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.

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.

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?

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.