The Life Not My Own

When the Greyness is Darker than the Dark

2015-05-20T17:30:00.000-05:00

*I wrote this as I was coming out of PPD, and thought I'd share it with you all.

Dark times and trials are awful, don't get me wrong. But at least when you're in them, you know they're in them. And you feel justified to be sad, upset, or at a loss to know what to do.

Those grey times can be so much harder.

You know those times. Life is good, really it is. You don't have any big trials to get through or problems to solve. Yet somewhere deep inside you just feel off.

On the outside, everything is good. You put on a good facade. Because times are relatively good, no one would have any reason to suspect that something was not right. You hear of other people's hard, awful trials, and you feel ashamed for the way you feel. Almost like you have no right.

Know that there is no shame in the greyness. It's hard too. I know. Light shines clearly in the darkness. But in the grey fog, it often gets muddled.

Yet, know this too: God's light is not the kind of light we understand. It doesn't get muddled or lost in the grey. It shines clearly and with warmth, dissipating it away...more like the sun than a lamp.

There is no shame in the greyness. It is just as hard as the darkness. Hold fast to the True Light that cuts through the fog.

The Bakers and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

2015-05-13T17:27:00.000-05:00

*Disclaimer: This story is completely true and happened about a month ago. It is not fabricated or elaborated upon.

When we went to bed last night, we were expecting a good nights sleep, but when we woke up this morning, we wondered if we'd even gone to bed. The sometimes-amazing-usually-decent-sleeper was sick with a fever and was up every. Stinking. Hour. The toddler played his normal game and climbed in bed with us at one point. And we had a new puppy that needed to go to the bathroom. A lot.

So then the husband went to work and I (Mama) was left alone with a screaming, unhappy baby, a high energy little boy, and a brand new, not-potty-trained puppy.

I tried to give the baby a bath to cool her fever down, but the cold water just got her mad. I hate screaming. And then I went to get her dressed again and the boy said "I stepped in poop", and apparently the puppy had had an accident and Miles had stepped right in it. I hate poop. And the baby was still crying. I hate crying. Finally the puppy was put in a box, because I couldn't find the dog crate and couldn't handle her anymore. But then she chewed a hole through it and ran downstairs and peed. I hate dog pee.

I had to take the baby to the doctor and had no time to look for the puppy crate, so I locked the puppy in the laundry room with the box pushed against the baby gate at the top of the stairs. The doctor said that Nora had an ear and eye infection. Her eyes were crusty, her ears were hurting, and she was just plain unhappy.

So then we ran into Walmart for puppy toys to kill time until the baby's antibiotics were ready. Only, when we came out, the pharmacy still didn't have it ready, and I had to call the doctors office. Again.

And then I decided to go home, only to find the husband upset because the dog had pushed the box aside, squeezed through the baby gate, and ran downstairs and pooped and peed and ripped stuff up. So I promptly found the crate.

And the husband was even more grouchy because he had had a bad day at work and had to break up a fight. Between grown men.

We had words. But then we apologized and all drove into town for medicine and carpet remover and greasy fast food. And Miles almost had an accident in the car, but thankfully he made it.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. My mom says that all moms have them. Do you?

You Are My Greatest Adventure

2015-05-10T13:03:00.000-05:00

To My People,

Recently we were hanging out with a group of married friends when it dawned on me that Daddy and I were the old-marrieds of the bunch. Everyone else had been married two years or less...and here we are fast-approaching our 5th anniversary. What the what???

I'm realizing more lately how quickly Daddy and I really did have kids. Sure, we'd been married two years before Miles came along, but here we are five years and two kids into marriage, when some of our friends have been married five years and are still [purposefully] waiting. My Instagram feed seems chock-full of childless married couples going on grand adventures together and living nomadic lifestyles. Meanwhile, my personal Instagram feed is exploding with pictures of the cutest little chubby faces you've ever seen (yes, I'm biased). And in case you didn't get that, Little Munchkins, that would be you.

Settling down and having kids isn't for everyone, I'll give you that. But for Daddy and I, it really was and is. And really, the family life is a bigger challenge and adventure than any fast-paced action movie showing at the theatre. What is an adventure after all? It's full of unknowns and fatigue and pushing you beyond what you thought possible. It's full of challenge and hurt and mistakes and worry. What's a bigger adventure than getting married and having kids? I mean, the Fast and the Furious crew can't hold a candle to me. I'd like to see them navigate traffic with one hand holding a paci in the back seat and not be distracted by the loudest, most obnoxious screaming ever (again, a little biased). Oh, and Jason Bourne? I'll bet I can function way better than you can on no sleep. I've conditioned myself...I have babies. Don't get me started on kicking b*** with super human strength. Have you ever tried to mess with mama's babies? And I'd like to see MacGyver figure out a way to hold a potty training toddler over a public potty while simultaneously holding a newborn as well as I can. (And Miles, I will be telling the pooping-on-my-foot story at your wedding someday because...you owe me.)

In all seriousness though, you all are the greatest, most fulfilling adventure I've ever been on...or probably ever will go on. No, I don't spend my days scaling mountains or living out of a station wagon, but my days are still incredibly rewarding. We really try to keep traveling and going on spontaneous adventures with you little crazies in tow (#babywearing or #carrythemwithyou anyone???). We throw in our fair share of crazy. Think: flying cross-country with a two-year-old and an 8 week old, flying alone with a 23-month "lap" baby and an ever decreasing preggo lap, camping big and pregnant, camping with an 11-month old, or hiking with two kids on our back. Yet, even on the days when I'm just home with you all day there are still challenges to overcome and new adventures to be had. Although it may seem like it sometimes, being a wife and mom is not mundane. It's an adventure that's not for the faint of heart. It's gritty and raw and revealing and strengthening all at the same time. It's one of the hardest and best things you'll ever do.

Some days as parents, Daddy and I thrive. Others, we just barely survive. Yet, I know we wouldn't trade the adventure of parenthood for a billion solo adventures out in the world.

Andy, Miles, and Nora, you are my greatest adventure.

Love,

Caitlin (aka, Mommy)

Dear Single a Girl: Don't Waste Time; or How Who I Am Factors into being a Stay-at-Home Mom

2015-05-07T15:51:00.000-05:00

Miles and I have started doing "school time" together a few days a week. I know, I know...he's only two. Let me assure you...it's really simple and laid back and only takes about 20 or 30 minutes. And we're both loving it.

Admittedly, I may be loving it slightly more than Miles. For those of you don't know, I'm actually a certified elementary school teacher. I only substitute taught and never had a classroom of my own, but that background and training is there. After a few years of mostly cleaning up messes and trying to keep a semblance of order to our house, and years before that working in a completely different field (accounting at a furniture manufacturer), I'd almost forgotten how much I really did enjoy teaching.

You see, Miles' school time is, for me, all of the things I loved about teaching without all of the things that made it hard and, on certain days, downright awful. I love fueling his curiosity and seeing his mind expand and grow. I love scouring the Internet for ideas. I even really love planning out units and making lesson plans.

I know, that's all nice and everything, but what does that have to do with single girls? I'll tell you:

Recently, the idea came across my Facebook feed that if your dream is to be a wife and mother, then your days are best spent at home being a "homemaker" and helping with siblings. Essentially, practicing being a wife and mother. Honestly, that saddens me.

You see, I am very blessed to be able to be a stay-at-home mom and homemaker. I love what I do. But there's also so much more to me than just changing diapers and cleaning toilets. I have specific interests, passions, and abilities that make me uniquely me. Granted, there are seasons where there isn't much room for all of those things. But they're still there inside of me, and at some point they have to be allowed to bloom or myself as a person will wilt inside.

I've shared how I've struggled with some PPD. Somewhere in the midst of that I lost my grip on my identity...who God created to me. Yet, I've been watching myself come alive again planning and researching and teaching. I've been pulling out the stuff I learned in college, long since packed away. I've been rediscovering and refining my "Philosophy of Education" (you education majors will know what I'm talking about). In short, this one small thing of doing school with Miles has made me feel the most alive and like me that I have in awhile. I no longer feel like just a mindless robot who cooks and cleans and changes diapers. The most beautiful part about it is that I'm still doing all of those things. I'm still a stay-at-home mom...only now what that looks like is altered by who I am as a woman. And you know what? I wouldn't be able to say that if all I'd ever done before marriage and babies was cultivate the domestic arts.

So, if you're single and wondering what you should be doing with your time, I'd tell you to ask yourself these questions: What are you good at? What would you like to improve at? What makes you feel alive?

There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a wife and mother. And there's nothing wrong with learning to cook, clean, and take care of kids. Yet, I'd venture a guess that there's much more to you than just that.

Pursue your passions. Work hard at something. Stretch yourself. Someday when you're a wife and mom, you'll be glad you did.

MSOI: My New Favorite Budgeting Tool

2015-04-22T14:29:00.001-05:00

Little confession here: I enjoy money. Not in a wealth-craving, materialistic way or anything. I just really enjoy working with numbers and budgeting. When I say I'm an on-again-off-again administrative assistant at Stone County Ironworks, what I really mean is that I enter endless invoices and bills into the accounting software...and thoroughly enjoy it.

Sometimes, though, life goes too fast and I don't have the time to budget and track money and save like I want to. Sometimes the checkbook goes unbalanced for an embarrassingly long amount of time. And sometimes I overspend and then put off working on the budget or balancing the checkbook because not hitting my goals is just too dang depressing.

Enter my new favorite budgeting tool. I have two crazy kids to keep up with and since this tool entered my life in December, I've still been able to keep up with the money amazingly well.

It's actually a software called You Need a Budget. Basically, it takes everything I've ever tried to make on my own with spreadsheets and online budgets, and boils it down into a simple, easy to use program that literally anyone could figure out. It doesn't hurt that they also have a 4-step plan to get your finances in order, plus a myriad of videos and webinars to help.

My favorite part about the program is that, instead of working off of your expected income for the month, it goes off of what you already have in the bank account. You'll never wonder if you have enough money to cover a bill again, because you'll only budget the money that you have.

Unfortunately, this neat aspect can also be a caveat. One of the steps in their 4-steps is to create a buffer so that you're literally a month ahead on spending and bills. For instance, if you budget $2000 for expenses in a month, you'd ideally already have $2000 in the bank at the beginning of the month for them. Then, any income from the current month is set aside for next month. If you've already got a buffer, then no problem, but if you don't then you'll find yourself only able to budget parts of the month at a time (usually budgeting more each time you get paid). While this can be a pain, it can also be very beneficial, because you obviously won't have $2000 available to you to spend on the 1st of the month if you get paid $500 each week. So, if you only have $500 in the bank, you only budget $500 and wait until the next paycheck to budget in more. For any Dave Ramsey fans out there, it literally gives "every dollar a name"...and only the dollars you already have. However, unless you have that buffer already, you will have to have a basic budget figured out so you'll know what to fill in.

Another feature I like about You Need a Budget is that it gives me to ability to have an array of things I'm saving for, from vacation to just setting aside a certain amount each month for our yearly Amazon Prime subscription. I can keep all of the savings in one savings account, but easily see how much I have saved for each thing. Goodbye annoying spreadsheets that I used to try to do this with, but never really succeeded.

Credit card debt is also handled excellently with this software. Once you've paid any existing debt off (the software really helps you do this), anything you spend on the credit cards is automatically taken out of the cash you have available. So, swiping that credit card is basically the same as paying for it with cash, and money is already set aside to pay it off at the end of the month. Easy as pie!

Previously, I used mint.com because it was free and connected to all of my accounts automatically. You Need a Budget doesn't do that. You can download transactions (a bit of a pain), or enter them manually. Surprisingly, this hasn't been a big deal for me. I usually try to enter transactions on the nifty smartphone app as they happen. But even if I get behind, it's pretty easy to catch up. PLUS, entering the transactions manually really keeps me accountable.

I could say a lot more, but I'll leave you with that for now. Go to the website, watch a few videos, and download the free month trial. Unlike mint.com, the software costs some money ($60), but it is so, SO worth the money. If you get a referral from someone who has the software (you can email me at thelifenotmyown@gmail.com and I'll send you mine) you get $5 off, plus the person who refers you gets $5 too.

Disclaimer: I'm not getting paid or anything to write this. I'm just really passionate about budgeting and saving, and this software has been so hugely beneficial to me that I just couldn't keep it to myself. Check it out...I promise you won't be disappointed!

Blessings,

Caitlin

Dear Single Girl: Think Outside the Box

2015-04-06T14:11:00.000-05:00

As long as I could remember, I was encouraged by youth leaders and well-meaning mentors to make a list of what I "wanted" in a husband and to stick to my standards. While some of the things on my list were good, like "Christian" or "honest", I've come to believe that we girls all too often put our future husband in a box.

If you want to homeschool, you look for someone who was homeschooled. If you don't want to homeschool, you look specifically for someone who wasn't. If you're Baptist you look for a Baptist. If you come from a stable family, you look for someone who comes from the same background. We assume that a guy meeting these criteria will mean he's a good fit for us.

The only problem is, all of those things are outward. God doesn't look at the outward appearance...He looks at the heart. Marriage is meant to balance us out. The perfect person for you may have an opposite personality or come from a completely different background. Also, having the same background as you doesn't ensure that they'll have the same convictions...or the same heart. I'd venture to guess that not every homeschooled guy wants to homeschool, or that every public schooler doesn't want to homeschool his kids.

I believe that girls limit the pool of potential husbands too much by assuming that the guy for them fits in a certain box. I'm not saying you should settle or throw all caution to the wind and get rid of all your standards. Know your convictions and your standards...just don't write off a guy just because he's not who you pictured marrying. Sometimes the best diamonds come from the roughest places.

Taking Motherhood for Granted

2015-04-03T14:01:00.000-05:00

The other day Miles crawled up into my lap while I was feeding Nora and said, "Mama, you've got your big boy and you've got your sister." I smiled, knowing what he meant. Sometimes, in the midst of wiping bottoms and cleaning up smoothies spilled all over the play mat and the baby and trying to stuff something edible in my mouth before the next crisis, I forget just how blessed I am. For a moment, I held my baby girl and my "big" boy (who's still a baby to me), and just soaked in the sweet little blessings that they are.

When I was pregnant with Miles, I couldn't wait for all of the "mom" things that came with motherhood. I couldn't wait to be putting my son's carseat in the cart at the grocery store, or picking him up from the nursery at church. With two little ones, those things can become burdens rather than blessings. Today, I'm going to view them as gifts once more.

Here are a few more blessings that motherhood brings that I often take for granted:

Getting to run errands with my children and buckle them in car seats.

Before Miles was born, I drove around with an empty car seat...I couldn't wait until it was occupied with my own tiny baby. I couldn't wait for the challenge of learning to run errands and grocery shop with him. When I was pregnant with Nora, I looked forward to the challenge of juggling two. It's still a challenge, and going anywhere is quite the ordeal, but those sweet chubby faces are so worth it.

Always being needed.

It's nice to be needed...it really is. It's nice to be the only one that can make that boo boo better...the one who they trust. Puke and poop and pee are so much easier to clean up when you are needed.

Teddy Bear Picnic at the Park

Getting out of myself.

It's really hard to be selfish when you're a mom. You have to learn to deal with the sleepless nights and never sleeping in. The needs of a tiny little person come before yours and even your plans revolve around the kind of day they're having. This is a wonderful thing. Motherhood forces us to stop thinking about ourselves!

It makes you raw.

Sure, hormones and lack of sleep and tiredness play a part, but being a mommy makes you emotional just by it's very nature. You suddenly see movies and events in a completely different light when you have your own little ones to think about losing or getting hurt. Motherhood wears off the tough outer shell and makes you vulnerable...but it is through this vulnerability that you find the most amazing blessings.

Getting to dress your kids.

I don't spend a bunch of money on kids clothes, but it's still fun for me. When Miles has his little suspenders on, or I find the sweetest tiny bow for Nora, I am delighted. Andy teases me...but he can't help but pick out cute stuff too. You can dress your kids however you cotton picking want...and that's fun.

My Favorite "Dirty Laundry"

Seeing them grow and discover.

The other day Miles and I watched the bees landing on my spring flowers. He was fascinated with them...especially when I told him that the bees were collecting pollen to make honey. My sweet little girl has started reaching for us when she wants to be picked up. It never gets old. It's amazing to see their little eyes take in something new...like an amazingly absorbent sponge.

Giving them baths.

Suggesting a bath to my son is like telling him he's one the lottery. The joy that comes from such a little thing is amazing. Yesterday I set Nora's bath tub in the big bath, so that my two munchkins could have a bath together. They laughed and giggled the whole time.

Sibling interaction.

Nora just adores her big brother and, while it's taken some time, he adores her as well. I can't to watch their relationship grow and change.

What are some of your favorite "little" things about motherhood?

Because the First Step is Admitting that You Have a Problem

2015-03-20T17:33:00.001-05:00

Nobody would have known from the outside that something was wrong. If you asked me how I was doing I would have said “good” or “fine”. And wasn’t I really? I had a wonderful husband with a steady job, a cozy house, and two beautiful children that I got to stay home with every day. I should have been much more than fine. Yet, inside, I didn’t feel fine at all.

For a time I denied that there was anything wrong. I’m just having a bad few days. I’ll get over it. Yet, despite my best efforts to brush aside what was going on, I slowly slipped deeper and deeper into the fog.

In public, I put my best face on, terrified that someone would see me for the broken, messed up woman that I was. At home, those I loved most bore the brunt of my emotions, the offspring of feelings I couldn’t even describe. I felt terrible guilt for my moodiness and anger. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Strong, Christian women don’t feel this way. If I would just do ____ I’d feel better.

A strange feeling of hopelessness was sinking into my gut, silently squeezing the life out of me. I tried without success to climb out of the pit into which I’d fallen. I self-medicated my feelings in my own way. I drank way too many cups of coffee and tea, wandered aimlessly in Target, and ate more dessert than I needed, desperately clutching for a cure-all. I poured over my Bible, telling myself my problems were so few that I shouldn’t bother God with them…that I should just snap out of it. The problem was, no problem can really get better until you admit you have one.

Then came the day that my ever-intuitive mother asked me if I was maybe struggling with some post-partum depression. At first I denied it vehemently. As I thought about it more, though, I began to allow myself to consider the possibility. What if that really is the problem? Would it be so terrible to admit it? Wouldn’t it explain all that I was feeling and experiencing?

I called my mom back and told her that I thought she might be right and then I told my husband what I thought was happening. Surprisingly, an incredible peace flooded over me. You see, I couldn’t even begin to climb out of the pit until I first lay everything at Jesus’ feet. In order to truly lay it all at Jesus’ feet, I had to admit that I couldn’t fix the problem on my own…and I had to admit to myself that there was a problem in the first place in order to admit that I couldn’t fix it.

So here’s me being open about something that even my closest friends might not know about. The truth is, I struggled with Post-Partum Depression. The good part is, I'm not anymore. I’ve took steps to help straighten out my hormones and emotions, but mostly I learned to laying every feeling and thought at the feet of Him Who was and is able to fix everything...to fix me. The fog lifted and joy returned as I came out of the pit. Yet, I still have days where the devil gets the better of me. And you know what? That’s okay. It’s not my fault.

If you’ve ever struggled with similar feelings, you know the guilt and burden they can be. Just know that you are not alone and that you’ve done nothing wrong to make yourself feel this way. There is One who can help…but first you have to admit that you need fixing.

PS: Not everything can be fixed simply by admitting there's something wrong. I strongly encourage you to seek out a good Christian counselor and/or doctor. I firmly believe that God has given these people wisdom for a reason! Feel free to contact me at thelifenotmyown@gmail.com if you need help finding a good one.

Bitterness

2015-02-25T16:17:00.000-06:00

It's like a cancer deep down inside of you. Nobody sees it. Nobody knows it's there. Except you...and, of course, God.

I've known the nagging pain of it far too well. It began with a valid reason. A blunder. Somebody did me wrong. The fact that I had once called that someone a friend made it worse. That that person claimed to be a Christian sunk me.

Why would they do this? How could this person not see the hurt they had caused? How could they claim to have been led by the Spirit when all they brought was pain? These questions whirred through my brain in a never-ending loop.

Slowly, I found the hurt turning black, rotting my heart from the inside out. Shamefully, I found myself hating. I wanted to scream and yell. I wanted to write a nasty letter. I even dreamt of doing this person physical harm.

I wanted to hurt them, but instead all I ever ended up hurting was myself. I let it breed in me and poison me. With it came anger, sleeplessness, and even depression. There didn't seem to be a way to stop it.

But there was One who could...the only other One who knew it was even there inside of me. One day I realized that I needed Him to fix me. I needed Him to get rid of this.

It was as if I looked down and saw for the first time that my fists were clenched, holding tight to the wrongs done me. I didn't want to let them go. I wanted to hold onto them until this person paid for what they'd done.

But that is not His way. That's not how He works, how He heals. No, instead of letting me inflict retribution, He asked me to do the opposite...He asked me to let go.

And I did.

It wasn't easy or all at once. When you've held tight to something for that long, your muscles are tight and unmoving. It took prying and tears and hard choices, but eventually I was able to let go of that last shred of hurt that I'd held onto for so long.

All at once I saw what the poison had done to me. What I'd let grow in me. I vowed to never let it grow in me again, although I knew I could never really keep that promise.

O Lord, cleanse me of the blackness within.

Rid me of this poison I drown myself in.

Let me know the freedom of true forgiveness,

And free me from this trap called bitterness.

Modesty Revisited

2015-02-18T15:34:00.001-06:00

A few weeks ago, an anonymous person commented on one of my old posts from my newlywed days. I had to laugh and cringe a little bit when I reread it, both at my writing style and a few of my thoughts. Over the three years since I wrote that post, I've developed and grown so much, both as a woman and in my beliefs.

The truth is, I don't only wear clothes that my husband "likes" and, honestly, he wouldn't want me to. I'm so thankful to be married to my husband. We have our fair share of problems, struggles, and fights, but never once has he tried to control the way I dress. If anything, he's given me the freedom to develop my own personal sense of style and convictions on modesty. His questions about why I felt the need to wear certain uber-Conservative pieces of clothing were merely meant to question my motives and help me decipher my personal convictions and tastes from the voices of the outside world.

You see, I've come to realize that standards without conviction are legalism. Instead of coming out of honest prayer and seeking the Lord, they come from other men and women who are very vocal about their belief that their standards are the only correct ones. My days of wearing long skirts and no makeup stemmed from legalism and a desire to please people (specifically single male ones ;) ). Here are some of my latest thoughts on modesty and what it really means:

The way you dress should bring respect, both to yourself and to your husband.

I know without a doubt that my husband will still love me and think I'm good-looking no matter what, but I want to walk into church or the grocery store dressed in a way that will make my husband proud that I'm his.

"Her husband is known in the gates,

When he sits among the elders of the land."

(Proverbs 31:23)

The infamous "Proverbs 31 Woman" brought her husband respect. Similarly, while I have my own personal style and convictions, (hey, I'm a daughter of the King, and I want to and should be respected), I also want to bring respect to my husband. I don't want to bring upon him jealousy, mockery, or pity because I'm either dressed too provocatively or too frumpily (is that even a word?).

Modesty is not about wearing the "right" things and avoiding the "wrong" ones...it's about not drawing undue attention to yourself.

Sure, I want to be dressed nicely and attractively, bringing respect both to myself and my husband, but if I'm drawing attention to myself because I'm standing out too much, then I'm basically defeating my whole purpose. Sometimes, covering up too much can actually draw more attention to yourself than just dressing tastefully and appropriately for the situation. Anyone who's ever seen a woman wearing a burka on a hot beach knows exactly what I'm talking about. Dressing in a certain, Conservative way will make people think "Pentecostal" or "Fundamentalist"...not "Christian". Not that there's anything wrong with those descriptions (especially if you are Pentecostal or a Fundamentalist), but if you're not, is that really the image you want to portray to people?

"An attitude of humility, avoiding improper self-exaltation or excessive flamboyance. Scripture urges modesty in personal behaviour, forms of dress and forms of behaviour" (Dictionary of Bible Themes).

Over hyped-up modesty only makes us ashamed of our womanhood.

Please don't try to argue with me on this point. I've talked to many, many women who've come out of very Conservative circles, and the majority of them have experienced this at one point or another. They were told that their bodies could make men stumble, as if they were wholly responsible for a man's thoughts. They were told that the mere outline of their womanly bodies could cause a man to lust, and thus they became ashamed and paranoid. They wore bulky, ill-fitting clothing in an attempt to be "modest".

Ladies, God created the female body as an exquisite, beautiful thing. We should never, ever be ashamed of our bodies. I don't want to get into a debate here, because I really don't have all the answers. I just want to assure you that the fact that you have a chest, or a waist, or legs, or a rear end--the fact that you are a woman--isn't going to make any guy stumble.

To this day, I'm still guilty of dressing differently depending on who I am going to be around.

Not that it's wrong to want to avoid offending someone or to dress situation-appropriately, but, at least for myself, I can definitely go overboard. In truth, that just means that I'm being fake. People are seeing the me I want them to see, instead of the me I really am.

Summer in the South is brutal, especially for someone not accustomed to heat or humidity.

Honestly, a lot of over-Conservative clothing styles are impractical and downright oppressive. When it's over 100 degrees and feels like a sauna, even jean shorts will stick to you like nobodies business. I garden and do things outside in the heat. I couldn't do that if I had to wear a floor length skirt or a short-sleeved sweater over everything. This summer when it starts to feel hotter than Hades, I'll be thanking the sweet Lord that I have a husband who has no problem with me wearing shorts or a tank top.

I'm all for dressing modestly and covering up parts of ourselves that should be only for our husband's, but modesty standards are a deeply personal thing.

I don't think that God convicts us all about the same things. I have friends that have different standards from my own, but I honestly believe that we are all following what God has convicted us individually to do. Because of that, I respect their standards and they respect mine. In the end, the way we dress should reflect who we are in Christ, as well as the unique, beautiful women God created us to be.

Have your views and modesty standards changed over the years? I'd love for you to share about them!

What I Want My Son to Know

2015-02-12T15:59:00.000-06:00

Today a beautiful package of flowers and chocolate was delivered to my door from my sweet man. Miles, of course, being the curious 2-year-old that he is, was full of questions and wanted to know where his flowers and chocolate were. I told him that Daddy only sent them to Mommy because I'm married to him (marriage being a concept he is just starting to grasp).

He said, quite honestly, "You married? Where your dress?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his little brain trying to figure this whole situation out. He'd looked at our wedding album the other day, so he knew that I had worn a wedding dress at some point...he just thought that I needed to be wearing it in order to be "married" to his daddy and receive that gift. He didn't understand that a wedding is a one-time thing, whereas marriage is lasting.

It seems like our time these days is full of Miles asking a million questions as his growing brain explodes with new knowledge and concepts. It's my responsibility to help him grow and teach him about this world. Frankly, that scares me like crazy. There's so much I want to teach him and so little time to do it. Being a woman, I also feel inept to teach him how to be a man. Yet, I realize that, being a woman, I have a unique perspective on what it actually means to be a man. Here's what I want my son to know:

You should do and be whatever God has called you to be. Far be it from me to stand in your way.
Women should be treasured and treated with honor. They are not for your personal pleasure.
Being obsessed with hunting, guns, and toughness isn't what makes a real man.
A real man puts God before anything else.
A real man desires the responsibility and fulfillment that comes from marrying a good woman.
A real man puts his wife and his children before himself.
A real man has a tender heart for children.
A real man is not afraid to cry.
Being smart or intellectual doesn't make you any less if a man's man.
It's okay to be different.

I'm So Glad You Don't

2015-02-06T15:33:00.000-06:00

Some people criticize Valentine's Day for its materialism and its promotion of the idea that chocolates and flowers one day a year are enough to keep a relationship strong. I get their reasoning, I really do. But you have always felt that Valentine's Day was one of many opportunities to rekindle romance, and to proclaim your love for me. I'm so glad you feel that way.

I remember the heart ache that Valentine's Day used to bring. "Single's Awareness Day" it really was, for I was painfully aware of my singleness. No matter how hard I tried, each Valentine's that passed only seemed to stir up feelings and aching that could not be fulfilled.

And then you came into my life, soft yet startling. Soft because it took a little while for us to actually get together. Startling because I knew pretty early on that you were the one, and I didn't know how I could possibly know that about someone that I barely knew...or that may not even reciprocate my feelings. But somehow I did know.

Our first Valentine's Day together we weren't even a "Facebook official" couple. You bought me roses and we went on a double date with your parents to a quaint little Italian place. The wait for dinner was a little long, so we made a quick trip to the McDonalds across the street while we waited. You bought me a hot chocolate and we sat next to each other on the cold, hard fast food booth. And I remember feeling so thrilled inside. For once, I wasn't alone on Valentine's Day...for once, I had a guy to take me out and pay for my drink. The fact that I was so crazy about you made it all the sweeter.

I realized today that this approaching Valentine's Day will be our 7th together. Each one spent together a changing reflection of where we were in life. There was the one where we were engaged and went back to that same Italian restaurant together before heading to premarital counseling. Then there was our first as a newlywed couple, where I scrimped and saved to buy a steak to cook, only to have to keep it warm for hours as you unexpectedly had to work late. There was the time we got to take a special weekend getaway, and there was the time that we merely went out to dinner. Work, pregnancy, children, buying businesses...our Valentine's Days saw it all.

Yet, in each one of them, you made me feel special and loved. It didn't matter the trials and struggles we had been through in the previous year. It didn't matter how we or our family had changed. There was always something special, always chocolate, and there was always you.

I'd still love you even if you forgot about Valentine's Day every year...but I'm so glad you don't.

5 Things That Make Me a Better Mom

2015-02-04T16:12:00.001-06:00

1. Being a stay-at-home mom. I always knew that I wouldn’t want to work after my children were born. While there have been times since I became a mom that I have worked (check out #2), I’m thankful that I haven’t had to work for the majority of the time. I get to spend my days focusing on and pouring into my children’s lives, yet I also have the freedom to do some things that I’m interested in (gardening, writing, random Target day trips…). I’m pretty sure I get more sleep that all the amazing working moms out there too. I don’t have to get up early to rush out the door, after all. Lots of sleep=happy mama.

2. Having been a working mom. For a time before Nora was born, I worked part-time. I never thought I would work after I had children, but I did, and I learned a great deal through it. First, how valuable my time is. When you work outside the home, your time at home is precious. You have to be incredibly diligent to keep your house running. Second, how important it is to wake up and get going in the morning. Even if I don’t have anywhere to be, my day is far more productive when I get up and going first thing. Third, I have a new appreciation for working moms. I realize how hard it is for them, even if they have to work or honestly enjoy their job. As a stay-at-home mom once again, I’m much more productive and cognizant with my time. In turn, I get a lot more done.

3. Having a high-needs child. I’ve talked about this before. The gist is that I see my children for who they are instead of who I think they should be. Most of the time, anyway.

4. Having a low-needs child. My sweet, easy-going daughter has made it very obvious that my high-needs son was not my “fault”. Each of my children simply has their own, unique personality. I’m also thankful that she’s so laid-back because I would have probably lost my sanity otherwise.

5. MOPs. I’ve been a part of our local MOPs group since Miles was just a few weeks old, and now I’m on the leadership team. I love it and I have a huge heart for it. In those early newborn days with Miles, and more recently as I’ve learned how to be a mom to two, my mom friends from MOPs were the support I needed. I’ve gained some amazing friends through MOPS. I also love the opportunity it presents to serve others right where I’m at…by letting motherhood be the common denominator.

Shadow of the Past, Shadow of the Future

2015-01-28T13:22:00.001-06:00

I hear it often enough. I’m thin, as I always have been, and the scale balances a mere 10 lbs heavier than it did before my babies came. “You look so good!” is common to my ears. “You don’t look like you even had a baby!"

In many ways, I do look good for having two kids, one only three short months ago. Yet, I remember well what my body was like. These days when I look in the mirror I only see a shadow of what my body used to be. Stretch marks dot my skin...scars from carrying new life within me and then bringing it into this world twice over. Love handles that never used to be there, even after my first baby, hang over the top of my jeans. My belly pooches out in a squishy mess of extra skin (thank you, Nora, for making my belly so stinking big!). Things sag that didn’t used to and squish where there used to be firmness.

Then there’s the rest of my physical appearance. My fingernails sit chipping and needing attention for weeks because I can never seem to find the time to paint them. When I do finally paint them, invariably some child will unexpectedly need my attention and they’ll end up smudged and imperfect. I usually manage to get makeup on, but by the end of the day it’s badly needing to be refreshed. I tend to go one too many days without washing my hair, and my outfits are planned around nursing. I never wear white because that would just be insane, plain and simple.

Yet, I’ve honestly never felt more beautiful. I’m lucky enough to have a husband who thinks this post-baby me is more attractive than my pre-baby, skinny-as-a-rail self…and he makes sure I know it. My children find comfort in my squishes and rolls. My extra skin is Miles’ favorite place to snuggle when he’s sick or tired. As I gradually transform my wardrobe to accommodate nursing and motherhood, I find myself discovering better my own personal styles and tastes and dressing accordingly. Most importantly, I am proud of each stretch mark and roll. They’re the lasting memorials of the two precious babies I bore…my two little blessings from God.

Maybe, after all, my current body is not the shadow of its former self. Maybe it’s the other way around.

The Grey Days of Motherhood, Outside Voices, and Joy

2015-01-24T17:16:00.001-06:00

It's late afternoon and I sit in my car on the side of the road overlooking a lake several hours from home. We were supposed to be enjoying a rare, midweek getaway, but my husband had had some service calls to make and work to do, and I’d had to entertain the kids most of the day. Both little ones were recovering from a nasty cold and were terribly overtired, and I finally just had to escape the room, thinking I’d get some peace and quiet. But then the baby screamed in the car and wouldn’t fall asleep, and I couldn't take it and had to pull over.

So here I sit, parked in a dusty parking lot. In the rearview mirror I watch the toddler’s head sag as he finally drifts off to sleep, and I look down to the fussy baby sitting on my lap. The grey skies outside seem to reflect my heart all too well. A hotel coffee mug with strong, black tea sits next to me, getting cold. I decide to sit here until it's gone, and then I turn up the music, heart weary.

"Messiah/You're Beautiful” comes up on shuffle and peace immediately floods over me.

***

My head swirls with outside voices. Voices proclaiming how strong and worthy working moms are. On the opposite end of the spectrum, voices proclaiming how you should be able to handle baby after baby in succession and be happy about it. And all I feel is failure in light of those voices. Because I trudge away at home. Because I don’t want to, or feel called to, have baby after baby for the rest of my childbearing years.

I feel tired...so very tired. And not just because of how little sleep I got the night before. I feel soul tired.

Earlier that day I went to Target thinking I would be refreshed and instead spent the whole time bouncing and nursing a fussy baby, and wishing I just had a kid who’d fall asleep and stay asleep in their car seat. Wishing, too, that I had more money to spend. Wishing that the tall Starbucks coffee I’d bought wasn’t too small for the nifty coffee cup holder on the cart. Wishing that I could just sit in a coffee shop for a couple of hours…with just quiet and coffee shop music to distract me.

***

The baby on my lap finally nurses. I put her in her car seat and sing along to the music playing. She rewards me with a big, toothless grin. I realize that I wouldn't trade a million quiet hours at a coffee shop for that one smile…that I wouldn't trade a job or being super mom to a billion babies for that one sweet smile from my girl.

And I know that I won't always be so tired. That someday I'll sit in a coffee shop, heart aching for the fussy baby smile.

And I know that those voices are just voices. They are not me and they are not God, and all they do is make me lose sight of what God has given me to do…and they steal from me the joy that is found in being exactly where God wants you.

And I know that my days will not always be easy. Sometimes I may just want to scream and cry. Some days may seem pointless and rote. And that's okay. That doesn't make me a failure. Even in those days, I am right where God wants me. I know that He will give me the strength and wisdom to see them through.

***

Later, I pause before going back in the hotel. The sun is setting burning orange in a beautiful painting from the Lover of my soul...the perfect balm for my worn and weary heart. And He knows it. I am not alone. He is what I need. He is all I need.

Both babies are napped and happier. I think of the good food and good sleep that ~~definitely~~ hopefully awaits me inside. Almost imperceptibly, joy creeps into my heart. Joy that is only found in the center of His will…joy that cannot be quenched or lost, even on the greyest of days. A smile creeps across my face. And inside, I’m smiling too.

To the Young Parents Out There

2015-01-14T16:55:00.001-06:00

Recently, I found myself sitting at a friend’s home on a Saturday night watching a football game. Truth be told, the little crowd that had gathered wasn’t really there to watch the game. We were all mid- to late-twenty somethings with at least one or two kids apiece. In reality, getting together for this football game meant being able to let our children play, eat some good food, and just be able to sit down, breathe, and have some grownup conversation. By 9 pm, we were all falling asleep and ready to go home. If you’ve got any number of little ones at home, I’m sure you can relate.

I’m sure you can also relate when I say that there are times that I look at the lives of my childless peers with longing. Not that I want to be without children again, but that sometimes being a parent is so stinking hard. And sometimes it’s the farthest thing from fun.

You see, when you’re a young parent, whether through planning or fate, responsibility weighs especially heavy on you. Many of your friends are still single or childless, and one glance at your Facebook newsfeed quickly makes you realize that your place in life is not the norm for people your age. You may feel like you’re missing out on all the fun and spontaneity that should come with this age you’re at, overwhelming burdens ever holding you back. While your childless friends can just up and go out tonight without even a thought, you would find yourself wishing that you had enough money for a sitter. And even if you did, you’d be scrambling to pack the diaper bag, only to end up having to cancel everything because one of your children had come down with something. I repeat: sometimes being a parent is the farthest thing from fun.

But sometimes it’s the most ridiculously amazing fun.

There’s nothing like the joy that floods your heart when your baby smiles at you for the first time, or the pride you feel when your child says thank-you to the cashier at the grocery store. Your two-year-old can make you laugh harder than any comedian ever could. And have you ever taken a kid to Disneyland? It’s like being a kid and seeing the magic for the first time ever yourself.

I’m sure that our single, childless peers would find our Saturday nights lame and boring…proof that you shouldn’t have kids young. Some may shake their heads and say that we're tied down or missing out. And maybe we are. But I think they’re missing out too.

If you’re a young parent, like me, your life stopped mirroring a Taylor Swift song a long time ago. And that’s okay. You can still have an amazing impact on this world, have fun, and enjoy your youth, even with little ones in tow. Children and responsibility don't have to be terrible things to put off and avoid. In fact, sometimes the most freedom and joy is found when we are “tied down” with little ones. We know the purpose God has for us today because that purpose is looking up at us with a crooked little smile every morning at breakfast. And knowing that gives us the freedom to grow and be and change and do without spending time worrying about committing to the wrong path.

Someday when our kids are all grown and our peers are still raising theirs, they’ll be the ones looking at our lives with longing. Meanwhile, we’ll be off adventuring and changing the world.

I Didn't Want a Daughter

2015-01-06T17:01:00.001-06:00

I knew before the ultrasound tech said it. It was a girl. Part of me was thrilled. I had a little boy, and now I'd have one of each. Yet, secretly, there was a part of me that was stunned.

I love being a woman, don't get me wrong. But I was supposed to be that mama with the boys...the cool mom who played Cowboys and Indians and went on crazy, fun adventures with them. I loved growing up in a modern-day version of Little Women [read: three sisters, no brothers], but I thought that us girls had enough hormones and drama for a lifetime. Being something of a tomboy as a child, the very thought of tutus and giant bows and pink everywhere was foreign to me. It even made me cringe a little bit. (Don't hate me, that's just me!) To quote a line from one of my favorite musicals, "You can have fun with a son, but you've got to be a father [insert "mother"] to a girl."

Up until the day my daughter was born, I was scared. Scared that I wouldn't enjoy her the same way I loved my little boy. Scared that I wouldn't know what to do with a girl. Scared that she'd be a dramatic little diva. Scared that I'd mess it all up.

And then our sweet little Nora Jane was born.

Nora means "light" and Jane means "God's gift", both names that are incredibly fitting for the sweetest of babies that is our Nora. From day one she's been the most easygoing baby. She's an incredible sleeper, colic has been almost non-existent, and she really only fusses when she needs something. She lets me cuddle her, rock her, and sing to her...all things that Miles never let me do in the early months. While I loved him indescribably, his colic and high-needs personality left me little time to just sit and relish in his preciousness. But Nora? Well, I've been able to just enjoy her.

The bows and pink and sweet little girl things just suit her, and I love them. Sometimes I wish she'd have more blow-outs, just so I'd have an excuse to change her into another adorable outfit.

And I look forward to the future. I look forward to getting to watch "girl" movies with her, and to getting to see the princesses at Disneyland and not just the action heros. My heart melts thinking of seeing her dance with her daddy, or introducing her to Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe for the first time. I can't wait to see what kind of girl, and eventually woman, she'll be. Will she be a free-spirited horse lover, as I was? Or will she live for tea parties and tutus?

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: God knows what we need. He knew that after Miles (and really, with Miles ongoing), I couldn't have handled a Miles II. He knew the deepest fears of my heart, and blessed me with a beautiful, precious little girl that I can cherish and adore. A little girl who, instead of wanting to be like daddy, will want to be like me. A little girl whom I can lead and guide. A little girl who will one day, hopefully, be a beautiful, strong woman of God.

I will never be one of those moms who can refer to her all-the-same-gender kids as "the boys" or "the girls". Instead, I get to say things like "the kids" or "my children". I would never have guessed that I'd have a boy and then a girl, nor would I have wished for it. Yet, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't trade my son and my daughter for the world.

Our Nora Jane. Not a diva or a drama queen. Instead, a sweet, exquisite little blessing who stole my heart from the first moment I saw her.

No, I didn't want a daughter. But, thankfully, God knew better.

The Woman I Want to Be in 2015

2015-01-01T09:51:00.001-06:00

I woke up this morning without any New Years resolutions. The past year, and especially the past month, have been such a blur that I haven't even had a chance to give resolutions a thought. For planning, goal-setting, control-loving me, that's unusual.

In the quiet stillness as everyone else slept I got out my journal and started writing. To my surprise, words and goals began pouring out on the page. Apparently they were all there, they were just waiting for me to let them spill out.

What I discovered was that what I want to be this year is a better version of myself. Here's what I wrote:

In 2015 I want to be a better...

...follower of Christ. Exuding His joy and light. Recklessly abandoned to what He calls me to do. In awe of His majesty. Taking joy in His blessings.

...wife. Less nit picky, moody, and naggy. More full of grace and love. Abounding in love. More supportive. Speaking with more thought and tact.

...mother. Spending less time on distractions like TV shows and Facebook. Less eager to push my children. More time spent relishing every moment. Less anger. More grace and truth.

...friend. More communication. More seeking out. More dependability. Becoming a better listener and confidant. Caring more. Being more empathetic. Being more truthful, but in love.

...homemaker. More diligent. Less frivolous with my time. More about simplifying and less about buying. Being happy with less.

...gardener. More diligent. More focused. More realistic.

...cook. Paying more attention to detail. Better at planning. Better at balancing taste and health. Better at eating seasonally and storing for later.

...exerciser. Start over. A little each day. Staying healthy for those I love.

...caretaker of my body. Better at eating and staying active. A little more attention to how I look and present myself. Simplifying my wardrobe. Making it represent the woman God created me to be.

...improver of my mind. Less TV and social media. More books and writing.

...writer. More consistent about blogging. Being more careful with words. More honesty. More of the real me.

...caring more about the tasks God gives me to do, and finding joy in them, than the frivolous, empty things of the world. Being brave enough to be the woman God created me to be, and letting go of everything else.

What My Children See At Christmas

2014-12-23T17:06:00.001-06:00

I was determined to have beautifully wrapped presents under our Christmas tree this year. I'd looked up tutorials on how to make gifts look professionally wrapped, and I had everything all laid out. But then Miles wanted to help wrap the presents for his daddy.

As any parent knows, a two-year-old little boy isn't exactly the most helpful when it comes to wrapping presents. By the time the few presents were wrapped, the paper was wrinkled from being stepped on, there were pieces of tape in various random places, and the gifts looked anything but professionally wrapped. I found myself snapping at my little boy who had been so eager to help. I saw the crushed look in his beautiful blue eyes, and I hated myself for it.

I set the presents under our Christmas tree and remembered how just the day before I had contemplated replacing our cheap, Walmart angel and ornaments. Yet, each piece had been bought in love and excitement by two beautifully happy newlyweds...each item budgeted for and purchased with the little money they had at the time. No, they weren't magazine worthy, but they were full of memories and love and a symbol of a new family being formed. I knew then that I would not be able to replace them, even though I could afford to.

I looked again at my mangled gift wrap job and smiled. I wouldn't trade those random pieces of tape and the wrinkled paper for the world. In them I see my tenderhearted little boy, always eager to help and love others.

I pray that my children will not grow up thinking that Christmas means store-bought perfection straight out of a magazine. May they grow up with treasured memories of family, hope, and love. May they see Christ in Christmas...and may they see Christ in me.

Winter

2014-12-04T15:05:00.002-06:00

Today as I drove home from town, I watched fog roll down the mountain behind our house. The trees were barren and lifeless, the fields empty and brown. I shivered as I hurried my two little ones into the house and plunked the three of us in front of the fire to warm our chilled bodies.

Winter in Arkansas is often grey and cold. The damp air makes the cold seemingly settle right into your bones, and many times into your soul as well. For the girl who spent most of her life in sunny Arizona, it can be incredibly depressing. I was used to cold winters, but not to the wet cold or the endless days of grey. Each winter here, I find myself struggling with Seasonal Affective Disorder. Extra Vitamin D helps, but never completely.

Today, though, I actually saw beauty in those barren trees and in that cold fog. Today, as I warmed myself by the fire, I was reminded of another fire that once warmed my bones, but this one an ocean away. It's been almost seven years since my friend Caris and I went on our grand adventure to England in the dead of winter. Seven years since we sloshed through sheep fields in the rain and climbed up hills to abandoned castles together.

It was grey there, too. It was cold, dark, and oh-so-wet. Yet, I don't remember anything but joy from it. Looking back, I see a girl on the cusp of adulthood, full of fear and hope, still trying to find myself. I realize now how crucial those two weeks were to my journey and my path.

I remember fondly the time spent by warm fires. I remember wearing cozy sweaters and drinking gobs of tea and hot chocolate. No thought was given to walking through soggy fields or traipsing down wet streets in the rain. We adventured anyway. I remember laughing and singing and dancing, and snuggling in under cozy blankets, reading books quietly. I remember making new friends and eating pasties and flapjacks; watching movies and letting the rain soak my hair; taking a hot bath and sleeping in late; reveling in the smell of old books in a bookshop; feeling God speaking to me so very strongly, altering my course from there on out...and all in the middle of grey, dreary winter.

That shy little not-quite-woman could never have imagined where she'd be seven years later. It's ironic, really, that the grey winter days that changed my life and brought so much joy now eat at my happiness. Yet, I know that they don't have to.

Winter, whether actual or a season of our life, can be hard and isolating. Like the leafless trees behind my house, it can leave us barren, raw, and exposed. Some days you may feel like you just can't get warm. Yet, it shouldn't stop us from pressing on. It shouldn't stop us from doing God's will, adventuring, and finding joy. Sometimes it is those quiet, dark winter moments that are exactly what we need to hear Him speaking. The question is, will we stop to listen?

This winter I've determined to choose joy and embrace each cold, grey day. I've even started a Pinterest board dedicated to it. Will you commit with me to not let Satan steal the beauty of this season from us?

Being Miles' Mama: Why I'm Thankful for My High Need Child

2014-12-03T14:46:00.002-06:00

*Note: When I refer to my son as "high need", I'm referring to Dr. Sears' description of a high need baby.

My first child was a really hard baby. I feel qualified to say that now because my second baby is significantly easier. In many ways, my laid-back second born has made me feel vindicated. I can now say, "See! I did know what I was talking about! I wasn't just a hormone-crazed new mama grossly underprepared for motherhood (although I was)! It wasn't my parenting, eating habits, or personality that made him that way! He was just plain hard."

One of the mysteries of motherhood, however, is how fiercely in love I was with that colicky, high need baby. Even more mysterious is how that love still grows each day...how I think it always will. Beyond all the incredible love, however, I look back and truly am thankful that my first baby was high needs. Here are some reasons why:

He humbled me and revealed my heart. I came into motherhood with the idea that I had everything figured out. I knew what kind of mother I would be and why. I was prideful and, sadly, judgmental. Then my beautiful, screaming Miles entered this world and threw me for a loop. He wasn't what a baby was supposed to be, and I quickly had to let go of all that I thought I knew about babies and about motherhood. He showed me how wrong I was.

I had to depend on God for my strength and wisdom. I always felt myself to be an intelligent, capable young woman. However, being Miles' mom has often made me feel utterly incapable and weak. The beauty of it all is that when I couldn't go on, God sustained me. When I didn't know what to do, He led me. I simply couldn't rely on myself, and instead learned to rely on Him.

I was forced to relinquish my need for control. I have control issues. I really do. While that's something I'm still working on, I've gotten immeasurably better since Miles was born. I had to let go of scheduling anything or the idea that I could somehow control my baby's behavior (because I really couldn't). Most of all, I had to get over the idea that I could somehow manipulate my life to create the"perfect" family and "perfect" marriage.

I learned not to care what other people thought. I use to dread people asking me if Miles was a "good" baby or if he slept good. If I told them the truth, I was quickly given advice about how I could "fix" the problem. If I mentioned that Miles was "high needs", I was often met with raised eyebrows and skepticism. I could tell that certain people thought that my parenting style was to blame. I held him too much. I didn't schedule him. I didn't let him cry it out. I was too clingy. I wasn't persistent or resilient enough. I had to learn to brush off comments like these and be confident in my parenting.

I became less critical and more sympathetic towards other moms. Criticism from other people made me much more careful about the comments I made to other moms. Just as I had learned that my baby and I were both unique individuals, so I came to see that every baby and mom is, in fact, different. I could never know every circumstance of a person's life and, therefore, I had no right to judge another mom. I began to look at the mom in the grocery store with a toddler way past due for a nap with sympathy, rather than judging her for shopping instead of getting her child a nap.

I learned to pay attention to him as a little person instead of treating him as a generic baby. Miles never went "by the book" as a baby. That used to drive me crazy. I am now thankful for it because it caused me to really learn about him and mother him accordingly. It taught me to be responsive to my children, instead of expecting them to fit into my parenting style.

He taught me how important it was to be proactive in my marriage. For awhile after Miles was born, Andy and I had a pretty strained relationship. Not that there was really anything wrong. It was just that, up until Miles' birth, pretty much every night was a date night for us. Miles demanded so much of our attention that we spent most of our time tag teaming instead of doing things together. Our own relationship was put on the back burner, and we felt like two ships adrift at sea. Thankfully, we began to learn what was necessary in our marriage in order to keep the flame, and even the friendship, alive. This is something we're still working on, and I'm sure always will be, but we're much more on our guard now.

I got a glimpse into how God loves us. Miles wrecked my life. He left my nerves frazzled, my brain foggy, and my self-confidence lacking. Yet, somehow my fierce love for him only grew. Through it, I got a taste of God's love for us. I began to see how unfathomable it was for Him to love us so indescribably, when we can never begin to reciprocate...when we forget Him and fail Him and betray Him.

I now get to watch him blossom into an intelligent, intuitive toddler. Miles was a hard baby and he's definitely a challenging toddler. Yet he's also so very sweet and fun. He loves to talk and is very communicative. He's also very observant and intuitive. He quickly picks up on people's emotions, whether they be his mama's or a strangers. His hawk-like eyes miss nothing, and he'll often bring up things later that I had already forgotten had happened. I love it, and I love him.

I'm enjoying having a more laid-back baby this time around...and getting more sleep. Yet, I wouldn't trade Miles and his personality for anything. I firmly believe that I am a much better mother to Nora because of what I learned from Miles. God doesn't make mistakes. He knew the children that I needed.

The Mommy Wars, or Why Stay-At-Home Moms are Silent

2014-11-19T18:04:00.000-06:00

I grew up with a brilliant, strong woman for a mother who had left off scaling the career ladder to be a stay-at-home mom to my sisters and I. We were encouraged to do the same someday, and I came into adulthood and motherhood (by no fault of my mother’s…just my own convictions) staunchly believing that being a full-time stay-at-home mom was the best way for a mom who actually wanted to mother her kids and be a godly mother.

Actually being a mom changes things.

Since entering the world of motherhood, I’ve met moms from near and far and from all walks of life. If I’ve learned anything, it’s we can’t put godly motherhood in a box. It doesn’t look the same for every mom. I have friends who are working moms who are doing exactly what God has called them to do.

I’ve also come to realize that most moms are self-conscious about their own chosen path. Working moms, in particular, complain that they don’t feel comfortable around stay-at-home moms…that they feel judged for working and still pursuing careers.

Working Moms, let me let you in on a little secret…stay-at-home moms feel judged too. They’ve heard the whispers about how they’re lazy, or must be bored just sitting home all day, or are just lucky that their husband’s bring in the big bucks. And each whisper stings deep.

Many stay-at-home moms struggle with feelings of inadequacy. They watch their working mom friends juggle a career, kids, and a home with seemingly flawless ease. The old argument that you’d be paying someone to watch your kids while you work anyway (and, therefore, being a stay-at-home mom is a real job) only serves to fuel their feelings of worthlessness. They want to be seen as more than a glorified baby sitter. They want to feel like they are doing something important and worthwhile…but some days they’re honestly lucky to get out of sweatpants or fold a load of laundry. Their hard-working men march off each day to bring home a little to put in their bank account, and they meanwhile only seem to drain it.

They listen to their working mom friends talk about all the awesome things they’re doing and accomplishing at work. They listen to talk of grand, important things and a kind of busyness that makes the bottoms they wiped and the PB&J sandwiches they made seem insignificant and mundane.

And so, they keep silent. What, really, can they say? “Oh, you saved a patient’s life today or taught a room full of third grader’s math? I picked up blocks and cleaned up cracker crumbs. My main struggle today was getting my son down for his nap, and I cried when my husband called and said he’d have to work late tonight.”

The truth, however, is that a stay-at-home mom’s job is just as important as a working mom’s…it’s just different. Take it from someone who’s been both a SAHM and a working mom…you feel just as exhausted, drained, and sucked dry after a day at home with your children as you do after a day at the office dealing with people and papers and money. Yet, there can also be just as much joy, just as many accomplishments, and just as much self-worth. What truly matters is that your day was spent right where God wants YOU to be, doing the things that He’s called YOU to do.

We are all moms, but we are also all unique. The way we mother and live our lives should be unique as well. We need to stop criticizing one another’s choices and instead encourage each other on the path God has led us each on specifically. We won’t always understand each other or agree, and that’s okay. It’s okay to be different from one another. What’s not okay is to demean someone else for being different from you in order to build yourself up and make yourself feel better about your choices.

Ladies, being a mother is stinking hard work. We all have those days that we lock ourselves in the bathroom knowing that we’ll have a nervous breakdown if we hear that nasally, whiny, “MOM!!!” one. more. time. Being a mom is tough enough without having to deal with the constant critiques and judgments from other moms. Lets stop arguing about whose path is better, and start encouraging and supporting each other instead. Lets stop focusing on our differences and start embracing the similar experiences we share as mothers. Lets stop the mommy wars and start building each other up.

Working mom, stay-at-home mom…what does it matter really? What matters is that we are all women trying to navigate the unknown waters of motherhood. Better we do it together than all alone.

Seasons of the Mundane

2014-11-12T14:06:00.000-06:00

The newborn season of motherhood is full of seemingly mundane busyness. Whether you're a stay-at-home mom, or just on maternity leave, it often seems like all you do all day is feed the baby, change dirty diapers, and attempt to go to the bathroom (mostly unsuccessfully). In reality, that's probably all you are doing.

Pretty much my entire day yesterday consisted of nursing a baby who was obviously going through a growth spurt, and taking a potty-training toddler to the bathroom while the baby screamed bloody murder. Supper came in the form of a crockpot freezer meal hastily eaten in front of the tv while my husband held the baby. On days like yesterday, it's easy to look in the mirror and wonder what happened to all your dreams and goals. Wasn't it just a few short weeks ago that you were more than just a sleep-deprived, milk-producing, diaper-changing machine?

This isn't my first rodeo. I know from experience that all too soon this newborn phase will pass. In the blink of an eye that tiny screaming newborn will be the potty-training toddler proudly announcing every time she toots, far too busy to happily snuggle with Mama all day. Even still, I have to fight off negative thoughts: I'm not getting anything done all day. I've abandoned the other passions and ministries God has called me to. I've lost who I am in this whole business of being a mother. All lies meant to distract me from the glorious, fleeting things God has called me to in the here and now.

Each time I take that toddler to the bathroom, I'm taking one more baby step in the process of molding and shaping him into the man God is calling him to be. Each time I feed that baby, I'm providing her with the nourishment she needs to grow and one day fulfill the wonderful things God has in store for her. Each time my husband holds her as I eat, I watch him fall more in love with her, becoming the daddy that she needs. Each time I apologize to the toddler for snapping at him for kissing the baby too roughly, I see a little more clearly God's heart towards us...and see Him using this season to shape me into the woman He wants me to be.

No season of life is ever mundane or meaningless...it only seems that way on the surface.

Shaming the Breastfeeding Challenged

2014-11-03T15:44:00.001-06:00

I'm going to be real honest: breastfeeding and I have a love-hate relationship. As much as I loved nursing my son and am very pro-breastfeeding, I don't believe that breastfeeding is always the best way. There are way too many moms out there (me included) that are made to feel like less of a mother for either struggling with breastfeeding, not enjoying it, or choosing not to breastfeed altogether.

This was circulating recently, and it was awesome, but I think that some women forget that there are other reasons besides health ones that can prevent moms from being able to nurse their babies. For some, the stress of nursing is just not worth it. For others, breastfeeding is a struggle and at some point the benefits of fighting for it don't outweigh the physical and emotional exhaustion. For still others, their supply, their physical attributes, or their baby's mouth keeps them from being able to breastfeed.

I've not really shared this here before, but I really struggled nursing Miles in the beginning. I had dreams of effortlessly nursing my newborn in what would be a completely natural and incredibly bonding experience. Unfortunately, a combo of issues between me and him made latching impossible. For several months, the only way I could get him latched was with a shield. Even then, it was a struggle. There was a lot of screaming and frustration. Finally, though, he got the hang of it and became a pro. Breastfeeding became a beautiful, peaceful thing, and I loved it. I couldn't understand how anyone who could breastfeed would choose not to. I was terribly proud of myself for sticking with it and persevering.

When Nora was born, I prepared myself for another struggle. To my surprise, only minutes after she arrived she latched right on. She was such a good little nurser that she wanted to nurse constantly. My poor husband had to go to Walmart at 5 am to get a pacifier and give me a break. I was in proud Mommy heaven.

Then engorgement struck. Terrible, painful engorgement that I wasn't able to get to go down for several days. Suddenly my nursing champ couldn't latch. After a sleepless night of trying unsuccessfully to get her to nurse, and her not getting more than a few drops of milk, we gave in and gave her a bottle of pumped milk. One bottle. That's all it took for my nursing pro to decide that nursing was simply too much work.

My dreams of easily nursing my newborn whenever and wherever crumbled into a heap. I can't even begin to describe to you how hard it is to have your own child screaming in rejection of you, in favor of a cold, artificial substitute. Meanwhile, all you can think of are the many, many friends whose baby's latch right on and never have any trouble nursing. You know it's not true, but you can't help but feel like a failure.

You see, I know from experience that not being able to "Exclusively Breastfeed" (or "EBF", as it's known in the cyber world), whether by choice or necessity, is never easy. Something deep down whispers that you are less of a woman. After all, women have been doing it for thousands of years so why can't you?

Then there's the judgement from other moms, especially those that don't know the pain it is to struggle to nurse your little one. Whether imagined or not, you feel the stares when you pull out that bottle. You hesitate before posting that cute anecdote about your child on Facebook because it includes the world "bottle", and you know what certain moms will think. You cringe inside when that mom who doesn't understand the whole situation gives you advice on what will help with your "problem". You skip over that article someone shared for the millionth time about how much better breastfeeding is, implying that your kid will be less healthy, smart, and developed than those lucky kids who nursed until they were 2.

Mamas, if you've struggled with breastfeeding or have had to give up on it altogether for whatever reason, take heart. You are not less of a mama, and your child will not lack because of it. My grandma likes to remind people that all of her three amazingly smart, high-IQ, beautiful children (which include an orthodontist and a PhD psychologist) were, in fact, formula babies, as were my sister and I. If you can breastfeed, that's wonderful, but breastfeeding alone will not dictate the future and health of your children. What's far more important is for our children to have a mentally stable mama who loves them with all of her heart.

To those of you to whom nursing comes easily, think twice before passing judgement. If you haven't struggled with breastfeeding, you can't fully understand the struggle of those who have. Make the choice to support other mothers, whether they breastfeed of bottle feed. What is best for one family and one child will not be best for another family and another child. We need to embrace one another and the unique paths that we are all on. Remember that breastfeeding your children does not make you a better mother than the woman who bottle feeds.

***

Nora is almost three weeks old now, and she's had more bottles than I can count. I'm producing more than enough milk, so it's all been mama's milk, but it's still not my preference or my choice. Pumping often enough to produce enough milk for your little one is exhausting (especially when that includes pumping in the middle of the night after already having fed your baby a bottle). There have definitely been days that I've wondered how long we'll make it before switching to formula. Being a busy wife and mama makes exclusively pumping for the next year impossible. I had to come to terms with the fact that, should she not return to breastfeeding, my sweet Nora might end up on formula...and I had to be okay with that.

Thankfully, taking it one day at a time has worked. By the grace of God (because it's certainly nothing I've done), my sweet Nora has suddenly decided that she really does like nursing after all. It's 3 in the afternoon and she hasn't had one bottle all day. Yet, I know that that could change in a heartbeat, and that's perfectly fine. My worth and value as her mother is not tied up in my ability to feed her the "natural way". Instead, it's found in the love and devotion I have for her, whether she's fed formula in a bottle or right at my chest.

Nora's Birth Story

2014-10-29T15:55:00.002-05:00

Fair warning: Due to the nature of the topic, this post is a little more TMI than I usually write.

My entire pregnancy with our sweet Nora was anything but ordinary. It shouldn't come as any surprise, then, that her actual birth followed suit. Even two weeks later, I'm still trying to process the chain of events that brought my sweet girl into this world.

As I've shared before, I was hospitalized at 35 weeks with preterm labor and put on strict bed rest. During that time, my contractions never lessened, and I expected Baby Girl to come at any moment. But she didn't.

When I hit the magical number of 37 weeks and was allowed off of bed rest, I thought that getting up and walking around would do the trick. Despite intense, consistent contractions, Baby Girl still stayed put.

At my 38 week checkup (a Wednesday), I had an ultrasound done because I had started measuring even further ahead than I had before (as in, 4+ weeks ahead). The ultrasound showed a high level of amniotic fluid, enough that the nurse practitioner was concerned. Baby Girl was not engaged and was basically swimming around inside of me. She could turn breech or, even worse, my water breaking could cause the cord to prolapse. I was told to come in the next Monday (when I was 39 weeks exactly), and they'd check my fluid levels again.

On Monday, Baby Girl was still very healthy and active, but my fluid levels were still rising. I really, really wanted to give birth naturally and go into labor on my own. Yet, after almost 4 weeks of prodromal labor, I hadn't progressed (I had been sitting at 3 cm dilated that entire time). My OBGYN and I sat down and had a very frank discussion about my options. Normally, she encouraged women to wait to go into labor naturally. In her professional opinion, however, she didn't think Baby Girl was coming on her own, or at least not for awhile. She felt that my high fluid levels were the reason that the contractions I was having weren't going anywhere. They just weren't effective at bringing Baby down because there was so much fluid. With the risks associated with my rising fluid levels, she encouraged me to schedule an induction. The risk of cord prolapse was still there even in an induction in a hospital, but at least then emergency help would be there. If my water broke at home, I was 45+ minutes from the hospital, and could find myself in a potentially dangerous situation. Andy and I prayed about it, and decided to go ahead with the induction. I was told to come in to be induced that Wednesday (October 15th) at 5 am. I would be 39 weeks, 2 days at that point.

The next two days, I still prayed that I would go into labor naturally. Oddly enough, however, the contractions that had been so consistent for the past 4 weeks, all but went away. So, at 5 am that Wednesday morning we marched into the hospital. They checked me and I was still 3 cm dilated. No surprise there.

At 6:30 am they started me on a low Pitocin drip. For the next 4 hours they steadily increased it, to almost no avail. I was having contractions, but they were very inconsistent, and I almost couldn't feel them. Andy and I watched TV and I prayed that something would start happening soon. Finally, at 10:45 am, my doctor came in and checked me. I was barely a 4. The news, while unsurprising based on the contractions I was having, was discouraging. My doctor had originally planned to break my water, but Baby Girl's head was still so high up that she didn't feel it was safe to do so. She suggested I get an epidural to see if it would relax anything, and then to try some different positions and things to bring baby down. I didn't have an epidural with my son, and I was hoping to at least hold out as long as possible with this baby, but I reluctantly agreed. The anesthesiologist came in and I found myself regretting the decision during the whole process. I wasn't even feeling these contractions, for goodness sake...why was I getting an epidural???

While the anesthesiologist was wrapping up, Baby Girl's heartbeat dropped during two separate contractions. The nurse had me move into different positions, but both times her heartbeat didn't go up until the contractions stopped. The anesthesiologist (who was still in the room), suggested that perhaps I was dilating more. The nurse checked me, and I was now at a 5. Progress, at least! Baby's heartbeat didn't drop again, so I was left alone lying on my back. The intention was to sit me up in an hour and see if we could do anything to get Baby engaged.

As soon as the nurse and anesthesiologist left (about 11:45), I started actually feeling the contractions more. I texted my mom and update and my husband and I joked about singing "Let It Go" during labor. Within minutes, the contractions started getting more intense, and I wasn't able to text anymore. I had to get on my left side and focus to get through the contractions. The epidural didn't seem to be helping much. My feet were numb, but my pelvis was most definitely not.

At 12:09 I had my husband text my mom that the contractions were getting a lot worse. A few minutes later we decided to call the nurse and see if they could figure out something with the epidural. Ten minutes later, the nurse still hadn't shown up. I felt a pop, a gush of fluid, and sudden, excruciating pain.

This time when we called the nurse, me shouting in the background brought her pretty quickly. My husband told her I thought my water had broken. She said she'd check me and slowly moved about getting things (obviously doubtful, since she had left me not too long ago). My husband repeated it two more times and finally started to check. The poor, young nurse's eyes got as big as an owl's and she quickly called for another nurse (apparently it was a lot of fluid, and my amniotic sac was half hanging out). The other nurse came in, took one look at me, and said I was a 10, that the baby had dark hair, and that they needed to get the doctor and a table immediately.

I meanwhile was in the most excruciating pain I've ever experienced. My first epidural-free labor was a cake-walk compared to this. It felt like my entire pelvis was splitting open, and I had to yell and get onto my hands and knees just to get through each contraction. I told my husband that he needed to get the doctor and have them cut the baby out, because I couldn't do this. I as much told the nurses the same.

While the first nurse tried to get ahold of my doctor, the other nurse turned me onto my side. I listened as they tried to find a doctor. My doctor was in a c-section and couldn't get out, and her partner didn't answer. Finally they reached another doctor who had just left and she said she'd be there in 5 minutes. I told the nurse that I didn't want to wait and that she needed to just get the baby out. She assured me that she could deliver the baby if she needed to. I heard her tell my husband that if I opened my legs the baby would be born.

We waited the 5 minutes for the doctor, but my body was pushing on its own. I wouldn't be able to make it much longer. Meanwhile, the nurse was helping to stretch the baby's head out.

Finally, the doctor arrived, put on gloves and sat down in front of me. I opened my legs, gave two little pushes, and there at my feet lay my beautiful, perfect baby girl. They hadn't even had time to put up a sheet or drop the bed. I could have caught her, had I had the presence of mind of Kourtney Kardashian. I watched as she gave her first little scream and they handed her into my arms, healthy as can be. The time was 12:57 pm...just over an hour after the nurse had said I was dilated to a 5.

We are so thankful for our sweet little Nora Jane. Her birth was one of the hardest things I've ever gone through, but holding her for the first time was more than worth it.