Monday, May 9, 2011

I know, I don't know.


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.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

The Big Day Is Here! **Sniff**


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.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

When Worlds Collide


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.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

S-L-O-W.


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?

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

The meaning of it all.


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.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

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




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. .

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Rules for Abi's Boyfriends.


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! ;-)