The blog post has been sitting in my draft archives for a year, but it hasn’t escaped my mind.

One month ago, I approached my husband and shared what I wanted to do for my dad. I considered the possibility of dedicating a chunk of time for it on the blog in June, maybe even make it a series. But the way I had it all planned out in my mind felt too big, required far too much planning, and the outcome wasn’t guaranteed. While my husband appreciated my thoughtfulness, he assured me that repairing this piece of history wasn’t my responsibility, so after much thought, I decided once again to drop the concept.

But the blog post still hasn’t escaped my mind.

I still feel compelled to act.

So let’s get right to it!

Father’s Day is in two days.

My dad has a rare lung disease and recently had a heart attack. He’s not felt well since.

My dad has been retired for eight years, but I think most people would agree that the end of his career as a public school band director was less than ideal. I won’t attempt to explain, but quite honestly, it was a challenging time for my dad and our family. We tried to help my dad process and manage an unexpected ending to his lifelong career as band director, but by the time he officially retired, we were also two years in to the worst of my sister’s battle with addiction and mental illness.

All of this to say that I believe my dad was not given a proper retirement celebration. None of us had an opportunity to celebrate and honor my dad’s awesome career!

Another thing I regret is that I never got to see him direct his last concert. Under normal circumstances, performing and attending his last concert would have been a big deal.

It’s been eight years since my dad’s retirement, so you’d think I would have gotten over this by now. But it’s always bothered me that he never got the celebration and acknowledgement he deserved for all the years he put in as a band director.

I’ve feared that my dad will pass away someday having NEVER heard first hand the awesome ways he touched peoples’ lives through his role as band director. I’ve feared that my dad will pass away someday with sadness remaining in his heart about the way his career ended. I’ve feared that there will never be true closure for my dad or our family. I’ve feared that I will regret having never done anything about it, that I’ll carry this burden to my own death bed, wishing I would’ve done something to honor and celebrate my dad’s career.

With that in mind, my dad deserves one gift and it’s long overdue.

So today, I’m taking action.

Today, I honor and celebrate my dad!

Today, I turn pain into peace, regrets into closure, make wrongs right.

Today, let’s open our hearts and celebrate a man who passionately pursued his career. Let’s recognize a man who showed up at work, with honor, every single day. Let’s give praise to a man who went above and beyond, a man who communicated without hesitation the integrity and excellence he expected from his students. Let’s let him know his passion was worth the pursuit.

Today, I’m throwing a belated retirement party for my dad! It’s happening right here, right now, in this place, on this space, right here on this blog.

Yes, it’s unconventional. Yes, some will most certainly think it’s odd.

Yes, it’s spontaneous and NOT the way I usually do things. I don’t know the outcome and I don’t know if word of this virtual retirement party will spread like I want it to.

But I’m taking the risk anyway – for my dad.

I can’t change the past, but I can change how I respond to it.

Today, I fight for justice, do what’s right for the sake of another human being who happens to be my dad.

So here’s how this is going to work!

1) Please share this blog post on your Facebook page so as many people can read the post and participate as possible. If you know my dad and/or live(d) in one of the three cities where he taught, take special note. I need you to spread the word. Simple word of mouth will work, but you’ll have to share the name and URL of my website, Divine In The Daily at www.divineinthedaily.com. Thank you in advance for your help. The more we get this post out, the more well wishes my dad will receive and the more fun memories he’ll be able to relive.

2) Please leave your messages and well wishes for my dad right here on the blog! Write what you would’ve written in a greeting card if you would’ve been invited to a retirement party for my dad. Be brave. Be bold. Be positive and encouraging, loving and kind. Share memories you have about my dad when he was your colleague, your band director, or your childrens’ band director. There are two ways to leave messages for my dad on the blog. (Scroll down a little further and you’ll find the comments below this post.) You can leave a message in the Facebook comments section of my blog. If you leave a message using that method, my dad will be able to see your picture and respond to you directly. If you don’t have a Facebook account and/or prefer to be more anonymous, you can also leave a wish for my dad in the regular comments section!

3) If you feel strongly about maintaining confidentiality, but would still like to send my dad a message, please feel free to email me your letters at amybpederson@hotmail.com and I will be sure to forward all messages to my dad.

4) I would LOVE, LOVE, LOVE to get some pictures from my dad’s years teaching band. If you have a picture of my dad (and you?!) at any point during his band directing years and are willing to give me permission to use it, I would love a digital copy to include on the blog. I realize my dad retired before digital photography became popular, so simply take a photograph of the photograph, and send it to me via email. All photographs can be emailed to amybpederson@hotmail.com. *If you email me a photograph, I assume you also give me permission to share it publicly within the body of this blog post! I am looking for oldies, but goodies! Please send as many photographs as you’d like! This could be great fun for my dad. Marching band, pep band, concerts, solo and ensemble contests, jazz bands, staff or department parties, whatever!

5) If you have any other creative ideas for making this even more fun, please feel free to send me a message with your idea(s) at amybpederson@hotmail.com. Want to make a cake and send it to my dad? Great idea. Want to bring dinner to my parents or send a gift card so they can go out to eat? Great idea. Want to send balloons and flowers? Great idea. Want to dig up some old VHS footage of concerts and transfer it to DVD so we can have it to view for a lifetime? Great! Have connections and know the person who has footage of the last concert my dad directed? AWESOME. WE WANT A COPY. Please share.

6) Return to the site throughout the week. I will leave this post at the top of my homepage for at least one week, so it will be easy to find. If all goes well, people will be posting new messages for my dad throughout the week. And I’ll be adding fun photographs you won’t want to miss! So come, mingle, peruse, share memories and enjoy the fun!

So that’s about it! As I type this, I admit, I’m more than a little nervous. There are no guaranteed outcomes. But I believe, whether five people respond or 50 respond, they have something to say that will bring my dad joy, peace and freedom.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Thank you in advance for the kind words you’re about to leave for my dad. Because he deserves to hear how awesome he was, how awesome he is.

May this post be filled with words of encouragement, of blessing, of thanks and gratitude for a man whose career as band director was amazing, incredible and remarkable.

And before I leave this space to y’all, I’ll start us off on the right note! Our son started band lessons this week, and guess what he decided to play? Trumpet.

Amy (Mr. Femling’s daughter)

THANKS FOR THE SUBMITTED PHOTOS!

The Marvelous Mirage rock band, together after 42 years! Photo taken October 6, 2013. Submitted by Tiffany Femling.

Photographs of the 1988-89 school year! Submitted by Joel Kosman

Yesterday was a little ridiculous.

I woke up at 6:00 a.m. Left the house for work at 6:55 a.m. Conducted FIVE therapy home visits back to back, and returned home by 2:15 p.m. For the next 2 hours 45 minutes, I did laundry, cleaned up kids’ messes, unloaded a grocery bag full of one kid’s school stuff, did some finances, went to the park with three kids, made dinner for said three kids, cleaned it all up, and got the oldest ready for an out of town baseball game. At 5:00 p.m. daddy arrived home early. He kept the toddler at home, and I left with the two oldest for a half-hour drive to the baseball game. A train stopped dead in the tracks forced us to reroute, which caused us to be 18 minutes late for pre-game warmup. The 5-inning game started at 6:30 p.m., running long and late, not ending until 8:30 p.m. It was a great game for my son and we won, so of course, everybody planned to stop at Dairy Queen on the way home. One chicken tender basket, two small blizzards and a $13.84 receipt later, we took our seat to eat. Dear son refused to be the first to leave this time, so he escaped outside where all the boys were sitting. His two best friends were the first to leave. I finally convinced him to go after his second friend left, but not before he made a “dirty dinner” of ketchup, mustard, salt and pepper which caused desired outcome of friends laughing – and grabbed a ketchup packet and squished it to splatter all over his white baseball pants. Yay. We got home at 10:00 p.m. I informed the kids they needed to go to bed as quickly as they could, took a shower and crashed on the couch by 10:26 p.m. Forced myself to get quiet and in the Word for a few minutes, looking up passages on freedom. Began drafting a blog post, but literally fell asleep writing. Lugged my body up to bed by 11:30 a.m. Exhausted when I woke to toddler yelling “mommy mommy mommy” at 6:00 a.m. this morning.

Frazzled yet?

In need of a lifeline?

I sure was.

While all my days aren’t as rigorous as yesterday, they all have some variety of busyness, craziness, or chaos. I’m in a season of busy, as I’m sure many of you are.

This season of busy requires us to be focused, disciplined and patient to not only survive, but thrive through it. First of all, we need knowledge and awareness of what makes us tick, keeps us sane, grounded and functioning properly. Second, we need discipline to implement the things that make us tick, keep us sane, grounded and functioning properly. It’s up to us to fight for those lifelines, those things that keep us healthy.

It’s taken me near 38 years to determine, very decisively, my lifelines.

GOD

In an ideal world, I’d have an opportunity to attend a worship service, Christian concert, or Christian speaking engagement every day. Worship and community centered on Christ centers me, grounds me, helps me remember there is greater purpose to this life. Unfortunately, attending one of those events on a daily basis isn’t possible. So I rely on other things to fill the gaps – prayer, listening to Christian music in the car and on my iPhone, reading scripture, engaging with a Christian community on Twitter, reading blogs written by Christians, and listening to faith talk radio in between speech therapy visits.

EXERCISE

I’ve been exercising faithfully two to four times per week for more than eight years now. While I certainly exercised prior to that, I never did as faithfully as I have these eight years. What I’ve learned from eight years of exercising is this – I’m in desperate need of it. I exercise primarily for mental health purposes. Exercising makes me feel better 100% of the time. When I go 3-5 days, or worst case 7-9 days without exercising? I feel like crap. Yep. Just being honest. When I exercise, I feel free, empowered, strong and inspired to live better. And yes, maintaining my weight and losing a couple pounds here and there are side benefits.

MUSIC

Music is something I didn’t really realize I needed regularly in my life until this past year. I grew up in a musical family. My grandma was a master pianist. She taught lessons and played at church. She died when I was 10, but I’d give just about anything to have a moment to sit and listen to her play now. My parents met in college band, my dad was a band director, I was in choir and musicals in high school, and played flute through college. Music has always been a part of who I am. It’s not so much that I just need music. I need music that feeds my soul. At this point in my life, the best way for me to access music that feeds my soul is in the car on my way to work out and in-between speech therapy visits, or on my iPod when I’m working out. I’m an eclectic, preferences ranging from Eminem to Sara Groves, Elton John to Amy Grant – and everything else in-between.

WRITING

I’ve been a faithful writer since early junior high. Writing is the way I process life. Writing is the way I make sense of the world around me. Writing is the way I get clarity. Yep, I’m the person that writes a sentence when one word would suffice, several paragraphs when one paragraph would suffice. When I started blogging two years ago, I realized something important. When I start a day writing, the whole day is much better than if I don’t. When I end a day writing, I feel much more peace than if I don’t. My brain automatically generates language around my life experiences. I draft sentences and paragraphs in my mind all day. If I don’t get them out, they remain stuck in my head, of use to nobody but me and my ruminating mind. It’s better if I grant myself freedom to get it all out. Focusing on whatever topic speaks to me most in the moment helps me remain true to myself, regardless of others’ response.

So why have I shared these lifelines with you today?

Because identifying what makes me tick, keeps me sane, grounded, and functioning properly has been crucial to my health and wellness as an individual.

Here’s the key…any day when I fight to fit in ALL FOUR lifelines is a much better day than when I miss one, some or all of them.

Today, while the oldest two were at basketball camp, I got in a workout first thing. I turned my music up loud. Writing this blog post was a welcomed, self-imposed activity during my daughter’s afternoon nap. And tonight? Some quiet time with God before bed. Today will be a much better day than yesterday because I’m intentionally including all four lifelines in my day.

I’m not sure if you’re the kind of person who thinks like me, but if you haven’t done so already, may I suggest thinking about your lifelines?

What do you need to function properly on a daily basis? Perhaps your lifelines aren’t activities or habits you need to keep, but people you need to engage in order to maintain wellness. I don’t know what it is that fuels your soul, what it is that keeps you going day by day, but whatever it is, find it.

And when you discover those lifelines?

Fight for them. Fight to fit them in your day.

Your life depends on it.

Amy

My first memory of striving to be my best was in first grade. Sara and I were the top two in a contest to see who could read the most books. For each book we read, we got to add a body to our caterpillar. Whoever had the longest caterpillar at the end of the contest was the winner. I remember the contest and I remember the caterpillar up on the wall above the chalkboard, but the funny thing is, I don’t remember who won. It was all about reading more, doing more, being more.

Third grade marks my first recollection of being reprimanded for trying my best. My teacher was wonderful and highly respected. She had high expectations for her students. It was time for a spelling test, and I wasn’t sure how to spell a word. I distinctly remember spelling the word out in the corner of the paper in small writing, trying to figure out which letters fit together best before I wrote the word in its final form next to its designated number on the test. As my teacher walked around our desks, she noticed the faint, erased word on the top of my paper, and I’ll never forget her questioning whether I had cheated. This is most definitely a formative memory. I’d tried my best, yet my best wasn’t good enough.

The pressure to perform must have been on in fourth grade. Mom was a first grade teacher at the time, but had an advanced student who was working at the fourth grade level. I had a particularly difficult reading and writing assignment, and must have known mom had the teacher’s manual with all the answers. I don’t have any recollection of cheating, but I do remember being caught. My teacher called me on my far-too-advanced-for-my-age choice of words, and she was right.

The competition between me and Sara continued in fifth grade, sixth grade, and beyond as we battled for first chair in band. We played flute like it was our business, as if our lives were much more worthy because we were sitting in first chair instead of second.

In seventh grade, a peer criticized the way I drank my can of soda pop. She said I touched my lips too much to the can as I drank, and according to her, I was supposed to tip the can up slightly and just let the soda flow into my mouth. I’m pretty sure I overanalyzed the way I drank soda pop from a can for years.

In high school, someone called me on my pronunciation of sorry. “You’re not supposed to say SOOOORY,” they said, “you’re supposed to say “saaarry.” You bet, I never said “soooory” that way ever again.

I’ve always been one to dress up more than most, but in high school, a peer called me on it one day. “Why do you wear tights with shorts,” she said, “that looks dumb.” I didn’t have an answer, really. All I knew was I had bought the outfit at Express. They were showing tights with shorts at that time, and I thought it was cool. So, hey? I didn’t understand why she had to be so critical.

You’d think all of this would’ve come to an end after high school, but not so much.

In graduate school, I’d prepared a long paper for a course. It was tough and required a lot of research. I wasn’t 100% confident or passionate about the subject matter, to be honest. But I had done a LOT of work, and I did my very best. I felt the paper was perfectly acceptable. The next task was to present the paper orally in front of the class. I don’t remember much about that presentation, but I do remember the professor stopping me abruptly in the middle of it. “I think we’ve heard enough for today,” she said. The message was clear – you’ve said too much, you’ve gone into way too much detail, we don’t need to hear any more of this. I’m not sure if I left the room right away or if I waited politely until the appropriate time to leave, but I remember fleeing down the hall, hiding away, sobbing in the bathroom.

Last summer, a grown woman made me feel like a 7-year-old instead of a 37-year-old when I was simply following my husband’s suggestion to organize a group of adults and children. I was tired and overstimulated, and I was just trying to do the right thing in that moment, but her poor choice of words and condescending, shaming tone brought me all the way back to 3rd grade in a second. She shut me up and shut me down, that’s for sure.

And later that summer, when I made homemade scalloped potatoes and ham, warmed up a bag of frozen mixed vegetables, put it on the kids’ plates and they said “that’s all we’re having for dinner?” I second guessed myself. I should’ve made pork chops and scalloped potatoes, then there would’ve been a bigger piece of meat and more protein. I should’ve cut up some fruit so they had all the food groups represented. And we were out of milk, so they just had ice water. Clearly, I wasn’t organized enough to get to the store to buy milk today. And that night at the store, guilt as I passed up the organic gallon of milk for the much cheaper $2.89 gallon of store brand milk.

Do you see the pattern here?

Do you see the problem with all of this?

My expectations are faulty, others’ expectations are faulty.

My thinking is faulty, others’ thinking is faulty.

My response is faulty, others’ responses are faulty.

Let’s just face it. The belief that perfection can be obtained, achieved, is a bunch of rubbish.

My pursuit of perfection, my need to try my very best and do my very best, at all times, in all ways, thinking I need to be all things to all people, yet still never feeling like I’m good enough? It’s not working for me anymore. It’s not healthy, it’s not sustainable, and it’s not the way God calls me to live. Because no human being is perfect, no human being can do everything right.

So I’ve had enough. I’m not perfect, nor will I ever be.

I embrace grace with wild abandon, because I need it bad.

Grace for myself, grace for others.

Grace it will be.

Amy

*Please note, this post is not intended to shame any individual who’s been a part of my formation as a human being, but rather to shed light on my personal battle with perfectionism.

Today I’m thinking of you. And I’m wondering if you might be a little like me.

You see, we all have hopes and dreams for our lives. Some of those hopes and dreams are small, and some are big and grand. Regardless of the size, they’re all worthy.

But sometimes, when a dream is really important to you, when it’s something you’ve been hoping for and dreaming of for a long, long time? It scares you.

Yes, hopes and dreams are exciting, exhilarating, life-giving. But they’re also scary because sometimes they can feel too big, unattainable, impossible to achieve.

Let me tell you a little more about how this plays out in my life.

About six weeks ago, I published a post on my personal Facebook page. It read something like this…

Seriously considering running a marathon for my 40th birthday. Wondering if running a marathon is something I should plan on being a once-in-a-lifetime event, or is it something an average person could pull off several times? Also, any recommendations as to which marathon would be better for a first-time marathoner, _____ or _____ (listed the names of two marathons I’ve considered for my first).

Sure, it was a little scary to publish this post on my personal Facebook page, because I’ve dreamed of running a marathon for a long, long time. But what was even scarier was the fact that I was putting myself out there and had no idea what kind of response I’d get. Would they think I was crazy? Trying to get attention? I knew there were a lot of marathoners in my 400-something friend list on Facebook, so I knew it was the best place to go for some quick feedback. But I was still a little scared.

After I published the post, I put down my phone and watched a movie with my husband. Two hours later, I picked up my phone and pulled up Facebook. As I walked up the stairs to our bedroom, I noticed there didn’t seem to be any replies to my post about the marathon. No notifications were popping up on my screen.

I got scared.

Oh no. The post has been up for two hours and not a single person’s responded. They must think I’m crazy. They must think I’m out of my mind. This was a horrible idea.

So before I even got to the top of the stairs, I pulled up the post, erased it, and closed down Facebook.

Bad idea.

When I got into bed, I proceeded with my nightly routine, which is quiet time to peruse Facebook and Twitter without interruption. It was only then, when I gave Facebook ample time to load, that I realized I had received feedback on that marathon post – several likes and SEVEN comments. Seven comments. Hmmm…

I clicked on the notification so I could read all of the comments; the only (major) problem was that I had deleted the post just a few minutes prior! I, quite literally, lost access to my own post. So although I could see that seven comments had been made, I never had the opportunity to read any of them. When I deleted the post, all of the comments got automatically deleted as well. The support I might have just garnered for one of my dreams was lost in one click.

I felt like a fool. How silly was I? How stupid was I to assume that NOBODY would like the idea of me running a marathon? It was only because of my own fear that I erased that post as I walked up the stairs. It was only because of my own need for others’ APPROVAL of my dream that I erased the post when I thought it had gotten zero response.

Sorry to say folks, it doesn’t end there.

In January, I asked for a prayer and support team to come alongside me and my God-sized dreams. I wasn’t in any place to share my dreams with the whole wide world, but I didn’t want to feel alone with my dreams anymore, either. To my surprise, 12 people offered to come alongside. But two emails and three months later, I became scared that I just let 12 people in on my dreams. I wanted to back out, I wondered if I’d made the wrong decision. There was a part of me that thought I’d been too quick to invite others in, too quick to put myself out there, too quick to share the dreams. I felt vulnerable, and still do. Yet I know I need the support.

And another example – after I’d taken a 3-week break from blogging, after I felt complete clarity about my life from here on out, my husband and I made plans to start moving me towards my dreams even more. But let me tell you, there’s a cost to pursuing your biggest hopes and dreams. When you start to count the cost of following your dreams, it’s easy to get scared.

Thoughts creep in…

Is this really worth it? Are my hopes and dreams really going to happen anyway? What if I spend all of this time, all of this money, all of this effort – and nothing comes of it? What if? What then?

Yes, I admit. I have these hopes, I have these dreams for my life. But I’ve been waffling between fear and hope. I’ve felt empowered, I’ve felt the uncertainty of in-between, and I’ve felt scared to death.

So I’m wondering if you might be a little like me?

What are your hopes? What are your dreams for your life?

Do you dream of finally getting that college degree? Maybe it’s an extra licensure or degree you need to fulfill those dreams. Perhaps your hopes and dreams are on the home front. You long to get married and have children of your own, you want to become a foster parent, you dream of adopting from Asia or Africa, you want to know what it’s like to stay home full-time with your children. You daydream about a bigger house, a much smaller house, a lake house, or maybe you realized you really just want to sell it all and retire or become a missionary. It’s possible you need to get back to work, step away from work, change your work from corporate to nonprofit or the other way around. Maybe you want to open a restaurant, set up a booth at the state fair, start a video business, jewelry business, Mary Kay business? Or perhaps you’ve always wanted to climb Mount Everest, go on a safari, kayak over a waterfall, or become an Ironman. Or maybe, just maybe, you dream of quiet spaces where you have room to breath, room to feel free, room to notice and just be.

Whatever your dream is, it’s worthy.

Whatever your dream is, it’s bound to make you scared at some point.

Whatever your dream is, fear’s going to push back on it somewhere along the way.

But yes, let’s remind ourselves again…

Whatever your dream is, it’s worthy of dreaming.

Because without dreams, we have no hope for a better tomorrow.

So let’s keeping hoping, let’s keep dreaming, let’s keep praying it’ll all come true.

And day by day, let’s push those fears aside – together.

Don’t let your biggest hopes and dreams scare you. Because in the end, it’s better to have failed in pursuit of a dream than it is to regret having never pursued it at all.

Amy

Today, I’m pleased to present a guest post written by my sister, Tiffany. This is the fourth time Tiffany has been featured on my blog. In July 2012, I shared Tiffany’s six-year journey through significant addiction and mental illness; it was the first post I published on this blog. In December 2013, I posted an update and shared why I felt called to continue writing Tiffany’s story from my perspective as sister. Later that month, following the birth of her second child, I published another post loaded with pictures of the special day. Today, I’ve invited Tiffany to share about her life from HER perspective, in her own words. My hope is that readers will gain a heightened awareness of and sensitivity to mothers and families facing unique life circumstances.

They’re angels. Nobody is hurting and everything is ok. I drop from a plane through the floor, drift at a rapid speed through the clouds. Knowing I’ve been told I’m not going to hit the ground, but not trusting that fact until my parachute comes out. And slowly, I fly back to that quiet place of no hurting or pain, just being.

I am a 34-year-old single mother to two beautiful children. My daughter is almost four years old, and my son is five months old. I have a mental health diagnosis of Schizoaffective Disorder, Unspecified Neurocognitive Disorder, ADHD and Panic Disorder. I dealt with some significant traumas between 2004 and 2010, but life seemed to fall into order when my daughter, Raegan, was born. A sense of genuine purpose was now in my life. Since having kids, I’ve realized I must be strong for them.

I rarely have moments when life seems perfectly clear and obvious. The struggles I have on a daily basis are in my mind. My mind is typically racing in a million ways, with a million thoughts. I’d say my biggest struggles are trust and fear. These are personal downfalls I hope to overcome because I can’t do everything myself. I do trust a few people, but I need to develop an even greater sense of trust. Fear seems to run my life; the constant voices in my mind tell me something horrible is going to happen. My psychologist says that my anxiety helps me be a more cautious person, which can be both positive and detrimental. That being said, I’ve never wanted to change the life God gave me. Never have! I’m able to control my mental illness through medication and proper support. I have learned to understand my mental illness, its triggers and cycles. I apply this knowledge to my daily schedule, taking one day at a time.

The best part of the day is waking up to my kids, eager for another day. The typical day consists of waking up, feeding the kids, making coffee, then taking my medications. We usually talk, sing, dance and play. We tend to find humor amongst our daily duties. We then attend appointments and school and hang out with family and friends. We have a routine, and we’re used to our life. We know no different than what we have.

I live for my kids – for them to be happy, for them to experience life in a way I was never able to because of my mental illness. To know that you’ve been told that everything is going to be fine, just trust that safety will rescue you in any situation. So many nights I wait on call, kind of like a nurse, listening for every breath. Me as their safety, as long as I can be.

The most difficult aspect of being a single mom with a mental illness is wondering if I should have or could have done something different. Though I am doing my best, was I selfish to bring two souls into this world? I feel they selected me to be their mom, but am I everything I could be? Anxiety fills my life, including the thought of losing the kids, them being out of my control, them getting hurt and not being accepted. My kids have been through a lot during their short time on earth, and I only see them growing stronger through each experience. They seem to know just what to say and do. I did not chose to be single or mentally ill. I am living with what God gave me, and I will continue to teach my children to do the same.

I often feel as though others are watching me a little closer and may have negative assumptions about how I am parenting or acting. The extra responsibility that comes with being the only provider, the only nurturer and the only disciplinarian results in additional stress. I never hesitate to ask for help, and I connect with others all the time. Having time to vent is not just a luxury, but a necessity. Prioritizing is key. I focus my energy on what’s important for my family. I always let my children know that I love them and face my mental illness with courage.

I am always working on becoming a stronger person. The support I receive and have chosen to utilize keeps me moving forward.

My dad and mom are consistently there for me. They help physically, mentally and with my finances. They are in the process of training me to be a good parent and to run a household. They are there when I need a few hours in my own world, or need help organizing, cleaning, cooking, or doing laundry. I started receiving disability years ago and mom helps with my finances; she gives me money when needed and pays my bills each month. There is an agency in charge of taking care of financial issues as needed. My mom and dad have also, by example, taught me how to be a nurturing parent. While my mom helps with my laundry and some cooking, she is mostly there for emotional support. My mom and dad both enjoy playing with my kids. My mom enjoys teaching the kids and my dad enjoys the play. Raegan’s favorite activity with grandpa is swinging in his man cave in the garage. My parents don’t like to take on the role of disciplinarian because they want to be grandparents. I never expected to be so dependent on my mom and dad, but I am. They are, in turn, training me. One day, I will have to take over all duties on my own. For now, we appreciate and love them for all they are and all they do. My mom and dad add additional love to our lives and help us in ways unimaginable.

Annie is a tarot card reader and likes to be called “intuitive.” She balances my energy. She seems to always reassure me that everything is going to work out. I see Annie when needed. She always tells me to give what I can. Recently, the lovers card appeared on the bottom of the deck; the bottom card may elude to an issue that is on the client’s mind. She also confirmed that my mom and dad and kids are going to be ok, a worry I often have. She has brought light into my often dark mind.

Michelle is my mental health worker. When she first started working with me in 2008, she thought of me as an introverted, self-absorbed hippie. Years later, I am somewhat of an extrovert, with a reason to live. Years later, I consider Michelle a good friend. She has been there for me once a week for years. She is there to listen to me vent and to give feedback, to attend appointments, to hang out and to help me prepare for life. The goal is to eventually stop utilizing the service she offers, but I am not prepared for that at this time. Maybe in the future?

Jen and Courtney work for Greater Minnesota Family Services. They provide extra support for struggling families and focus on social-emotional well being. We have home visits with them weekly. Raegan will be attending sessions with them once a week this summer.

Jessica works for Early Head Start. She worked with me through pregnancy and now with Xander. She comes to our house once a week. Raegan was in Early Head Start until she was three. She now attends Headstart preschool and will go there until kindergarten.

My kids are my strongest support system. They teach me to never give up on life!

In my world, I fear rejection. Maybe it all comes from not getting invited to a party when I thought I would be? Maybe it’s hearing no, when I thought it’d be a yes. Maybe it’s the fact that sometimes we win, and yes, sometimes we do not.

I hold on to what I can.

I follow my heart in whatever I do.

What I’ve learned from my experiences in life, I hope to pass down to my children. There is a place for everyone in life. You may not always be center stage, nor want to be. Try everything. Be scared! Be scared of consequences, but do not live your life scared.

So I move forward with optimism, knowing that I am someone and I am loved. Knowing that people need me and want to be around me. My mental illness and being single are part of me, but they do not define who I am as an individual.

We were at the laundromat doing laundry with mom. Mom said my laundry looked like a schizophrenic person, so much piled up. I need to work on that. Smile. There was a guy in the laundromat that appeared to be interested in our situation. We talked a bit and I ended up leaving the place. Raegan wanted to stay with mom and was running around and climbing on high chairs. My anxiety heightened, but I tried to stay calm. The obsessive thought of her falling backwards and cracking her head open persisted in my mind. I’ve been thinking about her drowning all day. Drowning is the leading cause of death for children in the United States. I’m not labeled as OCD but the thoughts are intense. Relief, each and every time that no accident occurs. Waiting for disaster. That guy, he continued to ask my mom about my interests as Raegan was screaming at me to leave the laundromat and I’d checked on her three plus times. Mom was inside our place helping put away the laundry. She helps us a lot, and I know that I’m learning from her. We learn, we figure everything out. Two kids scream in the back seat. “Xander stop,” says Raegan. He keeps looking at me. Tears flow out of my eyes. I think of the friendly guy in the laundromat who said “you look like you need some help.” Or the smile from the person beside my car today. The car ride is now over. Raegan gets out and says, “Mom, I love you.” It makes everything worth all the madness. The feeling again, dropping at a fast speed, knowing everything is going to be fine.

I have worked with Tiff for over four years. When we first began, she was single and a free spirit. She had little to no focus to her life. She was in several relationships but was not committed to any one of them. She moved to Mankato, and we lost contact. Approximately one year after she moved, I ran into her at a coffee shop. Her entire demeanor had changed. She told me she had a baby and wanted to work with me again. She had changed her life completely. She has her focus, which appears to be her family (her children and herself). She continues to have her glitches at times, but she asks for help when she needs. She has matured and grown into a loving, caring mother and person. Written and contributed by Michelle, Tiffany’s mental health worker 

*This post wraps up a month-long series titled Motherhood Unraveled where we’ve explored the joys and challenges of mothering. To check out the series, click here and read to the bottom where all the posts are listed and linked. If you’re new to the blog, welcome! I’m glad to have you here! Feel free to explore the rest of the site at your leisure.

There comes a time when you realize your babies aren’t babies anymore.

Remember when it first happened, mom? That moment you realized your baby was growing up before your eyes? You went to lift him out of the crib and suddenly he seemed much bigger than he did before nap time. You wondered what happened. How in the world did he get this big without me noticing?

Remember that first day you dropped her off at daycare, that first time you left her with a babysitter, that first time you left her at grandma and grandpa’s house overnight? All the days she’d lived flashed before your eyes. You wondered if things would ever be the same. When you returned, she seemed bigger, a little more independent than she did before you dropped her off.

Remember those open houses and first days of school when you met his teacher for the first time? It took all you had to keep those tears from flowing down your face, didn’t it, mama? The way the teacher kneeled down right at his level, the way she showed him around the classroom, the way he peeked inside his desk and locker for the first time, it made you realize he was a big boy now, all grown up, ready for anything big boys do.

Remember the most ordinary of days, when your baby plopped down on your lap and you realized she wasn’t a baby, she wasn’t a toddler, and she wasn’t even much of a little girl anymore? Her feet were nearly as big as yours, and she’d been asking when she could wear a sports bra. It was a little easier to envision her all grown up now; you caught a glimpse of what she’ll be like when she’s driving, dating, going to college.

Remember the day you got that letter from school saying it’d soon be “the day?,” the day they had “the talk?” And he came home with a brochure stating in clear English that he’d be turning into a man soon? And you noticed some of the girls his age are wearing bras and it scared you to death? Ya, that.

Remember the moment you realized you’re going to spend the rest of your life realizing your babies aren’t babies anymore?

How in the world do I have a son old enough to drive a car…by himself?!

And why, oh why, do I suddenly find myself the mother of a teenage girl who’s going to prom?

Where did the time go? My baby’s off to college. And now, instead of baking after-school chocolate chip cookies, I’m sending care packages.

And please tell me, how in the world am I supposed to not break down sobbing when my baby girl stands in front of the mirror with a wedding dress on? Or when my son stands at the end of the aisle smiling at his bride-to-be?

Oh, sweet day. Where did the time go? Those grandbabies, so sweet and precious. How is it possible that my baby’s having a baby? What’s a grandmama to do but love on those little ones to the moon and back? Because who doesn’t love a second chance to love on your babies all over again?

Time. It goes on.

Love. It never ends.

We wonder if we’ll ever get the days back. We won’t.

For most of us, our babies aren’t babies anymore.

But we love on them dearly, even so, even more.

Because we’re moms for such a time as this.

We suffer, we sacrifice, we ache and we cling.

We love and we dote, we treasure and we sing.

For our babies aren’t babies anymore. But our babies, they’ll always be.

Amy

*This post is part of a month-long series titled Motherhood Unraveled. To read more from this series, click here and read to the bottom where all the posts are listed and linked!

I have zero tolerance for brat behavior from my children. Period.

I have no patience for it, none at all.

Want to offend the core of who I am? Demonstrate brat behavior.

Want to risk having all privileges stripped from your life? Demonstrate brat behavior.

Want to make me cringe to my bones? Demonstrate brat behavior.

Want me to be embarrassed beyond belief? Demonstrate brat behavior.

Want to humble me, make me realize this motherhood thing is serious, serious business? Demonstrate brat behavior.

Harsh, I know.

But brat behavior is something I don’t take lightly. The slightest offense and the most outright one are all the same in my book.

I’m fully aware that my children are privileged. They have everything they need. And between Christmas and birthdays, they get a lot of the things they want.

Sure, the 11-year-old wants a Xbox, a television in his room, and his own phone. Sure, the 9-year-old wants an iPod, her own iPad and another American Girl Doll. But let’s be realistic, these things are NOT necessities! And I’m not interested in getting them for my children anytime soon.

I want my children to be kind, humble, grateful, giving and other-oriented.

So moms, how should we respond when our children demonstrate even an ounce of brat behavior? Let me suggest five ways.

1. Determine an appropriate consequence for your child’s brat behavior. In other words, do not ignore the offense, but instead determine the best way to let your child know their behavior was unacceptable. Did they leave their birthday present on the ground and neglect to say thank you to grandpa and grandma? Well, maybe they don’t get birthday cake then, and maybe they need to spend the night in their room. Did they demand you get them that bowl of cereal or glass of lemonade? Maybe they need to try again using kinder words, or maybe they need to get the bowl of cereal or glass of lemonade themselves.

2. Put your child to work. Get them helping around the house. Enlist them in helping with dinner, setting the table, cleaning up the table, and picking up the snack wrappers they left all over the house. Make them clean their room, even if they don’t like it. Make them help you with 20 minutes of yard work, even if they think it’s the “dumbest thing ever.”

3. Get your child outdoors. As far as I’ve observed, children are most creative and least bratty when they’re outdoors engaging in child play. Bring them to the playground, give them some chalk and let them write all over the driveway, buy some water balloons from the dollar store and let them fill them up to their heart’s desire, encourage them to take their scooters and bikes out for a ride, or maybe, just maybe, let them get bored for once and they’ll come up with something really cool to do!

4. Encourage your child to serve others. And if it doesn’t come naturally, set up a service opportunity. Is there garbage all over the road leading to your neighborhood? Get garbage bags and go clean it up with your child. Is there an opportunity to serve others in need through your church or a local nonprofit? Sign up. Does grandma need someone to wipe the table and get buns from the freezer? Assign your child to those tasks.

5. Create space for margin in your life. Perhaps your child is tired, worn out, overstimulated. Stop doing. Stop going. Stop buying. Get quiet. Get close. Get near. Wonder, just wonder, what it would be like if you and your child chilled out and just enjoyed life together – without things, without special activities, without once in a lifetime opportunities. What if it’s not MORE they need, but LESS?

Moms, I certainly don’t have this problem solved, and I’m most definitely NOT a perfect mom. My goal is simply to reduce (and ideally eliminate) the undesired brat behaviors my children exhibit from time to time. Because even an ounce of brat behavior makes me realize that motherhood is serious, serious business.

We’re raising human beings who will one day become adults. And the last thing we want to create is entitled adults. Right?

If nothing else, may this post help you realize you’re not alone. Or maybe you’ve read something that will make you think twice next time your child demonstrates brat behavior and you’re wondering how to respond.

As moms, it’s our privilege and responsibility to raise children that are respectful, honoring, giving and grateful. So are you ready moms? Let’s fight to instill these values in our children. Because it’s worth every ounce of effort we’re willing to give.

Amy

*This post is part of a month-long series titled Motherhood Unraveled. To read more from this series, click here and read to the bottom where all the posts are listed and linked!

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of becoming a ballerina one day. Ballerinas were graceful, beautiful and precise. Something about that combination was alluring to my little girl heart.

There was just one problem. I’d never taken a day of ballet in my entire life. And I wasn’t about to anytime soon.

While I didn’t get to do ballet, I did do dance. Mom enrolled me in dance line. And for that, I’m grateful.

All my friends were in dance. We kicked and grooved to good old 80s tunes like “We Built This City,” “Splish Splash,” and “Uptown Girl.” We wore skirted royal blue leotards with a white stripe and matching gloves, because groovy tunes require groovy gear, you know!

My memories of dance were positive. In fact, I don’t have one negative memory from all my years of dance. Somewhere along the way, however, my participation in tennis, band and choir prohibited me from continuing with dance. But my secret desire and passion for dance never went away.

In high school, I loved school dances. I never understood why people wanted to leave early, and hated when dad set my curfew before dances were done. In college, I had no problem literally dancing the night away at fraternity parties, and took my fair share of Jazzercize classes. When I went to graduate school and became a wife and mom, I missed the dancing life because truth be told, it was nonexistent at that point. So when I joined a gym shortly after our second baby was born, I found a hip hop class and faithfully attended once a week for a couple years.

Eventually, reality set in. While in my heart of hearts, I still thought it would be amazing to be a ballerina…well…now I just fantasized about being a professional backup dancer for big name singers like Britney Spears and Ricky Martin, Katy Perry and Lady Gaga. Realistic, right? Because THAT was ever going to happen?!

So when our oldest daughter indicated interest in dance, I had no problem enrolling her promptly!

In preschool, she took dance all year. She was with all of her friends, and was perfectly happy. But from my perspective as a parent, I wasn’t so pleased with the professionalism and organization of the studio, nor were some of the other parents, so most, if not all of her friends left that studio.

The summer before kindergarten, I moved her to a different studio that was much larger and more established. She started out loving it, but her enjoyment waned quickly. The simple fact was that NONE of her friends were at that studio, and since she’s a social butterfly, she needed connection with friends in order for it to be a positive experience. By Christmas, she was burned out and wanted to quit. It took all I had to let her drop dance after the Christmas recital (particularly since we’d already paid $150 for two spring recital costumes that were non-refundable) but I allowed it anyway, because it seemed silly to force a kindergartener to do something she didn’t enjoy all that much.

In first grade, she took the year off from dance. I have to admit, it was an unprecedented parenting moment to realize my daughter’s friends were continuing with dance at other studios while my daughter sat idle.

The summer before second grade, she connected with one of her neighbor friends who had started dance at another large studio nearby. Our schedules meshed, so we enrolled my daughter in the same class as her neighbor friend. They took dance together all year and this time around, she enjoyed it very much. I was convinced, yet again, it was all about the friendship factor for my daughter (this, something I TOTALLY didn’t understand as an introvert)! And did I mention I loved most everything about that studio?

This year, in third grade, our family schedule didn’t mesh with our neighbor’s schedule, so the girls weren’t able to enroll in class together. Still, I was able to convince her to go ahead and try it on her own since she had acclimated to the studio and had gotten to know other girls. Fortunately, a couple girls from her class last year were also in her class this year; I’m certain that made all the difference. But still, dance this year has been okay, fine. She hasn’t complained a ton, but she hasn’t loved her teacher either. While she’s improved at dancing by leaps and bounds, she hasn’t seemed totally overjoyed by it either. And the past couple of months, she’s talked about wanting to quit.

So I surrendered to reality, yet again. I wasn’t going to be a ballerina. I most certainly wasn’t going to be a professional back up dancer. And now, there was a great possibility I wasn’t even going to be a “professional” dance mom.

Boo!

But just as I’d surrendered to the possibility of her quitting dance next year, just 10 days before the spring dance recital, she says she might want to switch dance studios next year. “AGAIN,” I say?! “REALLY?” Yep. She might want to go back to the studio she was at in kindergarten, because it turns out a few of her friends go there now, and she’d like to dance with them on the competitive line.

Alrighty then.

So I call the studio, the one we were at when she was in kindergarten, and ask about their programming for fourth grade girls. My daughter promises she’ll talk to her friends and get their parents’ phone numbers so we can see which preparatory camps they’re taking this summer.

And that night, I hear her in the shower. She’s dancing, repeating the names of dance steps “shuffle ball change, shuffle ball change, shuffle ball change.”

I smile to myself.

I wonder, maybe I’ve gone about this all wrong. Maybe for her it’s all about friends first, then dance. For me, it’s all about dance first, and if friends happen to show up on the radar, then fine.

And I realize, motherhood isn’t an opportunity to live vicariously. In fact, the blessing, the beauty of motherhood, is that you have the opportunity to help your child realize their hopes and dreams for their life (and every once in a while, their dreams might happen to coincide with your dreams).

So I sit in a place of peace and resolve, understanding it’s all about friends for my daughter. She’s a social butterfly. And while I don’t understand her extraordinary need to socialize in every thing at every moment, I do need to work within that frame of reference to help her flourish as an individual. Always. Yes, always.

The high school girls are dancing; they’re wild, free, in synch. As I pass by with toddler in tow, I linger by the window, peering in, just as I’ve done so many nights as I wait for my daughter’s dance practice to end. I hear the beat. I feel it down to my bones. The toddler toddles on and it takes every fiber of my being to pull myself away from that window. Because all I really want to do is step right in.

Let me dance. Let me be free. Let me get lost in the rhythm, in the beat. Let me live the life of a dancer.

But I move on, step away. Because now’s not the time. So I set another goal. One day, I’ll try on ballerina. One day, I’ll try on back up dancer. And I won’t be much good at it, but I’ll love it. I’ll absolutely love it.

Then, in heaven, when I’m hangin’ with all the writers and musicians (just like I told you I would), I’ll put on my real dancing shoes and join all the dancers, too. Then, yes then, I’ll be a professional. Wild, free, in synch with the One who creates all the rhythms, all the beats. It will be awesome, everything I imagined and more.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find my daughter dancing right along with me.   

Amy

*This post is part of a month-long series titled Motherhood Unraveled. To read more from this series, click here and read to the bottom where all the posts are listed and linked!

When she breaks out the tubes of chapstick and it’s all good and dandy fun until you walk by the front door to discover the chapstick’s all over the window….bless the mess.

When it feels like you just wiped that stainless steel fridge door clean, and then you look down to white handprints all over it…bless the mess.

When your dear husband put the shoes away neat and tidy in the shoe bucket and in rows on metal shelves in the mud room closet, and then you find them strewn all over the place all over again…bless the mess. 

When you JUST got all those toys picked up – back in the basket, back on the shelf, back in the toy box - but before you know it, they’re everywhere, all over the place…bless the mess, just bless the mess.

When there’s laundry to do, like piles and piles of laundry that just won’t stop, and pieces just keep showing up here and there and everywhere, and you keep pushing it through and pushing it through but it never seems to end…bless the mess.

When you can’t seem to get out from under that kitchen table – it’s where everything goes that just came in, where everything goes that’s gonna go back out, where everything goes that’s gotta go somewhere - it’s just a table full of things that need to be managed by a mama…bless the mess.

When there’s peanut butter globs and crunched up crackers strewn with orange pieces, and the chairs are full of it too…bless the mess, just bless the mess.

When the sink never seems to clear of half-eaten cereal bowls, unrinsed yogurt cups, peanut butter knives, milky sippy cups, greasy pans, and used up coffee grains…bless the mess.

When the grass stains, mustard stains, mud stains, chocolate stains, marker stains, grease stains, red kiddy lipgloss stains, and just about everything else stains won’t stop…bless the mess, just bless the mess.

When the mail pile never goes down, and you keep working and working at it, but for some reason, it just never, ever goes away like you want it to…bless the mess.

When you finally do manage to get that mess picked up and it’s all clean just the way you want it (let’s say once or twice a year?!), but it’s back to mess in a matter of minutes anyway….bless the mess, mama.

When you realize the mess for what it is – proof you’re living, proof you’re human, proof you’re mama, proof you have beautiful little and bigger ones roaming the halls of that home…bless the mess, just bless the mess.

Amy

*This post is part of a month-long series titled Motherhood Unraveled. To read more from this series, click here and read to the bottom where all the posts are listed and linked!

Mamas, sweet mamas. I think I’ve discovered the secret to enjoying your kids. So I want to share it with you today. But let me step back, just for a minute.

This unraveling of motherhood to discover the ways it brings joy, fulfillment, and peace has been a 11 1/2 year journey for me. Motherhood was different than I expected from the start. Yes, I’d been an achiever, in fact, an overachiever. And once those children had been birthed, motherhood was no longer something I could achieve. Motherhood was something I had to learn to enjoy and appreciate – day, by day, by day. Because the truth is, motherhood isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, unicorns and puppy dogs.

I’m not saying motherhood has been horrific. I’m not saying motherhood has been terrifying. And I’m not saying that motherhood was a bad decision.

I’m just saying that motherhood has to be one of the most life altering experiences you can ever have as a human being.

Right?

I fumbled from the earliest of days. I had no clue what I was in for. I stumbled through motherhood feeling like I was totally missing the mark, like I was failing BIG TIME. I wondered what I’d done wrong. I wondered why nobody told me the truths about motherhood – before I’d become a mother.

The task of motherhood was so much bigger than me, so much bigger than I ever imagined. It felt weighty. It felt real. This realization that I was raising human beings? I wasn’t so sure I was going to be good at it. In fact, I’m still not so sure I’m going to be good at it.

But here’s the thing, mamas.

You might always feel like you’re fumbling, at least a little bit.

You might always wonder if you’re really up to the task of raising human beings.

It might take years for the fruits of your mothering to appear.

And it could be years before you realize that motherhood was the best thing that ever happened to you.

So mamas?

I think we need to lighten up. Because motherhood isn’t something to be achieved or accomplished.

Motherhood is a journey.

As mothers, we choose. Will we feel stressed out, burdened out and frazzled out? Or will we be peaceful, joyful, and blessed?

In light of that, let’s move on to the reason I wanted to write today.

It’s time to share that secret I discovered about being a mother, the secret to enjoying your kids.

It’s taken me all these years to learn this secret, 11 1/2 to be exact. And I didn’t even work hard to discover this secret, I just happened upon it. So let me share – so you don’t have to wait and wonder how to make this motherhood thing a little easier, a little more enjoyable for you, too.

Here’s what you need to do…

1. Turn off the world. Yes, turn off the world! Put away ALL barriers between you and your children, including books, checkbooks, cookbooks, newspapers, televisions, computers, iPhones, iPads, iPods, and paperwork. Whatever that barrier is? Get rid of it. Take away the barrier for yourself, and take away the barrier for your children. Just put it away. It needs to go.

2. Now. Get quiet. YOU need to get quiet. And the KIDS need to get quiet. You might need to be in separate rooms for a while, or at least in separate spaces within a room. If you feel it’s necessary, intentionally set your child up in a space that will allow them to flourish creatively, or maybe they need space to feel bored, or maybe you just need to put something new in front of them.

3. Let this be an organic moment. See what happens. Busy yourself with something quiet just a bit. (But NOT one of those barriers!)

4. Then, carefully and quietly enter in to whatever it is your children are doing. When you first arrive on scene, do not talk, do not engage. Just watch. Enter in to their space. In fact, may I suggest that you continue to remain calm, collected and quiet during this entire process. Continue to enter in to their space. Do not engage to teach, suggest, or rebuke. This is very important. There’s a quiet to this process that is essential.

5. Allow yourself to get lost in the moment. Position yourself in a way that allows you to see differently. See what your child sees. Feel what your child feels. Open your eyes to a whole new world. Believe it’s possible they’re here to teach you something as much as you’re here to teach them. Forget about time. Yes, forget about time. If you’ve gotten this far, you’ve really, truly gotten this far, you WILL forget about time. You WILL be lost in the moment. And you WILL be enjoying your kids.

So I challenge you, mama. Try this. Try it for you, and try it for your kids. Because this could translate all sorts of ways in your life.

I’m no expert. In fact, I’ve only been really, REALLY successful at this a handful of times. But every time I try, it gets easier and easier, becomes more and more natural.

So do it mama, do it. Enter their space. Open your eyes.

Forget about time. Get lost in the moment.

Enjoy your kids.

Amy

*This post is part of a month-long series titled Motherhood Unraveled. To read more from this series, click here and read to the bottom where all the posts are listed and linked!