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.