Old School Parenting from a New School Mama~

Lessons From the Recliner.

2012-01-19T10:17:00.000-08:00

This has become my view. For about 10 hours a day. Seven days a week. For a month, plus a little more. For those of you who haven't heard what's been going on with us, I have been put on the B word.

Bedrest. Me, myself, and I are on bedrest.

Short synopsis of why, and then I'll get to the good stuff. A couple of weeks ago, I had some light spotting/bleeding on a Tuesday night. There was some the next morning as well, so I hauled it to the doctor's office. Upon examination, my doctor said I had started to dilate and had indeed lost my mucus plug. Due to the craziness of our lifestyle and schedule, I was immediately restricted to my recliner and bed, to keep Walker off my pelvis as much as possible. He was only at 31 weeks old at the time, and we need him to wait until at least 35 for lung maturity- obviously longer if possible. I had an appointment yesterday and have slightly dilated more, but Little Mister is locked and loaded in position, so we gotta make him wait it out a while longer. I do get an occasional trip to the doctor, a wheelchair walk or two, and a push through Target now and then if I behave. My family and friends have become my heroes, as they have cleaned my house, fed my family, and washed our laundry. My husband is my Rock Star- managing a drama llama little girl who only likes her mom's food and is trying to adjust to the major change we've been going through for the past two weeks.

Back to the good stuff.

One of the things about bedrest that I have learned is that after a while, there's only so much TV you can watch, only so much napping you can do, and only so much staring at the wall your eyes can handle. I'm not a person who gets bored easily. I don't let boredom participate as a character in my head now, or ever. I will find things to do to entertain and busy myself, and I have been fortunate enough to work from home, thanks to a super cool laptop and wireless printer. But even more than the work I've been doing, I have purposely determined myself to focus on the task at hand.

Getting this guy here at his very best time.

There is no love like a mother's love. A daddy's love is definitely in a league of its own. Not taking away from it. My husband's love for our kids is like a grizzly bear at the entrance of its cave. It's protective, it's fierce, it's territorial, and it's insanely strong. But a mother's love?

It's a wildfire. And there's not enough water on this globe to quench it. Not even a little bit.

After the shock wore off that this was going to be my life for a while, I went into game mode in my heart. Nothing- and I reiterate NOTHING is more important to me at this point in time than getting this baby here, fully developed and prepared for the outside world. I started finding success stories to read of bedrest babies. I listened to friends talk about being on bedrest for months at a time and the precious outcomes of their sacrifice. I read stories of healthy babies born way early with no complications. But mostly, I talked to myself. Reminded myself of what I know. And of what is certain.

Here's what I've learned.

My family is without a doubt the closest knit family I've ever known. We protect each other, give it to each other straight, and monitor every move to make sure everything is satisfactory in our eyes. I am watched like a hawk continously by loving eyes. And those who live too far away to do surveillance call me, text me, and send their love and orders over the miles.

My husband is my knight in shining armor. Sometimes (and only sometimes) I forget the tenderness his heart possesses. He's a brut of a man in so many ways. But the way he has looked at me over the last two weeks shows me that there's nothing within his grasp that he wouldn't move for me and these kids of ours. I'm a pretty independent woman... but when I hear his car pull into the driveway these days, I sigh with relief. It's the nearness of him that is my touchstone every day.

You really don't know how much your friends love you until something like this happens. I am flooded- FLOODED with help. We have eaten delicious meals daily. We have a clean house from one end to the other. I have had constant fresh flowers to look at. One friend brought me a very indulgent bag of magazines, chocolate, and a candle. My mailbox greets me with cards. Another friend keeps me supplied in my current obsession with mixed boxed chocolates. I have received K-cups for my Keurig, nitrite free lunch meat (LOVE), and a full day's worth of three meals that we could easily prepare from other friend with just a knock on the door and bags sitting on my doorstep. I could go on and on. It makes my heart swell with love.

When your kids drive you up the wall- whether it's your almost-eight-year-old's clothing malfunctions, or the aching hips your unborn son produces... moments like these show you the fierceness of the love you possess for these creatures. These seasons in life are like opening your door on the first cold morning of fall, and the brisk air hitting you smack dab in the face, waking you up.

As tough as you think you are, you're even tougher. As strong as you see yourself, you're stronger. But as mighty as you may be, you need people. Period.

God's love, God's plan, and God's purposes for your life are stronger than logic, more consistent than the sunrise, and more gentle than a spring shower.

And His grace- His ability in you and through you, can enable you to not just tolerate your situation, but to thrive in it.

Moments of weakness, frustration, whining, and pity are normal. They prove we're human. However, whining produces nothing but noise. So get over it.

Sacrifice is worth it. It just is.

The view from your backporch, although the "same" every day, can be the very canvas of life your eyes need to see. There are reminders around you all the time of God's goodness and His creative genius.

There is so very much to be thankful for every day.

Sometimes, life isn't fun. That's just the way it is. But the not-fun times will pass and the fun times are WAY more frequent than the non-ones.

A woman's body is without a doubt the greatest creative force that God has fashioned. Man was created in His image. And then, He made His masterpiece. I'm convinced of it. Within my body, there's an eco-system that is warming him, feeding him, growing him, soothing him, and protecting him. And whether I'm awake or asleep, it's working per Divine orders to finish the work the Creator has started.

Purpose will push you past inconvenience and difficulty. And even when it's hard and you're in the valley of pity, think of your purpose until your emotions change.

I'm just sitting here, in my recliner, looking out the glass sliding doors. I see all of the Live Oaks that provide a nice shady place to sit. I see swings that Rod has hung for Abi and her friends. I see the squirrels climbing everywhere. I see the ferns that I hate blowing in the breeze. But mostly, I see a little boy, climbing those trees with his two cousins. I can hear them laughing and plotting their next adventure. I see him jumping on the trampoline, yelling "Mom, watch how high I jump!" I see them sitting at the picnic table, eating pbj's and Capri-suns with grimy hands. I see those three catching that lizard on the deck and trying to bring it inside.

And that tired mom at the door, making them empty their pockets and take off their shoes? That's me.

Wishing for a few more days of bedrest. :-)

What Exactly Did Mary Know?

2011-12-12T06:52:00.000-08:00

"Mary, did you know... that your baby boy would one day walk on water..."
"Mary did you know... that your baby boy would give sight to a blind man..."
"Mary did you know... that when you kiss your little baby, you've kissed the face of God..."

I'm guessing that while Mary did have a general idea of where this thing was headed, she had no idea the gut-wrenching sacrifice she herself would make for the world's benefit. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Ever since I became a mom, the Christmas story has taken on a new dimension. It actually started two weeks after Abi's birth, when I sat in a theater watching the just released Passion of the Christ. There was a point in the movie when I literally felt my heart break like I've never felt before. If you're a mom, chances are, you remember the part well.

Jesus is carrying his cross down the alleyway. At one point, he stumbles. Mary flashes back in her memory to once when Jesus was in a similar alleyway as a child of probably 5 or 6, and he fell while running. In her memory, she ran to Him, scooped Him up into her arms, and soothed Him as only a mother can. In her reality, her 33 year old son fell in front of her, and she ran to Him to soothe Him- only to no avail, as the mission ahead of Him provided no comfort. As I sat there in the theater, I remember a sob emerging from my throat, thinking how she must have felt to have her hands so totally tied- watching while her heart was beaten beyond recognition and scorned for crimes He did not commit.

For her.

Every year, since I became a mom, Mary has become one of my Christmas heroes. (I don't idolize or praise her, so please don't freak out at that comment. Geesh.) Fact is, Catholic or Protestant, we can't ignore the fact that she played a vital part in the Savior of the world bearing my sin. She said yes when she was approached with the offer of an eternity.

I am convinced- She had no idea what she was saying yes to.

None of us do, do we? We get married, decide to have children, and we jump in with both feet into a world we are in no shape, form, or fashion prepared for. Being a babysitter, an aunt, an uncle, a caregiver... none of it prepares you for the massiveness of the task at hand when you can't send the kids home at the end of your day. There's mounds of work, worry, stress, and strain to accompany the tremendous joys. For every high, there's a low, and for every bad day, there are a million good ones. There's feeding, weaning, potty training, sleep training, temper tantrums, busted lips, skinned knees, bruised egos, and broken hearts. There's hugs, kisses, snuggles, hand holding, and silliness. No one prepares you for the endless seasons of monotony when they're newly born, and no one tells you about the unpredictable chaos in the toddler years.

Bottom line- you don't know what you're doing or where you're going when you say yes to becoming a parent.

Back to Mary. How could this girl- whom theologians guess was 13-15 years of age- possibly know what lay ahead of her as a parent, nevermind the parent of the Prince of Peace? She was given a pretty good heads-up that this was kind of a big deal when the angel Gabriel appeared to her and gave her the challenge... and once again when the prophet Simeon said to her that "...a sword would pierce her own soul." But did she really get it?

Did she really know that He would be a stranger in their hometown?
Did she know he would challenge His elders at the age of 12, and tear the temple to pieces in righteous anger as a man?
Did she forecast His daredevil side- that would touch a leper, a woman with a bleeding disorder, and allow a prostitute to wash His feet with her tears?
Did she see ahead of time that her Son would raise a dead girl from her slumber, spit in the dirt and heal a blind man, and break cultural taboos with an encounter at a well?
Did she know He would have a choice whether or not to continue on- and choose to keep going, even when His sweat would turn to blood?
Did she know He would have Heaven's armies at His disposal, and refuse their services?

We have this idea that Jesus was basically a child who never played, never made a mess, never had that twinkle of mischief in His eye... But we forget He came to this earth as a MAN. Not a Deity. He got dirty. He had to learn to potty like everyone else. He spilled His milk and had to wash His hands like any other grimy boy. Know that part of the old Christmas carol- "But little Lord Jesus, no crying He makes?" Um, yeeeeeeeeah. Right. You're born in a barn, lying on a mound of hay, and you're not going to cry? Whatever.

I'm sure there were seasons when to Mary, Jesus was just another child. An active boy with His earthly father's penchant for woodwork. A growing teenage boy with stinky laundry and a messy room. Mary was His mother- the one who provided His lunches, washed His underwear, and packed His bag for sleepovers. But I'm sure with each passing day and especially as each birthday came around, she wondered how many days like these were left with her boy before He fulfilled what He was born to do.

I wonder about my own children. Will Abi be a nurse in an orphanage overseas? Will Walker join the military or play college football on the other side of the country? Is Abi going to say, "Mom, I want to live in LA?" Will there come a time when Walker will only come home for Christmas? **Sigh** Every Christmas morning is one closer to them leaving my nest. Each added candle to their cakes means they are an inch closer to moving out of my arms and into someone else's.

But Mary's Son? He moved from Heaven, to her arms, to a cold and splintery cross for a display of God's love toward a world that would shun Him.

My son may serve with a badge on his shirt. Her Son served by stripping Himself of badges and honor.

My son will have skinned knees and will lose a tooth every now and then. Her Son was beaten beyond recognition to heal my wounds.

My son will be separated from me while he pursues his dreams, and there will come a time when I cannot rush to his side to fix it. Her Son was separated from His Father because He became the sin of the world and when He cried out to his Daddy, there was no answer. This is all so He can always answer MY cries.

My son will grow up in a circle of love and adoration by his family and his peers- constantly affirmed of his worth and his greatness. Her Son was rejected by His own friends and family. He was mocked, ignored, and even the one closest to Him pretended not to know Him in the darkest hour of His life.

My son will love his mama. Her Son died for His.

Her Son couldn't deal with eternity without Walker in it. Her Son gave MY son life.

So, come to think of it- my son is also a key player in this story, isn't he? If he had been the only one to need Mary's Son- the only one to gain from His sacrifice- He would have come for him.

I'm thankful for Mary- for her willingness to say yes to a plan that would rip her open and cause her heart to be both shattered and redeemed at the same time. I'm thankful for Jesus- for His choice to push through sweat and blood, agony and defeat, in order to win the ultimate prize- MY son.

Because of Mary's example, I feel a deeper calling as a mother to give my children to their Maker, 100%. If an unwed teenage girl can pull herself together to raise a child in the Middle East, and then wait with baited breath for Him to take His last breath and save the world... Surely I can raise mine to serve Him.

And then summon the strength to let them go wherever He leads them.

Fear or Caution?

2011-12-05T08:37:00.000-08:00

So, it was something no parent likes to hear.

I was standing at the sink, washing veggies, and I have the TV on in the background. "A Lake County school employee was arrested for child pornography on his home computer." I say to myself, "Of course he was. What's new?" Then, the moment when my stomach dropped.

The reporter said he was reporting from my daughter's school.

MY daughter's.

The place where we entrust her for nine months of the year, seven hours a day. Where she makes friends and trusts teachers.

One of my daughter's safe places.

Let me say this right off the bat. I love- LOVE- our school. It is organized, it is cheery, it is friendly, it is loving. I have never one time felt uneasy or insecure leaving her there. The staff is attentive, they are innovative, and they are serious about loving and educating kids. In fact, the teacher turnaround rate is really low because the teachers love being there so much. There are teachers and staff there now that have been there since my sister was in school there, some 13 years or so ago.

We love our school.

And let me interject here, this is not a pro-school/anti-homeschool post. One thing I love about this great nation is we each have the prerogative to educate our children as it best suits them. Just a disclaimer. Let's move on.

Upon hearing the news that this man, who has immersed himself into a place that in my opinion, is sacred and precious, I was furious. FURIOUS. How did he fall through the cracks? How did they let this parasite, this monster into my child's bubble?

Immediately, our principal sends home a letter. She's on the ball. The records show that he has passed every background check with flying colors and has never had a record of child molestation of any kind. Obviously, this makes me feel better. My next step is to interrogate Abi as gently as possible. I did- she didn't know him. Again, reassurance.

However, news was released a couple of days later that two girls confess he actually molested them at his home.

Fact remains that while MY daughter is safe and was shielded from this man's sickness, there are at LEAST two families whose lives have been torn apart by this news. And that's not even counting the endless stream of children who were exploited in those images and movies.

When you hear news like this, especially when it literally hits close to home, your first instinct as a parent is to smother and bubble wrap. Meaning, "I will keep you here with me, and when I do send you out, I will wrap you in layers of protection and teach you to trust no one, ever." And while there's elements of truth and valor in both of those methods, we cannot- CANNOT- afford to parent our kids out of fear.

Here's the deal.

The world is a beautiful place. There are beautiful, wonderful people who prove to be key instruments of God's love all through our lives. And just like there are beautiful people, there are ugly ones. Who are dark, have unconquered battles of perversion and shame, and want to prey on the weak in futile efforts to reclaim their own power.

They both exist. Side by side. On this same rotating ball.

Let me be clear on one thing. Fear is NEVER a friend. Ever. It is paralyzing, it is cunning, it is deceptive, and it is controlling. It cannot help us, cannot assist us, and only makes us paranoid of even the good things in life. Once we look through the lenses of fear, we only see the world in jaded colors, failing to see reality as it exists. Every stranger is an enemy through those glasses. And in the process of seeing through the eyes of fear, we miss lifetime opportunities that could have changed our lives for the better.

Now, CAUTION is a different story. It is the awareness of the negative around our children, and our ability to navigate through those dark forests appropriately. It is not sticking our heads in the sand, but looking at issues square in the eye and judging boundaries and guidelines accordingly. Caution means that I am not letting the fear of what may or may not happen dictate my decisions, but I AM aware that as I parent my kids, they are dependent upon my ability to forecast ahead. In fact, caution means being frank and real with our children about world information they need to be aware of on their age level. We sat down and explained the accusations and the confession of this school worker to Abi. It wasn't fun to do, but part of our job as her parents is to educate her on truth, not shield her from it. In giving her the truth, we are giving her tools to handle any situation she may face in her future. We are giving her power.

So how then? How do we know if we are parenting out of fear instead of caution? How do we know which line we're on?

Fear says, "If I keep you chained to me, then and only then will you be safe."
Caution says, "I will set appropriate boundaries to give you the chance to meet new people and experience new things, but it will be at my discretion."

Fear says, "There are people waiting in the shadows to hurt you and take advantage of you."
Caution says, "You're going to be hurt and disappointed in life. But my job is to make those opportunities as few as possible by navigating you around hurtful situations."

Fear says, "I have to be the voice for every decision you need to make... after all, I'm the only one who knows what's good for you."
Caution says, "My job is to teach you to recognize and rely on the voice of the Holy Spirit inside of you, who will never fail to lead you in the right path for your life- because it's not healthy nor possible for me to be with you your every waking moment."

Fear says, "It happened to me, and it will mostly likely happen to you."
Caution says, "It happened to me, and I choose to use my experience to gain the proper tools so to equip you to know what to do in similar situations."

Fear says, "The moment you're out of my control, you will get hurt."
Caution says, "Your safety doesn't solely hinge on my presence, but also in the facts that God cares about you, you know right from wrong, and you have the power to say NO to ANYONE you choose."

Just the other day at lunch, Abi said she gets "really nervous when Daddy swims in the ocean because a Great White Shark may come and eat him." She cried and cried. Rod said something so simple, and so profound.

"Abi, I will not let fear of 'what if a shark comes' stop me from swimming in the ocean, because swimming in the ocean is something I like to do."

Parents, it's important to be attentive ourselves to the voice of the Holy Spirit concerning our children, and equally important to teach them how to heed His nudges themselves. But we cannot hear Him if the loudest voices in our heads are the voices of past hurts, present panic, and future fears. Live in the now.

And rely on the fact that HE loves those kids more than we can.

There's something to be said about that fact.

Christmas On Purpose.

2011-11-29T07:19:00.000-08:00

I honestly don't know anyone who loves Christmas more than I do.

As long as I can remember, I have appreciated the sacredness. The magic. The feeling. And contrary to what people say, the appreciation and anticipation I feel about the month of December doesn't lessen as I age. If anything, it strengthens.

I love the shopping. The crowds (which says alot coming from someone who is slightly crowd-phobic). The colors. The bustle. The parties. The full calendar. The music. The sappy Hallmark movies. The wrapping. The baking. The eating. Santa. Creating Ellie the Elf's mischief. The look on Abi's face as we get closer to the big day.

All of it.

With each passing year, I see my time with my children getting shorter and shorter. When I was at "home" for Thanksgiving (North Alabama), I thought about how when my grandparents were providing Christmas for my parents and their siblings, they didn't yet fathom the time when they would wake up childless on Christmas morning, their offspring scattered all over the map, snug in their own homes, creating their own traditions.

Without them.

No, when you're a parent of small children, you are up to your eyeballs in class parties, Santa's lap visits, wishlists, and holiday shopping meltdowns. You start off with great intentions, but before you know it, crisis management itself steals December from your hands and it's January 2nd... And you feel like you missed it all.

I am all about doing living on purpose. If you follow my blog at all, you know I look for deliberate moments to teach my children in. Do I hit every moment? Nope. Do I try to? Nope. But I have learned that if I will find what I am looking for. So as best as I can, and as my energy allows, I look for opportunities to parent on purpose. Which brings me to Christmas.

My childhood is PLASTERED in good memories of Christmastime. I cannot remember one single bad Christmas... not even the year I remember lying on the couch with a stomach virus as there was some fun church party I was missing. Know why? My mom made Christmas something that was so tangible, so real, you could touch it everywhere. We didn't have alot of money. In fact, I didn't know how poor we were until I look back now. No telling how long they saved in order to get me that boombox that year, or that leather jacket I just had to have in 1991... But honestly, that's not what stands out in my mind. Know what does?

A lit tree, with colored lights because colored lights are my favorite.

Cookie crumbs from Santa's snack on Christmas Eve.

Chewed carrot crumbles on the driveway Christmas morning.

Mom attending every single school party, baked yummies in hand, until I was in highschool.

Christmas music wafting through the house all the time.

Watching the original Grinch and claymation Rudolph with my dad.

Sitting in the kitchen with Mom while she did what she does best.

Our kids are unfortunately becoming desensitized to simplicity. They prefer gadgets to board games. They'd rather text us than talk to us. They had rather see the movie than read the book. This is the age we live in. And there's parts of it that's ok. However, if we want our children to look back on Christmases with smiles on their faces, we have to make it so... ON PURPOSE. I have decided to outline a few ideas for you, one for every day of the month, so you can get back to the warm fuzzy feeling that is Christmas, and duplicate it in your kiddos. This isn't in any way to box you in, but to spur your creativity on to think outside the box. Some ideas will take an evening, and some only 5-10 minutes. Feel free to switch the days around, and feel free to omit and change what you wish.

DEC 1- Bake cookies. Together. Even if it's the pre-made pull apart kind. Pour milk and eat them all. Easy.

DEC 2- Visit a local park that's lit up. Even if it's cold. Play on the playground equipment. (Yep, you- an adult. **GASP**)

DEC 3- Write a card/email/letter to a soldier. www.letterstosoldiers.org

DEC 4- Turn off all the lights except your tree lights and play hide and go seek.

DEC 5- Watch "Elf" on USA channel, tonight at 6 PM EST. (Yes, I just recommended TV)

DEC 6- Hang candy canes all over your house while the kids are at school. On bookshelves, the tree, light fixtures, curtain rods, door frames... a prize goes to the person who finds the most as soon as they all get home from school.

DEC 7- "Christmas With a Capital C" movie at FB Church. Not local? Go to church somewhere. That's Christmasy all year. :-)

DEC 8- Make everyone wear a Santa hat from the time they get home until they go to bed. If you catch them without it on, they have to eat a slice of fruitcake.

DEC 9- All night Christmas movie marathon. ABC Family or Hallmark movies, pizza, soda, and then later egg nog and popcorn. Until everyone's asleep.

DEC 10- If you're in Lake County, FL, come to hayride and bonfire at FB Church's new property. If not, take a walk through a Christmas tree farm as a family. Breathe it all in. These smells will be gone in just a month.

DEC 11- After church, let your lunch settle and take your nap. Then, line the fam up for a chocolate milk relay. Divide into two teams. Everyone gets a straw. Pour two giant glasses or pitchers of chocolate milk. When the Christmas music starts, the first person runs and starts drinking with his/her straw. When you yell SWITCH, the player runs back and tags the next person proceeds. First team to finish their milk wins. Not enough players for teams? Have a contest, one-on-one to see who can drink his or her milk the fastest! BRAIN FREEZE!

DEC 12- Red and green dinner night. Be creative, but all foods must be Christmas colors.

DEC 13- The Twelve Days of Christmas begins today! Find as many variations of the song as possible and play it until your family pulls their hair out.

DEC 14- Santa Beard! Put Vaseline on a player's face. Then see how quickly you can put cotton balls all over the place and make the coolest beard ever.

DEC 15- Write a letter to Santa. Each person. Even your grumpiest teenager. And mail them to the North Pole.

DEC 16- Go to the library and check out at least 3-4 children's books on Christmas. Tonight, read them outloud. Then, read the REAL Christmas story, from Luke. Compare the fiction ones to the real one. What's hard to believe about each story, even the real one?

DEC 17- Put everyone's names in a bowl. Draw names. Give every person a dollar (plus tax). Go to the Dollar Tree. (Do this in shifts if you need to, to keep the secret). Each person buys for the person whose name they drew. The gift must be something that represents that person's place in the family. Like: "I bought you these Sour Patch Kids candies because sometimes you're grumpy, but inside you're really sweet." Or "I bought you this box of Band-Aids because you always make me feel better." Go home and each person wrap their gift. Put under the tree.

DEC 18- One week until the big day! Decide as a family to do an outreach together at some point this week. Sit down and discuss ideas like: cookies to police station, a plate of Christmas dinner to a shut-in, reading the Christmas story in a nursing home, or Christmas caroling around the neighborhood. Put it in ink on the calendar for a day this week. Leave space in whatever day you choose to bless people who cannot really "bless you back". (This is not to be confused with tomorrow's activity...)

DEC 19- Bake cookies and treats for special people in your lives and take them to them as thank yous. Leave some in your mailbox for mail delivery person, take to your child's pediatrician and dentist, and drop off some to your child's teacher at church. Nothing says "thank you" like something from your kitchen.

DEC 20- No TV tonight. Just Christmas music and board games. No overhead lights, either. Tree lights and candles. Just because.

DEC 21- The Polar Express comes on tonight at 8:30 EST. Seriously? Don't miss it. Everyone wears pajamas. Not optional.

DEC 22- Walk around your neighborhood and look at Christmas lights. No one lit up on your street? Walk anyway, and pray for each house, outloud. Take turns. Speak blessings on each residence. May feel weird at first. And if it's too weird to "pray," just say "I hope the people in that house are healthy all year." Or, "I believe the people in the blue house will get the new roof they've been needing this year." Speak blessings!

DEC 23- Getting CLOSE! Tonight, make everyone a cup of hot chocolate. Sit in a circle and play the ABC game. "This year, I was thankful for Allison. She's a good friend." Next person- "This year, I was thankful for the new Baby." If you have older kids/teens, do it the more challenging way, where each person repeats everything they have heard, adding their letter to the roster. For instance, the person with "E" as to remember what A,B,C,and D said before adding their E.

DEC 24- Christmas EVE! So many fun things to do. For starters, go to breakfast together as a family. Open your dollar gifts from each other. Find a church service to attend. Have communion together as a family. Watch "It's a Wonderful Life," tonight at 8:00 EST on NBC. Drive around and look at lights one more time. Somehow, they'll look differently after tonight.

DEC 25- The BIG DAY! Before presents are torn into, pray together as a family and thank God for His abundance in your lives this year. Draw attention to the fact that without His Gift, today would be just another winter day. After the demolishing of gift wrap, employ little hands to clean up before toyfest begins. Eat breakfast. Play. Be a kid all day long. Laugh. Snort. Take photos, both by camera and in your heart. Referee the fights. Let them "not" share their new toy, just for today. Through the day, take time to gather each precious face in your hands and look into their eyes and speak love into them. Send them to bed. Sit down. Breathe.

And enjoy the ride.

Merry Christmas, Moms. Merry Christmas, Dads. Make it count. All of it.

To My gulp Daughter In Law.

2011-11-28T10:27:00.000-08:00

I get it now.

My nephew has paved the way for how I will feel raising a son. He's practically my "other" child. He tears at my heart and just the sight of him- just the sound of his name- can literally make my heart warm instantly. I am totally smitten with admiration for his giant, chocolate eyes, his luscious bottom lip that I kiss every time I hold him, and his signature mean face. He's my buddy. And right now, his mom, his Gia, his Grammy, his Bug (me)... well, we're the ladies in his life. But one day, his hand won't quite fit inside mine anymore. He won't light up at the sound of my voice, nor will he give me those tiny snuggles when he's sleepy. He won't crawl at lightning speed into my arms when he wants to be held. In fact, he won't want me to hold him at all.

He'll find another girl whose heart she'll give to him. And he will take it and cherish it all his life.

The even BIGGER problem here is that if I can't imagine sharing Legend with another woman (I hate sharing him with his grandmas, I admit it...), how in the WORLD will I give my SON to a woman to take care of?

Right now, as I write this, Walker is wadded up in a ball above my bellybutton, making me feel a little less than comfy at the moment. Earlier, he was doing the moonwalk. Before that, the Ally McBeal baby dance. He's a joyful little man.

And right now, I am completely, totally, and literally his world.

I can hold him all to myself, not yet having to share him with his grabbing Aunt Lori, his smoochy Gia, or his smothering big sister Abi. He's all mine. His daddy provided his blood, and I supply everything else. His food, his shelter, his warmth, his comfort. But the day is soon (not soon enough) approaching that I will usher his body into the world that's a little colder than my womb, and I will share him with loved ones, friends, and a world that is waiting for his arrival.

But that's not the big deal.

One day, I will have to share him with HER.

More than likely, somewhere on this planet, there's a mom who is carrying her. Or maybe she just gave birth to her. Maybe their family is close by... perhaps I pass them in Target. Or maybe they are overseas somewhere, speaking a foreign language. Regardless, she exists, or soon will exist, and the Maker Himself has arranged for my son's path to cross with hers. He has planted the seed in Walker's heart even now, that her beauty will catch his eye, her laugh his ear. And though I know how the story ends, and I know my son will be happy all his days as a result of this arrangement by Majesty...

I don't like her right now.

I want this young lady to know exactly what this mama thinks about her. So here it is.

Dear Young Woman Who Has Stolen My Son's Heart,

I know you. Well, let me rephrase that. I know OF you. I'm a girl too... a little worn around the edges, more so than you are. Probably older than your own mom. Probably a little more outspoken. And definitely more aware of the gift I'm giving you than you are at this point.

See, I know the cost of his life. I waited to see his heartbeat on the screen for seven years. Seven. Long. Years. I dreamed of him a million times, in black and white at first... then sepia tones... and then in vivid technicolor. I know what it's like to pine for him before he was even formed. I loved him passionately first. And I will love him until my heart beats for its final time.

I am carrying him in my womb right now, but that doesn't matter. In my mind's eye, he is strong, stinky, and slightly obnoxious, the way every man is. He comes from a long line of men. Not boys. Not pushovers. Men. Manly, strong, wise, and gentle men. So though he's the length of a zucchini and the weight of a pack of hamburger meat, he's my big, strong, strapping boy.

By the time you read this, his dad and I will have nursed him through infancy, first steps, skinned knees from bicycle accidents, banged up lips from playing ball, and sat through 25,321 hours of sports events. We will have made him chaperone for his older sister's social shenanigans, set up countless tents in our living room, and asked him endless times if he is wearing deodorant. No telling how many gallons of milk we've purchased, how many large pizzas have been delivered, and how many dozens of cookies I've had waiting on him when he got home from school.

We loved him first. I KNEW him first.

I know exactly how many freckles are on his face. I know every birthmark. I know the story behind every scar that he wears like badges. I remember every Christmas gift, every birthday party, and every time he slept somewhere besides under my roof. He needed ME when his heart was broken the first time. He needed ME when his laundry was piled up in his closet floor. He needed ME when he had a fever and hurt all over.

But it's come to my attention, now he needs YOU. Ugh.

I also know that I have prayed for you since his gender was revealed. That you would be a woman of virtue and integrity. That you would know the incredible worth that was placed on your life by Holiness before your conception. That you would dress so to catch my son's heart first, and THEN his eye. That you would be being trained to raise your children to know God, simply by watching your life. That you would be a living, breathing example of femininity and grace. That you would be able to manage your household with skill. That you would know when to put your foot down to my hardheaded son, and know when to submit to his leadership.

But mostly, I've prayed you will love Jesus Christ. And that from that love, you could love my boy with your mind, body, and soul.

My boy has been given the best example he could ever have on this side of eternity to pattern his life by. His father is a daddy. He has loved me so well for many years and guided me through many gray times. He is tough, he is strong, he is handsome, and he is rugged. But he is tender, he is gentle, he is meek, and he is loving. Perfect? No. But close enough for my heart. My boy has seen his parents work it out and work it through. He has seen dedication and the sacredness of a marriage covenant. If nothing else was given to him, I promise you he knows how to be committed to you for all his life.

If you're the one, we're going to be in each other's lives for the rest of mine. I don't know your own family situation. I pray you're intimately close to your mom. But if not, I look forward to having the opportunity of being a mom to you over time. Here's what I can promise you.

I will not be perfect.

I will tick you off sometimes.

I will not intrude into your personal lives, though I will mumble to myself when you're not listening.

However, if you give me a platform into your life- if I earn that from you- I will do my best to guide you and educate you like a mom-in-law should.

I will defend you, trying my best not to believe my boy first. I'm aware there's two sides to every story.

I will be the best grandma that's ever lived.

If he ever loses his mind and puts his hands on you in anger, I will break his bones into a million pieces, no hesitation.

I will pray for you every single day of my life.

If you need me, I will be wherever you are in the length of time it takes my plane to get there.

What I expect from you. It's alot simpler, your part.

Love my boy. The best you can. Nothing more, nothing less is needed.

So, there you go, love. At this point, I still don't like you very much.

But my heart already loves you.

Love,
"Mom"

Let your girls be ladies.

2011-10-12T07:24:00.000-07:00

So, this is a relatively easy one for me. I am the mother of a VERY feminine, VERY girly, VERY estrogen-driven female. (I am bracing myself for the testosterone that is coming in March.) Girliness comes easily to Abi. She is completely and totally afraid of all things reptilian or with antennae, never had to be told not to stick something in a light socket, and hasn't eaten a single stick or blade of grass in her entire life.

She's SUCH a girl.

And while it's easy to raise a girl like Abi in a million ways, I am also acutely aware that she is constantly watching me, patterning herself after me in ways that often frighten me. And this fact causes me to be more vigilant about training her to be a lady on purpose.

I love the picture above. For one thing, I am SO TIRED of one gender or the other being blamed for the downfall of our society's values and ethics. When God put man and woman in the Garden, He told THEM, as in male AND female, to be fruitful and multiply... told THEM to work together... told THEM to rule and have dominion in the earth. So, women-- to blame men for the world's problems is only 50% of the story. And men-- vice versa.

I am all about parenting on purpose. Yes, there are many moments just "caught" that our children get by the natural ebb and flow of a household living together. However, there is nothing worthy of "catching" if the parents' core values and beliefs aren't lining up with the Word of God... the ULTIMATE Old School. Here's the part where many of my more "new school" readers will tune me out, stomp their feet in protest, and think I came from the Dark Ages.

I'm okay with that. ;-)

Parents, if you're raising a daughter, please hear me out.

While I am all, and I mean ALL about raising my daughter to be equal to any man, I am VERY aware that she is not capable of doing the same things he can do. I am aware that even though she is strong, decisive, and brilliant, there are some things that God naturally designed her to default to a man for... to let him lead her in many ways. This is not about finding her a gender appropriate job-- if she for some bizarre reason wants to be a mechanic, more power to her. We'll send her to the best mechanic school on the planet. (However, I am totally convinced a woman shouldn't be President... so sue me.) This is about cultivating female qualities inside her. Making her into a true lady, whether she is a teacher, a race care driver (please, Lord, no), a butcher, a baker, or a candlestick maker.

So what qualities should we bring forth in our young ladies? What are the morals and cores that we hope she catches from us? What are we preparing her to be?

Humility. This is a virtue sadly misunderstood by the world as a whole. We take humility to mean being beaten down, oblivious to our strengths, and always taking the backseat to someone else's desires or wishes. Not the case at all. Humility is simply the art of knowing that even though you ARE all that and a bag of chips, you don't have to prove it to anyone. Your life itself will show how awesome you are. Humility is a mom choosing to stay home and rear her children, though she has a college degree on her wall. Humility is wiping up vomit from the bathroom floor and washing it from the hair of a sleepy two year old, even though Daddy slept right through it. Humility is a homecooked meal in the evening, even though both parents worked just as hard that day. Humility is a heart felt apology, even when she knows she's right. Humility is admitting you're not physically strong enough to move the entertainment center by yourself and asking your husband for help. It's knowing your strengths and being very familiar with your weaknesses. Humility is a crowning jewel of any confident woman.

Modesty. A friend of mine recently sent me a message on facebook, telling me she was buying underwear for her daughter... a little girl, size 5/6. She found underwear in that tiny little girl size that said, "Girls Rule, Boys Drool" on them. SERIOUSLY? Why in the HECK should a 5/6 year old's underwear say ANYTHING other than the days of the week? I'll tell you why. Society is programming our daughters to showcase their bodies instead of their beauty. They are teaching our girls from kindergarten that there's no harm in being "confident" (which isn't really confidence if you have to flaunt it, btw) in your sexuality... no repercussions for being precocious and mature beyond her years. I may be in the 1% of people who feel this way (and again, I'm okay with that), but I have a problem with sweatpants that have writing on the butt that girls wear in public! Why is it ok to dress my daughter, whether she's 5 or 17 in clothing that draw attention to her rear end or her breasts? Wise up, parents! It's the "little foxes" that spoil the vine. I'm not saying we dress our girls like they live on a cultish compound, nor am I saying we shouldn't teach them to be confident with their body image. What I AM saying is that a modest girl or woman doesn't need to advertise what's underneath those clothes! Leave something for boys to wonder about! If we can instill in our girls where true beauty comes from, she won't need to have the word PINK written on her butt when she goes to Wal-Mart. She'll turn heads by the way she treats the cashier or thanks the pharmacist. Which takes me to the next virtue...

Thankfulness. Kids complain-- ALL. THE. TIME. And about everything. This isn't fair, that's not fair, she got more than me, he's being rude to be, I hate my teacher, school is stupid, this is cheesy... I HATE COMPLAINING. And I do not tolerate it. When Abi tries to complain (which isn't often because we don't foster this environment in our home), we immediately thrust the responsibility on her to do two things. 1- Find something to be thankful about in that situation, and 2- Be a part of the solution. Fostering an atmosphere of negativity and complaint fosters entitlement mentalities, and takes the joy right out of life. Where do we get this idea that life can only be enjoyed if all the stars line up correctly? I love the verse found in Ecclesiastes that says, "If you wait for perfect conditions, you'll never get anything done." A heart of unthankfulness makes us think we can't enjoy life unless A+B =C. Sometimes A+B= X and we must find ways to be thankful in any equation. If thankfulness is missing from your daughter's life (or son's or YOURS), be thankful on PURPOSE. MAKE yourself notice the simple things that you tend to breeze by and then point them out to your children, outloud. Trees, flowers, cooler weather, a clean house, hot food on the table, and freedom to worship God as we choose. Talked about those things lately?

Manners. Okay, seriously. MANNERS, PEOPLE. First of all, you can't expect your daughter to have manners if you're calling her a stupid idiot, or telling her to shut up. Practice what you preach. I blog about this alot, I know. But I can tell you from both sides of the equation how much manners matter... both as an educator for ten years and as a parent. GREAT FAVOR is given to children who exemplify a heart of kindness and consideration toward others. "Yes, ma'am," "No, sir," and "Hi, Mr. Tommy" are ways that apparantly just cavemen spoke. Lately, two children have asked Abi why she says, "Yes, ma'am" while talking to me. That makes me sad. Our children are CERTAINLY equal to us as humans, and CERTAINLY in the eyes of God. Their value is equal to the oldest person alive. But they are NOT our peers, and we're not teaching them to "respect their elders..." Especially in the way they speak to us. End of story.

Diligence. Recently, I walked into Abi's room to find her clothes strewn out in about five different directions. I said to her, "I do not mind picking up your clothes for you. IF you're willing to pay me 50 cents for every piece I pick up." Needless to say, I didn't pick up any clothes. Oh, you know the moments. Your kid is in Publix with you. She gets a box of cereal and runs up to you with it... "Mom, can we get this cereal?" You say no. She sticks it on the nearest shelf. Not a big deal, or so it seems. However, diligence says we put it back where it belongs because someone will have to. Or, she gets home and kicks her shoes off in front of the TV, where they stay all evening. When it's time for the bedtime cleanup, you're tempted to pick her shoes up and put them near the door where they belong. Diligence says, "Please put your shoes by the door so you know where they are in the morning." Or, come homework time, and the complaining begins. A "typical" response is to let her grumble because, after all... what kid loves homework? Diligence says, "If you'd like to complain, that's fine. When you've finished this page, I'm going to toss it in the trash and let you try it all again. And we'll do this over and over until you can do it without complaining." Sounds tough, I know. But fact is, one day we won't be available to pick up shoes and monitor attitudes. We've got to get them trained both inside AND out by then.

The ability to love her man. This topic alone could go on all day. But I'll be succinct. Teaching her how to attract him into her life and let the bugs drop where they lay. Teaching her to rely on her man without being codependent on him. Teaching her to be weak so he can be strong. Teaching her WHEN to be strong. Teaching her to care for her home, his castle. Teaching her to build him up with her words. Teaching her how to cook so she'll knock him off his feet and win his heart in the process. Teaching her how to let him chase her... how to actually draw the chase OUT of him toward her. Teaching her how to put her foot down when she needs to. Teaching her how to partner with him and walk alongside him but at the right times letting him take the lead. Teaching her to love him- heart, soul, body, and with her very life.

Of course there's more. The scope of womanhood encompasses so many emotions and so many roles. But back to the original picture at the top of this post.

By training our ladies to be ladies... even if that means she climbs trees in her spare time, we are training her to naturally cause the men around her to step into their rightful roles as gentlemen. Her inward beauty will evoke the best from him. Oprah Winfrey once said, "We teach people how to treat us." Parents, here's our wake up call. Train your young ladies to live their lives so that the thugs and wanna-bes that will try to catch her heart will merely fall to the wayside as she moves forward in her womanhood. If we train her to BE the right person, she will DRAW the right person to her.

It's really that simple. Honest.

Lessons From Infertility

2011-10-03T07:55:00.001-07:00

Alot of you who follow this blog know our story. Some of you have been with me since day one of my journey with Rod, some sixteen years ago. However, most of you aren't familiar with the road we've traveled.

Today, for some reason, I knew it was time to tell the story.

Rodrick and I started dating in August of 1995. We got engaged in February of '96, and married on November 9, 1996. It was the beginning of a beautiful thing. After being married for a year, we decided we were ready to have children.

We had no idea what would come next.

When you get married, you give little thought to "what happens if we don't get pregnant?". It never even entered my mind. Not for a second. So you can imagine when, after one year of trying flew by, and there was no baby, I was a little surprised. Year two rolls by, and I was concerned. Year three, and I was panicked.

This is the part where most people say, "Why didn't you do something medically by then?" Our lives were busy, to say the least. We were full-time youth and children's pastors, and our house was literally a rotating door of teenagers all the time. We were not "prepared" for infertility, because it was kinda just a given that we'd have kids because we were kid crazy. Life moves on. And really, it took three years before the reality hit me.

We were dealing with infertility.

Oh yes, I went to doctors for my yearly check ups. I'd tell them my symptoms and concerns, and how I was worried about the fact that we had no baby after trying for three years. The response, without fail, was "You're young. You've got time."

Almost seven years into our marriage, we (I) finally mustered the courage to begin fertility research, to dig deeply into why this wasn't happening on its own. Rod had his tests. My first appointment was scheduled. A few days before, I decided to take a pregnancy test, to skip a step, as I knew before we proceeded, they'd want to know if I was pregnant or not. I peed on the stick. Turned the shower on. Grabbed my towel. Glanced at the test.

There. Were. Two. Lines.

I'm pretty sure I sank to the floor. Two lines. TWO LINES. And here she is.

Three months after Abi was born, we decided to start trying again. Hoping and assuming it would happen easier this time, we ran into parenthood raising a newborn daughter and believing God for a sibling for her to grow up with. Well, the same story takes place in this second act. Months turn into years and we found ourselves seven years down the road again, and no new baby. We make the doctor's appointment. A trusted friend and mentor of mine asked me, "What month are you wanting to be pregnant by?" I said, "I can wrap my heart around July."

We go to the doc. He looks at records, does his own assessments, and decides to put us on Clomid (an ovulatory drug). Month one, no baby. He discusses with us that if nothing happens by the third month, he will refer us to another specialist. Second month, double the dosage. I wake up one morning, knowing I needed to take a test.

There were two lines. TWO LINES. AGAIN.

It was July 5. And here HE is.

For most of the world, fertility is as natural as breathing. It's 1+1=2. For the other part of the world, the lows of infertility are unspeakable. This is a foreign world to most of you, so on behalf of those struggling, can I educate you for a few minutes?

Here's the deal.

When people you love are around you, rejoicing in their conceptions and welcoming new lives into the world, you want to rejoice. But you want to run. And scream. And punch them. And rejoice. All at the same time.

When the holidays roll around and Christmas cards of chubby babies in Santa hats come to your mailbox, you want to rip your mailbox out of the ground.

A man and a woman are a FAMILY. They are no less a family than a "family" with 5 kids. Children do not define a family unit... the marriage union does.

When people tell you they're pregnant, and they apologize for being so, it doesn't help matters at all. Do not apologize for being pregnant. You did nothing wrong. And please send the desiring mom the invitation to the baby shower (if she is your friend), as awkward as it sounds. People who have a hard time getting pregnant don't want to be made exceptions to the rule. Avoiding them, refraining from talking about the baby, and pretending you aren't excited about your coming arrival only makes the struggling woman feel even more of the "odd one out." Just be normal.

Never, ever, EVER ask someone who has been married a while, "Are you guys not going to have children?" Or, "So, when's a baby coming?" Your intentions are good, I know. But really. That's one of those questions that may not have a pleasant answer. It's like rubbing salt in a wound everytime a person struggling with conceiving has to answer it. Because there's no answer. I cried MANY times after that question was asked, in my car or bed, after the fact.

Avoid phrases like, "Well, it must not be God's will for you to have children." SERIOUSLY? Another terrible thing to say is, "You can always adopt." Adoption is not a runner up option. It's not a consolation prize. It is beautiful and wonderful, and believe me... if someone "needs" to adopt, they know it, so you don't have to give them that option.

Mother's Day is hard. If you're CLOSE to someone, send them a note. Otherwise, just walk away from that. It's just one of the 365 that aren't easy to get through if you're struggling.

Don't assume since someone isn't a parent yet (or ever) that they need to borrow your children. Babysitting is one thing, and most are glad to offer it. But your children are not their children, and "loaning them" to them is not filling the emotional hole in them.

Encourage-- don't harass-- them. Special Bible verses, handwritten cards, and sweet texts now and then will really lift their emotions. But don't see them as a charity case. They need empathy, not sympathy.

If they want to give up, let them. They will most likely come back around in their own time. Some days are easy, and some are extremely difficult. It's a roller coaster ride. And not a fun one. Sometimes there's cotton candy at the end and sometimes there's nada. Zilch. Nothing.

Those who have struggled with infertility see stretch marks, ligament pains, morning sickness, and uncomfy kicks as reminders of God's favor. And when you say things like, "Whew, I'm glad that stage is over for me," it really does sting. Because for those of us who struggled, we longed for what you had day in and day out. It's something that once we have it, we don't take it for granted.

Not long ago, I was in Atlanta with our youth on a retreat. In the CNN building, I saw this monument. And though it was honoring the military, I found its truth to be paralleled to what infertility feels like.

Am I saying those of us who dealt with infertility and then had a baby or two love our children more than those of you who got pregnant effortlessly? Absolutely not. Am I saying our children are worth more? Definitely no. Let me close with this truth.

If you've ever fought for something- for love, for a job you want, for freedom, for a baby... the price you've paid carries GREAT weight in the understanding you have of the value of that prize. So, when you're complaining about running from soccer to ballet to Scouts to football, please remember. Someone near you would give anything to make those drives in the evenings or get up with a crying baby in the early morning hours. Someone close by would give all their earthly possessions to have to deal with the snotty noses and snotty attitudes that make you want to get on a boat and sail far away. Someone right around the corner would love to be able to snap their fingers and hear, "MOOOOOM, LOOOOOOK!!!!!!!" five hundred and eighty-seven times in three hours.

I was that girl.

To all of you who are struggling-- my heart is full for you.

And I get it.

Until Alzheimer's Do We Part.

2011-09-21T07:24:00.000-07:00

Forgive me. I don't usually make such strong and harsh statements about a particular person, at least on my blog. And I certainly don't call out someone for their grave mistakes from a public platform such as this. But this morning, I could not keep my mouth shut any longer.

Pat Robertson has long since been a "voice" for Christianity in the media, both religious and secular. I have also long since hated that he is a representative for Christianity because of his completely erroneous views on Hurricane Katrina being the wrath of God toward homosexuals, September 11th being God's hatred toward America's wayward heart, and worldwide catastrophes such as tsunamis and earthquakes being the world reaping God's judgement and anger.

But seriously, more than how all of the above angers me to my core, his latest idiocy blows my mind. This "man of God," this representative of the Gospel, has publicly stated on his TV show 700 Club, that it's okay to divorce your spouse, should she/he develop Alzheimer's disease and degenerate mentally and physically.

I am not making this up. You can read it by going to this link, if you can stomach it.
http://blog.christianitytoday.com/ctliveblog/archives/2011/09/pat_robertson_s.html

Bascially, someone writes into the show, asking what she should tell a friend who is currently dating another woman because "his wife as he knows her is gone" from Alzheimer's. Pat's authoritative response?

"That is a terribly hard thing," Robertson said. "I hate Alzheimer's. It is one of the most awful things because here is a loved one—this is the woman or man that you have loved for 20, 30, 40 years. And suddenly that person is gone. They're gone. They are gone. So, what he says basically is correct. But I know it sounds cruel, but if he's going to do something he should divorce her and start all over again. But to make sure she has custodial care and somebody looking after her."

Pat goes on later to say that the person would be following "'til death do we part" because Alzheimer's is a "kind of death."

(By now, you may be wondering how this ties into Old School Parenting. I'm getting there. Bear with me, please.)

As I write this blog today, I can physically feel a reaction to this man's blatant disregard for life's most sacred union. I actually think my heart is beating a little faster than it was a few minutes ago. Perhaps this is a glimpse of how Jesus felt in the temple that day-- a fury that rose from inside Him because His Father's house was being tarnished by scoundrels and thieves. The anger this stupidity makes me feel stirs my heart for one main reason-

He is tearing away at the very thing Jesus gave His life to save-- families.

Pat Robertson, unfortunately, is in a position of authority in this world. He is recognized by young and old, around the planet as an "official" in Christianity. You may be one of the ones who doesn't recognize him, but the point is, his accessibility on television and Internet (sadly) qualifies him as a presence deserving attention and as a voice of expertise on the Word of God.

We live in a world that is clearly in moral decline. Words like "purity," "virtue," and "integrity" are words that very obviously hold little place in the modern family. Research shows that only 46% of CHRISTIAN adults believe there is a clear, absolute truth. SERIOUSLY? Less than HALF of us???? Ohhhh, wait! This divorce and Alzheimer's thing would fall into this category, because as the Reverend Robertson puts it, "Alzheimer's is a KIND of death." The heart beating, lungs working, stomach growling doesn't pass as living. The mental decline of our faculties qualifies as death. Someone notify all morgues around the world, please.

Sadly, Mr. Robertson is a reflection of a fickle Christianity that has permeated the world with its loose boundaries and guidelines. Thoughts like these are teaching our children that marriage is only in effect when it's convenient to be so. You married a well-bodied, fully functional man... and it's okay to divorce him if he's ever paralyzed or disabled because he can't contribute to your union anymore. Why don't we just shoot the elderly while we're at it?

Parents, please hear my heart. Few things are left that are sacred in this world anymore. Marriage is slowly on the out. Aborting a life is as common as birthing one, depending on the mood the mom is in that day. Promises are made, and rarely kept unless there's a contract with a lawyer enforcing it. It's time for the body of Christ to rise and say ENOUGH. And how do we do that?

By letting our yes mean yes, and our no mean no. When you make a promise to your spouse or your child, keep it at all costs. Children mimic what they see. If they see you being genuine and trustworthy, they won't be able to avoid being the same way.

Treat marriage as the gift it is. For better or for worse means day to day! The exciting, the mundane, the routine, the highs and lows... being committed to each other. But also being committed to build each other up with our words and our actions. Your spouse is your life partner. Meaning, from the altar to your last breath.

Search your heart on issues of morality and absolute truth. Do you know what you believe? Really know? Do you think certain sins are appropriate some times and not in other times? Are you wavering on issues of right and wrong? Is your moral compass broken? Can you even find it? Jesus came to bring us back to God, and as a result, ALL your sins were dealt with at the cross. But that forgiveness does not pardon us from a responsibility to live a life of integrity, both in the light, and in the shadows.

I look at my husband and think of Pat Robertson's words-- and I cringe. How can I look at this man- this man whom I pledged my life, my love, my body, and my faithfulness to for the rest of our lives-- and say to him, "It's all intact unless you lose your ability to love me back." How can I look at the man who has given his blood, sweat, and energy to providing a nice house for me and his children to live in... who has sacrificed his best years to make sure all of my years are my best ones... who has loved me through years of infertility and emotional pain, sat at my bedside while I was in the hospital from my own stupidity... all of this- and tell him, "You're not good enough anymore"?

I hope you feel the anger. Because if you feel it, you'll be stirred to action. To be the best you can be, right where you are.

And that's all the change in the world.

Amazing Kids.

2011-09-14T05:27:00.000-07:00

Ouch.

Before you have kids, you know everything. You judge other people's parenting styles and say profound things like, "When I have kids..." Or, "I will NEVER do that." And my favorite is, "Know what I would do? I would..."

Then, a 7lb9oz bundle of humanity enters your life and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

I don't know anything.

So, time moves on. You muddle through the mundane and fly through the fun times, and before you know it, you've got a kid walking across the stage, receiving her diploma from high school. And you hope against all hope you did it right.

I want my children to be amazing. Not just "good kids," and not just "great kids." I want their lives to be NOTHING short of amazing. Now, hear me out, all you "I want everyone to be fair" people. I'm not saying every person isn't amazing. The fact that you are one of two million sperm that met one teeny tiny egg is miraculous alone. The fact that the Creator of the universe numbered the hairs on your head and calls you by His own special name for you is both breathtaking and humbling at the same time. So, yes, we are all "amazing" in His eyes and in our own ways.

But what I'm talking about is raising children who are amazing- which by definition means "To overwhelm with wonder, to bewilder."

I don't know if you've noticed, but there's alot of bewildering behavior from children these days. But like I've said 72,488 times, we have a parent problem, not a child problem in this country. Parents are leaving the school systems, churches, Internet, television, and older siblings to raise their children, all for the sake of the almighty dollar. And as a result, we've got a group of kids who cannot carry on a meaningful conversation with another human being, have no moral compass by which to guide their lives, and are drifting aimlessly the closer they get to adulthood.

This is not amazing. This is sad. This is tragic.

So how then? How do we raise children who overwhelm the world with wonder because of the content of their character? How do we produce children who bewilder others with their style, their grace, their hearts?

1- Spend time parenting them on purpose. Fixing dinner, carpooling all over town, and bedtime routines are non-negotiable parts of most of our lives. However, we can parent on purpose through these moments. As you cook, employ little hands to help you mix it up, and sneak in a life lesson about patience. As you drive to yet another sporting event, find something out the window to talk about that exemplifies the magnificence of the God we serve. When you make a mistake, point it out to your children, and tell them what you did to correct it. Be vigilant about seizing the small moments because the big moments are rare and before you know what happened, life moved on in those small moments and you were on your smartphone.

2- Mandate manners. Manners are SUPER important in this world, believe it or not. I taught children for fifteen years at our church. Know the kids I naturally feel more generous to, more favorable to? The ones who say thank you for a piece of candy. The ones who call me "Miss Jill" instead of "Jill." We make Abi answer with "Yes, ma'ams," and "No sirs" when she is answering us. We make her say, "Yes?" instead of "What?" when we call on her. Know the looks and words of affirmation she gets from the cashier at Publix when she responds with "Yes, ma'am" or asks the man bagging our groceries how his day is on her own initiative? Fact is, where manners are, favor follows. And furthermore, what's wrong with teaching children to respect adults? Lord knows this is a dying virtue. I'm bringing it back. Period.

3- Teach them to go the extra mile. Kids have an innate pattern to do what's expected of them. So, it's up to us to expect their best, to draw the best out of them. Hear what I'm saying... not MORE than they can give. We need to demand WHAT they can give. While Abi is doing her homework, and I can see she's writing sloppily or giving 50% of her best, I literally tell her that I'll throw her homework away and she can start over if she can't give her very best. Sound extreme? Perhaps. But I know the boost she gets when she has done her best and can look at a sheet of paper done neatly and properly, versus one she gave little effort to. Until a child understands the pay-off of doing something right, we have to set them up for the pay-off. They won't do it on their own. But eventually, they'll become addicted to the success.

4- Quit with the handouts. My love language is gifts. So, I have to fight the urge to shower Abi with toys, clothes, and whatever else I can get my hands on. It's just innate to me to show her my love through cute things, fuzzy things, and fun things. But I have to reign it in. Giving her whatever her heart desires may be fun and all, but it's not real life. If she sets her heart on something and wants it badly, me rushing out to make it happen is only perpetuating the entitlement mentality that her generation suffers from. Now, does this mean that everything she gets, she has to work for? No. I'm all about gifts. But with BALANCE. She receives an allowance. Not for chores (though she can earn more money for difficult jobs). It's based on her age, ($1 per year), her attitude (her attitude stinks, she loses dollars), and her general level of responsibility. Then, when she sees that $40 toy, she knows she has about 6 weeks of allowance to save in order to get it. May sound sad, but that's real life, people. I ain't raisin' kids to think they can snap their fingers or pull out a credit card and make things happen.

5- Put God in the center on purpose. Those of us who are "Christians" may think that church is the main obligation we have to our children's spiritual health. Quite the contrary, my dearie. Church is an added tool to their health... it is not the main source. The Bible tells us that they should learn first about God "from their mother's knee." God created Adam, Eve, and the kids that followed. The church didn't come for many years later. This is the model He wanted us to follow! Talk about God's faithfulness as you deposit your paycheck. When a child's crying because of a skinned knee, pray first, THEN Band-Aid. Talk to God outloud when you're looking for a parking spot, then thank Him outloud when you find one. Remind your children of things God has done in your family that proves His might. These stories will die when we do if we don't keep them alive.

6- Create a motto for your child's life and speak it over them daily. Every single day, I speak these words to Abi (sometimes twice a day)- "Thank you, Jesus, that Abi is smart, safe, healthy, kind, and obedient. In Jesus' name, Amen." She says it with me. And lately, I've noticed her attaching it to her bedtime prayer on her own. I want MY voice, telling her what HIS voice says about her to be the loudest voice she hears. Because, in all actuality, there will be days she feels less than amazing. My prayer is that these words I've spoken over her for so long will resonate louder than the voices around her or the voices in her adolescent head.

Raising kids is tough. Raising amazing kids is even tougher. But, you know what? Growing old and gray and realizing that those overwhelmingly wonderful and bewildering kids are a product of our parenting (and the grace of a merciful God) will be worth it all. Guaranteed.

My Boy.

2011-09-07T10:18:00.001-07:00

Ah, pregnancy. So many things I love about it. And I'm not being sarcastic. I love it that while it took two of us to create this new life, I am the only one who can bake the baby. I love it that I have a constant little tiny companion with me, 24/7, for nine whole months. I love it that tiny tappings I've felt a couple of times will soon turn into flops, rolls, and quick turns that will wake me up at all hours of the night. I love it that Abi talks to my tummy everyday and last night, Rod lay his head on my tummy and spoke to his...

SON.

This means there's a living, squirming being of testosterone floating around in my womb as I write this, already scheming plans to rule the world with his cousin, Legend. This means my heart is about to be ripped out and wrapped around a tiny finger, the way Rod's was seven and a half years ago. This means... more than I can get my head to process, for sure.

So many things about having a girl I love. I mean-- I LOVE having a daughter. There's a connection a mom has to her daughter that surpasses words. It's living my childhood again through her every day. It's the awareness of how she will "need" me in ways a boy doesn't need his mom-- when she has cramps, when she doesn't understand boys, when she is looking for the perfect dress but can't describe it and I just know what she's saying... It's just, well... nothing short of special.

My world, up to this point, has consisted of Barbies, princesses, Hello Kitty, all things pink, purple and teal, lipgloss, fingernail polish, poofy skirts, days of the week monkey underwear, Squinkies, My Little Pony, and little littles (Abi's word for anything tiny).

So, what do I do with My son? I know. I'll figure it out. I know. Boys love their mamas. I know. Boys are easier than girls in a million ways.

All I know is that I love this little boy. As much as his sister, yet so totally different. So, in keeping true with my pattern, I need to tell my little wooly booger a few things today. Bear with me, please. :-)

Dear Walker,

It's Mom. Your incubator and your whole world right now. I'm the one who feeds you yummy things like Honey Nut Chex cereal and Mike and Ike candy. I also give you the bananas you demand, and take snuggly naps with you as my day allows it.

There's alot of things I need you to know, little man. But we have a lifetime to figure it all out. Right off the bat, I need you to know that I've never raised a boy before. Up to now, I've lived in girl world. I have a sister, a younger girl cousin who's like a little sister, and I am raising YOUR sister. So, I'm just a wave in the sea of estrogen. I'm girl through and through.

I hate reptiles and amphibians. They are not cute and you won't have them as pets in our house. Outside, sure. Garage, pushing it. In your room and it's off with your head. I will pretend to like movies like: Cars, Pirates of the Caribbean, GI Joe, Transformers, and Marvel comic movies. (KEYWORD: PRETEND). I do not care at all about baseball, soccer, or basketball. But for you, I'll become a professional fan. Oh, and I know we touched on the reptile/amphibian issue, but let me be clear. Snakes are evil, gross, and I treat all of them as poisonous, even if they are "grass snakes," "corn snakes," or "black snakes." And if you try to sneak one in the house and I find it, I will chop its head off with no hesitation, even if it's your lifelong pet.

I think, all that said, you and I will get along just fine. I will kiss every boo-boo you ever have. Football season? I'm your girl. I'll make sure you and your entire entourage have more food than you can possibly eat on one game day. In fact, your friends will think food is the language spoken in our home. There'll always be lots of it and good stuff at that.

I will show you how to take care of yourself and not be a total wimp your whole life. That will include things like: cleaning up your mess, putting your gross laundry where it belongs, operating the washer and dryer, clearing off the table, and making your own sandwich when you're hungry. Oh, and this will happen before the age of 10. Much before.

I'm not going to like your girlfriends very much, I'll just tell you that. But I'll play nice because one day, one of those very lucky girls will be your wife and the mother of my grandchildren. In the meantime, I have alot to teach you about girls. But mainly, I have alot to show you about how to attract the RIGHT girl. If you just look for HER, the others won't get in the way so much. And your sister will help with that, too. She's in love with you pretty bad. She'll be your first love. I know it's gross, but trust me. She'll be the prettiest girl you've ever seen for many years. Well, the second prettiest. ;-)

I don't need much from you. Moms are just like that. We give alot and don't ask for much in return. But here's a few things I do ask. Love God with all your heart, soul, and mind. Treat girls with respect, all the time. Rely on your daddy's wisdom because he has more than you'll ever comprehend. Call me and I will always come get you. Kiss me your whole life through. Hold your Gia's hand when you walk with her,even if you're 25. Once you become an adult, don't tell me everything you and Legend did together. Come home every Christmas.

Oh, and one more thing-- Heaven? Just be there.

I love you, Walker Windham. Save this letter. You'll appreciate it one day.

Mom

I Don't Get It...

2011-08-10T11:23:00.001-07:00

One thing's for sure about parenting.

Ok, two.

One- it's a never ending puzzle to solve. And two- sometimes, you won't even know where the puzzle pieces are.

Parenting is fun, isn't it? I'm not being sarcastic. Mostly. I mean, before we had kids, life was generally predictable and (**yawn**) boring. But boring now? HA. When time does slow down long enough for me to catch up on my DVR, I almost fall asleep. So "boring" and "predictable" are not in my vocab and haven't been for almost eight years now.

One of the many, many things about parenting that I enjoy is the complexity of it all. There's many things I've figured out. Like when Abi asks, "Which shirt should I wear," she's simply asking me so she can see if we think alike. Or when she says, "I'm hungry" after dinner, that's code for, "I'd like dessert now." I know her favorite color changes every few months or so. She hates to sleep in her bedroom. How to negotiate a plan before she even realizes what hit her strong will.

But there's oh-so-many other things I cannot figure out.

...like- how she can be on one end of our 2800 square foot house and I can be on the total other side, but the MINUTE I shut the bathroom door with church mouse quiet and stealth precision, she manifests.

...like- how in the WORLD I look like I'm 5 months pregnant already even though I've only gained 5.5 lbs.

...like- why I can clean the whole house and never hear a peep from her while she's in her room all day but the second I lie down to close my eyes, she suddenly needs a snack, a tag cut out of her shorts, a Band-Aid, or something off the top shelf of her closet.

...like- how something so sweet can turn on you like a spitting cobra at the drop of a hat if her shirt is too scratchy.

...like- how my heart can burst with love for a child that currently looks like a teddy graham/jelly bean/cocktail shrimp.

...like- how no matter how old Abi gets, I peek in on her every time I get up to use the bathroom, just to see her sleep.

...like- how I can be so done with her I feel like my skin will catch on fire if I am touched again, yet miss her instantly when she leaves me.

...like- how I summon my psychic mommy powers to find a miniature rubber pig the size of a dime in a bedroom that looks like Toys-R-Us on Black Friday.

...like- what the heck it is that happens between waking up cheerfully and time to put her hair up in a ponytail that goes so very awry.

...like- how in the world you can't make it through a movie without needing to pee but look at the clock at noon and realize the last time you actually peed was at 2:00 am.

...like- how Dora can ask the same question over and over and STILL not get the answer right, even though your preschooler is shouting the answer loud enough for the guys on the International Space Station to hear her.

...like- how she can seem so mature but every single day when I watch her walk into school, it looks like the first day of kindergarten all over again.

...like- why a child who eats broccoli, asparagus, hot sauce, and green beans will not touch corn.

...like- how the same day that began with you watching Daybreak News at 5:00 AM while feeding a baby will also end with you watching the 11:00 PM late news while you're yet again feeding a baby.

...like- how you can think things you ask God for forgiveness for one minute and then things that make you cry with joy the next minute about the same child who weighs 20 pounds.

...like- how you can crave a bean burrito from Taco Bell with all your heart and soul and yet miraculously be satisfied by a PBJ, of which you only get the crusts.

...like- how more and more little girls' shorts in stores are no bigger than underwear. Don't. Get. On. A. Tangent. Jill. Please.

...like- why the goal of the game is to train our children to leave us. Boo hiss.

...like- exactly HOW those Goldfish crackers got UNDERNEATH the infant carseat that weighs more than a small teenager, and STILL did not get crushed.

...like- how it is that the first sight of a runny nose can send terrible shivers down your spine.

...and like- what did I do before I had these little ones to worry about, manage, kiss, and chew on?

...and what will I do when they don't need me anymore?

Oh, I know. We'll travel to wherever they are and pour the next part of our lives into our friendship with them. (We get to be friends one day!!!!!!!!!)
But for now, mysteries prevail. And I'm the greatest detective there ever was. ;-)

Dear Baby.

2011-07-06T09:58:00.000-07:00

Yep, baby. As in a new person. Tiny, squishy, and approximately the size of a poppy seed. With a face forming, four chambers of the heart pumping blood, and the fingerprints of God all over her... or him.

And growing in my womb as we speak.

I'm pregnant. I found out yesterday morning at approximately 6:09 am. And the moment I saw two lines, I fell deeply and passionately in love all over again.

Suffice to say, I am both full of words and all out of words at the same time. Physically, I feel quite different, yet not a whole lot. Mentally, I am preparing myself to start over. I'm going from a child who can wipe her own bottom to a child who will literally milk me for all I've got.

Following my typical form, I must get some words out. Some, I'll keep to myself and ponder in my heart. Some I'll only share with my husband. My mom. My sister.

But here's what I need my tater tot to know right this moment as the Master is knitting her/him together in my innermost parts.

Dear Baby,

I am your mom. Yep, God chose you and I to meet up this side of Heaven to love each other and walk this earth together. I'm the one who is lending her body to you, to incubate you as best I can from the realities of a world that is less than perfect, so you can become the creation God is fashioning you to be. Did you know His hand is on you? Well, it is. Literally. He is shaping you, making you in His image. He spoke a wonderful language into you called DNA. It's a big deal, this stuff. But it's really just God's plan, mapped out through your body from your head to your feet.

Speaking of feet, you don't have any yet. But you will. And they will take you many places through your life. They will run to me when you fall off your bike, and run away from me when you don't want to put your diaper back on. They will take you through thirteen years of school and will walk you into your college dorm room as your dad and I drive away and leave you and your feet there. They could possibly take you to a foreign land to serve your country or preach the Gospel, as it's in your blood to do both. (This is a matter I plan on taking up with your Creator soon.)

You are entering a family that is, um... unique. You'll spend unbelievable amounts of time with them, when most of your friends are spending time goofing off and creating trouble. Get used to it. This is your life. And these people will be your best friends for all your life. I promise. Your grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins... all waiting for you to take you place among them.

Your daddy is a manly man. He's a cowboy through and through. If you're a boy, he'll be your dream daddy. You'll shoot guns, swing axes, and build treehouses with your bare hands before you're 8. He'll teach you how to manage your money, treat women with respect and dignity, and how to guard your heart from temptation. And if you're a girl... Well, you're in for the ride of your life. He will romance you until he takes his last breath. He will be fiercely protective of your every move. And you will think he's the most handsome man you've ever seen. Because he will be.

Then, there's your sister. She's quite a treasure. I love her very much. You're blessed to have her ahead of you. She is wise beyond her years, sensitive to your needs, and is compassionate to a fault. But she's also a litttttttle bit hardheaded. So don't expect to waltz into her room and make yourself at home. She doesn't operate like that- neither in her room or in her life. But don't worry- you'll make yourself at home in her heart. In fact, I think you're already doing that. Your sister has prayed for you and waited for you when, honestly, I sat you aside at times. Oh, don't worry. You were never out of my mind. Especially with your sister around. She has included you in prayers, mealtime, conversations, and in her dreams for years now. One day, she'll be the best friend you've ever had. I promise.

Let's get back to me. I'm the one that matters most to you right now, I guess, since you're burrowing a hole in my organs, getting all snuggly and cozy for our journey. I will love you differently from everyone else. Not more, just differently. I'm the one whose voice you'll hear in a few weeks, as I sing on the stage with all that loud music. You'll hear me scold your sister for turning the TV up too loudly. You'll hear me and your Aunt Lori laugh incredibly often. You'll hear me in the early morning hours, speaking God's word over you. You'll hear "I love you" said alot, to your daddy and your sister. I'm the one who will make most of your meals, pack most of your lunches, and be on most of your fieldtrips. I'm the one you'll cry out for when you wake up with a hurting tummy in the middle of the night. I'm the one who knew you were here first... even if it was only a few seconds before I awoke Daddy.

But I'm also the one who will make the most mistakes every single day of your life.

I can't promise you that you'll always like me. In fact, if you like me all the time, I'm doing something wrong. Oh, but don't worry. I'll fix it. I have no problem being your mom. We'll be friends later. But for now, I have a HUGE job to do. And your daddy's job is even bigger. We don't know what we're doing all the time, but that's okay. We know the One who DOES know. And we ask Him for help all the time.

Little baby, your life was bought with a price. Long before you were placed in my tummy, your Creator sent His most special Son to die for your eternity. I know you can't possibly understand my words right now. But I have to tell you... I love knowing that while you're swimming away in there, He's speaking mysteries to you, revealing His plan for your future to your heart. You are loved, you are treasured, you are valued, and you are His.

You're also MINE.

There's so much I want to say to you. But we have time. I have a little less than eight months to get your world ready for you. And speaking of the world... it's a beautiful place. There's many people here that will love you and care for you. Some won't. But that's okay (and if your Gia finds out who they are, she'll probably beat them up. You'll understand this later.) Anyway. The world is waiting for you to be a part of it.

Our family is waiting for you to be a part of it.

This past Christmas, we hung your ornament on the tree. This year, you'll be getting closer to being here with us.

You make my heart leap, little one. I love you forever. And ever.

And even after that.

Mom

Parents on Trial

2011-06-29T10:37:00.000-07:00

Those of you who live in the other 49 states aren't graced with the privilege (sarcasm) of having the Casey Anthony Trial taking over your daytime TV programming. Those of us in central Florida are. And while I'm at work most of the week while the trial is on, the days I am home, I find myself like most of my fellow comrades-- glued to the TV like a moth to a flame.

Funny, isn't it? How we are attracted to public displays of shame and failure, like a sideshow for a circus? Don't get me wrong. This is what we call "due process," and it's actually one of the beautiful things about our country. We, the taxpayers, have a right to witness a trial by jury, paid for by our taxes, and when it's something of this nature (relating to the well-being or death of a child), it's especially close to our hearts and especially magnetizing to our attention.

We each have our own reasons for watching. Some to see Casey "put on her charade." Some so that we have something to talk about around the coffeepot at work the next day. Some feel the need to "monitor" the process, making sure justice is being served for Caylee's sake. I'm pretty sure all of us are just plain old interested in this trial, period. All that said, aside from the nosyness I have like everybody else, I think I have finally pinpointed why my heart and mind are so drawn to this trial.

I have a need to find out where this all went wrong for Casey.

As a parent, as a parenting coach, as a student of parenting... where did Casey get forgotten? Let's get one thing out of the way right now. I totally believe Casey Anthony killed her daughter, Caylee Marie. I totally believe it was not accidental, not a spur-of-the-moment plan, but a premeditated act of desperation to get what she saw as a "hindrance" out of her life. I also believe that while we may have gotten to where we are because of the decisions of our parents, we stay where we are by OUR choices. So, regardless of what did or did not take place in her childhood (I do not believe she was molested by father, but let's just say she was...), that taking the life of a child is NEVER excusable. EVER. If you do not agree with me about Casey's guilt, that is totally okay with me... believe me. I have NO problem agreeing to disagree. So, please refrain from starting debates and the like because you don't share my verdict. This is the beauty of humanity... we can differ and still coexist.

That said, how does a mother who has felt a child move inside her body, ushered new life into this world, looked into the eyes of that child and felt sincere love and appreciation for her, two years later map out a plan to extinguish that life as if it never existed? How does a mother who has fed, bathed, nurtured, and sheltered that child turn her heart so against her that she not only willed her dead, but also followed through with it? How? HOW????

Watching the trial, one thing has become painfully obvious to the world. The Anthony family has built a majority of their lives around lies- whether they be Casey's, or their own family secrets. Stories are continually changing, and Casey is forever rolling her eyes and shaking with anger at her parents as they move forward with any version of the story that contradicts the drowning theory or the plethora of other falsities Casey has conjured up. It's clear through their testimonies that Casey was raised to get her way, as her attitudes and fits often proved too much for her parents to handle, even into her adulthood. She was given a car, didn't do the laundry in her parents house where she lived as an ADULT, and shirked primary care for her daughter to her mother, Cindy.

There are no perfect parents. Believe me-- I know this. And if there were a list of perfect parents, I do not in any shape, form, or fashion even pretend my name would make the top 1000. But I can tell you this. Watching the pain these parents have gone and are going through has made me do an inventory on my own parenting, because it is my heart's cry to NEVER see my daughter at the mercy of a justice system, especially if the origin of the offense was at her own hand. Because no matter which way you cut it, I would have had a hand in her downfall, somewhere, somehow.

So how then? How do we avoid sitting on the witness stand someday as our child faces death row charges? How do we keep from being the one with our hand on the Bible, testifying before God that our word is true, in hopes to save our child's life? Well, that answer may not be as cut and dry as one would hope. See, God did everything right with Adam and Eve, and they STILL chose to sin. We won't do it all right. But if you're like me, you have to go to sleep at night with the assurance that you aren't raising a child capable of the offense of taking her own child's life to simplify her own. And I don't have all the answers. But here's a few convictions that I KNOW will help deter my children's path from becoming that of Miss Anthony's.

1. LIVE TRUTH AT ALL COSTS. A Bible verse my parents mandated was Psalm 15:4- "He swears to his own hurt and doesn't change." This is as basic as making your child finish a sports season he starts, even if the coach is unfair and your child is being done wrong. Commitment is something our kids have little concept of and it's because we as parents don't make them follow through with anything! We live in an attention deficit time, where we bounce around from event to event, person to person, and don't stick with anything. When you make a commitment, FOLLOW THROUGH, for Heaven's sake. And if your child promises her favorite shoes to her friend, guess what she's obligated to give her even after giver's remorse kicks in? This will teach our kids that their word is their name. And a good name is all you've got.

2. EVALUATE HOW EASY YOU'VE MADE LIFE FOR YOUR KIDS. I'm not talking about going home and ripping the Xbox out and throwing it in the garbage can. I'm saying, when your kids say, "I want a drink of water," do you hop to the kitchen for them? Five year olds and up are capable of tending to many of their own needs, but sadly, we have boys and girls at 12 who utter a wish and their parents float to the need at the drop of a hat. This in turn produces entitlement, and entitlement produces nothing but laziness and ungratefulness.

3. STOP SHELTERING YOUR CHILDREN FROM CONSEQUENCES. If I decided today to drive 80 mph down Highway 441, and I get pulled over and ticketed, I can have an attitude all I want to with the reporting officer. But the fact remains, I DID IT TO MYSELF. But see, we fight too many battles for our kids, so when they are 16 and facing the law itself, they expect to be bailed out like they were the other 43,219 times we bailed them out. There isn't a defense in the world to protect our children from our negligence, which we inflict when we skirt issues, sweep them under the rug, and remove consequences from our kids when they are 3. This applies to constantly taking their forgotten lunch box to them, dropping our lives for procrastinated book reports, and simply running when they demand it.

4. SUBMIT YOUR BEST EFFORTS AND TRUST GOD TO COVER YOUR MISTAKES. We would be shocked what would happen in our homes if we would just give our best and apologize for our worst. We aren't expected to do it all right. We ARE, however, expected to be REAL. Apologize. Forgive. Close the past's doors. Open the future's new ones. At best, we may do 50% right. But the good news is, love covers a multitude of sins. When you blow it, admit it to your children. Even if this means saying to them, "I have been too easy on you, and I ask for your forgiveness." God, in His infinite mercy and grace, can right alot of wrongs if we're willing to work the plan.

5. STAY PLUGGED INTO THEIR LIVES. Know their inner circles by name. Foster openness and communication. Ask questions without pre-planned answers. Listen to their music with them without preaching a sermon, and afterwards ask "What do you like about that?" Do silly and ridiculous things with them, just for fun. Eat ice cream for dinner and pizza for breakfast. Blow up air mattresses and sleep in the living room for a movie marathon. Take them with you one-on-one to run errands. This is the stuff that helps us keep tabs on our kids without them knowing what we're doing.

There was a day when you weren't a parent. And then literally overnight, you became one. Remember that moment? Whether you pushed a seven pound bundle of goo and screams into the world or you were handed your child by a guardian or state worker... that moment, I would dare say, was one of the most defining moments of your life. You silently took an oath to protect, nuture, and grow that child to the best of your ability, willing to lay your life down at any moment for him. Between that moment and the day they enter college, there are many obstacles, many hurdles, and many failures. But there are MANY triumphs, MANY victories, and MANY happy tears.

I keep thinking of Casey. The day she held her Caylee for the first time. I know that in that moment, she loved that baby with all her might, soul, and strength. But the harsh reality is that it's what happened between when Cindy held CASEY for the first time and that fateful 2008 day that really mattered.

Daddies.

2011-06-15T06:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Daddies,

Sunday is your day. Well, at least it should be your day. Father's Day. The day that has been set aside to honor you for being the man you are. I know, I know. Moms get all the glory. More phone calls are made on Mother's Day than any other day of the year. And turns out, more collect calls are made on Father's Day than any of the other 364 days. Don't get me wrong. Carrying an alien inside your torso that insists on cracking your ribs and gives you constant indigestion for nine months is no small feat, and we mothers deserve every bit of the perks we get for that feat alone.

But you are often the forgotten part of the equation.

You don't get the bells and whistles with your holiday. Oh, yes... You get some piece of grilled meat, a tie, and an afternoon of total TV control in your recliner.

You know what? That's not okay with me.

See, I don't know if you realize this, but we are born with a daddy-shaped hole inside us, whether we are male or female. Those of us who were fortunate enough to have men who filled the hole with love certainly have a different outlook on this coming Sunday than those of us who never had the hole filled.

It's not entirely your fault. It seems in our country-- shoot, it seems that in MOST countries-- boys aren't raised to be men. Most are raised to not show emotion. Most are raised to believe erroneously that their primary role is to provide a roof and food. Most are raised to believe they are numero uno in their households, never seeing their wives as their equals. Most were raised to believe that weaknesses should be hidden, and certainly not addressed.

So, it's easy to see how your day has become one that most people just see as a date on the calendar and find it sufficient to send the obligatory card, make the collect phone call, and move on.

If you find yourself feeling like you get the short end of the stick, can I humbly suggest you look around and ask yourself why that is? We need you to be who you were created to be, daddies! Our lives exist because of you. And our future is shaped by your influence in our lives, or lack of. Don't feel hopeless. Because you're not. Anything can be changed. Anything can be forgiven. And anything can be turned around.

For those of you still raising children, I'd like to offer you these words.

Be affectionate with your kids. This applies to boys AND girls. They need your physical affirmation that they're okay. Girls need to know you see their beauty. Boys need to feel your embrace. Affection left only for mothers to give is one-sided and unbalanced. Give hugs, kisses, and hand holding. Studies have proven that children who are affectionately embraced by their fathers do better in school, are generally happier, and sleep better than their peers who are not touched. And dads whose children are grown? They still need your touch. I still sit in my dad's lap, hold his hand, smooch him, and sit as closely as possible to him whenever I can. And I'm WAY past childhood.

Show your boys how to treat women. Speak kindly to women and OF women. Avert your eyes to something else when Victoria's Secret commercials come on during your game. Hold doors open for females of all ages. Avoid all lewd comments about women, whether your sons hear you or not. Those comments are stupid and they eat away at your character. Work hard to provide nice gifts for your wife and daughters. Talk about your wife and daughter's character, their beauty, and your love for them to your sons. And if you're not married to their mother anymore, you're not exempt from the responsibility of building her up with your words in the ears of your children. It's your duty to shine light on her positives, so they grow to respect her. Period.

Quit the perfection game. You aren't perfect, and everyone knows it, so, you might as well stop pretending to be. When you make mistakes, apologize. Cry in front of your kids. Make mistakes and stop trying to cover them up. They'll see you're human. Your transparency shows them how to cope with life. Your withdrawal from reality shows them to ignore their problems.

Don't leave all the discipline to their mother. Defend her at all costs. Never talk negatively about her to your kids, EVER. If they speak rudely to her, shut them down immediately. Back her up when she disciplines them. If she takes away their Xbox for two weeks, make sure all 14 days are Xbox free. Get on the same page with her.

Love your wife in front of your children. Hold her hand. Kiss her. Leave her love notes where the kids will see them. Give her flowers for no reason. Compliment her cooking. Talk about how smoking hot you think she is. Prefer her. Cherish her. Protect her.

Affirm your children. They are craving your affirmation more than any other person's on this planet. Look them in the eye and tell them you approve of THEM. Not of what they do, not of the grades they make... of THEM. Leave them written signs of your approval on their bathroom mirror, in their backpacks, or on the speedometer of their car. They desire to know they are worthy of your love just because they exist.

Foster open communication. Talk to your girls about what teenage boys are really like. Don't wait until it's too late to arm your sons with what they need to know about sex. Ask about their friends. Make sure your kids know that wherever they are, all they have to do is call home and you'll come get them. Refuse to let your girls leave the house dressed like Hooker Barbie. (Yes, I just said that). And arm your boys with the knowledge of how to react when Hooker Barbie takes the seat next to them at a party.

Date them. This applies to girls AND boys. Girls need to be romanced. If you don't romance them, I can PROMISE you that some pimple faced boy with one agenda on his mind will. Open her car door. Pull out her chair. Tell her to order whatever she wants. Take her on a walk. Once a week, do something with her that guarantees two hours of uninterrupted time together. If you have sons, be purposeful in your man-dates. Do things THEY like to do. If you like to fish, but they hate it, you shouldn't be centering your time with them around the lake! Investigate their hobbies and interests, and then surprise your son with planning an afternoon centered around just that.

Take the role of spiritual leader in your family. This means that when someone has a fever, YOU pray for them. When someone is brokenhearted, YOU speak words of life into their emotions. When it's time to eat, YOU offer a prayer of thanks for the meal. When it's bedtime, YOU speak a bedtime blessing over your family. You don't have to preach. Just let your relationship with God overflow into your interactions with your children. They'll catch it. And of course, make church a priority and a non-negotiable.

Every once in a while, surprise everyone. Wake them up at midnight for a run to Ihop for pancakes. Call a nighttime family meeting and give everyone flashlights and tell them to go hide. When it's pouring down rain, lock everyone outside for a game of mud-tag. Take everyone out of school for a hooky day at the beach.

Daddies, you are special. Your load is heavy. There is ALOT of responsibility on you. So much of your children's lives depends on your success as a father. But this isn't rocket science. It's not an impossible feat. You have been equipped to be the man your children need you to be. You can't be it all, can't do it all... But you can be who you were meant to be. That's all.

My prayer for you this Father's Day is that you see past your shortcomings and all of the balls you've dropped, and see the treasure and gift you are. You won't do it all perfectly, nor should you. Life's a great big learning experience. We don't learn unless we fail. This Sunday, please soak up your children, your wife... Please make yourself see the beauty you bring to this world. Please stop the "I should'ves" and "I wishes" and start doing something about it. You can't change the past. But the pen's in your hand to write a new ending for your family.

You are powerful. You are vital. And I promise you... You are loved.

Jill

The Student and Her 7 Year Old Teacher.

2011-05-25T06:39:00.000-07:00

The other night, I was looking at Abi's cheek, and an epiphany hit me. (It does happen sometimes, between untangling necklaces and making noodles with butter and salt for the 12,215th time in a week). I was just studying her- her simplistic complexity, the curve of her chin, the freckle on her cheek, the sleepy smile on her face even in her slumber... And BAM. Just like that, I realized.

This child teaches me more than I give her credit for.

Sometimes, I get so lost in the parental hierarchy, where I am Queen, I sometimes forget to stop and measure the lessons she has taught this mama of hers. I get lost in the teaching and forget that I, too, am learning.

She has taught me to slow down. Few things are worth hurrying about. Rushing makes you miss the caterpillars, scoot right by the rose buds, and makes you fall and skin your knee.

She has taught me to write it down. When Abi is happy, she journals about it. When she learned about ovulation tests (a recent lesson), she journaled about it. When she and her BFF, Hannah, argue, break up, and get back together, she journals about it. And then, ages later, she re-reads it and remembers.

She makes eye contact. When her heart is talking, she likes to look deeply inside you.

She forgives. And moves on. Recently, a child pushed Abi down at church. The next Sunday, she walked up to the child and gave him her two prizes that she had won. Not long ago, an adult hurt her feelings pretty deeply. The next day, she walked up to him and hugged him and then said to me, "I love him." Wow. And ouch.

She is slow to anger. Abi has her own life rhythm. Anger throws off the timing for her, so she just doesn't go there.

She is protective and loyal. This kid understands friendship and family better than most adults who live 90 years. Quick to believe the best about others, she will defend her loved ones at ALL costs. Last year, she came home crying because a little boy (who was a little slower than the others) got in trouble during class, and it broke her heart that the teacher disciplined him.

Unashamed of her Jesus. And not afraid to give. Every week, we eat wings at a local place. And every week, we give her quarters for the candy and toy machines. There's been several times I've seen her win prizes and walk around the restaurant and pass out candy to every child there. And if she even THINKS someone needs prayer or needs to know about Jesus, she'll tell them they need it. (Who's the pastor here?)

There are days when this child literally drives me mad. As with every parent/child relationship, sometimes I feel like if I don't get away from her, I might need to pad the walls of my closet and lock myself in there.

But there are other times that I ache when she's at school.

That night, while I was lying next to her, studying her face... making myself photograph her innocence and the flawlessness of her skin before adolescent acne and makeup marks it, I realized. I realized that I spend so much of my waking hours, trying to make life count for her. I try to teach her as much as I can. Whether it be how necessary it is to put your dirty dishes in the sink, why you don't need to spray a whole bottle of 409 on the table to clean it after dinner, or what an intestine is. I teach her to say "thank you," not to run through a parking lot, and wash your hands after you use the bathroom. I educate her on responsibility, money management, and decision making. I explain Bible verses to her after our devotion at night, remind her to call Nana Kim after she gets a prize in the mail from her, and the importance of soaking up the time she gets with her grandparents.

But my little student? She's quite the teacher in her own right.

I've got alot to learn.

I know, I don't know.

2011-05-09T08:17:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, I feel super confident in my mom skills. You know the moment. When someone brags on your child's kindness or manners. When someone says, "You can tell she's got great parents." When an adult asks your child a question and she replies with, "Yes, ma'am." When she stands up for what she believes in. When she prays for another child, unashamed and unafraid of what they'll think.

But then, there's the other 350 days of the year. You know those days. When you feel like you have NO idea what you're doing, NO recollection of signing up for this, and NO long-term plan on how to get yourself out of the mess you're in. These moments start when your husband goes back to work and leaves you with a newborn baby, and they continue until you have the little darling married off and moved away.

These moments include, but are not limited to:
episodes of vomit containing food you did not feed them nor have any idea where they found it, fishing overalls out of a running toilet, covering up the conversation that you just heard your angel initiate to a strange man that started with, "Why do you only have one arm?" And the ever-so-popular comment from your child's teacher- "No matter who I seat her by, she talks. So, I guess I'll seat her by herself."

Those are the moments when you kinda make up the rules as you go along.

See, before you have children, you have all kinds of ideas. You read the books, watch the DVDs, and take the classes. You sterilize, sanitize, rationalize, and compartmentalize. But then, little tiny hiney comes along and not only shatters your theories, but also pees on them and laughs.

So here's the deal. I really don't know much. But what I know, I really know. And today, I am in need of remembering what I really know. I'm gonna make a list.

I KNOW:
...that praying over a boo-boo CAN become an immediate reaction, and so much so that your child will start doing it without you present.

...that you absolutely cannot reason with a child who is hell-bent and determined to wear a flip flop and a cowboy boot, while carrying a pink comb every where she goes.

...that unless you clearly outline behavior prior to entering a store, family event, or any other worthy venue, your preschooler will outline her own behavior and you will wish you had never been born by the time it's over.

...how to make the perfect peanut butter and honey sandwich.

...exactly the song she needs when she snuggles into my arms, just by the way she snuggles.

...that we ALL fool ourselves into thinking OUR child will be the one who never laughs at a dirty joke, keeps a secret from us, sneaks around behind our backs, lies to us, or does something that utterly embarrasses our family name.

...how to stop a tantrum dead in its tracks.

...how to squish ungratefulness and abolish its ugly head overnight.

...that it is perfectly normal to feel like your skin will crawl if you are touched one more time before naptime, but long for those arms around your neck by the end of the two hour break.

...meanings of words like "duper," "B," "in comprendo," "definkly," and "pupcake."

...that playing Barbies with Abi will teach me everything I need to know about what's going on in her world.

...that Abi thinks about Reagan (her best friend/ boyfriend/ love of her life) ALL. THE. TIME.

...that sometimes, all I can do is apologize for my behavior. Well, that and pray that somehow what I did won't shape her psyche forever.

...that kids shouldn't only eat things they like to eat, shouldn't only participate in church or other activities only when it pleases them, and shouldn't only befriend people like them. Adulthood is full of doing things we don't like to do, and we have to prepare them for that. Now.

...that someone, somewhere has been through what I'm going through with my children, and lived to tell the tale. Look for people with whiter hair than yours and ask them how they did it.

...that as much as I'd like to, I cannot fight all my kids' battles for them. They have to learn to voice their opinions, approach their offenders, and vindicate their wrongs without my help. Of course, I also know this is a process and cannot or should not happen over night.

...that my kids will not be good at everything. And shame on me if I make them think they will be.

...that Abi is more innocent than I think she is. But she's also WAY more world-wise than I think she is. All at the same time.

...to assume NOTHING.

...how her entire day was by the way she walks down the sidewalk at school.

...exactly how much fun stuff to pack in order to keep her entertained all the way to north Alabama, which is a 10 hour drive.

...that regardless of how awful her day was, I can reset her immediately by saying, "Let's just crawl in my bed and read." We end up talking ALOT. Reset accomplished.

...that regardless of how difficult it can be to GET pregnant, RAISING a child is so much harder.

...but so incredibly worth it.

See? The key to parenting isn't in the encyclopedias of knowledge we possess. It's ultimately found in knowing a few things well.

Last night, we were lying in bed, talking to Abi before she fell asleep. Here's the conversation, more or less.

ABI- Know what I'm thinking about?
ME- Nope. What?
ABI- I'm wondering how old I'll be when Reagan kisses me one day.
ME- (grabbing Rod's arm while he grabs mine, behind her head). Seventeen.
ABI- That's a long time.
ME- Yep, it is.
ABI- (silence). I love you guys.
US- We love you too. Good night.

I have no idea what I'm doing. But I'll figure it out. One conversation at a time.

The Big Day Is Here! Sniff

2011-05-04T13:45:00.000-07:00

June 25, 2003- I became a mom.

That's not Abi's birthday. She was born in February of 2004. That June date was the fateful day I held a pregnancy test in my hand that had two beautifully pink lines on it, announcing loud and clear that our firstborn was already inside me, nestling herself into both my womb and my heart at the same time. In the following two or three days, I peed on every pregnancy stick I could get my hands on, each time watching in awe and wonder as the lines appeared and stayed around.

Alot has happened since that balmy Florida summer day. Childbirth, diapers, long nights, endless days, diapers, rashes, fevers that shook us to our core, diapers,first words, bad words, nice words, mean words- no-no's, poo-poo's, pee-pee's, uh-oh's, and diapers. Blues Clues, Lazytown, Dora, and Little Bill. Drooling, big girl panties, stickers, knee scrapes, and aliens in her room. First day of kindergarten, volunteering, crafts, apple juice, and field trips. Swimming in summers, hating "arm pit" shirts (tank tops), only wearing boots, only wearing rain galoshes, and showering in her underwear. Immunizations, broken arm, fever again. Christmases, birthdays, Easters, first grade, and 100th day of school day.

It all blurs together, like beautiful raindrops down a window pane. Each drop vital and full of life. And somehow, each drop transitioning into another drop, making a breathtaking cascade of time that flows from one life into another.

It's Mother's Day (almost). And in a way, that's what this blog is all about every day. But since it's the day we set aside to honor the sacrifice of a mother's heart, I wanted to call out the moms in my family that I honor and admire... Because their story is a part of MY story and in some way or another, they shape the mom I am.

My Mom. All 5'2" of her. With her sass, her sheer beauty, her concern, her VOICE. If I could bottle the lullabies she has sang to me throughout my life and give a bottle to the world, the world would be at peace. Not because of her vocal abilities (she has NONE). Not because of her epic song writing skills (ZILCH). But because of the love that IS her symphony. I sing to Abi almost every day. It is my prayer that the sound of my song brings to her heart what my mom's song always has to mine. And even if she's on the other side of the planet, my song will take her to where I am. Home.

My sister. Lori was born into our family ten and a half years after me. I always joke that she was my firstborn child. But somewhere between changing her newborn diapers and today, she became the best friend I've ever had. A little more than 24 hours after giving birth to her first child, she found herself sitting in a chair next to her heart while he was hooked up to monitors and wires, fighting for his health and his life. If you know my baby sister, you know she is a wildcat. She's fierce and feisty. She's loud and boisterous. She's emotional and ridiculously alive in every thing she does. After giving birth, she was physically exhausted and in more pain than she thought possible, but she turned into the Rock of Gibraltar for her baby and her husband. (And she lets me have her baby whenever I want him, so she gets ten gold stickers for that).

My first best friend, Kim. My mom's younger sister, just 16 when I was born. We grew up together. Sleepovers, games, Barbies, shopping trips... she was in love with me from day one, and I have loved her back every single day since. My heart was broken when she married and had a baby of her own. But like the true friend she is, I never lost my place. And 34 years later, we're thick as thieves. I forget she's my aunt. She's my sister. My friend. I love you, Kim.

My aunts Pam and Phyll. Oh the special place in my heart you hold! Lunches at your kitchen tables, swimming with all the cousins, watermelon with our own butter knives, holidays, birthdays, special days... You're in all of my childhood memories! You bandaged knees, refereed fights, and judged contests all summer long. I can only imagine the relief every September brought to you.

My Nana. Queen Nana of the World. Just the sound of her name makes me smile. My dad's mom is still a grandma that kids drool over. There were 8 of us grandchildren, and if you ask ANY of us who her favorite grandchild is, I can guarantee you we will ALL think WE are. She let us eat Cool Whip for dinner, sleep with the Christmas tree lights on, took us out separately for special days, let us "run away" to her house, and was at every sporting event or school play as was humanly possible. I'm her favorite, of course. Really. ;-)

My Nanny. Quirky, crazy, cooking mama supreme, Nanny. The woman can COOK. My childhood memories of shelling peas, watching her hang her clothes out to dry, and seeing her rake the carpet (yes, you read correctly) are now becoming valuable to me as a part of my own story. See, I show love by cooking. And by cleaning. My husband (for the most part) comes home to a clean house and can appreciate the value of a home cooked meal because Nanny instilled these qualities in my mom. I'm already counting the months until Thanksgiving. We're halfway there. Ahhhhhh.

My mother-in-law. Raising 7 children (Raymond, Russell, Rodrick, Rachele, Randall, Richard, and Radford) to all love Jesus, play piano, and love each other is no small feat. Through years of Daddy being overseas or on the road, she held her course. She's a tiny woman. But only on the outside. And I love her because she gave me the greatest gift I've ever been given.

Mother's Day holds a special meaning to EVERY mom's heart. But to those of us who have ever struggled with infertility or loss, this day is our big sigh of relief. I never tire of the emotion I feel that morning, when we're in church and the moms are asked to stand. Standing represents accomplishment. It represents tears, prayer, endurance, patience, and a love that you just can't understand until it kisses you. Standing that first Mother's Day represented God's promise fulfilled in my heart.

And standing every year since represents me and a little green eyed girl, who was fashioned in the image and likeness of her daddy, but bears such a resemblance to her Heavenly Father, it takes my breath away.

Let me end this with two quotes that truly summarize the love we are celebrating this weekend.

A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path. - Agatha Christie

I remember my mother's prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life. - Abraham Lincoln

Happy Mother's Day.

When Worlds Collide

2011-04-26T07:24:00.000-07:00

Ok, pop quiz on this cheery Tuesday morning!

What do Spongebob, Penguins of Madagascar, Alice in Wonderland, Snoop Dogg, Toy Story 3, supermodel Heidi Klum, Katy Perry, and Super Mario Galaxy 2 have in common?

(dramatic pause here....)

Give up?

Well, if you're under the age of 18, you probably aced this quiz. If you're a parent of any sort, my guess is, you failed.

They were all a part of the 2011 Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards.

"But Jill! What could a Victoria's Secret Model possibly have in common with Buzz Lightyear?"

I'm glad you asked. The answer to this question is; I HAVE NO IDEA.

It's Tuesday morning, about 10:30 am. I've had two cups of coffee, and I'm just sitting here, minding my own business, doing some light reading about who won what this year for the Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards.

And I literally heard myself say, "WHAT???" outloud as I read it.

If you know me, you know I'm not Amish. I like my cable TV with hundreds of channels. We subscribe to Netflix, so I can see TV shows and movies of my choice whenever I want. My husband just sold his little fishing boat and bought our family an Xbox 360 Kinect, where you use your actual body as the controller for the game(which I think I am developing a crush on). I have an iPhone, and iPad, and a Kindle. I listen to music, both Christian and secular, all the time. We go to movies. I DVR my favorite shows (American Idol and Celebrity Apprentice) and watch them faithfully. So before you label me as one of "those" Christian moms who only allows her little ones to watch black and white Doris Day movies from 1957, I want to stress to you that I am NOT.

Having said that, I realize all the time that, in spite of our technologically current household, my lifestyle holds pretty true to my blog name, and we are WAY more old school than new school up in here.

For the life of me, I cannot find the common denominator between the sponge who lives in a pineapple under the sea and a singer who sings about sun-kissed skin being so hot it'll "melt your Popsicle," nor can I wrap my mind around why they shared a stage for what was created to be a "kids'" award show.

Here's my fear.

Parents still think Nickelodeon is what it was in 1995.

IT IS NOT.

We honestly treat Nick as if it's MTV in our house. There are some shows quite entertaining and age appropriate. However, there are some shows that are not only completely adult in their content, but are not even suitable FOR adults.

Not sold on this idea that Nickelodeon isn't appropriate viewing material for your precious angels without your supervision? Ok. Let's look at the cast of characters at the awards' show. (Captions are below each picture).

This dashing young man sings songs with lyrics like (and I quote): I'm gonna take you down, down, I'm gonna take you down... I want the love liquor, now lick it... Or, how about this? (QUOTE) She's hopped up on me, I've got her in my zone...
Her body's pressed up on me, I think she's ready to blow. Must be my future sex love sound...Just tell me which way you like that, All you gotta do is tell me which way you like that... You can't stop, baby, You can't stop once you've turned me on
And your enemy are your thoughts, baby...So just let 'em go, 'Cause all I need is a moment alone-- To give you my tongue and put you out of control-- And after you let it in we'll be skin to skin...It's just so natural Is it natural? For a 10 year old to see THIS man representing ANYTHING worthy of admiration on an awards' show geared for CHILDREN?

She was one of the "best dressed." Really? Because from where I sit, this is NOT how Legos were meant to be played with.

Can ANYONE tell me why Kim Kardashian was there? At ALL? Because one of her most recent photoshoots was so indecent, I didn't even want to put it on here to show you how bad it was. (and that's BAD).

Snoop Dogg. Wow. Let's look at some of his masterful song writing skills. (Quote) I wake up early in the morning and it feels so good, Smoking on some s*** that you wish you could...Jealousy, envy please don't feel bad- This weed is mine get your own bag... This weed is mine, This weed is mine you can't have it... This weed is mine, This weed is mine you can't have it. Now, Snoop. Your mother taught you to share! That's why you're on the Kids' Choice Awards!

This cheerful young lady is from the hit show "Gossip Girl." It's a very wholesome show (sarcasm)about drugs, booze, infidelity, friendships gone awry, and the very nice "15 things every college Student should do before graduating," which included a threesome. Well.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. On every level, NOPE.

-------------

Now. Granted, Justin Timberlake wasn't spreading Futuresex lyrics out to his young audience. And Snoop wasn't letting children pass around joints during the ceremony. But is that the point? Is that what we want our kids to catch? That as long as people clean up well and say all the right things on stage, we can admire them while they're shining? Do we want them to see idols of the like on their TV screens in a "safe" place like Nickelodeon, thus leading them to deem these celebs "safe" to listen to, look up to, and follow?

I don't think so.

'Cause here's the deal. An organization we once trusted can put a shiny outfit on someone, let them receive an award, (where they will guaranteed thank God for their talent and thank their mother for not giving up on them), but that does NOT pass the litmus test of is this okay for my child.

The old Nick is gone. (Thank God for Nick Jr-- Little Bill, Miss Spider, and Oswald still exist there... for now).

We've got to wake up. And fast.

Kids' Choice Awards? I think not. WE have allowed this. Parents' Choice Awards is more like it.

S-L-O-W.

2011-04-07T07:37:00.000-07:00

Ok. Here's the deal. My daughter is slow.

Not in brain function. Lord knows this child is brilliant. She knows all about placentas, spine surgeries, and autopsies, thanks to Discovery Health. The girl is a relationship guru-- able to bring peace to just about any conflict with her hostage negotiation skills. She is a master communicator-- able to let her feelings flow with beautiful linguistics. She's a singer/songwriter that puts most top 40 artists to shame. She's an A/B student-- school work isn't really a problem.

But getting ready to get out the door? S-L-O-W.
Packing to go on a trip? S-L-O-W.
Getting out of the car? S-L-O-W.
Running an errand, like "take this to your room"? S-L-O-W.
We're running late, the meadow is on fire, and we need to go NOW? S-L-O-W.

This irritates me beyond measure.

All my life, I've been "ahead of my time." I always looked older than I really am. I age like my daddy (no offense, Dad). Had 6 teeth at 6 months old. Read proficiently by the age of 3. Hit puberty at 9 and a half. Seriously. Was constantly mistaken for my baby sister's mom at age 13. Married at 19. You get the picture. And my nature is "get it done, and get it done NOW." We get home from vacation at 5:00 pm and I guarantee you by 8:00 pm, I have unpacked. (Which may be why I got a speeding ticket a mere three days after getting my license).

Enter Abigail.

She's the kid on the Family Circus comic strip who goes around the world to get to the mailbox and back. Life is not a mad rush for her. She will do what is asked of her... eventually. And at first, I thought this was rebellion. However, once I slowed down (ugh) and observed her, I realized that to expect her to walk at my pace was in essence, trying to reprogram her altogether.

One morning recently, I saw her doing her morning thing at her normal Abi-pace, and I was completely irritated. When I told her to brush her hair, she did. But she did it as if she was Rapunzel, staring into a magic mirror and singing a love song about her luscious locks while she brushed. When I told her to get her clothes on, she did-- but not before laying them out on the bed and looking at them closely first. When I said "get your shoes on," she obliged, but not before adjusting the hem of the toes on her socks evenly with her toes and ensuring the heel of her socks evenly caressed her heel as they should. I barked, "ABI, HURRY UP!!!"

Her response, calm as can be. "Mom, just one morning, I wish you wouldn't say 'hurry up' to me."

Ouch.

Here's the thing. When there's something to be done, I am task driven. Get it done and move on to the next thing. Abi is NEVER, EVER, EVER task driven. She is people driven. She lives in the moment. She's concerned about the little bird that I never saw while we are unloading groceries from the van. She has a song in her heart and it will be sung whether she's doing her reading homework or cleaning her room. She won't walk to the mailbox, but she WILL skip-- and along the way will pick the tiniest flower you've ever seen and bring it in for my viewing pleasure. Thanks to her Abi-pace, she notices sad people-- the ones I pass and never see because I need to get laundry detergent and get home.

I've started making myself appreciate the Abi-pace a little more. Because as I see it, life tends to pass by and one day blurs into the next, and I missed a few moments that were noteworthy in my rush to get it all done. And honestly, I can't stand the thought that in my haste, I squished the life out of my daughter because I "needed" her to hurry up-- forcing her to miss the caterpillar crawling down the sidewalk so she could get in the van quicker.

Slow down. Take your child's lead sometimes. This may mean getting up an hour earlier in order to accomodate for the detours.

But at the end of these 80-90 years... aren't the detours what made the journey worth traveling?

The meaning of it all.

2011-04-05T06:11:00.000-07:00

It's been said time and time again that "Life isn't measured by the number of breaths you breathe, but the moments that take your breath away..." And while I'm not a sucker for overused quotes, I have found this to be so extremely true.

When you're a parent, life just kinda blurs from one crisis to the next... from one skinned knee to the next one. Days of counting down the minutes until nap time. Cleaning up 12,353 Legos, only to turn around and find that they multiplied like rabbits in the Springtime. Cutting crusts off of sandwiches, trying to poke the straw into the Capri-Sun pouch, and working with all your might to eradicate the smell left by the dirty diapers you forgot about in the bottom of your trash can.

You know what I'm saying.

Recently in church, my dad (best pastor ever) said to us parents, "Enjoy every day... Because you'll blink and wonder where the time went. It goes that fast." I looked at my mom and said, "Does it? REALLY??? Because if this is fast, I sure as HECK don't want to see slow."

But you know what? I know it's true.

My nephew is three months old. He's only been on the outside for about 12 weeks. So brief a window of time, yet his mommy can barely remember him when he was seven pounds. And when I think of Abi being three months old? Yeeeeeah. I don't think she ever WAS three months old. There's been alot of moments between then and now. Moments that have meshed into one big lump sum of life.

Along the way, I've tried to take mental snapshots of moments that matter most. You know the moments as they're happening... Moments when your heart is full and your senses are tuned into what's happening. And while I don't have pictures for all the moments that have stolen my heart, here's a few that on days when I'm overwhelmed and sucked into the undertow of the mundane, bring me back to the things that should be focused on. (Pictures have captions after them.)

I love her face. When I saw this picture, it sobered me to the fact that my baby isn't so much "baby" anymore. Time is passing quicker than I realize. This picture brings me back to that fact.

I fell in love with this baby in Africa. I'll never forget his face. Such haunting eyes. His mama carried him with such love, close to her heart. When I took this picture, I remember thinking that whether we live in the USA or in a third world country, we love in the same language. We bleed the same. We would all lay our lives down for our babies. Love is love, no matter the country of its origin.

Seeing my husband dance with my baby sister at her wedding. I don't know what he was saying to her here... but I know his heart was full of pride and love for her. He loves her like she's his. I love that.

At the wedding, while the bridal party was getting pics made on the beach, we turn around, and sweet Abigail is writing "DAD" in the sand. All the hustle and commotion around her, and she's just seeing an opportunity to write in the sand. **sigh**

Rod had just gotten his Red Ryder BB Gun and was showing his Annie Oakley how to be a cowgirl. She was a pretty good shot.

A bath time with Abi. She was about three months old. I remember her sweet cooing like it was yesterday. LOVE her face. I froze this in my mind for days when I want to lock her out of the house.

Need I say more?

Spring Break, a few weeks ago. I was laughing at something Lori said (as usual) while feeding her babe. That was a wonderful week, filled with the people I laugh best and most with.

First picture we have with our men and our babies. I loved this moment because each man loves the other's child like his own and it was nice to capture it on "film". These are two good men right here. And our children are blessed more than they will ever know because of the fact that they have them to lead them.

Snow. It was divine. And nothing makes me happier than feeling Rod's cheek on mine.

An answer to prayer and a testimony to the healing power of God for a little boy. I love the joy on Lori's face. That week, she looked so "old" to me. Here, her youth was restored. She knew her boy was okay after all.

My sweet man with his two girls. I love it that Abi understood the love between us that this moment and wanted to be a part of it. After all... it's what got her here!

SERIOUSLY??? Yummy city, this boy. I had gone over to have lunch with him like I do at least once a week. He immediately turned on the charm. My heart melts when I'm with this little tater tot. He makes my soul dance.

I was sitting on the porch with my dad and his dad. I looked over and saw this. I knew it was a moment I wanted to freeze forever. If you only knew the depth of these two men. The world will forever be better because of them. It already is.

A family game night. LONG STORY SHORT- I yelled "Windex" at the wrong time, and out of control laughter ensued. We all remember it to this day, years later. Notice my Dad with his arms crossed in the background. And I love my Mom's face here while she's laughing.

I could go on and on. I get lost in time while I look at these. Here's the deal. Life is more than the sum of its parts. It is the actual parts themselves. Each moment, dissected down, represents skin to skin contact with the things that matter most. It's about laughing while we feed babies. It's about the freckles on her nose. It's about feeling the safety of the moment when you're holding his hand. It's about peanut butter sandwiches, band-aids on bumped elbows, and answering questions all day long.

One day, our homes will be quiet and we'll long for these days. Savor them while they're here.

That's what life is.

It's my blog and I'll be gooey if I want to.

2011-03-30T11:34:00.000-07:00

It's no secret. I love this man.

Don't get me wrong. We've been married almost 15 years. We aren't newlyweds. I'm not oblivious to his humanity, nor are we floating on clouds of fluffiness, rainbows, and lollipops about reality.

He is odd. In at least three dozen ways. At least. He also does things that drive me insane. These things include, but are not limited to: leaving clean dishrags in the kitchen sink with cracked egg shells. Saying, "That's a good question," when he doesn't know the answer to the question. Leaving his shoes under the kitchen table. The boat that is sitting in our garage.

But he has good taste in food, in music, in movies, and certainly in a wife.

(And trust me- he puts up with WAY more than his fair share of things that get on his nerves about me. But this is MY blog and I don't want to write about those things... heehee.)

Anyway. Tomorrow (March 31), is my husbands 46th birthday. Yessir. 46. As in 4 away from 50. (I ain't gonna lie... I think it's smoking hot that I'll almost be 38when he hits the big 50. Yep, you do the math.)

I love to celebrate. St. Patrick's Day, Thanksgiving, the 100th day of school, National Pink Bracelet Day, you name it. But my family's birthdays?

Those are the days I live for.

And since it's the single most important person in my life's turn, I can be as dad-gum gushy and ooey as I want to be. It's MY blog. :-)

What makes this man so great? I'm so glad you asked.

He's not perfect. And he knows it. I like that.

He has NO problem admitting he's wrong. Unlike his hard-headed woman.

He can fix ANYthing. ANYthing. For real.

He doesn't try to hug me when he's sweating.

He's stronger than a team of Swedish bodybuilders all named Sven.

He grew his beard out really thick for me because I like the way it feels against my face and I LOVE the gray patches.

He makes me laugh until I snort.

He's brutally honest.

He loves my parents and shows them.

He has let me work through my "I need a dog" phases. With patience and mercy.

He knows when enough is enough.

He trusts my leadership as the mother of his child.

He follows my lead on walking through the emotional landfields of raising a girl since I am one.

He holds my hand alot.

He wakes up and prays for me throughout the night. And I often fall asleep with his hand on my back. That's my favorite way to sleep.

He warms my van up on cold Florida winter mornings.

He stopped complaining about the three thousand bottles of Ranch dressing in the fridge.

He loves people. Geuninely loves them.

He created our "family punch" in a fishbowl with giant straws for family nights.

He has the best smile lines around his eyes.

He thinks he's a cowboy. And I'm pretty sure he's right.

He spent three weeks in Africa, sleeping in a tent and eating whatever he could get... and he plans on doing it again and again.

He knows me better than any other soul on this planet. He's the only one who sees the really real me. And he chooses to love me still.

He looks into Abi's eyes everyday and affirms her as a person. Affirms her beauty. Affirms her girlhood. Affirms his love for her.

He won't let Abi talk smack to me. Not even a little bit.

He's cute. Like a rugged teddy bear with an Elmo t-shirt and a holster on.

He writes the best birthday/Valentine's Day/anniversary cards EVER.

He's spontaneous.

His laughter is ear-rupturingly loud. It comes from his toes.

He cries when he talks about Jesus. Or hears a beautiful song. Or sees someone's life changed.

He loves to hear me sing.

He saved my life. Literally.

He listens. And remembers. Most of the time.

He knows I am his equal, and he is mine. We are partners. In every way.

Oh, there's more. But I can't tell it all on here, can I? That would be so unlady-like of me! ;-)

Rodrick Avery Paul Windham, this little girl loves you. With all my heart and soul and mind. My life began the day I met you, and I didn't even know it yet.

But I know it now. And I'll always know it.

Happy birthday, sweet Rodrick. The world is a better place because of you. And believe me... no one could ever love you more than me and a certain little freckle-faced green-eyed princess do. You're our sun, moon, and stars.

SHMILY. .

Rules for Abi's Boyfriends.

2011-03-09T12:36:00.000-08:00

As parents, we are rule makers. We are also rule enforcers, rule adapters, and rule explainers. We have rules for inside behavior, outside behavior, school behavior, and car behavior. We make rules for roadtrips, field trips, and errand trips. In our house, the rules are pretty crystal clear for just about everything.

I was just sitting here, thinking about Abi. My romantically bent, idealistic, ooey gooey love child. She is constantly thinking about romance- how it feels to be in love. How people kiss. Flowers. Holding hands. Fairy tales. Being nurtured by a man. Letting him carry her backpack and put his arm around her as she walks down the sidewalk. It's an innate need in her, to be cherished and adored.

Granted, her Daddy has fed this in her.

He is loving, doting, affectionate, kind, and thoughtful- with both Abi and me. He is big and strong, scruffy and rugged. Yet his heart is tender and squishy. He rarely calls either one of us by name... we answer instead to "Babe," "My Sweet," and "Love." We are his girls, and he treats us well.

Back to the rules.

Abi's poor boyfriends. Poor, poor fellas. Not only will they have a giant uncle with gauged ears and tattoos to step around, a grandpa who looks pretty imposing even with his white hair and white beard, and Abi's big, strong daddy to watch their every move... they will also have "THE RULES" to abide by. Isn't it a little early to make these rules? Nope. I need all the time I can get to build the fence around my little baby rabbit, because the wolves will circle. Not that the wolves are bad... they're just wolves.

Here's some of the "rules" that will be in place for CinderAbi and her Prince(s) Charmings as I see life right now. I am very aware that they are subject to change and that we'll cross these bridges as we get there. But I'm a planner. So here they are.

RULES YOU WILL ABIDE BY IN ORDER TO BE ANYWHERE AROUND OUR DAUGHTER.

1. You are a boy. Not a man. You will not be a man until you are holding a steady job, pay the majority of your living expenses, and are able to provide for our daughter emotionally and physically.

2. We are watching how you treat your mother and sisters. If we don't like it, you're out the door.

3. If we don't like your language, your attitude, or your friends, you're out the door.

4. We are not Abi's friend, therefore we are not your friends.

5. We do not trust you. That's just the way it is.

6. We MIGHT trust you, if you earn trust. You can earn it by hanging out in our house, being genuinely interested in our lives, being responsible, and acting like you have common sense.

7. If we would not let you drive my car, we will not let you drive our daughter. So be aware that your driving record is very much my business. And God help you if we find out you speed through school zones.

8. My daughter's body belongs to God. And in all honesty, she belongs to me and her Dad. So keep that in mind.

9. We will not allow our daughter to dress in a way that would keep you from being able to honor her body. We promise.

10. If church isn't a part of your life, it better become one. Period. This is what we call a "non-negotiable."

11. You will not be alone with our daughter until you can put a ring on her finger and marry her (and not one of those three year engagements that kids do in tenth grade). And even if you're engaged to her, be aware that both her Daddy and I are SUPER aware that you aren't married and we will not treat you like you are until you are.

12. You won't be spending the night at our house. If your parents are suddenly injured, sick, or suddenly relocating to Panama and the rare need arises for you to need lodging at our abode, I will be rooming with Abi, and her daddy will be rooming with you. And we will have alarms on the doors and windows. You'll have to check out a hall pass for the bathroom and have an escort. You think I'm joking, I can tell. But I'm not.

13. If you want to score brownie points, help us around the house sometimes.

14. You have a place at our dining room table anytime you want a good meal. We will also welcome any chance we can get to play games with you, watch movies with you, and hang out with you as much as possible. We are actually alot of fun to be with.

15. If we don't have a good feeling about any given night's activities, Abigail will not be going. It's that simple.

16. Manners are HUGE to us. Answers like, "Huh," "Yeah," and "Whatever" will guarantee you a tougher time gaining access to our daughter.

17. I will know more about you than you could ever imagine possible. And I won't have to ask you a single question. I have friends every where. In low and high places.

18. I will also ask you endless amounts of questions, and welcome you to do the same to us.

19. Break curfew, break what little trust we have in you.

20. That little girl is priority number ONE to us. Not priority two, not even number one and a half. NUMBER ONE. Be aware that we may act irrational at times. We will not apologize for the great love we have for her. She is fragile, she is small, and she is beautiful. But she is fierce, fiercely loved, and there is a mighty woman inside her. Our main objective is to guard her, protect her from herself, but at the same time, to equip her for the world she will live in. You cannot imagine what we see when we look at her, nor can you ever love her the way we do. She is her Daddy's princess, her Paw's heartbeat, and her Uncle Seth's best girl ever. You're not on the same playing field with us, little man. So if you value ANY time spent in her presence (which you should), you will print out, memorize, and live by these rules.

21. Oh yeah. We reserve the right to make new rules whenever we choose. And both of you will abide by them.

Poor guy. But oh the joys if he abides by our rules well! I laugh when I think of him. Somewhere, on this planet... unaware that I'm preparing myself for him.

He better be gettin' prepared for ME! ;-)

Close Call.

2011-03-08T08:29:00.000-08:00

If you know me, you've probably heard the story by now. Or at least pieces of it.

If you don't "know" me, you probably have no idea. And as many times as I've relived this story, it never stops getting to me. So, to kinda explain my most recent absence from blogland, I'm reliving it again. But mainly to tell you about the healing power of a magnificent God.

I recently lost almost 90 pounds. Pretty big accomplishment, and I'm pretty stinkin' happy about it. However, what no one tells you (or rather, what I didn't want to hear) is that rapid weight loss can cause gallbladder issues. So, off and on for the last six months or so, any time I would eat a greasier meal than usual, I would have stomach and back pain. I'm a quasi-nurse kind of mom, and I've known enough to diagnose myself with gallstones.

I had no idea they were going to wreak the havoc they ended up wreaking.

On Valentine's Day, we went for wings as a family, as we do every single Monday night. I went home, and my stomach was hurting mildly. I finally went to sleep and woke up at 4:00 am with pain that was becoming more and more uncomfortable. When it was time to get Abi up for school, I couldn't move. Rod got her dressed, took her to school, and came back to find my condition deteriorating rapidly. (I'm not being overly dramatic... it really was bad.) All day, I lay in bed, pain intensifying, nausea building, and so my sweet husband comes home with the ingredients to begin a gallbladder flush for me. The first step was eating boiled potatoes. I did.

Then it ALL fell apart.

I am going to spare you the not-so-lovely details of what happened next. But, suffice it to say, it was ugly and it involved a toilet and a girl on her knees. Yall, I was wishing for childbirth. Labor. A house to fall on my head. ANY pain but this pain.

At 4:00 pm, Rodrick brings Abi home. I am weeping in the fetal position in bed. My calm-as-can-be husband takes one look at me and says, "Get dressed. We're going to the hospital. Now." I will also spare you the details of the next few minutes, which involved many tears and pleading.

So, there I was. Always healthy, rarely even sick with a cold, NEVER been a patient in an emergency room in my life- sitting in triage. Then on a ER cot, IV line in place. Ultrasounds. CT scans. Endless amounts of bloodwork. The diagnosis- pancreatitis and a gallbladder four times the size it should have been. Liver enzymes and pancreatic enzymes through the roof. White blood cells elevated. Not going home for 4-5 days.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I pouted. I cried. I bargained. I begged.

But I wasn't leaving, and that was certain.

See, this wouldn't have been as big of a deal, but most of you know, I'm on pastoral staff at our church. A week later, we were having our biggest, most anticipated event of the year- a three day ministers' conference, where men and women literally come from all over the world to attend. I would have a house FULL of people for the week, and I was scheduled to lead worship for our band (which is an awesome rock band... not the typical church band, I promise. We're tattooed, pierced, gauged ears, etc.). This was the absolute WORST time to have a health crisis. Seriously. The worst.

All week, I was in that hospital. You name the test and I had it done. They starved me for a few days, as my pancreas had to rest to heal. Then came the great news (sarcasm) that I would not be leaving unless my gallbladder was removed, and it had to be done within the next two days. (More tears and fit pitching ensued). So, Friday, February 18, my gallbladder was removed, full of stones and severely inflamed.

I got home on Saturday. On Sunday, my family talked to a family friend who is an ICU nurse, and she couldn't believe how incredibly close I was to developing sepsis with the enzymes out of control like they were. In fact, she couldn't believe I was not admitted into ICU upon my arrival.

This knowledge hit me like a ton of bricks.

Here's the deal. Every day, we are a day closer to eternity. Every breath a breath we won't retrieve. But to actually know you were possibly headed for Heaven? Well, it's sobering to say the least.

I've had alot of time to ponder in the last few weeks. I got the flu while I was healing (not recommended), and spent much time in my recliner, coughing and thinking, thinking and coughing. And I've settled on three things that I know for sure.

1. Nothing matters to me as much as my family. NOTHING. Those guys pulled me through the scariest days of my life.

2. Very few things really, really matter.

3. God is able to undo great damage, even damage caused by our own hard headedness and stupidity.

I'd like to say I grew a new gallbladder and walked out with all my organs intact. I didn't. But I walked out. And I cannot praise God enough for medical science. For doctors and nurses and technicians who were Jesus with skin on to me while I was injured and frail. Healing is healing, regardless how it comes- and anyone who tells you otherwise has never been sick enough to see this truth.

Oh, and that conference? I led worship the whole time, had 7 people in my house, and crashed like a beast after it was over. That week, I was proof the grace of God is real.

Who needs their gallbladder anyway? Geesh!

It's ALLLLL About This Girl.

2011-02-08T06:22:00.000-08:00

Seven years ago right now, this was me.

It was not a pretty sight.

But let me tell ya. After 6 LONG years of wanting, praying, waiting, hoping, doubting, and trusting, I was about to burst with child and my heart was happy as a pig in the mud (tho my body felt like it was at the gates of hell). Then, on February 11, 2004- this moment came.

I blinked my eye, and this moment was here.

Then, I turned around, and here's what was there.

One day, I blinked a little too long, and this was in front of me.

And I swear to you, while I was sleeping one night, this day snuck up on me.

There have been other magical days, sure. Like this one.

This one....

This one....

And this one.

I have no idea where seven years have gone. But three things I do know.

It has flown.
It's been a delight.
I'm glad I'm her mom.

Thank you, Lord, that seven years ago, I ushered your promise into this world, kicking and screaming. (She was screaming, too). May I raise her to serve you, to love you, to honor you- in all she endeavors. I pray she takes risks when she should, plays it safe when it's best, and challenges the world around her every day. Let her life be a testament to your graciousness and favor. Help her to season her words with salt and always remember to apologize when she fails at that. Thank you for her sweet nose that I kiss every day. Thank you for the freckles you have dotted her beauty with. Thank you for the red streak that shows in the back of her hair in summer sunshine. Thank you for the perfect lips she wears, which smile endlessly- may they cherish the kiss of her husband for many years. I'm so glad you made her hands so beautifully... May they have plenty of babies to hold when her time comes. Thank you for her brassiness- May she always hold strongly to her opinion, even if she's the only one who has it. But mostly, Lord, thank you for her heart. May it always beat with compassion for the underdog the way it does now. May it know how it feels to be warmed by your healing touch after it breaks with sadness. May it burn with passion for the souls around her who so desperately need you.

And may she always find her way home. 'Cause that's where I'll be.

I love you, Abigail Ruth Elaine. Every breath. Until I leave this world. And even then.

Love, Mom.

You want some SKIN?

2011-01-24T08:23:00.001-08:00

Just when you think you've been shocked by liberal media advancements toward our children. Just when you think we've danced as close to the line as is humanly possible. Just when you think your jaw could not drop any further without touching the ground...

MTV tops itself again.

First of all, let me say to all teenagers who will read this and think, "Thanks alot, Jill. You made my life infinitely harder after my parents read your blog." You're welcome.

I remember the early days of MTV. Conservative parents everywhere were freaking out (mine included) because now their children would be exposed to the likes of Madonna (when she wasn't so Maddona-ish yet), Michael Jackson (when he was still the color he was when he was born), and rock stars with purple hair and neon guitars. I had better not even THOUGHT about trying to sneak a peek every now and then because somehow, my parents would find out, and let me tell you... it would not be pretty for me.

But I recently have come to realize that it wasn't so much what was on MTV then that bothered them. My parents knew where it was headed down the road. Fast forward to today.

Part of the intention of this blog is to expose you, as parents, to what's in front of your children. I spend hours (and I do mean HOURS) reading articles, watching videos, listening to music, reading reviews, etc., so I can stay informed, for my kids and yours. See, I don't want to be caught completely off guard, nor will I trust my children (or yours) to be up front about what's going on in their culture and world. So, imagine my reaction when my brother-in-law (who is a PHENOMENAL youth pastor) told me to investigate MTV's newest rage, the teenage-geared show called "Skins." The meaning of "skins" from urban dictionary is "parties usually involve large amounts of drugs, alcohol, sex and loud music. After the skins party, the guests usually wake up in somebody elses house/garden completely disorientated, naked and covered in puke/piss/blood."

I. Am. Angry.
I. Am. Shocked.
I. Am. Grieved.

Here's the deal in a nutshell. Skins is an hour long show about teenagers. Or at least what the world WANTS us to believe/see about teenagers.

That's not the problem.

The problem is, MTV has actually employed teenage actors to play their true-to-life roles. That's right. In Skins, you will see fifteen year old girls in NUDE sex scenes. NUDE. You'll hear sixteen year old boys DEMAND sexual favors of girls, in great detail. You'll see seventeen year old children making drug deals, popping pills, and committing grand theft auto.

And your kids are watching it.

See, MTV is clever. They are billing this as "true to life" and "just showing the world where teenagers really are." ARE YOU KIDDING ME? First of all, I know PLENTY of teenagers who aren't living like thugs and fools. In fact, the majority of them are not. Secondly, SHAME on MTV for using MINORS to play these roles. The definition of pornography is "The explicit depiction of sexual subject matter, especially with the sole intention of sexually exciting the viewer; The graphic, detailed, often gratuitous depiction of something." Bingo. Third, WHERE ARE THESE BABIES' PARENTS? (Let me at 'em). Fourth, just because it's on TV and not a pay-channel does NOT mean it is permissible in our homes! Just because it's "legal" for these children parade around in prostitution and drug-related scenes does NOT mean it's okay for my daughter to learn that she can or should allow boys to demand vulgar and explicit actions from her. Just because it's on "primetime" TV does NOT mean that I should allow my son to think it's ok to use the F-word whenever and however and to whomever he chooses, or describe girls' body parts as if they are objects found in a landfill. And just because "all the other kids" watch it CERTAINLY does not mean that MINE WILL.

I know, I know. Some of you are literally saying, "Well, you can't control every thing they watch." I agree. They go to school. They hang out with friends. But let me tell you this. I CAN CONTROL WHAT IS WATCHED IN MY HOUSE. Even if this means there is ONE TV, ONE computer, and ONE smartphone, and they are all in MY room, under lock and key! Furthermore, I can instill in my children a heart filled with self-respect and dignity, where they instinctively turn their eyes and their hearts away from filth when they are exposed to it. Don't tell me it can't be done. I can show you family after family who's children didn't fall into this trap. Families that I admire and look up to because they produced children who aren't perfect, but who soared above the traps of garbage that others fall in to.

Need more reason to understand why I am angry? Watch this. (you'll have to click on this link, as I couldn't post it to my blog.)

http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/controversal-mtv-skins-porn-teens/story?id=12728614

Has this given you a heads up? I hope so.

So, where to go from here? Be up front with your kids. Going in with guns blazing will cause a freakout and will be counterproductive. Sit down with them and ask them if they've seen it, and why they like this show. Ask them where their own moral compass is regarding these issues. Try to lead them to follow the chain of events to where these destructive lifestyles are headed. (Pregnancy, STD's, suicide, prison, minimum wage jobs for their whole life, poverty, etc.). Then, PULL THE PLUG. They don't have to like it, nor do they really have to even understand your reasons right now. That's the beauty of parenting. We have to protect them from themselves. And I know you're like me in the fact that you want your adult children to look back and now EXACTLY what you stood for.

And one more thing. I'm now a Taco Bell fan for life.

Yo quiero Taco Bell.

Where to begin?

2011-01-18T06:29:00.000-08:00

How about here?

Or here?

Definitely here...

That's right, blog friends. My sister has had a baby boy! His name is Legend, and since day one, he's living up to his name. I had the privilege of being right at Lori's side as she ushered her heart into this world on January 3, which was three weeks before his expected arrival. When he came out, his cord was TIGHTLY wrapped around his tiny neck. He was purple and didn't make a sound. He struggled to breathe off and on for the first day or two, and was taken to a bigger hospital in Orlando, where he spent the next nine days. The verdict was that he had a paralyzed vocal cord on his right side, and a condition that alot of preemies have called SVT (his heart would run very high heart rates off and on). Thanks to a medical team that I cannot brag enough about and the power of a magnificent healing God, Legend has a heart that is perfectly healthy, and his cry is getting (MUCH) louder every day. He is the first boy in our family... first in four generations on my Mom's side... and we are over the moon about this little seven pound bundle of chewiness.

As I sit and hold Legend every day (my office is not even one minute from his house... the perfect lunch getaway), I cannot help but think of my own girl and wonder where in the HECK the time has gone. I reflect back on her early years, and I literally feel like I'm trying to see through a fog. The memories are blurred and I only see bits and pieces of time. I want to pin Lori and Seth to the wall and somehow force them to understand how quickly this tender phase of their lives will pass. But I know that even if I could, they won't get it until they go through it. Days of diaper changing, spit up, rocking, and worrying turn into weeks and months, which all add up to one magnificent adventure.

One of the ten million wonderful things about Legend being here is how his very existence has forced me to hold Abi a little closer... squeeze her a little tighter... bite her sweet cheeks a little more often. Her birthday is fast approaching, and for some reason, I cannot bring myself to say the word "seven" when asked how old she'll be. See, the fact is, she's not in little powder scented diapers anymore. She doesn't require me to rock her to sleep, though on the rare occasion she asks, I gladly oblige. She can wipe her own rear end, pick out her own clothes (haha), and get her seatbelt on without my assistance.

But she's still a baby. MY baby.

My baby, who still says things like, "Mom, I have so much fun with you." MY baby, who asks, "Will spiders crawl into my mouth while I sleep?" MY baby, who would eat pancakes 24/7 if allowed the chance. MY baby, who cries while watching Animal Planet. MY baby, who hasn't outgrown running to me when the bell rings and kissing me right in front of all her friends. MY baby who at her young age is already so hormonal, I think I'll lose my own sanity BEFORE she starts her period.

We ooh and aah over the tiny ones, the new ones... and understandably so. But Moms, Dads... we have babies that are tender, albeit sometimes hard to love, at seven, twelve, and seventeen.

Take a minute today and smooch on your baby. I'm already counting the hours until I chew on my girl when she gets out of school today.

But first, it's only an hour and a half until lunch. And this is where I'm headed.

Chatty Cathy!

2010-12-08T07:25:00.000-08:00

Guess who got in trouble for talking in class yesterday?

Guess who took her rightful place in a long lineage of writing sentences for talking in class?

Guess whose teacher asked her to stop talking yet she still turned to her friend and finished her conversation... many times over throughout the day?

Guess who got a "C" for behavior?

Guess whose Mom wasn't happy?

This one right here. That's who.

She's cute, ain't she? Cute as a button. And chatty as a Chatty Cathy doll.

So, here's the deal. Is it a big deal that Abi talks alot? Probably not. She's kindhearted, thoughtful, tender, bubbly, and sweet. The quintessential girl. The poster child for sugar and spice. So I wasn't upset that she was chatting. But, as she always does, Abi told on herself and revealed more than she planned to, I'm sure.

ME- Abi, I saw you have a "C" in your agenda for today. Mrs. Farren said you had ants in your pants. What's the deal?
ABI- Well, Mrs. Farren kept telling me to be quiet and I would always be in the middle of talking to someone, and I didn't want to make them mad, so I'd keep talking to them anyway. But after I was done, I'd be quiet!
ME- So, let me get this straight. Mrs. Farren asked you to be quiet, but you ignored her and STILL kept talking?
ABI- Yes. I did that alot. Like, all day.
ME- Get some paper. You're going to write 50 times "I will not talk." NOW. And if this happens again, you will write a much longer sentence 100 times.
ABI- (mouth open in shock and horror)Mom, I didn't want to make Hannah or Christy mad!
ME- Who had you rather have mad at you... Hannah or ME?
ABI- Yes ma'am. (leaves the room).

After she left, I had to chuckle. I was SO that kid. Only without the sweet part. And with alot more bossiness. My sister was that kid. Only with a voice 10923432 times louder and a mean streak that scared most middle school boys away. My mom was that kid. My aunt was that kid. It was destined to happen. I'm okay with that. But the thing is, chatting and being disobedient are two totally different things. This was one of those moments I knew would define in Abi's mind that I expect her to follow Mrs. Farren's orders immediately, just as she would mine. After a long and tedious assignment, Abi declared she would never, ever do that again.

I chuckled again.

Because she will.

As we were walking down the stairs to go to bed, Abi said, "Mom, I tattle quite a bit."

My response? "That's a whole other set of sentences, my darling."

Girls. ;-)

Elves have invaded!!!!

2010-12-06T06:46:00.000-08:00

So, let's just clear the air about my lack of blogging lately. I've been busy, I've been traveling, I've been lonely since my man has been in Africa for three weeks, I've been swamped, and I've been a slacker.

Moving on.

Christmas is a slight obsession of mine. Seriously. My recurring dream all year long is decorating my tree. I burn pine scented candles in May. I sing "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" to Abi every single night all year. So, when Halloween gets here, I start salivating about getting down the boxes and boxes of Christmas from my attic. I'm the neurotic neighbor who decorates before Thanksgiving... yes I am. I love the lights. I love the smells. I love the shopping. I love the parties. I love the gifts. I L-O-V-E Santa. Love the cookies and milk. Love the carrots for the reindeer.

And this year, Ellie the Elf has invaded our house.

First of all, let me put a disclaimer out here. THIS IS NOT A FORUM TO DEBATE THE YES OR NO ON LETTING KIDS BELIEVE IN SANTA. Yes, I said that in all caps because I don't want to go there. This is what we do, and we have a blast with it. So, kindly understand that I'm not trying to persuade anyone to become a believer. :-)

Apparantly the newest craze is "Elf on a Shelf," which is a boxed set of a book and an elf. The elf comes to watch kids and make sure they're behaving for Santa, and while the kids are sleeping, the mischievous elf does something bizarre or funny for the kids to find when they wake up the following morning. He or she sits proudly on or nearby her mess. The rule is you're never supposed to touch the elf because she only comes to "life" at night when no one's watching.

I didn't like the elf that comes with the set, so I didn't buy the set. I bought this cute little creature, who is sold separately by the same company.

Anyway, last night (before I actually even bought the elf), I decided that it was time for a certain elf named Ellie to make a scene. So, mysteriously, there were Barbie dolls stuck all in the Christmas tree this morning. And when we went to get Abi's lunch out of the fridge, look what we found in there.....!!!

Abi went to school this morning with a smile on her face and high hopes that tonight, the elf will get into more trouble while she sleeps. It made our ride to school MUCH more enjoyable, as we speculated on what that elf could POSSIBLY want out of our refrigerator and how in the world did she manage to stuff every single Barbie into that tree herself! Abi laughed and laughed.

And I LOVED the twinkle in her sleepy eyes at 7:15 this morning as she shuffled clumsily through the house.

Yes, I know, I know. Christmas isn't really all about the hoopla. People all over the world celebrate this wonderful time of year without a single gift or flashing light. It's not about the trimmings and trappings...

But for those of us fortunate enough to be able to celebrate the way we choose, it sure is wonderful.

Ellie the Elf will become a part of our Christmases from now on. I love reading online at how families started this tradition when their kids were small and now their teenagers look forward to the elf's appearance even still. They might have outgrown the innocent belief in Santa's magic, but one thing we will never outgrow is the need for our parents' involvement in our holidays.

Moms and Dads, work your magic. Stir up some mischief with your little ones this holiday. I think I overheard Ellie saying tonight she's going to toilet paper the living room while Abi's asleep.

That girl is somethin' else! ;-)

Raising a New Awareness.

2010-11-01T08:37:00.000-07:00

So, this summer, we went to Detroit to see my Aunt Kim and Uncle Hadi. Upon arriving, we went to the Greek district in downtown and ate dinner at a WONDERFUL Greek restaurant.

As we are driving in the downtown area, I am immediately struck in awe by how many homeless people are lining the streets, asking for money from passersby. Don't get me wrong. We have homeless people in Orlando... but this was unreal. They were at every other store front, dirty, tired, and looking for food or any amount of money they could gather. I know that this is an opportunity for Abi to see the world through new eyes.

I said, "Abi, see all these people standing around who aren't dressed very nicely? They don't have homes. They sleep on the sidewalks and streets, and they stand out here and ask for food and money from people. Some of them can't work, some of them WON'T work, and all of them are sad. But God loves these people, and so do we."

My uncle pulled the car in front of our restaurant to let us out. I get out and turn to get Abi. Her cheeks are bright red. I said, "What's wrong?" I will NEVER forget what she said.

"Mom, I feel like a jerk right now."

My heart was broken and at the same time warmed with gratitude for her words. I said, "What do you mean?" She said, "We're going in here to eat and that man is so hungry." My Aunt Kim immediately goes into her purse, gives Abi a dollar, and walks her over to the man to give it to him. The man turns to Abi, bends down, and says, "Thank you, little girl. God bless you."

We get into the foyer of the restaurant and Abi's smiling from ear to ear. "He said God bless you to me, Mom! He was so thankful he'll be able to eat!"

Later on that night, I had another small talk with Abi about the homeless people we saw. While I wanted her to see the people around her that are hurting and suffering every day, and while I want to expose her to the harsh reality that the world is not always happy and warm... I also have to expose her to the truth that we cannot save every person from their needs. I had to explain to her that while some people cannot find jobs, there are others who don't want jobs. I had to explain to her that some people don't want to be responsible, but there are many others who would give anything for the opportunity to fix their family a nice, hot meal.

See, Abi's a very tenderhearted child. She is giving, warm, and concerned for others. She is very much aware of the needs of the people around her and wants everyone to be at peace. Since her heart is bent toward generosity, it is MY job to make sure she knows that real love helps... but it doesn't always rescue and it CERTAINLY doesn't enable. While I want her to be a pillar of hope and refuge in this hurting world, I most assuredly don't want her to be a pushover.

So where does this come to? I have to teach her to rely on that still small voice in her heart... the Voice of all voices that abides in her every fiber. I have to guide her in listening to the Holy Spirit as He prompts her heart and leads her to give, and leads her to step away.

See, every day, there are opportunities around us to seize. God moments on the corners of our streets and sidewalks where He wants to meet our children and give them His eyes.

Are you looking?

Things.

2010-10-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

Well, here it is. Another Wednesday. Another half way through the week.

Another day closer to Abi being out on her own.

I know, I know. Pretty dramatic. But every now and then, a wave hits me of "Oh-my-gosh-my-time-with-her-is-so-short." I think parenting is like cramming for that big test. You do your homework along the way. You turn in the assignments. You show up for class (most of the time). You're confident in the material. But the night before the big exam, you down endless pots of coffee and those little pills you buy at the gas station for road trips that you should never buy but do anyway, and you try to cover four weeks of lecture notes in one night, just in case you don't know as much as you think you do. (THAT WAS AN INCREDIBLY LONG SENTENCE. And, my high school English teacher is one of my readers. I'm in trouble.)

Anyway. The other day, I was turning into the bank. A car was coming toward me. It wasn't too close, not even CLOSE to hitting me, but close enough I sped up a little as I was turning to get out of the way. I thought to myself, "That was one of those situations my Mom would gripe at me about." And then it hit me. (This thought, not the car...)

One day, MY baby girl will be in the situation of trying to decide whether the car is too close or not. And she will follow her choice. And I can't control it.

So there I go. On a path of slightly freaking out at the thought of Abi behind the wheel of a car. But then, I realize. It's not just the car. It's the fact that there's SO much content to cover with her and SO little time to do it. I started thinking of all the things I want her to know. Things we need to work on. Things I needher to know. And I made a list a while back about this, so bear with me. I've added to it.

THINGS I WANT HER TO KNOW:
-that I did the best I could. (most days).

-that she's the first thing on my mind every single day.

- that no matter how many days I drop her off at school, I never leave until she disappears into her building and I can't see her backpack anymore.

-that I literally dread the day her hands don't look like a little girl's hands anymore.

-that I hope she's the "quirky" kid in her class.

-that I've memorized every freckle on her face, every curve of her toes, and the exact spot in her eyes where the green fades into a brownish gray.

-that her Daddy loves her so much, sometimes I think he'll burst.

-that sometimes I sit by her bed while she's sleeping, just listening to her breathe and wonder what she's dreaming about.

-that sometimes she gets on my last ever-loving nerve.

-that she is privileged in so many ways.

-that the day I brought her up onto the stage at church for the congregation to see her after all the years of praying for her conception, people rejoiced for her life and took ownership of her as "their" baby.

-that I don't care if she IS the preacher's kid/grandkid, she's still allowed to fail like every other child in the church.

-that I cannot WAIT until the day she and I sit together, woman to woman, over a cup of coffee as friends.

-that I daydream about being at her side for all the girl things: prom makeup, her wedding planning, the birth of her firstborn... being a girl mama guarantees me a front row seat.

-that if she moves to China and becomes a missionary, it will take all the will power I've ever had (and her big strong Daddy) to keep me from becoming a Chinese citizen.

-that every kid needs an aunt they confide in... and her best friend in her teenage years will be her Aunt Lori.

-that manners will escalate her into favor in this world.

-that sometimes, all someone needs is a kind word.

-and that sometimes a harsh word is all it takes.

-that long before the foundation of the world was laid, she was the only thought on the mind of her Creator.

-that the day she was born, Heaven exploded with joy.

-and my heart exploded with love.

-that she has men in her life she can trust with all her being. Men who would tear apart anyone who harms her with their bare hands. Men who care enough about her to make sure she's dressed like a lady and behaving like the treasure she is.

-that there's a rich heritage flowing through her veins.

-that when I pull into the school parking lot to get her and she gets into my van, I feel like nothing's missing anymore.

-that sometimes when she's asleep, I kiss her cheeks until I have to make myself stop.

-that even if she's 23, she can still crawl into our bed at 5:00am if she wants to.

Okay, okay. I'll stop for now. There's so much more I could say, but it's overwhelming and quite frankly, daunting. I'm just glad I have the next 11 or so years to get it all done. That's ALOT of time. Plenty of time. Right?

It's really not.

At all.

But she'll be ready. And so will I.

La la la la... Elmo too?

2010-09-27T07:01:00.001-07:00

WHY??? WHY, ELMO? WHY must you cross over to the dark side? WHYYYYY?

Ok. For those of you who don't know what I'm griping about, I'm afraid I'll be the bearer of bad news. It appears that even the most benign children's entertainment empire ever (aka, Sesame Street), has joined forces with pop culture in the slow fade of morals.

See below.

*Sad Sigh*

Thankfully, Sesame Street has chosen not to release this controversial segment in their season premiere. They released this statement. "Sesame Street has a long history of working with celebrities across all genres, including athletes, actors, musicians and artists. Sesame Street has always been written on two levels, for the child and adult. We use parodies and celebrity segments to interest adults in the show because we know that a child learns best when co-viewing with a parent or care-giver. We also value our viewer’s opinions and particularly those of parents. In light of the feedback we’ve received on the Katy Perry music video which was released on YouTube only, we have decided we will not air the segment on the television broadcast of Sesame Street, which is aimed at preschoolers. Katy Perry fans will still be able to view the video on YouTube."

There are oh-so-many things I could say about all of this. I have a statement of my OWN to release.

1. I am not saying that my house is banning Sesame Street. Certainly not... yet. But if this is a precursor to what's down the road for preschool entertainment and children's education, count the Windhams OUT.

2. What Katy Perry was wearing is ABSOLUTELY inappropriate for children to see, especially in their safe zone. Meaning, SS is one of the shows we let our kids watch with little concern. It's warm, fuzzy, and educational. They know we aren't going to march into the living room and demand they turn off that garbage when it comes to Big Bird and the Grouch. Was she practically naked? No. In reality, she wasn't showing anything less than the average bathing suit reveals. But WHY do PRESCHOOLERS need to see CLEAVAGE and ELMO together? What does a skin tight, low cut, lime green dress have to do with educational television for three year olds?

3. The phrase "I think kids have seen those" is EXACTLY what's wrong with our culture. It's the new way of saying, "Well, everybody else is doing it!" In other words, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. We have adopted a whole new normal that is less and less conducive to raising Godly children. We say, "Well, they see worse than that at the beach," and as a result, we let MTV infiltrate our preschoolers through PBS.

4. The fact that at first Matt Lauer thought it was wrong and then convinced himself it was ok is sad. We haven't drawn concrete lines in our morals, so we are at the mercy of whatever TV wants to give us as our societal norms. After all, if it's on Sesame Street, it has to be okay!

5. The days are OVER where we can assume ANYTHING when it comes to our kids. We can't assume that it's okay just because it came from Disney. (PLEASE don't make that mistake.) We can't assume Nickelodeon is safe just because the Backyardigans are adorable and Dora is so chunky and sweet. We can't assume our kids will just take the good stuff from shows and leave the bad stuff behind. THEY WON'T. And we'll wonder why our five year old girls want to start wearing thongs and our four year old boys are making crude comments about girls in their preschool class. And after all... you know what they say happens when you assume something. ;-)

6. Most importantly, we cannot let our hearts become desensitized to what is RIGHT. What is VIRTUOUS. What is BEST. WE are the filter between media and our kids. Period.

So, Matt Lauer and Meredith Viera... just because YOUR kids may have "seen those before" doesn't mean that mine will think it's normal to see cleavage and Elmo together. Ever.

Let's not forget that Sesame Street's target audience is kids, aged 2-5.

***BIG SAD SIGH HERE***

You Can't Make This Stuff Up!

2010-09-15T14:41:00.000-07:00

Well, one thing's for sure. I'm never at a loss of something to blog about. One day, Abi will look back on all of these intimate and personal things I've shared about her via the Internet and she will roll her eyes. She'll say, "THANKS ALOT, MOM!" And I'll just say, "You're MOST welcome." Believe it or not, there are plenty of things I do not write about, because the child has to have SOME kind of dignity left.

Here's a few moments that have left me scratching my head, laughing my head off, or banging my head against the wall lately. I will show you the picture, and explain it down underneath.

For whatever reason, this was left in my office. I know the quality is blurry, but you can get the point. This is a home address label with a caricature of Rod, Abi, and me. She was obviously not happy with me this day, and showed me on the label of our family. Notice the check marks on hers and Rod's face, along with the giant X on mine. Welp.

Next...

Yes, this is my daughter. My girlie-girl, scared-of-every-insect, pink and purple laden daughter. She is on her stomach, drinking out of a puppy's water bottle. And when I confronted her and told her not to do this anymore, she said, "Oh, ok. It's fine. That was my second bottle anyway." **GAGGING NOISE HERE** I walked away.

Next.

Please listen to me. There are days when I cannot think of anything Abi has eaten that we did not FORCE her to eat. She's like a bird or a grazer. But on this particular day, I took Abi to IHOP, where she ate not one, but TWO kids meals... Double bacon, double scrambled eggs, double pancakes, and two cinnamon rolls. She then laid down and moaned.

Then, there's this one.

I walked into my dining room and found all of Abi's fairies tucked into homemade sleeping bags, crafted from the finest Charmin Double Quilted toilet paper, hemmed with staples, and complete with plush TP pillows. Adorableness times a million.

Ahhhhhh, this one.

My cousin's wedding. Abi was a flower girl. I turn around during a couple's dance, and this is what I saw. Her Uncle Seth wasn't so happy. And I was not prepared for how magical this little girl could look in the tiny arms of a little man. Sigh.

And my most recent personal favorite.

Interpretation: I do not like you. (spelled liyk)

Abi had to sit through her second funeral in one week (oh, the perks of being a pastor's kid), and she was WAAAAAAAY less than happy about it.After fifteen minutes of coloring with an ink pen, going to the bathroom ten thousand times, and trying to get comfortable, the following happened.

ABI-I need something to DO right now! This is SOOOO boring!
ME- (whispering in my mean mom voice) This isn't about YOU! Nothing at this funeral is about YOU! This is about being here for this family right now.
ABI-(whispering back in a meaner voice) I can't stand this any more! I'm ready to LEAVE!
ME-(In my best Grim Reaper voice)If I have to talk to you one more time while we are at this funeral, you will lose every single dollar of your allowance.

(Abi starts writing a note, puts it in an offering envelope from the chair pockets, and gives it to me.)

I literally chuckled out loud. In the middle of the service.

And then she tried to get it back. I said, "Oh, noooooo. You're not getting this one back, baby. This one belongs to ME. "

After all... what else would I blog about? :-)

Punishment VS. Discipline.

2010-09-08T07:42:00.000-07:00

Is it just me, or has anyone else ever wondered which is which? I know I blogged about this a while back, but it seems like a topic we can visit more than once... Do you agree?

We use these words interchangably, when in fact, they are complete and total opposites. Let me explain.

The word "punishment" means pain, suffering, or loss that serves as retribution.

The word "discipline" means training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character.

Basically, "punishment" is how we react when we are unprepared, while "discipline" doesn't catch us off guard. Let me 'splain.

I think, as parents, we spend WAY too much time trying to catch our kids doing something wrong and not NEARLY enough time looking for them doing something right. As a result of that, we have our finger on the punishment trigger most of the time. We are physically exhausted, mentally stretched, and our kids pay the price for our own lack of management. The LAST thing we want is another set of rules to structure or another situation to monitor. However, since we haven't clearly explained to our children what's expected, blow ups happen on their part and certainly on ours.

Is it possible to make a rules system that covers every single scenario before they actually happen? No. But what we CAN do is create a basic structure of functioning that all behaviors should fall under. Here's our own structured guidelines that we operate within in our household. They are not by any means "one size fits all," but they uphold our core beliefs and help us become the family we want to be.

1. Tell the truth at all times.
2. Use respectful language and tones.
3. Be responsible with your own property.
4. Be a team player.

Notice, these guidelines are for our ENTIRE family. It's important to not make the rules completely child centered. They need to see US modeling the behavior we desire to see in them!

Every action falls either inside or outside of these parameters. When the behavior is less than acceptable, discipline comes into effect. It's just basic cause and effect, peeps! Punishment, however, is a knee-jerk reaction, that never, EVER helps the situation, but creates more pain for everyone involved.

One of the cornerstones of my parenting beliefs is that if boundaries are communicated, there is no room for chaos. Do I mean that if I communicate the boundaries, there will never be bumpy roads or rules broken? (Insert insane laughter here) Um, no. Our kids are a little bit of us, and a little bit of our spouse, after all. But what guidelines do for us are provide a game plan, so that there are no foggy areas anymore, and reactions are lessened.

Still unclear on punishment versus discipline? A couple more examples. Kid does something wrong and you can't wait to set him straight? Punishment. Kid does something wrong and you know you MUST deal with it because it will shape who they are as a person? Discipline. Kid disobeys and you fly off the handle? Punishment. Kid breaks a rule and your heart is broken when you have to implement the consequence? Discipline.

Dealing with our children is a heart matter. As best we can, we need to be aware of the motives within our hearts BEFORE dealing with the hearts of our little ones. Once those words are out there, we can't get them back.

Thank God for mercy!

Tune-Up Tuesday!

2010-09-07T08:04:00.001-07:00

Tuesdays. They're just kinda there. Mondays are the first day of the week. Wednesdays, the hump day. Thursdays, we start to wind it up for the weekend. Fridays, we rejoice. But Tuesdays? They're just kinda fillers.

Or are they?

I HATE the word "bored." I think it's really and completely impossible to be bored if you love your life. Seriously. First of all, I don't understand how a parent can be bored, unless their children are like little cardboard cut outs with no personalities at all. But even at that, I can't wrap my mind around the concept of boredom. There's always books to read, things to clean, places to explore, dreams to dream... you get my drift. Over the summer, I told Abi that since her room is FILLED with fun stuff to do, and she has a back yard most kids dream of having, every time I heard her say she was "bored," she had to do a chore of my choosing, and then I'd make sure it was a time-consuming task, like sweeping off the back deck (which is ALWAYS covered in leaves from the giant oaks around our house.) Miraculously, the boredom disappeared after two times.

Since today is Tuesday, and I guess it's techincally the most "boring" day of the week, and boredom is not our friend, let's have a little "tune-up" today.

You're in need of a tune-up if:

...you literally prayed for ten more minutes in bed this morning. And the day before.

...you count the minutes until nap time, bed time, and going to the mailbox alone time, every single day.

...you literally feel your skin crawl with annoyance when you hear, "Mom" come out of your little one's mouth... even if it's not attached to a tattle or whine.

...you find yourself looking at women in the mall who don't have children with them and envying them or imagine hitting them with your car.

...you see your pregnant friend and the first thing out of your mouth is some kind of warning about how pregnancy is the easy part and raising kids is like being pecked to death by pigeons.

...you fix PBJs every night because once again, you're too tired to cook.

...you consider the nightly news your "adult conversation" for the day, and then are seething with anger when your husband comes home simply because he got to talk to real life grown ups during his day.

...you constantly find yourself wondering if there's life out there.

...you constantly think, "If only I had gone to college..."

How do we fix it? What is there to do for those of us who are burned out, worn out, pooped out, and give out?

1. Make a gratitude list. You heard me. Keep a notebook on the counter and trim it with electric fence wire if you have to so that no one scribbles in it. Throughout your day, as moments of sunshine peek into your heart, write them down. Because Lord knows they disappear as fast as they come. Little Precious fed herself without painting sweet potatoes on the wall? Write it down! Tiny Wonder took a THREE HOUR NAP instead of his usual 45 minute one? Write it down! Angel Child said "I love you" to his sister? Write it down! Then at the end of your day, re-read the list. You'll be surprised.

2. Find one Bible verse for your week. Just one? Well, let's start with one. It's unreasonable to think the average mom can sit down with her Bible and study the seventh horn on the great beast in Revelation. But at the beginning of each week, after every one is in bed, we CAN sit down and find our weekly verse. Write it out and stick it on the fridge, where everyone can see. Speak it outloud to your children. Incorporate it in conversation. Pray it over meals. The Word of God is life and it is marrow in our bones. We need it.

3. Choose a good perspective. Keyword: CHOOSE. Yesterday, I heard on the news of a local pastor whose five year old granddaughter died from brain cancer. Instant perspective. Every time I see a parent who is struggling financially because of unemployment, instant perspective. When I feel weary from morning routines, packing lunches, and homework, I think of the men and women in uniform, who missed their child's first day of school and would love nothing more than to be able to make a turkey sandwich for their first grader. Instant perspective. I love the Bible verse that says, "I have learned to be content in whatsoever state I'm in." Choices. Ouch.

4. Do one thing differently. If you normally have your coffee in the kitchen before anyone wakes up, have it outside tomorrow. If the kids do their homework at the dining room table, load them up and drive them to the picnic tables at the park for homework tonight. If you always have pizza on Tuesdays, have breakfast for dinner, complete with waffles and whipped cream. Routines are needed and a part of a successful family. But they also can stick you in a rut if they aren't ever veered from. Changing one little thing can breathe new life into a dull pattern instantly.

5. Find YOUR song. Music is therapy. Whatever the mood, whatever the issue, there's a song for it. Recently, God challenged me to listen to only Christian music for 30 days. At first, I fought it. But I have to tell you, 21 days in, I actually find myself with a song in my heart more often than I have in a long time. Does this mean I will forever quit secular music? NO WAY. But what it has done is challenge me to rebalance my intake. It's actually nice, being surrounded by music that affirms God's plan for my life. *DISCLAIMER: NOT EVERY SONG ON CHRISTIAN RADIO IS BIBLICALLY SOUND! FOR INSTANCE, GOD DOESN'T PUT YOU THROUGH FIRE TO SEE WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF. HE'S GOD. HE KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF. GEESH. Right now, my favorite song is "Better Than a Hallelujah" by Amy Grant. It's on my lips quite often.

Are you in need of a tune up? Start today. Or, you can stay where you are. That's the beautiful thing about God. He loves us where we are.

But He also loved us enough to make a way OUT of where we are.

Just in case we want it. ;-)

But her backpack is twice as big as she is!

2010-08-30T11:51:00.000-07:00

This was my thought this morning as I watched Abi walk from my van toward her building at school. Everyone was getting there, happy to see each other from the weekend apart. Kids shuffling in, sleepy eyed and wild-haired, tucking in their shirts and eating their leftover mini-van breakfasts. In the sea of children, my little girl looked like a Tic-Tac with legs, her backpack covering her entire torso and past her bottom, lunch box in one hand, warm-vanilla milk in the other. She looked longingly at me half way down the sidewalk, and then she saw Reagan (the love of her life...her words, not mine), and she never turned back around to me again.

On the way to work, I called Rod and sniffled at how grown up she is and how she needs us less and less in so many ways. Rod told me that the other day, when he was there to pick her up from school, he heard two little girls (who appeared to be in third-ish grade) say something along the lines of "That don't matter... She's ugly" about some girl in their class. Rod said, "I can't even stand to THINK that one day someone will talk about Abi that way."

Fact is, they will.

My feathers ruffle, my hair stands on end, my talons come out, and I start lookin' for a Mama to chew out.

Then I come back to real life.

I can't be there every day, shielding her heart from the hurtful words and judging stares of snotty girls. I can't cover her with a blanket when her heart gets broken because a boy makes a joke about her butt and she's humiliated. I wish I could. But even if I could, I shouldn't.

See, we live in a bailout driven society. Settle down... this isn't about politics. We bail our kids out of hard work, out of taking responsibility, out of chores, out of saving money, and out of pain. Know the kids whose parents call and gather support for them, or sell their box of candy bars at their workplace so their kids don't have to do it because they're "shy"? Yeeeeeah. My parents didn't play like that. But New School parents have chosen to make life as utterly easy as they can for their kids. We rush to their aid with every bump and bruise, and we basically wrap them in bubble wrap to keep them from hurting themselves along the way, both physically and emotionally, hovering over their every move. Fact is, pain is a part of humanity. And as much as I grieve when THOSE tears fall, and as much as I'd like to protect her from their sources, I cannot do so. If I did, I would be handicapping her abilities to deal with real life when I can't be there to save her.

**BIG SIGH HERE**

Years ago, I read about Beth Moore when her daughter moved off to college. As any mom would, Beth struggled with worry of how her little one would take care of herself 24/7 for the first time in her life. When she got home from dropping off her little bird at her new dorm room, Beth was cleaning her daughter's empty bedroom. As she cleaned out from under the bed, she found a pile of tissues underneath the head of the bed, wrinkled and smeared with mascara. It was very clear that Beth's precious girl had cried herself to sleep more than one night, alone in her bed, while Beth was unaware. Beth said she cried out, "God, I was right down the hall and I didn't know she was in silent pain!" As her heart was breaking, the Lord spoke softly to her, "If you didn't know she was hurting while she was down the hall, how can you possibly comfort her when she's across the country? I took care of her then, and I've got this too."

We can't do it all, moms and dads. We can't be the shield all the time... can't guard their hearts from all they'll see. Oh, don't get me wrong. We can do alot. But there comes a time when we step back and see if we are actually equipping them for success or setting them up for failure by micro-managing their pain. Ouch.

I'm telling you. That backpack is twice as big as she is. How can she carry it all?

She'll grow. And I'll know when to step in.

And when to back off. ;-)

School Again, School Again. Do I Homeschool?

2010-08-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

*Insert sad sigh*

I'm not one of those people who enjoys sending my child off to school. Just sayin. Now, don't get me wrong. I understand the value of school... of the obvious academic beneifts and social venues that it brings. I am in NO WAY advocating schooling in one certain way, as I have friends whom I love and respect that are schooling their children successfully in many ways. That's one of the many beauties of our nation. We are free to school as we deem necessary.

Here I am, less than three weeks until the big day... school starts back. And I, like every other mom, wonder where the heck the summer went. Did I spend enough time playing with her? Did I read enough books to her? Did we swim enough? Did she get enough summer fun to create good memories? Will she be sad when school starts back, or glad to get a reprieve from Mom? Is she counting the days because she's excited, or dreading it like I am?

We fully intended to homeschool. I'm not interested in starting a debate as to the whys we chose not to for our child(ren). Let's just suffice it to say that Abigail would have been miserable, and it would have been near to impossible because of our lives and work. That's the short version.

But it recently hit me. We all homeschool to a certain extent, don't we? Maybe not in academics, even though I had read "Go Dog Go" fifty million times before Abi was three. We school everyday in the things that last much longer than any book knowledge will.
Everytime we show our children how to keep a house clean and efficient by cleaning instead of lying on the couch like we'd like to. (Home Economics)

Every day that we pray over meals, we are teaching them thankfulness and an awareness that our very lives depend on the power of a loving God's provision. (Bible Class)

Every "I'm sorry, thank you, and yes ma'am" that we give to people in our community, adult to adult, is teaching and modeling good manners. (Ethics Class)

Every time we answer questions like, "How do bees make honey?" (thanks, Google)... "Did I come out of your belly button?" and "Is it lying if you just don't tell the truth?" we are answering the questions of future leaders and inventors. (Science)

Every time we bathe them, make them eat a healthy meal, or take them on walk, we are showing them the importance of taking care of our bodies (Health Class).

Every time they ask for a toy in Wal-Mart and we remind them to start saving their allowance, we are teaching them to manage their finances. (Business Math)

Every time we celebrate a holiday, cook a new ethnic food, or befriend someone who is not from our race, we are teaching them to broaden their horizons and get out of their comfort zone. (Social Studies)

When we teach them how to argue with their siblings without engaging in manual war, we are teaching them how to communicate. (Debate Class)

When we correct their language, teach them that "turd" is not a name and therefore cannot be what they call their sister, or help them pronounce words they've never read, we are teaching them the power of their speech. (English 101)

So, I guess we all homeschool after all, don't we? Reminds me of the verse found in Deuteronomy 6:6-7 Always remember these commands I give you today. Teach them to your children, and talk about them when you sit at home and walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.

I'm a homeschooling-public school Mom. There's forty weeks of school ahead of us. That means 40 chances for me to volunteer and be involved in Abi's school life. But even more than that, I get 365 chances every year at home.

Here's to a great school year for ALL of us, whether we public, private, or homeschool.

Somebody Should Invent...

2010-08-02T05:58:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while, my inventive side comes out. Granted, it's usually in a moment of frustration and overwhelmingness (is that a word?), but occasionally, the juices just flow.

Like, for instance, when I'm struggling to get the front door open because I am weighted down with a backpack, three random shoes I found in the van, a stack of books I brought home from work, two Barbies, a grocery bag with eggs and bread, and my gigantic purse, and I look over and see Abi frolicking into the house, empty handed and oblivious, and I suddenly wish I could invent an extendable arm that would rise out of the mess in my arms and smack her into reality so she can see my arms are full and I need her to open the door! (Gosh, that's the longest sentence I've ever written).

Here's a list of things I've invented in my mind. Feel free to add yours. Who knows. Maybe we will win a Nobel Prize or something.

The Vanishing Post Its-I don't want to have to worry about whether or not I've done what I wrote the note to remind myself to do. It would be nice if Post-Its would disappear once the job is done. Like, it would know by osmosis that its job here is complete and just go on its merry way.

The Spray That Cleans All-I want to walk in a room and set off a fume can that magically fixes all messes. Period. I have no problem vacating the premises for 24 hours if I need to, just in case the fumes are too strong to breathe.

Juice That Actually Works Like Benadryl- For naptimes. Much less guilt involved in juice than medications. Just sayin.

Self Cleaning Diapers-Hey, we put a man on the moon. So, anything's possible, right?

Instant Freeze For Special Moments- Like when you're tucking your child in for the night, and she has that special angelicness on her face. Or when you see him walk into his kindergarten classroom for the first time with that backpack on that's twice as big as he is. Or when they see what's under the tree on Christmas morning. You can journal all you want. But there are little moments that happen every day we are bound to forget.

One Meal That Tastes Differently To Everyone-You make one dish, and to each person, it tastes like their favorite meal. Brilliant.

The Gift Card That Magically Pays Your Parents Back For All the Heck You Put Them Through- Enough said.

Invisible Germ Forcefield- Because school kids are germy and gross, but yours obviously isn't.

Portable Coffee IV Drip-Because some days, you just need the caff and can't take time to carry a mug around.

The Magic Eraser For Colossal Mommy Mistakes- Like when your child walks in when your door should have been locked. Or when you call the dog a name you shouldn't have while you're cleaning up pee off the carpet, and your little one hears. Or when you say something terrible in traffic outloud.

A Built In Real-Time Pediatric Nurse App In Your Brain-So first time moms can know what's worthy of an antibiotic and what's viral. Or so you know the difference in a break and a sprain at the drop of a hat. 'Cause emergency rooms are not fun, especially when you leave with no answers, or the realization you overreacted.

A Magic Cape That Enables You To Read Minds- Number one, a cape just immediately qualifies you as a creepy superhero. And number two, no matter how well you know your child, you are NEVER, and I repeat NEVER prepared for fishing overalls out of a running toilet, a missing in action reptile, or finger paint on your brand new recliner. Ever. EVER.

I'm sure there's more, and I might even concoct enough inventions to blog something similar again in the near future. Life is challenging, at best. And every day is a winding road. But I wouldn't trade one single minute of chaos for the pre-mom quiet I used to possess.

Even without my inventions. :-)

Sensitive Children.....???

2010-07-20T08:45:00.000-07:00

I couldn't believe my ears. Well, actually, I guess I could, but I didn't WANT to believe what I was hearing.

There I was. In Wal-Mart. I was trying to see over two moms talking, who were standing in front of the vitamins I was needing to get to. They were talking about disciplining their children. One of the moms was saying she had just spanked her child for some behavior he had exhibited that was less than acceptable. And then the other said it. Words that almost made me come out of my skin.

"I have a hard time disciplining my son. He's just soooooo sensitive."

***ME- GASPING FOR AIR***
Let me tell you what I REALLY heard. "I won't discipline my son because he is a master at using his emotions to manipulate me into not dealing with the issues I should have the backbone to deal with." PERIOD.

Sensitive? PLEASE. They are children, not baby shampoo. True sensitivity is a blessing, not a crutch. I know, I know. Some kids are more emotional than others. Some don't need the same type of stern discipline that others require. But GIVE ME A BREAK. As if "sensitive" children shouldn't be disciplined because he can make his lip quiver just at the right time?

Don't get me wrong. I understand that not every child is the same. I hardly ever was spanked. A good sit-down talk was usually all I had to have to get my tail in line. Then along came my sister. She broke every parenting theory to pieces. So, I get it. They aren't all tough guys. But the thing is, children are SMART. And even "good" kids know how to manipulate their way into their parents' hearts and minds and get what they want.

So how do you deal with a "sensitive" child?
1. Before you threaten discipline, be SURE you can follow through.
2. Know your child. This does NOT mean cater to your child. It means know their bend/tendencies BEFORE a situation arises that requires discipline.
3. Have very clear cause and effects spelled out ahead of time.
4. Purpose ahead of time to not give in to the emotions of the moment. Wait until your head is clear and your heart is settled before approaching discipline. The quivering chin will make you cave if you don't keep your purpose in front of you.
5. Remember that even "sweet" children are children. They have to be trained. Period.

As I was listening to this lady make excuses for her poor decisions, I thought, "Yep. And one day you'll have this child in some youth pastor's office, demanding we fix him because he's finally ran into something he can't manipulate anymore!" Parents, the word "discipline" means training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character.

Welp... Seems there's no exception. We have a job to do, regardless of our little charge's personality. Man up and do it!

For all my STAY AT HOME MOM friends.

2010-07-19T07:59:00.000-07:00

Just had you on my mind this morning.

Well, actually it's because I spent a little (not nearly enough) time with my friend Jennifer at a birthday party our kids were at the other day, and I just wanted to hug her (and bite her little chubby baby). She had said something like, "You took a break from blogging but all of us moms at home still needed a pick me up!"

Yes, we do need pick-me-ups. ANY mom's job is endless. (Working moms, please don't blast me.) But since I was a SAHM with Abi, and will be when baby #2 arrives (we're working on this), Home Mommies are close to my heart.

Stay-at-home Moms, there are those of us who understand.

There are moms on this planet who understand:
...what it's like to have the theme song from Elmo's World stuck in your head for weeks at a time, and to catch yourself whistling it while folding clothes, only to shrug your shoulders and start whistling it again because you don't know any current songs.
...that at some point in the day, you think "What's the use?" when it comes to cleaning up playroom toys, so you throw in the white flag of surrender. Every day.
...how it feels to exist off of a diet of leftover pizza crusts, PBJ sandwich crusts, and non-soggy goldfish crumbs that were left of the high chair tray.
...that vacuuming is a distinct art. It has to be scheduled around naptimes, lunchtimes, and all-in-all, childhood in general.
...that chunks of your life will disappear somewhere between 7AM and 4PM, and you will never, ever know what you did during those hours. Ever.

There are those of us who have spent our days:
...answering questions like, "Can I go outside now? Now? How about NOW?" all. day. long.
...really and truly envying Dora the Explorer because at least she gets to GO SOMEWHERE!
...wiping noses that pour like waterhoses, administering enough Tylenol to cool off an atomic bomb, and carrying Orajel in our mom-jeans pocket.
...sitting in a kiddie pool that doesn't even cover our thighs (which, incidentally are much larger than they used to be) and then telling people we went swimming in our "pool".

Be encouraged, Mommies. There are people in this world who:
...count the minutes until naptimes, every single day.
...actually feed their kids Pizza Rolls more than once a week and still turn out kids that are healthy.
...cannot wait until the next library story time for the sole purpose that we don't have to be the ones reading the book for a change.

You're not the only one who:
...sometimes thinks, "What did I get myself into?"
...thinks if something happened to your mom, you'd end up in an insane asylum.
...sometimes cries at how exhausted and OVER IT you are, only to get a totally different child up from naptime than the one you put down, thus everything changing.
...imagines a vacation away from Little Precious of the Century, but can't get past the fact that you just
can't be gone from them that long and breathe.

You are totally normal for:
...knowing that a spanking is completely in order, yet feeling like a piece of poop for doing it.
...feeling like your skin will literally crawl off of you if you're touched one more time.
...counting how many years there are until graduation, and instead of crying because it's so far away, crying because it's not as many as you thought.
...inventing fun games like, "Let's see who can be quiet the longest," which is code for "If you talk again, my ears will explode."

Because after all the frustration, all the work, all the skinned knees, fussy eaters, and non-sleeping children have moved on, we will miss these days.

Moms, what's going on inside your house is making an eternal difference. And you're the cornerstone.

We are mighty. We are tired. We are stretched. We are loved.

We are blessed.

Just in case you wonder what STUPID looks like...

2010-07-13T10:27:00.000-07:00

...then, here it is. Please watch this, but have a trashcan ready because you'll most certainly want to puke after watching.

ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME!?!?!

Dear Mrs. Superintendent... YOU DON'T KNOW ME! My first reaction is God help the person who gives my first grader a condom. My next thought is that if I found a condom in my child's backpack at ANY age and I knew it came from school, I'd be on the nightly news with an inmate number under my headshot.

But really, we can scream all we want at the people on the other side of this video. The bottom line is, government is a reflection of the people. Period. Those babies are being educated on how to put a condom on because we the people have allowed it.

Not too long ago, a 10 year old delivered a baby in Atlanta. She was not raped. Locally, a 5th grade girl gave birth. It's nothing anymore to see girls who look like they are still playing with Bratz dolls walking around the mall bursting with child, while they are putting on glittery Hello Kitty lipgloss. It is VERY evident that the problem is a problem of cataclysmic proportions, and I've had enough.

I've had ENOUGH of people dressing their daughters up like mini-prostitutes and then raking every teenage boy who looks at her over the coals. I'm ANGRY that dolls look less and less like toys and more and more like replicas of the deceived young women at Hugh Hefner's side. I'm DONE with parents buying their children whatever new novelty the child wants just to keep them out of their hair in the evenings,and meanwhile the child is locked up in their room at the age of 8 on their laptop or iPhone, seeing who knows what. I'm SO TIRED of parents taking the easy way out and letting their boys follow the crowd with the words they speak and the ways they see women, since Daddy has a Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar in his garage. I'm OVER IT with moms who are in their 30s but think they're still in their 20s, dressing and acting like they're in their teenage years, and treating their teenage daughter like a confidant and friend. I want to SCREAM when parents let their kids participate in whatever the heck they choose to, packing their week full of all sorts of activities and clubs, yet leave zero time for church together and then bring their kids to our church and demand we fix them! THIS VIDEO BROKE THE CAMEL'S BACK IN ME, PEOPLE!

*clearing my throat and regaining my composure*

We are only talking about our girls' virginity here, parents. We're only talking about the virtue of our sons' integrity. That's all.

But by all means, let's get angry at the teachers who will be passing out the condoms. Let's rant and rave at how the school systems are yet again failing our kids. Blah, blah, blah. Here's the deal. Those school officials and teachers are doing what they deem necessary to stop the pandemic problem of crappy parenting. Am I saying it's okay to provide sex ed for our littlest ones, complete with condoms provided? ABSOLUTELY NOT. But what I AM saying is that everyday, school officials and teachers are put in the impossible position of having to straighten out or tolerate the messes that WE as parents make. They are not the answer, nor do they HAVE the answer to our children's problems. Their answer is throw a condom at them. WE, as Christian, sane, and somewhat intelligent people, are their PARENTS. It's OUR job to educate our children about sex from an early age. It's OUR job to teach them to discern between the kids they should hang out with and the ones they shouldn't. It's OUR job to model integrity and virtue in front of them in our relationships and marriages. It's OUR job to show them Biblical principles and how to live out God's word in our every day lives. So when we don't do our job, the world has to step in with their version of the solution.

And condoms are given to first graders.

It's time to step it up, moms and dads. For real.

Bottom line is if we are doing our jobs and following Biblical principles with parenting our kids... if we keep our eyes opened to what is actually going on in our kids' lives and get our heads out of our laptops... we won't have to be afraid of the big scary nurse at school that's trying to shove condoms in our kids' backpacks without our knowledge or consent. Instead, we will have children who are open with us, who ask US the questions because they know we have the answers and we're willing to share them.

And on a side note... ever thought about actually getting involved in your child's school so that you can be aware at a ground level what's going on? Just sayin'.

Will we never, ever be caught off guard with our kids? Of course we will. Will we always have children who stay on the straight-and-narrow? Nope. They live in a real world. God did everything right with Adam and Eve but they still failed. But one thing's for sure. You CAN be sure YOUR child isn't one of those children learning a skewed version of sex from a school nurse with a condom and a cucumber.

NOT MY CHILD. NOT ON MY WATCH! NOT EVER!

ANYTHING But Typical.

2010-07-12T10:37:00.000-07:00

I have never, ever, ever been satisfied with status quo.

Those of you who know me or my family probably just said something like, "Nah, REALLY?" very sarcastically.

Seriously. When I look at my life, my family, my beliefs, sometimes I feel like I wear a sign that screams "ANTI-NORMAL." Maybe it's from growing up with hundreds of pairs of eyes watching my every move as a preacher's kid. Maybe it's the result of the union of the two gene pools that made me. Maybe it's a little bit of my own stubbornness and individuality. Whatever it is, I've always felt like "the lady in red, when everybody else is wearing tan." (Remember that show?)

I could read proficiently at three. I began puberty at nine. People thought I was married to my dad when I was 14. (ew!) I was freakishly good at schoolwork, and had absolutely NO desire to participate in sports or anything even remotely sportish. I married at 19 to a man who is twelve-and-a-half years older than me. (Thank GOD. Guys my age were SOOOOOO annoying.) We are both in full-time ministry together at the church where my parents are senior pastors and in full-time ministry, along with my sister and brother in law. It took us a gazillion years to get pregnant. And even my pregnancy with Abi was weird. I didn't know I was pregnant until I was almost nine weeks along, had NO sickness, never felt better in my life up to that point, and actually lost weight the entire pregnancy.

Then came Abi.

My little Abi... green-eyed, brown haired, angelically faced Abi. From the minute this little wild-haired bundle of pink entered the world, she has stood out from the crowd too. Every. Where. She. Goes.

She's a little bit spicy and a little bit sweet with a tad of sour mixed in there from time to time. She defies all fashion codes, puts Jesus first in front of her friends with no shame, and never meets a stranger. She is the quickest child I know in putting her thoughts into words, super-sensitive to the needs of others, but extremely picky with who she loves on.

She gave her bottle up on her own. She gave up her pacifier (which she had a deep and passionate love affair with) on her own. One day, after I had literally tried every method I knew to potty train this child and finally gave up, convinced that underneath her graduation gown there'd be a Pooh Pull-up, she looked at me and said, "I'm not going to use pull-ups anymore. I'll use the potty from now on." And that was that. As in no accidents, not even at night.

Abi has a strong prophetic gift (don't wig out on me... it's true. Maybe in another blog I will tell you some of her "words" and "premonitions" that she's had that will give you goosebumps.)She's seen angels, held one-on-one conversations with God, and has such a deep-rooted love for her Jesus, it will humble you to your core.

And her thought processes... MAN are they way beyond her years! Just the other day she asked me, "How do you find the person you're supposed to marry." And if that wasn't enough, she then asked, "How do you know you love someone like that?" ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? YOU'RE SIX! You're supposed to be asking what time Dora comes on, aren't you?

See, we've known from pregnancy that we were dealing with an extraordinary child. Alot of my friends have boys. And when their kids were jumping off the tops of the kitchen cabinets, my friends would look at Abi reading a book and say, "You've got it made." My response is, "Mine is a whole other kind of challenge. It's mental, 24/7/365."

Abi isn't typical. Her track record is one of not bending to peer pressure to pick on other kids. She has shown that she doesn't hesitate to pray for a friend in her public school. She couldn't care less if 99 kids wear purple leggings if her mood is yellow ones. Now, I know, I know. Childhood and adolesence has much power as far as friends and succumbing to society's way. But I have purposed in this mother's heart of mine that I WILL NOT EXPECT turbulence, years of pain, or the snares of life to trip her up. Believe me, I know PLENTY of kids who haven't fallen into rebellion in the armpit years.

I'm her mom. Her biggest fan. Her greatest source of hope. So what I WILL exepct is for this pattern of being anything but typical to hold true throughout her life. I will EXPECT good attitude. I will EXPECT her to soar. I will EXPECT her to gravitate to good friends and good guys. I will EXPECT her to challenge the system and go with her gut.

Because if I expect her to be the "typical" teenager, she will be.

I think I'm gonna expect her to redfine typical. Yeah. That's what I'm gonna expect. ;-)

You Worry About You...

2010-06-15T10:25:00.000-07:00

...and I'll also worry about you.

Isn't that how we do?

When our kids tattle on each other, we more or less say, "You worry about you, and let them worry about them." It's our way to stop the whining noise of a do-gooder, telling on their sibling or friend... our way of stopping the repetitive insanity of petty crimes among the playgroup.

But we worry about and rehash everyone else's wrong doings all the time.

On any given day, my life is filled to the brim with things to handle. That's because I'm a wife, a mom, an employee, a boss, a friend, a family member, a cook, a cleaner, a manager... I'm a typical woman. And while I use this blog to broadcast much of my parenting journey and help others along the way, I am acutely aware that at the end of each day, I am ultimately only responsible for what goes on under MY roof.

See, we like to watch how other people are doing things and critique every single move, especially if it's an area where we are not convinced we're doing that great of a job ourselves. Parenting is one of those areas where we judge most! We do it among our friends, our family members, and we CERTAINLY watch how celebrities parent and get on our soap boxes about them!

I am SO TIRED of hearing Kate Gosselin's lack of parenting, I could SCREAM. I don't CARE how many kids Brad and Angelina have birthed/adopted/or stolen. I can't tell you how little I lose sleep over the Kardashian sisters' parenting escapades, nor can I express with words how little I mull over Nicole Ritchie's lack of wisdom.

What we forget while we are casting stones are three basic things.
1. Each PARENT represents a CHILD(ren) who are at the mercy of their parents' decisions, successes, and failures. So while we're paying money to read about Sandra Bullock's child who is now caught in the middle of a shameful divorce, this baby is blissfully ignorant of the long road of single parenting that lies ahead of his mother.
2. We only get the pieces of people that we are privileged (or misfortunate) enough to see. Proverbs says there's two sides to EVERY story. We don't live in anyone's skin but OURS, so we don't know why people do what they do.
3. I recall a very wise man (*Jesus*) saying to hypocrites that "He who is without sin should cast the first stone." My pockets are empty of rocks.

Now, I am certainly opinionated, thus my blog's existence. However, I am very much aware that I am an imperfect woman who is an imperfect parent. I am not the "end-all, be-all" authority, nor am I famous for always handling things the right way. But I can tell you this... I have learned that people have their own reasons for doing what they do. A "bad" parent may be fully aware thay they are failing big time, or they may simply be repeating what was modeled to them throughout their lives, unaware that they are messing their kid up for life.

Either way, my challenge to you is this...

When you look at the way others parent, first look at yourself. Are you doing all you can to make sure that the little ones God entrusted to your care are growing up to know that they are loved and cherished? Example. Remember the "All the Single Ladies" video I blogged about a while back? I ain't gonna lie. I wanted to punch some parents in the face, and quite frankly, every time I think about it, I want to somehow get their phone numbers and give them a nice little phone call. But I then make myself look at WHY it bothers me so badly. The reason is, I am one of the moms who was blessed to be given a daughter to raise, and anything that becomes a threat to HER becomes a threat to ME. If this is where society is headed, I am angry about it. But honestly, all I'm seeing are the pitiful little girls being exploited. I'm not seeing the broken parents behind the stage, who are so desensitized by life, they have no sense of judgment when it comes to their little one.

Should we be concerned about the world around us? Yes.
Should we be angered and stirred to bring action when we see a child being failed? Yes.
Should it be water-cooler conversation? No.

Remember. If the parent fails, so does the child. I want to see them win.

My Dad. happy sigh

2010-06-14T08:12:00.000-07:00

I am SO a Daddy's girl. That's not to say I'm not a Mama's girl (so settle down, Mom). But my Dad makes my heart smile. See, like all children, I was born with a dad-shaped hole inside me and thank God, I was born into a family with a father who is every kid's dream dad.

Dad and I are alot alike. Believe me, this has caused mucho mucho mucho friction through the years, but the undercurrent has always been one of deep love between us. He's a booger, that guy. Hard-headed doesn't even TOUCH the will and determination of this man. He's precise, to the point, black-and-white, and VERY fact-of-the-matter. He could be a bully, (used to be a bully) but thank God he found Jesus in his early twenties and became a revised version of the tough guy he was.

I couldn't let Father's Day get this close without writing a "tribute" of sorts to the man, who in my book, stands shoulders above all men.

WHY I LOVE MY DAD-

He's so stinkin' cute.

My first memory EVER is of me crying because white bread with mayo was stuck to the roof of my mouth. Dad was saying, "QUIT YOUR CRYING AND EAT THE BREAD."

He used to take me to town with him on Saturdays to run errands. He'd pretend to fall asleep in the barber's chair while getting his hair cut and freak me out. I fell for it for YEARS.

Another early memory is Dad standing outside in the early morning beside my new swingset he put together, smiling.

I loved wearing his work boots when he'd come home. Who knew that three decades later, I'd be following in those big footsteps for real.

When I was a little girl, we'd dance in the living room, me in his arms. He'd step on my socks and pull them off. I "hated" that. But not really.

I love his hands. They represent years of digging ditches, driving heavy machinery, highlighting Bible verses, laying hands on hurting people, spanking his children's rear-ends when needed, and holding my Mom every chance he gets.

I love it that I have the same annoying baby curls around my hairline, the same strange birthmark on the back of my neck, and the same one-sided dimple as he does when I smile.

I love it that even though MANY other people call him "dad," there's only two of us who really can.

When I was 17, he and I went to a car dealership and I fell in love with a 1987 Chevy Spectrum. I knew we didn't have the money, but it sure was fun to dream. I went skating that night. When I came home, he was so mad that I "left without taking out the trash to the garage" like he asked me to earlier. I went out to the garage, trying to remember him telling me to do that to begin with, and there was my car. How he worked that miracle I'll never know. But the even better part is he loved me enough to make ME make the monthly payments.

I remember when his step-grandfather died, he sat in his home office and wept from his soul. I was a little bitty girl then, but the sight of my dad crying broke my heart and made him even bigger in my eyes.

He has no problem apologizing when he has wronged me.

When my childhood dog came up missing, my dad searched endlessly for him. After days, the dog came back, barely alive from being mauled by pit-bulls. We didn't have the money to save him, so my dad had to make the gut-wrenching decision to have a friend take him away and "take care of him." I was so angry then, but I know now that as much as it broke MY heart, it broke his 100 times worse.

The man cannot talk about how much he loves his family without crying.

He actually is sweet to the dog, in spite of her girliness and finickiness. I think it's so cute when I pull up at their house and he's standing there with her on her hot pink leash with bows in her hair as he tries to make her go potty. He does NOT look happy, and neither does the dog.

He rarely gets excited about anything, but can't wait until Christmas morning... so he can see all the kids (me, Lori, our husbands, and now the grandkids) open our gifts.

The day I got married, he woke me up with bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits from Hardees. You gotta love a man who will give you breakfast in bed on special occasions, even if he didn't cook it.

I love it that I can still curl up on the couch beside him. I can still hold his hand in public. I can still sit in his lap and sweet talk him into just about anything.

I love it that he has made it his own personal mission to hang the blinds and pictures in every house we move into. (and that's alot.)

I love it that he doesn't treat me like his child AT ALL just because I'm on his staff... But as soon as we walk out of the doors of this building, I'm his little girl again.

I was induced into labor with Abi, so we were scheduled to be at the hospital at 7 AM that day. He was waiting on the sidewalk in the cold when we pulled up.

His integrity is his finest asset. I've watched him all my life and I've had a front row seat to see what only a few people have ever seen about him. And there are no loop holes in his character... no false pretenses, no fakeness. He is who he claims to be. Is he perfect? Nope. But the key is he knows he's not.

When I was 29 years old and falling to pieces with depression and literally thought I was losing my mind, he sat with me on my couch, wrapped his arms around me, and said, "Baby, I've got the faith to pull you through this. Lean on me. We'll get through it.” A small glimpse of hope came alive in me in that brief moment.

I love that man.

He's big and bad, but very meek and fuzzy. He's my first love. He modeled what a real man is my whole childhood, and will be my gold standard my whole life. And because of him, my heart to lead me to Rodrick. For that reason alone, I praise God that Allen Speegle is my dad.

Dad, you're literally THE man. I hope that other men read this and strive to be 10% of the man you are. But more than that, I hope you see that I would be literally nothing without you. Because of you, I'm confident, a little cocky, assertive, sensitive, bull-headed, and a little bit off in the head.

Thanks for all of that.

And no matter where I go on this planet, I gotta tell you Dad… I still smile when people say, “This is Allen Speegle’s daughter.”

I always will.

"At What Age...?"

2010-06-08T07:06:00.000-07:00

People ask me lots of questions like these:

How old should my child be to date? (Answer- 27)
How old should my daughter be to wear makeup? (25)
How old should my kids be to go to the mall alone? (31)

You get the picture.

While there's so many questions like this that are VERY concrete in their answers, there are some that just can't be answered like that. For instance, if a mom asks how old her daughter should be in order to shave her legs, that's pretty dependent on the child and her ability to keep up with the endless task of shaving. But if it's a matter of the child's well being, here's a little litmus test I like to use.

A child cannot get a driver's license until he/she is 16. Right? (I'm not talking about their learner's permit. That is NOT a license, even though kids like to call it that.) Once that precious bundle of hormones has his license, he is capable of driving a motor vehicle wherever he wants to go. This means he is literally a moving weapon all the time. He is inches away from death on any two lane road he's on. He has the ability to change his life, and the lives of others, every time he gets behind the wheel of his car (or his parents' van...heehee)

In light of that responsibility, I am a FIRM believer that until a young man has proven he is old enough to drive a motor vehicle, he CERTAINLY is not old enough to navigate healthily through a relationship with my daughter. And even then, it's on MY terms with MY boundaries.

Let me tell you this. There were no age-givens in our home growing up. Age 16 did NOT automatically qualify you as license-worthy in our house. We knew from an early age that if we didn't get our hineys in gear and show responsibility and respect, our driving, dating, and social privileges would scoot further and further away from us. There was no magic number for ANYthing. We had no guarantees. What we DID have were parents who watched us like hawks, especially when we didn't know they were looking. They observed our patterns, our habits, our maturities, and in a time when THEY deemed it appropriate, privileges were given.

And keep in mind the fact that what one child can handle at 14, the other might not be able to handle until 17.

Uh oh. This means we have to actually BE INVOLVED in our kids' lives in order to see who and what they are.

The other night, Abi told me that a boy in her class had "been in love" with her during the school year. (Keep in mind, this was kindergarten). Of course, I said, "He wasn't in love with you, Abi. He liked you. But being in love is when you're ready to love someone for the rest of your life." We moved on. But it made me see how early a child will push to move on to the "next level" in their lives. They are surrounded by a world that is spinning out of control all the time. It's like they're watching a game of jump rope and waiting for their moment to jump in.

But parents, WE SET THE TEMPO. Don't let the world tell you that your child should wear makeup at 12, date at 14, and drive at 16 if she's not emotionally ready. And SHE doesn't get to decide when she's ready. After watching and partcipating in her life on a front row basis, that's YOUR job and YOUR prerogative.

Running In the Rain.

2010-06-07T07:58:00.000-07:00

It's raining. That's one of my favorite things to see. I love to have opened curtains while I work and see the rain falling. Love to sleep while it's pounding my window. Love to drive in it (weird, I know).

But when you're a stay-at-home-mom of a very active toddler, rain equals stinkfest.

I remember during a particularly rainy week, Abi was about to push me to my limits. All she wanted to do was play on her swingset or write on the driveway with sidewalk chalk. So, I had to summon my mommy powers to find other things that were just as satisfying to her as drawing stick men and balloons in hot pink and yellow. We played Barbies. We colored. We watched 12,321 episodes of Lazytown. We made cookies. We played hide and go seek. But alas, nothing was as satisfying as running around outside. Poor child, and poor mommy.

After endless whining from a soul tangled in knots with boredom, I'd finally had enough. I snapped. I grabbed my little three year old Abi by the hand, opened the front door, and yelled, "LET'S GO!" As we are running out in the POURING rain, she yells (with a scared look on her face), "WHERE ARE WE GOING?" She's thinking Mama's cheese has finally slid off her cracker. I yell back, "NO WHERE! LET'S JUST PLAY IN THE RAIN!"

I will never, ever, EVER forget the look on her face in that moment. Confusion melted into sheer joy as she realized we were doing something crazy and off the cuff. Something we'd never done before and might never do again.

She's laughing from her belly. We're running, chasing each other, as people are driving by thinking we're insane. I slipped and fell on my rear end, and she toppled on top of me. We laid in the wet grass, rain falling on our faces, laughing and soaking up both the rain and the moment we were in.

Summer's here, parents. That means lots of time with your kiddos. That means lots of, "I'm boreds," lots of "There's nothing to dos" and a few "I wish school would start alreadys." But never fear. When you get pushed to your limit with the whining, open your door and run in the rain. Or perhaps it means you'll need to dive for your kid's legs and knock them down, then tickle the heck out of them. Or maybe bomb them with a water balloon IN THE HOUSE.

Whatever the moment is... SEIZE IT. Your kids already think you're crazy...

Prove to them that they're right. :-)

Her Prayer.

2010-05-25T10:27:00.000-07:00

The conversation a couple of nights ago between Rod and Abi, as he is tucking her in.

ABI- Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it.
Rod- What did you say, honey?
ABI- I was talking to God. I told Him, "Whatever you need me to do, I'll do it."

*GULP*

This will officially be my shortest post ever.

Three things.
1. She meant what she said.
2. Her heart is so full of love for God, this prayer couldn't help but spill out of her lips.
3. I wonder how many of us "parents" go to sleep with this prayer in our heart?

Lord, please make me more like Abi.

Amen.

The Understatement of the Millenium.

2010-05-24T06:15:00.000-07:00

For those of you who haven't heard, I'M GONNA BE AN AUNT! My baby sister is baking a baby right now! My cheeks are literally sore from smiling so much over the last few days. Tater Tot will enter our lives sometime mid-January, and I can promise you there's not a family more excited to welcome a baby into it on this planet!

The other day, Lori wrote on her facebook for moms to private message her advice, pregnancy tips, etc... I can't wait to see what all she got in response. I remember being at this spot with Abi and feeling totally lost as to what I should expect next. The main thing people kept telling me is what I'm calling the "The Understatement of the Millenium." It says it all, but doesn't say nearly enough. And I promise you, I heard it hundreds of time before I had Abi...

"Your life is about to totally change."

REALLY ? That's like saying the Grand Canyon is a whole in the ground. Or perhaps like saying the Pacific Ocean has a few gallons of water in it.

So, in honor of this understatement, I thought I would compile a list of ways Lori and Seth's life is about to change. Moms and dads of the blogworld, please add to this list, either on here, or my facebook fanpage.

WAYS YOUR LIFE CHANGES WHEN YOUR BABY IS BORN

1. You will never sleep the same way again. Ever. EVER.

2. You will possess a love so fierce, you could rip a grizzly bear to shreds with your bare hands in order to protect your little one from pain.

3. Know how you used to just get your purse/wallet, get in your car, go buy groceries, and be back in an hour? This phenomenon will soon be a distant memory.

4. You will never stop being amazed at how a quick glimpse of your sleeping child, playing child, eating child, laughing child... will make your heart swell with pride and physically ache with love at the same time.

5. You will look at every person you meet on the street with skepticism from now on. Whether they are a "good guy" or a "bad guy" will cross your mind automatically.

6. You will find yourself standing over the crib of your sleeping baby, just watching... even when you swore as soon as you put him down, you were going to bed yourself.

7. You will acclimate just fine to your plate being cold by the time you finally get to eat for about three years after the baby gets here.

8. You will be so ready to dump your bundle of love off at your mom's (or sister's) house because you feel like you're willing to do anything for two hours of alone time... but you will spend those two hours thinking of that sweet little face and how yummy it will be when you kiss it over and over upon your return.

9. Every runny nose, fever, cough, and icky diaper will make you worry for about the first two years. Then you'll start trusting your instincts and the doctor won't be as frequented as he used to be.

10. You will eat lunches of Goldfish crackers, warm juice boxes, and those little yogurt things that melt in your baby's mouth... and wonder why you're starving when it's dinnertime.

11. You will realize it's 5:00, and think, "What the heck did I do all day?" on a regular basis.

12. You'll feel the need to apologize to your parents over and over and over.

13. You will crave a night out without the baby, but then decide to stay home and sleep.

14. You will find yourself recapping Dora's adventures to others like she's your personal friend.

15. You'll realize the parts that drooped and fell when you carried and birthed this child will never fully regain their original location.

16. If you have one of those video monitors, you'll find yourself watching it like you used to watch your favorite TV show.

17. You will suddenly possess voices that could land you a job as a cartoon character for the next Disney movie.

18. You will look at your childless friends who are still "playing" as much as they want and vaguely remember you used to "play" too... but you'll also know THIS kind of play is SO much more fun.

19. You will plan entire weeks around naptimes. And you'll laugh when you remember that you used to say, "My baby will just have to adapt to my lifestyle."

20. You will never, ever, ever make it though another hour of your life without thinking of her. Unless you're sleeping.

So, um, yeah. Your life will change. Entirely. And by entirely, I mean infinitely and limitlessly. And the change will never stop. You'll be overwhelmed, undersleeped, and taxed to your absolute limit. But it will be the best adventure you've ever been on in your life. This is what life IS. This is what love is.

New moms and dads, you were made for this! You can do it, yes you can!!!!

Welcome to the big leagues!

The Purple Slurpee!

2010-05-19T11:25:00.000-07:00

So, one Wednesday after work but before church, I took Abi (who was three) to Target for a few needed items. (If it's at Target, it automatically qualifies as a "need" for me...heehee) And on the way out, she wanted a Slurpee.

I hesitated, which should have been my first clue.

But, she was so darn cute and had been well-behaved for about 17 hours straight, so I decided to let her get one. I asked which color (because in my world, EVERYTHING is chosen by either colors or textures), and she said purple. Fine and great. She drank the whole small Slurpee and was happy as pig in the sunshine.

We went to church and then went home. I gave her a bath and we tucked her in. Thirty minutes later, she's still awake. An hour later, still awake. I cave in and put her in our bed. Thirty more minutes, she's still awake. An hour later... you get the point.

I get her up and carry her downstairs. She sees a cat outside. We go out and feed it, play with it, name it... We go inside and drink some milk. At some point, I say outloud, "WHAT IS GOING ON?" To which Abi responds, "We're having a girl party!" We color. We watch Blue's Clues (thank God for all night Nick Jr.). We eat a snack. I read three books to her. I finally get her to settle into my lap with a blanket and after rocking and rocking and rocking, she falls asleep. At 2:00 AM.

I carried her back to bed. And just as I am about to fall asleep in MY bed, it hits me like a ton of bricks.

THE PURPLE SLURPEE WAS MOUNTAIN DEW PITCH BLACK!!!

Oh my word. I had let my tiny three year old drink a gazillion ounces of caffeine and her little body was in overload!

I have laughed so many times about that fun, yet frustrating night. And now, I see so much how we repeat this mistake all the time as parents.

We pile expectations on them that they are not capable of meeting, and wonder why they are frustrated and lashing out at us with anger all the time.

We let them run around with whoever they choose, and punish them for their poor attitudes.

We spend more time on our computers and cell phones than we do talking to our kids every evening and then wonder why they don't want to come out of their rooms or go on a family vacation.

We choose the most boring church in the world to take our family to and then wonder why they don't want to go.

Catchin' my drift?

At some point in childhood or adolescence, most kids have a hard time communicating with their parents. Since this is the case, we have to be extra vigilant about observing their behavior and seeing what's REALLY going on behind what's going on. Ask questions. Know when to give advice and when to stay mute. Be constantly aware that they are fighting their own battles every day. Being a kid in 2010 is no small feat. They have real pressures and pulls that are totally foreign to us old-school parents.

So, I pose this question. What's your kid’s purple Slurpee? What's the REAL reason they do what they do? Abi was oblivious to the wiles of the caffeine she ingested. She was just along for the ride. But if we are open, and moms and dads, if we will still our hearts long enough to listen, we'll get our answer.

And then next time, choose something like white cherry or bubble gum flavor. We live and learn. ;-)

Things I Hate To Hear.

2010-05-18T07:53:00.000-07:00

I thought since yesterday's post was so heavy, today's deserved to be mucho lighter. All you moms and dads, this one's for you. (well, they're really all for you... but sometimes it's just fun to say that.)

TEN THINGS NO PARENT LIKES TO HEAR. (yes, things Abi has said)

1. Ooooooooooops.... Oh NOOOOOOOOO. (coming from the other room)

2. I think when I grow up, I'm going to be a dancer. Maybe I'll dance on tables like I do in the living room sometimes when the Backyardigans are on.

3. Mom, today in class, I told everyone that Mary had Baby Jesus out of her privates!

4. I'm just sitting here thinking about tobacco.

5. Mom, have you seen my sandwich that I was eating in the car?

6. Sometimes when I get done peeing and put my pants on, the pee keeps dribbling out!

7. Uh oh. This is bad.

8. How do you spell "Mom, I'm sorry I broke this"?

9. You're not supposed to say old and fat, right?

10. Sometimes I just want you not to hold me anymore. *sigh*

Good times. ;-)

Surely you knew I was going there.

2010-05-17T07:33:00.001-07:00

SURELY you did.
Let me give you a disclaimer up front.

This post is not fun to read. It's not filled with humor, cuteness from Abi, etc. I have never been more serious in my life.

I'm sure you've seen or heard of this video by now. If you haven't, let me explain before you watch. These are SEVEN YEAR OLD girls, at a World of Dance competition in California. If you haven't seen it, prepare to have your heart ripped out of your chest. If you HAVE seen it, please watch it again.

WE HAVE A SERIOUS PROBLEM, FOLKS!
So, all the people who have thought I was off the deep end about my stand against premature exposure to media and entertainment, HERE'S EXHIBIT A!!!!

The definition of pornography is "the depiction of acts in a sensational manner so as to arouse a quick intense emotional reaction." Well, hmmm... seems like the video above exemplifies this definition, dontcha think?
I am on FIRE about this, peeps.

My heart is broken.

Those little girls that are just performing a dance routine they learned have no idea that their parents have sacrificed them on the altar of culture. It literally makes me want to throw up.

There's MANY things I don't know in this life. I have no idea which Transformer toy to buy for boys' birthday parties. I know nothing about nuclear fusion, how to change a tire, or how the heck a Target bag gets recycled into a coffee cup.
But I know girls.

Let me tell you this. Seven year old girls don't naturally gravitate toward lingerie and pole dancing. They pretend they are mommies, teachers, and nurses. They like Barbies, swings, tea parties, coloring, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They cry alot, they laugh alot, and they play alot. They skip, they run, they dress up, but they DO NOT KNOW HOW TO THRUST THEIR HIPS AND SHAKE THEIR CHESTS!

As many of you know, we just finished up a series on family relationships at church. One week, my parents (the pastors) were talking about the lack of real love in the majority of parenting today... how girls are crying out for love and will find it one way or another. They reported to us about a EIGHT YEAR OLD GIRL who was having sex with an adult male because she "wasn't getting love from home, so had to look elsewhere." EIGHT. YEARS. OLD. Not long ago, right here in our small town, an 11 year old gave birth. Not too many years ago in Atlanta, a 10 year old did the same. None of them were raped.

When are we doing to wake up and take this seriously? When are we going to stop letting our kids live beyond their years? When will we have enough of sexual overload in our media and entertainment choices? I have news for you, moms and dads... it's not going to get cleaner. We're WAY more concerned about cleaning up the earth than cleaning up our entertainment. And since the world around us is not making any effort to protect our kids' eyes and hearts, it's our job to do it within our own homes.

In our home, we have made the decision that Abi won't be allowed to wear a bikini. Now, I'm not hopping down this trail to preach at you about swimsuits. Those are your choices in YOUR home. But in our home, our thoughts are that we don't want her to wear basically a bra and underwear in front of others... that she will be saving those types of things for her husband only.

"But Jill, everyone else wears them! It's not a big deal!" It is to me.

See, I have other moms' sons in mind. I want to protect their eyes and their hearts. I have Abi in mind... to protect her for obvious reasons. And I have Abi's husband in mind. I'd like to think that as best we could, we protected what will eventually be his from other men's viewing enjoyment. (I know boys will be boys regardless, but I want to do all I can to lessen their ability to take advantage of her and to be taken advantage BY her on my shift!)

All I'm asking is that you evaluate your own home and see where you can tighten up. Weed through your TV shows. Filter through the questionable friends. Put your foot DOWN about activities that may be condoned by the world (like the dance group), but are clearly not condoned by God.

We aren't called to live underground or in a bubble. After all, we are His representatives in the earth, so we must have relationships with those we are representing Him to. However, we can't have a foot in both worlds. Our place has to be clear, our stand must be certain.

Make your own choice... but as for me and MY house, we will serve the Lord.

Move On.

2010-05-12T06:49:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning was Mother's Day. For some reason, I had it in my mind that I would have a magical morning... awakened by my precious daughter with a kiss and a smile... that she would fully cooperate with our morning routine as we got ready for church. I mean, after all... I coach parents! My own child will cooperate and give me the Mother's Day of my dreams!

Dang Hallmark commercials. They lie.

I had to tell Abi to wake up at least 20 times. The night before, she and I had decided that since it was Mother's Day, she would wear a dress that I love (that she's never worn because she thinks it looks too babyish). She looked at me with love and said, "Mom, I will wear it for you because it's Mother's Day." (Why I believed her belongs with other mysteries, such as where is Jimmy Hoffa, what's the Bermuda Triangle really about, and what happens to those missing socks). So, after she drug her tiny hiney out of bed, she shuffled to the bathroom, then to the library, where she gets dressed.

Then, I heard it. The noise that shattered my hope of a seamless morning. The sound of fingernails down a chalkboard to my Folger's coffee fantasy Mother's Day morning.

"NOOOOOOOO! This dress is SCRATCHY! I feel like I'm being scratched by CATS! I cannot wear this hideous dress!!!!"

I walked into the room.
ME- Are you not wearing this dress?
ABI- NO!
ME- That it totally fine. But you broke your word and you broke our deal, so that's going to cost you a dollar of your allowance.
ABI- Then I want to go get another dress to wear!
ME- You can't. We have guests in the guest room, so you can't wake them up to get more clothes out. (Her clothes are in the guest room closet.)
ABI- Then I'm going to the laundry room to get something out of the basket! (She STORMS off.)
ME- You lose another dollar for leaving this room with such a bad attitude.
ABI- (from the other room) FIIIIIINE! UGGGGGH!
ME- Another dollar gone.
ABI- (Crying in laundry room. Finds her Easter dress... second Sunday in a row, btw.)
ME- You look cute in that dress!
ABI- (Collapses on the ground in hysterics.) All I want is to get in that room and get my clothes out!!!
ME- Abi, get your shoes. It's time to go.
ABI- (Sobbing) Where... (sob) are they? (sob). (Snot dripping off chin).
ME- They're not my shoes, so I don't know. Find them, put them on, and meet me in the van.
ABI- MOOOOOOOM! Don't leave me in this house!!!! WHERE ARE MY SHOES?
ME- (I snap.) LISTEN HERE, LITTLE GIRL. THIS IS MY DAY. MYYYYY DAY. YOUR ATTITUDE WILL NOT RUIN MY MORNING. THE WORLD DOES NOT REVOLVE AROUND YOUR FASHION CRISIS. GET YOUR SHOES ON NOW!
ABI- (Look of shock) Yes Ma'am.
ME- AND YOU LOST ANOTHER DOLLAR. YOU HAVE ONE DOLLAR LEFT! ONE DOLLAR LEFFFFFFT!
ABI- When is kids' day? (WHAT????)
ME- EVERY DAY. (I get in the van)

She gets in the van.

ABI- Mom...
ME- Abi, please don't talk to me for a while. I need to calm down.
**We ride in silence for a while.**
ME- I am sorry I raised my voice at you.
ABI- (silence) I forgive you. (silence for a while) Mom, I'm sorry.
ME- For what?
ABI- (Chin quivering) For ruining your morning! And for breaking my promise! (Sobbing again)
ME- Abi, I forgive you. (suddenly change gears) Can you imagine what would happen if Scruffy tried to wear a dress to church? (her other imaginary friend who is the Snuffalupagus off of Sesame Street)
ABI- (Sobbing stops quickly) Mom, that would be CRAZY!

She spends the next ten minutes talking my ear off about Scruffy's escapades, kids from school, and popsicles.

We get to church, and as we are getting out of the van, she says, "Mom, are we going to talk about this after church?"
ME- It's over. We've started over. That's what forgive means.
ABI- Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Parents, three tips on handling the aftermath of a conflict....
1. Apologize first, if you were in error.
2. When they say, "I'm sorry" ALWAYS ask what for. I'm sorry is a blanket statement. They need to be aware of their offense and able to articulate where they went wrong. This is as good for you to hear as it is for them to say.
3. Let it go. DO NOT REHASH THE SITUATION OVER AND OVER. To forgive means to release from the payment of. When it's over, it's over. Period.

And my Mother's Day? It was fantastic from there on out. You'd never know it started the way it did.

In the words of the great philosopher Jimmy Buffett, "According to my watch the time is now...Past is dead and gone. Don't try to shake it, just nod your head. Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On."

Thank God for grace. *sigh*.

Common Sense. SERIOUSLY.

2010-05-11T14:51:00.000-07:00

Someone should invent this.

Really.

What if there was a pill or a cream... or even an injection that someone could take, where when administered, the parent immediately had common sense?!?!?! IMAGINE THAT!!!!

One of the things I like about Old School is that it just makes sense. There's no hidden agendas, no super complicated formulas... Just pure ol' common sense. Nothing added to it, nothing watering it down, nothing fluffing it up.

I'm a pretty simple girl. I don't have a giant doctrinal degree behind my name. Sometimes I'm doing the best I can to find my shoes. (For real). And I CERTAINLY don't have this whole parenting thing figured out. But it seems to me that it's alot simpler than we've made it. (I've said this before, I know. But it's my blog, you know... heehee).

In honor of common sense, I've made one of my famous (or not-so-famous) lists containing some things that would make Captain Obvious a proud man.

THE LIST OF COMMON SENSE IN PARENTING:
Supervise your children. Being at the park with them while chatting on the phone as your child plays does not count as supervision. While you're enjoying your girl time on the park bench, your kids might be jumping off the top of a light pole or lighting something on fire. "Supervise them" means be able to see them and focus on what they are doing.

Have set bedtimes! No one likes a grump. This applies to grumpy children who are sleep deprived.

Lock the bathroom door when you go pee. It may be the only alone time you get. Take advantage of it.

Say I'm sorry to your children. You mess up. They shouldn't be the only one who have to apologize.

Smile at them.

Bend down to them when you're talking to them. They get tired of looking up your nostrils.

BE the change you want to see in your family.

Don't buy underwear for your girls that look like something that belongs in the Playboy mansion.

Make seat belts, church, honesty, and manners non-negiotiables.

Actually go to their school events.

*GASP* Volunteer at their school. This is the place your child spends most of their waking hours during the day. Be there as much as you can.

If your parents are somewhat sane and relatively local, send your kids to them once a week.

If it is hurting, pray for it and nuture it.

If it is just giving drama, look the other way.

Make them clean their own messes up as young as possible.

As much as is possible, cook something every day. Grilled cheese qualifies as cooking.

Make your children sit with you in church until they have proven they are mature enough to sit with their friends without being a pain in the rear to everyone around them.

If someone else's kid is being rude and unsupervised in church, CORRECT THEM! Do NOT be afraid of a child. Ever.

Clean out toyboxes and closets at holiday time. It will force your child to be generous and make your life less cluttered.

NEVER, EVER, EVER let your child use the Internet without supervision. EVER!!!

Assume movie ratings are always wrong. PG13 does not mean 13 year olds should watch it, and R certainly doesn't mean 17 year olds should.

You're the parent. Be the parent.

Dress like a mature, law-abiding, responsible grown-up parent.

If you ever have a bad feeling about your child participating in something, listen to your heart and obey that nudge. That's called God talking to you.

Say no whenever you want.

Frown on the BEHAVIOR, not the CHILD.

Love at all costs. But don't sacrifice your values for "loving" your child. Right is right, and wrong is wrong.

And, *DOUBLE GASP*.... read the Bible. It was around before Dobson and Spock, and will be around long after this blog is gone.

Such a comfort. Such an anchor. And the ultimate Old School.

Our main job.

2010-05-10T11:45:00.000-07:00

If you've been reading this blog very long at all, you know that manners are primo in my parenting agenda. If you haven't gathered that by now... You must've been reading another blog.

But higher up on my list of priorities is raising my children with a high awareness of God.

In everything.

You might be reading this and immediately feel defeated. You might see this as a failure, or another thing to add to your already too long "to-do" list.

Don't. This is one of the most basic things we can teach our children. Because after all... His fingerprints are all over the world around us, all the time.

Sadly, as parents, we are so busy getting everyone from place to place, fed, clothed, and cleaned, that we left God at home when we rushed out the door that morning. Romans 1:20 is one of my favorite verses. For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God.

This basically means that everywhere we go, there is an object lesson of God's creative power and love somewhere around us. It is our job as parents to bring those examples to life for our little ones. Can I give you a few examples of how easy this is?

You know that tree you pass all the time in the Spring? You know... the one you always quietly admire? Well, tomorrow when the kids are in the car and you drive by it, say this. "God sure was thoughtful to make that tree so beautifully and put it right here where I pass it everyday." Move on.

When you get to the mall, and the golden parking spot opens up for you right as you pull up to the front of the parking lot, say, "Thanks, God. You knew my legs were tired today." Move on.

When you sit down to eat, say, "I'm so glad that God gave farmers ideas on how to grow this food so we don't have to eat grass!" Or, "Wouldn't it be boring if everything tasted like broccoli? God sure is creative!" Move on.

When you see two puppies playing, say, "God has such a sense of humor, to create puppies to play so cutely like that!" Move on.

You get the drift. If you incorporate Him in your every day, He becomes a part of THEIR every day. Rod and I have been very deliberate about pointing out God in our daily lives in front of Abi, so she is always aware of His presence and concern in HER day to day.

And the payoff has been HUGE.

The other day, I walked into the kitchen while Abi was writing, and I saw her with her arms stretched out, face upward, and heard her whisper, "You know I love you this much, right God? Well, I do!"

A month ago, we were on a field trip with her. She was on the bus in the seat in front of me. With her bff sitting beside her, she turns to me and says, "MOM! I just heard God talk to me!" I said, "That is GREAT! What did he say?" Abi said, "He said, 'You sure are a good girl... and I am good all the time!"

Recently, I heard Abi say, "Daddy, why did God make us to poop?" Of course, Rod used it to explain how God created our bodies to take care of themselves.

A week ago, I pull into the garage at home, and Abi says, "Mom, the Lord has done BIG things for us!" I said, "Yes. He has. Thank you for the reminder."

A couple of years ago, Abi asked me on the way home from church, "What do I have to do to go to Heaven?" As a result, I led my four year old daughter to Jesus in the van, driving through Tavares.

We taught Abi that when she is hurt, sick, or injured in any way, we pray FIRST. I love knowing this has been instilled in her because when she's at her public school, and she can't get to me and can't get to Tylenol, she has the Healer to turn to FIRST. When she broke her arm, we prayed FIRST. When she falls down, we pray FIRST. When her heart is broken, we pray FIRST. So, the other day, her tummy was hurting, and we were at a restaurant. She asked me to take her to the bathoom. I did. And the minute we got into the stall, she said, "Please put your hand on my tummy and pray for me before I use the bathroom." Of course, I did.

Now don't get me wrong. I don't always represent Him correctly to her. I don't always point Him out. I don't always show her who He is. But it is something I am always aware of, this need for her to see Him in our every day life.

This child has literally grown up in church. By that, I mean until she started kindergarten, she spent the majority of her days (Sundays through Wednesdays at least) IN the building, in my office, roaming the halls... she's at every meeting, every service, and then some. But, hold on to your hats... She has learned WAY more about God outside the church walls than inside them.

It's not the church's job to completely educate my daughter about God's love for her. That's MY job. All through Proverbs, we see Solomon talk of how he learned about God at his mother's breast, or at her knee. Not in the temple, and not from ancient scrolls. I am not taking away from those things, believe me. Church attendance is NOT OPTIONAL for my kids.

But church is a tool to enhance what they are learning from ME. It is not their sole source of Godly exposure.

So, Moms and Dads, how much of Him are you incorporating into your daily life? It may feel awkward at first, but give it a try. Voice your appreciation of Him to your kids. Soon it will be on their lips as well.

It's music to this mama's heart.

.

Mom.

2010-05-08T13:51:00.001-07:00

Well, if you wanna know where I get most of my parenting philosophies, see the above picture.

That's my Mama.

That little ball of energy and estrogen is somethin' else. Let me tell you what... she's one of the most genuine, real-deal, up front, simplistic, stubborn, childlike, wisdom-filled, unique creatures on the face of the earth. She's opinionated about everything... and by everything, I mean EVERYthing. She's even opinionated about things she doesn't know about or understand. She's hard of hearing in one ear and can't hear what you said from across the room, but can somehow hear your thoughts before they even come out of your mouth. She yells at the actors to look behind them in a scary movie, bawls like a baby in the sad movies, and laughs at parts no one else thinks is funny in comedies.

I can't talk about her without feeling a warmth of pride in my heart. And since this is my blog and I can brag on my family endlessly, I wanted to post a few memories of why my Mom is my hero... and a mom we all should aspire to be like.

I remember Mom overcoming her avid fear of reptiles to kill a baby snake wrapped around the ladder of my Nana's pool as I climbed down it. Mom was bad to the bone that day. (I haven't seen that side of her since.)

I remember Mom driving through a coop of chickens that were out in the road for some random reason on our way to town. And she laughed hysterically.

Once, she decided to build me a tree house. The finished product was basically 2x4s nailed to a few trees to make a circlish-square area. (Nevermind that treehouses are supposed to be up IN A TREE, not on the ground.) It was terrible and I never played in it because it stunk as a tree house, and again, there were reptiles out there.

I wanted a pair of purple Nike velcro tennis shoes. My friends had them, and I could not live without them. I have no idea how long my mom saved her grocery money to get them, but one day, there they were. I remember knowing that the fad had passed, but knowing she got them for me made them the best shoes I ever had.

I wanted Capri-Suns SO BADLY in my lunch box. I had no idea that being a stay-at-home-mom to children whose dad was a struggling preacher in the 80s equaled not being able to buy Capri-Suns. But I know Mom's heart hurt because we couldn't afford them. So, she told me my thermos had "homemade Capri-Sun" in it. I never knew it was Kool-Aid.

Once, my Mom turned a cartwheel and split her pants in from of all of my cousins. Sigh.

Before she had dental work, Mom had a gap between her front teeth you could parallel park a truck in. I thought it was cool because she could spit water out of the gap like a fountain you'd see in a mall.

Whenever we went on field trips, Mom went. She never missed a single field trip of mine (including my senior trip), and I'm pretty sure she only missed one of my sister's. She packed snacks for everyone, knew not to stand over me the whole time, and always bought me a souvenir from our day together.

My house was THE house to hang out in. We had no pool, no computers, no fancy tv, no basement filled with elaborate games or pool tables... We had HER. And my friends couldn't get enough of her.

Every Christmas, our toys were laid out like something out of a catalog. I remember standing and taking it all in, not wanting to destroy her art.

Somehow Mom would fall and sprain her ankle EVERY SINGLE WINTER in the snow.

The day her grandma died, I went with Dad to tell her. I must've been 13 or so. Because Dad was in ministry and wasn't getting paid much of anything, Mom put my sister at a babysitter's and cleaned apartments after people moved out of them. We went to the apartment she was cleaning, and Dad told her that Grandma had died. I will never, ever, ever forget the cry that came from her toes, as she sank down the wall onto the floor. She was wearing a gold sweatshirt and black leggings. For the first time, my Mom looked like a little girl on that floor. I will never forget that moment, and the love I saw in her for her precious Grandma.

The day of my high school graduation, Mom and Rod (who I was not dating, btw...) put signs all the way up 441 saying "WAY TO GO, JILL!" I was a celebrity by the time I got to school.

The day Mom and Dad dropped me off at college in West Palm Beach. My room was at the end of the hall, on the total opposite end from the elevator. They waved goodbye, and Mom buried her head in Dad's chest and sobbed. Dad said she cried the whole 4 hours back, and many days afterwards.

The day I found out I was pregnant with Abi, after six long years of trying. They were on vacation, but I couldn't wait until they got home. I called them. Dad cried. Lori cried. Mom screamed and cried. She came home two days later with three outfits, a book on praying for your child, a blanket, and a stuffed lamb.

She sent us on a scavenger hunt a couple of years ago all over the place, where we had to sing in a car dealership, sing in a pottery shop, sing in a house, and who knows what else... and eventually ended up with Disney annual parkhopper passes.

When Mom's sister came down for a surprise birthday visit. We wrapped her in a refrigerator box, and Mom opened it. It was SO fun to see her reaction.

When we hosted Mom's 50th birthday party. Her two best friends came down as part of the surprise. And the biggest surprise was the cruise Dad sent us all on.

Can I tell you how this woman affects every part of our lives? How Abi defends her every decision? How Dad's face changes when he talks about her? How Lori worries about her? How Seth and Rod won't let her lift a box, a chair, or a book that weighs too much? How I do not know how to live without her influence in my every day?

Mom, thank you for everytime you knew whether to spank my butt or let me cry. Thank you for having discernment of 99.99% accuracy into my doings. Thank you for every sandwich you made, every snack you prepared, and every "homemade Capri-Sun" you put in my lunch box. Thanks for going without new clothes for most of my childhood so I would feel like I was just as pretty as everyone else. Thanks for knowing when it was time to let go of my hand in a parking lot. Thank you for praying over me while I slept. I am eternally thankful for the fact that you were thinking of my husband long before I cared about boys. I am thankful you taught me how to make biscuits, make my bed, and make babies. Thank you for seeing what was coming before I could and for preparing me for the worst while hoping for the best in my teenage years. Thank you for getting the smallest piece of chicken, the crumbliest piece of cake, and the aisle seat on the airplane. We had some rough spots, but we did alright, didn't we?

We're finally there, Mom. You're my best friend. Thanks for not trying to ever be that until now.

I love you, crazy lady... my first home, my forever home.

Jill Bug.

Puke. Vomit. Upchuck. It's not what you think...

2010-05-06T10:26:00.000-07:00

Ewwww.

First of all, let me say that this isn't a post about puke. Well, it kinda is. But not... not about the kind of puke that stains your clothes, your carpet, and leaves the worst smell ever on your mattress or in the floor of your car in a hot Florida summer.

Ok, I'll stop.

On a much more lovely note, have you ever seen a dog throw up? Absolutely disgusting, isn't it? Not only do they throw up wherever they want, but they also provide their own special cleaning service. Yep, that sweet little ball of fur will throw up on your bed and then eat it again to keep you from having to clean it up! (Man's best friend!) How handy and how clever...

How human-like of them.

WHAT? THIS IS A PARENTING BLOG. WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT VOMIT? Well, first of all, everyone knows that vomit is one of the initiations of parenthood. But that's for another post.

What I'm talking about is the insanity of a dog eating something twice that obviously didn't sit well on his stomach the first time.

We do it all the time. Don't we?

We feel terrible because we yelled at our kids. But then we scream at them the same way over and over and then wonder why our voice literally means nothing to them anymore.
We choose not to get up when the alarm goes off and consequently have the worst morning ever, yet we do the same thing over and over, and then are irritated, stressed, and late over and over again, blaming our kids for our own tardiness.
We threaten to take away this or threaten to take away that, then we don't follow through and tell everyone how disrespectful our kids are to authority.

I'm preaching really good right now.

One definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over, yet expecting different results."

OUCH.

Don't eat your puke! So many times, all we need to do is make a minor change... do one thing differently, and things may change dramatically.

Need ideas on changing a situation? Visit the "discussions" tab on my facebook fanpage (Jill Speegle Windham), and see what others recommend!

A letter to my future son (in-law)

2010-05-04T08:30:00.000-07:00

Dear Future Son,

It's crazy to think that you're somewhere on this big blue planet, right now... maybe in kindergarten like your wife-to-be, maybe in third grade... maybe graduating high school like your future-father-in-law was while I was six. But that's a whole other letter.

You might have a ballgame today after school. Or perhaps your parents have a conference with your teacher. Tonight's the night Abi stays at her grandparents' house. I wonder if you do that, too?

I often think about you, and wonder what you're doing while Abi is coloring me a picture or jumping on the trampoline. Do you have a brother or sister, or a puppy to play with? Do you share a room with someone? Are your eyes green like Abi's, or are they blue? Are you a little pain-in-the-rear about having your teeth pulled like your lady-in-training?

My son-to-be, while I care about these things and everything about you, what I really pray for are the things we can't always see. I pray you are surrounded by loved ones who are affectionate and playful with you. I pray that you are affirmed as the wonderful creature you are every day. I pray you are filled with the knowledge of God's immense love for you. I pray there's a man in your life who models being a man of integrity before your face on a daily basis. I hope you see your dad kiss your mom and hold her hand when they walk through the mall. Or if your parents aren't together, that you aren't basing your idea of romance off of what you see on TV, because that stuff is fake. I pray you see your mom prized like the jewel she is... that you see her doted on and lavished with praise, because the young lady you are going to marry has not only seen ME praised and valued, but she's never known a day of insignificance in her life.

I hope you are learning to open car doors and store doors for ladies. I hope you see that it is your responsibility to pay for your dates, to walk to the door and pick her up, and return her with all of her clothing and all of her self-esteem in tact at the end of the night. I pray that you are learning to guard your eyes and your heart from seeing women as objects of sex and lust. I pray that you are seeing that real men don't participate in activities they would be ashamed of their moms knowing about. And when you mess up, I pray you have a repentant heart.

I hope you realize you have big shoes to fill. Your father-in-law is a man among men. He is not forceful, condescending, or chauvenistic with his girls. We have been treated like the special ladies we are. Your wife is head over heels in love with her daddy, and trust me... she always will be. She has been dated, romanced, and cherished by her father. He holds her hand, lets her cry, and tolerates her mood swings. When he knows it's her hormones making her cry, he has learned the balance of when to step in and when to walk away. You won't figure this out until MUCH later in your marriage, so don't stress because you can't figure it out right away.

Abigail has been trained to speak kindly to you. To value your hard work. To fix your favorite foods and iron your clothes to show you appreciation. She understands that you are the head of your household. However, she comes from a long line of strong women. She is not a doormat, and I expect that if you try to treat her as one, you'll only make that mistake one time.

She is not perfect. She is a clothes fanatic. She isn't a fan of many vegetables (we're working on that). She thinks Cheetos are a dairy product. She grinds her teeth sometimes while she sleeps. She forgets to flush the toilet after she pees. Drama runs DEEEEEEPLY in her veins. But young man, you are receiving the best gift you could have ever received on this side of eternity when you take her hand. If you knew the treasure you will receive in her, you'd find it hard to concentrate on anything else for the next fifteen years or so until she's ready. So, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, whoever you're with... we are praying for you. We love you already.

Oh, and what I pray for you most is that you have a personal, living, breathing relationship with the One who laid His life down for yours. Your wife does. I see her live intimately with Him everyday.

Love,
Mom
PS. I fully plan on being the next best thing to your mom for the rest of my life. You're stuck with me, buddy. Be thankful. And scared. ;-)

I'm the BOSS.

2010-05-04T07:20:00.000-07:00

So, Abi. Sweet little Abi. From the time she could utter sounds that even SOUNDED like words, she was bossin'. (WHERE DOES SHE GET THIS STUFF FROM??????)

I stayed at home with Abi. And when I wasn't at home, I was working with her under my feet, day in and day out, in my office at church. Stay-at-home-moms, you are not forgotten. Your days turn into endless stretches of time where you don't go to the bathroom alone, you don't eat anything but sandwich crusts, and you forget that there is a world out there where not every conversation contains the word poop.

I knew when Abi looked me in the eye and popped me in the nose with her foot at six months old because I made her get in her car seat that we were in for a wild ride. (Yes, she did it on purpose. A mom knows.) And day after day of staying home with my little charge, not only was I trying to establish my authority in her life, but she was also trying to establish HER authority in ANYTHING. If I said it was time for lunch, she wasn't hungry. If I wanted her to get dressed, she would insist that she was wearing her bathing suit and not the dress I picked out. If I wanted to sit and read a book, she demanded outside time. Finally, one day, I summoned my mommy powers and stopped it.

Dead in its tracks.

I got down on the floor and sat eye to eye with her. Those green eyes looking into mine. Those sweet little chubby cheeks needing me to pinch them... Oh sorry, I'm getting lost. Back to the point. I looked at her and I said, "Abi, let me make this clear to you. You are not in charge of me. I do not have to do anything you say. And I will not to ANYTHING you demand. You are not the boss of me and you never will be."

She sat. She thought. And with all the sincerity she could summon, she said, (with a quivering chin) "Mom, I just want to be the boss of SOMETHING."

I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I saw myself in her so much at that moment. I remember the feeling of thinking I was born to rule the world. It was one of those "God, give me wisdom" moments. Because, this was not playing out like I thought it would. I had stupidly imagined she would say ok and go on her merry way. Nope.

But somehow, I found these words. "Abi, you can be the boss of your attitude."

With no further explanation needed, she stood up, jumped up and down, and exclaimed, "I'm the boss of my attitude! I'm the boss of my attitude!!!! I can't believe it!!"

Fast forward three years. On a daily basis, I remind her of her responsibility to choose her attitude. Because, fact is, I'm in charge of her. I can make her brush her teeth, get dressed, do her homework, come inside, and eat her dinner. But I cannot make her do it with a good attitude. Almost every single day as I see her heels beginning to dig in on a subject, Rod or I will remind her... "Choose a good attitude, Abi. Because you do NOT have a choice in doing what I asked. You CAN choose which attitude you'll do it with." Sometimes she chooses a good one. Other times we aren't so lucky.

But the fact remains, she knows this is an area that she and ONLY she can control.

When she was three, not long after the conversation I had with her on the living room floor, we were at lunch with a young married couple who didn't have children yet. To show off our awesome parenting skills (ha), I said, "Abi, tell them what you're in charge of!" Abi stands up in the booth, throws both arms out, and yells, "I'M THE BOSS OF MY ATTITUDE AND MY PRIVATES!"

*gulp*

Thank you, Abi, for announcing that to all three million of Sonny's BBQ patrons.

Hey, at least she got it. And apparantly, she saved us a few steps in the future. ;-)

I added this after the fact as a disclaimer... Be sure it's clear to them that each attitude they can choose has side effects!

One size fits all???

2010-05-03T06:48:00.000-07:00

Seriously? Who created this concept?

If you're a woman, you know what I mean. You buy an article of clothing- a shirt, a jacket, a wrap, socks... and it's OSFA. Then you realize.

You're not an "all."

Or perhaps you see it in your infant's clothing. The size says 6-9 months, and you can't even get the thing over their big ol' bobble head. Yet another outift in the same size completely swallows them like Jonah's whale.

All-in-ones, all-inclusives, and one-size-fits-alls don't work for clothing, tastes, preferences...

Or children.

Can I be brief and super blunt today? (yes, just today... believe it or not, sometimes I taper my bluntness...) STOP MEASURING YOUR CHILD AGAINST OTHER CHILDREN!

Are you familiar with the feeling when your friends' kids are doing things like solving quadratic equations or reciting every vice-president we've ever had, and your kid is the one sitting in the corner of the room sticking his toe in his left nostril? Or maybe other kids are thinking of going to college to be a lawyer or to learn something useful like astrophysics, and your little Einstein has goals to work at a Texaco station?

Be of good cheer.

Your child is unique! Doesn't make you feel any better? I didn't think so.

Listen for a minute.

My sister and I cannot be ANY more opposite from each other. I was a brainiac in school. I loved everything about it. I loved research papers, book reports, homework, and exams. However, I HATED sports, getting hot and sweaty, and competition of any sort. My sister was done with school after the first week of kindergarten. She HATED school work, HATED homework, and HATED sitting in a classroom for hours everyday. She played all kinds of sports, had her teeth knocked out, and is the most competitive girl you'll meet. I cannot sew to save my life. She actually just opened a business making designer hair accessories. I cannot paint, draw, or color. She can spend hours on end coloring and even painted a tree on the wall of her living room that looks like it belongs in an IKEA magazine.

Did my parents freak out because by 5th grade, my sister wasn't reading on a college level like I was? Nope. Did they panic because I never played a sport in my life? Nope. They knew they had two girls who were total opposites.

And they were ok with that.

When I was pregnant with Abi, a few of my friends had babies around the same time. Of course as a new mom, you measure your child against every one else, looking for a glimpse of hope that somehow, your kid shines in areas others don't. At first it freaked me out that most of her baby friends were running around in the nursery, while Abi sat in one spot the whole time. But then I realized she was talking in complete sentences when they weren't. Her friends would be climbing on things, jumping off things, and there she'd sit. Chatting away, barking orders at everyone as they played around her.

And you know what? That child to this day has no athletic abilites (that we can see). She has the funniest run ever. She has a hard time consistently catching a ball. I think it's safe to say that she's not going to be the star of a Little League summer season. But you know what she WILL be the star of?

Every class she's ever in for the rest of her life. Her ability to make others feel like they are the only person in the room is almost supernatural. Kids are attracted to her like she's a living, breathing cartoon. She can sing like an angel. She expresses her heart by dancing. She writes us love letters on a daily basis.

We decided early on that the only standards we would measure her by are our family standards, and the standards God has outlined for her in His Word. His standards ARE one-size-fits-all. So, really, moms and dads... look at your friend's kid with the IQ of 562 and appreciate him... But take bigger notice of YOUR miracle.

Why do we think we have to have perfect children anyway? It's not possible! We are their parents, after all...

Kinda takes the pressure off a little, doesn't it?

Minute To Win It.

2010-04-29T08:48:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen the parent in the store with the screaming child, who is begging for whatever or wants out of the buggy, and the mom has this panicked look on her face? You know... the one saying, "If you'll calm down, I'll get you an ice cream when we leave"?

Or, uh-oh... are you that mom?

Be of good cheer, my friend. Not only does it get easier, but it can get easier TODAY.

Wanna know what makes me want to puke? When I hear a parent say, "If you do that one more time, I will spank you..." and the little rascal does it three more times, and the parent says again, "I told you! One more time and I will spank you..." and the sweet morsel of love does it again... and the parent says,... well, you get the picture.

One thing I have learned about strong willed children is that they don't think they are so high and mighty if they know who really IS high and mighty. They respect someone who means what they say. To a strong child, empty threats equal a parent who isn't worthy of respect in their eyes... a parent who is weak. And even though the PARENT is the one who is dropping the ball, the CHILD gets labeled hyperactive or obnoxious, put on mediciation, and becomes a walking zombie. (Did I just say that outloud? Oops.)

I believe with all my heart that 90% of the time, the reason kids get into trouble is because they aren't sure of what's expected of them. We can head of ALOT OF DRAMA and frustration if we will do what I'll call the "Minute To Win It" plan. Yep. Like the TV game show, only you're guaranteed to win.

***DISCLAIMER- THIS WILL NOT WORK AT ALL IF YOU ARE SCARED TO FOLLOW THROUGH WITH YOUR THREATS DUE TO POSSIBLY MAKING YOUR CHILD ANGRY AT YOU, OR IF YOU HAVE A PATTERN OF NOT KEEPING YOUR WORD IN GENERAL.***

The MTWI plan is simply this. Before you enter ANY situation with your child, communicate in one minute what you expect from them, and what they can expect from you. Example. When I go shopping with Abi, we have a little talk on the way into the store, where I communicate to her what my expectations will be on this shopping excursion. For instance, I might say, "We are going in here to buy milk and bread. You're not going to get any candy today, so please don't ask. We're going in, getting what I need to get, and we're coming back out. If you ask me for candy, I'll have to take a dollar out of your allowance. Do you understand?" Then, I have her reiterate back to me our conditions. Once I see that she understands what I expect from her, we go for it. If she forgets and asks anyway, I will say, "Oops! You just lost a dollar out of your allowance." And then I actually FOLLOW THROUGH with that.

Know what happened? My "I-can-have-a-fit-because-we-are-in-public-and-you-can't-spank-me" child INSTANTLY started behaving. Because she saw that Mama meant what she said.

Another situation that MTWI helps with is interrupting. Let's say you're about to call someone on the phone. Take a minute and tell your little bundle of joy that you're going to be on the phone a while. Tell him that if he needs to talk to you, he can come up to you and put his hand on your leg or arm, and that will be the signal that he needs you. Then you will in turn touch his hand to let him know you are aware of his request. At YOUR convenience, answer him. But also tell him that if he chooses to be rude instead of polite, he will lose his tv privileges or his outside time.

And then... (drum roll, please...) Do what you said you would do! It's VERY important to mean what you say, and then follow through the very first time the behavior is less than what you accept.

I know there are some of you shaking your head, thinking I have lost my mind or have GOT to be the strictest parent in the world right now. But I gotta tell you... that's ok with me. I decided when I WAS the mom with the screaming Banshee that I could not win if the situation escalated to high levels of drama. I will not negotiate with terrorists. I finally decided it wasn't normal to have palpitations just pulling into the parking lot of Wal-Mart with my two year old. So, the day I decided to be the grown-up and establish the rules of engagement, the engagement actually disappeared.

Oh, and the old "1...2....3..." deal? Let me ask you this. Do you have time to count to three to get your kid to come out of the street when a semi-truck is headed for them? They have to learn that our word means NOW, not after we show off our abilities to count to ten.

Our kids are looking for two things in us. One, that we will set boundaries for them. And two, that we love them enough to enforce those boundaries.

You can do it!!!! Yes you can, yes you can!!!!!!

Manners, part 2.

2010-04-28T07:43:00.000-07:00

Ok. Surely you knew I was going to revisit this topic. And let me be frank. If you read further than this paragraph, you are releasing me from being responsible for ticking you off, grating on your nerves, or making you want to punch me.

Here's the thing, young parents... (And by young, I mean those of us born in the 70s, 80s, and 90s.) We have TOTALLY over complicated our lives. Think about it. There are books for everything from how to get your child to stop eating pencil erasers to how to boost your child's IQ while they are still in the womb. We know how to do brilliant things like "reason" with a strong willed child, "rationalize" with a sensitive child, and "fortify" a child whose self-esteem is less than par. We can make our own baby food, grow our own pesticide-free tomatoes, and find 10,239 ways to reuse a Target bag in order to save the earth.

But Lord help us... our generation cannot get our children to look at someone in the eye when they talking to them to save our lives.

To borrow a phrase from Abi- "I'm quit of it."

Part of our problem is that we are so stinkin' defensive about our children. We rush to their aid, choose their side in every conflict, and teach them to generate excuses for their poor behavior choices. And Jesus take the wheel if someone other than an immediate family member disciplines our precious angel! Listen. If Abi needs correction, for goodness sake, CORRECT HER! I can't be everywhere all the time, and I can't see everything from every angle. Ever heard that it takes a village to raise a child? I actually know several parents who have gotten FURIOUSLY angry when they have left their child with adult sitters/friends/relatives who had to discipline the child for whatever reason. Oh, by all means... let's set them up to believe that they only need to obey their parents. This will come in handy when they are in school, looking at speed limit signs, or working with a new boss one day.

I especially welcome someone else correcting Abi in my presence. *GASP* And why, you might ask? I want her to see that while her dad and I are the main authorities in her life, we are not the only authorities. I want her to see that we welcome the guidance of others, and we respect their input. Of course, the mom at the park that yells at your kid for cutting in line is not what I'm talking about. This is why it's important to have quality people we trust in our lives. You get the picture.

Parents, these are our CHILDREN. They aren't rabid Rottweilers. (Sometimes it feels like they are, but trust me...) They are scared, lost, confused little creatures with cute faces, messy hair, and dirty fingernails, and they need and want our boundaries. They will rise or fall to our levels of expectation.

So, by all means, skip the manners concepts and focus on growing organic papaya. But let me fast forward a few years and give you a taste of what you'll have to enjoy.

A young lady who rolls her eyes at her teachers. She will always be tardy, and it will ALWAYS be someone else's fault. She will cuss you behind your back, and will cuss strangers to their faces. She won't know how to engage in meaningful conversation with anyone, won't care about other people's needs, and will talk to you like you're an idiot. She won't care about her elders at all, and will think the world rises and falls on her command.

Or, you may have a young man who won't work and has to borrow money from you to take his girlfriend on a date. He'll be the kid who pulls up at her house and honks the horn. On the date, he won't open the door for his girlfriend, and will only buy her meal and not her movie. Oh, and the old lady trying to open the store door and get her cart out to her car in the pouring rain? He'll walk right by her.

Manners are a forgotten virtue in our generation. We allow kids to talk however they want, respond however they want, and treat others however they want. Not in my house. I firmly believe that by drilling manners so hard, I am setting up Abi to have GREAT favor through her whole life with people. Have you seen the look on a server's face when your child says, "Thank you for bringing our food to us?" I have. They are speechless every time. (and let me tell you, I've never asked her to do that... she "caught" that concept.) See, Rod and I want Abi to actually think of the PEOPLE behind the food we eat. The PEOPLE behind the counter at the toy store who actually stock the shelves so she can spend her allowance. You may say, "But they are getting paid to do their jobs..." True. But the payment they receive from a grateful child means more to them most days than the money in their pocket. Someone respected them. Someone who is less than 4 feet tall.

Don't get me wrong. It's a constant effort, teaching manners. And Abi can have six weeks of impeccable manners and then be as rude as a little warthog when she wants to be. That's why it's called parentING. As in action. As in long-going and consistent.

On an ending note, ever watched Andy Griffith? How about Hannah Montana? Ever compared how Opie and Hannah talk to adults?

Old School rocks. ;-)

My man.

2010-04-27T06:55:00.000-07:00

(This is Rod, standing across the river from Victoria Falls, one of the seven natural wonders of the world, at floodstage. One of my favorite pics and favorite moments of all time. He was SCREAMING and laughing.)

Ok. Here's a shameless plug for my man.

I married the best man I know. He's the perfect mate for me. Sweet Rodrick knows how to be the perfect blend of stubborn and sensitive... he has put up with alot from this emotional wife of his... through many years of trying to get pregnant, weight loss and weight gain, hormonal fluctuations, missing mental functions, impatience, impulsiveness, and countless other lovely imperfections I have brought to the table in these 14 years of marriage. This man works harder than any man I know. He's constantly mowing something, repairing something, bettering something, and yes (sometimes) breaking something, all to make our home function well.

Thanks to this man, I never have to worry about my car not running correctly, my tires needing to be replaced, the air conditioning not being cold enough, or creepies trying to get me in the night. He's strong, capable, and quick. Thanks to him, I have never paid a bill, filed our taxes, or balanced our checkbook. He doesn't complain if my hair's too short or too big. I often fall asleep with his hand on my back, or wake up in the night to hear him say, "I sure do appreciate you, babe," as he turns over. He never winces at a new outfit I bought that's not his favorite color, listens when I have dump my deepest and most reserved thoughts on him, and tolerates chick flicks with a smile on his face. He automatically finds my hand when we're walking across a road, through a parking lot, or in a crowd of people... an instant defense to protect his woman. When I told him I was driving through the neighborhood to find our stolen swingset, even if it meant knocking on doors and getting back what's mine, he asked me to stay home and let him do it... and when I chose to go anyway, he chuckled instead of chewing me out.

And then there's his little girl. Abi's poor husband... the bar has been set so high. I have a feeling that if she's honest, she will always measure him by her daddy's love and skill set. But what a good ruler to measure by. Rodrick romances Abi every day with his words. He's constantly affectionate. She gets his undivided attention on demand... all she has to do is say, "Daddy?" and he stops, drops, and rolls. He dates her. He knows she takes extra butter on her popcorn. He makes little silver dollar pancakes for her when she requests (almost daily), and he calls her "My Sweet" instead of Abi 90% of the time. She blushes when he brags on how pretty she is, and he's long-suffering through her "ovarian spasms," when she's crying for no reason and every reason all at the same time. He brought her a dozen long stemmed pink roses for their first date. He kisses me in front of her and brags on my cooking, so she'll look for a man who will do the same one day.

Is he perfect? Nope. He leaves the dish rag in the sink next to egg shells. He is hard headed. He has to be dying to go to a doctor. He can be a tad messy. He's a burly manly man who often does gross things and eats gross things. He frustrates me, makes me mad, and irritates me.

But let me tell you. This man was hand-crafted by the Master Craftsman for me. I'd marry him again today, tomorrow, and the next day... and over and over again. He's my pick. The love of my life. The best friend I have ever had and will ever have.

Why the plug for Rodrick today? What does this post have to do with parenting?

Everything.

All I have, I owe to our union. He's the other half of me. When I fail as a parent, he finds a way to succeed. He backs me up, gives me confidence, and stands by my decisions as though they are his own. Could I parent without him? Sure. But the ride sure is sweeter with he and I in partnership. And I just figured today was as good a day as any to broadcast to the world how good he is. Mamas, maybe you need to do a little broadcasting for your man. And men, maybe you need to give her something to broadcast!

Am I saying we're perfect, I'm perfect, he's perfect? HAHAHAHA... funny!!!! *regaining composure* Um, no. But what I have in my husband I would not trade for anyone else's version of perfection.

I love you, Rodrick. I always have. I always will. xox

Pickin' and Grinnin'...

2010-04-26T07:24:00.000-07:00

Did ANYone see Abi's outfit at church Sunday? ANYONE?

Sunday was one of those days when I was so very glad I had decided that clothes will not be a battle I will fight with Abi.

For those of you not fortunate enough to experience her glamour, let me describe it for you.

First of all, you need to understand that Abi had friends over, and when the girls all emerged from her room, dressed for church, the two friends had on adorable outfits that were matching from head to toe.

And then Abi announced herself. "MOM! Look at this OUTFIT!"

She was wearing gray and white striped pajama bottoms. She was wearing a dress that she literally got when she was 3... This dress used to go down almost to her ankles. Now it barely covers her rear end. It's black, with pink, yellow, green, and blue polka dots ALL over it. And to complete the ensemble, she had me pull her hair into a pony tail and she adorned her head with a BRIGHT yellow headband. Oh, and let's not forget the silver glitter shoes.

Another mom saw her at church, looked at me, and gave me the "God help you, I understand" look.

But here's the thing. I had decided months ago that as long as her hiney, her chest, and her belly are covered, I will not argue with her about her clothes. (Oh, and for the record, she attends a charter school, where she wears uniforms everyday... but she wears yellow or pink leggings under the skirts in the winter and bright colored head bands in the hot months... that girl can't take monotony. Where DOES she get that from? *cough*)

Another battle I won't fight with her is the pajama battle. She won't wear them. Dora? Cinderella? Snow White ones? Nope. She'll take shorts and a t-shirt, thank you. And I'm not gonna argue.

I picked, and now I'm grinnin'.

See, before I had Abi, I would see those moms in Target who were dressed so nicely, and see their son wearing cowboy boots with swimming trunks and a sweat shirt in December, and I'd think, "There's no need for that!"

Then, God gave me Abigail.

I've taken her out in public wearing a Little Mermaid outfit, complete with fins, along with her pink cowboy boots and my old leg warmers. She has attended church with a Belle costume and flip flops. And let's not forget about the Sunday she wore a boot and a flip flop with her frilly blue dress.

But here's the deal. Yesterday, as she is standing in our kitchen, wearing this bizarre outfit, I asked her, "Are you gonna wear that to church?" She said, "Yes, ma'am." In that moment, I had little flashbacks from the last few days. Over the weekend, I saw her wrap her arms around a friend who was brokenhearted and crying, and console her. At an important meeting the other day, a business woman asked her if she would like a drink. Abi said, "Yes, ma'am. Coke, please." I remember two nights ago, hearing Rod call Abi, and hearing Abi respond, "What, sir?"

And I remembered that there are bigger fish to fry than mismatched clothes.

Don't get me wrong... she's not perfect. After all, she's my child, poor thing. But I have discovered that I'd much rather have a child whose clothes never match and has manners than a child who has no respect for others and is dressed like an Old Navy catalog model.

So, moms and dads... focus on what matters. Be armed before you step in and make a stand on something. Major on the majors, and minor on the minors. And most importantly, be ready to follow through if you commit to an issue. Are things like pajamas and flip flops worth the conflict? Nope. But things like rudeness and nastiness are.

One more piece of the puzzle in place. That's a small victory. ;-)