Wow, Your Hands Sure Are Full!

I was shopping last night and saw one of those cutesy signs that read, "If you think my arms are full, you should see my heart!"

Yes, you know my reaction was a snarky combination of eye rolling and finger-down-the-throat gagging.

The sign also got me thinking about something that happened to me, which led to this post.

Last year Shawn was going to be home late and I was in no condition to throw any kind of dinner together, so before we picked Noah up from practice, the littles and I hopped in the car to grab dinner from Chik Fil A.  Now, if you're not familiar with Chik Fil A, there's really no 'grabbing' anything during peak meal times.  The drive thru wraps itself around the town at least once, and if you happen to have the misfortune of pulling into the parking lot on a spirit night as I did that night, it wraps itself around the town for several miles, or you're parking in the next county over and walking.  Rather than try to attempt entertaining two small children in the drive thru, I finally found a parking space and I took the littles in for our carry out order.  The cashier handed multiple bags and a heavy drink carrier--to my already burdened arms, carrying a squirming infant, an umbrella (because yes, it was also raining--oh, the time had just changed, so it was also dark), my purse and my 6 year old's hand.  Between the crowd at the door inside the restaurant, and on my way to my car in the dark, wet parking lot, no fewer than five people commented how full my hands were.  One of them even allowed the door to slam shut in my face, leaving me to open it with my son's head elbow and foot.  Not one of those observant morons humans offered to help me.  I really considered throat punching the next person who made such a ridiculous observation.  When everything but Ezra and Avery's hand finally slipped out of my hands in the middle of the parking lot, I dropped to my knees in tears, dinner all over the parking lot, ruined.  I cried, I yelled and I screamed, if only one person had offered to help.  I didn't even bother cleaning up the mess our dinner had made. Yes, I felt quite like the crazy lady right there in the middle of the parking lot.  We all got back in the car, all of us in tears, picked Noah up (Avery quickly explained to him that "Mommy dropped dinner and screamed at Chik Fil A.") and went home to canned soup for dinner.  

If only one person had offered to help.  You could be the difference between a good day or a bad one for someone.  Wouldn't you want to help a person have a good day?  All it takes is an offer of help.  All that person can do is say no--and hey, you've done your part.

"Could I carry that coffee cup to the register for you?"
"Could I please take your tray to the trash can?  Gosh, I remember when my kids were that age!"
"I would really like to help, it looks like your arms are full, what can I do?"
"Here, please take my arm and we can step down this curb together!"
"Is there something I can reach for you?"

It doesn't take much to be nice, to be thoughtful.  A simple smile, a door held open, a quick pleasantry at the door.  An offer of help.  There are times when it's not so much that a person's arms are full, but the person is caught in public, overwhelmed by life--emotions like grief sneak up and catch us off guard.  Disabilities and pain are another big part of life. So often we lose ourselves in our own little worlds, oblivious to the needs of others, oblivious to others at all.  I beg you--wake up, be aware.

My ending thought--be the light.  Don't be the jerk with the dumb, obvious comment.  Be the nice human with the nice smile and the waiting arms.

To the Adorable Little Girl in Target

I've had a rough time lately.  I haven't felt the Christmas spirit, and I've struggled.  December is usually a tough month for me anyway; I told myself this year would be different--but a few things have happened, and I've allowed them to drag me down.  I haven't dealt with them as well as I thought I would, or had.  It's unfortunate.  I'm tough on myself when this happens, because I have so much to be thankful for.  I live an amazing life, but there's one little glitch in my brain that makes things more difficult sometimes.

This time of year I start thinking about the gifts we can't wrap.  I think about my grown up Christmas list, all the many things other people need, but sadly are unable to provide for themselves or their families.  I think of all the things I want that cannot be put under any tree.  Occasionally I obsess a little (too much) on it.  I get melancholy, or, as Noah puts it, somber.

So, instead of having a home that's warmly decorated, I have a tree that's up and sort of halfway sort of decorated, a yard that's decorated (thanks to Noah), and 8 boxes or decorated scattered around the house that I'm constantly tripping over.

I've done a lot of 'faking it' for Avery's sake, or tried to at least.  Noah can see through it, and Shawn knows the truth.

So, maybe that helps you understand why you, dear child--you have no idea the gift you gave me the other night.  I came across you and your parents at the lights in the Christmas section; I motioned to your mom that I would steer my cart around behind the three of you because the look on your face was priceless as your dad carefully explained all the different kinds of lights to you, I just didn't want to break the spell.  You were in complete awe!!!  You happened to look over at me anyway, a huge, beautiful, happy grin on your face.  Your smile was catching, and I said to you, "There's magic in those lights, isn't there?!"  You nodded, jumping up and down, clapping your little hands and shouting, "YES!  YES!"

Sweet girl, my prayer is this:  That you will continue to share that light in your smile with others.  That the world does not jade you in any way.  I pray your parents continue to foster this awe in you, and continue the patiences they demonstrated, explaining each light to you.  I pray you only ever know love and security.  And I pray that someday, somehow, you know just how exactly how much your smile meant to me, and much it brightened my evening.

My Son is a Student Driver....

.... And You Once Were Also.

I want you to remember that, as you drive down the road, honking maniacally at the teenager driving the speed limit and obeying the traffic laws in front of you.  As you deem yourself 'stuck' behind the slowest driver on the planet, waving your favorite finger and yelling your favorite unchristian words at him.  As you pass him illegally, screaming out your window, cell phone in one hand, coffee in the other, putting everyone on the two lane back road at risk.  Endangering my child's life because your phone call and arriving at your destination before everyone else are more important than his life.

Few things make a mom hit her knees in prayer more than having her child behind the wheel of a car, and let me tell you, I've got bruises on mine.  But knowing my child has already had numerous run-ins with people like this just frightens me all the more.  We're talking wrap-my-kid-in-bubble-wrap level of fear.

Everyone has to learn, and everyone must start somewhere. Noah has a fair level of confidence, and he does very well.  He still stalls at the stop signs every now and then, and, as a smart new driver, he takes the speed cautions on back road curves seriously.  No triple-dog-daring for him, he wants to make it home safely with his dad to his mama and his little brothers (and his mama likes it that way).  Noah is a smart kid.  Shawn started him off in the neighborhood, graduated him the roads around our neighborhood and now they've taken on some of the more challenging back roads, but still no major roads or highways.

I don't want to address road rage as an issue with this blog, even though it is a major problem in our country; I want to address putting a student driver at risk, and remembering that we all were, at one point, student drivers, and the need to be patient with today's student drivers.  We can't possibly know for sure the driver next to us or in front of us is a student driver and not a distracted driver, but let's go back to that word again:  PATIENCE.  We all tend to lose that skill when we get caught up in 70 mph traffic on the 4 lane highway in the middle of rush hour.  But what about the 2 lane back roads, which are supposed to be taken at a safe, leisurely 45 mph speed?  Enjoy the view, relax, and be grateful for the student driver in front of you who just saved you from plowing into that tree on that curve had you been going your usual 70 mph.

To put it another way--do you want to be the reason parents have to bury their child?  Because you were too impatient, because your phone call was more important and you were the distracted driver, because you chose to make dangerous, unsafe and illegal choices?

Please, my children are my life.  I live for them.  I love them more than you could understand.  Please be patient with them, and all the student drivers, on the road.  Be kind.

My son is a student driver, and you once were also.

You've Earned Your Wings

Dearest Mirranda Grace,

I never knew you or your parents, but your death has devastated me.  I've prayed so hard for you, for your recovery, for your miracle, for your complete healing.  I know I'm not the only complete stranger in this position today.  I've prayed for the compassion of the hospital, I've prayed for your family, for your precious parents who have fought so hard for you.  I've fasted, my friends have fasted, my friends have prayed with me, and you've been a prayerful subject in our home.  I've prayed for you at the altar, both by myself and with an intercessor; I've cried out to God. I let loose with wailing sobs last night after my boys went to bed. I couldn't hold it in any longer.  My husband held me for the longest time while I cried about the unfairness of it, while I cried that if God could take your parents' miracle child, could He take ours, and repeatedly asking why He took you?  Eventually I woke up two of our boys, and they came down to comfort me. I just don't understand, precious one, I just don't understand.  Logically, I know your suffering is over--God couldn't stand to see you suffer here on earth anymore.  Your work was finished.  He just couldn't 'fix' you here.  So He took you Home, the only way He could heal you 100%.  You are healed, whole, better, running, laughing playing with other little girls.  But emotionally, in my mama heart--it just doesn't make sense.  I want to curl into a ball--but to honor your memory properly, I care for, and deeply love my own children even more than I already do. I play with them, laugh, joke, hug, kiss, chase them in a game even more.  I will spend each day watching them more carefully, being more grateful for them, and for their good health EVEN MORE.

I wanted so badly to just walk past you and your family in the grocery story one day, and just smile.  I  just wanted to see you bouncing, happy, laughing, healed, whole, not a single sign of the ordeal you'd been through.  I wanted to see your parents swinging you between them, looking down at you, love in their eyes, smiles on their faces, relief in their bodies.

You were their miracle child, your mom and dad's infertility child, the child they tried for for so long, and God finally gifted you to them.  It is difficult for me to understand why God took you from them so soon after granting you to them.

The doctors declared you brain dead.  They wanted to declare you legally dead, but your parents wouldn't have it.  They believed you were still in there, and rightfully so, declaring that God is the only one who has the last word.  They fought so hard against the hospital and the legal system.  They wanted to just take you home and care for you themselves.  What is came down to with the hospital, was the bottom line--you cost them money.  What a sad, unfortunate way to view a child--to view anyone's child.  How callous.  Your parents--what an amazing example to the rest of us.  How beautiful.

I'm not ready to take your name off our prayer wall.  You will remain up there for a while to come. I was never much of a prayer warrior before reading the first article about you, but there was just something--God said that I really needed to pray, and pray fervently, and I did.  My prayer mantra for you was, "Your breath, Your blood"--Jesus' breath, Jesus' blood, just for you, sweet girl.  Jesus breathing for you, his breath in your lungs, his blood rushing through your veins, healing you with each breath and each pump of your heart.  My prayer now will change for your soul, and for your family, for their recovery and healing, especially your dear mum, as this all began on her birthday.  I will also pray for those doctors and lawyers.  It may not be my place, but I personally need something good to come from this, whether I ever know about it or not.  Perhaps your parents' unwavering faith was/is a testimony to someone at the hospital or in the court, or someone else following the news articles about you, someone who needed to be led to, or back to God, someone who needed a reason to believe.

I can't properly explain how much you touched our lives here, or why.  I have a a few theories, but I won't go into those.  With each prayer I prayed every day, every hour, you gave my life more purpose.  I will never forget your amazing blue eyes and that beautiful smile of yours in the photo your parents distributed!! That is the you I choose to hold in my memory, rather than the photo of you in the coma, wires and tubes attaches. Thank you for allowing me the blessing of praying for you.  My tears are not over, but I know they will change over time as God gives me the vision of you playing in Heaven, pain free, and unencumbered by tubes and wires.

You've earned your wings, precious girl.  Fly free. And if you happen to meet a little girl with yellow hair name Grace, please tell her Mommy loves her very much, and some day we'll see each other.

In the Spirit of Thanksgiving (Supernatural Superglue)

"With friendships, I found my desire for connection was stronger than my fear of rejection"
--Lisa Whelchel

I'm not a moms' group type of person.  I get halfway through a meeting, and I'm ready to run.  I've tried several, but they're too cliquy, too personal, or not personal enough, too big, or too small, too organized, or too unorganized, too touchy-feely, or not touchy-feely enough.  Some advertised meeting for fellowship, but were in fact very Pinterest-y, or concentrated on having speakers, or snuck in a bible study or book group.  Some provided child care (because, let's face it, one of the obvious reasons we go to moms groups is to get a break from our children), while others expected your child to sit beside you, perfectly quiet, ankles crossed, hands folded, flawlessly parted hair (no cowlicks, here!), and don't forget the designer clothing!   I used to compare myself to the perfect moms with their perfect bodies sipping their perfect soy lattes bragging about their perfect and brilliant princesses, wondering what I could possibly have in common with these women.  I could feel their eyes judging me.  I didn't feel safe when I tried to share, I felt pitied.  I was desperate to connect, but I feared rejection even more.  I just couldn't find a moms group that fit my needs, kept my eyes from rolling out of my head and made me feel safe.  So, I swore off moms' groups. Bu-bye.

I'm also a perpetual bible study drop out.  A few weeks in, and I would stop going.  I might've made an excuse or two at first, then just conveniently forget about it.  Oops.  

Oh, and then there's that whole introversion thing.

So when Pastor L approached me and two other women about leading a moms' group at our church, I was standing up to leave before she could finish her sentence!  Ohhhh, no, no, no!  I'd been this road too many times in attendance of these ridiculous groups, absolutely no way was I going to lead one!!!  In my head, I heard His voice, plain as day, "Amy Noelle, if you don't sit down this very instant and hear her out, I'm going to use supernatural superglue on your behind to make sure you do!"  Alllllllrighty then.

And so we began--three shy, introverted women, wondering what in the world we were doing, but listening to God and trusting in Him that it would all work out, and hoping HE knew what we were doing!

We began our group a little over a year ago meeting every two weeks. We could not believe how many moms signed up!  We quickly moved to meeting every week because we realized just how much we needed each other.  There was an immediate connection, love, compassion, an understanding among us. There are some weeks we would meet every day, if we could!  Many of the connections groups take off during the holidays and summers, but we keep on going.  There is a need this group fills for each of us. We don't lead with a curriculum like many groups do; we lead with our hearts for each other and our Father, God leads us.  We are a support group, a friendship circle, a fellowship group, not necessarily a bible study or book club, but if one of finds something during our quiet time during the week, we will share it with the rest of the group.

We have amazing, loving sitters, but if a child needs to join us, we kind of pass him or her around.  There's a good chance at least one of us has snacks, juice boxes and toys in our purses or diaper bags, and those are shared.  Children are not expected to sit quietly and behave--they are children, after all! Good grief, let them act like children!  As for the babies, if you don't bring them to me in our meeting room and let me take them home pass them around, well, what's the point in coming?!?!?!  Just kidding, just kidding!!!  But seriously, let me hold your baby.

I can't imagine life without these women.  I'm grateful my co-leaders and I took that leap, and I'm so grateful for each and every one of these amazing women.  They are such gifts to me!  There is no judgement--Rule #1--and there is always confidentiality--Rule #2.  We offer a safe place for whatever we need to say, and however we need to say it.  Some days we're more organized than others--and the days we're not, we realize those are the days God is leading the best.  On the days we do have something planned, we throw it all out the window for good conversation, or if someone has something in particular she really needs to talk out.

We are none of the things in the first paragraph of this post.  What we are is: Faithful to each other, caring, loving, providing, understanding, listening, laughing, sharing.  We cry with each other, we praise and worship with each other, we fill in each other's blanks.  We are each other's supernatural superglue.  Last week, I began to cry during my prayer and couldn't finish it, so a friend picked up where I had to leave off.  She doesn't even know the person I was praying for, but that's what she did for me.  THAT is only one amazing part of what our beautiful little group is about.

Most importantly, we are FRIENDS.  We can count on each other, we lean on each other.  We pray for each other, and love each other.  And for that, I'm eternally grateful.

It took me fifteen years to find these women and form this group.  My point is this--do not give up.  If you are not the group type, but long to belong, I encourage you to please do not give up.  If you belong to a church, speak to your connection group leader about forming a group and look for other women with whom to form it.  If you are looking for a group within your community, Google is a great place to start.  Contact the leaders, and quiz them, give one meeting a try.  Please don't give up, please keep searching until you find your own supernatural superglue.  Much to love and blessings to you on your search, dear one.

You Deserve Him

Dearest One,

There is someone I know.  I know him well.  I love him dearly, he's been so good to me.  He followed me, pursued me for years.  I resisted him.  I was raised with him--although later on I learned I didn't know him the way I thought I did--but I got to the point I really defied him.  I was just so angry at him!  As an adult, a friend told me it was okay to be angry at him, for he already knew the depth of my anger-- and the depth of his love could cover it. I wanted nothing to do with him, unless it was to blame him and point my finger at him for the way I felt my life was turning out.

My friend told me he knew what was best for my life, and I needed to learn to trust him.  Trusting anyone was not my strong point, and it took me a long time.  If this man knew what was best for me, why did so much of it feel like pain and hurt?  What could possibly come from any of that?

I did learn to trust.  And I learned to learn.  I learned to listen.

This Man became Healer.  Teacher.  Father--Abba, Daddy.  He became Joy, Calm, King.  He calls me Daughter, Beloved.  He died for me, because I am so important to Him.  He has promised me eternal life--and all He wants in return is me.  All of me. He is Hope, and Beauty, Grace and Mercy, Wisdom and Guidance. He is Provider, Power, Redeemer.  He is Creator.  When others fail me, He is my Constant.  Most importantly, HE.  IS.  LOVE.

You are my hiding place; You will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.  Psalm 32:7

Precious one, these are the very same things He is for you.  Do you know that He died just for you, also?  You are so priceless to Him that He knows the very hairs on your head. When earthly ones fail you, He is there, Father, Friend, Faithful.  He is our example of what a gentleman should be, and how we deserve to be treated.

Fear not, for I am have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.  Isaiah 43:1

You are worthy of Him.  You deserve so much better than the way you are being treated right now, and He wants you to know that.  This is not how He intended life for you.  Let Him in.  Call Him into your heart.  Let Him show you the way.  You are deserve Him, you are worth it.  Don't try to wrap your head around His unconditional love after years of abuse, because even a person who hasn't experienced abuse can't comprehend it.  For the longest time I wanted to know WHY He loves me, and the answer is "He just does.  Because you are His child." You don't have to earn it, you don't have to keep it, you don't have to dance through hoops.  He created you, and He loves you.

I love you so very much, and it hurts me so much to see you in pain.  I know you're hurting.  As much as it hurts me, I know it hurts Him even more.  As much as I cry for you, I know He cries even more.  Let Him in.  He cares for you, and loves you so very much.

Love Always,
Me

"Happy" Veteran's Day

I don't want this post to be one of accidental disrespect, or extreme negativity.  I will start off by saying I have nothing but the utmost respect for our military and veterans.  I am grateful for them, for their families, and the sacrifices they make on behalf of our country every day.  I have a deep pride, and a deep love for this amazing country of ours.  Today, we have the humbling blessing of honoring our many veterans.  I praise God for these men and women, for their wisdom and strength, and for following the commandments the Lord has given them.

However, I struggle with the sentiment "Happy Veteran's Day."  I know that many say it for lack of any other way to express their gratitude, but I do wish people would think their words over, and choose them more carefully.

Perhaps the 'happy' is when the veteran comes home at all, but sadly, most of our veterans are coming home badly bruised and broken.  They are lost souls, and they, along with their families, suffer horribly. Many of our veterans come home and cannot function in everyday society.  They cannot function within their own homes and families.  It's sad and there is nothing 'happy' about it.

In 2013, a VA study found that at least 22 veterans were/are committing suicide every day.  In 2014, at least 50,000 veterans accounted for the homeless community.  PTSD affects at least 31% of Vietnam veterans, 10% of Gulf War veterans, and 11% and counting of our current wars and engagements.  The statistics go on.  And yes, there are statistics of successful veterans, as well.

I grew up with a functionally alcoholic and severely depressed father, who also had latent/undiagnosed PTSD, a result of his time in Vietnam.  There was nothing happy about that man.  No way about it, he suffered, and so did our family.  

That said, I also learned a lot.

I am always grateful for our veterans.  I am grateful beyond words for our military, and I have a deep love and pride for our country. This love and respect was grown by my father's 20-plus years in the USMC, and being raised surrounded by other so-called military brats just like me.  Shawn and I have taught our boys that every day is a day to celebrate our country and military, not just November 11.  We always express our gratitude.

I ask you to do the same--to express your gratitude.  To remember our veterans and military every day.  I ask you to please find a different way of doing so, a word other than 'happy.'

Today, and always, veterans of America, I honor you.  Thank you.

Hope, Not Hate

I've contemplated this all morning.  I understand this will not be a popular post, and I'm okay with that.  That's not why I write, anyway.

This past year, and especially in the past 24 hours, I've watched, sadly, as the enemy has divided.  He has come to conquer and ruin and destroy--and he's getting away with all of it, and we're letting him.  Families, friendships, working relationships, complete strangers--ruined by words, by hate, by differences in opinion and beliefs.  Rather than being kind to one another, everyone only wants to be right, consequences be damned. The enemy has brought hate and vitriol with him, and we fell right into his trap. Rather than fight against him, we are chanting along with him, BURN IT DOWN!  And yet--do we even know, or care, what we are burning down?

The thief enters only to steal, kill, and destroy. I came so that they could have life—indeed, so that they could live life to the fullest.  John 10:10

I am saddened by this.  There's just so much hate, too much hate.  I turned off my social media today because I couldn't take it anymore.  I'm weary.

I can't live this way.  As a Christian, as a human, a wife, a mom--as a friend.  My best friend and I are polar opposites.  I can't imagine my life without her!  We bring variety to each other's lives! We force each other to consider opinions different from our own!  One of the first things I did this morning was thank her for her, and tell her how grateful I am that we have always been able to agree to disagree.  This is part of what makes our friendship last.

What happened to being able to do this as a country, as humans?  Just agreeing to disagree, and moving on?  Shaking hands, and honoring one another's opinions?  What is the point to a democracy if we are all forced to think alike?  I don't care who you voted for, and it's also none of my business (which is another problem--social media has made everyone's politics everyone else's business, but that's another post)!  What I do care about it is how you treat other people (and animals).  Your opinions matter to me, because you matter to me!

We love because He first loved us. 1 John 4:19

Listen, we woke up this morning.  We are breathing.  We are blessed to live in a country with choices and freedoms, where our opinions are valued, and we are not persecuted for our beliefs.  There are people who do not have these blessings, and unfortunately, lack many others as well.

You are my refuge and my shield; I have put my hope in your word.  Psalm 119:114

Most of all, we will always have hope, and no matter who our president is, I have my Father, the King who reigns over all.  I will stand on the hope He, and He alone, gives.

Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice; And let them say among the nations, "The LORD reigns." 1 Chronicles 16:31

We All Need A Little Christmas

(That's the sound of a mouthful of words.... Pardon while I type with my mouth full.)

I don't often do this, so take advantage while you can.  I'm going to eat my own words.  And no, this is not a political post, even though it may look like one.  But it's not.  It isn't, so please don't stop reading.

A few posts ago, I begged everyone to hold off on Christmas until after Thanksgiving.  Yeahhhhhh.  About that.

That was until I realized that in this season of electoral crap, the mess this country is in and the world in general--we NEED the 'magic' that Christmas brings.  Not the manufactured, store-bought greed Christmas, but the magical, seen-through-the-eyes-of-a-child, feel that wraps itself around you in a warm hug kind of way Christmas.

We are hurting.  As a nation, as a world, as individuals, as families.

This year, we NEED this.

So, BRING.  IT.  ON. Bring out those CDs and records and Pandoras and whatever else you have and BLAST those Christmas feel good songs!   Let's put up those decorations a month early!  Kick up your heels and stroll through the aisles of Christmas trees!  Cruise through the neighborhoods oohing and aching over the Christmas lights.  Find something to celebrate with hot chocolate.  Celebrate gratitude, life, liberty and freedom.  Celebrate whatever you want to celebrate! Agree to disagree with a friend, or even a total stranger.  Spread hugs, and smiles and prayers.

Most of all, remember the reason why we get to celebrate this holiday.  We need our Savior, perhaps now more than ever.

Just BE in the moment.  Be in the true spirit of this holiday.  Be with your family, your friends, your loved ones.  And for those who can't, please be with them in prayer, in spirit and in love.

Is There Room For One More?

I did it.  I jumped on the No More Homework Bandwagon.

I am in the process of writing the "Dear Teachers, We respectfully decline..." letter to Avery's teachers.

Please understand, I am not a rude parent.  I do not mean any disrespect to Avery's teachers, and I am not teaching him to disrespect his teachers either. I am the parent who has always, ALWAYS backed the teacher up, whether I agreed or not, because in the school, the teacher is the authority.  I have wrestled with this decision.  I understand the purpose of homework.  I have ridden the fence concerning this since the beginning of the school year.  I've read through the research of homework vs. no homework.  I've watched my child and wrestled with what I know and feel in my gut is absolutely best for him, and what the public school system requires from him.

Honestly, though?  I wish I had done this sooner--about ten years sooner, when Noah was in kindergarten.

I wish I had stood up for both of my non-traditionally learning children sooner.  Homework has always been a fight in our house.  Fifteen minutes, yeah, sure, whatever.  Try 2-3 hours of yelling, crying, begging and finally, just giving up.  It's never been pretty.  It's always been a stress on our relationships with our children, and on our marriage. There have been afternoons I've given up, and waited until Shawn got home from work so he could deal with it.  If we thought the boys were tired when they got home, they were/are definitely tired at that point.  Homework has always been a horrible stress on our children.  It's too much to ask of them at the end of a day of sitting for 6 hours, especially at Avery's age, and with his diagnosis.

There has to be a give.  Home has to be a safe place for my children.  It has to be the place where they can let it all hang out, relax and not be stressed.  It has to be a place where, after having to sit still for 6 hours in school, he knows he won't have to sit still for another 2 hours for homework.  I am standing up for my child.  I know Avery best, and I know this is not a healthy way for him to learn, or to live.

This does not make me a lazy parent. This is not a cop-out, Avery is not getting away with anything. Shawn is working with Avery on programming and coding, something he loves and excels with.  Avery is still working on Reflex Math, a school supported computer program he does here at home.  I am still reinforcing his weekly vocabulary and handwriting through sentence writing, which is something he enjoys.   We've also recently discovered he loves madlibs and has a great time with those (and doesn't know he's practicing handwriting and spelling with those!), and he loves to sit down and make up homework for himself to do when I'm working on mine. Avery loves to read, and when he's not forced to do so, it's the first thing he does when he gets home, and he will read for 30 minutes or more, uninterrupted, on his own.  He also loves to read to Ezra, which has become a wonderful bonding experience for both of them (as opposed to the stress imposed on all of us by homework).

Last week was my experiment week. Without homework our afternoons and evenings were calmer.  Our relationship was easier and less stressed.   Our home, overall, was calmer, and believe it or not, more structured.  Avery was calmer, less anxious,
and less wired.  He was happier and livelier.  That's all the research this mama needs.

The Social Services Episode

There's a sitcom we really enjoy because it kind of hits close to home.   There's also a twist on things that makes us laugh about our own lives.  In fact, it hits sooooo close to home, that, even as we laugh, we've often had to turn off an episode before it started a marital argument!

One episode in particular sticks with us, just because one day we know social services is gonna come a'knockin' on our front door.  One of our brilliant children will have said something stupid partially true, but not have given the entire story.

In the episode we joke about, the family is trying to clean up quickly, the mother chucks a beer bottle at one of the kids so he can toss it in the trash, and accidentally hits the kid with it instead.  Barely a scratch (do you see where I'm going with this???), but by the time the kid finished bandaging himself, he looked as though he'd had major surgery. And, of course, he told his teachers his mom hit him with a beer bottle, who turned around and called social services.

Yep.  I'm sure you can take it from here, especially if you have children. 

So, as I said, Shawn and I just know that one of these days, social services will most likely show up on our doorstep.  One of our beautiful, brilliant children will have told a story to a teacher or a friend, but will have neglected to include the most important words, "but it wasn't on purpose" or "it was an accident."

Things like:
"Dad dropped the baby down the stairs after telling him to be quiet." (because he tripped over Avery's toys while carrying him)

"Dad punched Noah/kneed Avery in the throat/kicked one of them in the leg." (because they were boxing or wrestling or otherwise sparring, and they were all wearing protective gear)

"Mom tripped Ezra." (because she was stretching her leg and he didn't walk around it)

I've got a million other stories like those, and those three aren't even the worst of them.

So, dear, understanding social worker, please come in, have a cup of tea and a (store-bought) scone, and allow me to enlighten you about living in left field.  And I'll even tell you about the time Noah smacked Ezra's head with the door (because Lilly rushed him to get outside first).

It's the Most Wonderf--WAIT! It's only October!

I should warn you, prior to writing this post, I completely broke my own hard and fast rule and purchased Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving.  Stupid Kohls and their cute little reindeer and santas.  Geez.  Next, I'll be camping out at midnight before Black Friday and throwing elbows and blacking eyes for the last box of chai k-cups.

This time of year my depression begins to worsen.  The lack of lighting in the day, the cooler air moving in, and, I think most of all, the materialism we are seeing more and more of in the stores, all have an affect on me.

As I wander through the stores, I see them moving each holiday up further every year.  I noticed this year the Christmas items are now prominently displayed directly next to Halloween items, not even waiting for October to be over.  With the retail business shoving Christmas stuff down our throats, I’m finding it easy to lose the ‘feel’ of Christmas before Halloween even arrives.  I am saddened deeply by this. Thanksgiving barely gets an honorable mention.

I saw a meme on social media proclaiming, "Tis the season to bribe our kids with Santa!"  Really?

Please don't misunderstand me.  I LOVE Christmas.  I love the feel of it.  Just not the stuff of it.  Does that make sense?  I love the meaning behind it.  I can't wait for the smells, the sounds, the things we do with the boys to celebrate, but everything else has me just cringing.

What kind of world are we raising our children in?

Answer:  A greedy one.  A selfish one.  A self-centered one.  A rude one.  An incredibly materialistic one.  Are you getting the idea yet?

I think this is something we have to ask ourselves, whether you consider yourself a believer or not.

Shawn and I get discouraged trying to keep it simple, trying to keep it intentional.  Often, the retail business can make it feel as though we’re fighting a losing battle.   We feel as though we try so hard to raise our children honorably and meaningfully.  We do not bend to their every whim.  We do a lot for others, and involve the children in all of it. Yet, we still feel as though we are missing the mark. We want to be intentional.  We want to raise loving, intentional, thoughtful, selfless adults.

I saved this link from last year and wanted to share it with you.  I'm going to start working on it soon, in order to keep the ideas flowing, as well as to begin growing (and most importantly!) the FEEL of Christmas. And, you know what, I'm just going to say it--Merry Christmas!!!

http://www.foxnews.com/opinion/2015/12/11/elisabeth-hasselbeck-how-our-familys-christmas-went-from-getting-to-giving.html

A Good Laugh

Y'all know I love animals.  And y'all know I love Jesus.  So, this will make sense.

We--myself and Shawn--were deeply in need of a good laugh by the time we got home this evening.  It's been a long, emotionally charged day.  Pulling into our neighborhood, we'd reached the exhausted stage of goofy laughter, when everything and anything is funny, and our kids are looking at us as though we've got three eyes.

Sometimes, Jesus knows just how much you need a good laugh over a really good cry.  Tonight, He gave us that good laugh in the form of a sweet old yellow lab.

Quick backstory: There are a few yellow labs who occasionally wander the neighborhood.  We don't know their names, so we lovingly refer to them as "Traffic," because they're really all we see for traffic out here.  In the past, I've loaded them in my car (they really prefer the taste of my toddler), and delivered them home.  I've never actually met their people.

Okay, back on track.

Standing in the middle of the road was one of our neighborhood labs--except it wasn't Traffic 1 or Traffic 2.  We made a split second decision that Shawn would walk with him through the neighborhood, hoping the dog would show him where he lives (and keeping the dog safe from cars), and I would take the boys home--getting out of the car to switch places, the dog jumped in!  He quickly settled himself into the passenger seat and seemed to charge me, "Home, James!"

The neighbor in the car behind us shouted, "Looks like you just adopted yourselves a new dog!"

We laughed, shook our heads and headed off--Shawn walking home, and me with the dog, and the boys, looking for anyone who looked as though they might be looking for a dog.  I've never had a dog who loves car rides, so I laughed hysterically as this dog settled his huge bum first in the passenger seat next to me, drooling everywhere, then climbed into the back to settle next to Avery, then between Noah and Ezra, leaving drool EVERYWHERE.

After talking with several people but coming up empty, I turned our car toward home, with a bowl of water and a fenced in back yard (and our own very unhappy dog yapping up a storm inside HER HOUSE). 

Shortly after, a very distraught looking woman in a mini van pulled into our driveway--yep, Hoosier's mommy.

Hoosier, I hope you know that we needed the good laugh you gave us tonight.  The way you very comfortably settled into our car, and our hearts, was priceless.  I will be cleaning your drool off my windows and out of the crevices of my seats for days to come, but you're welcome to hang out in my car anytime.

Can We All Just Stop Apologizing???

Well,  unless you really need to, that is.  But that's something you might need to take up with Jesus.

No, seriously.  We need to stop apologizing for infractions we have no control over.  I'm done with it. Next time you apologize to me for something that has nothing to do with you, or some other 'silly' reason, I'm likely to either hug you, or swat your hand.  Can you tell I kind of hit a wall with this today?????

Example A:  A friend really needed to talk, then apologized for taking up too much time (the reality is, she talked for less than 10 minutes, she spoke to the heart of several of us, and sparked an amazing group conversation.).  Ummmm.  Hello?  If you need to talk, you need to talk.  Get it out!  Why are we so worried about taking up each other's time?  Isn't that what friendship is about?  When we meet for coffee, groups, and so on, we are in safe places.  We are there, intentionally, for each other.  One of my biggest pet peeves is when people ask "How are you doing" but don't mean it.  They ask merely because it is the polite thing to do.  I've learned to read the situations and the people who really mean it, and the people who could care less; for the people who could care less, I want to ask why they bother.  Please, if you need time to talk--don't apologize.  Your friends love you dearly.  What you have to say is important.

Example B:  While ordering lunch for myself and Ezra today, the person in front of me became impatient and made a huge point of peeling out of the drive through after placing his order.  When it was my turn at the window, it confused things a little, and the cashier apologized profusely, several times.  Dude, it totally wasn't his fault--it was the impatient guy's fault; he couldn't wait out the two cars ahead of him for a $2 cup of coffee????  I reassured the cashier numerous times, but it didn't seem to help the situation.  It really was completely beyond his control.  There was nothing he could've done about it, yet he continued to apologize.

Even I do it.  I'm tired of hearing the words come out of my mouth.  As if smoothing any kind of situation over will make apologizing better--I'm sorry I took an extra 10 seconds at the check out stand, I'm sorry I laughed when I maybe should have just smiled, I'm sorry my name is Amy, I'm sorry I'm this instead of that, I'm sorry for this and that.... In awkward situations, I even resort to the "I'm sorry I'm just a dumb little woman" routine.  Ugh.  I'll leave the deeper issues and politics out of this...

Society has taught us to apologize, for everything.  We have become so conditioned to just apologize.  Whether it's our fault or not, we must apologize.  No matter the infraction, or the size of it, or the matter of our own personal control over it, we must apologize.  Society insists it is the polite thing to do.  We have to do the back and forth, "I'm so sorry," "Oh goodness, you've got nothing to apologize for" banter.

And I'm just plain tired of it!  I'm over the over-apologizing.  So please, stop apologizing.  You've done nothing wrong.  Instead, I want you to smile, straighten your back, hold your head high, walk with confidence, and remind yourself that I gave you permission to not apologize!

Paying Our Dues, Part 3, The End (Finally?!?!?)

Now, dear one, it is my turn to pass those very words on to others.  To pass them on with the same love, life and truth:  It will be your turn.  Some day, it will be yours.  Just hang in there.

It is my turn--our turn--God's turn--now.  It took us 15 years to get here, but we're here.  Before you accuse me of being materialistic, please know this is about safety, first and foremost.  We were not safe in our old neighborhood.  This about happiness, and safety, and God's provisions and learning to bloom where we are planted, until God replants us.  Last year, God gave us the home of our dreams.  And, even though it's absolutely beautiful and has everything we asked Him for, it's the home of our dreams because our children are safe, because the neighbors are good people, because the schools are good places where my children have found their tribes and the help they need and the things they excel with, because they've got a huge yard and beautiful wild animals roaming through it.  My dog has a yard she loves, a fenced in area that is all hers, where she can romp and play. And a few months ago, God gave us a new family vehicle, the vehicle of our dreams--yes, it's a huge honking luxury mom mobile SUV that seats us all quite comfortably--but my kids are safe, my dog is safe and doesn't have to sit in the cargo area when she travels with us, and least importantly, I'm not climbing over any other seats in high heels and skirts to get to the driver's seat!  Most recently, in a time of great need, God has provided a new job for Shawn, a new journey for our family, an answer to many prayers.  It does not escape me that we are the family I used to be so easily jealous of.  I say God gave these things to us, but let me be clear---we had to earn them. I shouldn't say He gave them to us, so much as He provided.  He gave us the tools. We had lessons to learn, most importantly, learning to be grateful for what He provided at the time; it may not have been what we wanted, but it was what we needed.  He has provided a career for my husband, and my husband has always worked hard.  He's provided the people who taught us how to use our money smartly, how to tithe and make sure we are good stewards of what He provides for us.  He's connected us with a church family, and with other Christian brothers and sisters along the way, who have helped us make this possible by teaching us how to live better lives, be better Christians, and raise our children in a better, more praiseworthy light.  Now, this is God's home, and this is God's car.  He has trusted us with them to use them for Him--we know we must use them for the church, for the teens, for transportation needs, for connection groups, for preparing meals for others, and for anything else He calls us to provide.  We still deal with many of the same things we used to deal with, my health being one of them, but He still continues to provide.  I can't imagine our lives any other way than the way they are turning out.  God has provided so much for us.

Most importantly, six years ago, God gave my friend those words to speak and she listened to Him, then spoke them with love.

So, please allow me to tell you this, if you are feeling at all like Shawn and I used to feel--your time will come.  Trust me.  Work hard.  Be grateful for what God provides, even if it's not necessarily what you want, but it is what you need. Pay attention to the lessons He's teaching you.  Trust in God.  Trust in yourself.  It will be your turn.  Be blessed, be loved, precious one.

Paying Our Dues, Part 2

Yes, we wallowed...

But....

We did eventually learn to laugh about much of it over the years as we also learned to allow God to lead us through the life He chose for us, and we even learned to be grateful for much of it, even more so for the lessons those years taught us.  Without a doubt, I can't--as in, won't--give any of those years or experiences back because they've made us who we are now.  They created us as individuals, and as a family.  We eventually learned to look at each situation and ask each other, "What does God want us to learn from this?"  Once we lost the bitterness, pain and anger, we realized there were so many lessons God had been trying to teach us, and we'd been missing the point the entire time.  We learned to laugh--because the alternative downright sucked the life out of us.  It was no longer an option.  We could have allowed those experiences to make us hard, broken, bitter people.  We were giving everyone else, and the other negative experiences in our lives, too much power and that was not how we wanted to live, nor what we wanted to teach our children. And we laugh now too.  We have to.  We want our kids to remember the good times, and we want them to remember things better than they were, and to remember just how God PROVIDED. Yes, that house was a hovel, and that car was embarrassing, but they were shelter and transportation in times when so many people don't have either. Looking back, if we'd moved--my gosh.  I never would have met my best friend.  What a loss I would have suffered.  More than that, we wouldn't have been able to afford what we went through to have Avery and Ezra--talk about a loss.  I can't imagine our lives without them!  I don't know that we would've learned our lessons that God was trying to teach us, that we would have found the churches that saved us, and so many other people and events that molded us and formed us.  And now, we wouldn't have this amazing, incredible, crazy life.   But again, I digress!  :)

As I said though, at the time--we were anything but grateful.  We were angry, frustrated and bitter and felt stuck. When the housing market tanked and we lost the house we'd been building, we became even more bitter and angry.   When I visited this friend's house that day, it was for advice and support concerning Noah, doctors, Asperger's and just remembering how to breathe through everything Noah was going through, and everything we were going through as his parents.  I remembering trying to hold in my "in awe-ness" when I walked into her beautiful home.  Oh, how I envied it so much!  Finally, when we reached her kitchen after talking for a bit, I couldn't hold it in anymore and blurted out, "Your kitchen is just beautiful!  It's like the kitchen of my dreams! Your entire home is just amazing!"  She covered my hand with hers, smiled and said, "One day you'll have yours.  One day it will be your turn."

Oh my goodness, those words.  At the time, they were meaningless because I wasn't in the right place emotionally, mentally and spiritually to receive them.  But they did sink in over time, and they have stuck with me ever since.

Paying Our Dues: A Testimony, Part 1

"Our praise is based on the goodness of God, not the circumstances in our life."  --Spreadingjoy.com

Recently--as in, the past few months--it's been on my heart to email a friend and tell her how much a few words of wisdom she shared with me really affected me at a time when I really needed them.  They weren't about parenting, even though God was using her in a mighty way to support me through Noah's diagnostic process (having already been through it herself with her own child), housewifery, Christian life, homeschooling or anything else we had in common.  Side Note: I did email her and thank her.

This friend's words, spoken in love, in truth and life, were about paying our dues, and eventually having the life of our dreams.

For the first fifteen years of our marriage, Shawn, Noah, several pets, and eventually, Avery and Ezra, lived in what I can only describe as a hovel.  We actually referred to it as the van down by the river, and frequently broke into that skit when we couldn't handle things anymore.  Chris Farley, if only you knew how much you are missed.  From the beginning, we never really considered it a permanent home, calling it our starter home.  Sure, we were excited to have bought our first house, but we didn't see ourselves there beyond five years.  Throughout those fifteen years, we complained.  A lot.  As God worked on our Christian walk, we complained less, and learned to concentrate more on how He provided.  But I digress.

During those early years, we complained.  We whined.  We moaned.  We hated it.  We couldn't drink the water and had to order our drinking water.  The neighborhood was awful.  Our neighbors, at the time we finally moved, were meth dealers and cookers.  There had been a raid just months prior, involving several federal and state jurisdictions.  We had downright crazy neighbors who had me charged with reckless driving, claiming I was endangering their children, and determined to make our lives as miserable as they possibly could. There's obviously a lot more to that story, but that's what it is--another story.  Eventually it got to the point we couldn't go outside.  We didn't dare go outside.  We found arrows shot into our backyard where our dog played and pottied, so we didn't even dare let her out on her own. The school was--well, eventually the principal and I ended up on a first name basis and it wasn't because we were best friends.  We pulled Noah, enrolled him in private school, eventually he was 'removed' from that school and we homeschooled... You get the idea.  We couldn't run the microwave and any small appliances at the same time, or use the WIFI and the microwave at the same time, lest we blow a circuit.  One year, we went through at least 4 microwaves.  One Christmas, we had to cook and reheat using Sterno because the microwave actually blew on Christmas morning. We couldn't flush the toilet while someone else was showering without scalding that person.  I can't tell you how many times one of us would flush, remember, cringe and yell, "CRAP!  GET OUT FROM UNDER THE WATER!  NOW! NOW! NOW! I AM SO SORRY!"  We drove ancient vehicles for quite a while, too.  You want a good laugh?  The key broke off in the driver's side door of my Camry, and we couldn't afford to have it fixed, so I had to climb through the passenger door, over the passenger seat and gear shift, to get to the driver's seat.  At the time, I taught at a private, well-to-do preschool, and it was humiliating, to say the least.  Shawn and I made poor choices with our money in the hopes of getting our family out of the neighborhood, but when the market tanked, we continued our poor choices hoping to just get Noah out of the schools with the neighborhood kids and avoid putting Avery in at all.  We thought they were smart choices at the time, but they only set us back further.  We laugh at a lot of this now, but at the time--whew.

Remember, during this time, we were also dealing with my health issues, my severe depression and infertility--along with Noah's diagnoses, and a myriad of other things.  We often wonder if Avery's allergies and asthma, and perhaps even Ezra's heart defects, and goodness knows what else, have to do with the chemicals in the air they were exposed to thanks to our neighbors.  We were also dealing with the normal marriage stuff, my parent's divorce, extended family dysfunction (we have to wonder on what planet we live when we're the functional, normal ones???), Shawn's family stuff, and some other "things." Much of what we were dealing with escalated the normal stuff to near nuclear, and our marriage almost didn't make it.

During those first years, we looked around at others our age who were doing well.  They were driving nice vehicles, living in nice homes.  They didn't (seem to) have the struggles we did.  They didn't have crazy neighbors.  They also may not have had the debt we had when we started out, or--they built up debt to get to where they were.  They may have also had parents helping them.  And, many of them were working couples, whereas I chose to be a stay at home mom, making us a single income family.  We just felt screwed, over and over.  If something could go wrong, it would undoubtedly happen to us, not to anyone else.  That's what it felt like, anyway.  Yes, we wallowed.  We wallowed a lot.

"Kids, Just Let Her Have This Moment"

Some of the best advice my loving, devoted husband has given our children as a loving, devoted dad has been, "Kids, just give her this moment.  Just let her have this, okay?"  They sigh, they groan and mumble a bit, they kick the ground, they roll their eyes--but they also laugh, and try to hide their smiles as they try to not let me know how much they actually love it.

Typically, it's one of those moments when I am in full on cheerleader mom mode.  To my kids, it 'might' be embarrassing, I suppose. My kids (and husband--who has, um, asked me to maybe not yell "THAT'S MY HUSBAND!!!" when he runs through the finish line at his next race.....  What's the fun in that????) will roll their eyes as I yell, cheer, dance, wave my posters, and drive my stickered-penned-and-otherwise-plastered-mommed-up-SUV to and from each event, but in their hearts and minds, they know I'm their biggest fan.  I've also been known to cheer and dance during homework, but (you're probably grateful) we don't have pictures of that. *sad face emoji*

To me, that's what's important.  My children and husband know how much they matter to me, and they know how proud I am of them.  This is my gift to them.  No matter what they are doing, I am, and always will be, their biggest and loudest cheerleader.  This is something I get to do as a their mom.  This is what I want them to pass on their children.  These are some of the stories I want them to tell my grandchildren about me.

This is what I want you to receive from this post:  Let your biggest cheerleader have his or her moment.  Whether it's your neighbor, sister, brother, mom, dad or cousin's sister's brother's gerbil's half-grandfather's sister, or a random stranger--let them be your biggest cheerleader, let them have their moment and know in your heart just how much you matter to that person.  Then, pass it on.

The Perfect Baby

Yes, I know there's really no such thing as the perfect child.  Each and every one of us are perfectly imperfect, right?  

However, I will never tell a new mother her beautiful baby is anything less than perfect.

Throughout her child's life, she will worry.  She will wonder.  She will have plenty of people telling her otherwise.  Doctors, well-meaning friends, not-so-well-meaning friends, and even complete strangers, teachers, media, society and judgmental nincompoops, all with their own advice, observations and opinions, will tell this mom her child is not perfect.  They will point out flaws, diagnoses, delays, and ask, "What's wrong with him/her" or "Shouldn't you get that checked out?"  My personal favorite is,  "My cousin's sister's dad's brother's second cousin's gerbil's mom's kid had that (autism, big ears, Down's Syndrome, knobby knees, cancer, freckles, red hair, seizures, purple hair, ADHD, crossed eyes, diabetes, extra toes, asthma, a cowlick...), and he drank this special water and it cleared right up!"  

Mama, your baby is perfect.  I don't care what the doctors are telling you, I don't care what strangers and friends are pointing out, I don't care, I don't care, I do not care--because no matter what, your baby is made in God's image.  Your precious child is made just the way God intended, just for you, for His work, and in His eyes, your beautiful, precious baby is just perfect.

I will never, ever tell you anything less.  Your baby is absolutely perfect. Your child is now, and always will be, perfectly made by our Father Himself, I don't care what anyone tells you.

Hope

I have hope.

We've been through a lot.  As a family, as individuals.  (I will not get into what Shawn has been through, as that is not my place.) I live in chronic pain.  Some days are better than others, but even my worst days are still better than someone else's worst day. I battle depression and anxiety.  Our marriage nearly failed, but we fought for it, and here we are; it's not perfect by any means, but we're worth it.  Our oldest son has conquered Asperger's Syndrome and ADHD, and now we are going through a second diagnostic process with our middle child.  Our youngest child was born with multiple heart defects that God healed.  We battled infertility, and God won, giving us two more boys medical science told us we'd never have.  To top it all off, twelve years ago, medical science predicted I would be dead by now.  At the time, I almost, selfishly, did what I could to help that prediction along.  

I have hope.

More importantly, I have GOD.

Without God, I am nothing.  NOTHING.  Without God, I do not have hope.  Without hope, I have nothing.  NOTHING.

I will be honest with you, as always, and admit that for a long time, I did not have hope.  I did not want God.  I was angry at Him.  I wanted to be a victim.

I am no longer that person.

I have hope.

I have hope for the hopeless.  That sounds cliche, but I do--when someone loses all ability to hope, they need someone else to hang on for them.  I remember the people who prayed for me and over me, the people who would not give up, those who hoped for me.  I owe them my life, literally.  So now it is my turn, my honor and blessing, to pray for those who have lost hope.  I have hope that whatever diagnosis, or diagnoses, turn up for our son, we will conquer them just as we did for our oldest.  I have hope that the look of pain and exhaustion on my dear friend's face will turn to joy, peace and rest.  I have hope that our world, and country will right itself.  I have hope that no matter what my children choose to do in life, God will protect them. I have hope that my prayers are heard, and answered as my Father sees fit.

I have hope.

Faith in Humanity

As I've mentioned before, Noah runs cross country for his high school team.

I cheer for everyone. Yes, yes, yes, I cheer for our team a little louder, and my own kid a little louder than that.   That said, our family cheers for everyone, no matter the team colors.  Let's face it, everyone deserves to be cheered for.  These kids work hard. They bust their butts.  Have you smelled my kid when he gets in the car after practice???  These kids workout in all kinds of weather, and they do all kinds of difficult activities to prepare for their meets. I'm the wife and the mom of runners, and I see what a difficult sport it is.  It feels good to be cheered on. It's a moral booster.  And really--they're all doing something I won't be doing in a million years.  So, I cheer for everyone.  I hang out until the last kid comes through each turn, while Shawn runs ahead to catch Noah at the next one (have I mentioned that cross country is not a sedentary spectator sport???).  That last runner deserves it perhaps the most.

Another couple from an opposing team noticed this the other night, and smiled.  Good turns, you know?  Later, I noticed their son was among the first to come through the finish line, and their entire team finished early on.  I also noticed where their team was from, and they had over an hour's drive home.  They could've left then--their son was finished, their team was finished.  But, they noticed one of our own was the very last runner.   And, they stayed.  And, they learned our runner's name.  This young man was a good 12-15 minutes behind the second to the last runner.  They stayed and cheered, calling him by name. It brought tears to my eyes--this is what it means to be good parents, to set good examples, to be good team players and to show good sportsmanship, and really, to just be good humans.

Afterwards, I went over and thanked them.  I shook their hands, told them what it meant to me, and thanked them for taking the time to make the difference and set the example.

I beg you--next time you are in the stands screaming your head off in the stands and on the sidelines for your child's team, remember the other team(s).  Remember the underdog.  Remember that everyone, EVERYONE, deserves to be cheered on, no matter what team they run or play for.

The Word Is Kindness

I often shop at Walmart.  Two weeks ago, I had a really bad experience with a cashier there.

I've given it, and her, way too much head space since then.  Half of you are going to ask, "Who broke you????" and half of you are going to wisely advise me to just let it go.  This was fully on her, and not on me at all. It was her issue, not mine.  And yet, I've made it mine.  And I really dislike that about myself.  She was nasty and mean, calling me names under her breath.  I'd given her no reason to be this way towards me.  I was polite and pleasant, even through her abuse.  Contrary to my sarcastic and cynical personality, I did not give in to the words going through my head--instead, she reduced me to tears.  And I really dislike that about myself.  I'm stronger than this.  I'm bigger than this.  I'm nearly 40 years old.  I should be beyond allowing other people to make me feel this way about myself!  I felt pathetic.  I felt shamed.  Why did I allow this?  I wouldn't put up with this sort of this behavior from a stranger toward my children!  I wanted to report her to her manager, I wanted to say something to her.  I did not--what if she's trying to support a family?

I've spent the past two weeks trying to prove her wrong in everything she said.  As I've gone around town, as I've lived out my life, hearing her words in my head, I've been friendly, smiley, helpful and happy with everyone I've come across.  I've wanted to shout, "See?  I'm nothing like what you tried to declare over me!"

Today, I had a blessedly different experience.  A gentleman pulled up behind me in line with hamburger buns--hamburger buns.  Behind my two weeks worth of groceries for five people.  He laughed when I apologized, pointed at Ezra and told me he was the reason he wanted to be behind us.  As he helped me unload all my groceries and entertain my toddler, he asked just exactly who it is I'm feeding with all that food.  "Jackals.  Rabid.  Hungry.  Jackals."  We even had the cashier laughing and joking with us!

As I went to other stores to finish up my errands, I continued to greet other people and ask after the cashiers' days.  One cashier thanked me for doing so.  I replied, "We're all human."  I didn't know what else to say--that's where it all begins and ends.  We're all human.

I don't know what was going on in that cashier's head two weeks ago.  I don't know if something I was wearing or did or said rubbed her the wrong way, or if she was just having a bad day.  I don't know if my amount of groceries annoyed her.  What I do know is that her behavior is on her, and my own behavior is on me.  Everyone has their struggles, and it seems maybe she has more than her fair share, and what she needs is kindness.

So, as you go about your day, I encourage you to remember this--everyone has their own struggles.  And everyone deserves kindness.

The Word is Gratitude, the Place is Home, the People are Family

Yesterday after church I needed to hand my toddler off to someone so I could go potty. I tossed him to a friend of ours, someone Ezra had bonded with (and vice versa) on our missions trip and ran to the bathroom.  When I came out, our friend had Ezra snuggled into his neck, a smile on his face, their eyes closed, rocking back and forth, as his wife rubbed Ezra's back.  All three of them looked like they were in heaven.  I stood and watched with gratitude for just a minute, not wanting to break the moment.  For me, it was just as much bliss to behold as it was for them.  Our friends handed Ezra back with a kiss and an extra squeeze.

The week before, I unceremoniously tossed Ezra to another friend so Shawn, Noah, Avery and I could participate in tug of war.  Just a few minutes before that, I had looked up from a conversation to see our children's director rescuing him from the chaos of the children's games, planting him firmly and safely on her hip, just like he belonged there.

My older two boys bonded with several of the men on our missions trip.  Avery earned a nickname from one of them, and seeks him out at church each week, grinning and laughing and carrying on.  Noah learned many skills from one of the gentlemen who worked patiently with him.  As I watch my kids and these men each week, I realize that it's not just these men who are filling voids...

I see the way our church wraps itself in deep, deep love around those in need.  There is love, there is covering one another, there is picking up where someone else needs to leave off.  There are lives saved. There is making sure no one is left alone.  I am honored, humbled and blessed to be part of this extended family who surrounds itself around those suffering loss, illness and other needs.  I am humbled to be part of a family who takes prayer to the altar, to our knees, to the streets, and to wherever else it is needed for others.  There is never a shortage of someone willing to do whatever is necessary.

These are the moments I'm grateful for.  Each week, I say prayers of gratitude for those who speak life into our children's lives, and into our lives, as well.  As I stand during worship, I look among our friends and my knees shake and my eyes water with gratitude for them.  I cannot believe how blessed we are.  I cannot believe how much we get to be a blessing in turn.  I am grateful for those who help me herd the church baby (Ezra!) through the lobby and keep him safe (based on this post, you must think I frequently lose my child in church....) as he heads for the stairs, the elevator, the vending machines and other dangers in his quest for independence.  I'm grateful to the women and teenagers who serve lovingly as babysitters for our many connection groups.  I'm grateful to the men and women who serve just as lovingly on Sundays and Wednesdays in the Sunday school classes and youth group.  I'm grateful for our pastor and his wife, for all the work and dedication they put into everything they do.  I'm grateful for our worship leaders and praise band--all they do to get the services started off on the right note (haha).  Our media specialist works tirelessly to make sure each week's announcements, and all of the necessary videos are just right, and sending out the message God wants us to hear.  I'm just grateful to be able to be part of such an amazing church family where there is always love, and always an extra set of hands.

I'm an emotional person, so you know there are times I cry as I pray these prayers of gratitude.  This is home.  This is family.   This is church.

Mommin' It Up

For years, I've hidden behind my physical health and limitations, using them as reasons to not participate in physical activities, particularly ones that might draw attention to myself.  Such things are also completely against my introverted nature.  Nor do they really fit in with my fears of failure or looking ridiculous, or my poor self esteem. I've developed a myriad of excuses, while secretly yearning from the proverbial sidelines to be part of the fun, to be brave enough to be right in the middle of it.

For the sake of my children, and the example I need to set for them, I've been desperately trying to get myself out of those mindsets.  My kids need to see me taking risks, having fun, and breaking out of my comfort zones.  In terms of physical activities, yes, they will most likely result in a flare, but my kids need to see that some things are worth it, and holding back is not worth it.  I have allowed my fears and physical limitations and pain to rule my life, and it's time to put a stop to it.

And so, opportunity presented itself.....  In the form of our church's tug of war competition.

And, after consulting the other moms in our mom's group, I signed us up as one of the teams.

Now, I have to explain to you--the other teams have been duking it out for several years.  They are hardcore, and this is serious business.  There's even a trophy for the winning team.   A very large trophy.  And there's lots of trash talk between the teams.  As it was explained to me later, this is tug of WAR, not tug of FUN (it was also suggested my misunderstanding of this point was the reason we lost).

The other moms and I agreed--we needed to do this for our kids.  To have fun with it, even knowing we would most definitely lose, we still needed to do this. We got together and made plans.  Big plans.  Plans to completely 'mom up' the competition.

My husband even wrote a speech for us, a la Mel Gibson's Braveheart character:
"Moms of The Bridge!  I see a whole army of my God loving, breast feeding, co-sleeping, child-rearing, God loving compatriots here in defiance of dirty diapers and runny noses!  You've come to play a game of tug of war without children pulling at your leg, and play tug of war you will!  We are here to tell our children that they may take our sanity, but they will never take our lattes!"


We took the field in our team 'uniform'--handmade "super mom" shirts, aprons, oven mitts and Ergos with dolls in them.  I even put on face paint!  And the other teams took the field in back braces, cleats, gloves, strategies,  and very, very serious game faces.  Did I explain that the other teams are diehard competitors and take this very seriously?  I'm not kidding when I say the gentleman I was facing scared me just a little.  That's when I lost my nerve with the Braveheart speech, and just about everything else.  As our pregnant teammate offered cookies to the opposing team, the match began--and ended just as quickly.  Yes, we lost.  And we did so epically.  Our second match lasted a little longer, but we eventually lost to the children without even trying to lose to them.

But.  We.  Had.  Fun.

And it's an afternoon our children will not soon forget (I'm actually hoping it's something my own children tell their children about...).  Personally, I'm still riding the high of our friends who cheered us on, who laughed with us, and enjoyed our little show.  I'm still riding the high of putting myself out there without fear, and the satisfaction I felt in being part of the fun.  For me, this was about more than tug of war, and this was about more than fun.

Yes, I did this for my kids.  Yes, I did this for the fun.  But I also did it for myself.

Oh, and we start training for next year tomorrow.

Homework, the New Drinking Game

There are times I think raising my children will drive me to drink, and homework is one of those such times.  I'm just going to put this out there--I understand the importance of homework, but I.  HATE.  HOMEWORK.  For those of you who read yesterday's post, homework is one of those moments I will not miss.

I love the sweet little happy notes we get from teachers at the beginning of each school year: "Homework is not busy work!  It is an important part of reinforcing the daily work in the classroom!  It should not take anymore than 15 minutes to complete!"

And you know what?  I agree--for neurotypical kiddos.

But hello?  Have you met my children?  What planet do these teachers come from?  Fifteen minutes?  No.  Not in this house.  Try an hour, hour and a half.

An hour of me begging, pleading, sometimes crying, many times yelling.  JUST.  WRITE.  ONE.  WORD.  PLEASE.

It's stressful for all of us.  Not just for me, not just for the child I'm pleading and bargaining with, but also for the rest of the family.  By the time he gets home from school, his meds have worn off and he's done.  He's held his composure all day, maintained as much self control as he can, and home is where he can let loose.  After almost 7 hours of school, homework is not a priority for him.  Homework is not something I can multitask.  He needs my undivided attention--but so do my other children, dinner prep and anything else I need to be doing.

I have yet to meet a teacher with a practical approach to homework--and I say that as a former teacher, and a person with friends who are teachers.  I do not mean any disrespect to teachers.  For the record, I also have yet to meet a therapist with a practical approach to it.  I've tried everything; trampoline jumps, a break in between each sentence, silly approaches, conversation during the subject, taking outdoor breaks, doing it outside, reward systems, bribing systems (let's be honest--reward systems are bribing systems), pulling my hair out and drinking.  All of those only serve as further distractions.  None of them are solutions.

I'm not suggesting we stop homework.  In fact, I'm shocked at how ill-prepared many of our middle and high schoolers are for a college workload by the lack of homework they have currently.  I'm shocked that my elementary child frequently has more homework than my AP and Honors high schooler.

No, I'm not suggesting an end to homework.  But I might suggest a contribution to a w(h)ine fund.  

Encouragement

This post comes out of not only feeling the need to encourage others, but because I need encouragement, too.  Just a gentle remind to all of us that we will miss 'this' one day....

Some days it's hard--to mom, to adult, to do all the things.  I've been grumbly the past few mornings. When our days begin FULL THROTTLE at 5 am every morning, not by choice, but because that's just how it is in our sensory seeking world, when revamping nap time, when I've been up and down the stairs twenty times in 30 minutes because someone just learned how to climb them, when someone else routinely refuses to listen to direction, and adding this and that to our schedules takes some smoothing out--it can be hard.

I grumbled to my best friend on Saturday that for just one morning, I want someone else's normal.  I don't want mine.  It's too early for this nonsense.  I just want to sleep in.  I just want quiet.  I just want, want, want--something different.

And I have to stop myself--I do want THIS.  I prayed for THIS.  I begged for THIS.  And someday--I'm going to miss THIS.  Every time someone comments on the growth of one of my boys, I realize--I'm going to desperately miss these stages.  Each one of my boys is in a different, unique stage all his own right now.  None of them share their current stage with their brothers.  Each one is making strides and gains and growth all his own.  I won't get any of these moments back, and I won't get these same exact moments with the next child--his experience will be wholly his own, and different from his brothers'.  In all of this, I'm grateful for the moments that set me straight, and remind me to mother with a grateful heart.

And I will say this, too--it's okay to realize there are certain parts of some stages we won't miss.  And it's okay to admit there are entire stages we won't miss at all!  It's okay to want one child to grow a little faster than the other--and recognize that soon enough, they'll switch off and you'll want the other child to grow a little faster!  It's okay to enjoy some stages more than others, and miss others a bit more.  You're human, not Wonder Woman.  I know some days are just harder than others--and it feels like it might be weeks--and bedtime is just too far away.  I know it's hard to look at some moments and think that one day, you'll miss them.  And you know what?  That's okay too.  It's even okay to admit these things out loud!!!  And not feel ashamed!!

Hang in there, mamas.  We've got a tough job, but we've got a very worthy job.  And you, precious one, are totally rocking it!

Communication? What?

First, I should note that I am losing my hearing in my left ear.  Chances are good, even if you're standing next to me and talking, I can't hear what you're saying.  Imagine my family trying to talk to me from another room.  Now imagine there's a vacuum running, the music is on and the kids are running wild, and Shawn is trying to tell me something from another room.  Uh huh.  It's about like this:  

Shawn: "Wah wah, wah WAH!"

Me:  "Wow, thanks.  That's real nice of you."

Shawn:  "What?  What do you mean?"

Me:  "You called me a gorilla!"

Shawn:  "No I didn't!  I said I don't think I want to grill outside in this 100 degree heat!"

Me:  "Oh."

Shawn:  "What did you think I said?"

Me:  "I thought you called me a gorilla.  It sounded like you were telling Ezra he's got a gorilla for a mom!"

Shawn:  "Would you PLEASE see Dr Silva about your hearing?!?!?!"

Sigh.

Filling in the Holes

I had this blog completely written in my head last week.  However, as I sat down to write it, it hasn't flowed the way I expected it to.  I've had so many thoughts competing to get out of my head that putting this particular post to paper has challenged me. Sometimes I wish I could just kind of open my brain and you could read that instead!

I filled a lot of holes last weekend.  It was one of the few things I not only knew how to do, but could easily manage with a 24 pound toddler on my back while also helping supervise our other 4 eager, young missionaries!  Some of the holes I filled were physical nail holes. Others were more of the metaphorical, emotional and spiritual type, others still were physical needs. It seemed like such a small, insignificant job when I started out.  How could my putty job possibly compare to the carpentry work being done around me?  It was necessary work, though.  If I didn't get the holes covered, my team members coming along behind me couldn't sand, couldn't paint, couldn't finish the rest of the job.  If we didn't supply the necessities, these kids wouldn't have a good start to their school year.  If we didn't supply the hugs, support, prayer and encouraging words--well, everyone could use more of those!  It was a positive chain reaction, a flowing operation of goodness and important work.


Turns out, applying putty was also prayerful, thought-provoking work.  I wasn't expecting that.   I sort of expected the physical labor to be kind of mind-numbing and monotonous.  However, as I applied the putty to the holes in the drywall and trim, my thoughts turned to God, our Potter, and us, the clay. As I rolled the putty in my hands to warm it, to make it more malleable, as I rubbed it over the holes, making sure it was smooth, I heard my Father whisper, "This is what I do for you.  Daily, hourly, minute by minute."

Throughout life, we collect holes.  Life, the world--they can damage us.  We humans are also sinful creatures.  We have experiences that break us, and make us.  God is there with us, filling in those holes, molding us, shaping us. He rolls us in His hands, warming us, allowing our life experiences to make us more malleable, gently smoothing out our rough edges, gently smoothing over the holes the most damaging of experiences leave in us.  Sometimes, He relies on other humans to help fill our holes, to be His hands and feet.  If we don't complete our work, He can't complete His. What we do for our fellow brothers and sisters, we do for our Father.

If this work isn't finished, the outreach group we were helping can't do their work--they can't offer the necessities to the community they are loving on.  They can't fill in the holes of their community.  They can't fill in the holes in the hearts of the ones who needs mending, they can't fill in the holes in the souls who need hope.

I encourage you, as you encounter others throughout your day, to please work towards filling those holes.  A kind word, a pat on the shoulder, holding the door open, providing a meal, taking a friend out for coffee--you pick the way, but don't put it off.  

Family Fun With School Assignments

When your parents have homework, it's highly likely you'll be used as a prop.....  Shawn had one last assignment for his public speaking class.  We decided to make it a family affair.

CameraWife: Amy
Billy Mays Incarnate: Shawn
Teenager:  Noah
Sulky Seven Year Old:Avery
Terrible Toddler: Ezra

ENJOY! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAu7oP1esPo&feature=youtu.be