Gym Class and a Pulpit

 In fourth grade I owned a pair of sneakers. These sneakers were a cross between Punky Brewster and Converse All Stars. They were also minted by Beverly Hills 90210. I was in a new school, in a new city, and feeling more and more insecure in myself with every passing gym day- insecurity mounting as I was daily being picked last for kickball. 

We all know this story. We’ve all been the last one chosen, left to stand, pitifully, while the team leader concedes to have us on his team. If we have not experienced this first-hand, we have seen it in a dozen movies. Because it is true to life: in fourth grade gym class, and so much more. 

I used to cry- used to being operative terms as I still cry- a lot. As a 9-year-old, I learned that I could cry at the start of gym class, insist to the teacher that my parents will be mad at me if I ruin my new shoes, and be rewarded for this lie with a two-tone Smarties lollipop and the ability to sit off to the side and watch someone else be the last to be chosen. 

I did this week after week. I am no fool. 

Tears are something like a counterpart of mine, always there, waiting to make their appearance. In some ways, they can be very therapeutic and cleansing, but I have asked the Lord more than once to please take them away, as they can also impose themselves upon me, demanding to be known. Yesterday was a day of tears. I cried because I felt discouraged. There are so many opportunities I would like to embrace, so many possibilities I see, and I dream up, and I want them all. It is a fool’s request, maybe, but, as I noted, I am no fool. 

Yesterday I spoke with a friend. She and I both do ministry, only she has been in this game longer and is truly America’s Sweetheart. I did a lot of research, invested time and came up with a *ahem* awesome proposal for our church. The proposal was sent over a week ago and I knew that our head pastor, my friend, and others in leadership, were all sitting down to discuss where this might lead. Optimism abounded when I sent the email. Optimism waned when I got some feedback. It is’t that our church does not like my proposal, or that it won’t happen in time, but for the here and now, they decided to try something a little off brand. A mock proposal…just to see how it lands. 

I began to cry. The truth is that this is my fourth attempt to propose something for our church- really great ideas- and every one has received a “no”, “not now”, “we don’t do it like that”. Every. Single. One. The tears began and my voice wavered over the phone. I like my friend, but it has been feeling personal, all this rejection. So, I chose to take myself out. 

There is no guarantee that this most recent proposal will have any flight in it, and I was honest yesterday when I told my friend that I wasn’t sure I had the heart for this spin-off she was suggesting. My heart, perhaps selfishly, was in a certain direction, and this alternative was leaving me hanging. My heart is to be a good steward, to be a willing participant in ministry and service, but I could not pretend that my heart wasn’t feeling a little crushed, as well. 

Pastor Kent spoke about being the last one chosen at his school, too. It was either he or skinny Susie. It was uncanny, his story, as I was just telling Big Strong Man about my experience with kickball earlier this week, literally having no idea that a similar experience would be spoken from the pulpit. The randomness of it all drew me to write this out, this time, however, it does not escape me that I am not sitting because of lies and insecurities, I am sitting out as I wait on the Lord for guidance.

Although I have wavered between heading up this alternative plan and forgoing anything about it at all, I truly haven’t felt God’s prompting one way or another. What I do know is that I value friendship over making a point and doing ministry well over doing it my way. 

I wish I could encourage fourth grade me. I would tell her that -contrary to popular belief- no one wins life because they were chosen first in kickball. I would remind her that being picked last, although stinky, is a part of life. And I would encourage her to make the most of this, to look for the other kiddos who are insecure (like skinny Susie and little Kent), and to play her best. I would also tell her that her shoes are awesome and that one day she will have the advantage, because trials help shape us into motivated people. 

I’m not sure how this isn’t already blazingly obvious, but teachers everywhere should realize that the favor is not always equally stacked, and that the impressions felt will last longer than the fleeting win of the game. 

It is important to me to do life right. That is, to do it well. 

This looks different for us all, but I know I want to be true to myself and truer still to God. And so, I sit, waiting, not for gym class to be over, but for the Lord’s direction. And I can do this with as many Smarties lollipops as I chose!

I May Have Called Your Kid a Butthole...but I'm No Monster

Yes, I may have...but before you cancel me or throw stones, hear me out, if you don't agree with me by the end...well, I guess I'll hear about it. (Also, for those of you already offended or hurt, my apologies, honest. This is a post of humility, not people bashing.) 

Nothing was said to anyone's face, again, I am no monster. The truth is, with the exception of my sister, to whom I was venting, this wasn't even a conversation, but an outpouring of both bewilderment and clarity. 

A few months back I began working in our local schools as a substitute teacher. Really, it is a great gig because I get to meet so many wonderful people: staff and students alike. I enjoy the work and try to be as helpful and accommodating as possible, mostly this comes easy for me as I am a people-pleaser by nature and I have a love/hate relationship with my Enneagram 2 self, who silently begs people to see me as I try to make Every. Single. One of their lives easier. In some ways I am a Yes Girl. 

To date, I have been in eight local schools, everything from elementary through high, and I have found myself with the same thought at all levels...this kiddo has no manners. (The butthole reference above got your attention, right? It was a lure to bring your focus here.) 

Whether it was the student who refused to put away her phone after repeated reminders and then challenged me when I told her I would need to take it away ("you can't touch this") and who ended-up getting pulled from class because of her rudeness, or the student who finds entertainment in holding the class hostage when he refuses to stop talking, on more than one occasion I wondered what on earth these parents were doing, as teaching their children good manners was obviously not high on their priority list.

Eat My Shorts...if you know, you know

*image*

And then it came around full circle. With the eye roll, the "are you even listening to a word I am saying?", and the, "who are your parents, anyway?"...and the funny thing was, this time it was me. I was the parent. (More specifically, one of the parents.) It was my turn to see my son misbehave and wonder if he was raised in a barn. And in that moment, like some form of enlightenment, I realized that these children weren't that thing I wrote above -although, to be fair, they sure acted like it- but the reality was, they were probably great kiddos who were having a moment. 

Furthermore, ya'll, I know I can be a Butthole, straight up. I am not proud, there is no bravado here, just truth. How can I call out some other parent when I am no better?

At the end of the day, I suppose I want to say something important, so here goes: 

I am sorry I called your kiddo a butthole...even if he was acting like one and I only said it in my head...

and also, teach your kiddo not to be a butthole. The best, most effective way to do this: stop being one yourself, Myself included. And finally, hear me now, the "moment" your kiddo (or mine) had, that only makes sense in a reality where it is not a constant. If your child -my student- doesn't have manners, I can think of very little they will be learning at school which is more important than that. 

Parents, we have a choice here. We can raise children who are butts or we can raise good people. I hope we all see the value in the later.

 

 

Prisons, Palaces, and Perspectives

 In 2019 the job market flew open to her and she felt as if the Lord told her to work and save. 

She had no idea that soon a worldwide pandemic would hit- no one did. 

At the onset of the pandemic, she lost her job and had to lean heavily on those savings she had accumulated the year before. They were sufficient. She was able to pay her bills. 

And then she hit the end of the pile. 

In one of those "God pulls us through in the last moment" scenarios, my pastor finished telling this answered prayer by letting us know that, in the last inning, she was given her job back. 

Her savings were just enough to sustain her until the end. 

As the congregation agreed with "amen"-s and "glory to God"-s I thought to myself, perspective. 

She never went without. 

She never had to ask another for a loan. 

All her needs were met. 

But still...

Her savings were gone. 

All that extra work, all that cushion, all that financial stability. 

Gone.

Was the miracle that she got to the end of her savings, God stepped in and she got her job back just in time, or was the miracle that she didn't walk away bitter, wondering why she had to work so hard and now there was "nothing to show". Nothing being said with salt. 

She still had her house. She was not in debt. But...

She didn't have that "bonus money" for a trip to the beach, or with which to remodel her kitchen. 

Perspective: is life happening to you, or for you? 

Joseph went from the prisons in Egypt to second-in-command, lesser only than Pharaoh. A prison to a palace. Was his time in prison (or slavery, for that matter) all for naught, or was it a place of holy preparation? 

Someone needs to hear this: perspective.      

This pandemic did not happen to us, it happen for us. There is opportunity here.

Opportunity does not negate the hurt, the loss, nor any of the difficulties which came alongside the Corona-Virus pandemic. But here is truth, everyone, EVERYONE of us was touched by it...but it did not destroy us all, and this has little-to-nothing to do with finances, comfort, or even health, this has EVERYTHING to do with perspective.

   Perspective.

Grace for the Big-Dreamer

This morning began with a premeditated trip to Walmart. Thatcher's birthday is upcoming and his wish list includes Minecraft Legos and a Minecraft puzzle, a mini fridge and, oh yeah, and a Galaxy 11...to which I replied, must be nice to even know what that is. (And good luck on that mini fridge, too!)

Recruiting my Biggins to come out and shop with me, we made our way to the Big W.

Cart. Check. 

Food or toys first? Toys. Check.

In his gentle unawareness and innocence, it was my Big Dreamer kiddo who pointed out the $60 Minecraft Lego set which, I suppose someone, somewhere, will actually pay for. Not me. 

"But Thatcher will loooove it." I know. Still, no. 

We moved down the aisle some and found a really cool set which we do not already have (a difficult thing to find when all three sons want Minecraft Legos for every occasion and I refuse to pay more than $20 for a set). But, alas, we found some fun Minecraft Legos (not sponsored) and put them in our cart. Time to move to the party aisle. 

It was balloons and a numerical candle, but then also, a piñata? Sorry Big Dreamer, not going to happen. 

To the groceries we went. Chocolate and strawberry cake mixes? Check. Blue icing (each item per request). Check. 

And then, "How about this shark candle? Can we get a lot of different color sprinkles? What about these sprinkles which look like eyes?"

And this is about the time I heard myself, "no, no, no." 

Although I did splurge and allow Big Dreamer chose a fun "sprinkle mix" (with several types of colorful sprinkles in one container), I knew it wasn't the same. I gave him too many "noes", and to his more sensible (read: reasonable, realistic, frugal) brother, I offered a handful of "yeses". 

Yes to the Funfetti pancake mix for Thatcher's birthday morning. 

Yes to multiple packs of balloons- much to Big Strong Man's annoyance.

This is a mouthful, so I'll sum it up here. 

We are clearly all made differently. Whereas Zeplin is learning how to be frugal like his momma, Demetri is a Big Dreamer, like his father. And neither of these is wrong!

Jokingly-not-jokingly, I used to tell everyone listening that Big Strong Man reminds me to breathe and I remind him to get something done. We compliment one another. 

So for the Big Dreamers out there, and especially for the parents of Big Dreamers, remember that this is a gift. A gift of fun. Spontaneity. Adventure. Let's celebrate this quirk because it invites memories and show-stopping, jaw-dropping excitement. 

I confess that this is something I will need to work on. It is not in my nature to just throw "yeses" to the wind. But, when I think about it, I don't want the opposite to be said of my "noes" either. 

Last evening, my sons and I watched Yes Day and, after the twerking had subsided, I thought it was a great movie- inspirational, even. My sons thought the same thing, naturally, and began asking if and when they could have their own "Yes Day". 

Here's the rub, a "Yes Day" is a "no" for me...until I remember that there is a gift in being a Big Dreamer. And it is my duty as a momma to foster that gift. 

Besides, why have plain blue sprinkles when you can have the colorful sprinkle mix? 

No Tricks, Just Treats (Hopelessness, Homelessness, The Right Song, and a Snickers Mini)

We have been living in our duplex rental for over a month now. Only yesterday did I notice the generic railing hanging above the windows from which we can hang curtains. Somehow, for lack of attractive, designer rods, I had missed what we were given.

Although I still don't love this house, I am trying to be thankful. It is not ours for keeps, but it is ours for now. 

I am still walking, daily when I can, around this city. Learning and relearning how to get from one point to another. Always I see a needy population, somehow intermingled with the college students and the red Solo cups smashed on their lawns, and the residents who will continue to live here long after we have left. The latter with tricycles and play sets in their yards. And I think about how everyone of us is co-existing in the place and how grateful that I am that this will not be forever.  

Around the homeless community, I feel very, extremely, uncomfortable. I don't think I was as uncomfortable around the homeless of LA when I lived in Silver Lake for a couple of years. I was in my early twenties and somehow I felt that God had given me a grace and safety concerning them. But here? And now? I fear them, am annoyed by them, and I judge them.  Pretty much every time I see them. 

It isn't something I want to do, but my heart is frightened and my head screams why??? Why are you living on a park bench? It is no stretch of the truth so say that becoming a mother has made me more scared. Precautious, maybe, but scared. 

And still. 

Halloween came and went and the boys and I filled sandwich bags with drinks and candy before placing them all into a basket, placing the basket on our front doorstep, and then off we went, proceeding to celebrate Halloween with cousins. 

Pumpkin carvings, pumpkin dip, and It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and we were on our way back home, eager to see if there was a good turn-out or not. 

There was not. It's possible 10 bags were taken. Ten, maybe, out of 60. This was met with excitement from the backseat, where the boys envisioned getting drunk off of sugar drinks and candy bars, but it bothered me. We don't need more. More candy. More sugar. Always more. 

Somewhere in the ping-pong of my mind, it occurred to me that, indeed, we don't need it, but there are others who would be delighted to have it- our local homeless. 

Thoughts of approaching them, praying for them and asking them for their names while shaking their hands filled my mind. Very Mother Therea of me. I opted, instead, for a box. 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, it read. 

NO TRICKS, JUST TREATS!

Zeplin, Demitri, and Thatcher all aided in the filling of the box, coloring in of the letters, and adding a little decor. It was perfect. And with this, off we went, box in tow, and, placed it with precision on a table well known to the homeless community. We encouraged the seeing eyes around us to "enjoy". 

Simple, really, but it was also profound. 

Instead of backing away from a people group I struggle with, I can offer grace, love, and a simple 

I see you. 

Last night I filled more sandwich bags. With Halloween and birthday splendor, we, once again, had our fill of sugar and, much to the dissatisfaction of my boys, it was time to ship it out. We see them on corners often, holding signs. There is a near-blind man with his dog. I once offered him a bottle of water and a banana. Noticing his dog, I offered him a second bottle of water and his delight was tangible. 

Perhaps we can offer a little sweetness to those in help. Perhaps we can offer love in the form of a Twizzler and a Snickers mini. 

Big Strong Man is cleaning the garage as I type. We are celebrating Zeplin today, after turning 10 this week. We are celebrating with family. With pizza. With cupcakes; Chocolate and Banana. 

We can offer lots of sweetness, and there is no shortage to go around. 

As he cleaned the garage, mostly Mumford and Sons playing, another song came on. A song which stopped me, just for the moment, as it reminded me of a specific time in my life. A time after Los Angeles and before marriage. A song which I could pinpoint in a heartbeat. The Fray's You Found Me played and my heart soared- much like the reassuring lullaby sung over a baby. 

I am not alone. 

The homeless are not alone. 

We are not alone. 

You found me, God. 

You found me. 

Dealing with Toxic People and Not Losing Your Crap

I have a family member who is crazy. 

There, I put that out there. 

If you're wondering why I am putting Betsy (not her real name) on blast here, it is because I am trying to be transparent and real. 

And because she is just...beyond.  

Here's the key for today, I am not going to share her craziness for everyone to bear witness to and cringe over. You will just have to take my word for it. I imagine you can use your imagination, and even more, you likely have someone in your life who is just *insert eye roll and long exhale here* and thus you don't need to hear about more craziness. You're just here for the How Not To Lose Your Crap portion. 

Me too. I need the help. 

I need to learn to navigate life with this person. Simple objectives, really. Like how to hold my tongue while not giving her the impression that I actually agree with her selfish antics. Like loving her but not liking her, trying to be the better person, and treating her like I wish she would treat me and the other people in her life. 

So I have some tools, and after speaking with her on the phone last night (the portion after her nonsense complaining but before she hung up on me), I realized that these are worth sharing. 

One last thing. I do love her. It may sound crazy, but I understand that family can be crazy, and still, they are pieces of us. And I believe that, in His sovereignty, God gave us one another. I absolutely believe, although Robin, one my Starbucks managers from Sunset and Mohawk, would shake her head and wag her finger at me, that one can "hate the sin, love the sinner".  

 -----   

Understand that you have the right to set boundaries.

If you are underage, this is trickier because you may be at the mercy of the adult in your life, however, whenever possible, you can share your concerns. 

Is uncle Bob a creepo? Tell your mom you don't feel comfortable being alone with him. 

Does aunt Betsy always use racial slurs and give you the side eye when you refuse to laugh? 

Use your words. If you aren't comfortable confronting the person -and it is not always safe to do so- find the one person you can talk to (grandma, your big brother, the baby-sitter), and USE YOUR WORDS.    

--

Don't try to do this alone. Find a Support System. 

Growing up, my sister and I had a secret code we employed whenever we were visiting our father. It wasn't that he was a bad guy, don't misunderstand me, instead it was what prepubescent girls did to help one another survive those tricky years. 

Our secret code? Brett Brett 

If one of us said this to the other, it was to inform her that her bra strap was showing. As young girls, this was so very embarrassing to us when we were in the presence of our dad, and any male in general.  

--

Decide beforehand what you will and will not allow. 

This is advice not only for the toxic person, but for every person in your life. 

Is your friend kind, but forever needy? 

Is your grandma lovely, but a constant complainer? 

Does your neighbor talk your ear off when you are clearly trying to mow the lawn and keep an eye on your kiddos? 

It serves all of us to decide what these people and situations call for. 

When people are very needy, depressive, and chronic complainers, it is only a matter of time before you hear yourself pitching in with the crap-talk.  

Offer what you feel comfortable with (a listening ear, perhaps) and leave it at that. Sometimes the needs of others can begin to feel like needs we need to meet. And, listen up, YOU ARE NOT MEANT TO MEET EVERY NEED OF EVERY PERSON ALL THE TIME! Decide what you can offer and do your best to translate that. (On the flip side, have an idea of how to say no...which we will talk about next.) An example: I am sorry to hear that you are going through such a difficult time. I can watch your kiddos this Tuesday for two hours, but it will just be this one time unless I come to you with more availability. (Note the emphasized bold.)

Send a text instead of a call so you can choose your words wiser. 

Say hello to your neighbor (don't be rude!), and then, just as quickly as you say hello, say see you later! Hey Bob, good to see you. I'm going to get my lawn mowed. Have a great day. The key here, and this is vital, move in the direction of where you want to be. Don't linger. Don't ask, how are you? Don't keep looking at Bob. If Bob tries to interrupt your walking away, look directly at Bob and, pointing to where you are headed, remind him one last time, "Hey, I'm going to get this done". Then keep walking.  

--

Say No. 

Whether this is out loud or in your head, say no and mean it. 

No, I will not engage with someone who just wants to have a pissing contest. 

No, I will not belittle myself to make you feel better. 

No, I will not engage in your rotten behaviors.

In the example of the needy friend from above (or the person who takes advantage of you or doesn't know how to give you space), A great example of saying no can look like this: It would be nice to help you out more, but that is simply not something I can do. The need is too great and you will need to figure out some ways you can implement change knowing that I support you, but I cannot do [insert thing here].) 

--

When saying no is difficult, and depending on your personality and temperament, this can be downright close to impossible, remind yourself of Now You, and Later You. Will Later You be upset with Now You? Will you later replay this moment over and over desperately wishing you were more assertive, honest, and unapologetic? Will you begin to resent the person, place, or thing that you said anything other than "no" to? 

I'm not one to brag, but I once told a pushy Sensei that my family was not returning, not interested in his discount, and that it was a hard pass for me on the "it's good for their self-esteem" spiel. I wasn't having it. In this case, I had premeditated my decline to our contract renewal, I had my reasons, I stuck to my guns, and -the catch!- the pushier he got, the more emboldened I felt!

Years later I still feel a sense of bad-assery when I think about me in that moment. Later Me was very proud of Then Me. 

--

One last thought, know your limits on time, energy, finances, and mental well-being. Similar to the previous point, if I know that someone or something is about to deplete me of any reserves I may have, I need to stick up for, protect, and guard myself. Bonus points if your reserves have reserves. 

Mommy friends and I have commiserated over the fact that we sometimes put ourselves in time out because we just need some time alone.   

Another running joke-non-joke is how lovely it feels to spend a weekend doing nothing. "How was your weekend? Do anything fun?" "Sure did. I did nothing, and it was great!" Gift yourself with some self-care which actually empowers and rejuvenates you- and guard it like a treasure!

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My family member is a fallen woman in a fallen world. Although I would love nothing more than to administer the equivalent of a verbal beat-down, I also know that she is unhealthy and it will accomplish nothing. Nothing good, in the least. 

So I keep my mouth closed and remind myself not to roll my eyes. I try to afford her the same respect I would any sane person and I pray prayers which are bigger than "Lord, spite her!" 

To be fair, there is likely someone out there to whom I am this thorn-in-the-side. Someone who would enjoy it a little too much to be present when I "get what's coming to me". My heart is really not to paint a poor image of her, nor a superior one of myself. It is to offer insight on dealing with toxicity and hopefully some empowerment as well. 

For more ideas on dealing with toxic people, here is a video with some additional pointers. And -bonus!- Tracy is a gem!! She is the personification of who I imagine my family member to be like if she were healthy and whole.  

-----

All the best in your journey: crazy encounters, difficult situations, and the perpetual eye rolls of your life.

Serenity's Party (Celebrating Them All and The Great Equalizer)

My Zeplin was invited to the birthday party of a boy in his classroom.

When Zep brought home the invitation, he was really excited and I asked him if he wanted to go. ...to a birthday party...with games...and cake...and a goody bag.
I mean, really, does Santa look great in red? Who ever says no to a party?

We contacted the boy's mother and said yes because we wanted to celebrate her son's birthday and have a good time and off we went in search of a gift. (To this I will add, I have a $10 clause in my gift-giving. It isn't set in stone, but it is a great equalizer. -We spent $14 for this particular birthday.- In regards with families we do not know personally, $10 seems very fair to me.)

It was drizzling on the evening of the party when Zep and I arrived. We kept the gift dry and found our way inside the building to where the party was held. Before long, Zeplin was off with the birthday boy and a few other friends, running around and having a great time.

It was a small party, not many people were able to make it for whatever reasons, and only two classmates were there, including my son.

This doesn't seem too terrible, until you know that, as per school policy, if you are inviting someone in the class, you must invite everyone in the class. And I adore the school my sons attend, but REALLY? Although I agree with most everything the school lays as law, I think this is a little on the crazy side- There are 24 students in this class!

On our way through the parking lot, before we ever arrived at our car, Zep asked me why only he and one other classmate were there.
"Where was everyone else, mom?" He asked.
And there was no way I could know.

Maybe they stayed in because of the rain? (*drizzle)
Maybe they already had plans?
The party was held too late and on a Sunday?
Maybe someone forgot?

It was a half hour ride back home and Zeplin fell asleep in the backseat, leaving me alone with my thoughts. In particular, the story of Serenity.

A woman I appreciate and aspire to be like once told my family about how her daughter, Serenity, was invited to a classmates party many years before Zeplin was invited to this party.
Serenity did not really want to attend, she wasn't really friends with the birthday girl but was likely invited for a reason similar to my own sons school and the "invite the masses" theology they were preaching.
The evening of the party, Serenity did go, like it or not, and her mother *bless* found out later that Serenity was the ONLY classmate to attend.
The ONLY ONE.

Of course, this became a better-received gospel over the school-wide invite policy:

always chose to celebrate people.

Had Serenity stayed home...
The girl would have had exactly zero friends at her party.
Zero friends to celebrate her.
Zero chances of feeling important on her very important day.

And as I remembered this story, I was thrilled beyond belief that we were able to attend this classmate's party. Thrilled that we could be used to help fight the lie that someone is unworthy of celebration. 

https://tenor.com/view/confetti-celebrate-lets-gif-12059190

And is it not obvious that there is so much we can all learn from these two parties?

I hope that we always choose to celebrate others: whether we are invited to one party or one every weekend. (Again, the $10 equalizer makes SO MUCH sense.)
And that we remember how important the best friend and the brand new friend each are. (And even the I-invited-you-because-I-had-to, friend.)

The 20 Minute Courtesy and a Saran Wrapped Ball

I called her up with less than an hour to spare. Paper plates, I needed paper plates.

Upon further inspection, I also needed napkins, and plastic forks. 

O.M.Goodness

All the things. 

Danielle was my rescue. She got me all. the. things. 

A week later it was the text from Heather, she was going to arrive 20 minutes early. My response to her was simple: 

Showing up early may or may not enlist you to pull your weight around here. You have been warned. 

The thing is this, there is this 20 minute courtesy that Danielle had brought to my attention that day she saved my party. 

Show 20 minutes early and be helpful. 

Slice tomatoes.

Blow up balloons. 

Wrap the party favors in Saran Wrap. (more on that below)

Show 20 minutes late and give me that extra time to prepare, because you know I need it!!

Your being fashionably late helps me to tie some loose ends, restock the snack bar, or grab a moment of rest before WHAM! Show face!

This is my happy space. The 20 minute courtesy. 

This allows the ultra-punctual, *ehem* my sister, to get her, "I arrived early because I am oh-so good at time management" fix, as well as me to not be punished with the stink eye when she anyone arrives to my party and I am still running around like the crazy hostess. bless.

So far as I am concerned, this is not only pure genius, but entirely polite. Like, in every. little. facet.

The 20-minute courtesy. 

Comment below and tell me if you are the 20-minute early start type, or the 20-minute "fashionably late" type. 

The Saran Wrap party ball. We have done this twice now, once at our New Year's party where we had the children wear winter gloves while trying to unravel the Saran wrap, and again more recently at our son's birthday party. I personally find this superior to a pinata because the children are constantly engaged and it costs about $25 less!

Taking the Morning by Storm: A practice of Preparedness

Good morning, friends.
As I type, it is early morning and I have to keep turning my 7-year old away with soft reminders of,
"you can rest or play in your room, but this is mommy's time".

Last week I began a devotional and with it, the practice of getting up earlier than usual to great the day and carve-out that sacred space of time. Time for God and me to show-up, together. Time to reflect without trying to break-up an argument, help look for a lost shoe, or get another cup of milk for anyone.
My time.

The devotional I am reading is called Grouchy to Great: Finding Joy in the Journey of Motherhood, by Ruth Schwenk. My friend Danielle, who is a pistol, loaned it to me, like a gem. She saw me the other day and asked so excitedly, "don't you just love it?". I like it, but more than the book itself, I love what it is producing in me.

This sacred morning practice is refreshing. It is an extra hour otherwise forgotten and wildly neglected to my never-ending desire to sleep. It is the excitement with which I get up to the sound of my alarm, and not the dread. The pep feeding my step, and not the internal begging of another 5 minutes.

I thought it would be so much harder.

Most days the devotional comes with a Bible verse to reflect upon, or one is summed-up in the day's segment. Today's was James 1:19,

Understand this, my dear brothers and sisters: you must be quick to listen, 

slow to speak and slow to get angry. Human anger does not produce the 

righteousness God desires. So get rid of all the filth and evil in your lives, 

and humbly accept the word God has planted in your hearts, 

for it has the power to save your souls. 

(emphasis mine)

This has been a season of forgetting, maybe neglecting, the fact that God has planted a word in my heart. It has not been fully by will, as if I just ignored it, but I think I have forgotten. I think I have not been paying enough attention, caring enough to pull-out the overgrown weeds. 

But today I care. Here I am, showing up to my own life. 

Daily there is a section of the devotional dedicated to response.
Questions, such as this one:

Am I willing to recognize that I struggle with anger? 

(list specific occurrences, or something that angers you consistently)

And today my response is like a river, flowing out of me like a confessional. 

Yes, I struggle. 

...with unmet expectations...

...high standards...

...selfishness...

...self-pity...

...self-preservation...

...with a loud booming, self-righteous voice...

...with a temper flooding like a monsoon, spilling out in red-hot screaming, pouting, and demands of "leave me alone"...

...spanking in place of timely cuddles and/or simply walking away...

...too much "go" and not enough "slow"
...with disappointment...
...with self-esteem...
...with prioritizing...
...with truth...

This feels sacred to me. Getting up, demanding my body to see that my mind and my heart are ruling over it's demand to have it's way. Spending these first few minuets, and upwards of an hour, reading my devotional, reading my Bible, reflecting on aspects of my life, and giving them, again, over to the Lord.

Today I type out this post. This feels sacred as well, an uprising of something tender and positive. A desire to give life, to the reader and to myself- which is to overflow to my family.

An parent must first apply her own oxygen mask before she can aid her child. 

It seems counter to what comes natural, because the will to save our children, at the extent of ourselves, sometimes comes on so strong- but this comes easiest when the desire to save self isn't so darned overwhelming. I have been drowning in my own life, forgetting that I know how to swim.

Two opposite ends of a magnet, repelling at one another. 

I write and read and reflect because I am those two magnets- so are you. We attract and repel. We stick together with a strong force, and then force one another away in the desperate need to not be near.  And I need both, because I was made for both.
The days can be hectic. Years are too short. My body is changing, reminding me that age is happening, and yet I have this very moment. And I am thankful for it. My desire is to seize it. Make it count.  To live -fully alive- in the mundane, everyday, difficult, and tedious, and live -filly alive- in the extra, the spectacular, the beauty.

Today I see so much beauty. So much potential.
Look at this kiddo, I cannot stop smiling.

I am thrilled with this Little Dude who is so very spirited (a.k.a. LOUD) and darling (a.k.a. SPIRITED).  Do you think when the Lord looks upon us, He sees our spunk? Do you think He cannot stop smiling? Because I do.
I imagine He is simultaneously smiling over our joys and crying over our sins. A miraculous miracle only He can do.

There is an arsenal, a fleet of devotionals I have to take the place of the current one I am reading.
A practice of preparedness. Of self-discipline. Of growth. 

What devotionals do you recommend? Do you have a favorite subject, author, or title? Let us know below- and I may even add it to my line-up!

Don't Judge This Momma

Let me just put this out there.
I am far from perfect. Really far.
As I type this, my husband is in the other room, avoiding me. We have not had nice words to say to one another in over a day and even the "nice" words turned sour at some point leaving us having had yelled at one another. We are not doing well.

One of my Littles is in his bed. Sleeping. It is 4:34, which means he should be with his brothers, eating veggie chips and watching Phineas and Ferb. Instead, Precious Little Boy was sent to his room where I plan on keeping him all day, save dinner and teeth brushing.

I am writing in the middle of the day (which I try not to do because *gasp* I am not like one of those moms who plays on her computer when her children are awake). Yes, I am so judging you, moms who give updates on your Facebook page by the hour when you should be interacting with your kids. But, whatever, I don't want to be judged, I just want to judge, if I am being honest. 

Little Sleeping One has a Thursday appointment at the library for an intro to Kindergarten class. He really enjoys going, and I get it because I have watched him interact with the children and turn all fan-boy when his teacher, Mr. George, walked past us at the library the other day. He adores going. It is fun. It is educational. It is entertaining.
Then today.

Today this kiddo got upset when he saw that his baby brother (who will be turning 3 soon), was carrying a brand new $3 car with him. I allowed baby brother to pick one out at Walmart today and he was affectionately holding onto it when we picked 5-year-old up from Pre-K.
Enter tantrum.
"Why does he get something? Do I get something? Why does he get something and I get nothing???"
It was full-on yelling, crying, hiding in the corner of the vehicle as far from me as possible. 
It was me trying to explain, it was me losing my patience and giving warnings, it was me getting frustrated because WHAT THE HECK?
And then the thoughts:
Greedy
Selfish
Rude

I was pretty angry with that situation but had mostly calmed down (as did my 5-year-old-Lovebug) when big brother got home. Big brother got off the bus and I instantly saw the tears in his eyes.
One of the girls on the bus has said hurtful things to him in the past, so I asked there, in the presence of my son, the driver, and the bully-girl, "what happened?" 
Turns-out the bully-girl was playing a game and, although my big kid won a chocolate, (which she brought as a reward) another kid on the bus won something similar to a Ferrari, a trip to Rome, and a Happy Meal; a.k.a. more than one piece of chocolate. My big kid was a mess.
It was so unfair.

By the time he calmed down just briefly, and the bus rolled away, I could feel the blood burning in my body.
Greedy
Selfish
Rude
Why couldn't he just be happy for the candy he got? It seemed to me that it was kind of her to offer him that in the first place.

Biggest kid's tears elicited concerns from my Previously Crying Kiddo who learned that big brother was crying because he got a piece of chocolate and wanted more. This brought-forth the Niagara falls of Preschooler who was shunned that day, not by one, but by BOTH brothers. One got a car. One got a chocolate.
The obvious thing to do was go and hide behind the recliner. 

**I know may of you saintly mothers are saying in your soothing, ever-patient voices, "clearly the kiddo felt left out and unseen. Clearly he was sad. Why did you not give him a candy, or a small toy? Something to show him that he is equally loved and seen?"
You're precious, all of you, but no. NO.**

Now, there are times I have a serious lack of judgement, and today I don't now what I was hoping to prove, but it was about the time we were preparing to leave for the Kindergarten Readiness class at the library and I found Distraught Kiddo hiding that I decided HE was not going to run this roost and that we were going to that class, tears in our eyes and cheeks.
The entire way there were tears.

I could have turned the car around at any moment, but no....

We pulled into the parking lot and Big Kid refused to get out of the car. "Let Mr. George see your terrible manners, let him." I yelled, beyond irritated.
Of course I was hoping that his 5-year-old brain would register the ridiculousness of it all, but my sentiment didn't land. After I pulled him out, he tried running away from me, so I grabbed his wrist and held tight.
After gathering Biggest Kid, and Smaller Kid, we crossed the street and Middle Kid decided to go limp. As a matter of fact, he decided to go limp outside, then again on the stairs going downstairs to the children's area, and once again while we were in the children's area, heading to the classroom.  At one point I reminded him, "it would not be hurting like this if you used your feet instead of your knees".

Finally we landed. We made it! We were there!
Naturally, he refused to go into class so I did the best thing I knew: I dragged him in there. As his body was limp, there was a lot of pressure on his wrist, which concerned me, but also further upset me. "If you would just walk, then this won't hurt you so much", I attempted to plead, again.

Mr. George was singing a nice song. ..it sounded fun.
The kids were all dancing in their circle.
All my son had to do was join them.
He could have danced and sang and forgotten all about the tantrum leading up to that moment.
But he didn't.
He dashed out of the room.
I picked him back up and took him back in. "Hello, Demetri", Mr. George said, trying to incorporate him into the play. D, of course, was not having any of it and bed-lined for the door.
At this point I pulled him to the side, telling him,  "if you run out of the room again, you would be taken to the bathroom for a spanking".
I took him in and he ran out.

Three spankings are what I gave him, right there in the library bathroom.
In honesty, I felt he deserved many more, as he decided to begin spitting in the car on the way to the library and I told him each spit would equal a spanking. He had spat three times by then and stopped, but he still deserved those three. Plus something for the disobedience.
I stopped at three.

Taking his wrist in mine and dragging him once again, we made it to the entrance of the room when I sat him down and knelt before him. "Once we get home", I told him, "you will be sent straight to your room. I would recommend you go into class. You like this class. It is fun. Going to your room will not be fun. Do you want to go to class, or are you ready to go home?" 
"I want to go home", he answered.

I think I embarrassed him. I mean, I am almost certain I did.

It isn't that I wanted to embarrass him, I truly just didn't want him to "get his way", to think he could act like such a bugger and then get to run the show. I had hoped that he would see how foolishly he was behaving, and that he would have fun- some fun designed just for him. HIS special class. His brothers got something that day, and this was his. But we left it. We left the class, the library, the event. We left what was his special treat. It was a self-punishment.

All this time there were eyes watching me. I think that, mostly, everyone is pretty understanding and kind, but that didn't stop the stares.
The stares of seeing a mom loose her cool...
of a kid running...
and a kid crying...
Of a kid being dragged to a bathroom where spankings awaited him.
And a mom, giving in, because she realized that he was not going to stay in that class and she could not make him. 
Stares of a mom, defeated. Sweating. Wanting to cry.

A friend of mine was there. "It's okay, Shannon, I've been there, too", she offered. I appreciated hearing it, but I felt too far gone.

We drove home to the tears and moans of a kiddo mourning for his daddy (who was an angel compared to his mommy in that moment).

The thing was, my husband, their daddy, was not home when we had left for the library. He didn't respond to the text messages I had sent him earlier, either, and when he left this morning, it was not before he cursed about the day's events, letting me know that he was annoyed enough not to care about them.
I didn't know if he would be home when we got there or not. Part of me wondered if he even went to work today, or if he was on his way to KY, or IN. At one point, I had convinced myself fairly well that he had returned to NC and was sitting in the kitchen of good friends of ours, mourning his marriage to the husband of this couple we know and love, but cringe for. At the aftermath of years and years of dislike for one another, their marriage is on the edge. They seem to be so hurt by one another that they are barley afloat.
They will have their striving marriages to bemoan together. Compare notes. "Wives are the worst", I imagined them saying.

He is a survivor of P.T.S.D. (post traumatic stress disorder), so I found myself wondering if something worse than complaining about his wife had taken place. I took a mental note of where all our guns were.

I am in this rough spot.
In total transparency, I don't particularly like this stage in big kid (5) and bigger kid (7) lives. They are in a tricky stage. A stage littered with lying and whining and terrible tantrums. A stage of breaking toys -just because- and being so picky. Of "what's in it for me?" and "where is mine?" all the time.
I don't have a favorite son, but I adore the 2-year-old these days. He is still sweet and innocent. He still wants to do nice things, just because, and reminding him that he will get a spanking if he doesn't listen is usually enough to get him back on track.

I am in a rough spot.
Yesterday came to a point when Big Strong Man made a some comments along the lines of "how did we get here", and, "I don't like this". I was outraged, feeling indignant, because I have been asking him the same question and stating the same emotions for years. It was like he woke up yesterday and suddenly we were on the same page, only, instead of this being a good thing, it felt dangerous.

Suddenly we were both looking at a marriage neither of us was proud of. 

One neither of us liked. 

All of our neglect, all of our hurt, surfaced, and we were forced to look at all our garbage.
And it was garbage.
And it stank.

In writing this, I know I am sharing a lot of personal info. I do this in part to vent and in part as an attempt to heal: both myself and another. Maybe you.
This is an incomplete essay, but I am going to publish it, regardless.

I felt judged today, and I hated it. 
I hated it because I know better, because my heart is good, and because it embarrassed me to have an out of control family on display for everyone to see.
Writing is similar, it is scary to be transparent.

Please read this with love. I love my children. I love my husband. And I love our life. But here is clearly a lot of hurt here.
Read this, but don't judge this momma.


 

Stage II Child Rearing; I Bought Myself a Date Book

Stage II- Life without Baby Dependency

I have found myself saying, on more than one occasion, how I have graduated to "Stage II". This is to say that McFive has exited "Stage I childcare".

Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building.

It's odd, in truth, because I carried, nursed, and carried again EVERY YEAR for the last 6 years...and now, poof. Thatcher is still a little man, coming in at 2 1/2 years old and a precious 32lbs. BUT, he is forming sentences, is able to "do potty" by himself, and has figured out ways to let us know when he prefers mini blueberry muffins over fruit cups. He is no longer a little baby.

Today I met with a friend in the throws of Stage I. She has a two-year old daughter and a 1-year old son. When I saw her at Carter's, she was on the floor talking to her daughter who was, along with little brother, beginning a crying fit. My friend sighed as she realized that she wasn't going to get the shopping adventure that she wanted. Her double stroller played catch-all to her purse and baby bag, as well as all of the clothing she was able to find before time abruptly became limited.

Parents with young children know this drill well. Anywhere can be a potential mine field. Carter's, church, or -my personal favorite- the grocery store.  This isn't to say that children are horrible and rotten and selfish, it's just that...sometimes...in the midst of tantrums...it is easy to forget that they are cute and precious.

It is easy to want to cry...and abandon our carts of cute Carter's clothing, mint chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, and pride.

Stage I is a weeding-out process. Will we make it or not? 

Good thing is, most of us do. Congratulations! Then you graduate to Stage II.

This is where my "hug-you-tight-because-I-really-want-to-spank-you-right-now-but-need-to-remember-how-much-I-love-you" death grip was invented. In Stage II.

This is where my 6-year-old bought a $170 carpet out of his savings to replace the one we purchased and put in his room. The one he ruined. This is where our 4-year-old is often found, crying profusely, as he is sent to his room to "cry it out" more than our other two sons combined.

If Stage I "weeds us out", Stage II should come with medallions- proof of survival for children and parents alike.

That day at Carter's I held my friend's daughter, Sadie. The little girl has made a friend of me. *sigh* It bought her momma a few extra moments (and she did not have to forfeit her finds), and it satisfied the "baby gap" for me. That day I was flying solo. And, as exciting as it is to go to the shops without children, I do miss them so much when I am away from them. Holding Sadie was a way I could help the Stage I momma -and remember because I am not too far removed- how welcomed the help is.

In completely unrelated news, I bought a date book and She.Is.Purdy!!!

          Yep, this gem was only $3 at the Dollar General, but look how impressive she is!!

 She's got monthly taps, large boxes for dates and extra pages for note-taking. 

I found my calendar book there last year and kept my eyes peeled for the 2018 editions to be placed on the shelves. #winning

Here is the portion of the book I had reserved for the Belong Tour (R.I.P.) Notice, I LIVE in my date books so I need me plenty of space to plan things...and jot meticulous notes about the plans...and scribble them out when they do not transpire. 

Are you an obsessive note-taker, date-maker, and check-list checker-offer, like me? 

Manufactured Play Dates, Cub Scouts, and Leaving a Legacy

I build a calendar of things to do.

I manufacturer all these play dates and clubs and "get-togethers" because, when it comes down to it, I think I try to find my worth in this.

It's the high school me still envious if the girl in the newspaper with her agenda book. 
It's been 16 years since we've graduated.

I want to feel like I am important so I initiate the importance, and get invited into the importance, and sometimes stumble across the importance, but the point is to be there. To anticipate getting involved. The point is to feel like part of something.

And then I do this personality test at church and realize my greatest fault before the Lord could quite possibly be my need to pause.

-----

My freshman year at Bible college, I took piano lessons 

and cringed when I learned that my final was performing a piece I had learned 

to a song I was expected to write.

I was actually expected to sing. Aloud.

My song was simple, as my singing voice was and still is humble 

and my confidence was not the type one desired when she was singing for a grade.  

I wrote the song with a little help and, graciously, my piano teacher (an upperclassman)

 and the professor grading me, Fritz, **

both sang along with me. It almost wasn't mortifying. 

My song was based off Psalm 46:10. 

I literally just kept singing, .

over and over, 

"Be still. Be still and know that I am God.

Be still."

-----

But...
How does one pause when there are breakfast dates and dinner club? MOPS, and AWANAS, and tennis on Tuesdays? When I want to complete a series of books and go for a run and do my workouts at home? How does one pause when there are three children who constantly want entertained or fed, or need help with the potty? When there are dishes and meals and laundry and vacuuming each demanding to be done daily? How does one pause when she receives a phone call from someone and an invite to hear a story? How does one stop when she wants to listen to worship music, work on a devotional, and be diligent with reading her Bible? How does one pause when she fills her ears with Podcasts and with music and with people?

These thoughts came rushing out of me as I walked to the wall of the tennis courts. I needed some water and a moment to check something on my phone. What I got was an invitation.

I saw an ant.
And then another.

As I watched them gather some crumbs and take them back to their secret hiding place, I was overcome with the truth that these ants do not feel a need to prove themselves.
They simply are.

They gather out of need; out of habit.
They gather for survival.

And I, too, have been trying to survive.
I, too, gather and gather: playdate and invite, and workshops.
I, too, take these back to my secret place and utilize them to satisfy me.

Unlike the ants, however, I find that my form of survival -who and what I think I need to be and do to prove myself- is not satisfying. It is not life-sustaining.

I can go and go and go some more, but eventually, I remember that I am not the one who had a full page, colored article written on my behalf in high school.
I am not the one I want to be.
I want to be her.

But I am not.

In some weird contradiction, I am good with this.
I don't actually want to be her, just the part which I think made her special: the part where she looked so well put-together and perfect.

So I continue to act the part of important and popular and wanted and needed. I continue to make dates and attend programs, and join another committee.

But, seeing those ants made all of this come up and out of me. It was a realization with the same powerful force of labor contractions. I had no control. It was there. All of it. And it was real. 

I grabbed my phone and spoke into the memos this message, for myself and for you.

Is the point that we do not need to prove ourselves?
I only recently came to peace with the reality that I may not be a world-renown, historical figure upon my death. I may not leave a legacy of best-selling books and perform some charitable act which will be long remembered. Perhaps, I will not be "special" in this world.
Perhaps I was not meant to be.

I have been sick this past week: congested, tired, and with a sore throat. Although I could push myself, I have decided to take this time away from working out. There are many desires I hold, and it has been nice to catch-up on blogging, and reading, and even packing up this house.
Sometimes we need to just lay things down.
They become a sacrifice.
They become a life of sacrifice.

It is difficult to lay down the desire to be fulfilled.

In marriage, in motherhood, and in my agenda book.
Big Strong Man is very opposite of me. He thrives with an open calendar and no plans. He is content with boring and laid-back and humble.

Then this. Cub Scouts began and I asked him to do this with our oldest, Zeplin. If not BSM, sign me up (you know I desire to be a Cub Mother SO MUCH!!), but, in truth, he needed this more.
What's more, we both needed it.
I need to sit some out.
He needs to jump some in.

On his own, he joined the Cub Scout committee and I nearly swooned.  He is growing, and I pray I am, too. 

Maybe we will not leave a legacy to be read about in schools hundreds of years from now. Maybe most of us aren't supposed to. But, what if...what if our legacy was living life well. Volunteering and relaxing, both. What if our legacy forgets our names but remembers, decades from now, that there was love, by that person, way back when. That there was love for people, and family, and God. 

And what if this truth, this hope, this comfort, allows us to usher in the Pause?

The Cub Scouts held a Halloween party for the families. Our theme was pirates. We looked pretty.darn.good.

                             

**(Professor) FRITZ SCHINDLER is amazingly talented! About 50% of us girls at the Bridal Bible college prayed to marry him. (The other 50% prayed to God begging not to marry him...ho-hum.) Make certain to click on his link above to see what all the fuss is about.