Doozy Days

I have a confession to make. Last night, I inhaled 2 packages of my kids' Skittles in no greater than two minutes time. And then I made chocolate chip cookie dough with no intention of ever baking it into cookies. After a few spoonfuls, I scooped some into a bowl of vanilla ice cream and devoured it and then went back AGAIN for seconds. It was not my most beautiful moment. My husband came home at 9:30 PM to find his wife in a sugar-binge-turned-stomachache, writhing on the couch in deep regret. This, my friends, is what I call stress eating.

We have had some real doozy days over here! It has gotten to the point where I find myself absolutely dreading the minutes from 3:40 PM onward. The tasks expected of me during the after school hours feel insurmountable and it's 3 against one, and the party with the majority is definitely winning. Yesterday felt pretty epic but not all that usual unfortunately. The oldest seems to have blown a fuse and her behavior has turned extremely emotional and explosive. The middle child is desperately trying to hold her own, both physically and in volume of sound. I worry about the integrity of our house because it's parts are surely being put up to the test. The baby is coy and smooth and knows just how to get all up in his sisters' hair. He is also learning lots of really cool words that no 2 year old under my roof has ever uttered, thanks to his name-calling models. I'm telling you, it feels like a mad house sometimes.

My "list" for the afternoon and evening really doesn't seem like all that much when written out:

-put away shoes, coat, backpack and lunch bag

-do homework

-make and eat dinner

-read together

-bed

Simple, right? But it is like pulling teeth, getting these 5 things happen. I told my husband yesterday that I would rather load everyone in the car and plunge our way into rush hour traffic and cruise our way around the city for 2 hours than be at home "doing life" the way it has been going down recently. And you think I'm kidding. I might actually try this next week. I feel like being under our roof during the afternoon hours is downright toxic. I'm trying so hard, you guys. But there has GOT to be a better way. I absolutely cannot sustain this. 

I know my oldest is tired. She did so well at the beginning that I thought we were in the clear but I'm sure the long hours of the school day are probably just catching up to her. I know her challenging behavior is simply an indicator of an unmet need. It's just so hard to feel like I am pulling out every ounce I've got in my reserves and attempting to pour it into her only to have her reject it or claim it isn't enough. I used to "help" her with homework remotely from the kitchen island while attempting to cook dinner. She would call me over when she had a question and I would come peek over her shoulder and answer. I was available but not present. She made it clear that this was not working for her when she one day informed me that I "was not filling her bucket." Dagger to the heart!!! She even knows all the terms to really get the mom guilt going. From that point on, I've made an intentional effort to sit right next to her while she does her homework. And now things are worse. Her homework assignment, which literally should take no more than 5 minutes has turned into a sitcom-length saga with much wailing and gnashing of teeth. The past few days, I have ended up sending her to her room multiple times each day to calm down until she is able to talk to me without whining and being disrespectful. 

It's always something. Last night she was inconsolable because her 1st grader teacher makes her hold her pencil a certain way that is different than the way her Kindergarten teacher taught her. And she likes holding it the Kindergarten way because it reminds her of Kindergarten. And if she stops doing that than she will have nothing to remind her of her beloved Kindergarten teacher... And on and on. And on. And on. I've been reading the books, y'all, so I dug real deep and showered her with a great deal of empathy. For as long as I could. We got no where. On a whim, I grabbed a napkin and drew the little cartoon pictured above, a bare bones illustration of her as the stick figure on one side of the stream and the finish line waiting for her on the other. The only way across the river is via the stepping stones. And none of them can be skipped. I told her how the first stone was the way they told her to write in Kindergarten, And now she is in first grade, they are taking what she learned and building on it and challenging her to do things she couldn't have done in Kindergarten. Well. I thought it was pretty genius. But........her homework was still sitting unfinished on the kitchen table when I got up this morning. Annnnnnnnd I stuffed my face with crap last night. So, I guess that probably tells you how it went.

Uggg. I feel at my wits end. And I only told you about a tiny 20 minute window from one afternoon this week. I spared you all the other stories of the tantrums, screaming matches and goings on with all the children that have made me feel downright twitchy and ready to lose my ever loving mind. I say all this not just to whine and complain but because I am convinced THERE HAS GOT TO BE A BETTER WAY! I am not the kind of person to give up and surrender to a this is how it is I guess mentality. I am COMMITTED to making afternoons over here better. Somehow.

On Being Spirited

This post goes out to all my fellow Mama Bears!

I've been introduced to some new parenting verbage this week. The term is "spirited" and I think it will henceforth be making regular appearances in our conversations around here. I know I've been focusing a lot of my eldest on the blog as of late and I'm not sure which is most true in our situation - that the squeakiest wheel gets the grease or that, just as a wise soul once told me, you spend the majority of your parental "worry allotment" on your firstborn. Whichever the case, the pile of books on my bedside table right now are all dedicated to this one. Oy vey.

I love this girl with all my heart AND it just so happens that the last couple weeks with her have been particularly challenging. She is an amazing, intelligent, sensitive, strong and caring person and I love her fiercely. She is a lot like her mama which means there is a good chance she is going to find herself hurt and misunderstood more times than I'd care to admit OR just end up driving those around her batty. Now more than ever, I've felt my Mama Bear urges bubbling, pushing me to figure out more deeply what makes this girl tick, what makes her thrive, and how I can best help her put her strengths to their best use. 

So enter this new-to-me term "spirited." According to Mary Sheedy Kurcinka, author of the book Raising Your Spirited Child, which I read in it's entirety in ONE WEEKS TIME (and I wasn't even on vacation!!!!), a spirited child is essentially a child who is more. She writes "They are normal children who are more intense, persistent, sensitive, perceptive, and uncomfortable with change than other children." This, I'm realizing, is a strikingly accurate description of my eldest. Now that I mention it, my parents are probably sitting on the edge of their seats right now as they read this, experiencing that odd sensation of deja vu. I'm pretty sure they would be the first to tell you that this "spirited" thing sounds like an all too familiar depiction of their second born (yours truly). I guess as the saying goes, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

The funny thing about all this is that it comes as somewhat of a surprise to me. Why, I'm not quite sure. My parents can credit me would 75% of the book titles on their parenting book shelves, I'm sure. That's right folks, The Strong-Willed Child title on their nightstand was not for my sister. My husband would even tell you that, when he asked for my hand in marriage, my dad made sure he fully knew what he was signing up and that he was truly up for the challenge. My father shared stories from my childhood, highlighting my nature and strong tendencies such as how I used to go on hikes with both of my arms outstretched, blocking any others from passing and ensuring I would "win" and make it to our destination first. If that's not spirit, I'm not sure what is. Thankfully, I'd already aired my cards in our dating relationship and these stories did not cause my to-be husband to run.

So you would think I'd know, being a spirited myself, how to handle my own spirited child. Nope. Not to say the least. In some cases, I think it causes us to be even more abrasive with one another, fighting intensely, both in seek of control. This book was really good for me and my parenting but, as leafed through it, I found myself laughing aloud at times, all the while, thinking there were a lot of great suggestions in there that Graham could try out on me...like put in me in a soothing bath when I'm flipping out for instance. :)

But in all seriousness, this "spirit" can be oh so very frustrating and even anger-inducing at times for parents (and I'm sure for spouses too - ha). But, the take-home message for me that I've been contemplating this week is that spirited kids are some of the most amazing and passionate of souls who need to be shepherded especially well in their childhood years, as they learn about the world around them and how they fit in. The collective "we" can be so quick to label these precious kiddos as loud or bossy or argumentative or easily frustrated. These labels are so damaging and I loved how the book encourages readers to reframe these titles into positives: instead of loud, tell your child they are zestful and enthusiastic. Instead of argumentative, replace it with opinionated and strongly committed to ones goals. Similarly, stubborn turns into assertive and willing to persist in the face of difficulty and whiny becomes analytical. These kids need to know their gifts. Trust me. And they need help maneuvering their big emotions and may require a little (ok a LOT of) patience in the process. (Hello personal pep talk...)

I just loved this this quote at the end of the book and I found myself choking back tears as I read:

"Love your spirited child for who she is. Let her make you laugh. Let her share with you how she sees, hears, and experiences the things around her. Allow her to enrich your life. Because she is more, she will make you more. Spirited kids are like roses in my garden. They need more attention. Throw a little water on the other flowers and they grow. Not the rose, it needs special treatment. It has to be pruned and guided in its growth. Other flowers can be plucked, pulled and mauled by a preschooler and still last for weeks on your dining room table. If you treat a rose roughly it will wilt in your hands or stab you, make you bleed."

Wow. So with that, good luck to you fellow mamas of spirited kids! Hang in there! Your kids are born with great gifts and are deeply loved and valued by God. I'm scared to death every day that I'm going to screw mine up but let's keep plugging. You are doing so much better than you give yourself credit for. 

$$$$$$

I had great plans to write about something super cutesy and fun today like 6 and 4 year old birthday parties but instead I'm choosing to dive into that terrible, horrible topic that everyone hates: MONEY. Sorry y'all but I just have to. I understand if this is the last sentence of this post that you read.

Over the past couple weeks, we've been hit with large bill after large bill. Astronomical bills, actually. At first I sort of had the nervous, giggly Wow, when it rains it really pours sort of attitude. But now it's starting to get a little old. And I'm not sure when we will have a breather from this financial pressure that is weighing on me.

Yesterday I opened what I thought would be a pat-yourself-on-the-back sort of bill. If those sorts of bills exist. Let me explain. You all know about my new vegetable garden this year which I just adore. It has been life-giving to me and a dream come true on so many different levels. One new feature at our new house has been this little built-in sprinkler system that apparently takes a PhD to operate. I mean, the thing is possessed. During the warmer months, it would come on at random times, flood the yard and do all sorts of crazy tricks. No matter how hard I tried to reprogram the darn thing, it had a mind of its own and seemed absolutely set on keeping our yard as green as a golf course oasis in the middle of the Sahara. Well. I bet you can imagine where this is going. We got our first water bill in July. Imagine a really big number. And then double it. It really hurt. Graham wouldn't even let me tell him the final amount. But let's just say theoretically that I grew a 9 pound zucchini. If we crunched the numbers, that zucchini would have cost me approximately $46.88 per pound. Just to water it. Which is a real steal if you ask me. I mean, it's giant. It's organic. What more could one want? Well, it ate up a huge chunk of our paycheck. Lesson learned. My father-in-law had tried to warn me but those sprinklers were not to be contained.

After painfully paying bill #1, I set aside an entire evening to mastering my freaking sprinkler system. I had renewed motivation and a tangible reality check. I read the entire manual (which of course didn't come with the house and so I had to scour and find one online that seemed similar...) I changed a ton of settings. I stopped the darn thing from watering 7 of the 9 areas it had been watering previously. I figured out how to have it water those two areas (my veggie bed and the front lawn) only once daily versus twice. I shorted the length of time it watered. It took about a week of trial and error but eventually I got the settings to switch and stay switched! I was thrilled and went back to my routines, anticipating that the next bill would be the pat-yourself-on-the-back type, reflecting just how dramatic and cost-saving my sprinkler adjustments had been.

Yesterday the next water bill came. I was expecting good news so I tore open the envelope, almost with excitement which is so totally weird but we won't go there. But the contents left me speechless. The numbers in bold print before me were even worse than before. They literally rivaled what my ENTIRE paychecks used to be. I burst into tears. I couldn't handle it. I felt like a total and complete failure. I was growing vegetables and grass outside, not diamonds. Who did these crazy water district people think that they were!? The doler outers of some scarce commodity here in the PNW: water? Umm, I think not. Well, ok. it was a titch more scarce this summer. But it's not like we typically have a problem with a lack of moisture here in the greater Seattle area!!

So, I think it's safe to say that the sprinkler control center is officially UNPLUGGED from our wall in the garage. Unless that thing somehow magically acquires wireless powers (which actually wouldn't surprise me), it is off for the season and it is highly unlikely that it will ever be used again. Except maybe when we go on vacation. The rest of the time, I will water my garden myself, just enough to keep my edibles alive but the rest of the yard will probably go to pot. I'm sure the HOA will have a cow, but hey! At least my highly controversial veggie bed will be green. ;)

But this post is not about the HOA or even the garden really. It's more about my feelings of failure and my struggles with doubt. I'm sure everyone is now well aware that I very recently quit my job. It was a needed move, the right move. I know this deep down. But when I see the numbers in our bank account going down and FAST, I suddenly find myself hyperventilating. Or like yesterday. just plain crying. I feel incredibly responsible. I begged to be able to stay home with our kids. I was being stretched well beyond my capacity and my kids' capacity and our sitters' capacities. Sure, it felt good when people would ask how on earth I did it - work part time, keep up a home, have three kids, run, and for a few years there, co-coordinate a ministry for young moms at my church. Well, the truth of it is that I didn't really do it well. And it required me to go on medications. Depression, anxiety and fear ruled. I was falling apart and unhappy.

Now we are (approximately) 68 days into this new adventure of my being a full-time stay-at-home mom (with the exception of an occasional on-call shift here and there). And CRAP is it ever hard.  This year is ABSOLUTELY NUTS with the various schedules we are balancing - first grade, preschool, early release, a napping youngest, not to mention feeding and bathing and clothing the litter somewhere in there. My calendar, which used to have one to two things on it each day, now averages about five. Yeah, some of them are quick little check offs like "Wear PE shoes" for Isla, but still, it's a full time job to keep it all somewhat straight-ish. I needed to be home just to manage life. And as hard as it all is, man is it ever good. I feel like an incredible burden has lifted no longer having to to arrange babysitting for my work days. We were have been SO BLESSED to have grandparents take care of our kids but they've been doing this faithfully and regularly for 6 years and we felt we owed them a much-deserved break.

Now that Emma has started pre-K, and as long as Jack keeps napping, I have THREE AFTERNOONS every week to myself at home. The time goes by super fast but so far it has been glorious. These pockets of time are to me margins, margins that always should have been there but weren't. Sometimes I feel guilty about having them while at others, I am just plain giddy. Honestly, I don't know how I survived the past 6 mothering years without them. New mothers should be discharged from the hospital with an extra strength prescription for margins. Seriously! Because, without them, this job is a recipe for crazy-making 100% of the time.

Anyway, I'm really not sure how everything is going to work out. As I type this, our van is in the shop getting these necessary but painful things called tires. Yesterday, I submitted that tear-jerking payment for our water bill. And unfortunately just last week we'd finally taken a leap and ordered a couch for our previously empty living room. This of course was before we knew what other fun financial surprises this month would hold. First world problems, right?

After a good night's sleep and taking time to process all this in writing, I'm reminded that we made this commitment to my being home knowing it would require walking by FAITH. If I'm honest, I guess I expected something just a liiiiitle more secure. Which isn't really faith at all. We have savings. We certainly aren't destitute. Those savings had been set aside for things other than tires and water but, if that's what we have to use them for, so be it. I have seen God's hand at work in our lives in so many ways and I know His provision is faithful. It may not always look like the "provision" we anticipated but ultimately I believe it is for our betterment. I anticipate the season ahead to require a degree of sacrifice from us that we have probably not yet experienced. It will be hard but I'm also old enough now to recognize that good fruit comes from the hard. And when Christ is in it, it is amazing. We have felt God's leading in guiding our family through these big, life-changing decisions and though the exact details are still unknown, I'm comforted by the scripture in Hebrews 11:1 that reads: 

"Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see."

Change a brewing

Morning World!

Just wanted to pop in over here to share a little bit of news with you. I am excited and nervous and totally and completely petrified to announce that I gave my notice at my (paid) job this past weekend! My last day in my position there will be on July 10th. I plan to remain on call and do occasional vacation coverage but for the most part, I'll be home.

This decision was NOT EASY for me but Graham and I have both finally reached a place where we know it's the right move fore our family. As the above picture illustrates, my arms are pretty full at home and I somehow needed to free up more time to be present with my kids and also remember who are am as a woman and what makes me tick. 

I was struck yesterday by how beautiful my life feels right now. You know how when you are in it, you can long for change but not ever recognize change has happened until it whacks you over the head years later? I'm experiencing that head whacking currently. I have gone through so many seasons where things have felt excruciatingly hard and unfair. Seasons of extreme loneliness, of depression, of total and complete exhaustion, just trying to hold it together. I've felt stagnant and stuck, wondering if I was growing in any capacity, debilitated at times by poor self esteem and a lack of confidence. But I've recently embarked on a new season, a season I hope I will lean into hard and celebrate richly. I find myself, surprisingly, on the "other side," realizing hey! Things have changed. I have grown! I longed for a family. Check. We prayed for a house for such a long time. And now check. (And it's beautiful!) I wanted a garden and a yard. And those things have finally happened. The sun is shining, dispersing the 6 year fog that seemed to surround and debilitate me inwardly as I took on the role of motherhood. I now can see that the Lord as been working and what He has been doing is very, very good.

It's fitting, I think, that last night marked my final event in our church's Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) groups. Nearly 6 years ago now, I joined MOPS as a bleary-eyed new mom. Isla was only 4 weeks old and I was on maternity leave and we didn't yet know if I would return to work so we were living off of a tight budget. Graham was working full time and had just begun grad school. I had no idea what I was doing and I remember vacillating over whether or not to join the program because the $125 registration fees nearly broke our bank. But I did it. I don't know WHAT anyone saw in me that crazy, hazy year that was my first year of motherhood. I felt like a total, hormonal mess. Maybe it was just the fact that I kept showing up. At at the year's end, I was approached and asked to lead a table of women at MOPS the following year. I did so and had a wonderful experience and then the next thing I knew, someone was asking me if I would consider joining the steering team and co-coordinating the entire MOPS program. I laugh now looking back as I literally recall asking the person "Is the co-coordinator role a big one?" Ha! 

I had NO idea what I was getting into but now looking back, I can confidently say it was one of the best things I ever did. To this day, I have no idea who recommended me for the role (if you are reading this right now, please out yourself - I'm dying to know!!!) But the takeaway for me has been that someone saw something in me. That is the most incredibly feeling. Ever. This spoke immeasurably to the insecure, depressed and lonely girl that I was.  

 My story illustrates how an invitation like this can be so powerfully impacting and shaping to who we become and what we choose to do in life. The three years I spent as co-coordinator were incredible. The role was challenging and time-consuming (to say the least!) but looking back, it grew me like a weed. Areas of my life that were once stagnant began to take new shape and forward-progress happened again. I was forced to get up on stage and talk in front of 70 people two times a month. WITH a microphone. I was petrified. My kids would tell you of the earfuls they got every week as my captive audience in the car as I practiced my announcements. Yes, internet, I practiced them. But I did it and now I can say the idea of being up in front of people doesn't really even phase me anymore. Well, depending on what I'm talking about. ;) 

I also made some of the most incredible friends while I was on steering. Someone once told me that it is in their thirties when women make their lasting, lifelong friendships. Hearing that in that in the season I was in at the time was just plain painful. I would have given anything for a good friend, let alone friendships plural! But I can truly say that I AM THIRTY AND I HAVE FRIENDS!!! And not just friends, but really, really good friends. Friends who I can be honest with and who ask me about the seemingly minute details of my life.

Now it's time to open a new chapter. It's time to be home more with my kiddos, to scale back elsewhere so I can pour into them wholeheartedly. I've stepped down from my MOPS commitments. Phase one of our home remodel is complete. I've been go-go-going for years like a crazy lady and I'm ready to inhale for a season and take a moment to ponder and pray about what's next. The Lord has been at work, nudging me in new directions, pushing me to step out in faith. It was Thursday evening last week when Graham and I made the final decision that I would be putting in my notice. In his wise way, he reminded me that sometimes we have to take that first scary step and allow God to provide for us. Things are going to be tight financially but I have a strange sense of both peace and terror.

Recently, I have had the opportunity to speak a handful of times in various settings on nutrition and feeding kids. I was a bit startled to discover that speaking is actually something I've come to enjoy (thanks MOPS for sort of forcing me to this realization!) I also totally adore writing and blogging about feeding kids on my food blog. Have I mentioned I have the most amazing husband? He not only is giving me the go ahead to quit my job but has also arranged for me to take Friday mornings to myself to explore this passion.

So, here's to new adventures and stepping out in faith! For now, I am going to focus on being home and being present. I am going to spend a season leaning into my passions and doing things that I love and not feel guilty about it. It's almost as if I can hear God whispering This is your act of bravery right now. Trust me. I don't know what this will mean long term but I feel so blessed to be on this journey and wild times are just around the corner, I'm sure.

Me, (mostly) unedited

I’m sitting at La Boulange in the heart of San Francisco sipping a latte out of this vessel that looks more bowl than cup. Graham is at a GI oncology conference, mixing with the big-wigs and I’m tagging along for some personal time to write. It’s a rough life, that’s for sure.

Over lunch yesterday, Graham called me out on the fact that I regret not going to medical school. I’m a little scared to say that out loud as putting it in ink makes it so out there, real and permanent. It’s hard to put words to. I’m not sure I really regret not going to medical school per se but I often regret the idea of it.  I’m slowly piecing together why being a doctor sounds so appealing. I love being needed, having a sense of purpose in helping people and if I’m going to be totally truthful, public affirmation is a big motivator for me too. I long to be on the “front lines,” a first responder, a critical and key component in emergent situations.

When I was younger, my dad told me he was confident I could do anything I set my mind to. (Of course, I think he made a silent exception for dancing as I’m a firm believer that you can’t teach a rhythm-less girl new tricks but other than that, all was fair game…) These were big words and have proven incredibly powerful in inspiring me and pushing me to do greater. In my heart of hearts, I know I could do it. Go to medical school, I mean. Graham and I both do (though he admits it would be weird if I were a doctor and he were a nurse practitioner). The jury is out on how healthy or happy I would be, but we know I could do it. When the codes are called at work, I fight the urge to run to the scene. I struggle in my supportive, advisory professional role.

Some might argue, heck even I sometimes argue (my dad thought I’d make a good lawyer…) that motherhood presents similar opportunities to medicine. A mother is needed and has a purpose, certainly, and oh yes are there ever emergent situations. Like when you find your three year old standing in the middle of her bedroom yelling and battling the immense weight of her stuffed-to-the-gills dresser drawer that she accidently pulled out all the way and is desperately trying not to drop. Or when you turn around to find your 15 month old toddling around the corner with a plastic bag over his head, lovingly placed there by an older sibling. Or when you discover your ring-leading five year old has rallied a plethora of children to join her in walking down the hardwood stairs all the while situated inside of her kids play tent.  Emergencies, People. They abound.

Yet somehow, though motherhood meets many of the criterion that I’ve identified make me tick, I still come away on most days feeling unfulfilled. Friends, let me assure you, this is not a good feeling. In fact, it is rather guilt-inducing. Please, please, please don’t mishear me though. I absolutely adore my kids and love them to pieces! And I do really love being a mom. What I don't always love is all the ways it has changed my life and I spend a lot of my days feeling lost, wondering who I am now, or who or what I should be becoming.

Sometimes I wonder if I might be going through my mid-life crisis, though arguably it is early. It feels as though I’ve spent many of the last 5, nearly 6 years spinning in circles, trying to find my footing and figure out what I want to be “when I grow up.” Thankfully, I am surrounded by some cherished friends who, like myself, have been and continue to be just as rocked by motherhood as I am. Though I’m sure what we will end up being “when we are grown up” will vary significantly, there is incredible comradery in knowing that we are not alone. That this motherhood curve ball, that most of us planned for, longed for, desired with all of our might could end up being so baffling.

My husband and I were discussing this topic over lunch and I was in the middle of spewing an oversized load of thoughts, what I like to refer to as “verbal vomit.” Graham cut me off and said “You need to write about this.”

This? I thought. But it’s ugly and unedited. There is no frosting for the cake, to cover up it’s screwed up and crumbling insides. I don’t even know if there is a message here! But still he urged me to make this jumble public, to confess that I’m still figuring this out, still processing. So here I am. I am fighting the desire with every ounce of my being to type out these honest words and then frost them with some sort of sugary message that basically says “But it’s no biggie. We’re all good here.” 

But instead, I’m going to let it all out and be REAL, in continued pursuit of creating a space where truth can be spoken when there is wrestling to be done. Our culture is one that makes mommyhood so hard. Much is expected of us and the weight of it sometimes feels unbearable. The messages, intentional or not, from the generations that have gone before tell us “I did it. So can you.” They communicate there is something wrong with us for thinking this is hard. And so we struggle in silence, afraid to say aloud that this job isn't always what we imagined. How is it that one job, one very important role can be so joy-filled and discouraging and rewarding and excruciatingly painful and wonderful all in the very same span of five minutes?

I don’t think anyone will argue with me when I say motherhood is virtually a thank-less job. At least in the critical phases when it takes everything in you just to keep the children breathing and alive, not to mention yourself. And your marriage. And your other relationships. That little piece I mentioned earlier about the importance of public affirmation? I’m not going to lie, it’s a bit lacking for us down here in the trenches. Though I would love to dig down deep and say something really saintly like “I don’t need affirmation. It’s just so fulfilling to be a mom and know I’m investing in my kids’ futures,” that sort of fluff just doesn’t cut it for me.

And yet. AND YET, the older I get (and maybe, possibly, hopefully the wiser?), the more I am realizing that we all have this void. It feels like a hole, this longing for more. And rather than fight it, I’m slowly learning to embrace it. To lean into it, even, sometimes to lean so far that I lose my balance and fall. I believe this hole originated because of disobedience and sin and now it’s purpose is to remind us daily of our humanness and our need for God. I’m beginning to recognize that it is in these moments when I allow myself to sit in this uncomfortable space of the unknown, the baffling and the confusing, that God speaks to me. He reminds me of my purpose. He reminds me that it is actually a healthy thing for me to be longing for more, to be on the pursuit. What is dangerous is when I make the call and decide what is worth pursuing. But if I will slow down and wrestle and then listen, eventually He nudges.

I wish I had a pretty bow to wrap this in and present to summarize exactly how I am being nudged right now. Truth be told, I really have no idea. I'm pretty positive I won't be going to med school. Honestly, I would love to invest more intentional time into this newfound love of writing (and force all of you to pilfer through more spews of verbal vomit). Or maybe these nudgings will eventually conclude with my diving all-in-no-more-buts-about-it into motherhood as my full-time job. I really don't know. But what I do know is that these nudgings are good and healthy and ok. And so until there is more clarity, I will sit right here and wrestle.

Excuse me Ma'am, but there's a giant wet spot on your shirt

I remember there was a day when a stained shirt would mean an outfit change. No question. Now a stain elicits close examination and comparison of both color and texture to determine whether the shirt remains suitable for wear. If the spit up closely resembles the shade of the shirt, no harm done! Carry on. If not, I might consider a new top, if I remember to change it before I get called to the next task AND if there happens to be any other options clean. This would explain why you've seen me sporting shades of cream and white an awful lot lately. A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do.

Last night the kids and I walked the short jaunt to the grocery store, the girls on foot, Jack strapped to my front. At one point, I recall thinking my stomach felt much warmer than the second before but the moment was fleeting and so was soon forgotten. It wasn't until we returned home and I removed the baby from the Ergo that I noticed a giant wet spot across my abdomen. I kid you not, my first reaction was "Oh well! It'll dry." And it wasn't like we were spending the evening alone at home. We were heading off to Community Group where Graham and I would converse, yes even facilitate, discussion with other adults and I was totally cool with showing up with half my front saturated in urine. Funny how things change.

I'm not going to lie. This having three kids thing has been no walk in the park. If we've made it look easy (as a few have accused us of doing), I'd invite you to come past the threshold and spend a little time behind our walls. Probably only three minutes would pass before you saw the true chaos and craziness that is our life. I'm exhausted. I miss leaving the house. I want to be home more. I miss dating my husband. I miss being alone. I long to spend more time fully engaged with each of my kids. I am constantly wrestling an inner voice that tells me I'm not measuring up. All these desires both contradict and intertwine with each other, leaving me dizzy and confused. 

Yesterday my wise husband reiterated words we've often heard preached from the pulpit by our dear Pastor Richard. He urges us to "keep showing up." Keeping showing up at work. Keep showing up at home. Keep showing up with your spouse, with your kids. Keep showing up in prayer and in scripture. Some days feel like total drudgery. And yes, sometimes our efforts and hard-fought-for endeavors seem to only come up empty. We cry out and the answer is silence. But today I take heart (and I hope you will too) in this reminder to keep showing up. Though at times it takes every ounce of energy I have left, I know that the Lord is at work and I pray that He would use me as His vessel where I am, even in the trying, tiring season of life.  

Why I Blog

Lately I have been in numerous social situations where "Mom bloggers" have been bashed and thrown under the bus. They have been casually written off as jealousy-inducing, to-be-avoided-if-you-want-to-feel-ok-about-yourself uses of internet space. Maybe I'm putting it a little too harshly but I've noticed that women do get rather fired up about the topic. Usually when these conversations take place, I grow quiet, smiling graciously but choosing not to say anything. To be honest, I get it. There are certain blogs that, after reading, make me feel like the laziest human that has ever lived. What? I'm not daily making new hair bows to tame that crazy beautiful hair both my daughters sport? I'm not hand-stitching new pillow cases to go with the seasons? Not making my marshmallows from scratch a-la Martha Stewart? (Ok, confession: I have tried that last one - NOT WORTH YOUR TIME!!!) Yes, I get it. There are certain moments where reading blogs like these probably aren't good for my mental well-being and maybe yours too. They often portray only the highlights, the good, the "Facebook reality," to use this recently-born 21st century term.

But, if I may be so bold as to say it, I really don't think all these Mom bloggers are out to chisel at your self esteem. All these conversations have led me to ask the question Why is it that I blog? I think my reasons have changed over the years. Blogging was initially a fun hobby. Then it became an online baby book when kids entered the picture. It's a great way to share recipes and photos, and also a vacation journal. Most recently for me though, it has functioned as a space to process my thoughts, a way to document and then look back on where I have been and where I am going. It is what I hope will someday be a vehicle for change, for vulnerability, even if just for a couple of sweet souls.

Last week, we had some new friends over for coffee and cookies. He is a pastor but recently made a career change to complete a chaplaincy program. We got to talking about his work and I wondered aloud how challenging it must be to work with patients who came from different faith backgrounds than his own. He answered quickly that no, these are the easy patients, it is the Christians that pose the greatest challenge. Generally speaking of course, people from other religions speak freely of their hurt and pain and their thoughts about God. In contrast, many Christians feel the need to temper their pain and even anger with lines like "But everything is OK because I have Jesus."

These words really hit home for me. It's a topic I've been pondering a lot as of late. It seems to be cultural to keep everything only at surface level, to look like you have it all together, particularly in Christian circles. We run from honesty. This approach bugs me though I am often a guilty participant. But it is certainly not Biblical. I mean look at David in the Psalms who cries out Where are you God? If that's not honesty than I'm not sure what is! We all struggle and go through hard times. We are broken people and it takes a great deal of courage in this world to be vulnerable and do more that scratch the surface in our relationships.

So why is it that I blog? Lately it is because I need to see the beauty in my life. I'm in a hard season. And that's ok. I don't have it all together. In fact, most of the time it seems like I'm a late, anxious emotional mess (I blame hormones!) more than anything else. But I recognize that it is a season and that this too shall pass. I am called to Count it all joy when I encounter various trials. And I honestly have no idea what that means. I've spent the past few weeks reading and reflecting on this idea, this command actually. Right now, when my day-to-day is basically endless piles of laundry and diaper changes and hungry mouths to feed, little rest and minimal time for the activities I love, I'm finding it hard to see the joy. But it is there and as I journey through this season, I don't want to miss it so I post a lot of the positive highlights in this space. That's the closest I can come to identifying what it means for me to count it all joy right now.

 In addition to posting the pockets of beauty I encounter, my hope is to also temper this space with some of the hard too. Because, like I said, we all struggle at times and we need to cozy up and get more comfortable with the pain. Yes, I love Jesus. But there have also been times in my life where, much like David, I have wondered where He is. And I'm guessing maybe you have too? Being vulnerable isn't always a comfortable place to be but I'm learning in the end there is freedom in it.

So in this season right now, this is why I blog. 

A Beautiful Mess

A couple weeks back, I was asked to write an introduction to this year's theme for our MOPS (Mother's of Preschoolers) program that I help coordinate. Since I know a lot of you readers are fellow moms, I thought I'd share it on this space too as we all need to learn that our mess is beautiful and to embrace the story we are in.

A Beautiful Mess. Embrace your story.

"Moms live in messes. The toys, crumbs, and spit-up are their natural surroundings. Moms often feel like a mess. They are exhausted, under-showered, and hormonal. Their past and present circumstances and decisions can leave them feeling inadequate for God’s love and purposes.  A Beautiful Mess — reminds moms that beauty can come out of their difficult spots. The grime of mothering young children brings the beauty of motherhood. The bruises of life can bring God’s redemption. Embrace Your Story — reminds moms that their past, present and future can be used for good. God knows where each of us has been, where we are today and has set in motion where we are headed."

Ephesians 2:10 (New Living Translation)  

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.    

I find it sort of ironic that I am the one introducing this year's MOPS theme "A Beautiful Mess."  I am that person who can't relax in a room if the throw pillows are crooked.  The dust accumulating on my blinds has been haunting me for years now and every time I sit down in the kitchen, I can literally hear the dried milk splatters crusted to my table legs screaming to be scrubbed.  I notice every fleck of lint on my carpet and have every scratch on the wall memorized.  I definitely do not naturally find messes beautiful.  If I'm being totally honest, I must confess I even cringe momentarily when my daughter asks me to get down the craft bin.  Oh the inevitable mess!  Do I have it in me to clean up the confetti of papers and stickers when it's all said and done? 

I don't think it was happenstance that my eldest set aside Friday, the eve before our big MOPS leadership training, as the night she wanted to paint.  For me, painting is an activity we reserve for places like Sunday School or preschool, where there are others responsible for the clean up.  I am quick to suggest that we take down even the dreaded craft bin over paintbrushes and paint.  But every once in a while, when my guard is down, I oblige.

That was Friday for me.  I was trying to be a "good mom."  Through gritted teeth, I repeatedly refilled each of my daughters' paint supply, inwardly flinching as I watched the paint begin to cover their faces, clothes, the wall, the table.  I wish I could say it was then when I paused and remembered to cherish their dyed little hands and see the beauty in the mess.  But it wasn't.  

It isn't just the physical mess that we moms wrestle with.  We are often a mess emotionally too.  I'm at a coffee shop alone right now.  Sounds lovely, I know, but let me tell you, the morning that led up to this moment wasn't so lovely.  I am here only because I had a severe case of "word vomit" where I spewed hundreds of irrational thoughts (and tears) to my husband in an I-don't-even-know-what-I-want-or-need fashion.  They left him bewildered and confused but he was able to read through the lines enough to quickly gift me with some much-needed alone time (smart man!!)  This is my reality and I'm pretty sure we've all been there.

Going back to the paint story, I really didn't see any beauty in the mess in the moment.  It wasn't until later that evening, after I'd hurriedly scrubbed my kids' hands and arms, soaked their clothes, scoured the kitchen, after I'd moodily ushered them to bed that it hit me.  I finally sat down to prepare a devotional for the MOPS training in the morning that followed when I stopped short.  Here I was about to try to convince fellow mothers of the beauty in their messy lives when I couldn't even see it in my own.  How could I be so dense?  My precious children, my creative children.  Gifts from God.  What's a little paint on the wall in comparison to the twinkle of delight in their eyes as they make something colorful and exciting out of what was once a plain white piece of paper?

I wish I could say that with that, I am now able to wholeheartedly embrace messiness.  But it's not the case.  I still long for a neat and orderly life and though I know some of this desire is God-given, I also know that this is an area where I need to relinquish control.  I need to learn to EMBRACE and be OK with chaos.  This is my life.  Is it yours too?

It is my prayer as we launch into this MOPS year, that we would learn to not only see but also to embrace our beautifully, messy lives.  To welcome each other in and be honest about the good, the bad and the ugly.  And the dirty.  God can and does use us, no matter where we have been. We are God's masterpiece. Created anew in Christ to do the good things He has planned for us.  I hope this brings you as much hope as it does me! 

Nostalgia

Late Sunday night, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law gave birth to their first, a son. Meet Canon McIntosh Crozier! Apparently the ever-popular Crozier saying "Go big or go home" applies to babies too. He weighed 9 pounds, 6 ounces, only two ounces less than Emma (us daughter-in-laws did not know what we were in for when we married Croziers!) Anyway, he's adorable. I've only held him once but I already love him.

Watching John and Tash become parents has resulted in waves of nostalgia for me, remembering those first few days after giving birth. Oh how I wish I could relive them! Of course the birth of each child is amazing (at least the birth of my two children have been) but there is something about the firstborn that is so magical.

To this day, Graham recalls the moment pictured above, in the first hour after Isla was born, as the best part of our marriage so far. He says I was just glowing. And looking back at it now, I can see that I was. Everyone tells you to slow down because "it goes by so fast," words that you never want to hear in the moment, words that go in one ear and out the other. I'm only 2 1/2 years out but I can already attest to the truth in them. It does go by fast. Really fast. You won't realize it at the time, but those moments with the firstborn are priceless because they offer the only opportunity you will have to give your undivided attention as a parent. It's a rare and wonderful occasion. Children are such a sweet and precious gift!

What a week!

It's been a crazy week over here. I feel like I always say that but this time I really mean it. I guess it's really been 2 weeks actually. Christmas "vacation" truly ended when I returned back from Bellingham and took Emma for her well check up on Monday. At her appointment the month prior, her Dr was a little concerned that she'd dropped from the 90th to the 75th %ile for weight. She said it wasn't a problem unless she dropped again so encouraged me to pay attention to my milk supply and try and get in the habit of pumping daily. I did my best but seeing that showers are a little hard to come by, it's not surprising that daily pumping sessions were as well. Then we went to Mexico and I wasn't about to pack my pump....and then all of us girls got sick over Christmas which resulted in poor nursing for Emma....I bet you know where this is going.

Back to her appointment on Monday. She dropped to below the 50th %ile--yikes! Looking back, it all makes sense but I was so just trying to survive the busyness of all our Christmas celebrations that I didn't even notice. But in retrospect, it was obvious--my milk supply had tanked! Emma had been waking up to 5 times a night when I was at my parents and I could not figure out why. And she was taking upwards of an hour to eat and never seemed satisfied afterwards. And then when I really thought about it, I realized I wasn't waking up engorged anymore and wasn't experiencing any random mid-day let downs like I had been. I'm sure my own illness, decreased appetite and severe sleep deprivation due to the frequent wakings didn't help anything. My doctor also said 4 months of age is the common time to experience a decrease in milk supply because it is the point in time where your body can no longer draw calories from your reserves to make milk as well. So basically if you aren't eating enough, you won't make enough. This sort of surprised me because I had been *cough* thoroughly enjoying the Christmas goodies so didn't think I could possibly be deficient there!!

So began the week. Ever since Monday morning, I have basically been nursing and pumping every 2-3 hours and then attempting to give her a bottle of milk if she's still acting hungry. I started taking Fenugreek and am now trialing another herbal supplement that is supposed to help. I am drinking more liquid than you would possibly believe and have taken the "increasing my calories" recommendation to heart. I even choked down a chocolate stout and then sort of "enjoyed" a couple Belgian Whites because the nurse practitioners at work always told moms that beer helped. To add to all this, Emma hasn't really been napping (I think she's been hungry) and then I already mentioned how our nights have been going.

Then for whatever reason (maybe she was feeling left out?), Isla decided to make 5 AM her new waking time. All week she has been crying and wailing for about 2 hours every morning, asking us to "come fix my blanket" or "leave the door open" or "turn the light on" or "come pick Isla up." Fun times, eh?

Yesterday morning I woke up and literally the first thing that came to mind was I need to go sleep at a hotel. Ha! But, despite these new challenges, I was sharing with Graham this morning that I thought I'd actually handled it all quite well and was feeling pretty proud of myself. I should be a complete mess, I kept thinking but I was actually feeling really good about the progress we've made.

Of course then I came home and accidentally threw toilet paper in the sink (gross, yes, but not as bad as it sounds and no need to worry, the sink has since been thoroughly disinfected!!) And I found a bottle of breast milk in the cupboard. And I also made dinner plans for tonight, totally forgetting I had a MOPS meeting that I had organized this evening. Well, I may be emotionally and physically healthy, but mentally? That's a whole different story!

Cold coffee

This week was rough. I admitted to Graham last night that it was definitely the hardest week for me since Emma's birth (other than her 2nd hospital stay of course--that will always trump!) Isla and I both got sick on Wednesday, just in time for Graham to go back to work Thursday/Friday which meant I was "on duty" from waking to bedtime for both girls. The jury is still out on whether we prefer 8 or 12 hour shifts!!

Anyway, I was feeling rather yucky myself and then add to that a toddler who was sick and whiny and a baby who likes to be held and you don't end of with the greatest of combinations. I couldn't get my hands free for two days straight. And that meant drinking cold coffee because I just couldn't get to it while it was hot. I felt like every sentence out of my mouth was "No Isla!" or "Stop doing that Isla!" or just a plain a very aggravated "ISLA!!!" Poor girl.

After a busy but fun weekend "hosting" family (hosting in quotes because more realistically, my family hosted themselves as I sat around in a daze, sniffling and sneezing and staring off into space), I was totally beat and in need of a good cry (a tell-tale sign of exhaustion for me). We had our 2nd date since Emma's birth on the calendar for Sunday night but we almost cancelled because we just weren't feeling up to it. I'm so glad we didn't.

We were barely off the babysitter's doorsteps before I began to cry. I think I did what we like to refer to as "emotional puke." Out spewed 12 billion thoughts, dreams, desires and frustrations all over the course of a drive downtown to dinner. I was feeling like a terrible awful no good really bad mom and I wasn't sure how I was going to launch into two more straight days of Graham back at work running on such a depleted tank.

My ever-supportive husband listened to my verbal vomit and then offered numerous words of encouragement. After a good night's rest (thanks Isla and Emma!!), I am feeling so much better and it's Monday even!! But there are so many things I want to work on. I want to be more patient, more joyful. I want to learn not to sweat the small stuff. I don't want to run an uptight home.

Motherhood is teaching me more than I ever thought possible. It reveals my ugly sides but I also hope it will reveal some strengths as well. It is by far the hardest job I have ever had. Hands down. No question. I am so thankful the Lord isn't finished with me yet. I have a lot to learn. This week I think I'll focus on joy.

She makes me cry

To all you mamas out there: do you ever have one of those days or weeks where you just can't get over how much you love your little one/s? I have been trying so hard to focus on cherishing these last few weeks alone with Isla and I must say, I've been blessed beyond measure! Call me sappy or call it the hormones or just take it for what it is, BEING A MOTHER IS AMAZING!

Tonight, Isla and I walked to the grocery store together in the after-dinner sunshine. We walked hand in hand and talked the whole way about how bright the sun was, about how we hoped the store would have one of those carts with a car attached that she could ride in, about how the milk was "all gone" and we needed to buy more, about how noisy certain cars were. It's the little things, but I couldn't get over how precious she is as I recollected our day to Graham. I just loved how she asked me to carry her today, how she grabbed my belly and yelled "Hi baby!!!", how we blew bubbles together and she told me she wanted them to pop against her legs, how she sat on a chair the entire time while I made dinner, watching my every move and keeping me company, how she asked for help spreading out a blanket on the living room floor and then she patted the floor and asked me to sit so we could "make pancakes" again like we pretended to yesterday, how she cries "Mommy come" when she wakes up in the morning or after a nap.

It's a pretty incredibly feeling to be adored and this girl has made me feel like the best mom in the world over the past few days. She makes me cry......in a very good way.

A true day in the life

Man oh man, yesterday was just one of those days where nothing seems to go right. One of those days where I really wished the lemonade I'd been drinking was spiked. Or that I could enjoy a nice glass of wine out on the patio just to chill out. Instead, I brewed a pot of decaf french press and it just had to do. After about the 12th timeout in so many minutes, I'd had it. My toes had been stepped on, dinner forks were strewn precariously about the kitchen floor, I'd been slapped in the face and run away from multiple times, the whining was incessant, the recycling was being eaten from and emptied out onto the kitchen floor, everything I put away seemed to jump back out again, my plants on the patio were being whacked with a spatula, the chicken wouldn't cook through (and then ended up completely burnt) and I was feeling very pregnant, exhausted and moody for no directly identifiable reason.

For a brief moment, I felt like someone needed to fire me, like I just wasn't cut out for this job. I didn't handle the situation calmly. I yelled "NO!!" multiple times. My patience was completely absent. That's the honest truth. When I returned to fetch Isla from one of her many timeouts, she immediately jumped to tell me "sorry" and kept repeating it over and over as she saw the tears in my eyes well up and begin to flow. Then it was MY turn to tell her that I was sorry for being impatient, for acting out of frustration instead of love. I wish I could say that things turned around from that point on and that the Little Miss was perfectly behaved for the rest of the night and that I was the perfect mother responding to her needs. Ha!

Looking back, I'm not even sure what the deal was, why I felt so off. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that it is pre-finals weeks here at the Crozier household which means from now until June 8th, I am 100% on-duty, all day, everyday as Graham's minimal "free" time has to go to his studies. I never realized how rough it would be to do it all solo for days upon days in a row. Sometimes I feel like all I do is herd and cook and do laundry and pack lunches and dinners for all parties involved and, though most of the time I am able to do it cheerfully and with a grateful heart (really, I love being at mostly stay-at-home mom!), there are other days when it gets the best of me. I have to keep reminding myself that this is temporary, that one day there will be no grad school, that Graham won't have to go three days and then some without seeing his daughter, that someday we will have free time that is actually free, that I won't always have to arrange for a babysitter to attend my evening meetings and obligations. One day, Graham will be around to free me up for an after dinner walk or run to Starbucks to get away and refresh.

After a night of reflecting, I think I realized that what I'm craving right now are moments away. Completely ALONE, where I don't have to go to work or an appointment or meeting, where I can just do whatever I want. I feel guilty even saying that after a wonderful vacation away with my family. How could I possibly need to get away so soon? As I was telling a friend the other day, vacations definitely take a different tone with little ones and I can see why people take grandparents along so everyone can have a true break. Would I change our trip? Certainly not. We had an absolute blast! But I'm (slowly!) learning the necessity of my own self care to keep me a sane and effective mama. So, anyone up for playing with a sweet, (busy), cute, (active), talkative and hilarious 21 month old between now and June 8th? :)

So there it is. A bit of honest reflection, a true "day in the life" over here. All I can say is that I'm glad today is a new day, that His mercies are new every morning, Today is going to be a good day!

TIME : My new best friend!

Finally, this past week, we successfully transitioned Isla to one nap a day. I cannot even begin to tell you how thrilled I am with this new schedule!!! But I shall try nonetheless.

I literally have not had this much time to myself in 18 months. Oh it is such a breath of fresh air!!!! I have found myself completely lost this week with my new-found 3 to 4 hour stretches of time alone. It's almost like I've forgotten what I used to do with my free time. Almost. Graham is encouraging me NOT to feel guilty about taking a break during naps. He wants me to go back to some of the things that I once loved to do. My mind is racing--I could make pasta from scratch again! I could start a sewing project! I could read books for fun! I could blog! The options are almost endless and I'm pretty excited about it if you couldn't tell already. It used to be that I'd get Isla down, finish cleaning up dishes or whatever chore I was in the middle of, race to take a shower, get dressed and do my hair only to hear Isla waking in the next room. Shoot. So much for "alone" time. But now....

Well actually, so far this week my 3 hour segments have been quite dull. I haven't been feeling the greatest so I've been doing a lot of laying around and munching on bon bons (ok, the latter isn't entirely true but the foods that have been sounding good are complete JUNK). I've read some chapters in my parenting books, snoozed and watched season 7 of Project Runway (one of my latest obsessions and a good part of the reason sewing sounds so appealing).

But soon, I hope I shall be feeling better and will be able to maximize nap time and satisfy the crafty side me! I'm wanting to create something for the kids' room but I can't quite figure out what. The nursery is going to need a makeover in order to have space enough for TWO beds and a dresser (and maybe a rocker?) I never really felt like we finished it with Isla so I'm hoping to make it feel more complete this time around. It could use some shelving, toy storage and something crafty to feminize at least Isla's side since we never did get around to adding pink like we said we would....ideas?

More thoughts on motherhood

Last night was one of those nights where my heart just swelled to the brim with love for my sweet Isla. I was snuggling with her under a blanket in the rocker and reading bedtime stories and singing songs. I couldn't help but think "Seriously, could this get any better?" The irony in it all was that not 10 minutes earlier, I'd been placing her in front of "the wall" for a time out after yet another dinner ended in intentional food throwing. The way she clings to me for a hug and kisses after a little session in the corner both breaks my heart and mends it completely. This mothering thing rocks my world.

Graham and I had some spontaneous catch-up time on Saturday night that was apparently much-needed and it meant a lot to me. We had friends staying with us for the weekend but they were out visiting another couple and so some alone time randomly materialized after Isla went to bed. I reached for the laptop to catch up on the rest of the world (i.e. log into Facebook) but immediately slapped it closed again when Graham said he needed to cuddle. (For those of you who are worried and about to stop reading, fret not, this ordeal was entirely PG). We talked about how we were feeling about life, what was concerning us, what was hard and what was good. I was caught off guard when a whole mess of emotions bubbled to the surface, emotions that I'd unknowingly been keeping bottled within.

This man is my very best friend and I couldn't ask for a better guy for me! He cares so deeply about every aspect of my life and has had nothing but encouraging things to say about my mothering skills. It has been such a journey already and I feel as though I have grown immensely as a person over the last 2 years. I am definitely learning a lot about myself and would like to think the process is making me more well-rounded (if nothing else, Graham said it has made me more relaxed--halelujah!). It has been joyful and jolting, wonderful and wearing. I realize I am not the first to experience these times of transition and growth. I'm having a really hard time putting this into words but sometimes it seems so weird to me that women everywhere will go through these exact same (or some variation of the same) experiences that I now face. That they too will have to go through highs and lows to get to the point where they will look back and realize "this was hard but really, really good."

I am so thankful for all that God is teaching me, for His provision when it feels like life is nuts, for those precious moments when I look at my daughter and can't help but cry because I just love her so much. And for my adoring husband who knows me better than anyone. I feel so very richly blessed.

Discipline

I don't think many people become parents because they just can't wait to discipline. I know I sure didn't. And I'm pretty sure that's not what made Graham a giddy first-time-dad either. But yet here we find ourselves, tumbling toward the inevitable, and we can't seem to slow down our pace. This is happening a lot sooner than I would have liked. I feel unprepared. I mean, I haven't read many (ok, any) books on the topic. YET. I must give myself at least one pat on the back. I have a parenting book sitting on the coffee table in front of me. That's gotta count for something. And I've made it through at least two chapters. So far it has not offered any magical answers so my motivation to continue is quickly wavering. Sigh.

Don't get me wrong; it's not that we have a badly-behaved toddler. It's just that we've reached that age where she is really starting to push the limits and we haven't quite yet developed our battle plan. The main problems that have surfaced over the past couple weeks are:

1) food throwing
2) slapping mommy in the face while saying "owww" repeatedly.

Graham and I had a family meeting earlier this week after I had a particularly challenging day alone with Isla. It was quite obvious that we needed to figure out what we were going to do when she misbehaves and we needed to both be consistent in our response together as parents. Doesn't that make it sound like we have a good plan now moving forward? Ha! I wish! I feel like our discussion kept taking us in circles as we both felt clueless regarding what is realistic/appropriate for a 17 month old. It feels too early for timeouts (although we might give it a shot when she hits me). Distracting her and telling her that hitting me in the face is not nice does not stop the behavior. A lot of people say to ignore kids when they misbehave but you try ignoring whacks to the noggin. Really, that doesn't seem like an effective way to deal with the problem. We haven't fully decided our take on spanking yet either. I don't think either of us are opposed but it seems a bit confusing to have a child hit you in the face and then you punish her by slapping her hand or behind, don't ya think?  Plus, yet again, it just feels like she's too young to understand us when we explain our reasoning.

So here we are, back at square one (or so it feels). Tips anyone?!

Staying at Home

 I just love staying at home! I feel like I don't say that enough. I am so thankful I was able to cut back as much as I have now only working 1-2 days a week. I love my quiet mornings. I love the rare occasions when I get to sleep in until 9 AM. I adore the greeting I receive from this sweet face when she finally wakes and calls out for me.

 I love teaching her new things and watching her take everything in. I love that I have the time to cook exciting foods for her to expand her little palate. I thought it felt good when adults liked my cooking, but having an almost-17-month-old ask for seconds or thirds is far better.

 I love taking her for long walks. I love making her giggle uncontrollably. I love how she follows me around the how because she just wants to be near me. I love snuggling her in her fuzzy fleece jammies.

I just love this being a mom thing!

"But, I don't know how to raise a lefty!"

Stricken with panic, these words escaped my lips yesterday after Graham nodded at Isla, who was scooping spoonfuls of creamy soup into her mouth with the greatest of ease.....using her left hand. Her left hand!

I'm a righty, born and raised in the midst of 5 other rightys--how on earth am I going to know how to raise a lefty!? The whole idea feels foreign to me.

Graham says it's easy. "The first step is to stop calling her 'a lefty.' The next step is to buy her a left-handed pair of scissors and then the rest is all the same."

"Left-handed scissors?" I cry. This only exposes my naivety. "They make left-handed scissors? What is the difference?!" Then it dawns on me and I feel ashamed. Just one piece of evidence illustrating my lack of proper training in this matter.

My mind begins racing. How will I teach her to write? What if she decides to play softball? Or golf? I won't be able to show her what to do since she'll be facing the opposite direction. Oh and how will I comfort her when she comes home from school after writing on a white board for the first time only to discover her perfect letters were erased only moments after they were formed!?

Leftys (excuse me!....Left-Handed People), please understand that I say this mostly in jest. But if God indeed has blessed me with a left-handed child, I could (obviously!) use some enlightening. I don't know how to raise a lefty.