Ezra's Church Testimony

Just in case you're curious, here is Ezra's videotaped testimony they showed at church.  You might need tissues...  I still can't watch it without going through a whole box.  We are still reeling from God's amazing goodness!

https://vimeo.com/148756974

The Furr Family Guide to Building a Gingerbread House

This would be more appropriately titled The Furr Family Guide to Proper Holiday Dysfunction, because this is pretty much how we do everything, holidays or not, but I'll do my best to work with the original title...

1.  Purchase gingerbread house kit with a very hopeful, pie-in-the-sky attitude.  True, the last few attempts haven't gone so well.  But, you never know, this could be the year you get it right!  Deep down, you know it will be exactly the same as last year.  And the year before that.  And the previous five years. But still, you have hope in your heart, and a skip in your step.

2.  Over the next two weeks, each time the kids ask when you're going to build it, reply, "SOON! But.  Not.  Right.  Now."

3.  Finally, gather everyone for the big event!  It's time!  Read through instructions, remembering that the stupid thing has to dry after you assemble it, before you can decorate it.  *cue suddenly disinterested children*
"Can't we just eat the candy? Why do we have to put it together, anyway?"
"I'm going to go play with my toys."
"I'm going to go read my book."
*baby screaming for no apparent reason*
"FINE!  I'LL JUST DO IT BY MYSELF!  I DON'T NEED THE REST OF YOU!"
"Oh my gosh, people! Can't we all just get along and DO ONE FREAKING CHRISTMAS ACTIVITY AS A FAMILY WITHOUT ALL THIS DRAMA????"

4.  Children scatter.

5.  Settle infant in his high chair with frosting on his tray, then get to work.  Baby screams.  Give him more frosting.

6.  Muttering to yourself, begin the gingerbread house.  By yourself.  Because you don't need the rest of them.

7. Baby is fussy, give him more frosting. One child comes back and offers to help; remind him you don't need him. Or anyone else. Ever.

8.  Spouse bemoans lack of artistic talent.  Remind spouse the cat will eat it anyway.  It doesn't have to stand up to earthquake standards, and you're not worried about the the Big Bad Wolf blowing it down.  It does not have to be perfect.  However, because spouse is an engineer, it really does have to be perfect and pass earthquake standards.

9.  Declare gingerbread house finished.  This is the most effort you're willing to put into it.  It's finished.  Baby is covered head to toe in frosting, as is everything within a 100 foot radius of the baby.  His eyes are gyrating in his head from his sugar buzz.

10.  Children reconvene to admire the gingerbread house they just built.  Ohhhhh.  Ahhhh.

11.  Wake up next morning to discover cat has beaten your latest foolproof cat-proofing method, and eaten the carefully constructed house.

12. Swear off ever doing another gingerbread house.  The kids don't actually help, and the cat just eats it.  It's a waste of time.  It really isn't any fun.

13.  Know that you will repeat Steps 1-13 next year. Sigh.

I Don't Want to Grow Up

"Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional."  --Chili Davis

I turned 39 earlier this week.  Thirty-nine.  THIRT-EEEEE NIIIIINE.  How did this happen?  Actually, I'm not sure I'm having as much trouble with it as I thought I would.  I mean, it's not 40, so I'm not ancient yet, right????  RIGHT????  Just kidding.  No offense meant to the 40-and-overs.  I don't feel 39.  Of course, I've never been 39 before, so I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to feel. Or how I'm supposed to act, for that matter. How exactly does a person act 39, anyway? The gray hair and facial lines are starting to tell their story, my body has told the story for longer than I can remember (I'm not sure that counts as age related, though), and there are times my mind feels more like 80 than 39, but--I don't feel 39.  

I get reflective on my birthdays.  What were my parents doing when they were my age?  What stages were they in? I remember they just seemed old to me. They were grandparents already at my age.  Then, I make promises to myself, to my family, to my friends.  One of the promises my best friend and I have made is that while we may grow old, we will not grow up.  We will have fun, even when that requires us to be more immature than our teenagers. Yes, requires.  We will live life to its absolute fullest, even on the days it's hard.  We will be grateful to be alive, for the opportunity to watch our children grow up, to be with the ones we love.  We've decided that acting our ages is terribly overrated.  We are only given one life, and we need to make the best of it.  

Shawn and I have the same philosophy.  Well, most of the time!  I wouldn't say we're always successful. There are times stress does get the better of us, and we forget.  Overall though, I feel as though we haven't forgotten the passion, the fun, the life to our lives.  We often find ourselves saying to each other, "I hope we're still like this when we're old.  Let's not ever lose this." It's a promise we've made to each other, to our children, and any future grandchildren.

I often think that's what happened with my parents.  They forgot to have fun.  They forgot how to have fun. I won't get into all of it, but looking back, I'm certain that was a huge part of what went wrong.   

Of course, there are times this philosophy has us acting more like 5 year olds, or immature 13 year olds, but that's life, right?  Who wants to to always be a stuffy, boring adult?

Growing up, I always knew I wanted to 'grow old' like my grandmother.  Nan never seemed old.  Even when she was old, she was young.  It was her attitude, her personality, her belief in God and faith, her love--it all worked together to keep her young.  She was amazing.  Nan had a zest, a vim and vigor to her that was just contagious.  It wasn't until the multiple TIAs and age-related diseases began taking their toll that I realized just how old my Nan was.  Similarly, there is a woman I work with who approaches life the same way.  She's nearly 90, but you'd never know it.  That is my goal: To approach life the way these two women have, and to inspire others to do the same.  This is also something I've learned from my work at the grief center: Live one day at a time.  Enjoy it.  Live it to its absolute fullest.  Love like crazy.  Be yourself.  Cherish every moment.

I don't want to grow up.  I will grow old, I will age, but I will not grow up.

Snarky Mommy

I should probably warn you--I'm tired.  I'm sleep deprived.  Ezra still isn't sleeping through the night, Avery still typically ends up in our bed (how do I say no when he says he's lonely and was worried I was lonely too?  Wait: "No."), and Noah is a very early elephant riser.  Don't get me started on the cats and the dog.  I also had a very bad pain flare up.  Sooooo, I'm feeling just a bit snarky.

Which story would you like to hear first?  Avery sounding out the word 'tampon' ("Taaaaammmppponnn.  Tampon.  Mom, what's a tampon?") in the public restroom, or monitoring my speed in the car ("Mom?  That sign back there said 55, but your speed clock says 65.")?  Seriously, who taught this kid to read????  Or maybe how my 14 year old announces to everyone he's taken up life on the pole?  Thank you, winter track.... 

I started thinking this morning that I could probably get these stories to give me a paycheck, you know?  If I were so inclined with social media, I could start a Twitter account: Honest Mommy.  Sarcastic, Tired, Exhausted Mommy.  Why Mommy Drinks.  Why Mommy's Hair is Gray.  Why Mommy has a Coffee IV Drip.  Why is Mommy's Face Turning that Weird Red Purplish Color?  You get the idea.

I won't, but the thought is certainly there. I'll just keep entertaining you here on my blog.  While I can't be the only one with the thoughts that occur in my head when Noah absolutely needs a gift bag and tissue paper at 6 in the morning, or when Avery has a meltdown (naked, of course) in the hallway at 6:15 because the fan is on in the bathroom and he needs to pee, but he's scared of the fan, I'm certain I'm in the minority when I actually say them out loud to other people.  Seriously, we bought that gift on Saturday--we couldn't have wrapped it, ohhh, say, 36 hours ago?  Or even 12-16 hours ago???  And for the love of all things furry, just turn the dang fan OFF!

There you have it.  Honesty.  I love my children dearly.  I really do.  But sometimes it's a little easier to like them when I've had a full 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep without someone's foot in my face (I'm looking at you, Avery).

Miracles

If you can't tell by the majority of my posts, I'm a big believer in miracles.  I know how big my God is, and He never ceases to amaze me.  Still, He continues to prove Himself even bigger than the last time He wowed me.  Please don't think me simple minded.  I know these are truths.  I've seen them.

This time of year I love hearing of them even more.  We need them.  This season is filled with hope, faith and belief; those are things that miracles give us.  We need to believe in miracles, and our God who performs them.

I used to be a skeptic.  I've been a Christian my entire life--but miracles?  In this day and age?  Whatever.  I used to hear people use the word 'miracle' and think it was cute that they believed such a thing.  Sure, God healed you.  But didn't you see a doctor?  Didn't you take that medicine?  Didn't you just.... I thought those people--well, I thought they were simple minded, quite frankly.

And many times we use the word flippantly.  It's a miracle I got my hair to do anything in this humidity! While it might be nothing short of a miracle for you, it's not quite the kind of miracle I adamantly believe in.

The reason I believe is multifaceted.  Sometimes a miracle isn't presented in the blatant form a child born of a virgin.  Sometimes it's messy.  Sometimes there's no wow factor. Many times, it's not the way we imagined, or asked for. Sometimes, if we aren't looking for it, we miss it--and sometimes, we miss it even when we are looking for it. Sometimes, it's more in the form of deliverance, or acceptance, or a lesson, rather than a cure.  Sometimes it is through that doctor, that medicine, that red light that kept you from the accident you didn't even see coming, the friend who keeps you from doing something stupid.  Sometimes that miracle whispers, other times it announces its presence with a monumental roar.  Occasionally, it just happens.  It's supernatural in nature.  There's no explanation, nothing that anyone can put their finger on--but it happened, and you were there to behold it then, and you are here to testify to it now.

Christmas as a Way of Life

I always get emotional this time of year.  Christmas songs tear at my heart and make me cry, which makes my family roll their eyes and say, "Here she goes again." I think of what Mary went through as a mom, a teenage mom, not only the circumstances surrounding her son's birth, but knowing his future.  My heart aches, wondering if she wanted to squirrel Jesus away and hide him from certain death.  I think of the families who consistently go without year-round, having to go without at Christmas, too.  I think of children without families, without the basic necessities, just--without.  I think of those for whom this season is not special, for those who are sick, without family, for those who just can't find the spirit because it's too much.

I also think of all the blessings we have as a family.  I think of all the gifts I've been given that (who) can't be wrapped up with pretty paper and perfect bows.  I think of all the things I get to do for my children, and all the things we get to do for others.  It's a fun time of year for me, even when the days are gray and my depression gets worse.  Honestly, being able to be 'Santa' is probably the thing that gets me through December.  I love the smiles on my kids' faces, and the giggling and full-on hearty laughter Shawn and I share over secrets and surprises, the wonder in my kids' eyes.  I love knowing that we've been able to give peace of mind to a parent whose child might have done without on Christmas morning, that we've been able to make someone smile.  I love the 'feel' in the stores, I love that giddy feeling as I choose gifts for family and complete strangers, and leave things for friends and family to find.  I love decorating, the warmth of the Christmas lights, and the comfy feeling it all brings.  I love the hope of the season, the love that surrounds it.  I'm even (finally) getting used to how we eventually 'Furr it up,' knowing that's just how we do things, no matter what we try to do to avoid it. I also get nostalgic, remembering past Christmases, my children's firsts, and all the other memories and traditions that make Christmas special. It's a magical time, a gifted time, for me.  During this season, I'm still a child.

This is a season of huge blessings, and lots of giving.

I started thinking....  What if we live every day as though it's Christmas?  What if it became a way of life?  Families don't go hungry just one month a year.  Children don't go without proper clothing or families only during November and December.  People don't go without basic necessities only 30 days out of 365.  Yes, Christmas is a season and a holiday, but it's also a state of mind.

I can't help but think of what the world would be like if we were just plain kinder to each other.  If we thought of others more often than we think of ourselves.  If we gave from the heart continually, so that no one would ever have to go without.  What if we shared more of ourselves, having conversations with strangers, sharing an encouraging word or a kind smile?  You never know what it could be that you might do or say to turn someone's day around.

This is how I want to live, and how I want my children to live.  I want to share the spirit of this holiday every day, no matter the month or season.  Do we always get it right?  No, we don't.  Remember how I said we Furr it up?  Yeahhhhh.  But we try.

Ezra the Lion Hearted

We've been asked to share Ezra's testimony with our church family.  I need to write it out first, so here's my thinking process.

When I was 25 weeks pregnant with Ezra, he was diagnosed with premature atrial contractions, and a hole in his heart.  At a routine OB appointment, we heard his heart skip several beats, then speed up, repeatedly.  That same week, we followed up with a pediatric cardiologist. Walking into the office was scary; as a parent, you’re thinking to yourself that places like this shouldn’t exist, then you realize your child is the one who needs this place, and you’re grateful they do exist. The cardiologist talked with us extensively, then she did an echocardiogram to look at our baby’s heart. She referred to Ezra by his name, and did her best to calm our fears.  The fact that she used his name and didn't refer to him as a fetus, or any other term, was important to us.  It meant that she saw him the way we did--a real person.  It also helped knowing she is a mom too.  When your child’s health is a concern, you start thinking and worrying too much, often imagining the worst case scenario.  You don't want to think about any reality other than a good one, but your mind goes there anyway.  Hearing the missed beats was one thing, but watching the screen as his heart repeatedly stopped, then sped up, was another frightening thing entirely. Throughout the next weeks and the diagnostic process, God gave us Ezra’s first name, Jonathan, which means Gift of God, and He also gave us his life verse, Isaiah 41:10—“Fear not, for I am with you; Do not be dismayed for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”  That verse became our strength.  We had one more appointment with the cardiologist before Ezra was born, we notified our pediatrician and our OB required a NICU nurse to be present for his delivery.  Ezra’s heart did not handle the stress of labor well, so we had to have an emergency c-section.  He immediately saw the cardiologist at the hospital, where he had a third echo, and his first ekg.  Bringing him home was scary; we watched him like a hawk, always vigilant for any changes in his breathing or behavior.  At our appointment with the cardiologist when he was a week old, he was diagnosed with a murmur, in addition to the previous diagnoses.  A fourth echo showed the hole still hadn’t closed, nor had the PACs resolved.  We took our newborn home with a 24 hour monitor that day. We were given statistics meant to comfort us, but when you’re talking about your child’s heart, few things give you peace.  We leaned on God, relying on Him to heal our child.  God had seen fit to give us this miracle child in the first place, and we had to know He would make sure Ezra would be okay.  Ezra had so many people praying for him during this time, we knew he was well covered.  It was all in God’s hands.  This past week, we had another follow up with our cardiologist, and we received amazing news! More tests showed the hole in Ezra’s heart is closed, the PACs are gone, and the murmur was undetectable. Right there on the screen was a perfectly normal and healthy beating heart.  Just like that, it’s over.  His heart is healthy and healed. No more tests, no more cardiologists, no more worries.  Once again, our greatest healer took care of it all.  God has given our sweet little boy an amazing testimony, and he’s only 8 months old.  We are so grateful for this healing, and so grateful to all who prayed!  Most of all, we are grateful to serve a loving Father who still performs miracles and keeps His promises.

Be the Light

The world woke up to news of unimaginable horror in Paris this morning.  Most of us went to bed with the news alerts last night.  We woke up hoping for better news.  Needing better news.

Maybe you cried for the lives lost in yet another senseless tragedy, and the families affected. Perhaps you checked on your children an extra time last night, taking in their simple peace as they slept.  Maybe you greeted them a little more exuberantly this morning, grateful for another day with them.    Perhaps you said an extra prayer, posted a message to social media, or just closed your eyes and shook your head, because that was all you could do.

For the families who will now be burying their loved ones, we need to be in thought and prayer.

At a time when we should be coming together, instead, we choose sides. We focus on the bad, rather than encouraging the good. We pick on petty things. We are offended by holiday sweaters, and the lack of design on a red cup.  We are offended by what 'he' said, but stand up for 'her' right to say it.  We have become whiners and complainers.  We are offended by everything, anything, and nothing at all.  We are a society of gigantic, political-correctedness-run-amok, offended babies.

Our world is at war, whether it's been politically sanctioned or not.  Sadly, we are not in a time of peace. We are being attacked by those who know how to quietly infiltrate our systems.  We are at war not just with terrorists, but with ourselves, within our own nations.  Our children do not know a life without loss, without war, without unrest and fear.

Homelessness and poverty rates are at all time highs throughout the world.  Joblessness is still high.  There are children everywhere in need of stable homes and loving families.  There are children who go to school improperly clothed and hungry, and there are still more who don't get to go to school at all.  Babies are being killed before they even have a chance to tell their story.  Children in other countries are kidnapped and forced into war, or worse.  Our own veterans are abandoned by those who are supposed to help them, suffering from PTSD and committing suicide daily. God is being denied and ignored.  Parents are losing their children to diseases, both preventable and not preventable.  Human beings are killing each other over things like shoes, sideways glances and perceived wrong-doings. Injustice is confused for justice.  I could go on, but I won't.  Just read the news.

You have a chance to be the light, to be the love, to be the difference, to be Christ in action. You can be the good in just one person's day.  You can do something, anything, and everything.  "Be the change you wish to see in the world," Mahatma Gandhi.

Or, you can choose to do nothing, and continue complaining about the red cup and sweater.

What I've Learned From Social Media

About six years ago, I closed my Facebook account for the last time, deleting it entirely.  I made the decision realizing it had become an addiction. I allowed it too much control, allowing things beyond my control to bother and upset me, I spent too much time with it, and talked about it way too much. I paid no attention to who my audience was (many of them were teenagers I was working with, and I was setting an incredibly poor example), and shared many things I had no business sharing. I had given it too much power in my life, and consistently chose it over my family. When Noah talks about it now, it still hurts knowing how much of myself I took from them during that time.  In order to show my family how important they are to me, I made a production of deleting the account in front of them.  Avery was too young to understand, but Shawn and Noah needed to see I was choosing them over it.  We nervously joked for a few days about what would "break" me, causing me to reactivate my account, but the truth is, I've never looked back. It retrospect, it was a sigh of relief, a weight off my shoulders.  There are times now, with church, team sports and schools, I may occasionally wish I were back on, but in the end, I still know it is not the right thing to do.

Three years later, a dear friend had a baby, and suggested Instagram as an alternative to showing up on her doorstep each morning (who, me???)!  I was hesitant.  I did not want to end up giving this social media site the same power I've given Facebook.  I talked with Shawn about it, we prayed about it, and I finally signed up.  I'm quite active, but I have not given it the same power.  I can turn it off, shut it down and leave it.  I've learned to reign myself in, and I don't feel the need to post the rather unnecessary, revealing, daily drama-garbage I was posting on Facebook.  There are times I still overshare, but overall, whether it's because I've matured (wait, what?), I keep my audience more in mind, or because I have my blog as an outlet, I'm no longer letting it all hang out, as I used to. With Noah being a teenager now, I typically ask his permission before posting anything involving him, but I've also explained there are times I'm sharing from the mom point of view.  It does not rule my life (our lives) the same way Facebook did. There are a few complete strangers I've become good friends with, and can't live without.  Others, I can take or leave.  I've become emotionally attached to you, your children, your pets, your nature photos, your artwork.  I know your social media habits and worry when you don't post, or when you disappear.  I've even called the police in other states about two teens threatening suicide; I was able to track down their full names, schools and basic living areas by scrolling through their photos (parents, please speak to your kids about privacy--if I can find it, so can someone who isn't out to help).

Over time, there are things I've learned from social media:

Sometimes a selfie is more than just a selfie.  Sometimes it is a person taking that scary, giant step forward, putting her(him)self out there.  It's not always attention seeking.  Sometimes, a person is declaring, "I'm okay with who I am.  Today, I'm going to be brave."

Sometimes what looks like attention seeking behavior is actually just a person needing to be seen and heard.  To be able to say, "I'm human, this is what I'm dealing with," is huge.  The need to be able to identify with others, or to just let others know they aren't alone, is a pretty big deal.  For some, social media is their only outlet.  They may not live close to good friends, they may not have someone to have coffee with, they may not be able to get out of the house. Someone who posts a gazillion pictures of her children, daily life, and so on, may not necessarily have family, or even friends, to share those moments with.  It doesn't mean those moments don't deserve attention.  Again, there is the basic human need to be seen and heard.

The age old lesson: There are opinions and thoughts other than my own, and that's okay.  But, let's all get along, okay?

Once it's out there, you can't take it back.  It can now be shared millions of times over.  Thanks to screenshots, it can be printed and reprinted.  Nothing is sacred, and nothing is private.  It is a public domain, and can be used in a court of law.  If you wouldn't want your mom, your pastor, your husband or your kids to see it--don't post it.

Things aren't always what they appear to be.  The person with the best vacation photos, filtered selfies and posed family photos is suffering the most.  Bragging makes them feel better.  Comparing oneself to the Jones', and the subsequent jealousy, is rampant on social media.  Don't do that to yourself.

The enemy runs rampant on social media.  It is his playground.  Often his voice is disguised as God's, just as in life.  Guide your heart, your mind and your soul.

Social media destroys already weak marriages, and even some very strong ones.  Leave well enough alone.  You've got middle aged men and women looking up old flames, and just asking for trouble.  Social media destroys weak people through jealousy, anger and bitterness.  Teenagers, and even some adults, think it is the end of the world to be 'unfollowed' or not followed at all.  Don't let social media tell you who you are, or declare your worth.

Internet anonymity and the wrong ideas about free speech give 'permission' to people to say whatever they want.  People are cruel, and say some very wrong things.  People will say whatever they want, to whoever they want, about whatever they want, whenever they want.  We use social media to vent, to call attention to perceived slights and wrongdoings, to make fun of others, to name-call--but seldom do we use it for good.

There are good things to come from social media: People from far and wide, different cultures, different languages, different countries, have been able to connect and find much in common.  We've been able to come together to support one another in times of illness and child rearing, and through common interests.

Those are just a few things.  I'm sure if I sat around for a while, I could come up with a more comprehensive list. I'm sure you could give me some lessons you've learned, as well. I think these are some of the more important ones.  I'm going to end this post the way I end many of my posts: "Be kind, for everyone you know is fighting some kind of battle."  Keep that in mind next time you log on.

Lessons My Kids Teach Me

I started writing this Monday morning, after yet another crazy wake-up.  I told a friend this morning that it starts to feel like a war zone around here: We're just waiting for the next bomb (Avery's behavior) to go off.  Since I began this post, we've seen the pediatrician again, and added another med in addition to the one he's already been taking.  This one offers more 24 hour coverage, so it will cover the crazy mornings, and hopefully help his brain adjust better as the other medication wears off in the afternoons, rather than just pin balling around in his head, wreaking havoc.  Last night was his first night; he went to bed and stayed asleep without the usual issues, and this morning did not have the chaotic, frenetic quality his mornings usually have.  Praise God, I have hope!  This is the calmer life my child (family) deserves.

And now, back to the original post....

I know my kids were given to me to teach me so much more than I could ever hope to teach them.  All three of them certainly teach me just how little I really know about motherhood!  They each have different little lessons here and there, but for each child, there seems to be a primary lesson within him.  Daily, Noah teaches me more and more about myself, my own childhood and coping with life in general.  In Ezra's few months, he's taught me about humility, judgement of others, and that life seldom goes according to plan.

And Avery?  This child.  Ohhhh boy.

Avery teaches me patience and humility.  He teaches me that my way is not always the better way, and he reminds to step out of my comfort zone and think outside the box.

Daily.  Hourly.  Minute to minute.

What can I say?  We're in the midst of a lot of struggles right now, but Avery's always been my out of the box sort of child (ironic, considering Noah is the one with all the diagnoses!).  If there is a different way of doing things, even if it's more difficult, that's how he's going to do it.  He's always been our token extrovert, a struggle for this introverted family of socially awkward recluses.  When the rest of us are shutting down, he's just getting geared up.  Whereas Noah tends to avoid most sensory input, Avery is sensory-seeking.  He's always been my daredevil, my higher-faster-louder child. Looking back, I can see he was always meant to be the textbook middle child, just by the way he sees the world and interacts with it.

We're dealing with a lot of behavioral issues right now.  In hindsight, I know these are not new, they've just reached a crescendo of sorts.  He is struggling socially, and I see that anxiety affecting his extroversion and daredevil behaviors. Some of my favorite Avery qualities are suffering.  His anxiety is causing major mood swings, and a lot of anger. Avery can go from happy, to meltdown, back to happy, to grumpy, to excited and gearing up to out of control, to full on temper tantrum, to what qualifies for subdued, back to meltdown, all in a course of less than ten minutes.  One minute he is an absolute angel: Loving, giving, caring, thoughtful, snuggly, happy, easy to cherish.  The next minute it's 5 am and all hell is breaking loose throughout the upstairs of my home as he wakes up and greets his day.  I go to bed praying the next morning will somehow be different--I will have more patience and have had more sleep (Dear Ezra, I love you and I love seeing your sweet, smiling face, but Mommy needs sleep...), something will click with Avery and he will suddenly understand how his behavior affects all of us--you know, a miracle.  I feel like Bill Freaking Murray in Groundfreakinghog Day.  Know what I'm saying? There are times Shawn and I have to tag out and tag the other one in, and times that counting to ten (over and over and over) just isn't enough.

This is what I do know about raising Avery: I'm the one who needs to adjust.  I'm the mom, I'm the one who needs to keep it together to get him (us) through this.

Catch My Cares

We frequently listen to 'Jesus music' in our home (when we aren't indoctrinating our children in 80's hair bands...).  It's usually on in the kitchen and in the car.  Avery loves to sing along, and I love hearing him praise our Father.  Frequently, if I change the station, he will ask me to change it back, telling me, "We need more Jesus, Mom!"  Indeed.

The other day he was singing one of his favorite songs, "Cast My Cares," but he was singing "Catch my cares." As the song ended, Avery lowered his head, raised his hands, and whispered an exuberant, "A-MEN."

The song states, "I will cast my cares on You."  I tried correcting Avery when he was finished, but he wasn't having it.

"No, Mom.  It's definitely 'catch my cares.'  See, I throw my cares at God and He catches them for me.  Then He takes care of them."

How can I argue with that?  Clearly, the band is wrong here, and Avery is correct. God does indeed catch our cares.  All we have to do is let go of them.

Sing on, dear boy.  Sing on.

Baby Drool and Car Pools

Please don't misunderstand this post.  I'm incredibly grateful I get to be home with my kids.  I know how blessed we are that Shawn's income allows us this luxury with very few sacrifices.  And yes, I understand it is a luxury, because I know there are plenty of parents who would rather be home, but don't have the option to make that choice.  It's very rewarding, and I'm glad to do it.

There are times though, it can get a little tedious. Car pools, drool, diapers, temper tantrums, play dates, sports and school--there's only so much I can talk to others about it before even I start yawning.  I'm grateful for the moms group I'm part of, but again--there's only so much we can talk about some times.

When Avery was a toddler, there were things I wanted to do to expand my own world. It felt as though everyone but me was out getting a life.  Every opportunity was met with a road block of one kind or another, however.  I lashed out, became resentful towards Shawn and the kids, and couldn't understand why God kept saying "no."  I couldn't see past the present, to the possibility He had something greater in mind.  Because I was so busy yelling, I couldn't hear Him telling me to be patient.

Flash forward another year or two, and after some serious soul searching, I realized motherhood is where I belong.  This is my here and now, and that's what God was telling me.  Those other endeavors would've taken me away from my children and the attention they need.

Then, my time came.... God did indeed have something better in mind for me.

Last year I was given the opportunity to go back to school through an online program.  This allows me the time I need with my family, the ability to schedule my own work, and enrich myself while still being a full time mom.

That was a long way to get my point.  Last month I saw my doctor about my worsening depression and anxiety.  Together, we made a list of my top stressors, both positive and negative, along with what can go and what couldn't, what I needed to change/add (helloooooo diet and exercise), what I could control and what I needed to let go of because it is beyond my control.  At the top of my stressor list was school, but it was also at the top of the list of things that I need to keep in my life.  At times, it can be stressful.  Three weeks ago when I lost a research paper I'd been working on for several weeks, I wanted to throw in the towel.  After all, it will be years before I finish this degree, and even longer before I'm able to use it professionally, so what's the point?  The point is--I need to do this.  This is for me.  Just me.  Sure, I want my kids to see the value of continued education, I want them to see my value beyond just being their mom, blah blah blah--but when I get down to it, I'm selfish.  I'm doing this for myself because I need to.  I like being able to have something (valuable) to discuss at dinner besides how many times Ezra pooped, and what I saw on social media.

I love my children more than life itself.  They are my gifts and I wouldn't trade this life for anything.  But school?  School is about loving myself.

Autism as a Character

Sesame Street announced today they will have soon have a character with autism joining their cast.  Elmo will be the one explaining that character's behaviors and characteristics, explaining the whys and wherefores of the character's autism to the audience.  *Insert Elmo's voice: "This is called stimming.  And now she's arranging her toys according to color, size and type, rather than actually playing with them age appropriately, and now she's having a meltdown because the tag on her shirt is rubbing annoyingly against her skin."*  Ummm, why can't the character explain these things herself?

I have mixed feelings.  I want to applaud their efforts, but I am hesitant. I've seen other tv shows attempt to address the autism issue, usually with one of two extremes--the character is either a savant (which realistically accounts for very little of the autism population), or the character is basically an undisciplined brat with a side order of a few behaviors attributed to autism.  Both give wholly unrealistic views of life with autism.  Based on those two stereotypes, Noah should be an astute student of everything while throwing massive temper tantrums as he straightens grocery store shelves alphabetically.    

We also live in a day and age in which the media, thanks to recent events in the news, mistakingly portrays autism as a mental disorder.  Based on the actions of a few, the media seems to portray all people with autism as angry, gun-weilding maniacs seeking revenge on the general population for not letting them play in all the reindeer games.

Have you met Noah?  He's nothing like any of that.

So, yes, I'm hesitant to rejoice over Sesame Street's newest character. I'm worried this will backfire. Are the producers and writers being genuine in their efforts, or is this merely an attempt to hop on the PC bandwagon? I'm concerned it will make an even bigger deal out of differences some kids, and parents, just want left alone. In calling attention to it, they are making neon billboards out of our children, rather than  allowing them to just be kids. I want to know who they are consulting to make sure they get things correct, and won't misinform the public, adding to the ignorance.  Will they stress that autism is a spectrum, so that just like neurotypicals, no two people with autism are the same, and that not all people will necessarily have the character's behaviors? Will they concentrate on the character's personality and non-autism traits, or will this character be known only for her autism traits--is she an individual or merely a diagnosis?  Will the character portray the true intelligence of a person with autism, whether that person is verbal or non verbal?  Will the character be allowed to use her diagnosis as an excuse? Will this just be another tactless attempt that only results in portraying people with autism as angry, mentally unstable individuals pitching temper tantrums when they don't get their way?  As Noah's mom, my concerns are legitimate.  I need to know they will do autism, and my child, justice.  These are real people we're talking about, not just a tv show character.

I do agree there needs to be more acceptance and knowledge of autism, but it needs to be done in a positive, well informed light.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  Noah has fought long and hard to just be Noah.  He doesn't want to be known as "that kid with autism."  He's so much more.  We've worked hard to raise him with the "We all have differences, it just so happens that mine has a name, no big deal" mentality.  He's worked hard to come to terms with his diagnosis and not let it get in the way of living his life.  Noah has learned to incorporate it into his every day life, and just accept this is how God made him.  God will use this, and we know there's a reason for it.

Sesame Street, I have to be honest.  I do not see this as a positive.  I do not see this as a move forward for autism.  As Noah's mom, I have to evaluate every aspect, and having done that, I do not see this as a successful step forward for the autism cause.  For the sake of our children, I do hope you will prove me wrong.

Life and Loss

Today is Ezra's six month birthday.  A dear friend reminded me that a year ago today was when we announced our pregnancy with Ezra, defying medical science, and proclaiming God's goodness.  Today also happens to be Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  The irony does not escape me.  It seems incongruous to be celebrating the life of one child while remembering the life of another.

Our Grace would be ten years old now.  She was wanted, she is still loved.  We did not get to hold her, I never got to feel her move within me, but she is missed every day.  She is still our child, she will always be a part of our family.  I cling to the knowledge that I will get to hold her one day, that I will meet her in heaven.  It is a comfort that our earthly losses have been her heavenly gains.

I hate when people ask me about my children, I don't count her in casual conversation.  I want to avoid the awkwardness, and the pity from the other person.  She still matters.  The only time I mention her is when someone asks if we're ever going to try for a girl.  I use my answer to shut them up, and hopefully make them think twice before they ask that sort of question of the next person.  Miscarriage and child loss are not something that come up in every day discussion; those of us in this population typically hide it, as though it's something to be ashamed of.  I get frustrated with people who refer to my loss as only that of a pregnancy.  Grace was a human being, a child of God, formed within me.  She may not have taken her first breath outside of my body, but she was still a person.  She had a heartbeat.  We lost a child, not a pregnancy.  We lost a future, we lost opportunities and we lost memories.

Several years ago I learned the term "rainbow baby."  This refers to the baby you have after the loss of a child, the rainbow after the storm of loss.  A reminder of God's promise.

We are blessed to have two rainbow babies.  After loss, illness and infertility, we were able to have Avery and Ezra.  There are many who aren't that blessed, and this is not something I take lightly.  I delight in all three of my boys, knowing each one is a miracle in his own way.

I will admit Shawn and I treated Avery's and Ezra's pregnancies, births and first few months differently than Noah's.  With Noah, we went by the book.  Everything was by the book--feedings, naps, bedtimes, discipline, schedules and routines.  We were more lax with Avery, and we've been the same with Ezra.  When you lose a child, the next one(s) are different.  It's not that you don't love your first one less, you do, in fact understand how precious that life is as well--if not for having him when we did, we may not have been able to have him.  However, you do see life differently, you're looking through different lenses, the lenses of loss.  You understand how fragile life is, and treat it with the kid gloves it deserves.  I've been lectured by well meaning, loving friends about allowing Ezra to nap in my arms, about holding him as much as I do.  I've tried to explain that I don't want to let him go, that, on some level, I can't.  If I let go, that's when the what ifs begin.  That's when the fear creeps in.

My heart aches for the moms and dads who have lost more than we have.  There have been times I did not think I could bear the pain, and times I've railed against the unfairness of it.  I can't even begin to imagine what those parents go through.

We are survivors.  We take it one day at a time.  There are times the grief can still overwhelm us, even years later.  Through this grief, however, I am grateful for the lessons Grace has taught me, even in her absence.  Because of her, I appreciate Noah, Avery and Ezra even more every day.  I am grateful for the time I have with them, and I do cherish them.  Because of Grace, I know who is important.

"A person's a person no matter how small," --Dr Seuss.

Parenthood is Scary

We had a stark reminder last week that no matter how hard we try, no matter what we do, we cannot guarantee the safety and security of our children.  It is completely out of our hands, whether they are under our roof, at school, in the car, or out with friends.  It's a horrifying revelation.  These are our children, and we're supposed to be able to protect them at all costs. We promise them from the moment of conception that we will never let anything bad happen to them.  Reality can be a real jerk sometimes.  You realize just how tenuous life is.

In the blink of an eye, our lives could've changed drastically.

There was a situation at Noah's school that caused the police and administration to put the school on lockdown.  Information was limited, and I'm not sure I would've known anything if Noah hadn't texted me.  We did not begin receiving information from the police and school until the situation was resolved.  I'm grateful it was resolved safely, but those few hours in between Noah's first text and the phone call from the school were terrifying, to say the least.  

I prayed, and I prayed hard. I had to actively push back against the what ifs and the thoughts of news stories from other similar situations, about the parents who wait for that last bus that never comes, for their child who doesn't come home.  I held it together, and did not cry until after we got Noah's "It's over, please come get me" text.  At a time when we should've leaned on each other, I lashed out at Shawn. I told Noah that if it came to it, hide.  Find a safe place and stay there.  Just hide.  Shawn told him to protect himself and his friends.  I want my child alive and safe, not a martyred hero.  We just kept telling him that we love him.  When I tell you it was a terrifying experience, I'm not exaggerating or overdramatizing.  I was terrified.   As a mom, there's no other word for it.  I was helpless and everything was completely beyond my control.  I could not do anything to keep my child safe.  I could pray, and I had to leave the rest up to God.  I had to trust God, the police and the school administration and staff.

When I went to pick Noah up, I, along with other panicked and anxious parents, were met by police guarding the doors, armed with assault rifles and wearing body army.  These were the very same doors I had dropped him off at less than 4 hours before.  These were the doors where I had prayed for his day.  The doors I watched him walk through to make sure he went into school safely, realizing he's a high schooler and I really don't have to do that anymore.  We were met by another police officer taking the names of our children, releasing just a few at a time from the gym where they had them all corralled for safety.  I prayed with another mom, a complete stranger, and we held hands until our boys came out.  

I can't even begin to describe the fear I felt that day.  I can't begin to describe the relief I felt when I saw Noah and was able to hug him.  I held on to him and I did not want to let go.  I can't begin to properly express my gratitude for the police, teachers, staff and administration, our friends who prayed and stayed in touch with us, for the technology that allowed us to stay in contact with our son. I am grateful Shawn was working from home that day, I'm grateful I had Ezra to snuggle, and I'm beyond grateful for a Father who loves Noah more than I ever can.

I know the police and administration are receiving a lot of criticism right now for the way they handled that day.  I only have gratitude. They did their jobs. They kept our children safe.  They reacted to a credible threat, and kept the kids safe.  I got to tuck all three of my kids into bed that night, and that's what matters most.  At the end of the day, we all had our children back, safe and sound.

Birth Order

Psychology has a lot to say about birth order.  Here in our family, we have some words of wisdom, as well.

The Practice First Child:
"So they just let us drive away from the hospital with him?  Just like that?  Are they sure?  Are we sure????"
What were they thinking???

The Second Middle Child:
"Sure, we made some mistakes with the first one, but we're going to fix those with this one!"
And make plenty of new mistakes......

The Third Last Child:
"Shouldn't we have this figured out by now?????"
We fully admit we're flying by the seat of our pants at this point.

I think our children prove we're clueless.  We are filled with love for them, but completely clueless.

Domestic Violence Awareness Month

I'm pretty sure everyone is on top of the fact that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  You can't scroll through social media, read the news, watch tv or walk down the street without being encouraged to feel your boobies.

But did you know that October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month?  And yet, no one talks about it.  There aren't any signs, memes or commercials encouraging you to seek help, to notice the signs your friend, family member, student or acquaintance is being abused.  No one wants to talk about it, especially if it's happening to them.  Pictures of boobies in public are now widely accepted, but no one wants to see the emotional and physical bruises of abuse plastered about.

This awareness is near and dear to the heart of my family.  I write this blog every March on the anniversary, and again every October, in memory of my mother in law, and I will continue to do so.  My husband lost his mother to domestic violence 18 years ago, and I can tell you, the pain never really goes away.  Her three sons lost their mom, and her mother faced what no parent should ever have to do--burying her child.  Her sisters and brother lost their oldest sibling.  My mother in law did not get to see her boys get married, she did not get to meet my sisters in law, and our children were robbed of their grandmother.  They will never know her hugs, her love, her laughter, or the stories about their dads that only she knew.  I was blessed to have known her before her death, so I do have a few things I can tell my children.  She was precious, she mattered, she was loved.  Sadly, in this case, she was not the only victim, but those left behind have suffered long as well.  Shawn and his brothers have made good lives for themselves and their families, but I don't know that they will ever be able to 'move on.'

Instead of having my mother in law in our lives, we lived with the ever present specter of the man who committed the crime.  Once he was released from prison, we constantly felt the need to look over our shoulders, to keep tabs on our children, to guard our privacy and information. Schools and teachers were notified and supplied with recent photos of him.  My husband and his brothers armed themselves in order to protect their families, if it ever came to that. We heard only rumors of his whereabouts.  We lived in fear and paranoia.

This October, we breathe a little easier, and we are at ease to live our lives as we always should have been.  The specter is gone in death, and our lives have begun to retain a bit of normalcy.

I would beg you, if you are suffering at the hands of someone else, please, PLEASE, tell someone.  Leave now.  Don't look back.  I can assure you that you are not the only victim, especially if you have children.  Please seek help.  You are strong, you are worth it, you are a child of God who does not deserve to be treated in such a way.  You deserve to be genuinely, unconditionally loved and treasured. There is help, there are people who care, people who have traveled the path before you, and will not only point the way, but hold your hand along the way.  You can do this.

If you suspect someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, or if you suspect someone you know is an abuser, please speak up in love.  Please reach out to that person.  You could be the lifeline, the encouragement, the peace that person needs.  If you don't know how to proceed, contact your local non emergency police number, a shelter, a counselor or the National Domestic Violence Hotline for help.

You matter.  You are precious.

NATIONAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE: 

1-800-799-7233

Different, not Broken or Sick

Last week my mommy hackles were raised. I went right into Mama Bear mode, do not pass go.

While reading an article about a couple with autism who were getting married, I came across the sentence that the entire wedding party "identified as being on the autism spectrum."  Excuse me? Identified? The journalist's choice of words left me flabbergasted, frustrated and angry.  I have fought for my child and for acceptance of him and of autism.  For this journalist to minimalize everything my child has been through and how he has succeeded, well, I may have had flames shooting out of my ears.  My immediate reaction was that one does not identify as being on the spectrum, one is diagnosed.   Autism is not a lifestyle, it is a not a choice.  Autism is a neurological disorder, diagnosed only by professionals.  By referring to it as an identity, the journalist implied that one chooses autism, and she seriously misled any already uninformed readers of the life altering reality of being on the spectrum.  To identify is to say, "I am autism," whereas to be diagnosed is to say, "I have autism, but I am so much more."  As Noah's mom, what I interpreted as sheer ignorance left me stunned.

Later, I asked Noah about it. I didn't share my initial outrage, because I wanted to know how he felt about the journalist's choice of words--and he surprised me.  His explanation even made sense to me.  Noah said that by identifying as being on the spectrum, he's chosen to accept and embrace who he is with autism as a part of him.  He didn't think the journalist's statement at all implies that one chooses to have autism. He understands he's more than autism, but autism is a part of what makes him Noah.  We both laughed when he said, "I didn't choose the autism life.  The autism life chose me!"  Noah then  mused that maybe by changing the phraseology used, but saying one identifies rather than one is diagnosed, we can even change how the world sees those with autism, and we can normalize it. Noah also said that to be diagnosed feels as though he's been told something is wrong with him, when he knows there isn't.  He's not sick, he's not broken, he's just different, and he's exactly how God created him to be.  He reminded me of the relief he felt to have a name for it when he was first diagnosed, what a relief it was to find out he's not just "out there weird, but there's a reason for my weird, and I'm okay with that.  This is just how I do life."

God says a child shall lead, and in my house, that happens to be true many times.  How did I get such a smart kid?

PPD

Post Partum Depression.

It's the little talked about side effect of birth that no one wants to acknowledge.  Society wants you to believe you're a terrible, unworthy mother if you experience it.  You should be happy, excited; yes, maybe a little worn out--but you're got this baby!  This wonderful baby you prayed into existence!  How dare you have depression and anxiety.  Rejoice!  Be happy!  No one wants to hear about anything other than perfection and happiness.  No one wants real.

For some of us, it's situational.  For others, purely hormonal/chemical.  For another set of us, it's both.      Either way, it's not something you necessarily have control over.  What you do have control over is how you handle it.  It can be an immediate feeling, or a gradual realization that something isn't right.  Sometimes it's just a cluster storm of factors, or maybe you were handling everything great until that one last little thing hit you. Some react by denying it, others face it head on.  Either way, there's usually guilt and shame. You feel like you're fighting a losing battle, and if you've never experienced it before, you feel like you're losing your ever loving mind.  Actually, you might feel that way even if you have experienced it before.  If this isn't your first child, you start telling yourself you should have this figured out by now.

I know you can't remember the last time you brushed your teeth.  You're still wearing yesterday's clothes that you slept in last night.  Your dirty hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. I know it's hard to smile at your giggling baby, and I know it's exhausting to cheer your older children.  You feel like a combat soldier waiting for the next bomb to drop.  People keep telling you it will get better, it does get easier, and all you can think is, "WHEN???"  You start feeling like a failure as a mom.

The well meaning will tell you to rest when the baby sleeps, eat when the baby eats, do laundry when the baby does laundry.  Wait, what?  Take time for yourself!  Take a bath, go to bed early, leave the baby with a family member!  Don't forget to shower and eat well!  Get those eight hours of sleep!  You need a weekend getaway!

The well meaning aren't always practical.  Perhaps you work outside the home, or attend online classes, or have other children and tasks and chores and commitments to keep up with.  Then there's the baby--who won't sleep through the night, won't stick to a schedule, won't sleep anywhere but in your arms, doesn't want to be anywhere but your arms even when he's awake. Some advice is just not realistic.

So, let's talk about it.  Let's take the shame out of it.  Let's take the guilt out of it.  Let's normalize the issue and take the stigma out of it.  Let's talk about it in our bible studies, our moms groups, our churches, our playgroups.  Let's be real.  Let's save lives by letting each other know we aren't alone.  Let's stop hiding.

You're not a bad mom.  You are anything but a failure. You're--*GASP*--normal.  I know you love your child. You are doing the best you can.   Just as every pregnancy is different, every labor and birth are different, so is each postpartum experience.  You are not made from a cookie cutter mold.  God made you as an individual.  Please stop comparing yourself to the Jones' down the street.  Guess what?  They're not perfect either.

It's okay to not be okay.

Hope in Front of Us

Life with Avery has been particularly rough lately.  I know what's going on, but feel powerless in helping him, in fixing it, in being able to do anything about it.  I am merely a bystander--a very tired, worn out, sad, bystander.  We are in the midst of ADHD-OCD-ODD hell, and he's only six years old. Our med-eval in two weeks feels light years away.  My prayer at this point is that we can hit the nail on the head with the right medication and right dosage the first time.  My child needs help.  I'm losing hope.

There was a time, before Noah's diagnosis, I would send him off to school in the morning, then wait.  I hated opening my email.  I jumped and broke out into a sweat when the phone rang.  I had to psych myself up to go pick him up.  Inevitably, I would get the email from the teacher, the phone call, or be pulled aside at pick up.  "Do you know what Noah did today?"  "We had another issue with Noah today."  "Noah had to be removed from the classroom again today."  There were days I dreaded sending him back.  With the stress of it all, I lost 45 pounds, and most of my mind.  Our marriage suffered, Noah suffered, none of it was ever good.

This is the point we've reached with Avery, now.  Each day this week, it's been something new.  There was a Category 6 meltdown when I took a different route to school than Shawn takes.  A major temper tantrum when I told him he couldn't wear long sleeves.  Then he destroyed several articles of clothing, had to be removed from the cafeteria during lunch, was rude to the substitute, homework is a nightly two hour battle--the list goes on.  When the counselor pulled me aside yesterday at pick up, it was kind of the last straw.  I felt so defeated I couldn't even react.  When she asked me if this is fairly normal for him, I wearily shook my head yes.  I thanked her for the way the cafeteria situation was handled, collected my child, and left.  There are times Avery shows little remorse, and when he does, it's the kind of remorse a person shows only when they know they should, but don't quite feel it.  He is indifferent to discipline, seeming to just not care that his behavior has consequences. His self esteem is suffering, and he, my charismatic, usually happy, extroverted child, has not made any friends in school so far this year.  He does not appear to understand the ramifications of his behavior, or  how it affects his relationships with others.  When we put him to bed last night, he asked why I'm sad and I lost it.  Crying, I explained that his behavior makes me sad.  When he doesn't listen, when he's naughty on purpose, I'm sad.

I've not been feeling hopeful.  I'm losing my mind.  I am battle weary.  I'm gaining weight.  My marriage is suffering again, our entire family is in chaos.  I don't go to bed at night and rest, I go to bed and think, "It all starts again in eight hours."  I lay awake praying the next day will be different.  I worry that by diagnosing him, we are allowing him to skirt responsibility for his behavior and actions, then I worry I'm too hard on him over things he possibly can't control. I pray that Scouts and sports will help.  I worry that if things are this bad now, what could that possibly mean for his teen years, and I pray we can get to him in time before it comes to that.  As with Noah's process several years ago, there are days I want to walk out of the house and just leave.  I don't feel strong enough to do this.

I went back in my archives and found some of the posts I wrote during Noah's process, because I just need hope.  I re-read several posts, and wow, Noah has come so far in these past five years! I never thought we'd get through it, but we did.  I look at where he is now with life and I'm speechless.  He gives me hope for Avery.  I have to remind myself it is a process. I know we will get through this. None of this will happen overnight.  I also have to remind myself that this is part of God's plan for Avery, as it is with Noah,  and certainly not the end.  Somehow, this will all work for His good, right?  God's got this, even when I don't.  I don't have to be strong enough to do this, because God already is.

I'll Be the One Wearing the Strait Jacket with Duct Tape Over My Mouth

I've avoided organized sports with my kids.  Like the plague.  Not necessarily as a rule, not because I don't want my kids to be in them, not because I don't like them, or I'm lazy, or I myself am not athletic.   I'll be honest, I've avoided them because of the other parents.

The arm chair quarterbacks.  The screamers.  The hecklers and trash talkers.  The adults reliving their glory days through their five year olds.  The parents who want to argue every play and call made by the coaches and referees.  The parents who want to argue about playing time.

I can't stand the kill-or-be-killed mentality so many parents are drilling into their children on the field, the court, the track, the ice.  I can't handle the blatant abuse, ridicule and disrespect badly disguised as healthy criticism and cheering.  It's gotten out of hand.  It's not behavior I choose to participate in, nor is it behavior I even understand.  I think one of the more appalling things about this behavior is that it isn't targeted just at the other teams, coaches and referees, but also at their own children, and their children's teammates.  This behavior does not build strong men and women, it tears down little boys and girls.  I don't like that sports are no longer about having fun, making friends, getting some exercise and learning good sportsmanship.  It's no longer just about being a kid.  Rather, it's all about winning, it's all about being the best. You are nothing without a win.  Parents are taking the emphasis off teamwork, and moving it to individual pressure.  None of this is done in the name of encouragement.  It's done in the name of being the best, with the best defined as those with the trophy and medals.  He who dies with the most bragging rights, wins.  Organized sports, especially at the younger ages, should be about social skills, and emotional growth and development.

This is the message we are sending our children from the stands: You are only worthy of my love when you are winning.

It disgusts me.

We are no longer teaching our children that some win and some lose, and in that process, how to lose--and win--gracefully.  To be clear, I am not one of those "everyone gets a trophy" moms, either.  In that mentality, we are no longer teaching our children that hard work pays off.  Instead, we are teaching entitlement.

The time has come, however.  I am now an organized sports mom.  I come complete with the SUV covered with team stickers, in case you were wondering. I love my kids, I want them to be happy and well rounded, and well, participating in sports is part of that.  My kids need this.  I will be praying that my children are the light to their teammates, that they will have good, positive, encouraging coaches, for the other teammates and their parents, and most of all, that they will have fun, and, as cheesy as it sounds, that it only matters how you played, not whether you won or lost.  I want my children to learn that I love them no matter what, and my pride comes from a job well done, hard work, and respect shown to their coaches, referees, teammates and the other teams--not a game won or lost.  Please don't misunderstand me, I would love for my children to know the joy of winning, but I want these other things for them more.

Already, I have found myself shouting, "YOU'RE DOING A GREAT JOB" and clapping my heart out, embarrassing my son hoping to drown out the naysayers and negativity.  What I really want to say is, "Hey jerk, let's see you out there doing it better!" I know that is not the example I want to set for my children, so I will continue with my campaign of encouragement instead. And maybe a few dirty looks.

I have promised myself I will behave.  I have promised my children and my husband I will conduct myself in a respectful, respectable manner towards these other parents.  I have have promised I will not say what's really on my mind.  If you know me well enough, you know this is not my strong suit. So, if you happen to see a woman in the stands wearing a strait jacket and duct tape over her mouth, give me a wave, and shout something encouraging to the teams.

"Be an encourager.  The world has too many critics already."

Dave Willis

Be Kind

I have dragged out my soapbox, dusted it off, and am now standing squarely on it.  Something touched a nerve today, so here I am, sounding off.  Again.

Why do we judge other moms?  Why do we even think their choices are any of our business?  Here's the thing:  Nothing about their lives really are our business.  Ask yourself: are their children happy, healthy, (relatively) clean, loved and cared for?  If the answer is yes, then--well, stay out of it.  As long as that mom is not committing illegal, reportable, neglectful or even questionable offenses, stay out of it.  Do not insert opinion here.

Just because she is doing the all-encampassing 'it' differently than you does not make her wrong.  Nor does it make your own choices wrong--or even right.  There are very few instances that make a person an expert in any area, and even fewer instances that beg for those experts to impart their knowledge, especially when they've not been asked.  Unfortunately, there are far too many self-imposed experts who don't see things that way.  When you impose your opinions and views on another, you are not speaking with wisdom and love, nor is the receiving person being enriched.  Instead, you are being bossy and pushy. You are distancing yourself and that person with a wall of judgement and criticism.  Your message is lost in your argument.  You are not being helpful, you are being rude and obnoxious.  Another thing to remember is that just because 'it' works for your family, does not mean 'it' will work for another.

Some moms have many children, and some only have one.  Some moms use formula, others choose to breastfeed.  Some moms homeschool, while others send their children off to private or public school.  Some co-sleep, others use cribs.  Some moms have their children early in life, while others wait.  Some like their children's ages spaced out, others prefer stair steps.  And I can't forget one of the hottest debates around: Some moms stay home, while others work outside the home.

Some of these decisions aren't always choices made out of desire, but instead, made out of circumstances.  Sometimes those decisions are forced on us, just because that's how things roll.  In the realm of personal choices, it's no one's business but our own, and our spouse's, and in cases of faith, God's.

It is not up to us to question those choices.  There are questions I do not ask, things I do not assume, and words I do not say, just because of what has been asked, assumed and said to/of me over the years.  I know how much those things hurt, and how long they echo.

God created us all differently, and for good reasons.  How boring would it be if we all behaved the same, acted the same, thought the same--and raised our children the same?  If we all had the same opinions and made the same choices?

Speak in love.  Be kind.  Choose your words wisely.  Be aware of your audience, especially when that person's children are present.  Be supportive, be encouraging.  And if you don't have something nice to say, keep it shut.

In Your Absence: Measuring Parental Success

There is a bit of parenting advice I've carried with me for years, and it's gotten me through those "What in the world am I doing" days.  It had nothing to do with potty training, sleeping through the night, getting them off on that first day of school, or getting them to eat their vegetables.

What this person told me, in a time of personal desperation with Noah, was worth its weight in gold.

That day, another parent was telling me all the wonderful things Noah was doing when she saw him  in school: How polite he was, how courteous and kind, how he always waved and said hello when he saw her in the hallway, that he was opening doors and helping others.  I remember thinking, "Are we talking about the same Noah?"  For several years, when I met with teachers, I was met with only complaints and negativity.  At home, we had similar struggles.  I always worried about how he was behaving when I wasn't there to remind him of his manners.  I shared my thoughts with this other mom, and she shared this bit of advice with me:

"The measure of success as a parent is when he's doing the things you're teaching him in your absence, even if he's not getting them when you're around."

So, give yourselves a break today, Mom and Dad.  Chances are good, if you're teaching them these things, they are remembering them when you're not around.  Home is their safe place, where they don't necessarily remember manners and they can be slobs, knowing they won't be judged, and will still be loved.

Give yourselves the room to breathe, and relax a bit.  They're getting it.

Manners

Warning:  This is a rant.  Yep.  A rant about manners.  They aren't that hard to use, people.

In raising boys, one of my goals is to raise gentlemen.  Boys turning into men who open doors, remember their manners, are polite to others, complimentary, and courteous.

I will tell you--it's really hard when they aren't encouraged by others.  It makes my job that much more difficult.  They start wondering why they should bother.   Should my children always expect a turnaround from the receiving person?  No, but how hard is a smile and a quick, "Thanks"?

One of my pet peeves is people who can't be bothered to thank my children when they hold doors open. I've watched entire families walk through the door, entire groups, as I wait on my child, and not one single person so much as glanced at him.  On occasion, I've been known to call out "You're welcome!  Have a fantastic day!"  I may or may not mutter something else under my breath after that.  I have thanked the people who do thank my children, explaining that it encourages them to continue the good, polite behavior.

Avery is pleased with himself when he holds a door open.  He knows he's doing something right, and something nice.  He knows he's being a gentleman, he likes doing it, and it makes him happy.  I've taught him to wish the person a good day, and smile.  In some cases, I've watched as my children run ahead of a person just to open the door.  They've also recently been racing each other to see who can get there first.  Only my kids could turn manners into a contest.  *sigh*  Please don't knock down the little old lady, boys....

When my children are polite enough to help you, when any child is polite enough to help you, please don't ignore that child's efforts.  They are young and impressionable, and they need our encouragement. Their parents are working hard to raise good children.  Please encourage them, please thank them, please engage them in a short, quick conversation. This helps develop language and social skills, and lets them know they're on the right track.  You know what?  Maybe you could also encourage that child's parents.  We need to hear more of that, just as much as our children do!

If you aren't encouraging these future adults, you are discouraging them.  And, if you are discouraging them, please don't complain about 'kids today.'  In that respect, you are part of the problem, not the solution.

Thank you.

I hate ADHD

Sounds harsh.  But it's true.  I know that sounds horrible and bitter.  Some days, reality hits harder than others (this might be one of those days).  I just want one day when ADHD doesn't invade our mealtimes, homework times, chore times, life in general.  I want one day without a stranger in public staring at me with "Lady!  Get your kids under CONTROL!  What is WRONG with them????" eyes.  I want one day without feeling like I'm nagging my children, one day without reminder notes posted over our entire home (one day without reminding them to read the reminder notes....), one day without the stress of having forgotten or lost something, or just plain losing my mind.  I just want to get through one day focused, attentive, aware, and well, dare I say it??  Normal.

Then I remember: This is our normal.

Get over it and get used to it, right?

I know there are things my kids cannot help.  We've never allowed them to use it as an excuse, or a reason for not doing something.  Having this diagnosis means they just have try a little harder, or do things differently.  Many times, it means redefining success.  Sometimes, I hold them to higher expectations because I want them to know they can do something, rather than make excuses, or fall back on what's easier.  I do my best to teach them and help them mature and grow in the areas they struggle.  I am not a lazy mother.  My kids have these differences due to genetics and brain chemistry.

Lately though, I am just really pulling my hair out.  I fear for my children and their futures. I feel like I'm not doing my job well enough for them.  They are the ones with the diagnoses, but the entire family suffers.  The entire family is in turmoil when others can't settle down, calm down, concentrate, sit or complete a task, when things are repeatedly lost, broken, tipped over or forgotten.  It's frustrating, and at times, downright maddening. There are nights I go to bed exhausted, angry, frustrated and in tears.  There are days that feel like that movie with Bill Murray, Groundhog Day--here we goooo again! I watch my kids struggle, and it pains my heart.  It also stresses me out.  I am fearful for what their futures hold if we cannot get this under control and teach them how to work with it, rather than them allowing it to work against them.  I just want my kids to be successful and happy.

We've made the decision to start Avery on medication. He was diagnosed back in May; it's early by most standards, but after 14 years of Noah, I knew what we were dealing with.  In an effort to be proactive, I've already met with the school; his teacher, only a week in, has already identified difficulties he is having, and that devastates me.  I'm pleased with the school's response, but more still needs to be done for him. His self esteem is suffering as we have to speak to him more frequently, as he becomes more aware of how he behaves and acts in comparison to most of his peers.  We really had hoped to hold off and work with him a bit more, but he is frustrated, and feels powerless and out of control.  I see the look on his face each time we have to reprimand him repeatedly, and I know it's time.  I need to get to him now before it's too late.

I used to judge parents who medicate.  I thought for sure they were taking the easy way out.  Oh my goodness, especially those parents with more than one child on medication! Then, after exhausting numerous therapies for Noah, I approached the pharmacy counter in tears and filled the prescription we'd been given.  I felt like I was giving up on him.  When we got home, I prayed over that bottle of pills and that first dose.  I prayed that God would provide relief for Noah.  We saw almost an immediate improvement once we found one that worked.  I felt so much guilt for holding out on him.  I saw how much easier things suddenly were for him, and became a believer.  We've kept other therapies in place, and Noah's learned to make life with ADHD and Aspergers work for him.  He still has his struggles, but if you could've seen him 6 years ago before medication, you'd know the difference is a positive one.

Medication does not mean I'm giving up on my children. Medication does not make me a bad mother.  I'm not taking the easy way out.  In fact, I've learned that medication is sometimes the furthest from the easy way out.  There are side effects, sometimes dietary restrictions, and oh, the trial and error process of trying to find the right medication.  It's painful.  For the past several years, Noah has had to choose between being able to function (medicated) over gaining weight and growing to his full potential, due to some of the side effects. I love my children more than I hate the idea of medication and ADHD, and my children deserve the best I can give them.  In this case, it means adding medication to the other therapies and behavioral plans in place.  Medication is not a cure all.  It's a boost up, not a cop out.

If you have not personally wrestled with such a decision, please don't judge those of us who have.  Chances are good, we're beating ourselves up already, and we don't need your two cents.  Sometimes, the road to such a decision causes even more turmoil within the family, and puts stress on marriages.  I'm tired of defending my decisions to those who don't understand, and I'm tired of feeling so defensive.  I'm doing the right thing for my children, and for our entire family.  And please, for the love of God, don't lecture us about alternative therapies and extra extracurricular activities, or regale us with stories about your cousin's uncle's dog's brother's sister who had it and was cured when she drank special water/ate an exotic food/wrapped herself in cellophane (seriously, you wouldn't believe some of the things I've heard).  If it's a legitimate therapy, and sometimes, even if it isn't, we've probably tried it. No need to second guess our parenting decisions and skills. You might think you're helping, but you're not.  Medication is not a decision we make easily or lightly.  You wouldn't hesitate to give a diabetic child insulin, or chemo to a child with cancer, so I don't understand why this issue is such a debate.  It separates and divides us, when what we need, as moms, is to be drawn together supporting each other.  Be kind.  We're all fighting our own battles.

That's MY Boy

It's no secret that I like to brag about my kids. I love them, I'm proud of them, and as a SAHM, my world kind of centers around them.  It's pretty obvious as you scroll through my Instagram feed, there's picture after picture of my children.  Sure, there's the occasional animal, pet, scenery or snarky moment photo--but mostly, it's my boys.  I know they are far from perfect, but I think they're the best people ever.  Yes, even on the days they turn my hair gray, cause me to question my sanity, and get on my last frazzled nerve--they are the best people ever.  Even when they are most certainly not the best people ever, they still are.

They seem to take turns being questionable human beings, so thankfully, I'm not always hit with it all at once.  I can usually count on at least one to behave and make my heart swell with maternal pride while the other one(s) are making me wonder whose children they are as I scan our backyard, the grocery store, church or Chik Fil A for their mother...

One of the things that particularly makes me smile--those moments that make my heart full and cause that hitch in my breathing (the one that usually signals joyous tears are about to pour)--is when I see the lessons I'm desperate for my children to learn coming to fruition.  It's often a struggle between what we, the parents, are trying to teach our children, and what society and the schools are teaching them.

We are a Christian family.  There are certain things we know to be true, and other things we know to be false. Our pastor recently finished a message series about what, and how, we need to be teaching our children, raising them up, preparing them to lead and stand up for their beliefs.  We are in a fight for our children: their lives, their hearts, their souls.

All of that came to fruition recently, on Noah's first day of school.

One of Noah's teachers brought up the theory of evolution.  Noah raised his hand ("I said 'Respectfully sir,' so that makes it okay, right, Mom?") and stated that he was not formed from some kind of unidentifiable goop, but he was formed in his mother's womb by his Father, God.

Do you see me jumping with joy?????  He's listening!  He's listening to me, our pastor, his youth group leaders--he's listening!  And he's putting it into practice!!

When the teacher went on to question if anyone else in the class had a religion, Noah again, respectfully, corrected the teacher.  "Sir, it's not about religion.  It's about relationship.  It's my belief, and it's what I know to be true."

Yes, that's MY boy.  That's God's son, and he's one of the best people ever.

Get Over It, Mom!

Avery challenges me.  Daily.  Some days, hourly.  He challenges my patience, my lack of parenting skills, my knowledge and my energy.  He challenges me in my introversion to step outside of my comfort zones as I raise him as God created him.  He challenges me to try things I wouldn't otherwise want to do.  Avery also challenges my faith, and how I practice my faith....  "Mom.  Pastor Greg and Pastor Jon say we have to pray with the voice we sing with.  And you sing REALLY LOUD."  I know without a doubt that God gave me Avery in order to grow me and stretch me!

Recently, Avery has been challenging my fear.

Avery has been desperate to ride the school bus.  I'm not so desperate for him to ride the bus.  He still looks so small to me.  What if he forgets his stop, or isn't paying attention?  What if there's an accident? There are no seat belts, the bus driver has to diligently divide her/his attention between the road and at least 50 kids, and there are all manner of things he will learn on a school bus with older kids that I am not ready to explain to him.  Yes, I'm fearful.  Last year I was able to make the case that he was still in a car seat, and being able to shuttle him to and from school was one of the reasons I stay home.  I explained that those few minutes in the car with just him each morning and afternoon were our time, just for us, no interruptions, no one else to listen in or talk.

Have I mentioned how quick-witted Avery is?  This year he made the case that he's out of the car seat and in a booster (albeit, a high-backed bubble wrapped one), and we're never alone in the car anymore because Ezra is there, too.  Point: Avery.  This year parent pick up is a bit different, as I have to go into the school, which means taking Ezra out and standing in line in the heat, rain, snow and cold, rather than just pulling up to a curb and Avery hopping in.  Yes, it's a bit of a hassle, but it's a hassle I've chosen to deal with.  It's not the hassle Avery wants to deal with.  Yes, a bus might be a little more convenient this year.

We are three days into the school year, and I have heard no fewer than 194859383 times how much he wants to ride a bus. I've told him it is my job to protect him, that's what I get to do as his mom.  He also knows my fear, as I've told him I worry about his safety on a school bus.

"MOM!  You NEED to get over your FEAR!"  Completely exasperated with me, Avery took that chance to remind me that he is God's child first (you know those moments when you hear your own words coming out of your child's mouth and you realize they were actually listening???), God will protect him, and I shouldn't be afraid because "God says we shouldn't."  The mouths of babes.

So, here I am.  Slowly working up the courage to allow my little bird to clip the apron strings just a bit more, and working even more on the urge to not follow the bus as it pulls away with a piece of my heart on board.

I'm working on it kid, I'm working on it.

Back To School

Dearest Children, Preteens, Teenagers and Young Adults,

Soon, you will be heading back to school.  Some of you are excited about your very first day of preschool or kindergarten.  Others are beginning or finishing up high school.  Maybe you are heading off to college.  What you think might be your parents cheering as the bus pulls away, or as you walk away from our cars, is really us trying to put on a brave face and not let you see our tears as we watch you grow up.

Sending you off to school is a bittersweet milestone for us as your parents.  Whether you are homeschooled, public schooled, private schooled, or online schooled, we work towards helping you attain these goals of maturing and succeeding.  Our ultimate goal as your parents is to raise you up just to send you off.  At the same time, there are moments when we just want you to be that small, snuggly child who only wants to be held.  Just one more time.  Please, stop growing.

So, please, I ask you: When we want to walk you to the bus stop, or drive you to school that first morning, please let us.  If we want to take endless photos of you in your first day of school clothes, let us.  If we want to hug and kiss you as you leave the safety of our arms, please let us.  When we take you to meet your teachers and take the time to introduce ourselves, please be patient with us.  When we want to have a conversation with administrators and teachers, when we want to talk about classroom policies, subject content and learning materials, please be patient with us.  Please remember that we are turning you, our life's greatest treasures, over to these strangers, and they must pass muster.   If your parents insist on helping you, the mature, independent college freshman, unpack and decorate your room, if they insist on introducing themselves to everyone on your hall, and want to follow you around campus: please, let them. Yes, even when your mom has a video camera in her hand, and your dad has a camera in his.  We don't mean to embarrass you with any of our actions, we are merely excited for you.  We are expressing our love and excitement in the ways we know how.  This is one of the ways we are interested and involved in your lives.  We are your biggest champions and cheerleaders, and we have such a small amount of time with you before you head off into the world.  We love you, we have raised you to be this successful, mature, independent individual, and now you're off, just like that!

This is your time, and we want the chance to watch you shine.  So, please--let us.