The Making of M.O.M.

2016: the healing rushed in

2017-01-07T01:39:00.000-05:00

I've heard of people saying they pray and meditate on a word for each upcoming year. I've always liked the thought of it, but honestly, I sort of stink at sticking with things.

It's a big reason I've never make New Year's resolutions. I don't want to feel like a failure when February rolls around and I've already forgotten what I resolved to do.

Anyway, a few days before the new year, I had some alone time in the car. I had the radio going and I was reflecting on 2016 and everything that came with it. Really everything that went with the last 4 years and how it all seemed to heap into a pile and 2016 was my year to deal with it. All of it.

Yes, Paige was part of that. But there was more. More I'm not ready to share, and may not ever be. It's been 4 years of taking hits emotionally, financially and spiritually and it all seemed to culminate at the end of 2016.

Finally, I made some peace with it. I stood myself up in front of a large crowd of people, opened myself up in some vulnerable and scary places and the unexpected happened. The wounds didn't grow deaper.

Instead, the healing rushed in.

I cannot say exactly how or why, but as the words spilled from my lips, deep wounds in my heart began to heal.

When I left that retreat, one that was suppose to be for work and to grow my business, I felt physically lighter. My outlook on life felt different and I had decided to embrace the joy of my life, rather than continually preparing myself for the next shoe to drop.

Vulnerability is not weakness.

Vulnerability is emotional risk, uncertainty and emotional risk.

It is to allow ourselves to be seen. To be honest.

Vulnerability is the most accurate measure of courage.

- Brene Brown, "The Power of Vulnerability"

And as I drove home from Costco just a few days before New Year's the word I heard God speak to me was so clear and my jaw dropped.

2016 was the year of Healing.

I remember after Paige died I kept getting angry and then in a weird way, I anticipated the person I would be in the future, once I came out the other side. Wiser. Stronger. More faithful.

I cannot say with assurance that I am there yet, but I'm certainly making strides. I look at who I was before, compared to who I am now and instead of seeing a huge ravine between those two persons, I see more similarities than before.

For the longest time, I wondered if I'd ever get back to begin a better version of her, or if I'd be this angry, bitter, cynical person forever.

So, here's to you 2016. You taught me so much and forced me to reconcile with myself and God.

In 2016:
January brought Evelyn turning 2 years old and me realizing that life is moving at a much faster pace than I enjoy so I'd better embrace this chaos or risk forgetting the very best parts.

February took me to Orlando for a Leadership event for my company. I'd been struggling with the idea of making money while helping people and the ethics behind that. I took away my favorite leadership phrase that solidfied my desire to do this business and quit apologizing for being successful.

"We rise by lifting others."

March:
Abigail turned 4 and we discovered her love for anteaters.

Spring baseball began and I learned to love the art of juggling 4 kids playing on 4 different ball teams.

Ella turned 6 and slowly Luke and I began to see that when Ella is in a funk, alone time with Mom or Dad snaps her right out of it. She also started Tball and we realized that maybe we hadn't noticed how awesome she was as baseball.

Our beloved 13.5 year old Golden Retreiver, Brinkley, died. It rattled us all and we still miss her every, single day. We swore off getting a dog for at least a year, maybe 2.

April:
We got a dog. A puppy to be exact.

Belle, the golden-doodle, 10 weeks old.

Ashlee discovered that when you tell the waiter at a restuarant you want the largest fish they have, you need to be very, very specific.

"Mom! It has eyes! What if it's pregnant!?!"

May:

Olivia played in her first, and last, piano recital and decided she'd rather take horseback riding lessons instead of play piano.

Lucas and Ashlee turned 10, both got an iPod and the world of navigating several children, screens and internet filters became very REAL. We got a Disney Circle. It helped.

Extreme chaos

June:

Aaron turned 8. During his birthday-day adventure, he almost got eaten by a tiger.

We spent a lot of time at the lake and I watched our kids' relationships develop in a new way. Now that I wasn't caring for a newborn 24/7, I could really soak in and see how our kids were growing together.

Because I have a sister, I always have a friend.

July:
We celebrated 'Merica.

I traveled back to my hometown to do a training for my team there. Going "home" is always a bit of a challenge emotionally. I didn't even realize at the time how healing this trip would be. Amid adversity and struggle, closer relationships with family emerged and, again, brought healing.

August:

This was a big month. Our oldest entered her last year of pre-teen. TWELVE. To celebrate the occasion, she and I took an extended weekend trip to the beach, her choice, and dove into some issue on purity, dating and everything in between. What a healing trip for both of us. We cried a lot, laughed more than I thought possible. We left feeling very divided and came home stronger and with more openness than I had even hoped for.

We also started a new Homeschooling co-op and remembered why we love homeschooling.

Elizabeth entered into her first horsehow and took home several ribbons. August was sort of big for us.

Elizabeth and Phantom

September:
We celebrated Luke making another trip around the sun.

Then, he and I left the kids for a solid week and flew across the country to attend my company's convention. It was nerve-racking leaving all our babies at home. But the theme of the convention was healing. Surprised?

Some of our amazing team of life changers.

I'm not. Even still, I wasn't putting all the pieces together yet. Healing wasn't even a word I recognized was reoccuring at this point. I guess you could say I'm a little hard headed. Or dense.

Reunited and it feels so good

October:
We celebrated 8 years of Olivia and thanked God again for the miracle that is her.

November:

The month it all sort of came crashing down. Chaos consumed us.

Ashlee performed in her first live theatre production, "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory."

Our kitchen had a water issue in September and insurance finally resolved it all in mid-November. We had to move out of our house for 3 weeks while multiple repairs were done. It was intense, but yet, so peaceful.

I can't explain how peace founds its way into those weeks of chaos, but they did. Actually, I think I can explain it.

I healed, so my family healed. When I chose to allow the wounds to be vulnerable, God allowed healing to take place, which put me back in a place to be emotionally available to my family once again.

So, we lived at the lake for a while. And Evelyn caught her first fish and we made some incredible memories in the midst of all that chaos. We moved out of our house the Sunday before Thanksgiving and didn't get back in until mid-December.

We just sort of rested in the middle of the whirlwind around us.

December:

We moved back into our house, Luke's mom came for Christmas.

We prepared our hearts for the birth of our Savior.

It was a precious and beautiful Christmas season, even though all my hopes of a beautiful Advent calendar didn't happen because all of our house was packed up and moved out. We slowly unpacked boxes, we still are actually, and threw our house on the market to sell. Yes, all a week before Christmas.

And here we are. Sitting in 2017, and somehow, with the healing of 2016, there was something more I needed. I began to ask God what my word would be for 2017. What would it bring?

More clearly than I have heard Him in a very, very long time, the word "Promise" rushed into my heart.

Followed by the following words, "When I think, 'My foot slips,' your steadfast love will help me."

I came home and looked up the scripture with those words and here is what I found.

If the LORD had not been my help,

my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence.

When I thought, “My foot slips,”

your steadfast love, O LORD, held me up.

Psalm 94:17-18

What a perfect bridge of scripture to go from Healing to Promise. Here's to a year of Promise and the thankfulness that comes from a year of Healing.

Happy New Year, friends.

The joy-bringers

2016-06-08T00:57:00.001-04:00

These days as a Mom to littles and middles, they're hard. I'm balancing toddler butt wipes and pre-teen hormones. It's hard to not feel bogged down with the day to day and miss the joy in the trenches.

Often, I have to force myself to pause and remember that these people, they are not actually trying to make my life difficult. They are just, you know, living life. All 8 of them, being children.

Children who, if I really stop and look at them are joy-bringers.

Like today, Abigail found a fly. It had recently been swatted by yours truly and she insisted it was her "very best fray-und" and tossing it into the trash would be a pre-mature burial because "Wook Mom! He's awive and he's needing me!"

Homegirl loves flies. She squeals with delight when she sees them flying through our house. "LOOK MOM! THERE GOES MY FRIEND!"

Ew.

Anyway, recently-swatted-fly was her new love. She picked it up (gag) held it as it crawled all over her hand and she carried it everywhere for the next hour as it limped/crawled/died in her hands.

Abigail, pictured here with the world's smalled baby frog.
She found him in some pile of who-knows-what at the ballpark.
She was so thrilled with her new "pet."

I forced myself not to vomit, and instead just sat and watched her enjoy this fly. It was the most hysterical interaction. She was stroking its wings and petting its back and telling it about how she was happy he would "fly around the house later when she went to bed."

Gag. Cringe. Ew.

I controlled my knee-jerk reaction to insist she throw it away and take a head-to-toe bath in sanitizing bleach water, and allowed joy to come into the moment.

Stress was whirling around me. Dinner needed to be made, I needed to get changed and ready to walk out the door the second Luke got home, but I stopped and soaked in her joy.

Abigail, my joy-bringer, she didn't disappoint.

An hour later, I grabbed my camera bag and headed for the door.

Ashlee, who was currently laying shoe-less and filthy across my bed said, "Can I go with you?"

It would have been so much easier to say no. So much less stress and waiting for the shoes to be found, and it would have given me some alone time before and after my photoshoot. Again, I fought the knee-jerk reaction and said, "Of course! Grab some shoes."

She was thrilled! She held my hand every chance she got and I soaked her in. I put my phone away and listened to her talk about what she got for her birthday last week and how she wished double-digits meants she could sit in the front seat and how she really, really, really loves babies. And puppies. But mostly babies.

She helped me wrangle a toddler and baby and our photo session was a success. We celebrated with Panera and giggles. She brought the joy, I just participated and soaked it in.

Listen, I'm not saying that every day is flowers and unicorns and rainbows. I know the days are hard. When potty-training goes awry, or when a whole container of sugar gets spilled on the floor of your freshly mopped kitchen, or maybe when instead of calmly asking for help, there are MOUTAINS OF TEARS because an earring slipped down the drain and THE WHOLE PRE-TEEN WORLD IS OVER.

Life with these people who count on you for so much is stressful. It's messy and chaotic and loud and exhausting.

But they are joy-bringers. And if you can resist the knee-jerk long enough to remember that moments of joy are sprinkled through your day and our job is just to soak them in during the tornado of madness, it makes the harder days easier.

So catch a fly, or let them run that errand with you, or sit and listen to them tell you about how many Ninja Turtles they think might be able to fit into the bathtub. Push pause on the crazy and for 5 minutes enjoy your joy-bringers tomorrow.

Because 5 minutes after that, you may have to pinch their tiny heads off to just make it until bedtime.

Here I sit

2016-05-11T00:33:00.002-04:00

We were holding hands as we drove. It was date night, which is always the best night.

"You should write again," he said.

I looked at him, then turned to look out the window again. Uncertainty flooded my mind.

"I know you miss it. And, it helps you process everything in your head," he urged.

I do miss it. It does help me process.

So much has happened over the last nearly 4 years. So much pain, so much wrestling, so many thoughts, so much LIFE.

We rode in silence a while, both consumed by our thoughts.

"Just start with once a week?" His words cut the silence and I rolled them over in my mind.

Who would even read these words anymore? Is anyone still around?

I've considered those questions so many times since that date night a few months ago.

My journey back to the Lord has been grueling, and honestly it's not complete.

But, I sat in the still of our house one morning, my Bible open to Exodus and I thought (prayed?) over this blog.

Really, God. Who would even read it anyway? It's washed up, a has been blog. Everyone is gone.

It's not for them.

The first real words I've heard from the Lord in a very, very long time. So much of a whisper that I'm still considering if I heard them at all. But, it's true. This space was never for anyone else, really. I mean, my arrogance enjoyed writing for an audience, but at the end of the day I wrote here because it was a place for me to post about our family, my children, our life, our journey.

So, I've updated my header, and slowly, I'll update the rest. For now, the cursor blinking, my mind equally swarming with ideas and more terrified to share them than I've ever been before.

Here I sit. I hope the words come out.

My help comes from the Lord

2015-11-03T00:37:00.000-05:00

I've been traveling a lot this fall, working the ground up on a new, home based business. It's been exhausting yet incredible connecting with family I've not seen in 15 years, having morning coffee with long, lost friends and seeing people I care about live the lives they've been called to live across the country from me.

One thing that kept being brought up time and time and time again was this blog. This space on the internet where I pour my heart out and people come to read. This place that now feels so vulnerable and raw, like wound that just cannot heal.

Truly, I'd given up on this place. My heart has been trampled on, bruised and beaten down over the last 3 years and I wasn't sure that there was much left to offer. Not to God, not to my own family and certainly not to blank pages. So I walked away. My heart longs to write but I'm timid at the thought of putting myself out there again. The irony is, that while I love the writing, and I enjoy you all reading, it's incredibly uncomfortable for me when people openly acknowledge this place and what I've written. I can't say why. So, I had resolved that I would let this space go and I asked Luke if he'd have the entries printed and bound into a book for me.

And then I sat in this church two weekends ago, with a dear friend at my side, and I felt the Lord speak to me like He used to, back when I was in tune with His word and could hear His heart beat clearly.

I fought tears as I actually worshipped like I have not been able in a long, long time. I sang this song many, many times before our world seemed to fall apart with death and our dreams slipped away. (That short term trip never happened, either.)

I have struggled so much with God. Called Him a liar, spewed words and venom and hatred his way. And yet, as these familiar chords began, my ears heard these words again, for the first time.

My foes are many, they rise against me

But I will hold my ground

I will not fear the war, I will not fear the storm

My help is on the way, my help is on the way

Where have you been? Have you been on the way for all this time?

Oh, my God, He will not delay

My refuge and strength always

I will not fear, His promise is true

My God will come through always, always

Troubles surround me, chaos abounding

My soul will rest in You

I will not fear the war, I will not fear the storm

My help is on the way, my help is on the way

And then...

I lift my eyes up, my help comes from the Lord

From You Lord, from You Lord

There it has been this entire time. Just lift up your eyes, Jessica. See me. Here. I never left.

Luke can attest, I am AMAZING at the cold shoulder. When I'm upset with someone, I try my best to pretend to be fine, but I wear the hurt and anger all over me. We never fight for long because it's clear when I'm upset. I avoid eye contact with every fiber of my being, because I know my eyes will give me away.

I looked up the verse this song referenced. Psalm 121:1-4 says,

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the LORD,
who made heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

I love blueletterbible.org because I can look up the root words and read the original scriptures and see not only the actual word used in the original language, but where it is used again in scripture.

As I looked up Psalm 121, the words life, eye, foot and moved jumped out at me.

Lift:

to lift, lift up
to bear, carry, support, sustain, endure
to take, take away, carry off, forgive

Moved (Slip):

to totter, shake, slip
1. (Qal) to totter, shake, slip
2. (Niphal) to be shaken, be moved, be overthrown
3. (Hiphil) to dislodge, let fall, drop
4. (Hithpael) to be greatly shaken

He will not allow me to be carried off or taken away. He will not allow me to be overthrown or greatly shaken.

I lift my eyes up, He has sustained me.

He did not allow my foot to be moved. I have not been overthrown. I have been shaken, but I was not dislodged.

My help comes from the Lord.

They are worth it, and I am able because He is faithful

2015-03-26T06:30:00.000-04:00

5 years ago, I anticipated, that by this point in our lives we'd be on the brink of returning from a 4 year term in Kenya. Our lives would be revolving around taking the gospel to the nations, building relationships with nationals, living among the people and serving them with open arms and glad hearts so that they experience Jesus in me.

Back then, I would have never imagined our life would look like it does today. After all, we were chasing hard after God, He was guiding us to this foreign land. It was bound to transpire just as my perfect, little brain could propose it to be.

And then, loss.

Grief.

Disappointments.

Financial setbacks.

Broken family relationships.

Pain.

Wrestling.

I have doubted my God on every level. I've begged to walk away, tried even. I've searched the scriptures for evidence that this God I devoted myself to is on a power trip and decided to wreck my life just for fun.

I've watched my children grow, as a shell of their mother attempts to shepherd them toward a God that she's uncertain of herself. I've cussed Him out, shut Him out, turned and refused to talk or listen. I've been at a place where I wondered if I was seriously delusional and if I dreamed up this whole missions thing because it was trendy, sounded fun and looked like it made us a better version of ourselves.

In every aspect of our lives over the last 3 years we've been broken. I've spilled tears over the simplest of things and shook my fist at God from the darkest parts of my heart. I've turned bitter, angry and spiteful.

Who needs God anyway? I mean, really. What kind of a God loads your whole family onto a rug called obedience then jerks the damn thing right out from under you? Not any God I want to follow, that's for sure.

The arrogance in my heart and the trust I had in my "strong faith" disappeared. In an instant, the person I thought I was and the things I thought I believed seem to lay before me on the ground like the contents of a beautifully potted orchid that had been thrown from the 10th floor window.

I couldn't read blogs, attend missions events, listen to songs or fake my way through a missions Sunday at church. I would get up and leave, telling God to screw himself as I walked out the door and down the hall.

Was this some kind of a sick joke? Who does that?

I've asked, desperately, what we should do now and the only thing I have gotten in return is silence. No whispers of His voice, no profound truths from scripture, no words from the teaching of the men and women that had so clearly been instruments of His words anymore.

The anger continued to well and finally pour out. I've been angry at everyone and everything for a very long time.

Anger does crazy things to you. It makes you blind, deaf and cold. I would interact with my children and I could see myself, almost in the 3rd person, reacting in ways that I would not typically react. It was surreal and almost as if I was living a life that I was simply watching, not a participant.

Finally, after a long silence with the Lord, I begged Him to reveal to me why we are in this place when it's not at all where my heart desires. I got no profound answers. I didn't see a hand writing on the wall or hear the voice of God audibly.

Instead, a dirty faced, chubby cheeked almost 15 month old toddler came toward me with her half drunk saunter. She grinned and juicy animal crackers dripped from her chin as she struggled her way into my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck.

A clingy 3 year old rounded the corner and squealed with the delight at the sight of me. I delight her every time I she sees me.

A fresh, new 5 year old crawls into bed with me on the morning of her birthday. Soft, blond, wild curls cover my face as she nuzzles her head under my chin. "You smell nice Momma. I think my nose is better when I'm five," she giggles.

Two six year olds sit poised with pencils in hand and scribble out shaky letters. One of them reads every word his eyes see and he beams with joy, the other beams with pride over words of praise and affirmation.

An eight year old boy finds a love for baseball. He carries his glove with him everywhere he goes and he wears his Daddy's number from college on his back. He's the scrawniest player on the team but he hustles and works hard and he's determined to prove himself.

Eight and ten year old sisters find a love for horses and cultivate a friendship unlike anything I've ever seen. They giggle and talk about horses and boys and how to decorate their room until long past their bed time.

When the anger subsides, this is what I see. I see the nations. I see my life revolving around these people who desperately need the gospel. I see me serving them with open arms and a glad heart so that they experience Jesus in me.

I see the one job my arrogant self assumed was not good enough now being the most important, the most challenging, the most necessary.

I see the nations before me. I see them in dirty socks left on the kitchen counter, unending loads of laundry and middle of the night nursing sessions. I see them in gentle corrections, hugs after a hard consequence and love despite their flaws. I see them in endless snacks and cup refills, in spills and messes, in cherrios crushed under my shoe.

I see the stage being set for world changers who grew up sitting right around my very own dinner table.

I see that in order for me to live within the full glory of God's desire for my life, and in turn to create these people who will no doubt love others beyond themselves, it begins by serving my children joyfully and with a heart devoted only to their very best.

I have spent much time wondering why the pain of the last few years has been heaped upon our family. I've wondered why the anger and resentment has been rooted deep inside my heart, seemingly planted there by the One who is suppose to take away doubt, fear, shame and bitterness. I wondered why He set us up for failure, for grief, for brokenness.

And then I looked up and I was overcome by exactly what I was suppose to see all along. They are it. We were not set up for brokenness. We were set up for this. This perfectly chaotic, unkept, totally filled-to-the-brim life. The scales tip whichever way I give them weight. I can choose anger and grief or joy and grace.

As the anger is slowly being washed away, joy is filtering through. Joy in the lives of these 8 people that are forever connected to me so deeply that there is no grief, no disappointment, no financial loss, no brokenness nor pain that could ever sever me from them.

They are my mission. And finally I can say with fullness that if they are my sole purpose in this life, it is enough. They are enough. Just as they are, just as I am, just as He has always been, I will fully pour myself into them, not reserving even one drop for what could have been or what I could hope will one day be.

I will share with them the good news of a Savior who never quits on them, even when they try with their whole self to give up on Him.

With love, I will serve them with joy and gladness, just as I would have the most honored guest at our Kenyan dinner table. Because they are worth it, and I am able because He is faithful, forever.

When the struggling ceases

2015-01-18T00:08:00.000-05:00

I scoop her up off the floor, plop down into my favorite nursing chair, raise my shirt and offer her some milk. She latches, but as she does she extends her arm until her pudgy, dimpled, dainty elbow reaches a locked position.

This is how we nurse. We've nursed this way all 12.5 months of her life. I cradle her, smooth her hair, gaze at her eyelashes and smile. She looks at the ceiling then rolls her eyes as far as possible to see what is behind her, without unlatching.

She tolerates me. With my other babies there were tender nursing moments. Times when they would nurse, grin while milk streamed from the corners of their mouthes, unlatch and offer me a huge grin, only to spray milk all over the both of us.

But Evelyn is not that baby. She loves me, and wants me sometimes, but mostly I'm a source of nourishment for her. It's her Daddy who is her ultimate soother. She adores him more than any of our other children have at this young age. Normally it's Mommy and Mommy alone while they're breastfeeding. But not her.

She drinks until she's had her fill, then she unlatches with a smack, rolls away from me, requesting with her whole body to be released from my arms. She's done with me and I've come to terms with the fact that I am the one who is fond of the nursing, not her. I've finally realized it's not personal. She grins and me and smiles when we play together. She giggles at my over-exaggerated laughs. But if the choice is me or Daddy, Daddy wins every time.

Evelyn, 9.5 months, tolerating my affection.

Tonight, as the house was still, and I rocked her while she nursed, He washed Himself over me in a way that used to be familiar and regular.

"This is us," he whispered. "You use me solely for life-sustaining nourishment right now. There is no intimacy between us. You wait until you cannot wait any longer, have your fill of me, then you make it clear you're ready to have your space."

I recoiled in the truth that He showed me.

I've been angry. Hurt. I've felt neglected and robbed. I've wanted to walk away, and I probably would have, for not the consistent and fervent prayers of my husband and dearest friends. And now, I'm in a place where I'm no longer wanting or struggling to break free from this faith that has gripped me so tightly. I'm fine with it. It's here, it's who I am. It's a part of me.

I wait until I can wait no more, fling myself before the cross, fill myself with just enough to get me through the next trial, the next thing and then I'm done with him for a while.

In the simile that is my nursing relationship, I am Evelyn and He is me.

He longs for the intimacy that should exist, the affection and the joy upon my face as we embrace and delight in one another. And oh how He has never stopped delighting in me. He makes that clear when I draw near. He loves me as much as He ever has, increasingly as the days pass. As my love grows for my almost-walking babe, does His love for me.

My embraces with him have been distant. My (not as cute as Evelyn's) pudgy, dimpled elbows lock into place when He comes near because keeping Him at arms length is just easier. At arms length it can't hurt as much. At arms length I cannot hear His whispers clearly. At arms length, my perception is that if He should forget me again, then I can catch myself before I fall.

But the truth is, I was never forgotten. As much as my heart, and my enemy, wants be to believe the lie that I have been cast aside, He could not forget me. I know this is true because I could not forget my precious, independent, ever looking-for-a-distraction-while nursing, baby girl.

"Can a woman forget her nursing child,
that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?
Even these may forget,
yet I will not forget you.

Isaiah 49:15
Oh this love He has for me is relentless. He is showing me, as I pursue all but Him, that He is here. Offering the nourishment and sustenance I need for life, a rich life, right in his very arms. He hasn't quit offering it, though I have pushed it away, kept it at arms length and, sometimes, refused it all together even though it was exactly what I needed at that very moment.

This Jesus of mine, He cares for me. He keeps me in his tender grasp, and even lowers me gently as I thrash to get on my own two feet. How could I ever believe He would forsake me?

My girl, she's rewriting my knowledge as a mother, expanding on it day by day. Eight kids into this gig and He's still using these tiny (and not-so-tiny) people to show me that He sees me as I see them. Full of life, hope, love, joy and rich in mercy. This love He has that I am so thankful never ceases. Just like my love for the most independent 12 month old I've ever met. He takes me, defiance and all, embraces me, welcomes me back time and time and time again until one day, the arms relax, the eyes lift and meet his and a smile creeps across my face. And joy is found when the struggling ceases.

A rare, tender, arm-not-locked moment.
Perhaps my most favorite photo of all time.

(Photo credit: Light of Mine Photography)

My Acceptance Speech, the final draft

2014-09-23T00:58:00.002-04:00

I would like to thank you all for coming today. Honestly, I'd say that I'm shocked and in awe that you'd come all this way to award me with such a title, but I'm not surprised.

I mean, it's not every day that you happen upon a woman like me. The things you say about me are, indeed, true. I am so deserving of this title that when the awards committee called me, I laughed a little and then wondered what had taken so long.

Yes, it would be me who had to tell her 2 year old, again, not to lick the toilet. Ever. Even if you think it's chocolate.

It would also be me who allowed her almost 9 month old baby to play with an electrical adapter. It was unplugged. But you know, the principle of the matter is that I would have never let my first born baby play with cords of that nature. But alas, I just looked at her content self and continued texting my BFF.

I have earned this award on so many levels, but the thing that is the clincher for me, I think, is my attention to ~~detail~~ sarcasm. When my pre-teen stormed out of the room in an emotional rage it may or may not have been me who mumbled under my breath, "If you'd have stayed 8 years old like I told you this wouldn't be an issue." I may have also told her she is, in fact, bossy and to stop acting surprised when people assign her that title.

I am also going to confess that I earned this title fully when I went to turn on the sound machine in my 4 year old's room and, upon discovering her used pull up laying on her dresser, pinched it by the edge, carried it across the house and slung it in her general direction. I believe that life is best learned in a state of surprise, so I also felt it necessary to call her name as the urine laden disposable underpants were hurling at her head.

Think fast and stop peeing the bed. It's like my catch phrase. And by catch phrase I mean, seriously, catch!

You also should know that this isn't an award I will take flippantly. Oh no. I will wear this title as a crown upon my head and, in honor of it, I will continue to tell my children who are STARRRRRVVVIIIIINGGGGG and asking every food related question in their vocabulary at 5:45pm as I am frantically finishing up dinner that our meal will consist of "food and food with a side of food." Delicious sounding, isn't it? I know it's important to encourage proper nutrition and because of that when they ask what kind of food, I will reply with a bright, warm smile, "the kind you eat."

Modeling behaviors you wish to see in your children is oh-so-very important and I take this title you have given me so seriously, that I will always endeavor to show my children that YELLING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS FROM 24 INCHES FROM MY FACE IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT EVEN IF YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT YOU'VE FINISHED ALL YOUR SCHOOL WORK AND CLEANED YOUR ROOM AND NOW YOU'D LIKE TO HELP ME WASH ALL THE DISHES AND FOLD THE CLOTHES.

Hard work ethic and ear buds have helped me push through those training sessions.

I know that many of you wonder how I juggle it all, especially the baby and the 2 year old. Naturally, the 2 year old is eager for my attention and I try so very hard to show her that she is just as special and loved as her baby sister, even though the baby needs my attention more frequently for nursing sessions.

Of course, since this seemed to be a battle ground, I offered for my darling two year old to have a taste of Mommy's milk and told her that she too, when she was younger, drank my milk. She seemed eager at the idea and so I gently unlatched the baby as my elated 2 year old leaned in. I prepared myself that it might not end well since the 2 year old now has a mouth full of teeth and hasn't suckled in a very long time. As she neared me I squeezed once, quite firmly, and 2 steady streams of milk shot forth. One landed directly into her mouth and the other into her eye.

As she shrieked and thrashed on the floor I excused myself to empty my bladder in a more suitable place than the glider rocker in the nursery.

Since I believe that every moment has potential to be a teachable one, I also reminded her that there's no use crying over spilled, or mis-directed milk.

So you see, it is with grace and meekness and a quiet, humble spirit that I accept this awarded title that the committee has chosen me for this year. I've never been one to boast in an award in such a way and I hope my acceptance speech has demonstrated exactly why I feel that I am 110% the obvious candidate for the title of

Okayest Mom of the Year.

If you would like to schedule a mentoring session, please be sure to stop by my house. Our door bell is broken, but please do not hesitate to send in the panty-clad toddler, who is in the driveway, eating an uncooked, frozen pizza, in to look for me.

Thank you all. Have a wonderful evening.

Through smoke

2014-09-16T00:51:00.000-04:00

She had tied the drawstring of her robe tight around her waist. Her linen pants hung loosely around her legs and were stuffed into the tops of her laced up boots of peace. Her cloak hung heavily on her shoulders, which was ironic since the armor that protected her vital organs felt remarkably light.

Picture her with me.

Truth sat low on her hips while righteousness covered her chest. Protected by her faithful shield, salvation upon her head, on the defensive with the glimmer of her sword, spirit. She was ready. She had trained, prepared and knew the battle would be intense. In fact, there had been many small battles leading up to this day.

She looked to her left and he stood there with her. Adorned with a matching uniform, he stood just a pace in front of her, prepared to take the worst of the blows, knowing that it was not only his calling but his duty as her protector, provider, prophet and priest. Yes, they would fight together but he was set over her. Not because she was inferior but because the goodness of the One who prepared this battle knew what He was doing.

A smile crept across her lips as she looked back out onto the hills in front of them. Battle is never easy, but after you've prepared for weeks and months and years when it's time to go, you can't help but be a bit eager.

Together, nearly in unison, they step into the war zone, knowing that it could last longer than they both have the energy or resolve to endure. However, they aren't relying on their own strength alone and they know this full and well. Emerging from the sky are cherubim, clothed in no armor at all but brandishing weapons that annihilate the enemy in one, swift stroke.

Rushing forward, metal clinks, blows are landed and they find little successes. Suddenly, the ground shakes, the sky grows dark. Smoke engulfs the battlefield. Disoriented and confused, they become separated in sight. She can hear him but the smoke burns her eyes with such pain that she must choose to close them for fear of losing her sight forever more.

She hears wailing and crying and listens intently to try to discern from which direction it coming, only to realize that it is from her own lips. Her heart is afraid and her voice betrays her by telling every enemy within earshot.

Trembling, she sinks to her knees and opens her eyes, desperately scanning the horizon. The smoke is so thick she cannot possibly see beyond her own arm, much less into the distance. The stench of burning trash and excrement lingers in her nostrils.

"Help! Where are you? Help me, please."

The roar of battle has ceased but the smoke remains. She can no longer hear him or the One who gives the orders.

"This is it?" she thinks. "This is not the battle for which I trained. No! This wasn't in the plan at all. How did this happen? No! This cannot be it." Her heart pounds in her chest and fear overwhelms her.

The silence is now deafening.

She crawls across the field on her hands and knees hoping to find someone, anyone, who might give a clue as to what has happened. There are no signs of battle, no wayward shields or swords. No members of the enemy camp laying slain on the ground. Nothing but the smoke even suggests there's been a battle.

This. This ground shaking madness, this was not what she had prepared for at all. She hopes staying close to the ground will provide reprieve from the smoke but it is as thick and pungent down low as it is up high.

She crawls across rocks and sticks and through mud but no where does she find remnant or clues to anyone else on this field with her. Finally, FINALLY, she finds a small wall of stone. She believes she remembers this one. It's old, and frail, but she's seen it before. The familiarity of it relieves her, though she knows it will be of little use since once before it was crumbled. Resting her back upon it, she tries to find her bearings.

The enemy. He must be responsible for this. He has to be. He is sneaky and vicious and cares not who he kills. Surely he is on the other side of this short wall, prowling, waiting for her to expose herself so he can finish her off.

Then she realizes that she's not safe. No where is safe. Though the smoke is thick still in most places, it's beginning to rise. He will see her, someone will see her vulnerable, and finish what the enemy has started. With fervor and with trembling hands she grabs the stones around her and begins rebuilding the wall. Higher, higher, stronger, taller it grows. It curves around beside her and yet she continues. Creating her own little provision, she gathers the uneven, worn, battered stones that had previously been ripped down and she rebuilds what was once deemed unnecessary.

Once she has it far reaching enough around her she stops and tucks herself into its sanctuary. Now, behind the wall she built from the ruins, she is safe. The enemy can't find her and once the smoke clears she can emerge on her own terms, sword drawn, and fight her way back to where she once was.

She waits. It is taking a long time for the smoke to rise. Shouldn't it have risen by now? Where did it come from anyway? This is not what she had trained for. She waits, she thinks, she tries to pray, but in vain.

And then it washes over her. He knew. The One, he knew. He knew this would be the battle all along. "How could you know and not prepare me?!," she cries. He knew and yet he did nothing to stop it, nothing to help her to know what to do in this scenario. She'd rehearsed and prepared for just about anything else but this. What is she to do now?

The One she trusted to train her, the One she trusted her life to, he knew. And somehow, somewhere amid all the preparations, he failed to train her for this. He knew, and he failed. Therefore she would fail, too. And he knew she would fail.

Her jaw set with anger and determination, she looks down at the armor upon her body. It is beaten and broken and flawed now. How is that possible? What battle has she fought? She doesn't remember any enemy blows because before she could really fight, her world was rocked. How can she be so heavily beaten up, for she was merely trying to survive.

So, are you gonna have any more?

2014-06-26T16:27:00.001-04:00

We've been asked at least a thousand times if we wanted a big family from the beginning. In short, the answer to that is no.

For the most part, Luke and I both grew up as only children. When we were doing premarriage counseling, we only skimmed the surface of talking about the size of the family we would have. Maybe 3, I think, was the number we settled on.

But here's the problem. We went from 1 baby to 3 babies in just 2 pregnancies spaced apart by only 22 months. From double coverage to zone coverage. We never played man-to-man coverage. And the biggest problem of all?

Hello, my name is Jessica and I am addicted to newborns.

I just love everything about them. From their too-big skin, to the tiny noises they make to the way they stick their tiny little butts out when they stretch. And the head smell? Intoxicating. I read recently that there was a scientific study that confirmed that there really is a chemical reaction that occurs in women when they smell the head of a newborn. What person on earth didn't already know this was happening?

But you know what else I love? All of it.

I love the 6 month old who belly laughs at the ridiculousness of her 8 year old sister. Because, y'all, this right here makes me want to have 8 more. I can't even handle that laugh.

The two year old with the butt cheek hanging out of her panties? I love that. The way she calls EVERY.SINGLE.BUG. a "pink bug!" (stink bug). The way she seems to grow during just one nap time and wakes up speaking in fuller sentences than she did just a couple hours ago, makes my head spin and my heart swell.

The 4 year old who is old enough to understand how to make a joke and is usually the first to laugh at their own hilarity. The 6 year old who begins to read overnight and the almost 10 year old who has her own style. I mean, those boots. That skirt. I couldn't pull that off, ever. I mean, hello, SIDE PONYTAIL.

I love it. All of it. This gig of motherhood and watching these people grow is, by far, the best thing I've ever been allowed to experience. I just knew Ella would be our last biological baby. And then, well, Abigail happened.

I just knew Abigail would be the last birth, nursing experience and toddler that would come from my womb. And, you know, EVELYN.

I'm so glad we didn't stop having babies at our predetermined number of 3. I can't imagine all the life, laughter and joy we'd have missed out on.* Yes, it's hard. It's hard a lot lately. Luke and I haven't had a date in WAY TOO LONG. Every night, I fall into bed for a couple hours before I begin the up and down that is my nighttime. I'm exhausted and tired and I would love to have a couple of hours to myself every day just to sit in silence. I think about a few years from now if we don't have any more babies and all the ways our lives would seemingly be easier. But I know that easy is a lie that Moms buy all the time. No matter how many kids you have your life as a mom is never easy.

Is Evelyn our last baby? Who knows. We've always kept the option of adoption open. I don't plan on being pregnant again. Ever. Ever.

But I've said that before. And each of those time I really meant it.

And if I watch that video of Evelyn belly laughing enough, I'll toss that idea right out the window. Or maybe not. Maybe we will stick to it and not birth anymore babies and adopt a few kids who need a large, crazy family and live out our days.

So to answer the question ~~of all of you nosey people who ask me while standing in the grocery store~~ people want to know, I'm sure:

Are you going to have any more babies?

Short answer. Probably not. But who knows. Because all of this, this life. It's hard. But then my almost 6 month old belly laughs and my ovaries kick into high gear and I question every oath I took during her pregnancy that I would never, ever, ever again do this. And I maybe send my husband a text about wanting a homebirth next time. So, you know, there's THAT.

I'm off to watch that video of my baby belly laughing while simultaneously taking whiffs of hot trash in our garbage dumpster so I can remember what morning sickness feels like.

-----

* By no means do I think that having 3 kids or less means you're missing out or that everyone should have a big, crazy, colony of kids. I'm just saying that for us, stopping at 3 wouldn't have been right.

Side Braid: Fail

2014-06-17T14:48:00.002-04:00

When we were in college, Luke dated an athlete. She was a college volleyball player who spent around 4 hours in the gym on any given day. When she wasn't in the gym she was usually wearing workout clothes. And even if she wasn't wearing work out clothes, she was probably wearing jeans and a tshirt because she grew up in the country and she liked to go barefoot. And fancy clothes and bare feet don't exactly go well together in public.

Rumor has it that at their wedding she took off her shoes and went barefoot at their reception. At the country club. Classy.

Point being, I've never been a trendy person. Fashion was always something I sort of noticed but never really practiced myself. Partly because being fashionable seems to me to take a lot of work. And let's face it, my daily life is enough work. Amen.

I have a small box of jewelry but it literally never crosses my mind to wear any of it. I have a pair of earrings that I've been wearing basically non-stop for the last 3 years. I put them in one night for date night and they were so comfortable I just forgot to take them out. 3 years later. Yes. It's true.

But aside from those and my wedding rings, it is a rarity that I wear jewelry.

Sort of like my showering schedule. Rare-i-ty.

I have long, curly-ish hair. Which means, if I'd rather not look like I rolled directly out of bed and into the car, I have 2 hair options. Wash, condition it LOTS, and load it down with mousse and gel and prayer.

Or wear it pulled up in a ball of mess on my head just like I did in college for all of my days.

In the summer in the south it's up a lot. Because: HUMIDITY.

Like I said, I notice trends and styles for the most part. Mostly because I have an almost 10 year old and she keeps me informed. So yesterday was not ~~shower day~~ hair washing day and I knew this. So on Monday night I found myself in front of the mirror attempting a super cute side ponytail braid.

In my head I aspired to something like this:

(Just a side note: as I searched images to put on this post of "side ponytail braid curly hair" I basically saw all the ones I thought were messy, yet attainable, were on famous people. Which means, they are probably anything but easy and attainable.)

At any rate, I braided my hair, turned to my husband and said, "What do you think? Do you like it?"

He looked at me, and since our relationship is built on trust and honesty and love he said, "You look like a homeschool mom." And he may have mumbled something about a denim jumper.

I rolled my eyes, because, you know I am a homeschool mom.

So the next morning I got up and thought I'd try this side braid again, sans Homeschool Dad. But, I lack confidence in anything trendy because I know that I'm trying and likely failing. Because, isn't the point of being trendy is not trying to look trendy and like you tried too hard?

Yes, yes it is.

So, I braided my hair and promptly sent a picture to Amanda and asked her what she thought. Here's that pic.

It is also basically impossible for me to take a selfie. I just can't. At least not one with any normalcy or a shred of seriousness.

Amanda gave her vote of approval (several times), told me homeschool moms wear buns and denim (BOOYAH Homeschool Dad!) and so off I went with all 8 kids for a day of ~~chaos~~ errands. It occurred to me after I was 20 minutes down the road that I forgot my back up hair tie around my wrist. It's sort of my security blanket because if hair tie A breaks or if I decide to ditch freshly washed and prayed over hair, I always have one on my wrist and I know that I can throw the hair up and call it a day.

I panicked. Then I breathed through it and remembered that I'm trendy. And I've delivered 6 babies out of my lady parts so I'm tough. Plus, I'm recently fashionable.

It's FINE.

We went to the orthodontist and then, for good behavior had a brunch of Chickfila. All was sailing smoothly until it was time to exit Chickfila. Aaron called a kid on the playground fat, Abigail is a regressing potty trainer and Evelyn was sleepy. It was the perfect storm.

We loaded into our 15 passenger van, (that doesn't scream trendy but more so HOMESCHOOLERS), which I had parked by the door, in a spot that was sandwiched between the building and the drive thru line. When I parked there I thought to myself, "Self. This is a bad idea. Large vehicles and ridiculous drive through lines don't mix." But then I thought about my exit strategy and how wrangling all those kids across a busy parking lot would make me stroke out and I pulled that beast into that compact car spot and told myself we'd leave before the lunch crowd came.

We did not.

I went to leave, I shifted into reverse, took my foot off the brake and we love tapped our bumper against a sweet, little old lady's 2014 Altima. The beast was fine. The Altima was not.

After police were called, Abigail peed in her car seat, I HAD TO PEE, it was hotter than anywhere else on the planet.

We FINALLY made it home. Abigail pooped her pants. It was naptime. We needed to leave in 2 hours for ballet.

Basically, it was a totally normal day other than the literal fender bender. I got Abigail bathed and in the bed and looked in the mirror.

Let's just say, there's a reason why I'm not trendy.

We went to ballet. Then baseball practice. And Luke came home to his wife looking basically like that college athlete he married ~~plus 50 pounds~~.

And I learned a lesson. Stay with what you know. And don't forget the backup hair tie. Ever.

Easter nostalgia

2014-04-22T01:17:00.000-04:00

Some Moms do the Christmas Eve photo in front of the Christmas tree with all the kids in their Christmas pajamas. I'm not one of those Moms. In fact, despite that I really enjoy taking photos, it's rare that ask my own children to sit and take a photo all together. And getting myself in the picture is even more rare.

For whatever reason, Easter is the one time a year I hand off the camera and ~~force~~ ~~beg~~ ~~coerce~~ bribe my kids (and husband) into taking a yearly family photo. It rarely ends well (and by well, I mean that we are all perfectly posed and I've not issued threats or made unreasonable promises), but it always makes me laugh. At least, afterwards. Many years afterwards.

It also appears to be the one thing that Lucas hates most on the earth. Olivia, on the other hand, has always rocked the Easter photo. I'm guessing it's her favorite holiday, ever. Besides her birthday and Christmas and whatever holiday is exactly next.

Easter 2010 can be found here on my blog. It's hilarious. But for comparisons purposes, here's a quick picture.

That would be itty bitty Ella on my lap next to Olivia. Goodness

Easter 2011 was apparently not blogged about and this is probably why:

The best one we got that year features our dog's back. Again, LUCAS. He's probably mad because he's wearing the exact same sweater vest that he wore the previous year. Fashion is clearly his thing. Or not. Seeing as how he's worn the same pair of jorts for the last week.

Easter 2012 things seemed to go a big more smoothly.

That's teeny, tiny Abigail on my lap.

You know, except for Lucas. At least Olivia is rocking it out. And Aaron. Clearly they were being bribed with excessive amounts of candy. Momma had a newborn. Momma was tired.

Easter 2013 apparently did not exist because I have no photographic documentation of it. Not even looking back through all the pics from my phone. So weird.

Which brings us to this year. Easter 2014. I knew I wanted a pic of all of us. My parents, my two grandmas and all the kids. Please note Lucas' over sarcastic smile because it took several photos of him not doing pointy, happy fingers at the camera, or throwing up some sort of gang symbol or staring off into the yard in the opposite direction.

23 photos later, grandparent photo: check. I mean, one kid out of 8 isn't looking but LOOK AT ABIGAIL. The cute. I can't even handle it.

And then, I politely asked Abigail to remove herself from my Mom's lap and sit with me for a nice family photo. She also loved that idea. Or not.

Okay, Abs, please just stop before you upset your baby sister.

Well, at least Lucas is happy for once.

I hope your Easter was a scream.

Hold fast

2014-04-15T01:32:00.001-04:00

Those were the words she said the Lord revealed to her as she prayed over what to share with us for the weekend. Hold fast.

And tonight, almost 3 years later, that weekend and those words were the ones that came immediately to mind when a dear friend told me to keep holding on.

It’s been a hard 2 years. Death, loss, grief, dreams that have seemed to dissipate, financial stress, adding a baby to our already crazy house, moving, it’s been an exhausting 2 years. Emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally it has consumed me in all of those areas. There are days where there is very little left of the old me at all.

But I clung to the side of the mountain. The mountain that seemed to shake beneath me as the world I knew came crumbling down. Yes, over the loss of a girl but also the loss of our dreams. The loss of what we envisioned for our family and for our children. But I clung, though not well at times, because I knew of nothing else to do. My fingernails were bloody and hurting. My feet ever feeling for a ledge to find my footing. Somehow, over time, a ledge appeared. I’m not sure if it was provided for me or if my constant slipping made a rut so that a ledge had been formed. But I found one, either way. I gathered myself, decided it was time to begin climbing again, and I looked up just in time to see the mountain above me begin to crumble again.

Deceit. Deceit that has shaken me to my core. By people I’ve trusted, admired and held in high esteem my entire life. The breath of the enemy is hot on my neck and I cling, once again to the side of the cliff.

And tonight as I sat and shared with a dear friend the depths of the pain, she told me, “just hold on.”

“You shall fear the Lord your God. You shall serve him and hold fast to him and by his name you shall swear.” Deuteronomy 10:20 [emphasis mine]

Oh, I’ll swear all right. Don’t you worry.

Random dropping of swear words because, it just feels good dammit. Check. Check. Checkity, effing check.

“I almost fell off, you know?” I told her. “I was so close.”

“I know. But you didn’t. You held on. Just keep holding on." HOLD ON.

Beth Moore said that same thing to an arena full of women, eager to hear her speak. Some of the girls from my Bible study attended with me and that was her message, the one she said God gave her to speak over our specific group 3 years ago. Hold fast.

I’ll be honest. At the time it didn’t mean a lot to me, I mean, other than the obvious.

Heh. Sure. I can hold fast. Hold fast for what?

But on the drive home tonight it was those words that came screaming back into my brain. HOLD FAST JESSICA. Just hold fast. Help is on the way.

Help? What help? What’s taking so freaking long, anyway?

That weekend with Beth Moore I underlined another ‘hold fast’ in my Bible.

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.” Hebrews 10:23 [emphasis mine]

Oh, I sure hope he who promised proves to be faithful. I sure hope so.

Those verses, that weekend.

Another friend helped me remember the date of that event. July 23-24, 2011. Exactly one year prior, to the day, that Paige died. I don’t believe in coincidences.

I’m weary. I’m afraid. I’m uncertain. But, with all that I have left, I hold fast.

—————

Side note: For those of you who know me in real life, this is a vulnerable place for me to be, out here on my blog. But after several people encouraged me to just write, I’m putting it out there. NOT because I desire to have you tell me how much you’re praying for me (though, thanks) or because I want to have a stop-and-chat in the hall at church on Sunday (please, just, no).

But, because there is no possible way that I’m the only one. There’s no way that I’m the only person going through this season. Someone else is clinging, with all they have. And you, dear one, are not alone. Let’s hold fast together, shall we? We don’t have to talk about it. We don’t have to hug or make it weird. Let’s just hold on together. Because, I’m certain, even though I’m scared as hell and I’m certainly confused beyond what I can understand, I’m certain that help really is on the way. It has to be. Hold fast with me, okay?

You are able. You are enough.

2014-04-04T14:27:00.005-04:00

*I started this post a week and a half ago. Today, I sit back on my own couch, surrounded by 8 clingy kids again.**

I sit here on the couch in California, Evelyn napping beside me and Ashlee locked onto a movie, a whole country away from 6 of our kids and my amazing husband. Ash, Evelyn and I flew here to be with Amanda as she gives birth to her second child. She ~~was due on Sunday~~ ~~should be having her baby any day now~~ is eager to deliver her second daughter and is hoping baby girl will make her appearance very soon. They already have a beautiful baby girl who is 16 months old. So, in a few days, their house will be very, very busy. And exhausting.

A very pregnant Amanda with Harper and Nick, about a week before McKinley arrived

I keep flashing back to a conversation I had with another friend a few months ago. She was lamenting how dirty her house was, how she never had any time to complete anything and she feels so frustrated at accomplishing anything productive during her days home, aside from caring for her two boys aged 2 years and 10 months. And in that conversation, I remembered. I remembered the days of us having a 2 year old and 2 newborn babies. I remembered the days of having a 4 year old, two 2 year olds and a newborn. And I thought about it in comparison to my day to day life (when I'm not living up the relaxing life in California) now. Something leapt out at me and I knew, especially as we anticipate this sweet bundle that should come ~~right this very second~~ any day now, that it was worth sharing. These thoughts have been swirling in anticipation of the life Amanda and Nick are about to step into. So if you have young babies, all under 3 or 4 years old. This is for you, too, friend. I hope it encourages you.

Dear Momma (and Daddy) of many littles,

Your life is hard, most days. Diapers flow freely, your boobs see more fresh air than a topless mannequin in Abercrombie, your head rarely rests on your pillow for longer than hour and a half increments. Somewhere, deep inside you, you may wonder in the exhausting hours of the wee morning, when you've been on your feet longer than you've been horizontal, if you made a mistake with all these little people you longed for, prayed for and ached to hold. That's okay. I did that, too.

Lucas (as a newly turned 2 years old) holding Aaron (the itty, bitty newborn).
Lucas' shirt was SO CORRECT.

In so many ways, your life with your 2 or 3 kids all ages 4 years (or 2 years) and under is SO MUCH harder than mine, with 8 children ages 9 years and younger. I promise, it really is. The thought of 8 kids overwhelms you, most likely. But I can assure you, my day to day life is a lot easier today than it was 6 years ago when we had a 2 year old and two newborns. Do you want to know why?

Because you are responsible for it all. I have at least two tremendous helpers named Elizabeth and Ashlee. But, not you. You, mom and dad to your two little bitties, you are all there is to keep the peace. Every pat, every feeding, every reinserting of the pacci, every diaper, every butt wipe, every snack, every meal, every drink, every boo boo that needs kissed, every cuddle and burp, all of it. YOU ARE THE ONE who has to do that. You and your husband is all there is unless he's at work, or deployed or just at the store for another round of diapers, and then you're it. You alone.

And I don't say that to overwhelm you or to make it feel even more exhausting, but to give you hope. Because, I can promise you, that one day you will blink and those sweet babies that are 16 months apart will be 9 years old and 8 years old and the very best of friends. You'll hear them arguing over who gets to sleep on the top bunk tonight, or who wore the stonewashed jeans last or who took all the marshmallow cereal and you'll have to think really, really hard to remember how exhausting today was for you. You'll hear them tell each other secrets that they only reserve for each other and your heart will feel so overwhelmed with joy and love it just might explode.

Elizabeth - 3 years (almost 4), Lucas and Ashlee - 2 years, and newborn
Aaron in my arms, about to take his first "real" bath.

When you have a rockstar mom day, and both babies sleep like they've been sprinkled with sleeping dust from heaven, high five yourself and enjoy it. But when it's been a cry fest day, all you've accomplished all day long is holding babies and the smell of your own person makes you cringe, remember that this won't last forever. Also remember that this is the hardest part. Yes, there will be days when your first born begins to grow breasts and has her first period, her first crush and is sassier than a Kardashian with PMS and you'll wish so hard she was still 4 months old and you could baby wear her and smell her baby head. Those days will be hard, too. Trust me.

But today, the day that you are everything and everyone and the most important person on the face of the planet to everyone in your home, these days are hard. Emotionally, physically, spiritually all of it. You'll fall into the bed at the end of every day and, if you don't crash immediately, you'll replay the day in your head, highlighting all the ways you feel you failed. And you'll probably cry when you think about how you've probably bruised their fragile, little hearts with your harsh, exhausted tone of voice at nap time because OH MY GAH PLEASE GO TO SLEEP IN THE NEXT 5 MINUTES OR I WILL SNAP. Believe me when I tell you that you did not do permanent damage. It will be overridden by the hours you will spend rocking and holding and cuddling and kissing boo-boos and everything in between. Your babies will grow up, too quickly I can assure you, and you will long for the days when you had to hold your sweet newborn just so you could both nap while the toddler naps.

Luke and I with Luke's Dad and step-Mom.
Elizabeth is not quite two years old, the twins are newbies.

The best advice I have for you right now, exhausted Momma, is to cut yourself some slack. And take lots and lots and lots of pictures. Journal if your arms are able to move at the end of a long day. Because you will forget. You'll forget the details you swore to yourself you'd remember. When I had my first 3 babies, facebook was relatively new and Instagram wasn't even a thought. Thankfully, with those two things, the picture part will be easier for you now. But journal, journal, journal. Even if you're a bad writer. Even if you can't write out complete sentences. Write it down. I wish, so much, I'd have blogged back then.

I *think* this is the morning of Elizabeth's 2nd birthday. If not, it's close to then.
Look at my tiny twins! Oh goodness I miss those baby cheeks.

Finally, my sweet friend, savor as many moments as you can. I know it's hard. I do. And sometimes it's all you can do to get through the day. But at least once a day, even if it's when everyone is screaming at fever pitch, stop, breathe, fake a smile and savor it. I heard someone say at a homeschool conference when Ella was just an itty, bitty baby (she's 4 now by the way) that, "The days are long but the years are short." It's so true.

Savoring isn't the easiest thing in the world, either. So I don't say that flippantly. I love, love, love having newborns. But I know not all mothers are that way. And that is okay. It's okay if you don't love the newborn phase. Just like it's okay that 4 year olds aren't exactly my favorite age on the planet.

My point is, motherhood is hard. Mothering small armies of babies and toddlers without the help of an older sibling is exhausting. Cut yourself some slack. Take a long nap when you can and remember to date your husband as often as possible. You can do this. You were made to do this. I promise you were. God set those tiny people in your family with a specific purpose, at this specific time, for this specific season. When the days feel like you're drowning, remember that this time was ordained by The One who walked on drowning waters.

I promise you, you are able. You are enough. Now, sniff that newborn head for me and kiss those pudgy toddler hands (but check for boogers and mystery smells first). And if you forget that you are enough, just ask me. I'll be sure to remind you every, single time.

Love,

Almost 4 month old Evelyn with less than 24 hour old McKinley

Evelyn at 1 month

2014-02-08T14:09:00.001-05:00

My baby is a month old already. How in the world did that happen?!

I really wanted to take some of those cute photos of her every month, like you see on Pinterest and stuff. Pinterest is a joke. Clearly anyone who posts photos and crafty recipes there has nothing else to do with their life.

I've decided that taking photos of your own baby (as a photographer) is MUCH harder than taking photos of someone else's baby. This girl gives me a run for my money any time the camera comes out. (I just remembered I didn't share any newborn photos I took of her. I'll do that next post. She was by far the HARDEST newborn session I've ever had.)

At one month old here statistics are; 10 pounds, 2 ounces and 22.5 inches. Yes, she gained nearly 2 pounds and grew an inch and a half in a month. Holy moly, right? I'm not surprised since she likes to eat. A lot. Last night she gave me the longest stretch of sleep yet, 4 hours and 15 minutes! Yipee!

I gave up having her pose with Raggedy Ann after she insisted on being swaddled and having her pacci in her mouth. Oh well, there's always her 2 month photos, right?

Domestic Domestic

2014-01-30T23:41:00.000-05:00

Way back when, before the days of children and when I actually wore single digit pant sizes, I played Junior Olympic Volleyball. It's not as hoity toity as it sounds. I sat the bench. A lot.

Anyway, during my 5 years of JO Volleyball and traveling to weekend tournaments, I spent countless nights in hotel rooms packed with my teenage teammates. These were the days before smart phones and laptops so we literally had no choice but to build relationships and act like teenage girls. That included swimming in clearly closed hotel pools after business hours, spitting over balcony railings, guzzling caffeine laden drinks until the wee hours of the morning, winning some tough matches, losing some that we should have won, making huge plays, missing crucial serves and just growing into adulthood together. You will never hear me say that I miss high school, because I do not. But those days of JO Volleyball, I miss those. A lot.

I miss the sport and I miss the people.

JOVB Summer of 1997 (?)
I'm the 3rd from the left. My friend Heather is last on the right.
Our hair. I blame humidity. And the 90's.

In a day where facebook reeks of political agendas and controversy, especially following the Grammy Awards, State of the Union addresses and the latest celebrity soapbox, I'm often annoyed by what I find on there. Several times I've wanted to just shut down my entire account because I am so over people talking about who said what and what they did and how it was so outside of what they should have done and blah blah blah. But, I don't. And the reason I don't just shut it down and walk away is because:

1) I like showing off my kids. And today was the first shower I've had since Sunday so leaving the house to show them off isn't really an option every day because their adorableness would be overshadowed by my smell and the length of my armpit hair.

2) I get to keep in touch with some people that I treasure deeply, even though I've not seen them in, say, 13 years. Some of those my former teammates from my JO Volleyball days. Heather is one of those people.

Heather drove her tan, chrysler mini-van to practices. Practices that she attended wearing argyle socks and cut off khaki shorts, and sometimes, a polo shirt. I remember being slightly enamored with her because she is one of those people that you just truly enjoy being around. Thoughtful, honest, genuine.

I graduated high school and kissed my semi-small town goodbye, loaded up my car and moved to an even smaller town to play college volleyball. I knew most of the players on my college team from my JO Volleyball days. Heather played volleyball with me in college for a year (maybe 2?). When she hung up the argyle socks and khakis (wait, no, that never happened), she stuck around our small, liberal arts college and for the next 3 years we shared our college campus and a few friends. She was forever making stuff. I remember her making a table top entirely from bottle caps for her apartment. From scratch. The only thing I'd ever made from scratch was Ramen.

Some people have a gift to see beyond the immediate potential of an object (or business) and cast forth a vision of their own. To see beyond what something is in the present and create with it something outside it's normal function. I mean, do you know how long she had to save bottle caps? I'd have quit after buying my first 6-pack of bottled fanta. But that's not Heather.

Through the miracle of the internet (yes, miracle) I've watched her grow into an entrepreneur who sees what is lacking in a community and fills that void in local commerce with tenacity. All while maintaining those same qualities I admired so many, many, many, many years ago while we wore unsightly spandex (you can't play in a game in argyle and khakis) and knee socks. Honestly, integrity, authenticity.

Her latest endeavor is a company called Domestic Domestic. While most Americans disagree on everything from breastfeeding and cosleeping to more serious social issues, I'm sure there's one thing we can all agree on: Buying American made products. Buying WELL MADE American made products, at that.

That's what Domestic Domestic is all about. I asked Heather why she started the company. Here's what she said,

"So many friends do amazing things. Adopt babies, save lives, drs, lawyers, missionaries. I sell things. I just wanted to sell things with a purpose. Make my own difference. The selection of Domestic Domestic is carefully curated. Each item comes from a great company that depends on consumers to be aware of the quality. I love being the connection between these companies and craftsmen and a consumer who gives a damn."

I think that is amazing. Knowing your natural bent in life and pursuing it with a passion to make this crazy world a better place.

Domestic Domestic sells everything from whiffle balls to taco plates (which would make taco night at our house immeasurably easier. Dear God, SPILLED SHREDDED CHEESE. *shudder*) to this little gem that would surely make me smile more when I'm in my kitchen.

Head over to Domestic Domestic yourself and check it out. Because they have stuff I don't even know what you do with it. And a murse that I'm pretty sure Luke is gonna pee his pants over when I show it to him. (He's been looking for one for months. Just pick one already, right?)

Point is, there's variety. American made variety. And some pretty fun stuff that if I'd known about in college, would have made me feel better about making my ramen from scratch.

Evelyn's birth story

2014-01-23T22:41:00.001-05:00

My Evelyn's birth was, by far, the most dramatic of all our children's births.

I was 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant at my Friday afternoon appointment. Earlier that day I posted a semi-snarky status on facebook about people NOT asking me if I have "had that baby yet" because clearly, I was still pregnant and there wasn't photos of a cute, newborn baby blowing up their newsfeeds.

My OB had told me the week before that, unlike Ella (who I carried 42 weeks 2 (3?) days), he wouldn't be in favor of letting me go much past 41 weeks gestation because of my gestational diabetes. I blew his comment off at my 39 week appointment because my OB is very laid back about due dates and birth and very much in favor of letting a woman's body gestate for as long as is healthy for the mother and baby.

However, when my blood pressure showed to be up just a little bit, he began talking inductions. Abigail is the ONLY baby I have not be induced with. And she came 5 days before her due date in a glorious, pitocin free labor and birth. Remember?

Anyway, my OB, who is a pretty laid back kind of guy started strongly suggesting that I get induced THAT AFTERNOON. I just sat and looked at him, stone faced. Certain that if I said nothing he'd send me on my merry way and I'd have another natural labor and birth. Right? He wasn't catching my drift. "I get the feeling you aren't a fan of being induced," he said. I explained to him my loathing of pitocin and how I'm sure it's extracted from the veins of the devil before it's placed into the IV's of large, desperate, pregnant women who just want to meet their babies already. Ahem.

My OB typed some things onto his computer and said, "Well, let's check your cervix and see what our options are." I was 3cm dilated.

I tried to coax my OB into letting me wait a little longer but at the end of our appointment he had convinced me that inducing was our best option with the elevated blood pressure and all. He is really very kind and very much takes into account the desires of his patients. So when he didn't back down about the induction, I knew he was serious.

I immediately began feeling anxiety well up within me. This would be my 4th induction. I knew what pitocin did to my body and I really wanted to try to avoid an epidural again. I texted a few friends asking them to pray for my anxious heart and I drove myself to the chiropractor for one more adjustment before calling labor and delivery to see what time they wanted me to show up.

I'd been having contractions on and off for about a week but they were never consistent and they weren't terribly painful. More of a nuisance, really. Especially when I was trying to sleep or lay down. I called L&D and they told me to show up about 4:00-4:30pm. I called Luke to come home from work and went home to tell the kids.

I got to the hospital and checked into L&D by 5:30pm. They did all my paperwork, started a saline lock IV, asked me a bazillion questions. Then, the midwife came in for us to talk about our induction options. (The OB went off-call at 5:00pm and the midwife was on call for the weekend.) I had discussed with the OB having the midwife just break my water and try to start labor that way. But after talking with the midwife, and Luke (who knows my laboring body almost as well as I do) we decided that the lowest, slowest IV of pitocin would be the best approach. So at 7:00pm we began the drip of pitocin. It immediately made my sporadic contractions consistent, even though the intensity and pain of them didn't increase much. We bumped up the pitocin every hour (compared to every half hour for a normal induction).

The nursed checked me at about 1:30am and I was 5-6cm dilated. We bumped up the pitocin one final time and that's when the intense contractions began. I was finally in transition! Luke and I have a "dance" we do when I'm in transition. I simply CANNOT sit or lay down during transition contractions because the pain is just too intense. He knows, once my hands go from low to up around his neck, it's serious.

For about an hour, from 1:45am until 2:45am my contractions were hard, consistent and every 3 or so minutes apart. My disposition changed and I told Amanda, who was in the room with us, along with my Mom and Dad, to text a couple friends and tell them that I was certainly in transition, because I knew they'd know how to pray me through. Luke and I did our "dance" that full hour. The contractions got harder, but I knew that they were bringing forth our daughter. And y'all, Luke is an AMAZING laboring partner. He knows when to hold me up, when to whisper encouragements, when to pray over me, when to get me water and when to be my advocate. I don't know how I'd make it through childbirth without him by my side. He's my prophet, provider, protector and priest in every sense of the word during those hours.

I don't think I'll ever forget opening the door to the bathroom (after changing into that sexy hospital gown and before all the induction business got started) and seeing my husband, kneeling on the labor room floor, his hands outstretched to cover the hospital bed, and him praying over it. That is why it's so easy to submit to him and why it's so easy to be his wife.

Anyway, back to birth. At 2:45am the nurse called the midwife. I labored those last 15 minutes literally hanging from Luke's neck. I'm pretty sure the last 3 contractions I had standing up, he was literally holding me up. The pressure was so intense, I just knew that the midwife would come in and simply catch our baby. I was that close to delivery. Or so I thought.

The midwife came in about 3:00am. She checked me to see how dilated I was. I was 6 cm. SIX CENTIMETERS. I felt defeated. And confused. I looked at Luke and the look on his face was exactly how I felt. It simply wasn't possible I was only 6cm because we'd just done our transition dance for the last hour. I think we were both completely thrown off our game. I remember telling Luke and the midwife that it was time to call for an epidural because I knew I could not make it another hour (my usual transition from 6-7cm to fully dilated) with the pain I was in. For whatever reason, it was decided that I wouldn't get an epidural but instead they'd give me some stadol and turn off the pitocin. I remember asking the midwife if I could push because I felt so much pressure. She told me I could not and that if I did, I would risk tearing my cervix. She did say that if it helped with the pain, I could bear down.

So here I am, in the bed, laying on my side and the contractions are not getting any easier to manage. It was the most intense, painful thing I've ever felt in my life. It felt nothing like my labor with Abigail, where it just felt like my pelvis would snap in half. It was an all consuming pain. My entire body hurt with each contraction. It was horrible. I began begging and pleading with Luke to find the midwife (who had left the room at that point) and to demand for her to call the anesthesiologist. I begged and pleaded and told him that it was just too painful and I simply could not bear it. It was too much. This went on for I think 3 or so contractions (remember - 3 or so minutes apart - so by now it's 3:09ish). The nurse put on another sterile glove to check me since I was obviously in major pain. Then, the next contraction came. I remembered what the midwife had said about bearing down. I knew I had to do something to help with the pain because, y'all, I HAVE NEVER.

So, I just decided to bear down a teeny, tiny bit. Apparently that was the only cue my body needed. Natural instinct took over and my body began to all out push. I was still laying on my side and I said, out loud, "She's coming now!" The nurse pulled back the cover and apparently got the clue that I was NOT at 6cm any longer. She walked to the door to get the midwife and I remember my Mom saying, "Her head is out!"

The nurse walked back around the foot of the bed just as my body pushed one last time. She caught Evelyn with one hand, the one that had the glove, thankfully. I have photos of her holding Evelyn with one hand trying to pull up my gown for skin to skin while the midwife is still putting on her gloves. I'd post one here but this is a co-ed blog (I think?) and while it doesn't show any "areas" of me (because the bed wasn't broken down and I wasn't even in stirrups!) it is a little, um, special. But if you know me in real life and come over, I'll show you.

At 3:12am our Evelyn Love was born. (At about 3:00am I was still 6cm. It was crazy fast.)

My poor husband y'all. I remember about the time this picture was taken. I was looking at my baby and something was dripping on my arm. IT WAS MY HUSBAND'S TEARS. Later, he told me that he's never seen me in that much pain and it was torture to know that he could do nothing about it.

Look at his hand on my face. I can't even look at these without tearing up. In that top photo, he hasn't even looked at his daughter yet. He was so concerned for me.

I nursed her for that first hour and she latched on like a champ. Also, THE STADOL FINALLY KICKED IN and my husband, my parents and Amanda were laughing at me hysterically. Apparently, I was slurring my speech and totally blitzed, as is evidenced by the photo below. I didn't feel loopy but I do remember thinking that it was really hard to blink.

Once our Love had finished nursing, Luke escorted her to the newborn nursery. And I did what any drunk person who hasn't eaten in 12 hours would do, I sent my dad to IHOP. No longer a diabetic, I wanted the LARGEST stack of pancakes he could carry back to the hospital. With syrup. An IV of syrup, please. And some juice.

Our girl weighed in as the biggest baby we've ever had. A whopping 8 pounds, 4 ounces and 21 inches long. The cheeks. I'm sure there's a pound of baby in each one.

The next morning (read: 5 hours later) our kids came to the hospital to meet their newest sibling.

They were all SO excited. Elizabeth was so thrilled that she couldn't contain her tears of joy. (Take a hard look at that photo above.) I was so worried that she was upset. But when she finally made it over to the bed all she could tell me was, "I'm just so, so happy she's here!"

Elizabeth has been the first to hold every baby in our family, as is expected since she's the oldest. But Ashlee is, in fact, a baby addict. I think she gets high off baby head sniffs. Luke and I decided that this time, Ashlee would be the first to hold the baby. Her face when I put Evelyn in her arms was priceless.

Even Abigail was smitten and totally thrilled with her new sister.

Our first family of TEN photo. Please ignore the face of Lucas. He hadn't held Evelyn yet and wasn't too happy about it.

The entire experience was unlike any other birth I've experienced. Which is true for our precious, baby girl - she's her own person. She's a delight to us all. We all take turns kissing her big, chubby cheeks and doting on her. I have a feeling she will be spoiled by all 9 of us. Just you wait.

Welcome to the world Evelyn!

2014-01-21T16:29:00.000-05:00

Well, I guess better late than never, huh?

Earlier this month, we welcomed our precious Baby #8.

Evelyn Love

8lb 4oz, 21 inches long

born at 3:12am

(middle of the night births are HARD to recover from, y'alll)

I'll post her birth story and more photos soon, or when she decides to stop nursing for stretches longer than 20 minutes.

She is a delight to us all and the main topics of conversations in our house now include whose turn it is to hold her, how often she needs to drink Mommy's milk and how totally cute and adorable her (insert any random feature) is.

Indeed, we are in love. Pun totally intended.

Also, have you ever seen a belly button like that? It totally freaked me out. Look how long the skin is! Stay tuned for her birth story. It's unlike any of my previous births. She entered the world in her own, special way. And I'm so thrilled to hold her on the outside. You just have no idea.

Mr & Mrs: A(nother) repost

2013-12-28T16:24:00.002-05:00

Happy 11th Anniversary to my wonderful husband! Here's a repost from our anniversary in 2010. Almost 2 kids later and I wouldn't change a single word (except to maybe add a few).

---------

It is a big church. The most grandiose in stature in the entirety of our small town. The dramatic roof lines and towering steeple sit perfectly atop rock and brick walls adorned with stained glass windows, all situated on the precisely manicured lawn.

It's a beautiful church. And every time I drive by I think about what happened inside.

I stand behind two huge wooden doors, stained to a perfect deep brown, waiting to walk down a burgundy-carpeted aisle. So much awaits me on the other side of those doors. Love. Commitment. Beauty.

The wedding coordinator adjusts my veil and the train of my dress.

Deep breath.

The organ begins to play the non-traditional melody of an Scottish tune, reminiscent of our college Alma Mater. The doors swing open, everyone stands up.

I blink.

It's 8 years later. And here I sit, mother to 6, wife to a man who loves me in spite of who I am. A husband who loves wholly, sacrificially and beyond my understanding.

In our counseling session at Candidate Week we reviewed the many statistics associated with our personality inventories, marriage surveys and some other psychological profiles that we sent in ahead of us.

"You have an over-idealized view of your marriage," the gray haired counselor told me, over the rim of her glasses.

I sat back in my chair, turning her words over in my mind, trying not to be defensive.

Really? Because I'm pretty much a realist in every other area of my life.

At the end of the session, she agreed, my marriage is not over-idealized in my very matter-of-fact head. Rather, I understand that I am blessed. Beyond what I deserve.

Blessed with a man who guards the purity of our marriage so fervently that he refuses to be alone with other women, even in the context of work, where such a conscience is often considered ridiculous.

Blessed with a leader who fears the Lord and seeks, with his whole being, to serve him, even if it makes our family uncomfortable and unconventional.

Blessed with a confidant, someone I can pour my soul out to, the nasty, dirty, raw and often ugly parts and he draws me close and prays over me.

Blessed with a protector, a guardian of our home and our children and someone who takes that role so seriously, he is willing to risk it all for the glory of the Lord.

I smell the familiar smell of the church and take in the pews, full of people. I look to the opening in front of me and see him, standing at the end of a flower strewn aisle. He smiles at me. My heart flutters in my chest. I reach the altar unsure of how I'm standing there since it seems as though my feet hardly moved.

We exchange vows and rings and we both cry. I wipe his tears. More sniffles echo through the rafters of the magnificent sanctuary.

We turn and face our family and friends. We are Mr. & Mrs.

We celebrate. It's glorious. Even 8 years later. It's glorious.

It's no fairy tale and my days are certainly mixed with their fair share of meltdowns and tears. And some days the kids cry too. :)

But we've come through so much. We've endured hardships and know that more are coming. We laugh together often. We love much. He still dates me. He still stops, through the bustle of our home, to wrap his arms around me and let me bury my face in his chest.

We argue, annoy the crap out of each other and forget things that are important to the each other. But we chose love above all else. We chose to bind our hearts together with God as the glue.

We walk out the front doors of the church, and the cold air hits us like needles. We climb inside the magnificent limousine and the driver shuts the door. I look at my husband.

It's over. Man, that went fast, I think to myself.

I adjust my dress. He grabs my hand. We kiss.

The driver starts the engine.

And then, the journey begins.

The photographer's apprentice

2013-12-18T17:52:00.003-05:00

A while back, as sort of a half-hobby, half-distraction from grief and life, I started a photography business. I still have LOTS to learn but I've enjoyed getting to know more about light, editing and learning more about my style.

For her 8th birthday, we got Elizabeth a little point-and-shoot camera. Since I bought my new camera a few months ago, Elizabeth has been saying that she wants to learn to be a photographer, like me. It's cute but I tell her over and over and over again that the best way to become a better photographer is to take lots and lots and lots of pictures.

Then, a few weeks ago, Luke had the idea for me to take Elizabeth, and let her have a maternity photoshoot with me. So, today, while the littles napped, Ashlee was at a friend's house and the boys were at karate, we did just that. I showed her the basics of working my camera, made sure the camera strap was nice and secure around her neck then handed it to her, gave her a few instructions about shadows and direct sunlight then told her to take over.

I'll admit, being 38+ weeks pregnant I don't enjoy being on this side of the camera. But, I also know that 25 years from now, when Baby #8 is likely starting her own family, she'll like seeing photos of her Momma's large belly with her tiny self squished inside. Here's my little photographer's apprentice's debut photos. I did the editing, but the photos are all hers. During my wardrobe change (read: I got cold and changed shirts) she took a photo of our school table,

and our pet bird, Alex.

She really got into telling me to look at my belly, where to put my hands and which side my hair needed to be on.

She told me that I'm not good at doing a real smile, because all my smiles looked fake. Ha!

Overall, for a 9.5 year old, I think she did pretty well! And, it really was fun spending time with my oldest girl, allowing her to feel the weight of the camera in her hand and having some creative freedom.

So there I am, in all my 38+ week glory. Y'all have a great Christmas! Hopefully, the next post will be one of a baby on the outside.

Simply Remember

2013-12-11T14:49:00.000-05:00

I feel like I've spent a lot of the last 9 years of my life trying to remember things.

Return those library books, don't forget to get a gallon of milk on the way home, so-and-so's birthday is tomorrow, send a follow up email about such-and-such, don't forget to ask so-and-so about that thing, take the trash to the curb, take a meal to this family, etc, etc.

But then there are the important things. Don't forget the way Elizabeth said the word "juice" the first 5 years of her life. Don't forget the way Lucas and Ashlee liked to trade plates when they were still chubby-faced toddlers. Or the way Ashlee hid food under her leg and would eat it all at the end of her meal. Or the way Olivia would dance to any beat from the age of 6 months on. Or the way Aaron held his pacci in the side of his mouth like a cigar when he was learning to crawl. Or how an 18 month old Ella could be pitching an epic fit one minute and belly laughing the next.

That's the thing when you add 1 or 2 babies every two or so years, you tend to be caught up in the busyness of the day to day and you forget a lot of things. Luke says the first six months of the twins' life is a complete blur to him. I say the first three months. I remember getting up one morning a few days after the twins were born. I walked into the living room and my Mom had swaddled two of Elizabeth's babies up. She was pretending to nurse them, sitting there in just her underwear. All of the sudden she seemed SO BIG. And I just started crying.

I'll never forget this though, the twins were tiny, less than a couple months old. I was getting Elizabeth ready for bed and I stripped off her shirt, pants and undies. The stench that came from her small, 2 year old body was enough to make me recoil. I looked at Luke, shocked, and asked, "When was the last time we bathed Elizabeth?" We both thought for several minutes and we could not remember. I'm sure it had been over a week.

I've always taken a lot of pictures. I guess somewhere subconsciously I knew that those pictures would be the lifeline to my memories. But with the purchase of our smartphones and the conception of my photography business, using a real camera on my own kids is something that's sort of slipped onto the back burner.

So yesterday, when Abigail was upstairs "helping" me make lunch while the other kids were happily entertained with the electronic babysitter, I could have gotten swept up in the moment of hungry kids, lunch time, my pelvis begging me to sit down, my bladder beseeching me to empty it's contents. Again. But instead, I noticed my sweet 21 month old, in a princess dress that she INSISTED on wearing, standing on top of our shoe bins, eating a banana and completely captivated by a squirrel doing only-a-squirrel-knows-what in our front yard. The light hit her face and I moved as fast as my feet could waddle me to grab the camera. My real camera.

Because THIS is what I don't want to forget.

This girl, a cheek full of banana, pointing at a squirrel, telling me to "come 'ere," giggling when I say, "That's not a puppy!"

Her dimple on that one side. It's becoming less obvious the bigger she gets. I've seriously prayed it will stay forever even though she'll probably hate it as a teenager,

sticky, slimy banana finger prints all over my window sill,

her amazement at how fast that little squirrel ran away when she knocked on the window,

and how I wouldn't let her stand on the microwave, so she would stretch a tulle covered foot over there, then look at me over her shoulder and grin.

And how after she realized the squirrel wasn't coming back, she spent the rest of her time "helping" me make grilled cheeses by licking the butter when I wasn't looking. For me, it's less about not forgetting and more about remembering the little things. Savoring the details, letting go of the things that are suppose to be these big memory makers and just enjoying my kids exactly where they are. Breathing them in and trying my best to simply remember.

6 things and a Jesus question

2013-12-02T13:29:00.001-05:00

1. It would happen that as soon as I did a two part post on our chore system, Olivia would proceed to lose all but one of her chore button things. Naturally. Because my life is nothing if not ironic.

2. I found this in my fridge last week. I really need to blog about a certainly blue-eyed, curly headed, girl in our house who is on a kick of raiding our fridge like a person who hasn't seen food in the last 24 hours. If it weren't so insanely hilarious it might drive me crazy.

3. This homeschooling thing, it's a balance. On Monday, our kids watched WAY TOO MUCH TV while I laid on the couch nursing a headache. I also rocked Abigail three times before she decided to stop protesting a nap and also dealt with a 7 stage meltdown from one of our other children. So, at 2:00, instead of being mad and forcing our kids and myself to pretend like school was going to happen, I gave up. It was Thanksgiving week, right?

4. Our kids are obsessed with Woody Woodpecker. I'd rather him take a battering ram to my skull than watch one more episode. But, Ella now tells me that her favorite to watch is Woody the Pecker and that alone makes me laugh out loud.

5. For the third year in a row, I had a stomach virus on Thanksgiving. 36 weeks pregnant plus a stomach virus is no fun. Ever. It was short lived and seemed to only hit 2 other kids in a super mild way (I'll let your imagination do the work there) so I really can't complain. And, on Saturday and Sunday I gorged myself on Thanksgiving leftovers.

6. I was in the dollar store on Saturday getting some last minute craft stuff for our Jesse Tree. (I'll blog about that later, I hope.) It was packed. There were some crosses and other Christmas items on display and a young boy (maybe 5 or 6?) was eyeballing them. He turned to the woman with him (his Mom or grandma, I'm guessing) and said, "What's that?" and pointed to the cross. The lady said, "Oh. That's a cross. That's what Jesus died on." to which the little boy asked, "Who is Jesus?"

I lingered and listened as I looked at some stickers. She said, "Oh, Jesus is VERY important. We need to talk about him sometime," and then she casually went on down the aisle as they talked about the other things on display.

I have my own thoughts about this conversation, but I'd like to hear yours.

A little catching up

2013-11-19T16:54:00.000-05:00

I've been wanting to sit down and actually blog for a long time. But, I felt pressured that my posts needed to be something of substance. And well, I don't have that right now.

But, before this was a place for me to share about missions, it was a place for me to document my family's life. It makes me sad that I've allowed that to slip away in the wake of my grief. So, my plan now is just to blog a little each week and if it gets deep in here, then it gets deep. If it stays superficial and sticks to updates on our life and our kids, that's fine too.

So, the last time I really blogged about the ongoings of our family was May. That's pathetic. SO MUCH has happened since May.

For starters, we moved in July. We bought a house, we painted, we expanded the amount of bedrooms in our house and I think we are settled. I still have stuff to hang on the walls but now it's less about the emotions behind it and more about the fact that the main level of this house was done in the 50s and the walls are plaster, y'all. PLASTER.

It's not easy to hang anything up. So if you know how to hang up pictures on plaster walls without having to drill a hole and add one of those plastic anchors, I'd love to know.

In August, we found out that Baby #8 is a(nother) GIRL! The boys weren't quite so thrilled at first, but now everyone is eager Beavers to meet this chick. Including me. Because she clearly doesn't understand that this isn't my first rodeo and it's not fun for her to lay sideways/diagonal/all on one side and rhythmically kick me in the cervix.

Around that same time, Amanda found out that they are expecting their second child. Here's a photo of us at the baby shower she threw for me in October. My first baby shower I've had since the twins, by the way. Which, A) I didn't realize there was so much new crap that was necessary for a baby. And B) It's weird having a baby shower when you've already got 7 kids. Even when I really did NEED all of the things I received because my stuff is worn slap out, but still. It's weird.

I'm 28 weeks. She's 16. No comments please. Yes, she's pregnant. I promise.

At the end of October Amanda and Nick loaded up all their possessions and their adorable daughter and moved to the other side of the ~~world~~ country to follow God's call for Nick to be in full time military service. We had a small 1st birthday party for their daughter (a month or so early) where I tried my best not to ugly cry. I held it together until the night before they drove out of town. Then, it was snot city y'all. Poor Luke. His pregnant, emotional wife lost it on him. He may or may not have cried a little too. We miss them just about every other second. But who's counting? Oh wait, all 9 of us are.

I was blessed with a half sister who is 13 years younger than me. She was 5 when I went off to college and I never moved back home. So we aren't as close as I wish we were. But, somehow God allowed Amanda to become just like a sister to me. Seriously. I probably annoy the crap out of her texting her all day long, telling her about the weird things my pregnant body is doing and telling her how she should live her life. And I don't really care because sisters can be annoying and bossy like that. And also, she loves it. I think.

We are homeschooling again this year. I bought this new, elaborate, beautifully designed curriculum over the summer at our state's homeschool convention. I went a whole new route and just knew it would be the perfect thing for our family. We moved, and about a month before I had planned to start school I opened the perfectly packaged boxes of curriculum, got high off the new-school fumes and sat down to plan out our days.

I stared at it blankly for two days while my planning book sat empty, called other veteran homeschool moms, debated joining a local co-op that meets once a week, panicked, tried to find all the books at the library, failed, then promptly boxed that beautiful curriculum right back up and sent it back to the company for a refund. I shed not one single tear.

We are doing our own thing this year with a compilation of resources. It might be the best year we've had so far. Which, of course, means that I'm already scheming what I want to change for next year. Because clearly I appreciate torturing myself.

The baby is due at the end of December. I'm hoping she holds on until January because it's hard to compete with the Savior of the World for your birthday and also our anniversary is December 28th and I'd like to not feel guilty when our 20th anniversary rolls around and I want to take a european cruise vacation like Jen Hatmaker is doing right now and be gone on her birthday.

Which now that I think about it, maybe coming between Christmas and our anniversary would be ideal because then if we leave on our anniversary trip I don't have to worry about being back in time for a January birthday. But if she's born early January we could just go after her birthday.

Also, Amanda will be in town through the first week in January and I'd like to have her here for the baby's birth since I'm pretty sure I don't remember how to bring a baby home from the hospital without her. Decisions, decisions.

Like I have any control over it anyway. But still. Remember Ella? Lord help me.

Chores and Kids: Putting it into practice (Part 2)

2013-11-14T15:22:00.001-05:00

If you've not read Part 1 on Chores and Kids, do that first. You can click on this link.

Now that you have a foundation of why you want your kids to do chores, you have to implement the how. This part is, by far, the most taxing on you as a parent because these first few weeks of your new system will require lots of teaching, correcting and side-by-side cleaning with your kids.

But I promise, I promise, if you put in the hard work in the beginning, it's worth it and your children are more likely to do their work correctly, efficiently and even, dare I say, joyfully. (Or at least with minimal complaining.)

Again, as I am teaching our children how to do their chores, we talk about why we do what we do. Why do we keep our room clean? Because if it's clean, you know where all the pieces are to your toys. And, it's a blessing to your Mom and Dad and we will enjoy your room with you. Your room is your place of refuge, the calm away from the chaos of the house. Keep it tidy and you will enjoy spending time there!

Same is true for the bathroom. No one enjoys using a dirty bathroom, one that has trash overflowing, clutter all around the sink, hair all over the floor and a disgusting toilet! And, if one day, you're sick and spending more time than usual in the bathroom, TRUST ME, you'll be glad it's been cleaned recently.

Always putting the why behind what we are doing seems to help our children grasp the purpose behind good work ethic, putting in your very best and being really efficient (after all, the faster you can do your job, the sooner it's over with usually, right?).

Whew, okay. So, first, let's talk logistics.

CHORE CHARTS. This has been a source of wailing and gnashing of teeth for Luke and I since the beginning. Some of our first chore charts were so complex that it required lots of work on the part of us, the parents, to keep up with who had done what, when they'd done it, etc. We'd ask the kids to do chores and if we hadn't putting up a clean chart, marked off the list the things they'd already completed, rotated them for today, blah, blah, blah, then basically chore time was an epic fail. Finally, I realized...

K.I.S.S.

Keep
It
Simple
Stupid

So, we simplified it as simply as we could. I scoured Pinterest to find an easy chore chart. One that didn't require me checking boxes or flipping cards or spinning wheels or erasing or standing on my head while playing the tin whistle or ANYTHING because really, this thing should be self sustaining mostly, with minimal work for you, the parent. I found this link to make my own magnetic charts and adapted it just a bit for our family. I skimmed her post on the actual chores themselves and basically just stole her idea for the charts themselves.

Here's what ours look like:

(I painted them that color before we moved into our new house. The kitchen paint just-so-happened to be the same color as our chore charts. I don't really love yellow that much.)

Once you are 3 years old in our house, you get your own chore chart. Before that, you just help with keeping toys picked up, throwing things in the trash (any 18-24 month olds dream) and basic odds and ends. I keep our charts hung in the kitchen area of our house because that's the most central room where I can see what has and has not been done for the day.

Those are just pizza tins I found at the Dollar General and spray painted them yellow because, well, that was the cheapest color they had. See, here's the back of one:

I gave the kids creative control of their wooden discs and we took advantage of some paint supplies we already had and they painted their discs to their heart's content. Then I glued their chores to the front with clear modge podge. I think it helped them take a little bit more ownership over their chore charts. Maybe not, but I like to tell myself that.

For the older 3 kids, their chores are written out on their charts in words.

Elizabeth and Lucas decided to swap a chore permanently, thus the odd ball looking disc on her chart. For the younger four kids, I used clip art to show them what their chores are.

Their names as well as "To Do" and "Done" are simply some scrapbooking stickers I had laying around and I covered them with a thin layer of modge podge so the letters wouldn't pop off. Last, I bought round magnets and hot glued them onto the backs of the wooden discs. (I tried the peel and stick magnets and the magnets kept coming off the discs. Just fyi.)

Every morning that we are home, sometimes while I'm cooking breakfast or sometimes immediately after breakfast (if we have cereal or something from the crockpot) is chore time. Pick a chore time that can be relatively consistent. Before school, as soon as they are home from school, just before bed, etc. I've found that if we do it around the same general time every day, they see it coming and the complaining is minimal. Now, all I have to do is announce it's chore time. They all go to their charts, slide their magnets back over to the "To Do" side and begin. It's glorious, most days.

Now for the harder part of making charts: deciding what chores you want your kids to do. (I did a quick search on Pinterest of "chores by age" and got a gazillion results so if you're at a loss, try that.)

Here's what our kids do, but of course, you can decide which chores work best for YOUR family. I read somewhere that it takes about 3-4 weeks for your kids to master a chore, I think that's true. I think it's also important to keep in mind that some kids will be naturally gifted in doing some things rather than others. I also read somewhere (or someone told me?) that they had one of their sons on laundry duty. After several months, he politely and quietly went to his mom and told her, "Mom, can I have another chore other than laundry? When I have to fold your underwear and my sister's underwear it embarrasses me. Can I switch chores with someone who isn't embarrassed by stuff like that?" I was super impressed. Not only because he was able to articulate that it wasn't a chore he enjoyed, but he could say WHY he didn't enjoy it and he understood that just because he might not have that chore, he would certainly have one to replace it. It gave me hope that my kids would be able to do the same and it showed me that I need to respect their feelings if something like that should arise with our kids.

Lucas was in charge of sweeping for a long time. And honestly, he sucked at it. He was just BAD no matter how many times I showed him. I don't think it was lack of effort, it just isn't something he's good at. So he and Elizabeth switched. Now, Lucas does dishes and Elizabeth sweeps the floors. I'm not quick to allow kids to swap out chores because I want them to master their job so they can do it quickly and effectively. But like I said in my last post, some families have rotating charts and it works for them.

We do our chores EVERY DAY, except Sundays (and usually, if we have a busy Saturday we ditch them then, too). Soon, the older 3 will probably get one additional item on their list as will Ella, Olivia and Aaron. After all, just like in the real world, the more responsible you prove yourself to be, the more you are responsible for doing.

Everyone does these chores:

Make their bed

Clean their room

Pick up Toys

The older 3 also have this one in common:

Put away clothes (Luke or I will fold and sort them by kid. The older 3 must put theirs away.)

Our 3 and 4 year olds only have 4 chores total. So in addition to the 3 listed above, our 3 year old, Ella, also feeds the dog and our 4 year old, Olivia, (who just turned 5) cleans off and wipes off the table.

Aaron, our other 5 year old, has 5 chores. The three listed above plus he cleans up the outside toys that have been left out and he also cleans up the living room (our hot spot for toys and clutter). He also puts his clothes away and I can't seem to remember to give him another disc for that.

Finally, the older 3 kids have 6 chores each. Lucas and Ashlee are 7 years old and Elizabeth is 9. Elizabeth does the above 4 chores plus she sweeps the floor (one zone per day) and starts a load of laundry (or folds a load if there is none to start). I divided our house into 3 zones for sweeping: the kitchen, the dining room/foyer/sitting room, and the school room/hallway outside their bedrooms. She rotates each sweeping zone every day.

Lucas has the above listed 4 chores and also does the dishes once per day (unloads and loads the dishwasher) and takes out all the trash - which also includes him hauling the trash to the curb on Monday nights since pick up day is Tuesday.

Ashlee has the above listed 4 chores plus she also cleans one bathroom every day (we have 2) and she vacuums every, single day.

The hard work comes in when you, Mom, have to teach your children how do do each of these things. If you simply tell them what to do and release them, then not only will you be dissatisfied with their work but they will be frustrated with their lack of knowing what your expectation is for them. Therefore, when I taught Ashlee how to clean the bathroom I walked her through every step. We alternate between using sanitizing wipes and a spray solution with paper towels. I showed her how I want the bathroom cleaned, step by tedious step. At first, it was just the basics like wiping off the countertops, mirror, toilet, putting away stray toothbrushes and rinsing out the sink. Now, we are about to move her into scrubbing the inside of the toilet.

I talked with Ashlee about making the bathroom counter a place free of clutter and that it's important to make it hospitable for when we have guests, because they use our bathroom too. A few weeks ago Ashlee did her chores and later I entered the bathroom to find it like this:

It made me laugh all day long. And I think that's the thing about watching your children do work. You should take joy in it and laugh along with them when they do funny things, cheer with them when they do a great job and when necessary, gently correct or redirect them when they don't do it just how you've shown them. Sometimes, we have to have retraining sessions and that's okay. Sometimes, Mommy completely loses her junk because her daughters' room is a black hole of death that looks like a wild pack of wolves have taken up residence. Later, Mommy has to apologize for being someone who is rude and belligerent and talk to them nicely about her expectations.

The first time I helped the older 2 girls clean their room to my standard it took FOUR HOURS. FOUR HOURS y'all. And we had just moved and I had already purged a ton of crap. Somehow, a liquified banana made it through the move. Ew.

Now, we do random checks of their chores. We don't tell them when we will come behind them and inspect their jobs. But once they are fully trained, we will.

The bottom line is, have grace with your kids. Teach them and expect high standards because I truly think, as adults, we don't give kids enough credit for what they are capable of doing. But also do your best to be merciful with them when they don't meet those high standards each and every time. Because one day, you'll walk into a room, it will look very unswept, you will realize it wasn't done, lose yourself on your child who SWEARS SHE SWEPT, you'll both be on the verge of tears, you'll retreat to your room for a breather and realize that your darling daughter DID sweep. She swept your bedroom. And made your bed. And turned down your sheets. And organized your nightstand. And left your nightstand light on so that your room looks oh-so-very inviting. And you'll feel about this big.

We tell our kids all the time that when they do their part around the house they are helping our home run smoothly, but when they go above and beyond they overwhelm us with blessings. They do a lot of the latter. Especially when I don't expect it.

Oh, one last thing! We DO NOT PAY our kids for their chores. The way we see it, Luke and I do things around our house because we live here and we love each other and our kids. They can do stuff around here because, you know, THEY LIVE HERE TOO and they love us and their siblings. So I guess I'll drag this out to a third post and tell you about how we plan to implement a new system called "Jobs for Hire" where we pay our kids for helping out around the house, above and beyond their actual chores. Because y'all, we've got some money hungry kids and, honestly, we want to teach our kids how to handle money. So, until next time....

***Edited to add***

I should include that there are other things that our kids do just because they live here. Like putting their dirty clothes in the hamper, taking their plate to the sink after meals, keeping their shoes in their shoe bins, you know, normal stuff that people do when they live with other people. Just so y'all know. That's why those are NOT included on the chore charts. In my opinion, those are part of just being a human who lives with other humans.

-------

Question for you: Do you already do chores? If so, what chores do your kids do at your house?

Questions for me? Ask!

Chores and Kids: Setting a foundation (Part 1)

2013-10-31T14:32:00.000-04:00

After I posted this video on Instagram I got several inquiries about our chore system. I figured this was the best place to post about what works for us with chores.

We've tried AT LEAST 5 or 6 different chore systems since our oldest kids were old enough to comprehend chores and offer some help around the house. Elizabeth is 9 and the twins are 7, so we've been at this chore thing for about 4-5 years. Just when I'd think we'd found the holy grail of chores, life would happen, Luke and I would forget to implement it and it would flop like a dead fish. My point is, we've failed, a lot.

But finally, FINALLY we have a system that works. For now.

I've decided to break this into two parts because I REALLY BELIEVE that this first part is a big reason why our system has worked so well and lasted. So, bear with me. Part 2 will follow soon. But, first, read this:

Here's where I think we messed up a lot in the beginning, you (and your spouse) need to decide WHY you want your kids to do chores. Aside from the fact that you desire a clean house and your children can provide free child labor, what are your hopes with a well executed chore system?

For us, these were the big ones:

* There's a lot of us. We make a lot of (big) messes. Luke and I were ragged from doing all the cooking/cleaning/housekeeping/laundry/parenting and our house was a perpetual wreck (like, not just toys strung amuck or dishes in the sink - DIRTY). We needed help. Plus, our kids live here too. The last thing we want is to raise entitled kids who think that everyone should serve them all of the time. Responsibility is learned by having things you are responsible for.

* We want our children to know and understand the value of hard work.

* We wanted to be able to take pride in our home. It may not be the most immaculately decorated house in the world, but a clean house is one to be proud of, in our opinion. When our chore chart doesn't flow smoothly, our home is habitually a wreck. Our family (even our kids) enjoy having company and friends over. When the house is messy we are all embarrassed by our home. It's not fun to have company over, often on short notice on our part, when your house is always messy.

* Luke and I can more readily enjoy our children, spend time doing things they enjoy and feel like our home is a place of refuge, not stress, when our home is tidy and everyone does their part. Luke comes home from work less stressed, I yell a lot less, we can do fun projects together or play football in the yard, or roast marshmallows, whatever, when the inside of the home has been cleaned that day.

* Luke and I set appropriate expectations for what our home should look like. After all, we have almost 8 children ages 9 years and younger. Our house shouldn't look like it belongs in a magazine. It should look like children live here! Messes are to be expected. When our children help clean up, it won't be perfect. But it will be better than it was before and we can gradually help them get better and faster at their chores which results in one step closer to "perfect" than before.

So what are your goals for chores?

When our children were really young, our main goal was to teach our children to help out, take responsibility, and see that even as a child they can do something to help their family and be proud of themselves when they accomplish a task. Now that some of ours are older, we expect more.

For example, when Ella's chore is to make her bed, we are perfectly fine with it looking like this:

We've shown Ella (3 years) how to make her bed and this is her very best effort. And her best effort is good enough for now.

But for Ashlee (7 years), when her chore says to make her bed, we expect much more. Her bed should look more like this:

When it doesn't, we remind her that she didn't do her best and ask her to try again. Our expectations and even our goals change as our children get older.

A few weeks ago our children were grumbling and complaining about doing their chores. Nearly every time I announced it was chore time, wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued. So, I had a quick family meeting off the cuff. I had already tried yelling, getting angry, making threats and none of those things worked (shocking, isn't it?). I realized I hadn't sat the kids down in a while and reminded them why we need them to do their chores.

I told them all very simply, "When you do your part around the house, our home runs more smoothly. When the laundry is put away, the floors are swept, the dishes are not piled high in the sink and your bedrooms are clean, it gives us more time to spend as a family. Daddy comes home and enjoys his house rather than having to start another job after he's worked all day.

When you don't help out, then it makes life more stressful for myself and your Dad. And right now, our lives are stressful enough. We can't do it all, so we need help. If you are not willing to cheerfully help us around the house then we will have to hire someone to help us. But Daddy only makes a certain amount of money. So, if we hire help, we would have to take that money from another area. The only area that money can come from right now is your extra activities. So, if you decide you cannot help cheerfully, then we will use the money from horse riding lessons, karate, ballet and gymnastics to hire someone to help clean our house. It's really your choice."

We've not had much grumbling and complaining since that day. And I didn't tell our kids that as a threat. I was totally serious. I explained it to the kids calmly and matter-of-factly because it's true. Luke and I cannot do it all and we do need help. (And if you think you can do it all, Momma, you're kidding yourself. And doing an injustice to your children.) They can choose to bless their family by helping and in return receive blessings or they can choose to not bless and reap the consequences from that choice. (One child did lose the privilege of their extra activity one week for having a T-total meltdown when asked to redo a chore that was only half-way done. Life lessons, friends. It was hard on Momma, too.)

Kids have the ability to understand much more than we give them credit for.

Second, we used to have a more complex system where people rotated chores each week. And maybe one day we will try that again. But for now, and with our children, we've found that giving each of our kids a set list of chores that stays the same each week makes it easier for them to accomplish their jobs more quickly and with more efficiency. After all, how you feel if each week you went to work and you had to learn your job all over again? What if your job changed each week, yet your boss expected proficiency upon demand? That seemed stressful to me, especially for our children at the ages they are. Yet, I do know families who have a rotating chore chart and it works beautifully. For them. Not so much for us. Plus, when our kids do a chore week in and week out they get good at it. Ashlee can clean a bathroom in 5 minutes flat. As it gets easier for her, I add one tiny thing to make the bathroom sparkle just a little bit more. It's not so overwhelming for her and in turn, the bathroom is one step closer to the kind of clean I really desire. Win-win!

Finally, (for this post) choose age appropriate chores for your children. I'll go into this in further detail in the next post, but this was key for us. It's a balancing act to figure out when a child's chore is too easy or too hard. For a long, long time Elizabeth's chore (she's 9 years) was feeding the dog. She enjoyed it so it stayed her chore for much longer than it probably should have. But finally, she passed that chore off to Ella and, GET THIS, she was the one who got to show Ella how to correctly feed the dog! Elizabeth enjoyed the time of teaching and Ella enjoyed the thrill of being in charge of something a "big kid" used to do. Ella aspires to do it well because it was a big kid job and Elizabeth is proud be a teacher.

It boils down to setting a foundation for your family, a tone, of what the purpose of chores are in your home. We want our kids to feel empowered by accomplishing a job all on their own and doing it well! We want them to see that they are able to bless us just by doing simple things. We want them to know that when we all work together, we can accomplish big goals (like having the house clean in under an hour)!

What are your goals for your family with your children doing chores? I'd love to hear your reasons and ideas!

Very Slowly

2013-09-04T21:41:00.000-04:00

Pictures are slowly being hung on the walls. The kids' rooms are starting to feel like their own, including art and photos on the walls and toys organized and put in a place.

We've acquired some new-to-us furniture, decorated some rooms, gotten some new, funky lamps. We turned the dining room of this house into a sitting room, and the upstairs living room became our dining room (seating for 12+ isn't possible in most traditional sized dining rooms).

Just last night we moved in a new chair, accent cabinet and lamp into our sitting room. After my Mom and Grandma left, and the kids were in bed, Luke and I sat in the dim light of our new lamp in our gussied up sitting room. He rubbed my feet, we talked about the day, I asked him for the 10th time if he liked the new things I'd picked out.

"Yes. I do. It's nice to have new things. And I've always wanted a sitting room."

And it's true. We've been in a season of minimal living, purging, ridding our lives of tangible objects for so long now that carrying new things into our house feels, well, weird.

And refreshing.

We climbed into bed, I breathed deeply and pulled the covers up. "This house. Slowly we are making it more like our own, huh? It's slowly starting to feel like ours, isn't it?" I said.

"Yep," Luke replied. "Slowly. Very slowly."