It's Almost Naptime!

When your kids don't rock

2012-05-21T23:14:00.003-05:00

Naval gazing at its most literal

Pretend you are at the post office. Your third trip to the PO of the day, fourth trip to the PO of the week, because the seemingly simple procedure of procuring a passport for your child has become the dingdang holiest of holies holy grail.

So you're already a bit crabby and hot and flat out resentful of the passport lady who feels the need to tell stories and chitchat about her relatives to the entire slow, unpaperworkcompleted, unheightmeasured family who is currently getting their passports procured. Even though it is apparent that you've been waiting for 45 minutes already with a bored eight year old and an antsy five year old in a completely barren, did I mention hot, PO.

And then your five year old looks at the (overweight) five year old from the other family, points at him, giggles, and says loudly,

"YOU'RE FAT!!!"

At this point, going postal is indeed a fantasy but not a viable option.

So.
Tell me.
What do you do then, mommas?
How would you handle that one?

Soup for a cold summer's day

2012-05-18T12:48:00.002-05:00

(I don't have any pictures because I, my friends, am not the Pioneer Woman. Use your imagination.)

On Monday I met my friend Jenny for lunch at a Houston institution called Ruggles, and I ordered black bean soup. Ever since I've been dreaming about it so I made some last night. It was so good, I need to write down how I did it before I forget how I did it.

Yankee Kelly asked incredulously why I was eating soup in Houston in the summer. Because it's only 90 degrees, Kelly. This here is balmy. Sweater weather.

Black Bean Soup

makes enough for dinner & leftovers

10 slices bacon (ah, the secret ingredient, revealed off the bat)
Sriracha sauce (secret ingredient #2)
3 onions, chopped
4 stalks celery, diced
garlic - a few tablespoons from my giant Costco chopped garlic jar
2 cans chicken broth
1 28oz can diced tomatoes
I can of beer
cumin and chili powder. To your liking. I probably used 2T of chili powder and 1T of cumin but I don't know because I just stand and shake
5 cans black beans, drained but not rinsed
Salt & pepper

Garnish:
cilantro, shredded cheese, lime juice, sour cream, chopped green onion, diced avocado
Some yummy bread or tortilla chips

I bake my bacon in the oven because I'm lazy like that. Remove the bacon and cut it in pieces - I use my kitchen scissors for this, because I cut everything with scissors that I can. Especially green onions. And herbs. And often celery. Maybe that's weird. Don't you dare pour out that bacon grease, that's liquid gold, baby. Drain it into a large pot - tall is good - and saute the onions and garlic and half the celery. Mmmmmmm. Does anything smell better than that? Anything? Mmmmmm.

Drink half your beer. Toast me.

After the onions are translucent, add everything else, including the other half of the beer.

I just added a tenintsy squirt of Sriracha sauce and it made it just spicy enough. But we eat everything spicy - Shep at 8 is the kid who wants you to dare him to eat a whole jalapeno - so if your family is less inclined (Kelly) then leave it out, and just add it to your own bowl. If you don't have Sriracha, well, honey, you need to get some. Use Tabasco. But, listen, it won't be the same.

Bring the soup to a boil then turn down the heat and let it simmer for about ten minutes.

Ruggles' soup was creamy so I used my hand blender - my new favorite kitchen toy - to puree mine up. The bacon stayed intact, thank the Lord. Then I added the 5th can of beans and rest of the celery so that it would have a little texture. But you can skip the blending if you feel lazy.

I also added a little bit of cornstarch to thicken it up, which I am warning you will get you kicked off Top Chef, so sneak it in when the judges aren't looking. I also would have added a wee bit of Worcestershire if I had some but I didn't so I didn't.

I strongly suggest having some really good bread to go with this. The Kashi crackers I had so didn't cut it. Don't skip the lime juice squeezed on top, it's the best part.

Bon appetit, y'all!

A Little Market Research

2012-05-17T15:37:00.002-05:00

Walker was out of town all week. He was out of town last week too. And my mom is spending my inheritance in South Africa where she has been for three weeks.

I've had to raise my children all by myself for days now. Pffft.

But one comes home tonight and one comes home tomorrow and then all will be right with the world. And I might even get a chance to post the GIVEAWAY that I have been procrastinating on for days because as much as I love me a giveaway, my skull, it seems to take me days to actually post one. I don't know why.

Meanwhile, I'm sending Jackie 42 emails and she's sending me 42 emails and we're going give It's Almost Naptime!! (with TWO!! EXCLAMATION!! POINTS!!) a makeover.

I love the owls. And I shall be sticking with an aviary theme because I strongly subscribe to the Put a Bird on It theory. But this here is just too busy for me. I want clean. Simple. Maybe it will rub off on my life??

I also want to change up a lot of other things so I had this brilliant idea to ask YOU, you know, the blog readers, my exclusive clientele, what YOU like in a blog.

Like, how you like sidebars, or the buttons you click across the top. Have you found yourself frustrated by something on this blog that doesn't work for you? Do you want me to add a LOUD music player so you can get busted at work or wake the sleeping baby on your lap? Just kidding, I'm not going to do that. (I actually had a music player on her once a long time ago and several of my friends set me straight.) What else do you NOT like on a blog? What do you love? Should I keep that "What I really want you to know" button? Are there any other posts I should make it easy to link to?

So, give me your opinions, because I know y'all have opinions!

Some of the 1,000,000 things I've learned about blogging

2012-05-15T10:41:00.002-05:00

Sometime in the wee hours of yesterday, this blog crossed the 1,000,000 mark in terms of hits.

Which is just bizarre.

What started out as a little blog about Missy's rambling and her sometimes odd, sometimes hilarious children grew into what I've had many tell me is a ministry.

Which is really bizarre.
And really daunting.

Since 2007, one million hits ago, I've learned a lot about blogging and I am still learning.

I've learned that the posts that I thought were the best often fall flat. The posts that I thought were the lamest often get "I've got tears from laughing" comments. Which means I've learned that what makes a good blog post usually has no discernible rationale.

But I've learned that confessing my weaknesses as a mother and a Christ follower with a never ending need for grace always makes a good blog post.

I've learned that I am not afraid to talk about what I think is wrong, especially abortion, but I'm much better at dishing it than taking it.

I've learned that surprisingly, I almost never get un-subscribers after a provocative post, but sometimes several following a post I consider benign.

I've learned that sometimes my passion, especially regarding those who misuse Scripture, can come across sounding unloving.

I've learned that often after I blog something, it leaves my mind forever, and I can read old posts like they were written by someone else.

I've learned that most of my closest friends don't read my blog but many people I never would guess, do.

I've learned not to be freaked out when complete strangers know a whole lot of my business.

I've learned that some of those complete strangers will mail us money when I announce we are adopting a child.

I've learned that complete strangers will send me emails, spilling their hearts, asking me to join in their sufferings with prayer and advice.

I've learned that people will copy complete blog posts, post it on their own blogs, and not give me credit.

I've learned that a 'Christian' writer will take my copywritten material and use it for a famous Christian band's Christmas concert, and when I request compensation, she will threaten to sue me.

I've learned that a few men are addicted to mom blogs.

I've learned that people who leave ugly comments are cowards, because they do it anonymously.

I've learned not to let one ugly comment negate a hundred encouraging ones.

I've learned that some people who are not strangers will take things I've written and use them against me.

I've learned that strangers will take things I've written and fly me across the country to speak at their church events.

I've learned that some people think adoption is wrong.

I've learned that most people think adoption is beautiful.

I've learned that some of my best friends are invisible to me.

I've learned that when they become visible, the friendship only deepens. But sometimes they have accents that I never imagined they'd have.

I've learned that some bloggers who are rather serious online are hilarious in real life.

I've learned that the most successful bloggers are often shy introverts who are completely freaked out by their blog success.

I've learned that words have power, great power, and I've learned to be reverent and respectful of that power.

I've learned that the Internet has power, great power, and I've learned to be reverent and respectful of that power.

I've learned that James 3:1 can keep me up at night with worry.

I've learned to have great respect for those who speak HTML.

I've learned that blog statistics can become an idol.

I've learned that comparing myself to other bloggers is not only a waste of time, but a sin.

I've learned that facebook can spread a blog post like a virus.

I've learned there are some posts I may never be able to write because even though it might help others, it would hurt my family.

I've learned that my family is always more important than blogging.

I've learned that it's okay if I don't blog for a day, or even a week. I've learned y'all always come back.

Thank you, my friends. You have been great teachers.

Here's, God willing, to a million more.

Happy Perspective Day

2012-05-13T17:53:00.000-05:00

First World problems:

Third World problems:

Which one offends you more?

My Kid Rocks Monday: Everything's bigger in...China

2012-05-07T00:13:00.002-05:00

http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/china.html

My kids rock because...they crack me up.

Like this:

Eva Rose: So...how does the baby come out of the mommy?
Me: (how much is she ready for? pause) (how much am I ready for? pause) It comes out of the mommy's vagina.
Eva Rose: What's that?
Me: A hole down there.
Eva Rose: A hole down where?
Me: Down here.
Eva Rose: (startled) OOhhh. (how much can my brain handle? pause) How big is the va...gina?
Shep (walking in): It's bigger than Texas.
Me: What??
Shep: Yeah. It's bigger than Texas. China is WAY bigger than Texas.

And this:

Walker: Maggie, are you beautiful?
Maggie: YES!
Walker: how do you know you're beautiful?
Maggie: Because I have long hair, and green eyes, and I don't fart too much.
(but in Maggie speak: Becuz I have wong hai, and gween eyes, an I don faught too much.)

How are your kids funny, or otherwise awesome?

(linky tools will hopefully be up tomorrow. Feel free to link in the comments.)

The Joys of Raising a Smart Alec Seven Year Old Boy - Part 2

2012-04-26T23:33:00.000-05:00

Part 1 is here

Last time we covered some of the child psychology that is making your son act like a punk.

Yes, I said punk.

Walker and I decided that 'punk' was really the perfect word to sum up the annoying disrespectful punk our formally sweet six year old had morphed into. We never said it to his face - only behind his back. Cause that's the kinda parents we are.

But punk is one of those words that feels good to say and y'all know you could do a whole lot worse so -

Say it with me now - punk.
Shout it - PUNK!!
See! You feel better, doncha?

Some signs your kid may be in the Punk Stage:

A sudden ophthalmological affliction that causes his eyeballs to circulate when asked to perform a task
"Duh". Oh, duh. Sweet as a baby's laugh, duh is.
For this one, I want you to cock your neck back and get a scowl on your face. And you must say it accusingly, as though being asked the most asinine question imaginable, even though all I did was call your name. Don't forget to strongly emphasize the t. You ready? "What?"
"What the". When I hear "what the" the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Arguing with everything. Ev. Er. Y. Thing. With impressive tenacity. The Punk will not back down long after the battle has been lost. The Punk thinks he is Corey Hart and "Never Surrender" is his battle cry.
Once confronted with the err of his evil ways, the Punk will sometimes throw himself to the ground and engage in a temper tantrum the likes of which you have not seen since he was two while you stand and stare in shock and awe.

At least, that's how it played out in our house.

I stated yesterday that although I believe this is a normal phase in child development, it's our job as parents to ensure that a Phase does not become a Personality. Because I know y'all know/may be related to some adult punks and you wish you could time travel a few decades back and give their mommas ~~a talkin-to~~ some gentle encouragement and redirection.

In order to discourage future time travel fantasies regarding your own child, you've got to Nip It Now, Momma. Back talk/rudeness/sarcasm/disrespect cannot be tolerated even once, even when you're tired, even when you want to pretend you didn't just see/hear that. Pull your own Corey. Never surrender.

Some of the best advice I ever got as a new mom was "the way they talk to you at two will be the way they talk to you at 15." The way they talk to you at seven will be the way they talk to you at 17. Nip it now while you outweigh them.

To steel yourself for battle, remember a couple of important things:

Your 7-8 year old is not an adult. If an adult talked to you that way, they would be fully aware of the social standards and intentionally causing you emotional distress via their tone and words, and your elevated blood pressure and desire to snatch them baldheaded would perhaps be an appropriate emotional response. But your little kid? Not that sophisticated. Just three years ago he didn't know the days of the week, remember. He is still experimenting with language and the impact his words can have on others. And you? His unfortunate guinea pig.

I reminded myself of this just today when Ike, who is five, yelled at me to put his shoes on. I immediately bristled and got offended. Then I remembered that Ike doesn't really know that he is not supposed to yell at me to put his shoes on (he knows now.) Because Ike has never taken an etiquette class.

By saying their disrespect can be unintentional, I am not denying that our children are natural born little sinners. I'm just emphasizing that they are not natural born little sinners with good manners. Good manners must be taught. That's our job as moms. To create polite little sinners.

You must refrain from being a Punk yourself.

One of my least favorite parts of motherhood is the way that I can easily begin to engage in behavior exactly matching the age of the child I am trying to discipline. Oh, humility.

Middle Years children learn this fun new concept called Hypocrisy and they will use it to call you out.

Do not get sucked into the argument. Don't answer his smart alecness with a smart alec response - as tempting as it may be. Clamp your hand over your mouth if you have to. Bite your finger. Leave the room. Scream if you must. But do not sink to his level. All it does is teach him new tricks and give him some ammo for his hypocrisy quiver.

Become hyper aware of the way you speak to others. Do you answer irritatedly when your husband asks you where the milk is and it's staring him right in the face? Do you get short with your kids around day 26 of your cycle? Do you roll your eyes when you are on the phone with your mom? Do you - brace yourself - throw temper tantrums when you don't get your way?

Modeling is always the best - and scariest - way that we teach our children. We've got to get control of our own selves first. We must repent of our own sins before we can concentrate on the sins of our children.

And I just socked my own self in the gut.

Moving on to the the practical responses:

All the Parenting Experts (like me, bahahaha) will tell you that you can't reason with a 2 year old. It's true. Here's the good news - you can reason with Mr. Age of Reason. You can sit him down and tell him something like this, "Words are very powerful. Lately, the way that you have been using your words is disrespectful and really hurts my feelings (he's learning empathy, remember? Work it.) I know you don't always realize that, and part of my job as your mom is to teach you how to speak respectfully, and in a way that makes people happy, not mad or sad, and you're old enough and smart enough to learn this now. It's going to help you at school and your whole life. Some people never ever learn this, bless their hearts they didn't have a mom like you have, and they have a hard hard life! A lot of them go to jail!" If you have any childhood stories about how you or Dad once suffered mightily after a particular smart alec incident, this would be the time to share.

Seven year olds are very into justice and fairness. Use it against them, muhahaha. Feel free to say, "I asked you to do something nicely, and it is not fair for you to roll your eyes at me." Scooch right up close, but don't quite book, that guilt trip.

Try Again. This is an oft-uttered phrase around here. It is simple but very effective. Start by saying, "Try and say that again more respectfully." Soon this can be shortened to Try Again. (If he doesn't feel like trying again, he can go to his room till the urge overcomes him.) Por ejemplo:

"Shep?"
cocked neck-scowl "WHAT?"
"Try again."
"Yes ma'am..."

You may have to give him the words at first, but he's smart, he'll catch on quickly. We are training them by teaching them alternative means of communication. Training takes time and repetition, whether it's a sport, a puppy, or a child. Polite little sinners are made, not born.

Be a memory versing fool. There are so many good ones on taming the tongue. Here are just a few:

Romans 12:10b
Outdo one another in showing honor.

Psalm 34:12-13
Whoever of you loves life and desires to see many good days, keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking lies.

Psalm 19:14
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord.

Proverbs 15:1-2
A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.

Proverbs 18:13 (The Message) (he'll love this one)
Answering before listening is both stupid and rude.

Proverbs 21:23 (The Message)
Watch your words and hold your tongue; you'll save yourself a lot of grief.

Proverbs 30:17
The eye that mocks a father and scorns to obey a mother will be picked out by the ravens of the valley and eaten by the vultures.
(Kidding! Skip this one, please. It has a nice ring to it though, eh?)

Introduce the concept of honor. I think I have read 90% of all parenting books ever written and the ones that have fundamentally changed the way I parent are written by Scott Turansky and Joanne Miller at the National Center for Biblical Parenting. Their book Say Goodbye to Whining, Complaining and Bad Attitudes in You and Your Children tells you step by step how to create an honor based family. I can't recommend this book and Good and Angry: Exchanging Frustration for Character in You and Your Kids enough.

The concept behind heart based discipline is to address the heart, not the behavior. Kids at this age truly might not know that they are being obnoxious. It is our job to gently point it out to them. Once they know the law, we must get to the heart of the matter, to where the sin lies.

At the heart of all sin is a lack of honor, towards God and others. Once you have explained to your kids what honor is (the book tells you how), that word has power. "You are not honoring me" is a strong statement in this house. And remember what I said about hypocrisy? Yeah. Get ready to hear that one yourself, because we are obligated to honor our children too. (And man alive it's hard when he is acting like a PUNK.)

Here's the coolest part - when we point out that disrespect/dishonor/smartalecness is a sin, then it leads to wonderful discussions about how we are all sinners, and how we absolutely positively do not have the power to stop sinning all by ourselves, but God in his mercy sent us Christ who died for those smart alec sins so that we are forgiven of them, even before we do them - but wait, there's more - after he rose again he left with us the Holy Spirit whose very job is to help us not sin, and only through the power of the Holy Spirit can we honor one another because we're all just punks without Jesus! So let's pray right now for the Holy Spirit to help you when you go Punky Brewster and for the Holy Spirit to help me not wring your neck too, okay? Because lately it takes a whole lotta Jesus to be your momma!!

(Just don't say that last line out loud.)

Stand fast, Momma. Pray unceasingly. Never surrender. Forgive yourself on the days when you completely blow it - don't worry, he'll give you another chance to do it right tomorrow. And remember the Mommy Mantra: This too shall pass.

The joys of raising a smart alec 7 year old boy

2012-04-25T14:27:00.002-05:00

Shepherd, age 7

My friend Mitzi called me this morning. "I need parenting advice."

"Oh," I answered. "Well I am THE EXPERT on parenting, so bring it on."

"Well, you've been through this one. Michael is in his Smart Alec Stage and it's driving me CRAZY and I need help before I kill him!!"

Oh, yes, well, I do know this one. And Mitzi knows I know because aside from hearing me complain, about a year ago she took my then 7 year old son to a baseball game and, she told me today, he was a rude little brat the whole time.

Raising boys is an experience, especially if you are Uber Female like I am. Because my 6 year old daughter is correct when she says, "Boys are weird."

Their weirdness becomes apparent soon after birth when they stare at a mobile for twenty minutes, already trying to figure out how it works. Baby girls don't do that. We want to stare at faces, trying to figure out how people work.

(When some of those girls grow up they blog for the same reason.)

Then when they are four, boys exhibit their weirdness by saying "POOP!" or "UNDERWEAR" at the dinner table and collapsing into giggles. Repeatedly. Weeeeird.

When Shepherd was five, my sweet little baby buddy, precious, lovable first born turned on me like a top. Suddenly everything in the world was my fault. If it rained, I got blamed - loudly. If he fell down and skinned his knee, somehow I was the root cause of it.

Heartbroken and perplexed I researched it, and discovered that this meant that he was beginning to identify with his father and rejecting his mother - in other words, becoming a man - and one of the ways it manifested itself was in being downright ugly to me. All part of normal gender development. Yippee. Weird.

Then, at age seven, he developed a healthy case of Seven Year Old OCD. Shep's obsession was World War II. He read every book he could find, became a History Channel addict, and asked me several times a day, "What's your favorite battleship? What's your favorite gun?"

When I said I didn't have a favorite gun, he said I was the weird one.

But age seven was also when the Smart Alec Stage began, a stage I loathed with every fiber of my mother being. Which Mitzi is currently loathing. Which you may be loathing. So here's the advice I gave her. Being THE PARENTING EXPERT and all.

First, let's start with a little bit of the psychology of a seven year old. (My credentials you ask? In addition to being certified in early childhood education, I have a PhD in Googling.)

I am focusing on boys here but much of this will apply to girls as well, just differently, because y'all know the two have very little in common.

Also, this is the "textbook" seven year old child. Your son may be a precocious smart alec or a late blooming smart alec. All children develop at their own rates. (Out of my four kids, only one of them is textbook.)

The age of seven is a big one.

At age seven, kids begin to think in much more mature ways. Historically, this age has been known as "The Age of Reason", and when Shepherd turned seven, that made sense to me. His questions got more in depth and intelligent, and conversations with him got a lot more fun. And he began to get my jokes - yea! Spiritually, kids at age seven often 'get it' in a way they haven't before. They questions they ask can stump you.

All this will work to your advantage.

Child psychology is typically split into "before 7" (preschool) and "after 7" (the middle years). During these middle years of preadolescence, kids learn to think logically (but only about concrete things, abstract thinking begins to develop later), show empathy and sympathy, and become less egocentric (self-focused).

But they are learning. And they are only at the beginning of this stage.

Socially, seven year olds are learning to get inside other people's brains. They have a strong sense of justice and fairness, even though it is still often self-centered. However, their primary motivation is still to keep out of trouble, not to, like, promote the goodness of society and all. Which means they may lie like a dog when caught breaking a rule. (Yesterday Shep told me the duct tape on his glasses was to 'deflect lasers', not because he had broken them again. Score one for the cognitive development. Score zero for the moral.) But they will probably feel guilty about lying and confess (which can lead to some great discussions about sin and our need for the Cross, but that's another blog post.)

Seven year olds are becoming more conscious of language and word play (they get my jokes! yea!). This is part of our problem, because that obsession with language can quickly manifest into rude, disrespectful language. (And fart jokes. Lots of fart jokes. Still waiting for my husband to outgrow the fart joke stage.)

As they become less self-focused, they become others focused - but they are only at the beginning of this stage, remember. We have a long way to go. At this point, being other-focused is part two of our problem because they much more observant of other kids and frequently copying what they have heard from those other little smart alec friends with bad moms - you know, the moms who are saying the same thing about you.

Becoming others focused will be the primary means of our solution.

Because hallelujah, you can reason with a 7 year old!

Tomorrow, I'll tell you some practical things that worked for us.

Stuff moms google

2012-04-19T22:39:00.000-05:00

Since becoming a mother, I have often consulted my muse and mentor Dr. Google in Tarzan speak, seeking answers to life's burning questions like, "baby eat poop poisonous?" or "toddler eat elephant ear plant poisonous?"

Behind researching the toxicity of various non-edibles my children have ingested, Dr. G has stepped up most often regarding stain removal, from tomatoes (sunlight) to lipstick (Dawn) to banana (give it up.)

The Google du jour: "silly putty stain clothes."

Of course it's a Polo shirt. Because we never chew holes/Sharpie/sleep on top of Silly Putty in a cheap Target shirt. Or in jammies, which Ike should have been wearing as he cuddled the Silly Putty all night. But instead, my husband put him to be wearing a Polo he found hanging in his closet. Why? I don't know.

Maybe I should google "why Tarzan put Boy bed Polo not jammies why why?"

Dr. Google said WD40 and alcohol.
So far, marginal success.
Oh Dr. G, don't fail me now!

What original googles has motherhood inspired you to compose?

How to help a friend who...has a child with a mental illness

2012-04-18T19:53:00.002-05:00

From the How to Help a Friend Who... series.

http://amdunlevy.blogspot.com

I spoke at a retreat in November on the topic of suffering and afterwards, a couple of moms shared about what a private hell they lived in because they had children with mental illness.

One mom spoke about how much she dreaded going to church because of the horrific lies her beautiful, charming daughter with narcissistic personality disorder had told other church members about her and her husband. Another mom sobbed, "There was a child on my street who had cancer, and the whole community rallied and brought them meals, and gave support, and I just kept thinking, my child has an illness that is just as difficult and just as deadly as cancer but no one is helping us at all!"

It broke my heart, and opened my eyes.

Please welcome my friend Lynn, who has dealt with this personally.

The Mom in the Minivan Next to Yours

I'm a mom like so many others that you know. I am a suburban, minivan-driving Christian mom trying to raise my four kids in a negative world. My three daughters are ages fifteen, nine and two, and my son is six. I homeschool two of my kiddos. I taught elementary school for nine years. See? Like so many of the moms that you know, right?

But not really. My life is so not normal. Because my nine year old daughter struggles with mental illness.

"Issues" I tell myself. I never tell myself "mental illness". But my heart knows the truth.

My sweet daughter was born ten years into our marriage when our first daughter was five. All three of us could not wait to meet this baby girl. My husband was just finishing his doctoral program, and I was leaving my job to be a stay-at-home mom. Our life ahead looked sweet!

When my baby girl finally arrived, we were all over the moon in love with her. She was perfection itself! All 9 lb, 8 oz. of her! She smiled in the hospital, cuddled and snuggled and loved on her mama. I remember holding her against my chest, squeezing her tightly and thinking, This must be what heaven feels like. How could life get any sweeter?

As she grew, things only got better. Discipline with her was easy! I could just look at her and raise my eyebrows, she so wanted to please. She had long, curly blond hair, and she had an amazing vocabulary. She was reading before she turned 3, and we enjoyed trips to the library and the silliness of reading Robert Munsche together. One of my favorite memories of this time with her is of the two of us standing on the sidewalk in October and watching the leaves "dance down the street".

She was so bright that when we started to notice quirkiness, we just thought, "Isn't that cute?" Because it was! And we thought it was further evidence of how very intelligent she was. Really Intelligent=Quirky, right? And we were more than okay with that!

But - then came the temper tantrums if things were not the way they were "supposed" to be. Or if they didn't "feel right". And when I say temper tantrums, I'm not talking about the kind that ended with a nice little "teachable moment" and a spanking or time-out or anything of the sort. I'm talking about temper tantrums that often lasted for hours. Day after day. Tantrums in which she couldn't get control of herself, and we couldn't get control of her, either.

She couldn't stand the way that clothes felt, any clothes, so she was reduced to wearing knit clothes that were several sizes too large. Even then, she would scream and tantrum and stretch those clothes out until they had holes and hanging threads. And forget underwear! Or socks! Or any shoes except maybe Crocs. All of this did a real number on her.

I remember her asking me if she was the worst kid in the neighborhood.

Her pediatrician suggested therapy. Then she suggested an appointment with a developmental pediatrician--the wait was nine months long! All the while my daughter (and our whole family) was suffering. I found another doctor who had left "the system", and he suggested PROZAC for my 6 year old daughter. I politely declined on my way out the door.

We started occupational therapy, and I started hearing terms like, "Autistic Spectrum Disorders", "Pervasive Developmental Disorder", etc. My heart broke a little more every day. My amazing, lovely gift from God was slipping away from me, and I couldn't stop it from happening.

Then my kind-hearted daughter started becoming aggressive. It's hard to blame her. She was in agony, and her Daddy and I - the people who were supposed to take care of her no matter what - were powerless to do anything about it!

I was determined that we could "lick" this thing without medication, but finally, I broke down and took her to a psychiatrist because I was convinced that she was going to hurt herself or someone else if I didn't. My six year old daughter. To a psychiatrist. That was a dark, dark, dark day.

We put my daughter on medication. And not ADHD medication. "Black box warning" medication.

And although it was the last thing that I wanted in theory, I was begging for it by the time we got it. Our family had descended into hell.

Then there were medication changes, side effects (including an extra 20 pounds) and lots of reading for me. We added a gluten-free, cassein-free diet, which made a big difference despite the fact that most medical professionals told me it wouldn't work and wasn't worth the effort. We did a yeast detox that made a HUGE difference. We added lots of supplements. We saw more doctors and had more blood tests.

Mood disorder. Bipolar. Generalized anxiety. OCD. PANDAS. Lyme. Anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, antibiotics, probiotics, enzymes. Leaky gut, inflammation, strep, mycoplasma. And a tonsillectomy, too! I'm sure that I've left out some of the details, but you get the idea.

So this is my life right now.

That sweet life that I thought was waiting for us all? We're so far away from it that it doesn't even show up on my GPS. Except in my heart, where it's always there in the profound sadness of what ought to be, as I constantly search for the way to get it back.

The kids, the husband, the home, the minivan - this was my dream. And sometimes, like when we sit down to dinner, and my little son giggles so hard that he falls out of his chair or my nine year old daughter tells about going out of her way to be kind to a classmate who needs a friend ... at times like that, my heart smiles a warm grin.

But sometimes, my dream is a nightmare.

In addition to the daily struggle against super anxiety, tantrums, sensory processing issues, and hyper-irritability, there's my guilt:
Did I eat something while I was pregnant that caused this? Was it because I didn't ask to get off of bus duty at school, and I breathed all of those diesel fumes? Did I cause this by giving birth to her brother at a vulnerable time for her? Did I miss some sign of illness or allergy when she was an infant? Why did I give her all of those vaccines? Was it because of the way that I parented her as a baby and hugged and kissed on her all of the time, never leaving her with anyone else? Was it because I talked on my cell phone too much while I was pregnant with her? Did I cause this by eating gluten when I was pregnant?

And there's my anger:
How can my pediatrician not know where to send me or what to do??? And then how can he look at me like I'm crazy when I tell him that I don't want him to vaccinate my baby because we don't know what caused this in her big sister? How can doctors lecture me about ineffective diets, avoiding vaccines and trying holistic remedies when they don't have anything else to suggest? Why would people give us grief over feeding our children a special (much healthier, but much more difficult) diet when they know the issues that my daughter has struggled with?

There's alienation from family members who think that they could fix it all with a harder spanking.

There's trying to seem "normal" so that my precious daughter does not experience rejection from other children and adults who do not understand.

There's stress, and loads of it, because there are a million therapies to try, but none of them are free, and most of them come from doctors who aren't even in our state.

And there's exhaustion from trying to reason with my girl when she is not reasonable, discipline her for outburts that are often beyond her control, and trying to prevent my younger children from copying her negative behaviors.

And finally, at the bottom of it all, there is loving my amazing daughter, who deals with more than any child should have to. Loving her in a very tangible way: making sure that she gets her meds, doesn't eat a "forbidden food", goes into her classroom even when her daddy or I have to carry her in so that she doesn't give in to the separation anxiety that can paralyze her. Reminding her that God works all things together for the good of those that love Him.

And searching. There's always more searching until we find the answer for her.

And one more thing:
There's missing my girl.

Someone once asked me how they could help me, as my girl's often-overwhelmed mom. I didn't really know what to say because the answer that comes to mind so easily is, "Give me another hour in the day!" or something equally un-givable. But since then, I've thought about that a lot, and I think the biggest ways that someone can support a mom in my situation are the ways that she can support anyone in a difficult situation.

Pray for my child. And for me and my family. We need His strength to carry us through, and I need His words to show her how much He loves her. Even though He has not delivered her. Yet.

Be there for me. I mean, really be there. Don't avoid me because you don't know what to say. If you don't know what to say, say that. Live life with me in spite of the difficulties. Be you. Be there.

Don't try to give me all the answers. Most moms in my situation have so many answers floating around in our heads that we haven't had time to sort through them all yet. I may or may not want to brainstorm. Follow my lead. Give suggestions only if asked. Otherwise, just be there. Hang out. Have fun. Fun is important.

Obviously, don't compare children. I used to lie awake at night thinking about what I could do to help my children be faster swimmers, the best spellers in class, the best ball-catchers. I'm so over it. Some days I just worry about how I can help my girl get clothes on.

Encourage me in my efforts. It may be hard to understand why I would not vaccinate younger children or why I would pursue a certain kind of therapy, but my husband and I are not making any decisions based on whims. For each avenue that we pursue, we've weighed the consequences, calculated the costs and cautiously forged ahead.

Acknowledge the issue. While I wouldn't want anyone to make more of it than it is, it makes me feel like people think I'm crazy when they discount what I tell them. Some have told me that she'll probably outgrow it--it's a phase. Or that she's perfect when she's with them. Or that she doesn't seem like she's "having trouble". (At this point, I bite my tongue instead of telling them that she seems fine because SHE'S ON SOME POWERFUL PSYCHIATRIC MEDS!)

Play with me. Moms like me live a stressful, worried, what-if-filled life. Will she have to take these meds forever? Will we find a nutritional answer? How will we pay to find the answer? Will she be able to sustain relationships, have babies, take care of herself? Will my other children develop these "issues"? Like most people going through a hard time, we need to forget about worrying for a minute. We need to laugh and play.

Don't judge me. Right is right, and wrong is wrong; I'm not talking about not acknowledging that. I mean that people don't always know everything that's going on. When I was a classroom teacher, I was a good one, great at keeping control in the classroom. If I saw a child misbehaving at school or anywhere else, I always thought that I could fix it. My child would never behave that way. But now? Now I realize that sometimes kids misbehave because of slacker parenting or poor discipline techniques, but sometimes there is a deeper issue. I cringe at how arrogant I used to be about parenting.

And this might be the hardest thing, but: don't tell me that I shouldn't have to deal with these things. I know that it might seem supportive to say that, but frankly, it just gives me license to have a pity party. Maybe I shouldn't have to deal with these things, but this is our life. This is my girl's life. And I will never give up on her. For some unfathomable reason, God must have thought that I was strong enough to handle this. I can't afford to feel sorry for myself. It works much better to encourage me in the journey.

At the end of this post, I'd like to tell you that you will probably rarely run into a mom like me....that this is a "just in case" post. But I feel certain that you will run into more and more moms like me as time goes on. Perhaps you will become a mom like me. Because kids who don't neatly wear a label but have serious "issues"...there are more and more of them.

To read more of our story, visit Finding My Little Girl Lost.

If you or someone that you know is struggling with these issues, please feel free to contact me at tu4two@yahoo.com. We're all in this fight together!