I Don't Get It...

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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**

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.