is in the rearview mirror.

Gah, I just read my writing and it's so very sappy. What's so interesting about it all is that the things I miss are the very things that I'm so proud of him for moving on from. How unhealthy would it be for him to only sleep in my arms at this age? (I'd hope you'd intervene.) I'm proud of him for growing up and learning new things. Whether it's sitting, clapping, or trying to crawl, every little milestone is a celebration.

Even though I miss and treasure yesterday, I am simultaneously so excited for tomorrow.

We spent this weekend on Rice University's campus, and as I saw the college students with their espressos and laptops and literature, I wanted to tell them... you're going to miss this! This freedom to learn, when major stresses are merely grades (though they don't seem "mere" at the time) and social obligations are what fill your schedule. I do miss those times - a lot - but I also wouldn't rewind time. It was those years in college that grew me & make right now all the better.

I'm pretty sure I've looked close to what I do now since 8th grade - give or take the chubbier days & the braces. hehe. It's not how I physically change that drastically marks the passing of days. However, seeing Tripp physically change from the the newborn babe who could barely open his eyes to an active little boy in a matter of months, I'm able to physically see how much growth is packed into a short window. If he's growing that much, I don't want to wish away a single moment, and I want to grow that much, too.

In a matter of a few months and definitely years and certainly when I'm a mother dropping her baby off for college or sitting in my rocker with a crossword puzzle, I am going to miss this. I am going to miss the 3 AM wake-up; I'm going to miss the short naps and dirty diapers; I'm going to miss the loading & unloading and building my day around naps and appointments and all the juggling it requires to be a mom while maintaining the rest of life.

I'm going to miss this. All of this. I know that tough seasons are guaranteed in our future. That is life. But, I also know the faithfulness of God is promised. He has been good, and He will be good. Always. When the growth that happens between now and the tomorrows pushes my feet deeper into Christ and wraps my arms tighter around my family and stretches my heart beyond what I can fathom now, it ensures the present - in the future - will be always be the best place to be.

And in that future, I know I'm going to still miss this, so I'm going to love this right now the very best I can.

Tripp is 6 months, & at least I'm doing yoga

2018-01-18T11:09:00.002-08:00

Tripp,

happy 6 months. We celebrated you being here for a whole half a year by not eating the crockpot meal I cooked last night and instead, spontaneously walking to get dinner. Tapas wasn't really your scene, so you grabbed at everything on our table just to remind us that you are, still in fact, our boss despite going against your restaurant recommendation (we know you prefer milk). You have robbed me of my ability to remember most things (and even my ability to form complete sentences), so I then proceeded to leave said crockpot meal out overnight. Whoops.

yesterday, you knocked over 3 glasses of water in one day in various public places. You reach for things on the table now. 3x is a charm, and lest we keep causing scenes in public, we will remember that you are changing every single day.

I feel like the past 2 weeks you've grown the most out of any time period. Actually, I've probably always thought that about whatever the most recent stage you're in. You sit up now, try to kick your way off the changing table, and nap like a champ. jk. Those are probably never words I will write about you. However, I will work toward those glorious naps I hear exist though.

As we tirelessly fight for those naps, I've tried everything. Little babies have a way making adults do the most ridiculous things. To get you to go back to sleep, I sometimes have to lean over the crib and put my head on your chest until you calm down. It is quite possibly one of the most uncomfortable positions ever known to man, and the only way I can sustain the position is to think of it as yoga. Namaste, Tripp.

Last week you ran your first high fever, and I held you upright for 2 nights in a row. I never was one to pull all nighters, but taking care of you will be one of those memories that is engrained in my mind forever. You were so sick and I was so tired, but I also loved being your mom in those moments, and your dad even slept on the floor next to us. I will always choose you over sleep when you are sick, even if it means napping in my car in the driveway the next day after 2 doctors appointments. I think God really does transform a mother's heart. Otherwise all the things that children ask of her would seem impossible. I think that's why I wasn't sure if I was ready to have a baby before you were born; I wasn't ready because I wasn't yet a mother. When I become one, I was instantly ready.

Our favorite thing is still putting you in the Ergo or in your stroller and carrying you around our neighborhood and city. From what I can tell, you're a fan, too.

I've started working out in the mornings, and my favorite thing might be coming back to see you and your daddy asleep in bed together. I'm never quite sure what happens in that mystery hour when I'm gone or how you end up in our bed or how in the world your dad got you back to sleep, but I think that's the way I like it. You have such a good daddy.

The camera on my phone is mostly broken, and it's actually a good thing. Instead of focusing on moments to capture, I'm drinking in moments with you as I sketch the present into my memory.

You started school last week. 2 days a week, 5 hours each time. I miss you so much but haven't been that productive in about... oh, six months at least. I'm able to work and you're able to play. You are also about to graduate from your helmet, and you go to weekly PT like a champ.

6 months is so fun. Favorite age yet, but I think I will say about each and every day from here on out.

Happy half bday, buddy.

Motherhood is Meant to Be Hard

2018-01-05T20:05:00.000-08:00

I sometimes think about how God could have made raising a baby easy. He could have made babies love to sleep, He could have made their cries silent, and I can think of a lot of changes He could have made in the diaper department.

Basically, a lot of things could be different. I obviously don't fully know His reasons for why He made babies so utterly dependent on their mothers, but I'm so glad He designed it in the way He did. It's beautiful. Tripp needs me to sustain his life, and in return, God has used Tripp to reshape my heart to find true life outside of myself and in Him.

In the early days, it was so hard - especially when Tripp would wake up throughout the night and need me. It wasn't just hard because I had to wake up; it was hard because, at first, I didn't know how to give him what he needed. The faintest of stirs would jolt me awake, and as a newborn, I knew I was what he needed without knowing what to do just yet.

I can already look back and view those early nights as something so incredibly special because I was holding a baby - a little, tiny human - in his very first days in this life. What's so beautiful about it, is that we learned every new step together. Tripp began learning what this life is all about while I learned how to step away from everything I've ever known and take in life with him - literally every moment of the day, we faced every one of his needs together.

We are not even six months out from then, and I'm already aware that I'm capable of glamorizing it. And, maybe glamorizing isn't all that bad because of the depth and story that comes with each one of those moments.

One of those now glamorized, snapshot moments for me is when Tripp would nuzzle his cheek up against mine. I've held other babies and their cheeks have rested on mine, and while I can love both that child and his or her parents so much, there is a new depth of love when it's your child. I think it's because of all those hard moments that lead up to that cheek resting on yours. They're the moments that we don't readily recall when we glamorize, but they're what make such ordinary moments capable of doing such big things in our hearts.

When Tripp was just several weeks old, sleeping with his cheek against mine was the only place he wanted to be. I would let him rest there for hours. While on the surface, the moment is was what all motherhood dreams are made of, in context, we were there because I knew via his tears and multiple failed attempts at putting him in his bed, that he didn't want to be anywhere else. Such a small little babe had big preferences.

Breathing in that moment and trying my hardest to remember his fresh, baby skin against mine forever required breathing out every other selfish desire to do a million other things that called my name - namely sleep. And yet, because of the high sacrifice of motherhood in that moment and in so many others, his cheek against mine became all the more beautiful to me because of the selfishness that was drowned out in the process.

Moments we encapsulate in memories go layers and layers deep when we truly reflect. It's the hard parts of motherhood that make the sweet moments so, very sweet.

When I was growing up, I'm pretty sure my mom was worried I wouldn't find my place in the world (Don't worry, Mom. I did :) My sister dominated all sports, and I preferred my dolls and alphabetizing my library books. When my sister would bring home tons of trophies, my mom probably started worrying about me. My middle child self never earned trophies. Thus, enter my trophies: my mom would give me trophies for reading books, making good grades, and playing violin because my mom is the kindest. I did love the decor of the trophies in my room, but they didn't exactly mean all that much to me. They weren't something I fought hard to earn; they didn't come at a high price.

It's such a trivial example, but I think that's maybe what motherhood would be like if it weren't hard. Because it's so impossibly hard sometimes, we become so aware of the high cost of the trophies, and it brings all the more joy. We are able to treasure the trophies of a first smile, a hug after a good nap, or looking at a child and realizing that God has sustained both you and the baby, and grown a mutual love in immeasurable ways because He is good and this is His design.

We are at but the very beginning of this motherhood journey, and yet, I'm already so aware that the good things we experience as a family are only fully understood because of the struggle it takes to get there. The discomfort of pregnancy, the pain of childbirth, and the challenges of every day thereafter, are but the beginning of the process of committing an entire life to shepherding a child in this life. God could have made it easy, but I think He knew the bond and love that would grow forth from the challenges from day one. He knows more than we ever can what is needed to plant the garden that a mother spends the rest of her life toiling and watering on behalf of her child.

Motherhood is meant to be hard, and I'm learning just how beautiful that is.

Helmets, Hats, & Hot Chocolate

2017-12-10T16:58:00.000-08:00

Tripp is the proud new owner and wearer of a DOC Band helmet, and with it, he's the proud new receiver of all the endearing smiles from onlookers... and from his mama! He's in heaven because he loves people and their smiles, so perhaps he's been scheming all along?!

At his 4 month appointment, his pediatrician noticed a slightly flat spot on the back of his head and recommended we get it checked out. Apparently these flat spots are a modern day problem as babies now sleep on their backs. If left unaddressed, the changes in head shape can progress and cause slight shifts in facial structure. However, if addressed at a young age, it's a pretty painless process to fix and avoid any long term effects. From that 4 month appointment, fast forward 3 weeks, and he's already rocking the helmet.

Since what is life without celebrations, we decided to throw a party for our new helmet baby. And since we have awesome friends who decided to go with it, we threw the first ever Helmets, Hats, & Hot Chocolate party. To get in the door, you had to sport a hat or a helmet!

{ good thing for head protection, right?! }

Life these days is a little hectic. It seems that we're moving from one thing to the next and running on to do lists & then grace for when those lists don't get marked off. And slowly, we're learning to settle into our new reality as parents of the sweetest baby. We don't yet know what our new normal is or what we need to let go of from our previous schedules or what we need to fight to keep the same. But... perhaps that's right where we should be because from what I hear, parenthood is basically embracing that nothing is ever the same and that it's totally ok to keep adjusting. I'm so thankful for that.

What I do know is this: Tripp changes every single day. And while I look at him and am filled with awe as I witness all the ways he's growing and developing so quickly, I also want to pause and take in the newness of each individual moment - like the new smirks debuting on his face and the way now stands with one leg in front like he is in the picture above. Those moments are never written on a to-do list to soak in, and yet, drinking in those moments is what I want to keep on the top of my list each and every day. They're worth celebrating.

Helmet baby, I cannot not wait to celebrate everything with you and about you. You make life so rich.

We Made It To Day

2017-10-07T14:25:00.000-07:00

The nights in the hospital after delivery were rough. Dark room, beeping machines, IVs, sleep deprivation, and yet, swaddled in a bassinet just out of my reach, lied the most perfect baby. In those first hours of becoming a mother, I instantly felt like a mother while also remaining so unaware of the amount of love and connection I was capable of feeling in the coming days and weeks.

But back to that hospital room. When Tripp let out his faintest cries in the darkness of night, it was an overwhelming task getting to him or calling for Clayton over the beeps and clicks of the machines or maneuvering the IVs along with my fragile, sore body. Nursing was challenging, swaddling was challenging. Everything was. And yet, no part of me wanted to escape this new challenge. There's a resilience that arises.

I will do several things different for our hospital stay next time, and yet, despite feelings of being overwhelmed those nights in the sterile, dark hospital room, we were also overwhelmed with the reality that we had been entrusted with new life that we would soon carry out into this world. I think that's the anthem of motherhood - recognizing areas for change while simultaneously being so thankful that you get to be the one to face the unknowns with your child.

Holding my baby as we wheeled out of the hospital, hitting the wall of Houston heat as we stepped outside in July, buckling him into the car seat for the first time, driving, unloading, walking into our house for the first time. Everything was a first. Everything a task to be figured out.

I used to assume parents knew what they were doing. I now realize they don't; they just do it.

As we settled into our bedroom that first night home, I remember a flood of relief and peace wash over me. We were home. No IVs, no beeps, no hospital bed. Just us. It was to be our new normal even though normal now just meant - new. Every day new.

That first night I sat in our rocking chair with our lamp on and held Tripp all night long. It felt so safe and calm. There wasn't a nurse taking him out of my arms for him to sleep safely in a bassinet. For the first time, I felt like I was the safest place. I dozed in and out as I watched him sleep.

One of the most formative moments - and why I started putting words to these memories - was seeing the sun peer into my windows that next morning. I remember being startled by the light, looking down and seeing my baby that I had cared for all night by myself for the very first time, and I was flooded with this feeling: we did it. Tripp, we did it! We faced the night together; we made it to day.

Tripp is in my arms now as I type this memory on my phone. He's 12 weeks, and every day is still new. I constantly get that feeling of - we did it! Whether it was his first coffee shop or grocery trip or road trip or vaccines or learning something new, I constantly have that same feeling of - we did it. I see the sun. We made it, we made it to day.

I don't hold him through the night anymore. He's growing and developing, but we will always face the night together. I'm still a place of safety, whether in my arms, under my watchful gaze, or someday, in my prayers as I entrust him to our good God and send him to kindergarten or college or abroad. We will always face the night together and cling to the promise that mercies are new e v e r y s i n g l e m o r n i n g as the sun shines through those windows. And together we will say, we did it. We made it to day.

The Beauty of Time

2017-10-05T13:22:00.000-07:00

I cannot wait for Tripp to giggle; his smile keeps getting bigger and I know we are so close to hearing the joy that we can see. I cannot wait to see his content personality unfold into the little boy he's going to be. I cannot wait for him to meet his cousins next weekend, experience Baylor Homecoming, and get hugged and kissed by family all weekend long. And, I cannot wait for him to take longer naps and for him to stop crying in the car. It's the worst. I catch myself thinking - hang in there, he'll grow out of it soon.

But... soon? How soon? Sometimes soon brings hope, but other times soon seems much too soon.

I know a piece of newborn Tripp will stay behind as he grows. While I'm excited for all those new things, I also don't yet want to part with the way he snuggles and falls asleep on my shoulder. Or, the way he smiles when I walk in the room to get him from the nap that was much too short. And I don't yet want to move past watching him stare at his hands as he tries so hard to figure out how they work. Or, the way his little body is still a little bit flail-y or the way he purses his lips as he drifts off to sleep. All the little things I love.

I don't know what I want, and I guess that's the beauty of time: it's one thing we don't get to control. Our job is to soak in to the present because it is the very sweetest place to be. With a baby that grows by the second it seems, I'm so aware of how quickly time passes. May my heart always grow as quickly as this little boy does. So far it has.

tag along

2017-10-03T18:02:00.001-07:00

that little boy has made me love that man more than I knew I could.

Clayton was a guest speaker in 4 Baylor classes today, and I think he's the man. But perhaps what makes me the proudest and most grateful wife is what a rock he is in our family. Tripp cried the ENTIRE way to Waco (& then I cried some). Clayton was the calmest, assuring me he was glad we were tagging along with him for his big day.

It's funny how as you get older and perhaps a little wiser, what you find attractive shifts from that which is fleeting to that which shines from the depths of a person. You begin to admire things that don't immediately show.

You don't get promotions in kindness, raises for patience, or bonuses for humility. And yet kindness, patience, and humility are the very things I've come to admire most. They're not flashy or showy, but they wield great power; they set the tone in our home. And in so doing, they help define us as a family.

Tripp doesn't know it yet, but it's such an honor that we get to tag along in all things.

Message from Tripp: month 2

2017-09-19T13:58:00.000-07:00

It's me again, popping in a few days late to give you an update on my second month of life (month 1 update).

I'm 11 lbs 3 oz, which I was feeling pretty good about until I learned that my uncle James was 11 lbs 1 oz when he was born. Today when they weighed me, all my mom could think about was my poor Grandmommy. How.Is.That.Possible?!

I started smiling and cooing this month. I love watching my parents try to make me smile and talk to them. Sometimes I hold my smiles back and make them work for them because I like seeing just how ridiculous they'll be. I'm pretty dependent on them these days, I must admit, but I've also got them wrapped around my finger.

My parents are also currently obsessed with this program called "You Need a Budget". It's the envelope budgeting system but online. Basically they constantly applaud themselves for all the money they aren't spending eating out. They think they are so disciplined, but in reality, they just can't trust me in restaurants just yet.

Also, I'm slightly confused because they allocated several months of their fun money to buy a robotic vacuum. I'm confused, and I guess I'm also concerned, that this is their definition of fun. However, I understand now because I've had the unfortunate privilege of watching my dad follow the vacuum in awe as it roams the house... for hours. I know kids sometimes cramp their parents' style, but let the record state, I can't be blamed for this one.

This month I also got introduced to the ergo carrier, and it's my new favorite place to be. I cook dinner, go on walks, and go to church in the ergo.

Alright, my awake time is closing in (it sneaks up on me every.single.time), and it's swaddle time. See you next month!

The "Un-busyness" of Motherhood

2017-09-15T13:11:00.000-07:00

I was prepared for motherhood to be to busy and exhausting. I'd always heard how moms never sit down, never get a moment to themselves. Though I knew I couldn't ever fully prepare to transition from the autonomy of filling my days with work, coffee dates, Crossfit, bike rides, and whatever else I decided to do on a whim, I knew a completely new way of living was on its way. I knew I wouldn't sleep in on Saturdays or probably go to a movie for years. And honestly, I liked the idea. I was ready; I like being busy and going to bed tired and feeling like every moment fulfills purpose.

However, what I didn't prepare myself for was the un-busyness of these early days of motherhood. Whereas I envisioned never sitting down, much of the early weeks of Tripp's life, I hardly got up. And now, hours upon hours are still spent in the same rocking chair as I hold Tripp - whether nursing or transitioning to sleep or sleeping.

So while I'm definitely going to bed tired each night, it's not because I'm busy. It's the opposite. I'm not busy at all.

I didn't realize this shift from going a mile a minute to slowly rocking through my days was difficult until Harvey.

Harvey hit Houston and our city and church and friends rallied together to clean up our city.

And I sat in my chair holding my baby.

And it was hard.

I wanted to be in the middle, waking up early, getting dirty, encouraging victims, making a difference.

Early on I picked out the song Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus to sing to Tripp. I've sung it hundreds of times. I smile inside when Tripp is overly distraught as I sing the first lines

oh soul are you weary and troubled? no light in the darkness you see.

I want to tell my crying baby that it's not all that dark and if he'd just look, he'd see that he can just rest in his mother's arms.

On one of the days that Clayton was out serving our city, Tripp was having a really tough day. I was rocking and singing to him and throwing somewhat of a pity party that I couldn't be out there serving when I realized... It's not just Tripp who is weary and tired. I'm weary and tired!! I don't see any light in the darkness of this fussiness!

And that's when I realized I needed the song too. I began to pray that my eyes would turn to Jesus; I prayed that I would look full in his wonderful face. When I sing the song, sometimes it's for Tripp, and sometimes it's for me. And usually, if Tripp is having a hard time, I need the song too.

While doing demo on flooded houses is definitely a way to worship, so is rocking my crying 6 week old.

Whereas I previously would have said I worship by hosting and serving and being available constantly to anyone in need, in this season, worship looks a little different.

Every time I rock my baby or change his diaper or wake up in the middle of the night to feed him, I have a choice to make. I can turn my eyes to Jesus and let it be worship, or I can believe the lie that somehow, the un-busyness of these early days is somehow less-than.

I know this season will be short. Too short perhaps. Before I know it, I'll be scrolling through pictures as I reminisce about the sweetness and tenderness of these newborn days, and too soon, I'll be back to a busy schedule with Tripp in tow. In the meantime, I want to look full into Tripp's face every time I hold him and drink it all in, and in doing so, I want that to lead me to look full in our Jesus' wonderful face.

I don't want to miss one single opportunity to be un-busy with my baby who is inviting me to slow down and sit and gaze into the face of Jesus. Everything else surely will grow dim.

Now This is Why We Bought Our Home

2017-09-09T13:37:00.001-07:00

When we were looking for a home to buy, I told our realtor that I wanted to be within one block of this one particular park. There's always activity on the playground, and there's even a dog park which we thought might be good for our loner dog Lincoln. We thought maaaaybe being so close to a dog park would be good for Lincoln's social confidence. (He tends to wander the outskirts of any dog park and pretend other dogs don't exist as they all play together). Anyway, the park is this small haven that brings people together outdoors, and I wanted to be in the mix. (And... the coffeeshop just down the street lured me too.)

I felt high maintenance and silly telling the realtor I had narrowed our selection down by like... oh 99% because, at the time, none of the houses near the park on the market were a good fit for us. Plus, we had quite the deadline with Tripp on his way. As the realtor drew the perimeters around the park on her map, I remember thinking, "Am I asking too much?"

Then... our home popped up for sale, and we immediately knew it was the one. It was to be the house we'd cultivate into a home for our new family.

Anyone with a newborn knows it's hard to get out and about. We definitely aren't out conquering the world these days. Some days Tripp doesn't like the carseat or screams in Target or refuses to nap at all, but we can do one thing every day no doubt. We can walk the one block to the park. Tripp is just now getting old enough to hang out on a blanket, and before I know it, he will be playing on that playground with the toddlers who already know his name. We've spent a lot of time at the park this week with the cooler weather, and each time we've been there, I can't help but remember that this is exactly what I was envisioning months ago; this is why we bought our home.

If you're going to live in Houston, this is the way to do it. I love our 'hood, and this life we are building.

oh, and being close to the dog park hasn't helped Lincoln one bit. I'm pretty sure his social life is going to be perpetually stuck in the awkward middle school stage foreverrrrr.

I didn't know it was possible...

2017-09-03T13:05:00.000-07:00

I didn't know it was possible to love baby shoes - something that literally has zero functional purpose - so freakin much. I mean, look at those little legs in those tiny shoes and try not smile just a little bit.

I also didn't know it was possible for an entire city to drop its rhythms and serve one another so willingly. Clayton has been gutting flooded houses and hauling debris every day this past week, and what he's doing is what every person who wasn't affected by the water is doing. Loving your neighbor takes on a whole new level of meaning when your neighbor needs so much love and support right now. Houston, we love you because we love your people.

What's funny is that I didn't know it was possible for me to love this city. This Missouri girl spent her first year here plotting how to escape the freeways & parking garages & small yards & traffic & lack-of-fall. Yet, while trying to escape those things, I somehow found small communities in my neighborhood & culture & friendships, and those things figuratively (oh I wish it were literal though!) wipe the sweat off my brow in this heat and make all the grit worth it. The lack of individual space & longing to be close to family & feeling lost in a big city all led us to lean into our church community like never before. No matter where we end up, I'm so glad Houston taught us how to need and be needed by one another.

It's the people that make a place home, and I think that even as so many homes have been lost in this Houston flood, the world is getting a taste of southern hospitality as they see glimpses of Houstonians caring for one another.

Though we miss our families and I could totalllllly go for some fall weather right about now, Tripp is starting off his life in a really good place with really good people... and in really cute shoes ;)

it's me, tripp!

2017-08-28T15:37:00.003-07:00

Given the fact that I'm all cooped up from this hurricane, I thought I'd update you on my first month and a half or so of life! Also, the fact that I'm writing to you as a newborn is probably proof enough that my mom is quite cooped up as well. We feel so fortunate that our area has not been effected by the flooding. Just miles down the road, the same cannot be said. I haven't explored Houston all that much - mainly just different coffee shops - but everything I hear is that I'm going to love this city that my parents have chosen to plant their roots.

So here's a little bit about my first 6 or so weeks in this world. For fun, I like to play pranks on my mom. I close my eyes and look asleep just long enough for her to set me down. Then, I loudly go... SURPRISE, I'm awake! I get her every time. I play that game all day long, so at night, I give her a break and only wake up once. It's the least I can do. The other joke I have going on with impressive precision is I lay low and play it chill until my mom is right in the middle of something. Then, I demand her attention so she leaves a ton of half-finished projects around the house that my dad then finishes. Gets me every time! hehe.

I fall asleep instantly in the stroller, so most days I get walked to my favorite coffeeshop just down the street. The baristas know me because I'm a regular... and because my stroller is so massive that it causes a scene every time I come in. I went on one over-night trip to a retreat, and just this week I had my first sleepover! The AC went out in my house, so I stayed at a friend's house. I don't remember much because I fell asleep at my house and woke up at another house. I'm glad I trust my parents so much! My dad has been home with 6 weeks of paternity leave, and I'm going to miss him so much when he goes back to the real world! However, I won't miss his ukulele playing at all hours; he needs more practice!

Until next month!
-Tripp

What My Newborn is Teaching Me About Success

2017-08-09T19:25:00.002-07:00

Let me introduce you to the newest part of our family, Philip Clayton Rothschild, III - aka Tripp. He shot into this world just 3 and half weeks ago, but it feels like we've known this little guy for so much longer.

After 9 months of preparing for our little man, he still surprised us all by coming in a hurry on July 16th. One moment we were hanging out with our friends in the delivery room as our families made the 11 hour trek from Missouri; 20 minutes later, Tripp was lying across my chest.

In those moments of holding him - seconds after watching him take his first breath and hearing him let out his first cry – seconds after his debut in this world - nothing mattered except that he was here with me – with us. Doctors were busy doing who knows what, but I was in my own world with this newest life. My love had grown for him all pregnancy, but in that moment, something exploded in my heart to make me love this little boy more than I ever thought possible.

As he cried into my chest for his first hour, over and over, I kept telling him that we’d figure out this world together. I told him I know this world is scary and big and unknown, but that God gave us each other to navigate through it together. God had miraculously sustained him in the womb, and He would sustain Him in this world.

And those same words are true for me in these early days of motherhood. God gave us each other to navigate learning to care for this new life, and He will miraculously sustain Clayton and me as we enter the world of parenthood.

I’ve only been a mom now for 3 and a half weeks, and yet, I already cannot remember what it was like before knowing Tripp. Caring for him around the clock has been the greatest joy. Truly.

And yet, it is incredibly hard… but not for the reasons I anticipated. It’s not the waking up throughout the night with Tripp or the loss of flexibility or hearing his cry just when I thought he had fallen to sleep. It's as if all the jumping out of bed in the middle of the night or wanting to hold him as he cries have come so naturally.

Rather, what has turned out to be the most difficult is this: More effort does not mean more success. In fact, what is success anymore?

By nature, I’m a high achiever. I have a few priorities I pour myself into, and if I'm going to do something, I like to do it well. I tend to lean into my strengths for the sake of success, and I give effort, time, and resources for my perfectionist self to achieve success. Generally, the more effort I put into being a better teacher or lifting more weight or sticking to a budget or whatever goal I set before myself, the more success I find. I become a better teacher; I lift more weight; I save more money.

Being Tripp's mom for these past few weeks does not follow that equation in the least bit.

In fact, being his mother has quickly begun to unravel that subtle philosophy. Putting forth more effort, reading more blogs, researching more techniques, rocking smoother, bouncing more, or whatever other forms "effort" can take on, does not mean success - because what is success? Crying less? sleeping more? Especially as Tripp has started to deal with reflux and crying has become his hobby, success has had to be completely redefined.

Rather than defining success by what 24-day-old Tripp does or does not do, success has to be defined by my heart. As I love this baby boy with all of me, is my love and care for him seeking some self-defined metric of success, or is it seeking obedience to the Lord who has entrusted this little life to me?

When my heart is pure and rooted deep into my identity as first and foremost a child of God, success is no longer defined by a length of a nap.

We are so early in this journey, and yet, I already know this truth will be one I must lean into every single day as a mother. May a nap or little league baseball or a report card or a scholarship or whatever is tempting to call a parenting "success" never become my highest aim.

Those first words I said to Tripp are words God whispers into my heart: God gave us each other, and how much more: God gave us Himself. He sustains us yesterday; He sustains us today, and that makes every step a joy.

Photos taken by Caroline Sam when Tripp was 1 week old, and I think every single photo is my favorite.

Living on Popsicles, Good Attitudes, & Apparently Donuts

2017-07-06T14:09:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day Weekend 2017 - aka - like 5 weeks ago.

That Saturday we were planning on celebrating the end of the school year, our 5 year anniversary, and have a little babymoon in Galveston. Go big or go home, right? (If you've been to Galveston, you know that's sarcasm ;)

The night before our trip, our AC went out. We figured we like camping, so we thought we could easily stay in our place for the night before hitting the road the next morning. Well, when the frozen veggies on my forehead couldn't cool me down at 3:30 AM, we loaded ourselves up in our mini-van and went searching for any place with AC to garner enough brain function to make a plan. We settled in at a little diner along with all the people who had just shut down the bars. All was fine until out of no where (I swear!), I... THREW UP ALL OVER OUR TABLE.

I would have been embarrassed when the partiers at the table next to us jeered at me had I not just kept throwing up. We made it to the parking lot, threw up a few more times, had a homeless man harass us, and then basically stripped down in the lot before climbing into the van. All the while, tears were streaming down my face. Dramatic to the max. Oh, and add in the fact that I was super preggo, and it was quite the scene.

Clayton still has PTSD from that night. I'll take a deep breath or Lord have mercy if I ever cough, and he goes into "throw up prevention mode". And just for the record, there's no prevention when it's on its way. (TMI?)

Well, that was bout 1 with the AC going out. We've since had 3 - all while getting increasingly pregnant each time. Our AC has been out... again... for the past 48 hours, and this morning, I hit a new low.

I ate a donut in my car.

By myself.

It's cathartic to confess that.

I also ate 3 popsicles yesterday. I'd be more phased by that, but Clayton had 6, so I'm feeling ok about that one. And this week's currently reality calls for it.

We are full blown in the middle of week 38, and the countdown to Baby Tripp is 12 days - or 0 or 19. (Who knows when he'll make his grand debut?!) Memorial Day weekend taught us the hard way that Houston heat doesn't play around, so we know to get out of the heat box sooner rather than later. So, we packed our bags, and we've been nomads hopping from one kind friend's AC'd house to another.

Basically, we've been living on popsicles and good attitudes. And apparently donuts.

As of about an hour ago, our AC is back at work attacking the Houston heat that has taken over our home, and I've decided Tripp is now officially allowed to make his debut anytime (not that I really get a say in these things). Had he come any earlier this week, he would have been welcomed into the hottt chaos of our week. Yet, AC or not, he's ever-so-loved by a mother who eats donuts in her car by herself.

Tripp, we're cooling down the house for you. Come on before any more donuts are pathetically eaten alone (or before the AC goes out again).

xoxo, your hot (verrrry warm) mother.

Front Row Seat

2017-07-01T15:36:00.000-07:00

last summer when we got back from India, I remember someone asked me how the trip was. I started stuttering, unable to get words out, and eventually responded, "I don't know!" I literally couldn't describe it just yet. There were so many experiences I couldn't quite articulate (& too many stomach issues I had to conquer!) in order to give the experience justice with words.

I think that's how I feel about pregnancy. It seems like I blinked and the past 38 weeks have passed. Here we are, just about two weeks out, and somehow, in those moments when I thought I was just blinking, I now see my heart has transformed. As my stomach grew, my heart grew all the more.

We found out we were pregnant the day after Trump was elected, and I still remember the sheer unbelief coupled with excitement that something much bigger than politics was about to happen in our worlds. Now, as we approach the finish line and prepare to meet our own world changer, I realize that same feeling of unbelief and excitement is not only present, but magnified a hundredfold.

Just like coming back from India but times a million, it's hard to explain, and maybe it's not meant to be understood until our little baby boy is lying across our chests for the first time. Or, maybe it's not meant to be understood because miracles surpass understanding. Perhaps we should spend our days not trying to understand or articulate, but instead, thanking God that we get a front row seat to this newest miracle of life.

not a test score

2017-05-10T15:35:00.002-07:00

Teacher,

Pulling off task students in the hall and asking what's wrong instead of scolding them and chasing down late work from failing students instead of giving up on them when they've given up proves you've done a good job, not a test score.

Asking questions and slowing down to make a student feel like they're not just 1 of 30 but rather, the only one you see and them responding "hey, I loved talking with you just now" defines a good day's work, not a test score.

Counting down 3-2-1 to gain 32 kids' attention and then performing a lesson on haikus (let's be real, getting 7th graders to delve into haikus requires an Oscar performance every class period) validates you, not a test score.

Pointing to your own raised hand with a smile when a kid keeps talking instead of yelling, "Are you blind and deaf and completely disrespectful?" affirms you, not a test score.

Running to the restroom between classes with slight anxiety as you have no idea what is going on in your classroom in those dangerous 2 minutes shows you're all about the kids, not a test score.

Reading student journal entries and writing notes back and forth & telling your own awkward stories in an attempt to let every middle schooler know they're not alone says you are a good teacher, not a test score.

From giving hugs and an ear as kids talk about family and friend drama and early-life identity crises...

to stressful cheer tryouts, writing hall passes, and grading essays...

to telling a student he has the wrong answer while simultaneously instilling confidence to try again

displays how multifaceted and important your role is, not a test score.

fidget spinner collector, forgotten locker code provider, & master battle picker

ultimate multi-tasker, clutter- manager, & grace-upon-grace pourer - that's who you are, not a test score.

first line of defense, first check-point, first responder - that's who you clock in every day to be; that's who you are.

Oh, and teaching your subject area? You do that too.

Baby Blue Walls, Baby

2017-04-23T14:38:00.002-07:00

About a month ago, we bought our first home, and signing those papers was huge for us. It wasn't just that we were pouring what felt like all our money into four walls; buying this home meant digging our roots further into Houston and committing to grow our lives - and our little family - in the city.

There's something ever-so-grounding to say to ourselves, this is home...

now, let's really make it home.

Clayton's mom said owning a house is just like therapy - expensive and meaningful, and after this past month, I can attest both are more than true.

Right off the bat we replaced the carpet in all the bedrooms. You can't readily mess up carpet, so it was a success. Now, despite all the wisdom I thought I'd acquired about painting from my 5 episodes of HGTV shows, just this week, I accidentally had our entire living area painted baby blue!

I had our dark golden walls in the living area painted (what I was sure was) grey. The only problem is that the grey I chose becomes possessed at certain times of the day, and depending on the light, our living area legitimately looks baby blue. Come over around 6PM, and you'll see the show. I'm trying not to be too blue about it (#hadto :)

Our walls are still bare, and we need this and that, but somehow, it doesn't matter all too much. This place feels more like home than I could have ever hoped.

The reality that these walls are going to witness our little family flourish and thrive, be pruned and disciplined, and grow strong together with our roots dug down deep, makes these walls home instantaneously. They're now part of our story. Whether or not we have baby blue walls or floors that need refinishing (or need I mention the burnt orange bathroom?), doesn't bother me near as much when I know we're here for the long haul.

I can't wait to welcome baby Tripp to his new home.

(... in less than 3 months. eek!! now real talk... we should probably start on his nursery!)

Bless Those Chaperones' Hearts

2017-04-02T13:20:00.001-07:00

Houston in March is basically what I daydream about when Houston in July hits. It's patio-sitting, walk-taking, and linger-outside weather. That's how it's been all month, and I've been in my happy place.

That is until Wednesday - the one day that I needed said perfect weather. Instead of being like every other day of the month, Wednesday brought with it a torrential downpour complete with tornado warnings.

It would have been lovely if I were locked inside my home with my coffee maker and blankets nearby. And, it might have even been amusing if I were at school because even with the chaos it creates, a little duck-and-cover drill does break the monotony of a school day.

However, I was on a field trip... to the zoo... with 165 unprepared, squirrely middle schoolers.

Besides the huge liability of having precious children piling into window-lined exhibits separating them from lions, tigers, bears, and sharks, you'd think the kids were heaven. At the end of the day as the sopping wet preteens sloshed onto the bus, they went on and on about how it was the best day ever - not because of the exhibits or the fact that they were out of the classroom, but because of the rain. Simple joys, huh?

Since no tornado actually wrecked havoc on our trip, I think I might actually have to agree. Instead of puddles to jump in and rain to run through, the rain meant it was completely appropriate for me to plop down inside a cafe all afternoon and watch the chaos from inside.

I think it was a win-win for everyone - except for maybe the chaperones. Bless their hearts. For real.