Americas Next Top Mommy

What Humility Feels Like

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Thu, 09 May 2013 11:00:00 +0000

"Don't ever be too prideful to ask for help. Asking for help when you need it is the wisest thing you can do."- Joyce Meyer

When I decided to go on this mission trip to Ethiopia, I made sure that I could cover my costs. Because the last thing I wanted to do was ask anyone for a donation. I felt like, "hey...if I'm making the decision to go, why should anyone else have to pay for that decision?"

I'm much harder on myself than I am on anyone else because when friends go on mission trips, I'm all too eager to help, to give so that they can go. But for me? Nope. I need to pay my own way.

Then of course, we decided that my daughter should go. That put us in a precarious situation because we're talking thousands of dollars here, like you'd be able to buy a used vehicle for the amount. Obviously, we didn't have that money we needed.

This meant that I would have to do the unthinkable- ask for help. Naturally, I left this as my final option. We sold whatever was not nailed down and could fetch any money, I pimped myself out as a housekeeper, a babysitter, a floor re-finisher. We moved money around on credit cards and we are in the process of re-financing the house in the hopes that it will lower our monthly mortgage payment so that we can pay back some credit cards if we end up using them.

I don't know what I was expecting from people when I started asking for donations. Maybe like a roll of the eyes or a smile that said, "yeah...no." That makes no sense because I am surrounded by some of the most amazing people. They are kind and loving and giving and so while I knew that they would be supportive, I thought that I shouldn't expect that they would be willing to help out.

But what I've received instead has been so surprising, so humbling, so overwhelmingly generous. The other day, a woman (you know who you are) slipped me an envelope and said, "this is for Laila's trip to Ethiopia."

All of the donations I'd received up to that point had been for $25 and to be honest, I thought that amount was amazingly generous- still think it is! Every time I would get $25 from someone I felt like I should go to their house and massage their feet or something. I thanked her, tucked the envelope in my purse and headed out to do some errands.

When I opened up the envelope I was shocked and grateful and flooded with so many emotions that my body broke down and I started to weep- cause that's the only genuine and reasonable response a person can have to that kind of radical generosity. it was a LOT of money.

Every time someone gives a donation I'm left in this place. It's that place you are when 100 people are singing Happy Birthday to you. It's that place you are when all eyes are on you and everyone claps as you receive your diploma. It's that place you are when someone spoon feeds you soup when you're sick. It's that place you were standing when Jesus died on the cross for you. It's a place that you don't feel like you belong yet you're exactly where you're meant to be, it's a place of true humility.

I'm recognizing that it feels altogether uncomfortable to be humbled. I suppose it was never true humility if it wasn't so awkward. After all, you're not totally out of balance if you don't feel like you're about to fall.

If I don't receive one more dime I'll still be eternally grateful that these incredible people would take the time to care, that someone would give of themselves so freely, that someone would think me and Laila are important enough to share with, that someone would love us that way.

I'm so ever grateful for everyone who has been so giving. I love you all and I can't wait to share our experiences with you so that you are just as much as part of our journey as we were. Well, except for that whole thing about being on a plane for 20 hours. You dodged the bullet on that one! :)

Thursday Prayer

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Thu, 09 May 2013 11:00:00 +0000

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for the sunshine this morning; it's warmth, it's light. Thank you that I can get up and move and brush my own teeth and use the bathroom by myself because sometimes I forget that there are a lot of people who can't even do that.

Thank you for this new chance, this new beginning that I get today. I will try my best not to focus on what happened yesterday but on what I am doing right now, at this second and moving forward. I will try my best to make good choices, choices that reflect you.

I want my choices to say, "she must be God's daughter" because they reflect you so clearly.

Thank you for the ability to pay my bills. It's not fun writing checks and seeing money come in and go out so quickly but there is the bill and there is the money to pay for it and it's because of your provision that I have the ability to pay for it. It may not always be this way, there may come a time in my life, as there was in the past, when there is not a penny to be scraped together and I want to savor this moment so that I can remember it, to remember what it feels like to be able to pay a bill in full- and be grateful for it.

Thank you for my children, for the very miracle that they came into this world through me and have made it this far. There are so many things that can take our children from us and so many days I'm focused on the hardships of parenting that I forget what a miracle it is to have them at all. Of course it's hard...anything worth having is hard. I thank you for every single day of their lives, for every breath. Again, it may not always be this way, life is hard and with it come huge and often painful challenges, may I always be as grateful for the time I have been given with them, may I remember to be present and cherish each moment.

Thank you Father, for all the close calls that I don't even know about in the course of my life. There have been times I'm sure that you've saved me from countless troubles and accidents and near-death experiences. You've held me safe in your hands. The very fact that I'm here right now in one piece, writing this, is a testament to your provision and protection. Thank you for all that I don't know about, for all you've done in the shadows, in the quietness, for the close calls I didn't even know I had.

Thank you for Mamaw, for leaving me with a mother-in-law even though you took my mom. I love her very much. I pray that you give her health that lasts for years and years. I can't imagine losing another mom. I miss my mom very much although I thank you for the comfort you've given me during these last five years. The amount of healing that's transpired is nothing short of miraculous. I feel like I went from a gaping hole in my chest that was bleeding profusely to a completely healed body with a scar that's barely noticeable. I did not do that, you did that. It's amazing.

I thank you for this husband of mine who tries so hard every day, who will go to work all day and still help me construct a cardboard stove for a Girl Scout event before he heads out to a meeting because he knows that I'm overwhelmed. He does things like this because he loves me so much and it shows me- teaches me how to love in return. He strives to make me happy and it inspires me to strive in all of my relationships- for him, my kids, my friends but especially for You.

Father, I have so much to do that when I look ahead I almost feel like collapsing, like throwing everything in the air and giving up. Help me to remember that I need only get through this one task, this one day. Remind me that you're standing right next to me and that I'm going to get through it and it will all be okay and if it isn't, it'll still be okay. Help me to take a deep breath and still my mind, to harness all of the thoughts that run around in my head like a bunch of out of control kindergarteners. Help me to blow the whistle and tell them to get in line, keep their hands to themselves and walk quietly, one at a time.

I ask this in your name,
Amen

Making My Children Into Golden Calves

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Wed, 08 May 2013 10:59:00 +0000

This Friday, it's special person's day at my son's school. Mamaw (my mother in law) has always been the chosen one to receive this special honor, to accompany the kids as their special person. It's always cute to watch them guiding her (literally-she's blind) through their school and "showing her" the cafeteria and the computer rooms and so on. Poor Mamaw always comes home bruised and battered from them leading her into concrete walls and wood doors.

Mamaw's been invited the last two years running so you can imagine my surprise when my son asked me! I'm his "special person". I felt so honored, so loved, so special. "Of course I'll be your special person, baby!", I said to him. I started thinking about making plans for this awesome day when it dawned on me- special person day just happens to coincide with my Friday bible study.

At the start of our study, my co-leader and I made it clear that we considered absences as kind of a big deal. We simply wanted everyone to prioritize the study and while we understood that not everyone would be able to make every day, we didn't want anyone deciding to schedule their pedicures or making lunch dates on that day because it was the only time that suited them. We didn't want to be sticklers but this needed pointed out as in the past we've heard some colorful excuses for missing bible study!

One of the moms in the group called, a little worried that her son's school had scheduled something for that day and she was afraid we were going to kick her out of the study! We must have come across so hard core! Like...this is some serious bible study here ladies, and all truants will be beaten with a swatch, tied to a post and roasted over a fire!

Of course we'd never kick anyone out of study! We totally understand that it was scheduled out from under her feet and she had no control over it.

"Your kids come first", is what I said to her. "We totally understand. See you in a couple of weeks."

So, when I was in the same predicament with this special person's day thing, I offered myself the same understanding words. "Your kids come first, Licha." On Sunday, I told my co-leader that I wouldn't be attending study and while she was disappointed, she echoed my sentiment.

But then I felt this inner sort of conviction, a thought that I know to interpret as God's voice because it's gentle and true, yet so hard to hear because it goes against what I want to do.

It was a simple question, "Is it wise to always put your kids ahead of Me (God)?"

It made me start to think about my tendency to put my kids ahead of God all the time! All of my time is invested in caring for them and it's usually at the cost of spending time with Him. I put them in first place at almost every turn and honestly, if given the choice, I would most always choose my kids.

This makes sense, right? I mean...they're my KIDS! It's my responsibility to take care of them. They are a blessing and He's entrusted them to me and I'm honoring him by doing that! Right? It's important to put them first and what if Carter gets his feelings hurt?

Except, that's a pile of flaming turds. Excuses, excuses, excuses.

True, it's my charge to feed and clothe and teach them but all that other stuff that I bog myself down with that steals my time from God, that stuff that when in conversations with other women I say, "oh these kids keep me so busy", all that stuff is fluff, fluff that I knowingly and willingly create and left unchecked, does a pretty good job of putting up a barrier between me and God.

All those activities that require carpools, all those birthday parties scheduled on a Sunday right in the middle of church, all those times when I say I couldn't spend time in prayer or in the word because the kids were around and driving me to Bonkerville.

If I really wanted to, I could make time for him but the truth is, the kids are a pretty good excuse to not be investing time in my relationship with Him. I really need to stop doing that because my relationship with him is tender. That's the best way I can describe it because while it's unbreakable, it's so very delicate. It's like trying to balance a broken egg yolk in my hands. I have to keep constant attention to it because if not, it will slip right through my fingers.

Just as getting caught up with the kids at the expense of a husband can ruin a marriage, so can getting caught up with the kids at the expense of God ruin my life. Kids can be all consuming for women and when things get out of balance, it can actually be pretty unhealthy to invest so much in these little bundles of joy. I can't keep putting it off "until the kids get older" because here's the thing, I'm not guaranteed tomorrow.

Also, in devoting myself so completely to my children I'm hurting them.

Spoil The Child
Even though we don't give our kids everything they want in terms of material stuff or letting do what they want, we've spoiled them in other ways, mainly in the way of making them feel that they are priority numero uno. Of course they are important but do they always have to come first? I don't think so. They need to know that sometimes it's okay to be patient, that sometimes it's okay to put others first and not expect immediate gratification. Entitlement is like a drug and our kids are getting addicted because we feed their junky habits by catering to their every need.

Telling my kids that I'm off limits for a certain amount of time per day because I'm spending time with God is actually a good thing. They need to learn that they can't interrupt me because they are fighting with their siblings or because they can't reach the cereal on the top shelf of the pantry. They won't starve in the course of an hour. A little delayed gratification never hurt anyone, in fact, it can be pretty darned good for them!

Setting A Good Example
If I expect my kids to grow up to be adults who know how to spend time with God and make him a priority, don't I need to be setting an example of that? Of course I do.

Right now, I'm teaching them to run around harried at the last minute, frantically searching for tap shoes so that we can make it to dance class on time. I'm teaching them to over schedule themselves. I'm teaching them to keep their priorities out of whack. I'm teaching them how to be so exhausted at the end of the day that they collapse without having said a bedtime prayer. I'm teaching them that Sunday is for devotion but that the rest of the week is too busy for God. I know...pretty unflattering yet so very true.

My bible study is six weeks, that's all...SIX WEEKS and it comes before my family is taking a month long trip where we'll be together with plenty of time to connect and make special time and I can't sacrifice an hour and a half for one day?

You understand that I really don't want to miss special person's day, that I absolutely hate that though he picked me, I chose God instead but it must be done. I said this to my son:

"Baby, I am so honored that you chose me to be your special person. You are my special person too. But I made a commitment to God for six weeks and I can't break that promise. It's so important for me to spend time with him, to honor my promises to him. You are super important to me and we can do something special that night just you and me."

He was like, "that's cool, you're still my special person." *tears*

My husband is going to be his special person, which is a good thing because Daddy never gets picked for stuff like that, it's actually going to be a thrill for him and they'll have a great time, I'm sure.

I'm still questioning myself- did I make the right decision? If it's the right decision then why does it make me feel like a horrible mom? Ultimately, Carter will survive my not going to special person's day. Next year, I'll be sure not to plan a study on that day!

Honestly, I don't think God wants me to sacrifice every moment of my children's life for him. He gave them to me so that I might enjoy and love them, but he did need to teach me a lesson- that I have to keep a watchful eye lest I cover my children in gold paint and make them into my idols.

A Getwawy With My Honey

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Thu, 02 May 2013 13:45:00 +0000

Last Saturday, after the girls and I ran in the Color Me Rad race in Hartford, I rushed home, scrubbed as much color off of me as possible and boarded a plane to Vegas.

My husband goes to a conference there every April and he's been asking me to go for years. I've never gone because I can't ever seem to leave the kids. As much as I complain about those little punks, darned if I can't stand to be away from them.

Me and Lady M at Froyo World

The last time we were in Vegas together was for our wedding twelve years ago.

I almost bailed at the last minute when the panic of leaving the kids set in, but eventually, with the help of my husband's begging and a friend's advice, I decided that I needed to go, that my husband is important and that my kids were going to be fine. That's not an easy thing to do- to convince a mom who hasn't left her children's side like, ever, to go away and trust that they'll be alive when I return.

It made sense to take this little jaunt because my husband's company was footing the bill. I mean, if the hotel is already expensed, why not use that to our advantage, right? It was remarkably inexpensive as we don't gamble, drink or shop. I know, right? Who goes to Vegas and doesn't gamble, drink or shop? Apparently we do! Honestly, with trying to save as much money as possible for our upcoming mission trip, it was already a hard thing to convince me that it was worth the cost of the plane ticket! In hindsight, I would pawn my wedding ring to make up for the expense because as it turns out, it was absolutely necessary. Sometimes you don't realize how much you need a break until you get one.

At Memorial Bridge- Hoover Dam

As it turns out, you can do Vegas for pennies if you try hard enough. There is so much to see and do that doesn't cost anything. We toured the Hoover Dam, we walked up and down the strip and watched the volcano show at the Mirage and the water show at the Bellagio.

Hoover Dam

Lake Meade from 15,000 feet

We people watched...which in Vegas is like one of the best forms of entertainment available. You'll see everything from street performers to half naked wedding parties dancing Gangam style in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard.

Paris Hotel at night

Treasure Island

Eiffel Tower. We went to the top. One of the best views in Vegas!

I sat by the pool and took naps and overall indulged in the nothingness that comes from being on a vacation. For a mom whose cleaning never seems to end, one of the highlights of my day was coming back to the hotel room to a fluffed bed and my flip flops lined up in a row along the wall.

At the pool, Palazzo

The best part? Just being with my husband. Do you know how long it's been since we've been alone? Alone to where we can have a conversation without being interrupted. Alone to where we can make love without the fear of someone walking in-which always seem to happen by the way. It's like those kids have an alarm that goes off in their head every time their father's hand reaches for me.

It's been a long time and as we sat across from each other without distraction, I was reminded how nostalgic I'd become for the deep brownness of his eyes and his long, feathered eyelashes. I used to stare into them for hours until my own eyes became blurry from sleep deprivation. Since the kids came along my eyes have set up camp on their wobbly feet and sticky fingers. I've been so in love with their perfection that I've forgotten the source of my love for them, their father's soft and loving eyes.

It was nice to be in silence, in stillness, in slowness. I did things like take long showers, do my hair, put on my makeup and look NICE! I hardly remembered how to do any of those things. Not that I can't do them on a regular basis, it's just so difficult to weild a brow pencil when I'm juggling so many other things.

Even though it was only a few days, it felt great to get away, to see new things and spend some quality time with my honey. It reminds me that we need to do that more often, perhaps not all the way to Vegas but that it's important to be alone from time to time. That we owe it to ourselves to look each other in the eyes and have a conversation, to make each other giggle and hold hands tightly. I didn't realize how much I'd missed him until I had him all to myself. It's good for the kids too.

This was re-confirmed this morning when my kids got up by themselves, got dressed without prompting, made their own breakfasts without complaining, got ready for school on their own and even cleaned up after themselves. Clearly Mama needs to get away more often!

Sending Laila To Africa

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 13:05:00 +0000

Last week, Hal went to Columbus to pay his respects to his cousin Buddy who passed away on the 9th. He was gone for four days. We are not the kind of family that does well when we are separated. Those families where one of the spouses travels every month? Those families who sacrifice because one of them is defending our country? Don't know how they do it. I just...can't even imagine.

Perhaps you get used to it, I don't know but it boggles my mind because I always feel a huge amount of phantom amputation pain when one of us is missing.

He returned on Monday evening, safely praise God, just about the time that Carter and I were taking Maryn to dance class. I wondered if I'd pass him on the highway; him going home, me leaving home, ships passing in the evening rush hour.

Then it occurred to me that there was a good chance he would stop by the dance studio...because that's just something he'd do. I know my husband so well and he is the embodiment of love. Once, when I was returning to Pennsylvania after a trip to LA, there was a snow storm that grounded our plane in DC. I called him to say I wouldn't be in that night, that I would be in the next morning and that the airline was putting me up in a hotel. Later that night when I was tucked into my bed I heard a knock on my door. It was him. He'd traveled from Harrisburg, PA to DC in the middle of the night, in 3 foot snow drifts, just to be with me. Because six more hours was just too much to wait. That's my husband.

He wouldn't go home and embrace the silence of an empty house after a long flight. He wouldn't take that time to get a nice hot shower, unpack and sink into the bed he missed so much. He'd show up at the dance studio.

Of course, I didn't know if he'd do this for sure but I knew there was a good chance and the possibility of it made me smile.

We got to the studio, made a payment and just about had Maryn's last shoe buckled when he walked in. Of course he did. Because I married an amazing man who loves his family more than anything. We all ran to him, dropping a trail of shoes, purses, iphones and stuffed animals in our wake. I grabbed him around the neck, Maryn grabbed one leg, Carter grabbed the other. It was a sight to behold and I'm sure that every father in that joint was all, "dude...why don't I ever get such an impassioned reception when my family sees me!?"

It's good to have him by my side again.

I was thinking about this when I started to worry about just how we're going to pay for Laila to go on this mission trip to Ethipia with me. We don't have the money, plain and simple and while on one hand I'm so happy that I had enough faith to jump in before running the math, there's another side of me, the angry accountant side, who is throwing a hissy fit for not doing the numbers first!

But I know my God, just like I know my husband. I know his tendencies, how much he loves me. I don't know for sure what he'll do, just like I didn't know Hal would for sure show up at that dance studio. But I know who he is and that he won't just leave me out in the cold, he won't make it hard on me. He's going to do something amazing. He'll make sure we have every dime we need. Of course he will. Because I serve a God that loves me more than anything. There is a really good chance he'll be right there when I need him and the possibility of that makes me smile.

I'm working on a few fundraising ideas. We're doing dog walking in the neighborhood, Laila's going to ask for donations instead of presents for her birthday and I'm in the midst of planning a family field day at our town riverfront so that families can join us for a host of silly and fun games in the sun with a small registration fee that will go a long way! Our goal is $2000, an amount that won't even cover the cost of her airfare, never mind her in country expenses, vaccinations and travel money.

If you'd like to donate you can click HERE.

I'm just starting to wrap my head around asking people for money for a missions trip. I've helped countless friends trek around the globe but now that the shoe is on the other foot, I feel all vulnerable and nervous and awkward. I'm sure God is teaching me a lesson in this, a lesson of humility and that I need other people, that it's okay to let others help me and that being in that situation doesn't mean I'm inferior or even that I owe someone.

I'll keep you guys posted about the fundraisers and let you know how things go. Obviously, you will have a front row seat to the trip as well as I will be blogging up to the moment we go. When we get back, I'm sure there will be plenty of pictures and stories to tell. To view pictures of our church's last trip to Jido, click HERE.

Thanks so much. Thanks for reading this, for even thinking about donating, for your prayers that undoubtedly sustain us. I'm finding that generosity is what love feels like. It's in generosity and love that my husband put his own needs aside, to have a desire to be with us that was so strong that he couldn't help but find us before going home. It's in generosity that I show others how much I love them, the giving of my time and talents and money. It truly is nice to give than to receive but on the receiving end, I'm finding that the love is almost too much to handle, it's so big that it brings me to my knees and leaves me in tears.

The truth is that it's good to be on either side of the giving because either way, you're on love's side.

There's Dignity In The Struggle

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 11:00:00 +0000

It doesn't feel like it, when I've seemingly failed at everything, my spiritual life, my battle to stop eating anything crunchy and salty, my desire to run a 10 minute mile, that there is anything good to come of the struggle.

It feels like near constant failure with only a few short glimmers of hope that I will ultimately succeed.

I feel it in yoga class when try as I may with all my might, I just cannot grip my second leg in bow pose. My body is in agony, I can't breath, I'm dripping in sweat and I just can't get it to work. I've been working at this for months, stretching and pulling, pushing and straining and I've gained but a millimeter.

But I keep trying. There is dignity in that place.

I feel it every time I run a 5K race and always seem to be at the back of the pack, panting and wincing, my side aching like someone drove a spear through it. I persevere and ultimately cross the finish line and there is dignity in that place, though I be the last to cross the space.

I sense it when my anxiety creeps up on me and I feel it start to get a grip on me like a giant claw, pinching and squeezing me. I have a choice, I can surrender to it and go into a panic or I can fight it. I choose to take deep breaths even though it's the last thing I want to do. I imagine myself standing over the anxiety, putting my foot on it's neck and staring it into submission and eventually the panic subsides. There is dignity in that place.

I recognize it when it's 3 pm and all I want to do is eat crackers or left overs or handful after handful of pistachio nuts or chocolate cookies. I eat some and remember that just because I want to, doesn't mean that I should and I step away from the kitchen and out into the sunshine where God smiles on me. I am frustrated and a little bit angry with myself, why can't I just not want to eat this? Why do I fall into this same trap?

I notice it when the day has come and gone and I realize I've failed to give thanks for everything in my life. I close my eyes in an attempt to hide myself from the eyes that see everything and I wonder how he can love me even though I fail every single day. How is it possible that I was worth the agony?

Is it possible that there exists so much grace that I can live my whole life, continuing to fail and it never runs out? I'm so grateful for it but I hate that I need it and then I remember that there is dignity in this struggle, that it's better to struggle and fail than to live mindlessly without ever trying or worse- give up.

I think the world is obsessed with zombies because in essence, we are surrounded by them, living people who are really dead, never dipping a toe in grace or having a taste of redemption.

Their bodies are moving but their hearts flow with dead blood because they've quit struggling to live. They decide to quit the struggle, feel sorry for themselves and blame the world. They are hungry, ravenous to feast on the life of others. There is no dignity in that place, in the dead living.

The dictionary defines the word "struggle" as "a forceful or violent effort to get free or restraint or constriction." The very fact that I struggle means that I am working to be free which means that no struggle means that I remain in chains, imprisoned by my own complacency.

I would rather be alive and fail than give up and be imprisoned. I would rather battle and sweat and moan because here in the land of the living and the aware, there is struggle, failure, hope, grace, dignity, success and ultimately freedom. Even if I only move one millimeter at a time.

Not Recognizing God

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Thu, 11 Apr 2013 11:00:00 +0000

In the supermarket today a woman approached me as I was bagging my groceries. She had thin, balding hair on the top of her head and frizzled strands that floated on her shoulders like a tuft of cotton candy. Her face was covered with a five o'clock shadow.

For a moment I almost thought I was looking at a man but at second glance I realized she was a woman, a hairy on face, bald, unfortunate woman. I say she's unfortunate because I'm being judgmental, because I'm assuming that because of the way she looks she is probably treated badly, made fun of, even ignored. I don't see her that way but the world does and I understand that.

People like this make me uncomfortable. I wish they didn't. I've learned through wisdom and experience, how to act on the outside but on the inside, everything contracts and I stop breathing. I really wish I didn't have this response.

"I love your shirt," she said. "It's so...springy!" I was wearing an orange and white ruffled shirt with flowers all over it and understood that she meant it screamed of springtime, not that it was jumping around the room like Tigger.

"Oh, thank you!" I said smiling at her and looking her right in the eyes. She smiled back with teeth that were partially rotted out and looked painful. Then she walked around me.

As I continued to bag my groceries, I watched as she approached another woman.

"I just love your hair, did you color it yourself?" she asked, tilting her head in admiration.

The woman replied, "Thank you so much! I just had it done at a salon today!"

"Well you look just beautiful," said the unfortunate one.

She carried on and approached yet another woman and then another and another, complimenting their clothes or hair or anything she could find.

And I realized that none of us had bothered to compliment her back. How about, "you have the kindest, sweetest spirit I've ever seen." How's that for a compliment? What makes someone so seemingly without beauty go around searching out beauty in others?

Perhaps she's longing for those things. Or perhaps she already knows she's beautiful where it counts- on the inside. I'd like to believe the latter. I really wish I would have complimented her back. I hope someone does today.

As I think back on her, I can't help but think of a story we were talking about in church this past Sunday. It's the story of the disciples who went out fishing after Jesus was killed (John 21). They were despondent and not catching any fish to boot. From the shore they saw a man (who was Jesus but they didn't recognize him because they thought he was dead).

He called to them but they didn't recognize him because he looked different. Eventually they made the connection, jumped in the water despite the fact that they most likely didn't know how to swim and moved towards him.

Do you ever wonder whether God sometimes literally approaches us, like we can see him with our own eyes but because he looks like a woman with a bald head and a five o'clock shadow, we dismiss him?

It seems like things like that only dawn on me after the fact, in hindsight. It's in those moments when I wish I would have recognized him as quickly as the disciples did, that I would have seen the love and kindness, thrown myself into the water and swam towards him. I want to re-wind time and do it all over again, better.

Perhaps I need to learn this lesson and I hope I will get another chance. I'm certain he's going to approach me at the most inconvenient time, like when after just having run half a mile through an airport terminal only to miss my flight and the last thing I want is to be distracted, he'll show up wearing mismatched clothes and smelling of body odor and he'll offer to give me a ride to where I'm going.

But I won't take it because I only see the outside and I won't trust him...because I won't recognize him.

Metaphorically speaking, that is exactly how I spend my life, rushing around from place to place only to find out that I've missed the boat and when he steps in to offer his assistance, I say "No thanks."

They All Look Alike

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 12:28:00 +0000

Before we started this whole "eating well" lifestyle, we used to do a family pizza night. Every Friday night on his way home from work, my husband would swing into a friendly, little family pizza joint run by a woman named Faye.

Faye became accustomed to our order because it was always the same; large pepperoni pizza and one tuna salad. Like clockwork, Hal would roll into the shop and spend a few minutes chatting with Faye. Her son is in school with our daughter and so there was always plenty to talk about.

I didn't meet Faye for the longest time because I never picked up the pizza.

However, sometime last year, at our yearly town fair, Hal introduced me to Faye, her husband and her whole family. She's sweet as can be but because I don't see her often and it's been a while since I met her, I've kind of forgotten what she really looks like, only that she has dark skin, brown hair, is about a certain height and age and is very friendly.

I know that pretty much describes half the population of South America but around here, where there is a shortage of brown people, I feel pretty safe remembering her this way.

So when I saw her the other day at the school as I was coming out of a teacher conference I was so happy to say "hi", to explain why we haven't been by the shop, to tell her that we were coming in that very night.

"Hi!!!!", I said as soon as I saw her. "I know it's been so long since we've been by to see you but we've been trying to eat well and it's going pretty well although we miss your pizza! As a matter of fact, today is my mother-in-law's birthday and seeing as how I don't really feel like cooking and how we've been really good lately, we're going to treat ourselves and have you cook for us. I'm so excited!"

She smiled at me in a weird sort of way.

"I'm sorry. Maybe you don't remember me," I reassured. "I'm Licha, Hal's wife."

She continued to smile but said nothing.

"Well, I guess I should be going. Thanks so much for cooking me dinner tonight. Ha Ha Ha. Hal will be by around 6 to pick up food!"

I waved and she waved back, still with a perplexed look in her eyes. The least the woman could do is say something, amiright?? I mean sure, we haven't been by in a while but we're still technically regular customers. I thought perhaps that as much as she tried, she just couldn't remember who I was. I consoled myself with that thought and went on my way.

It wasn't until a few hours later that a horrifying thought crossed my mind. I think I mixed up my brown people. By the way, I can say "brown people" because I am myself brown and it's said as a term of endearment and camaraderie and love. If you aren't brown you can try to use the term "brown people" but we'll mock you...and shank you when you bend over in the shower.

I suddenly realized that I recognized the lady in the school hallway as different brown woman, one whose child goes to school with my SON, not my daughter. I was instantly in retroactive humiliation. Is it really true? Do we all look so much alike that even I can't tell us apart!?!

Can you imagine what she was thinking as she stood across from me, listening to my craziness. What would you think if some woman told you that she didn't feel like cooking that night so she was going to be by your place at 6 to pick up food! For real, why didn't she correct me!

I can't help but wonder if she didn't realize the mistake. Or perhaps she did and was just too gracious to say anything. I admire her restraint. I couldn't also help but wonder if when 6 pm rolled around, she fully expected to hear someone knock on her door asking for pizza!

Blueness

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 15:44:00 +0000

Sometimes life is so great that you have to run to the refrigerator and rummage a bit in order to find that really old jar of sticky, syrupy maraschino cherries so that you can literally put a cherry on your metaphorically sweet existence.

Today was not one of those days.

Today my allergies assaulted me in all sorts of criminal ways. I feel swollen and leaky and overall violated. It's a shame, too cause it's a perfect sort of day. Everything has a slight tint of blue to it because the sky is so huge and the sun so luminous that it reflects the blue off of everything.

The flowers are yawning and stretching towards the blueness. My dog has been bathing in it for hours out on the deck, she's probably drunk with sunshine by now.

The kids, fresh off the bus, didn't even stop for snacks because the gorgeousness of the day was calling them each by name and beckoning them for a hug in it's warmth.

Yet I'm sad and I don't really know why. And I feel like eating everything in sight. Maybe it's because of my allergies. Maybe it's because I didn't get as much sleep as I would have liked to. Maybe it's because we got news that one of Hal's cousins has been released from the hospital which sounded so wonderful and blessed until we heard he was released into hospice care.

I can't say I'm super close to his father's side of the family but still, we're all connected in this thing called family. His daughters are so strong, clinging to God in a way that makes me feel almost shameful for the loose, ragged way in which I reach out to him most days.

They are truly refusing to fear any evil even though they walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

Sometimes we have to be thankful for even the tiniest things.

"Thank you God...for this breath. Thank you for the strength to move an inch. Thank you for this ground, it's holy and constantly moving me, hurling me through space and time, ever closer to you. Thank you for family and as Buddy travels ever closer to heaven's zip code, may you welcome him with open arms. May he hear those amazing words we all long to hear when we glide into your presence, 'well done, good and faithful servant.'"

Post Script: Charles Wood went to be with Jesus on April 9, 2013. He is loved and will be greatly missed!

Welcome, Spring!

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Sat, 06 Apr 2013 16:13:00 +0000

There's something about the light, isn't there? Something about the sunshine that seems to switch on the happiness inside.

After weeks of torturous weeks, of being bound by cold, cloudy skies, the sun has emerged and all I want to do is stand outside, arms outstretched, letting the sun beat down on my head, letting it thaw out the coldness, the darkness, the hibernation-like mind set that's settled in this winter.

I want to get dirt under my fingernails.

I want to feel the tickle of grass between my toes.

I want to smell the flowers, even if they make me sneeze.

Oh yes, there is something about the sunlight, the brightness, the warmth that draws me to it. There is hope and energy and a feeling of being alive in the sunlight.

Spring, you may have taken your damn sweet time getting here but I'm so glad that you're here. I'm so happy to see you and I welcome you with open arms!

Road Trip

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 17:33:00 +0000

A few months ago, the kids were sitting around the kitchen table for breakfast. They were talking, as always, and I can't even remember what they were discussing but somehow they began talking about "growing up" and what they were going to do when they can finally unhook themselves from the prison chains of childhood.

Laila said to her brother and sister, "you know guys, in 7 years I won't be living here with you anymore. I'll probably be in college and all grown up and then I'll be able to eat anything I want. And I'll never eat oatmeal again!"

Hal and I were both standing at the counter making bagged lunches and as soon as her words soaked into our brains there was a near audible record scratch, we looked at each other with wide-eyed panic and became weak in the knees.

She's right, you know. We only have about 6 or 7 years left with this beautiful child and then she'll be out facing the world. Sure, she'll always be our kid but things will change, this tight family unit will start to disassemble in a few short years. There's nothing we can do to stop it but we want to capitalize on every second we have left!

"We should start taking more family vacations," said Hal. I agreed. And since we have neither the money nor the affinity for traditional sorts of family vacations, we had to put our heads together and come up with something creative.

We decided on a month-long trek across the U.S. We will tour, like a band, except with way less roadies and no ability to hold a tune.

In the 14 years we've been together, my husband has never once been able to take a vacation where he didn't work. This time he was lucky enough to get a full month of un-hooked vacation. We were originally going to fly out to Colorado to go to my aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary but decided instead to spend some quality time together in our mini-van. We will do strange and archaic things like talk and sing and read together. Believe it or not, this will be the longest and also the cheapest vacation we've ever taken, costing around $4000 for the full month for five people.

Get this, not only is it the cheapest, since we're taking our time, we're never going to be in the car for more than 3 hours at a time! I know it sounds crazy but it's true. I spent most of yesterday planning the itinerary and going a little crazy with the details but it's in the details that you save big time money!

Just by checking to see if AAA offers discounts for some of the places we're going, I saved about $300! We're also doing stuff that isn't expensive, stuff like Garden Of The Gods and Black Mesa, both breathtaking and memorable yet totally free.

We will stop in the following cities:

Hershey, Pa
Pittsburgh, PA
Columbus, OH
Chicago, IL
St. Louis, MO
Branson, MO
Oklahoma City, OK
Dodge City, KS
Pueblo, CO , photo is actually of Bent's Old Fort in La Junta, CO
Colorado Springs, CO
Black Mesa, OK
Guymon, OK
Mesquite, TX
Shreveport, LA
New Orleans, LA
Gulfport, MS
Memphis, TN
Nashville, TN
Roanoake, VA
Washington DC
Philadelphia, PA

We're doing zoos and aquariums, boat tours, museums, water parks, national monuments and seeing everything from the St. Louis arch to a good, old-fashioned Texas rodeo. We're also bound to see lots of road construction, eat terrible diner food and since we're staying with family and friends the whole way, get very acquainted with sleeping arrangements that include couches, pull out beds and air mattresses.

Come along on the trip with us. I'll be blogging along the way, posting pictures on Facebook and Twitter and chronicling our adventures. We'll introduce you to amazing family and friends, share all the ups and downs and hopefully make you feel like you're there with us!

What do you say? You ready to road trip? The adventure starts in 7 weeks!

Hello God, It's Me

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Fri, 29 Mar 2013 20:29:00 +0000

Easter is always a time of reflection for me because it's when I first came to Christ. So every year is a good benchmark by which to measure how much he's done in my life year after year.

In Easter of 2008, I went to church for the first time in eons. I went for the advertised egg hunt for kids. I did not expect to get anything out of that Sunday service besides jellybeans and free plastic eggs.

I got a whole lot more than I bargained for.

I guess I'd always expected that when (and if) I'd give my life to God, it would be a momentous moment, like a loud crash of thunder. Instead it was like the flutter of a butterfly's wing, so faint and non-dramatic at all, almost uneventful.

But that's how God works. He sent his son to be born to an un-likely woman in a remote town, a birth that was in lots of ways, completely mundane yet earth shattering at the same time and he's still doing things like that, changing lives, making miracles happen in total, un-noticed silence.

That's how I came to know God, in that dichotomous sort of way. He'd essentially reached into my chest and re-arranged my insides but I hardly noticed it...at least not at first.

Two years later, during Easter service, as I reflected how far he'd brought me, a woman who would chase away Jehovah's witnesses with my broom and make fun of those "Jesus freaks", a woman who was now hungry for more and more of Him, they played a song that I'd recommended to the worship team months before.

It was not a "Christian" song at all. It was a song I'd heard on the radio that simply resounded with me. It was the soundtrack of my love story with God, our song. It brought me to tears. Because he speaks to us in ways like that; huge, awesome, love-filled ways that make you feel like your heart is going to explode yet if you tried to explain it to someone, they'd never get it. Because it's just between you and God.

And then the next year, I invited someone to come to church, just as I had once been invited myself. It was a passing of the torch so to speak. It was me paying it forward, an offering if you will, of trying to let myself be used as an instrument for him to strum his love songs for someone else.

I don't know what this year has in store, what surprises he'll offer up. I do know that it's the day we hand in our paperwork for our missions trip. That in of itself is huge. If you'd have asked me five years ago if I'd be willing to take a trip like this I would have laughed in your face.

I'm simply blown away how far he brings me every year. It's like when your four year old enters Kindergarten and every day seems like a slow progress to nowhere and then 9 months later he/she graduates and is reading and writing and doing things that you could never imagine. That's me, growing in leaps and bounds even though it feels like I'm moving at a snail's pace.

How does someone who once refused to believe or want anything to do with God, turn into someone who feels accepted and loved and totally changed from the inside out? I wish I could explain it. It makes no sense.

I tell you this not because I want to make it about me but because I want you to see how much patience he has with me and how far he's been willing to pull me over these last five years. As I was preparing for our life group tonight, going over the stations of the cross, I was overwhelmed by the love in that journey he took to the cross and how he still struggles for me daily.

Even if you don't believe in Jesus and you are nowhere near giving your life over to something that you don't understand or that really frustrates or even angers you, please know this, Jesus loves you. Wow, that's sounds so much like a bumper sticker! It's so over-used it's almost comical but it's at the root of everything.

He simply loves you. Most of us have this thing inside of us, this little spark that wants to be happy, that yearns for peace, that feels good when we do something nice for someone else. If you've ever felt that, a jolt of energy a desire to love, a part of you that just knows you are important, then you've met God. You have. That's him. Religion and doctrines and conservative politicians aside, that's who he is, that little voice that is inside of each of us that says, "you are worth so much more."

Most of us love that feeling. We lean into it. Even the most non-religious people have it in them, that desire that fuels them to be good people. It's the doctrine that trips them up, not the God. I don't know where you live, where you are in your life, if you believe or not but I encourage you to simply get up this Easter morning and go to church. Go to any church, leave your baggage at the door and introduce yourself to God. You'll be so glad you did!

Wherin We Change The Course Of Our Daughter's Life

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 16:25:00 +0000

Well, I gave final word to our trip coordinator. It's official. I'm going to Ethiopia at the beginning of August.

And so is my daughter.

I know, right? What could I possibly be thinking? She's only 11 years old and I'm going to trek her across the globe, exposing her to life at it's rawest and subjecting her to miserable conditions.

Don't for one second think that every possible worrisome scenario hasn't crossed my mind...a lot. Plus, there's that little added problem about me just not wanting to take her cause she's 11 years old and can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.

The girl is hard to travel with on a jaunt to the supermarket and I'm taking her on a 20 some hour plane ride! It's craziness.

But here's the truth, as parents, we forge a path for our kids. We lead the way and sometimes, it's not always the best way. We teach them to work hard and get things, that life is about success and achievement and happiness and we sometimes forget to teach them that it's also about humility, discomfort and sacrifice. And if we don't do something to shift their course, they get so entrenched in it that sometimes they get stuck. They grow up with a mentality that it's all about them. I want to un-stick her. I want her course to be forever altered.

She's 11, a really awkward age when kids start trying to find themselves and start buying into the idea that they need things to make them happy and they need people to like them in order to be at peace. Their world revolves around shopping malls and iphones and the trendiest youtube videos.

I'm afraid she will grow up thinking that all people live in 3400 square foot homes and that there is always food on the table and it's no big deal to go get new shoes when you need them. I don't want her to think that not being able to get her hair right in the morning, constitutes a "it's the worst day of my life" sort of attitude.

It seems drastic, I know. I could just as easily take her to the food bank every weekend and immerse her in a low key sort of lifestyle that teaches her to have less and give more. But let's face it, that would still be a very sheltered experience, one that might make her more aware of herself but not necessarily keen to her place as a citizen of the world.

She's going to see things in Ethiopia that she will never be able to erase from her mind, that bell will never go un-rung in her head. Ever. And you can't buy that kind of perspective for a bazillion dollars. It's also something that's nearly impossible to teach without a learned experience.

I'm told that Ethiopians are some of the most joyful people in the world, despite their hardships. Worse things could happen than for some of that to rub off on her.

She's super excited. She's stopping random people on the street, grabbing them by the shoulders and saying, "I'm going to Ethiopia! Isn't that great!?" Truth be told, I'm pretty excited too. It will feel comforting to have my baby at my side for this adventure. This experience will belong to us and us alone, it will forge a bond, a shared understanding that no one can ever take a way.

No matter where she goes in life, how close or how far apart we may end up, we will always have this time together. We will always have Africa 2013!

The Secret To Kicking Tobacco: Guilt and Shame

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 11:00:00 +0000

March 25th will go down in our family history as the day my husband quit chewing Skoal forever. How did he quit, you ask? What is his secret?

The answer is in two simple things: guilt and shame.

My husband was a smoker for over twenty years and seven years ago, motivated by my doing everything in my power to make his life miserable, he decided to quit. With the help of his doctor, he tried Chantix and it worked wonders with only a few minor side effects. We're still waiting for that third arm he grew, the one with homicidal tendencies, to fall off.

In all seriousness, he was lucky because overall, he had a good experience with Chantix. And by "good" I mean, as good as an experience can get when you're trying to quit a life-long addiction. Of course there were mood swings and sleepless nights and hair pulling...you know, all the normal stuff you'd expect to have but it worked!

He was tobacco free for almost four years until he picked up the nasty habit of dipping Skoal. For real, this is just about the most hideous thing a person could do. It's smelly, the tobacco gets caught between the teeth, turning them yellow, not to mention the part about them containing a cocktail of fun things like formaldehyde, arsenic, cadmium and radioactive polonium. Oh yes, it's a barrel of deliciousness!

I've made it clear to him that I hate the fact that he dips but ultimately, the man is 40 years old. I'm not his mother and I can't control him. I've voiced my opinion, he's heard it and well, basically told me to go suck it because he still continues to chew.

This discord has not been lost on our kids who have occasionally fallen to their knees and begged him to stop. "We don't want you to die! Or worse, for your face to melt away and your teeth to fall out!"

After lunch yesterday, I got a call from the principal of my daughter's school, telling me that in an effort to keep the tobacco away from her father, Laila had brought it to school with her! It had fallen out of her backpack and she was escorted to the office for a little talking to where she broke down and said she was certain that her father's mouth is currently rotting out and he's going to die at any minute. She brought it to keep it away from him.

"What do you want me to do with the Skoal", the principal asked me.
"Um....let me think...THROW IT AWAY!"

By the way, that isn't exactly the kind of question you want to hear from your 5th grader's principal! It made me feel about a negative 1,000 on the parenting scale, second only to the time that she found a vibrating silver bullet in a night stand and put it under her pillow because "it was soothing" to sleep to the buzzing!

I know what you're thinking..."how has this woman not been nominated for a mother of year award yet?"

The day got worse when she came home on the school bus. Because the skoal spilled out in her backpack and all over her coat, she reeked and the other kids on the bus were covering their mouths like someone had exposed a bag of anthrax. The bus driver was livid because of the stench and decided to slather me in righteous condemnation.

"She's not allowed to bring tobacco on a school bus! (you horrible mother)" She didn't say that last part but it was implied, like when someone implies that they hate you by kicking you in the teeth.

I thought such a statement would go without saying but apparently not. "Oh..., I see...tobacco products aren't suitable for an elementary school bus? So I guess I should think twice about letting her bring that crack pipe and machete next week then?"

I explained the situation but it was clear she didn't care. I brought the kids home and "handled" the situation. That means I yelled and cried and overall lost my mind. It's a hard situation because her intent was completely innocent but yet her judgement so very flawed.

As a parent, it's easy to make the mistake that certain things don't need to be said out loud. Things like, "don't lick the dog on the butthole, don't put your tongue in the electrical sockets, don't open the front loader washer when it's full of water, don't bring tobacco to school!"

And yet, at one point or another, I've had to say all of those things! I cringe when I think of the things I might forget to tell them! I mean, what if I'm so busy teaching them about stranger danger that I forget to them not to lay under a moving Mack truck?

As you can imagine, my husband felt horrible about the whole thing. His shoulders drooped in shame. "I'm quitting", he said.

I have to hand it to Laila, what she did was pretty outrageously brave. She got in trouble at school, was humiliated in front of her peers, endured her mother's wrath and sat through hours of lectures but in the end, she got what she wanted. Her daddy isn't going to dip anymore. And despite the humiliation, frustration and tons of parental self doubt, I have to admit, I'm kind of glad she did it. I know it sounds a little dramatic, but there is a chance that by doing so, she very well could have saved his life!

Where I Avoid Being A Giant Douchbag

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 11:00:00 +0000

On Saturday, a friend asked me if I would help her set up a fund raiser for her and her daughter. I said I'd be happy to help and we agreed that she'd come over at 1:00.

Well, 1:00 came and went. Then 2, 3 and 4:00 came and went and she still wasn't here. She's always late, it's part of who she is, something that I've come to understand and work around but this was ridiculous.

Being an hour late is one thing, being three hours late is quite another and it really peeved me! She didn't even have the decency to call! How could she be so disrespectful of my time! Did she think I was going to sit around and wait for her? Didn't she realize that I planned my day around this and now I felt like an idiot for sitting around waiting for her!

I planned in my head the things I wanted to say to her. It's important that I plan these things out because if I just allow stuff to spew out, it's gonna be ugly! I'll say things like, "listen lady, the next time you are going to be three hours late, don't even bother to show up at all because I'm not waiting!"

I'm so sweet, aren't I?

I was angry! And oh sure, we're supposed to love others and be gracious but at a certain point we have to grow a backbone and say, "I love you, will do anything for you, but this isn't okay."

I don't like to be confrontational. I don't do well in those circumstances. I say all the wrong things, end up hurting people and either get really pissed off and make sure the person never wants to ever see me again or overcompensate and start apologizing for something that isn't my fault, just to make the whole thing go away!

I was just about to call her when I heard God: "um...what if there is something wrong, have you ever thought of that, Licha!? I mean, it's not ALL about you, princess. You've been so worried about her hurting your feelings that you haven't even stopped to think that she might be laying in a ditch!"

Holy cow, he was right! I picked up the phone and called her.

She wasn't in a ditch.

And because that would have been the only acceptable excuse for being three hours late and not calling, I started to see red when she said, "oh...I've had a busy day and lost track of time."

I took a deep breath and remembered that I promised to die to myself today. That I would not live for what I felt or what I wanted or what I needed. That I would live to love.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.
*silence*
"Tell me..."
*Silence* "I'm struggling."

She went on to tell me a whole slew of things that I won't tell you because it's not my place. But these things melted my heart. They made me realize how her not showing up wasn't about me at all. It was her way of crying out for help and because I was so busy worried about how her actions affected me, I almost missed it.

These cries are everywhere. They are in the words of that woman who just cut you off in traffic and flipped you the bird. She is about to lose her house. They are in your boss's impatience. He just found out that his wife's lump is malignant. The cry is in that person you know who just pretended they didn't see you as they walked into the supermarket. They are hopelessly insecure and lonely.

Most of the time it never is about us. But we're too blind and deaf to see and hear the cries because we are too busy worried about how their actions affect us. We get our feelings hurt, we get inconvenienced.

I cringe to think of how much more damage and hurt I would have done had I called my friend and told her what was on my mind, had I made it about me and unleashed. It was the LAST thing she needed that day.

As I look back, I need both hands and feet to count the number of times I've probably added to someone else's pain by making it about me. And it never was about me. It's almost always about them.

A woman once told me a story about how her husband once encountered a man who was enraged because he'd accidentally cut him off in traffic. He blocked her husband's truck, got out of his and came towards him, fists waving and obscenities dripping from his lips. He was just about to punch the woman's husband when her husband said, "sir...are you alright?"

This honest concern took the man completely off guard and he immediately stopped, took a deep breath and started to cry. His wife had just presented him with divorce papers, his life was falling apart and he couldn't imagine how he would live without his family. The woman's husband ended up sitting with him and talking for a good part of the day.

That could have played out in a whole different way had her husband made it about him.

I guess this is what it means to "die to ourselves daily." To walk in the spirit and not in the flesh. My flesh wants nothing more than to flip someone off when they flip me off. It wants to be all, "what is your problem", when they are rude to me, to call my friend and tell her she's being a jerk face. But that's not the spirit's way. It's such a hard thing to remember, that I'm really not the princess and that the world doesn't revolve around me. I can't believe I'm 37 years old and I'm just starting to realize this!

The Friend Who Only Calls When They Need Something

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 12:43:00 +0000

I have certain standards when it comes to the people I allow into my life. I want someone who wants to spend time with me, someone who makes me laugh, is encouraging, likes to have fun and isn't afraid to tell me when I'm being a giant asshat.

I want someone who isn't afraid to let me come over and cook her dinner and wash her underwear when she's got the flu and can't imagine moving from the warm spot in her bed. I want someone who would do the same for me when I catch her flu.

I'm big on loyalty. I am willing to trust everyone implicitly from the get go but if you violate that trust, particularly in regards to bad mouthing me behind my back or gossiping about something I've asked you to hold secret, I can guarantee you that I will struggle with ever letting you back into my close circle.

We all have deal breakers when it comes to our close relationships. There are certain things we just can't handle. For instance....

Would you ever be willing to share your spouse with someone else? Another man or woman? Or would you ever accept a friendship with someone who only called you when they needed something?

It's hard to imagine any of us being eager to sign on to those kind of relationships, right? Cheap Trick said it best. When it comes to relationship, we want someone to want us...and only us.

God has recently been challenging me to answer those same questions. And my answer is always a resounding and emphatic "NO!" I would not share my husband. I would not want to be friends with someone who used me.

He's asking me these things because that's honestly the kind of relationship I've tried to set up with him...and loyalty is just as big for him as it is for me, it's his deal breaker.

In the bible study we've been doing, a question is posed. If you are at the altar saying your vows to your would-be spouse, would you be okay with them saying the following:

"I promise to love and cherish you for the rest of my life and I accept all of these vows...except for the one about faithfulness...I want to keep my options open."

Most of us wouldn't like those conditions and that very statement would reflect the other person's lack of commitment and would cause us to question their love for us.

When I vowed to follow God; however, I gave him just such an "exception" clause. "God...I give you everything...except control. I give it all to you...except my money. I will give you my time...except during the summer because that's just a really busy time of year for me."

It's really sort of ridiculous.

If I wouldn't accept those terms from someone else, why would he accept them from me? The last six weeks I've been trying to ask myself this question: am I a fan of God? Or a follower of God?

I suppose if I answer that honestly, I am a fan who thought I was a follower. I am someone who likes the idea of God but doesn't always care to go all the way. I'm all about his applause but hesitate to walk in his footsteps.

God is the world's most perfect editor. When we submit to him, he looks over what we've written for our lives and draws lines through the stuff that just isn't working for us. He points out glaring holes in our story by asking simple questions that when given thought, lead us to our own conclusions.

This was a hole in my story, a gap that I didn't even know existed until I started this study. "Ah...I get it now. You don't want to share me any more than I would share my husband. You don't like to be taken for granted any more than I would like a friend who only calls on me when she needs something. You want something with a lot more loyalty, a relationship more dedicated.

You want me to want you."

Coconut Water- My New Best Friend (And Some More Juice Recipes)

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 10:30:00 +0000

During a typical Bikram yoga class, a person can lose almost two liters of water (8 cups!)

My soaking wet clothes can attest to this. Afterwards I feel like a freshly squeezed orange; dry and pulpy.

It's super important to hydrate before class but especially afterwards. The body loses a lot so it's important to replace electrolytes and one way I found to do this is by drinking coconut water! It's delicious, super hydrating, full of great things like potassium and other minerals too.

And guess what? It mixes perfectly into fruit and vegetable juices!

Say whaaaaa? Oh yes, baby!

Here is an incredible recipe that I found:

Sunshine Juice
2 cups coconut water (the recipe calls for fresh coconut water but I got this kind.)
1 cup freshly squeezed orange juice (about 4 oranges)
1 cup freshly squeezed pineapple juice (1/2 of a pineapple)

Mix together, drink and then die and go to heaven. I'm serious. Your mouth will have an orgasm so strong that it will be sensitive to the touch for hours.

Ahem.

And while we're on the subject of deliciousness, here's another amazing recipe for you to try!

Apple-Cantaloupe-Honeydew Juice
2 apples
1/2 cantaloupe
1/2 honeydew
6 to 8 kale leaves
6 to 8 Swiss chard leaves

You are welcome! Don't be afraid of the kale and swiss chard. Cantaloupe has magical powers against greens. It masks the flavors so perfectly and instead of some green, veggie type drink, you end up with a refreshing, almost tropical sort of drink.

I am currently having a romance with beets. In one day I ate about 6 of them and my pee turned fuchsia! I love them raw, I love them boiled but I especially love them roasted. I found this recipe (shown below) and swooned. I didn't have goat cheese on hand so I used feta and it was muy delicioso! I also mixed in a little agave with the balsamic. Just typing that makes my mouth water!

Oven Roasted Beets with Balsamic and Goat Cheese
6 beets
3 Tbs olive oil
1 pinch fresh rosemary
1 pinch thyme
2 small cloves of garlic
salt and pepper to taste
Goat cheese

Preheat oven to 350. Clean the dirt from the beets. The skin
will come off after they’re cooked, so the beets don’t need
to be scrubbed. Trim beets at both ends.

Place foil on a cookie sheet or pan, then place beets on top of the foil, along with the garlic. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle on the rosemary, thyme, whole cloves of garlic, salt and pepper. Make sure that the beets get coated with the oil and spices. Add 1 cup of water to the cooking pan before covering tightly with foil. If you want, you can also cover the pan with parchment and then foil.

Roast in oven for 45 minutes, or until beets are tender with a fork. You may need to cook larger beets for longer. The beets will come out nice and steamy and tender. Any leftover cooking liquid can be cooled and drizzled over the finished plate. (I cut my big beets in half)

Once the roasted beets are cooled enough to touch, gently squeeze the beet to break open the skin, and peel it off. Slice and add a few tablespoons of goat cheese. You can serve the roasted beets with drizzled balsamic vinegar over salad or just with some good bread.

Tip: for an extra delicious zip, reduce the balsamic vinegar and simply drizzle the reduced vinegar on top of the beets. YUM!

Oh man, now I'm hungry!

A Peace That Surpasses Understanding

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Thu, 21 Mar 2013 10:30:00 +0000

I recently sent an email to a woman that said this:

"I heard (through the grapevine) that you are going to Jido (Ethiopia). I just got my passport the other day :/ I wanted to see if you are going because I don’t think I know anyone who is going and that kind of scares me. Would love to know someone so that when I grab their hand and squeeze really tight, it won’t be so awkward."

The woman, Sheryl, responded that yes, she is indeed planning on going. Just waiting to see how God is going to pay for her trip. And then she said something that made me feel queasy.

"Mostly I have been praying the finances come together for me, it might as well be a million dollars. But I have faith that God will provide as He has not only called me to do this but screamed at me to."

And I realized...perhaps, like always (I've done this several times), that I might have jumped into something before really discussing it with God first. Don't get me wrong, I felt him tap on my shoulder. It's just that I jumped in, eyes closed, arms wrapped around my knees without any further discussion or prayer. Sheryl had heard him scream at her in confirmation. She was certain of her decision. Me? Not so much.

Will I ever learn? I have to ask him first!!! For everything!

And then I started to wonder...is this why I feel so uneasy? Is this why I'm terrified? I was having some serious doubts about going, a mixture of reasonable and completely ridiculous fears that ranged from will there be anyone to help my husband take care of the kids to will I react badly to the high elevation (8000ft above sea level) and die on the tarmac of Bole Airport from an elevation induced heart explosion?

So I prayed..."I did it again! Can you believe it? I jumped into something, made my own decisions and started down a path without first checking if it's what you want for me. At least this time I didn't get half way there before this dawned on me! Honestly, I'll do whatever you want. If I am to go, I'll do it obediently, terrified, knees knocking together yet walking forward. If not, I'll humbly bow out and try to learn my lesson. What will it be God, what do you want?"

And then a peace, that peace that surpasses all understanding, found it's way into my mind and heart. I'm going to be fine. He didn't scream at me because he didn't have to. I felt the tap, I heard the whisper and I answered right away. This is progress because in the past he's had to do things like run me over with a steamroller before I listened and obeyed. I guess I'm not used to him speaking to me in a whisper because normally I'm so hard headed that he has to use a megaphone.

I can't help but preemptively thank him for this experience. "Thank you for giving me this opportunity, thank you for getting me there safely and bringing me home in one piece, thank you for the people who will be standing next to me through this journey. Thank you for the people I will meet and thank you for holding my heart in one of your hands and my family in your other while I'm there. Thank you!"

I'm gonna do this. Oh yes, I am.

Last week I took a friend to get an MRI. I sat in the tragically loud room with ear plugs and head gear and looked through a magazine while she surrendered herself to the process. In it I found an article about Valerie Harper who is currently doing the business of closing out her life after a terminal diagnosis. She's been so humble and open about the process and one thing she said, I'm paraphrasing, was that you should never let fear keep you from doing anything. Life is much too short. And hearing that from her perspective really made me think. Someday I will be in her shoes. And I don't ever want to say that I didn't go just because I was afraid and was being a knucklehead about it.

Nope. I want to look back and say, "I went obediently, regardless of my fears. And it was the best time of my life!"

Are We Teaching Our Kids To Take On Too Much?

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 10:00:00 +0000

Every year around this time I vow that next year I will not, absolutely not ever take on as much as I have on my plate right now. Nope. I've learned my lesson and will UN-remorsefully say "no" every time I'm begged, pleaded and bribed to take on yet another fundraiser/event/activity.

And then every fall, fresh off of summer vacation, with my stress level at a 12 month low, I make the misguided decision to take on way more than is humanly possible!

There is a woman, the current president of our elementary PTO, who has an uncanny mesmeric affect on people. Mom's give each other hushed warnings when she comes their way. "Don't look Terry in her swirly, hypnotic eyes. Because then she'll own you and you'll end up heading up some committee that you'll wear like a ball and chain around your ankle for the next four years! Quick! Avert your eyes!!!!"

Want me to lead a girl scout troop? No problem. Take on two fundraisers? Sure. Be a member of three different PTO boards? Sounds like a plan! Terry has roped me into a few of those with that look. She has sweet, puppy dog eyes that get you every.single.time!

What an idiot I am.

But I'm telling you here and now, this is it. I mean it! I've officially given my fundraiser duties to another mom, am in the process of training a new person to take over box tops for our school and will not be pulling any muscles or getting out of breath to make it to any PTO meetings!

I'll do what I can when I can and when those sobby emails run through my inbox about how they "desperately need volunteers", I will place my thumb on my nose and wave my fingers. I will only take on as much as I know is healthy. Anything more is just too much

Truth be told, one of the reasons I took on so much was because when my oldest daughter first went to school, I had two little ones at home and since I knew I couldn't commit to much, I didn't volunteer for anything. Once they were in school full time, being a stay-at-home mom, I felt it was my duty to pony up, to do unto others the boring, mindless, thankless PTO work and room mom responsibilities that some had previously done unto me.

Plus, there was a new crop of blurry-eyed mothers with kids on each hip whose shoulders could not handle one more thing to do. I remember walking in their shoes and my heart went out to them. But now it's been three years and it's time for a new crop of getter-doners to get their feet wet.

Last night, while I waited in my daughter's dance class, I noticed a mom walk in with her daughter, a little girl no more than five years old, dressed in a leotard and baggy tights, the click of her tap shoes announcing her arrival. The woman also had a son with her, a little boy was dressed in his karate gi and another daughter was dressed in what looked like gymnastics gear.

Something about that scene made me sad. That we live in a society that thinks it's normal, even good to shuffle our kids around to one activity after another. I'm just as guilty. While we are only a 2 sport family, from time to time it's easy to get overwhelmed when other activities creep up, like my daughter getting a part in her school play which requires four rehearsals a week and scouts that is only once a month but still, when it rolls around on a week when you have a lot going on, feels just as exhausting.

So far, car pools have been my life saver but what of the kids? It bothers me when I rush them through snack and homework so they can make it to karate on time. I suppose it's better than having them sit in front of a computer screen but I'd much rather have them play outside after school like I did!

In an effort to teach them about balance, I told my kids to stand on one leg and try to balance. Instinctively, they reached their arms out in order to gain some control. Then I said, "what would happen if you leaned too far left?"

"We'd fall over."
"And what would happen if you leaned too far right?"
"We'd fall and break out butt!" *giggles*

Anytime they get a chance to use the word butt, they take it.

"And what would happen if you leaned too far forward or backward?"
They rolled their eyes at me. "Mom....you know! We'd fall!"

"When you're trying to balance you can't go to far any way or else you will fall. It's the same in life. Anytime you lean too far into something, you get off balance. You have to have the right mix of work and play. A good amount of healthy and splurge. A nice dose of doing what you're told and thinking for yourself."

I noticed that instead of playing their computer game that night, they went out to play instead. I want them to learn that now. So that they don't grow up to be adults like me, adults who are still learning how to balance their lives in a healthy way.

Now if only I can learn to take my own advice! How bout you? Do you have this balance thing mastered? Or do you take on more than you can handle and feel overwhelmed?

Thoughts on "Erasing Hell"

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Tue, 19 Mar 2013 14:12:00 +0000

The other day, after the end of one carpool drop off and before the beginning of another carpool pick up, I decided to kill a few minutes in between and go to the library.

I was looking for a series of books recommended by my friend Jessica but alas, they had none. After picking up a copy of "Bossy Pants", a book I've been meaning to read for quite some time, I decided to peruse the "Christian" section of our library, a small group of books but still, enough to keep me busy for a quite a long time. The shelves were full of classics, things that I keep meaning to read and never seem to have the time.

I checked out "Erasing Hell" and "The Case For God."

I find that reading stuff like this keeps my mind working. It keeps me from getting too legalistic and gives me the means to test my beliefs in a safe way. You know, because in the middle of a conversation with a fellow church member, I wouldn't be all, "dude, let me check what you're saying against scripture....yep, just as I thought, you are so totally wrong. I disagree with everything you just said but thanks for teaching me where I stand on this issue."

You see, Christians aren't exactly the kind of folks that like confrontation, even though we especially like to disagree on bible topics. This is strange because the bible is concrete, it's not constantly evolving. God said exactly what he said, nothing more, nothing less. And while the word is alive and can speak to us individually, it's also not really up for debate in most cases. When Jesus says to love, he means to love. We can argue back and forth about what that means but we're arguing semantics. Love is love.

The thing is, disagreement is actually a good thing. I can't tell you how many times, after a disagreement, someone made a point that I'd never thought of. It's even swayed me to completely change my mind. This usually happens with my husband. I can get into a tunnel-vision sort of way of thinking. It's almost always for selfish reasons. But then he comes along and argues his side and to my chagrin, what he's saying makes complete sense. Not always, but sometimes :)

But as much as it's a good thing, it's not something that's comfortable to do. It leads to awkward encounters as you walk into church service and unintentionally passive aggressive emails that say, "I'm praying that God may open your heart and change your mind." What they really mean to say is, "I'm praying that God will make you agree with me."

So, long story short, I prefer to read other people's opinions in books and then outright disagree or agree with them in a healthy, non-confrontational way. Not counting that thinly veiled tweet I just posted.

I finished "Erasing Hell" pretty quickly. The only reason I even picked up that book was because it was authored by Francis Chan and I thought it was a sure bet. I don't know how I would describe it. Because there is not a word in the English dictionary that conveys the amount of sheer terror that it instilled in me.

I had to put it down from time to time and chase it with "Bossy Pants" because it was almost too much to handle in one shot. Kind of like when you drink Tequila and chase it with a lime. You absolutely need that lime to take some of the sting and burn out of the experience.

Chan takes on a topic that most of us don't like to face. Is there a hell? What did God say about it? What's it like? Who is going there? How do I avoid it? It's hard not to agree with him in his conclusions but I really, really, really, really, really don't want to.

This book is haunting me. I suppose that's a good thing. It's the kick in the pants that I probably needed. It's forced me to face a lot of questions, make a few decisions and look at God in a whole new light. That's all good. I tend to want to see him only for the good. And don't get me wrong, he is all good. It's just that there are things about him that I don't like to acknowledge. Things like the potential of him spitting me out of his mouth. There is a side to him that is harsh, wrathful and scary.

But don't think I can fully love him until I accept that. That I am nothing but a lump of clay and I must surrender to the process of letting him, the potter, mold me into what I am meant to be. When I really love someone, I tend to love them for exactly who they are, even the stuff I don't like, the stuff I don't understand. It should be no different with God. The quicker I accept everything about him, the better.

As always, Francis Chan proved to be very challenging. I know he's good because I hate what he has to say. You can pretty much bet than when a pastor is saying something that makes you want to smack him, he's saying something that you REALLY need to hear!

Adventures In Passport Application

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 15:00:00 +0000

I feel kind of like a loser. Because I'm getting my passport for the first time. Like ever! I'm not renewing or replacing a lost one. I'm a passport virgin.

Yes that means I've never really been out of the continental US.

Actually, that isn't entirely true.

When I was 7, my parents took a trip to Mexico and when we crossed the border in Juarez, they hid me behind the seat in the truck! Sure, there wasn't much space back there, squished between the back of the cab and the seat and I could barely breathe but at least they didn't have to deal with the inconvenience of showing my papers!

Luckily, in subsequent trips they brought along my birth certificate although that didn't always keep me from hiding under tarps and luggage. My parents were experts at being "coyotes."We once brought my uncle tied underneath our van! Coyotes smuggle people across the border into the states and so when we brought over cousins or aunts or uncles or neighbors, it was important that I disappear, lest I attract a reason for the immigration to search the back of our vehicle!

Of course, in those days, all the immigration police required to look the other way was a $50 tip and the opportunity to cup my mom's breasts. These days, they'll shoot you for trying to smuggle in a mango! BECAUSE IT MIGHT HAVE DRUGS IN IT!

I've also been to Canada, eh. Hal and I went to Niagara Falls for our second anniversary and then another time we went on a cruise to Nova Scotia. Both times my birth certificate was sufficient but that just ain't gonna cut it this time.

I'll give you the details later but let's just say that when you cross the international date line, they tend to be sticklers about having a passport.

You guys...I'm so scared to travel. I'm trying not to think about it too much because I might just go ahead and change my mind. It will be the first time I've been over seas, I will be going through countries where English is considered a dirty language and if I get lost, I'm so totally screwed.

I'll also be traveling without my family. I won't be alone but still. I can't sleep well without my husband and I get anxious when the school bus is late and keeps me from my kids an extra 10 minutes!

NOT. THINKING. ABOUT. IT!

I am submitting my passport application today. I have all the forms filled out and I'm heading over to CVS today to get my picture taken. I've even printed a handy dandy coupon for $2.00 off! Then it's off to the post office and voila, in 3-4 weeks (because I live in the state where they process the applications), I will have my passport! And then it would be a shame not to go on this trip.

My church is building a high school in Jido, Ethiopia. We actually have many ties there as well. Coincidentally (or maybe not), both my oldest daughter's best friend and one of my son's best friends were adopted from Ethiopia. I'm told it will be a life changing experience. I'm also told that it will be very, very, very hot...in Africa....in AUGUST! Good grief, what am I thinking?

Again, NOT THINKING ABOUT IT!

I'll get through it. The plane won't crash, I won't be abducted, I'll survive the heat, I won't catch a deadly disease, nothing will happen to my family while I'm gone, I'll have a great experience and I'll return home safely with memories that will last a lifetime.

Right? I will, right?

How Yoga Mirrors Your Spirital Walk

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Tue, 12 Mar 2013 15:38:00 +0000

Today I was nursing an upset stomach, a rolling, lingering pain that's been with me since this past weekend. But while my stomach wasn't at it's best, I could tell that I was on the mend. My energy level was up this morning and I wanted so badly to go to Bikram, so I decided to give it a shot.

The heat of the room was soothing. Say what you will about Bikram (it's a few degrees cooler than hell in there), I find the heat to feel like a warm, welcoming hug when I first enter the space.

It was exactly what I needed.

But as I suspected, sometime during my class, my stomach started to hurt really bad. I was already sweating but I started to sweat even more with each building pain which sent shock waves through my body.

After the first set of Trinkanasana, I had to lay down and find some comfort.

"It's okay," said my instructor, addressing the whole class.

"Yoga is practice. Nobody ever got to be perfect at it. We meet ourselves where we are each day, practice and maintain our strength. Some days you'll find that you can push through. Other days, you'll barely be able to stand the heat. But you're here and you're trying and that's all that matters. Be kind to yourself."

It occurred to me, as I laid there in self-imposed Savasana, that yoga mirrors my walk with God. Every day is an exercise in faith. Some days I'm stronger than others. Some days I'm so weak it's as if I've never had faith before! But just like I sit on my knees on my mat and surrender to the process of yoga changing my body, I find myself on my knees every day, surrendering myself to the process of God changing my life.

And it is changing.

It doesn't always feel like it though.

Last week I was able to stretch my entire body backwards in a deep backward bend. It felt fantastic and I was ecstatic because I'd never done it before. But the very next day, eager to show my back bending prowess, I tried again and this time, as soon as I tipped my head towards the ceiling I felt faint and almost threw up all over myself.

I was all, "what the heck, I just did this yesterday! What changed between now and then." I felt kind of discouraged but I pushed forward because I know that someday soon I will be able to do it two days in a row and then three and then four. Some day, I'll be able to have a view of the back of the room when I'm facing forwards! Someday I'll be able to have a different perspective even though it seems almost impossible that I should from where my feet stand.

There are so many times that I feel like nothing in my life is changing spiritually. This usually happens when I don't "practice" my faith. When I don't put my faith into action. I get spiritually stiff, so to speak. And when I get to that place where I feel like a failure because I keep making the same mistakes over and over again or because I can't seem to push to that next level, I'm much too hard on myself.

I need to stop that. Ah, Licha, you are a work in progress but you are so beautiful and worthy and persistent. You have so many scars on your knees from falling that when you now fall, it hardly hurts. Some days it takes you longer to get up, to muster your strength, to decide to keep going. But you keep getting up, with God's help.

So I didn't have a great day in class. Tomorrow will be better. And so I didn't have a great day spiritually. Tomorrow will be better. I just have to keep practicing. I have to keep dragging my lazy butt out of bed every morning and practice at making myself a better person inside and out. Because I'll never get anywhere if I give up.

Juice Fast Update- Day...I can't even remember

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Sun, 10 Mar 2013 15:49:00 +0000

I'm not even keeping track anymore. It's just been too many days. I've got something like 21 days to go so mathematical deduction would put me somewhere around day 26.

I've done really well.

And I've also failed really well.

This last week really stunk. It's said in juice fast circles that at some point you hit a place where the hunger overcomes you with such intensity that you go primal, that you will gnaw through your own shin in order to satiate yourself.

Unfortunately for me, I hit that point at the same time I hit PMS. So in my case, I wanted to gnaw off my shin but first sprinkle it with salt and chocolate.

I'm just going to go ahead and count that week as a total loss, which is in a way no biggie because when I started this crazy thing I said "forty days" because I miscalculated the days of lent (there are actually 47).

In a way, I can technically still hit my forty day goal. Nobody said it had to be consecutive, right?

I know, I know, I'm grasping at straws here but desperate times, people.

This shows, without a shadow of a doubt, the power with which PMS hits. It's like a tsunami that overtakes me and I'm left dizzy, nauseous and bloated. It's such an incredible force, almost insurmountable.

And I gave myself every fighting chance, having the three weeks prior eaten nothing but healthy food, exercised plenty and had plenty of rest. It didn't help. Nothing can stand against it's force. NOTHING!

All this proves is that like a werewolf transforms under the light of the moon, I too morph into a ravenous beast at the dawn of the luteal phase. It's like a terrible nightmare!

Anyway, three weeks to go. I can almost smell the steak and cheese at the end of the tunnel!

Learning That Doing Too Much For My Kids Is Doing More Harm Than Good

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 16:59:00 +0000

I’ve started a new exercise regime. I go as many times as possible and I love everything about it except one thing, getting out the door in the morning.

It’s not what you’d think. I don’t hate getting up early or packing my bag or even mustering up the motivation, the problem lies with my children.

For the past six years I’ve been waking them every morning and walking them through the motions of their morning routine. This made sense because I'm a stay at home mother and so we got into the habit of me doing a lot of the leg work; packing lunches, readying backpacks, etc...

That was all well and good until I needed some time to myself in the morning to get ready for Bikram yoga. That really put a crimp in their style because I started expecting them to take a little more responsibility for themselves.

This didn’t go over well. It set in motion a chain of events that included refusals to get up and children who moved in slow motion and struggled to keep themselves organized. This was stressful for all of us. Suddenly, five people were trying to get ready in the morning and since Mom is mom and I almost always end up putting myself dead last in order of importance, most of the stress ended up on my shoulders.

Boy was I ready to see my yoga mat when I got to class! And it got me to thinking.

Am I harming my children by not expecting more from them?

At breakfast this morning, I gave my kids my version of walking through the snow, both ways, uphill and barefoot.

“When I was your age, my parents both left for work at 6am. That meant I was responsible for getting dressed, tidying my room, making breakfast, packing up my things and making it to the bus stop by 6:45. And I did it alone!”

They looked at me with an expression that said, “Would you like us to call a waaaambulance?”

By contrast, my fifth grader struggles to do something as simple as comb her hair in the morning! She does a pretty good job at the front but she only gets half way down her head until the tangles start so she stops there and leaves a matted nest of knots in the back. It’s not a good look!

It’s not that I expect that she should struggle like I did. We are blessed that I don’t have to be to work in the morning, that I can make them a warm breakfast every morning and that I can run her clarinet to the school if she forgets it. But there’s no reason that she shouldn’t be able to go through her morning routine without me having to remind her every step of the way.

Parenting is often described as “raising children.” I once heard someone say that we shouldn’t “raise children” we should “raise adults.” After all, we don’t want to raise a generation of grownups who are still children, adults who aren’t mature or can take care of themselves because they've always had a parent who did everything for them.

That doesn’t mean that kids shouldn’t be allowed to be kids. They are little and they need help and guidance but they also need to be constantly learning new skills and challenged at making progression.

The process of parenting should be a process of letting go…slowly. Children are completely dependent in the beginning and soon they start feeding themselves and going to the bathroom without help. Eventually they start to bathe themselves and dress themselves and each year should be a step closer and closer to independence.

I have five years to teach my fifth grader how to be an independent young woman. I’m not doing her any favors by waking her up every morning or packing her homework. My job should be to provide her with the environment where she can safely learn to take over some responsibility for herself.

There is so much for her to learn! She has to practice managing her time. She needs to learn how to be organized. She must struggle with taking initiative. My mind is overwhelmed when I think of all she needs to know before she’s off on her own. Someone should make a checklist! Until then, I’m going to start with these ten things:

Learn to manage money (balance a checking account, pay bills)
Know how to do your own laundry.
Learn how to care of a car (change a tire, check the oil, get routine checkups)
Be responsible with time (make it to class and work on time)
Know how to clean a home and use lawn equipment.
Be able to cook at least five healthy and balanced meals.
Know how to keep healthy (eat plenty of vegetables, drink lots of water, exercise daily, schedule regular checkups and keep balance in their lives)
Learn how to manage all kinds of relationships.
Know how to avoid unsafe situations.
Have a variety of skills like how to sew a button on a shirt or how to change a light fixture.

There is a lot to learn and when I consider how fast the first ten years have gone, I worry that I might already be behind the 8 ball. Some of those things, learning to manage relationships for example, are skills that take years, lifetimes to master. But I have to start somewhere. I need to get all of my children to a good starting point before I send them out into the world. This won't happen if I'm fighting their battles and not taking the time to teach them the details of life.

How can I expect them to fly if I’m too afraid to let them try out their wings? When it boils down to it, the reason I’ve been afraid to give them too much (seemingly) independence has to do with me, not them. I make excused like, "they're too little!" I’ve also got it in my head that in order to qualify myself as a “good mom”, I need to do everything I can for my children. But that line of thinking is actually pretty selfish. It’s based in what is good for me, not them. I get to feel good about taking care of them. Plus, if I’m honest about it, it feels pretty darned good to be needed by my children and that’s a pretty big payoff.

It’s time that I start measuring my success by a different yardstick, by one that shows how much independence they have and how much they can accomplish without me looking over their shoulder. Perhaps my view would be better from the bleachers, not standing behind them, ready to catch them if they fall.

Chances are, from that angle I’ll have a much better view of all they can accomplish. Plus, it will place me in the perfect position to give a standing ovation.

What do you think? Do parents do too much for their kids? Is this helping them or hurting them in the end?

Sweet Beet Juice

noreply@blogger.com (America's Next Top Mommy) — Mon, 04 Mar 2013 14:36:00 +0000

My brilliant husband has figured out a way to draw out the sweet taste of beets without that unpleasant earthy taste. This is what happens when you get brave with your juicer and just start tossing things in that need eaten before they go bad! You make experiments. Some of them turn out not so great but in this case, he hit the jackpot!

Here's the recipe:

Hal's Sweet Beet Juice
3 beets (no greens) Ours had gone limp, which is fortuitous because otherwise this recipe wouldn't work!
3 carrots
3 celery stalks
handful of spinach
4 leaves of swiss chard
handful of brussel sprouts
1/2 of a canteloupe
2 red apples
(This recipe serves two people a 20 oz portion or one person two meals)

This has got to be one of the most delicious recipes I've ever had. The combination of apples and canteloupe bring out the natural sweetness of the beets while masking some of the earthy taste of the beets and chard. It's pleasant going down and also has a nice after taste! I could eat this for two meals a day!

I'm finding that cantaloupe and pineapple are the rock stars of the juicing world because they can mask almost every bad taste. Lemon is also good as a masker although the taste is entirely different, it's more of a refreshing citrus flavor. I've found that oranges and grapefruits aren't as good at masking. You still have to blend in something sweet like apples or grapefruit, maybe even kiwis.

Today is day 20 of my fast. I broke down and ate yesterday, much to my dismay because it made me SO SICK! I've been fantasizing about eating for a few days now. I'm going to go ahead and blame it on my cycle. My cravings have been at an all time high. What I thought would be a pleasant, yummy experience turned into feeling horrible all day and night. I've still not completely recovered. Totally wasn't worth it.

I'm starting to worry that I'll never be able to eat again. I know that's ridiculous, I'm sure I'll be able to eat again but now that I feel so good, it's so obvious how bad food makes me feel bad. When I didn't know it before, I was oblivious. Now there is no un-ringing that bell and I have to say, that sort of makes me sad. I love to eat food that isn't good for me. It's so gooey and cheesy and delicious! But wow, it's amazing how horrible I feel after eating!

Oh well, you live and you learn, right? But now I know what happens when I eat and I'm going to try my best to remember how I feel and hope that it turns me off to eating the nasty stuff. I'm hoping I have a really strong Pavlovian response to junk food...like when I'm around it, I immediately get nauseous. I'm sure that will make more likely to resist the temptation!

I know it sounds crazy but I totally love juicing. After eating a little yesterday, I was totally psyched to drink my juice this morning. You'd think that I would want to give it up after a 47 day fast of nothing but juice but I can't wait to integrate it into my life. I can see myself eating a small meal and snack a day but drinking juice the rest of the time. I absolutely love it. Who would have thought it? I mean, for real? I may be one of those people who when I come to visit overnight, ask you not if you have enough room for me to sleep, but if you have enough counter space where I can set up my juicer.