Tag: parenting

Be Still…and just be.

Flipping through photos from this last week*, I came across a video my daughter had taken. I remember it vividly – messy hair, no makeup and in my pjs, I was sitting at our new keyboard and attempted to play from an old piano book. She saw my phone and snapped it up, then began to video me as I played. Self conscious from both my looks and my rustiness of years without a piano, I had almost asked her to stop.

The memory hit me differently today as I began to connect the similarity of my response in that moment and themes that have been coming up in my relationship with God. My daughter didn’t care if I was dressed or ready or put together. She didn’t care if my voice was squeaky, or if I was missing notes or playing slowly. She wanted to capture a moment, an experience. I wanted it to be perfect, she just wanted it to be. My daughter’s love isn’t based on whether or not my life is put together, I have makeup on, or my voice sounds like an angel. She doesn’t care if my clothes are put away or my dishes are washed, if I’m size 2 or 20, or if my hair is blonde, black, or purple (well, she does, but it doesn’t impact how much she loves me 😉 )
Recently I have been prayed over by two different people, and both offered very similar words and visions while praying for me. The theme, it seems, is that I’m trying and striving and fighting, doing all I can. And while God sees it, He’s instructing me to just Be. Still. To just be. To be free. To be me. While processing these prayers, I realized, I’m not quite sure how to do that. Yes, “be still” in its very basic sense is to sit, quietly, contemplative, open. But in the day to day of life, what does that really look like?
And how, exactly, do I just be me, when I’m not quite sure what – or who – that is? So much of my life, I’m pretty sure I’ve sculpted who I am based on what I thought others would accept and love and want to be around. I quieted my loud, obnoxious, blatant honesty and over-the-top-ness, replacing it with someone who was more reserved (and unfortunately lacked confidence).  I lost weight. I dressed nicer, dyed my hair, and learned (attempted) to do my makeup. I became slower to speak or respond, which led to a significant hesitance to share my thoughts or opinions at all if they significantly conflicted with someone else’s.
To know me, to meet me, you may not believe half of this. I am not a demure, quiet-spoken person who is perfectly shaped, coifed, and organized. But words, comments, beliefs, and life has a way of sticking with you, of leaving a lasting impact that you sometimes don’t really realize has interwoven into the tapestry of your being until you look back. Somewhere along the way, most likely in small bits and pieces, I lost a chunk of who I was. Of who I am.
But I’m on a determined mission to find her again. To find me again. To introduce my husband and my kids to pieces of a person they’ve never known, to be free to love and free to live, free in God’s presence and free in my purpose, whatever that may be.
And I kinda like the thought of being defiant, determined, and perseverant…it speaks to a kindling inside me that was starting to go out. It seems a good place to start <3
*written April 26, 2019

Don’t Take Away Your Own Power To Choose

It was one of those days. Nothing extraordinarily stressful, but not exactly calm. Crazy with moments of beauty that fueled the stamina to get through another day of my husband traveling. Times of patience, times of crying, and times of gritting my teeth to not scold, become short with, or unintentionally insult or offend anyone. Just one of those normal, chaotic-life-that-we-live kind of days.

About five minutes ago, at the end of this not-so-particularly-significant day, I was washing our not-so-particularly-significant dishes that were still in the sink and began listening a God Centered Mom podcast episode, my heart looking for hope and guidance and direction and comfort, feeling ever so slightly (…) crushed  and defeated from the week. And within the first five minutes of this podcast, I listened to the guest, Paul David Tripp, state the following in response to the host’s prompts:

“So maybe start with some questions here. If you’re a parent, what keeps you going when you just don’t feel like going anymore? What makes you willing to do the same thing over and over and over again? What gives you hope when your children don’t offer you any hope? That’s where we all live. We all live with the repetitive nature of parenting, with times when we just feel like we’re at the end, or when we want to think hopefully about our children but we don’t see the things in our kids we’d love to see. And I think that’s when this deeper sense of the beauty and glory of ‘what I’ve been called to’ is what makes me willing to do that again.”

{pause for ugly cries here}

Whoa. Just…whoa. It hit my gut hard, in the, I’ll leave the dishes soak while I go type my thoughts to process kind of hard. I’ve been wanting to write for the last two weeks, and have not been able to get the wheel spinning. Thoughts with no depth, no direction, no exploration. But today I kept thinking about a conversation I had a month or two ago with a dear colleague. As we always do when we meet, we cover a thousand topics, personal and professional, and she is always, ALWAYS, a gentle, insightful soul to be around. During this conversation, I was talking about the difficult dichotomy of being the “unorganized parent while simultaneously being the parent who organizes, administrates, and plans”. She offered the empathy that she always does (the true depth of understanding empathy, not the “I know that must be tough” kind, but the kind where she can explain better how it feels than you can), and as I went to offer my routine, “I have to…”, I stopped.

For the first time, I couldn’t say, “I don’t have a choice”. It didn’t feel right. Instead, a swarm of thoughts rushed me at once; thoughts of parents I’ve worked with, people I’ve known, foster children I see, people who don’t make that choice. And I realized…and said…”You know. I’ve always said I don’t have a choice. But for the first time, I realized I do. And I need to stop saying that. Because I do have a choice. There are so many days I’ve wanted to just drive away. To quit. To make sure the kids were taken care of, and take off. To stay in bed and not get up. To check out. But I don’t. And I wouldn’t…I couldn’t. But it’s not because I don’t have a choice. I have that choice. I just don’t make it.”

So I guess tonight’s podcast, well…it makes me take that a little deeper. What makes me keep making the choice that I do? I didn’t keep listening – my thoughts were swirling too much to hear anything else that was being said – but I’d imagine that much of where he was headed was faith and our “calling” due to the couple of sentences that followed the above quote. And yes. Faith has a role. Faith and the belief that life is bigger than me, that God is lending me the beautiful souls I’m blessed to call my children, that there is a bigger and higher purpose. These play huge roles.

There’s also something in me that refuses to quit. It won’t let me, even if I want to. Even if I want to make the choice, consider the choice, explore the choice. There is – and always has been a piece of me that will not give up.

There’s a morality piece. A piece that reminds me that it’s not just about me anymore. The piece that says, “once you decide to have children, it’s not longer about you” that runs through the very depths of my being. That they didn’t choose to be here, and I have been given the responsibility AND the privilege of raising them the best that I can. It’s self-sacrificial to become a parent. While the sacrifice should not be at the cost of your own health and well-being (in classic airline style, please put your own mask on first…), but it SHOULD be a change.

I have never been a person who believes we can just “choose” to be something. I can’t “choose” to be happy when I’m depressed, I can’t “choose” to be focused when I’m distracted, and I can’t “choose” to be calm when I’m stressed. Contrary to the belief, it’s similar to being told to “calm down” or “just smile” or “be happy” or “pay attention”. If we could, wouldn’t we? I mean, really think about that. Of course. And if we wouldn’t, then it’s so much deeper than that single choice.

You see, it’s a practice. A practice of self-discipline. A practice of gratitude. A practice of mindfulness and meditation. A practice of self-care. A practice of coping skills, reminders, breathing…repetition of things to help until they become the norm. A rebuilding of the natural neural pathways.

But I’ve tree-branched, and I might be losing you. So I digress.

At the end of the day, YOU need to be able to answer Paul’s questions. And the bottom line? You do have a choice. You have a choice to be different, to do different, to learn different…you have a choice to find the skills, the people, the resources, the tools to help you find a different path. To practice, to learn, to find accountability, to grow. You have the choice to learn if it’s a choice you want to make. It’s not easy. At. All. But we have the ability to say, “enough is enough” and to keep saying “not today” if we need to. But…if you can’t find it in yourself to believe that you have a choice? Well. I’d love to hear from you, because maybe we can find it together <3

There is always a choice.

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What I’m Reading Now

Recently I was listening to a podcast by the Minimalists (I’m a podcast junkie…to the extent that one will ask me if I’m still interested in listening because I have too many in my queue and can’t keep up!) and one mentioned that when he originally started blogging, he wasn’t sure how he would come up with something to write every day. So he decided to just start writing about “what I’m doing now”. Well…most people could probably care less, but I thought it might be a great way to process what I’m reading and finding intriguing or thought-provoking!

Currently, one of the books I’m reading (ADD much?) is “Peaceful Parent, HAPPY KIDS” by Dr. Laura Markham. One of my dear colleagues and friends presented this book, insisting “you need to read this”. And, as life would have it, I was talking treatment to another colleague about one of our shared clients and the struggles I was having finding resources, and she showed me a powerpoint from a seminar by none other than Dr. Laura Markam. This was my third encounter on the book/author, and when things happen like this for me, I pay attention.

I’m only a few chapters in, but this…this is such a wonderful read. It’s a fabulous perspective on why children act up and the reason it can be so detrimental to yell, scream, fight, or otherwise invoke fear in the name of “discipline”. But here’s the thing. It’s what I stress with families, and it’s what I continually remind myself…a child’s behavior has a PURPOSE. When a parent talks to me about a child being manipulative, I help them reframe the terminology, and I say, simply, that I don’t use the word “manipulate” in regards to behaviors. Does it? Yes, at the foundation of the word, it does. But so does everyone. We all engage in ways to help mold, shape, and impact our current and future situations. Behavior has a purpose…a message…and if it’s working, it will continue. I was so tickled to read, “Because no matter how bad your child’s behavior, it’s a cry for help. Sometimes the behavior requires a firm limit, but it never requires us to be mean”. YES!!!

But circle back to the yelling…did you know that when you escalate, you are teaching your children that is how to handle emotions? Did you know that, in order for a child to “self regulate”, they must FIRST learn to co-regulate, or use a trusted caregiver to model and assist in the facilitation of the said “calming down”? AND, if we teach children that emotions are scary or wrong or dangerous or inappropriate, we MISS teaching them the skills of what to do when the (um, inevitably…) arise???

Believe it or not, no matter how good it may feel or how difficult it may be to control, yelling does not teach your child anything but how to be afraid. Of you, or of the emotion. Or, more likely, both.

Still so much more to read…and so much more to practice myself. But I’m going to quote one of my favorite sections so far,and leave you with this lovely bit of knowledge:

“When kids are scared, they go into fight-or-flight. The learning centers of the brain shut down. Your child can’t learn when you yell…Your child needs you to witness her outpouring of emotion and let her know that she is still lovable, despite all these yucky feelings. Explanations, negotiations, remorse, recriminations, advice, analysis of why she’s so upset, or attempts to “comfort” her (“There, there, you don’t have to cry, that’s enough.”) will all shut down this natural emotive process. Dn’t force her to express herself in words; she doesn’t have access to the rational brain when she’s so upset. Of course, you want to “teach” – but that needs to wait. Your child can’t learn until she’s calm. You don’t have to say much. Your calm, loving tone is what matters.”

Until next time…

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Train a Child…It Takes a Village

Did you know we have to teach children? *gasp* I know, right? They don’t know everything? They don’t learn everything by watching? They don’t come with a manual of “how to be a good person” written in gibberish that is there to study and matures as they do?

Now, before you storm off or attack me, I promise, there’s a point. And, as per usual, it includes my own learning curves.

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And on that note, many of us have heard the familiar verse in Proverbs (ch22 vs6), “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it”. But a conversation with a co-worker made me reflect on this with a slightly new – or perhaps widened – perspective.

We were chatting and joking about our same-aged children, our then five-year-olds – and mannerisms, respect, and even just plain old behaviors. The conversation quickly turned into areas we’d not thought of having to teach – you know, in the “before we were parents” era. Things like greeting someone before asking them a question, acknowledging a person as they enter the room, not running in front of someone and cutting them off. That sort of thing. Sure, we all know that children need to be taught to walk, talk, hold a spoon, tie a shoe, write their names. But sometimes, we forget about the things with more depth, and the intentionality it requires to truly teach a child.

As I reflected on this conversation, I began an entirely new pondering on the old phrase, “it takes a village”. We often use it to imply to lend a hand, help out, do different tasks or chores or errands or take care of a child. Practical, hands-on behaviors. Right?

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But I think it’s more than that. No, that’s not true. I know it’s so very much more. I listened to a training about bullying and trauma in schools, and she talked about how, time and again, she would hear the similar responses from school staff she would train…”it’s not my role”. But she wasn’t content with that – she repeatedly emphasized that no, actually, it’s ALL of our roles. It’s our role to step in as the adult when we overhear a complete stranger’s child bullying another child on the playground. It’s our role when we’re at the neighborhood pool and we see a child being pushed under by an older one. It’s our role to step in – even with presence – when we see a child being abused, hear teasing, see bullying, watch aggression and intimidation, contemplating stealing, cheating…who else’s role would it be?

Taking it back to our village, I believe we have so much to offer when we allow a village to pour into our children – to redirect a toddler hellbent on running into a road, to distract a preschooler from a tantrum as the exhausted parent looks around desperately, to even offer a compassionate, “I got you”, look to a stressed parent trying to keep her calm. We have so much to offer each other, and it takes so little. But too often, we’re content to take a passive role. One that says, “I don’t know them. What about the consequences? What about retaliation? Would they laugh at me? Not even listen? Judge me?” We get stuck in our own fear, our own hesitation, and we become tunnel visioned on the short term effects. But in doing so, we shut down that voice that says, “It’s the right thing. What if I’m the first adult who’s aware? What does it really matter if a teen scoffs at me or a toddler doesn’t listen or a parent becomes upset?” It’s our role as adults to protect the safety and innocence of children. And we shouldn’t – we can’t – shy away from it.

Generally speaking, this applies in so many different scenarios. But so often, we forget the message we send through our own passivity or desire to not be “the mean one”. If my child is acting out and I’m not aware or present, the passivity of the nearby adult teaches my child that they only need to behave if I’m around. If I have rules that others don’t, my child learn that rules are relative (and they are, but you get the point). If I allow things to happen in my presence, my child learns that I don’t *care* (used ever so lightly) about the results or end-game. If I am blamed for the reason my child can’t do something at your house, you take away your own power and respect. If I don’t follow through, I take away mine.

Some kids are internalizers by nature. Others are not. Some have intrinsic (self) motivation, others are motivated by extrinsic (external) factors. We can’t force either of those types of children to become the opposite – I have one child who will do extra chores to earn extra stickers to earn extra rewards. She’s been like that since we were potty-training at 2. I also have a child who could care less in the moment about whether or not she’s earning or losing a reward – she’s more motivated by what she thinks is important and the creativity is required to help her find “what’s in it for her”.

We also can’t force kids to not be kids…by nature, kids learn by repetition. They learn by patterns. Watch a 2 or 3 year-old, and you’ll see repetitive, monotonous, patterned behavior – they want to explore to see if the same result will happen every time. They go to one parent, then they other. The forge an obstacle course of sorts, then do it again and again and again. They throw food on the floor, and look at you. They try out behaviors. And look at you. They want consistency, and they are learning to make sense of their worlds. Kids are survivors. And knowing what to expect and where to expect is a very large part of that.

Along the same lines, somewhere we forget that after toddler-hood, kids continue to need this repetition. We think if we teach them something, they’re good for life. But even reading this, I’m sure you immediately think, “that’s not how it works”. Most children forget within about five minutes (yes, made up statistic – I own it – but I did hear something similar, I just can’t quote it directly because I have forgotten where…). They are learning so many things, and at younger ages, that learning is concrete. Not hypothetical. Not abstract. It’s through trial and error and exploration. And a parent can’t (shouldn’t…) follow them around, reinforcing every time the child is disrespectful or dishonest or makes a dangerous choice.

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But if you agreed, “that’s not how it works”, you’re right. It’s not! We need to step in – as a village – and reinforce morals and values of human life, dignity, and respect. It can’t be done JUST by a parent, JUST by a doctor, JUST by a teacher, or JUST by a friend. Believe it or not, we don’t have to believe the same things to step in. But we do need to believe that there are certain lines that should not be crossed. We do need to reinforce that an adult being around makes a difference. If those children are anything like mine, when they’re young, they’ll come home and ask why it was different at so-and-so’s, or will tell you straight out what they did, often out of curiosity of what you’ll do if they broke the rules somewhere else. Don’t wait until they’re old to start teaching. We have so many children looking for boundaries.  <3

P.S. I can’t speak to it personally, because I have not had the chance to fully check it out. But the trainer I listened to mentioned the Bystander Revolution – there are a lot of hits on YouTube. I’d love for you to check it out with me!

Don’t Stop Believing

This song. This concept. This idea. It’s overused. But when dissected, it continues to ring so very true.

We used this song at our wedding reception entrance. My husband and I both loved Journey, and this genre had composed much of our childhoods and our parents’ music. Isn’t it funny how, when we are young and innocent, we compose ideas that we have no idea how true they may become? But what’s more, isn’t it “funny” how deeply memories can run and how random circumstances align to bring them all to the front?

At night, somehow our family transitioned from singing songs to playing songs on YouTube, often classical, as part of our daily bedtime routine. My husband insisted on beginning to teach them the classics, and it stuck…a little too hard. They now request two of three songs. Every. Night. Now don’t get me wrong – I’m a sucker for tradition, repetition, and consistency. But…well…the songs get played out. As an episode of HIMYM depicted in a long road trip and a stuck car cassette tape, “it comes around again”…and every once in awhile, the song hits.

Tonight, as I lay in bed with my oldest, our normal “quiet, in bed” song ‘Moonlight Sonata’ ended. My oldest begged me to stay another “one couple minute” before going to my middle’s bed and so, as YouTube has it, another song began. Tonight, it happened to be the third of our three…’Canon in D’, or, as my girls have dubbed it, “the marry song”.

Guys, I have listened to this song a thousand times. Honestly, likely more. It plays at Christmas. It plays at weddings. It plays in our evening routine and in our classical piano Pandora “get-the-kids-to-fall-asleep-in-the-car” playlist. Heck, it was the song I requested played as I walked down the aisle myself in lieu of the traditional wedding march. I have heard it played by piano, harp, guitar, and everything in between. But tonight…tonight, the synapses flared, connected…and punched me in the gut. Tonight, I had flashbacks of my wedding…and my dad walking me down the aisle.

It’s funny how the paths fire from there. I have fully watched my wedding video maybe one (or two) other times…the most recent being last September. (Of course, I think of my dad often, but not often in the depth of “holy crap, he’s gone” mentality…well…not as often as it used to be.) But tonight – tonight hit me like a ton of bricks. Tonight swarmed me with memories and smells and senses that I thought were lost. Experiences I thought I was no longer capable of remembering. So, of course, I went straight to our pile of CDs and watched the wedding video, slightly disappointed at the lack of footage of the classic father/daughter dance but delighted at close ups of my dad walking me down the aisle and cracking jokes. Enthralled with watching his face as he danced with my mom. Ecstatic at just seeing him be him. “Don’t Stop Believing” was our reception entrance, so of course, I watched that too, and enjoyed once again the thrill of the wedding reception entrance and the celebration that ensued. As I completed paperwork later tonight, one of my guilty-pleasure sitcom reruns (don’t judge…I was in “glee club” too…) played a flashback episode, performing “Don’t Stop Believing” with a now deceased actor in a lead part. Yes. I lost it again. For the third time this night.

But the point. To continue with the theme of seasons, my memory, my health, my mind, my emotions…they were in a winter. I couldn’t remember experiences, even with my hardest attempt. I could literally barely remember the day before in spite of practicing mindfulness even in a moment I wanted to hold, so without extreme intentionality and a direct (unknown) trigger, I could not recall a whole heck of a lot. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t process in my head, I could barely hear my own thoughts in the midst of dead silence and stillness and struggled to think things through. I honestly feared I was watching a vault close on a very deep, important, intricate, and complex part of what has always made me who I am.

A few days ago, my family and I traveled to Hampton Roads and used many of the roads and areas of our old stomping grounds…my work, our old church, routes we took, places we camped…and a flood of memories I couldn’t even fully bring to consciousness began to come. Things I never thought I’d remember and just added to the list of the “unknown life” that had been my past. A time that stress and overwhelm and extremities and changes pushed into the depths of the darkness that had become “my story” and my past.

But tonight I think I’m forming a new hypothesis of how memories…and memory recall work. Tonight gives me hope that not only is a vault not closing, but that there are areas of my brain that can still be awakened. Tonight I felt a sense that perhaps – just perhaps – those memories in times of great stress and struggle are still formed, but require something a little bit different to bring to recollection, and that there is a possibility that the person I was, the person I could be, isn’t gone at all.

Tonight, I realized that if I keep believing, I just might find me again.

More Than Words

Buckle up, guys…I wrote a novel tonight…

water overwhelm

I’m sitting here at the table, looking around at what there is still left to do. A husband on nights, a couch of unfolded laundry, food to make and pack, a load of clothes from a sick child, random toys that didn’t make their bins, trash to empty for garbage day, and dishes to finish cleaning….all before I settle (slump) down on a chair to finish reviewing paperwork that I need to catch up.

Most days are like this. A scattered brain with too many things to accomplish, and all just to keep the house and workload in some type of “working order”. Busy, young children, all vying for conversation and time and touch, talking so much that having a thought long enough to remember what you needed to do for work in that moment is a long shot. Going, going, going.

I’ve been composing this post for a few weeks in my head…along with many others, and I know full well it may become a messy conglomeration of tangential thoughts. Ever since an oceanfront revelation, my brain has finally been going there again during the day. But by the time I settle to write (or work), it’s 10pm, and the headspace I felt during the day that was able to process ideas (usually in the car) has become a puddle of sludge, just hoping to finish the top of the list before I crash with my computer on my lap.

seasons

At church, we’ve been going through a series titled “Seasons”, and it’s all based off of a very well-known series of verses in Ecclesiastes…”to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven…” (Eccl. 3:1, KJV) I love the series. It’s been refreshing, insightful, encouraging, and uplifting, to the very definition – it’s provided hope. Hope that things can change. Hope that this season is not forever. Hope that there is more.

But I can’t help but wonder, do we overuse this phrase? Has this become yet another cliche? How many times have I heard, “this is only a season”? Probably as many times as I’ve been told, “I’ll pray for you” or “this too shall pass” or “he’s in a better place” or “you’re doing great”. Don’t get me wrong, these things are awesome. The logical, rational understanding and internalization of these ideas IS hope providing, and well-intentioned. But the older I get, and the more I pay attention, I realize…I’m an actions person. I used to argue it. I mean, I’m in my head CONSTANTLY, and sometimes with simultaneous thoughts running (that’s more for another day). But I really am an actions person. You love me? Show me. You’re concerned for me? Show me. You can tell I’m anxious/overwhelmed/ depressed/decompensating? Show me. You want to help? Show. Me.

We’ve gotten so caught up in our lives that we have lost the idea of a village. Of a community. We don’t have the time to offer it. And we don’t get offered it in return. I’ve often thought myself, “How can I help someone swim when I’m drowning?”

I have the sweetest friend. She and her family have been here almost a year and a half, but are originally from Portugal. They do things so much differently…and I’m almost jealous. It’s not that I want to completely emulate her life or culture (though I’m not sure I’d completely complain…). It’s more…well…it seems to me (from the outside) that they’ve got a strong piece we’re missing. When you build a house, you prep it to hold you for as long as you are able to live independently. When you go to church, it’s to the one your entire neighborhood/area goes to. Holidays are a progression of family and friends. Life is about community. She is currently a stay-at-home mom after being kind-of a big shot in her business (my words…she’d likely balk at the notion). She’s loving it, and is so thankful. But if I need help? Whether or not I ask, she’ll offer, “because we’re neighbors. That’s what you do”. She could be tired, her kids could be sick, she may have slept three hours the night before and is a single mom much of the time due to her husband’s work schedule. She plans their trips, cleans their home, gets up multiple times with her young children, and doesn’t bat an eye at offering to take on another child so you can get a task completed. It’s definitely a mentality. And to me, it’s a heart thing.

Sometimes I wonder if we’ve started to rely a little too much on our cliche responses, feeling good that we offered a prayer or a half-hearted “let me know if you need anything”. I heard once this offer being described as adding another weight to shoulders who are already too burdened. And honestly, how often do we know how to answer this? How can we? The thought of needing a live-in person daily, or every morning, or every evening…well, that’s my first thought. “can you come over every evening?”.
need anythingThere’s a song that’s hit my heart many times, knowing full well the countless times that I’ve been both the offerer and receiver. In ‘Shine the Light’, Babbie Mason sings, “In the parking lot of the coffee shop, Just the other day. She smiled and she said, “Well I’m doin’ okay” But I felt her pain. I took her hand in mine, Said, “It’s gonna work out fine”. But as she turned I wondered, did I just hand her a line?”  We pat ourselves on the back, *hopefully* lift up the prayer we promised, and move on our way.

I know, I know. We’re all stressed and overrun and tired and busy. I get it. But I also had to ask myself, how can I expect something I’m not giving? If you feel the need to tell someone, “this too shall pass” or “enjoy it now, it’ll be gone too soon”, use this as a red flag for yourself. I PROMISE the person knows this, tells themselves this daily, even feels guilty for still struggling. I PROMISE the person is trying so hard to get through the day to day and WANTS to enjoy the season or push a little harder and a little further. Trust me.

So, let me put out a challenge to you. To me. To us all. If you find these words on the tip of your tongue, think about what they really need so you can HELP them enjoy (survive?) this season. To paint a picture for you, let me go one step further and be very raw and very real. Words like “it’s only for a season, enjoy it now” sometimes make me cry. And not because I feel warm and encouraged. Because I KNOW this to the very depths of my heart, and I cringe that I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t often stop and enjoy it without decreasing my 5-6 hours of sleep even more (less? I digress). I fear that I’ll forget it because I’m stressed and exhausted, and I can’t remember what I did yesterday, let alone that super funny, adorable, cute thing my daughter did an hour ago. I covet prayers, and I’m so thankful for them. Prayers can move mountains, and I believe that to my core. But I also know that I need real-life, hands-on support, and I think I speak for us all.

We were made for community. For connection. And not just for joy. What can you do? Say the words if you need, but follow up. Be more than a passer-by on the street. Check in on them. Clean their bathroom. Bring them coffee or dinner. Wash their car. Take the kids randomly for an hour or two. Don’t ask for permission. Just do it. If you can’t? Send them a good, old-fashioned letter, flowers, a $5 coffee shop gift card, an audiobook, a song, a movie. Call them and be ready to listen, not fix. Be ready to sit in the depth – the muck – of what might come out, and let it be okay for them to vent, even if it doesn’t sound pretty. Offer encouragement to strangers. Pay for the next order in the drive thru line. Recently, I heard a woman speak of a friend who would put a wreath on the person’s door, and one concept I heard of helping kids be Santa by identifying someone to give a surprise gift to by figuring out what they would like/need and giving it to them with no credit just melts my heart. I cannot count the number of times I have been brought to tears by a godly-timed letter, text, gift, or blessing, large and small. But on the flip side, nothing makes a person feel so incredibly insignificant than being heard but not listened to, seen but ignored.

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I look around our world, our country, and my heart breaks. SOMETHING has got to give. A little kindness, a little connection, a little community – can go a very, very long way. It starts with us, my friends. With me, with you. Be more than a greeting card…we have enough of those already <3

 

To the mom of three

Dear mom at Wegmans,

This isn’t another letter saying, “I see you” or “you’re not alone”. Lord knows we have enough of those floating around. Instead, this is a letter to say, “thank you”, because I didn’t have the guts. Because this time, the “I see you” sentiment is because you gave me hope.

You see, I had a day today that I don’t often get, nor imagine I will often get. A day to “myself”. Of course, my 7 week old was with me…but I still consider him an attachment 😉  But nonetheless, the girls were at the sitter’s for the day, then headed to their Gigi and Papa’s, and I experienced some quiet time for reflection and peace. Do you know what happens in those times? God speaks to me…and He strengthens me. Every. Single. Time. Fortunately, today, I was listening (other days, I can’t say that with quite such confidence).

God first got my attention as I took a break from our walk to feed the puffin. As I sat on the rock, staring out over the river in front of me, I heard and mom and 3 young children come over to the same space to sit. In the past I might have become annoyed, and these thoughts began to enter my mind…”She’s a mom, doesn’t she understand the need for solitude?” “Seriously, my own kids are talking and screaming and yelling…it had to be somebody’s…” “Did they really have to stop where I’m sitting, of all places?”. But on this day, I was feeling particularly relaxed, and as I observed my thoughts, I actually smiled as I realized, I need to learn to be peaceful WITHIN the chaos – I won’t always have the opportunity to separate myself from it (though, as a strong introvert, I have also learned that I need occasional times away to reboot).

As I resumed our walk, I began to think. I hadn’t yet taken all three kids out by myself, mostly for fear of our precious cupcake, our middle daughter. What would she do if I needed to stop to feed the baby? Or if she dropped on her bottom in the middle of the street in an early toddler tantrum? But for the first time, I began to have the desire to be active with them outside the home; to go on adventures, even if if my husband was working; to explore and have fun and make the most of my leave. It’s amazing the freedom your mind has when it’s not being inundated with questions from my curious preschooler, such as, “why is she riding a horse?” “why did her mom let her go into the trees by herself?” “why is a rock hard?” or the 20minutes meltdowns of my smart, independent, toddler. I love them both to death, but if I want to write, I need just a moment to myself. <3

Dear, fellow grocery shopper, here is where you come in. I noticed you initially because I liked your top, and was about to compliment you on it. But when I looked closer, I stopped in my trackers. Here you were, with the same kids as me. Two girls who looked perhaps 5 and 3, and a little boy in the front of the cart – perhaps approaching a year old. As I watched you walk calmly with your children, put together but not overly primped, talking sweetly with your girls about snacks to pick out for a picnic you were planning, my heart felt a sense of relief. You see, my heart has been feeling overwhelmed, burdened, heavy, stressed, worried, isolated – and even though we all logically know that things change, things get better/easier/fillintheblank, I don’t know that we all believe it to be true when it really comes down to it. It’s much harder to feel a sense of peace and hope in your heart than it is to rationalize one.

As I continued to shop, I saw you a couple of more times, and each time I tried to work up the courage to thank you. But each time, I flushed and hesitated with embarrassment, slowing my step as if you might know what I was thinking if our eyes connected, wondering how completely insane I might sound if the words ever formed.

So here it is. My thank you. Thank you for showing me a light at the end of the tunnel. Thank you for providing me hope that the swirl that life is right now won’t always be. Thank you for being God’s third sign (He works in three’s with me…seems to be the number of times I need to hear something to get it 😉 ). Thank you for just being you, walking through a grocery store with your tag sticking out, debating over the type of granola bar your kids would enjoy, reminding me not only that “this too shall pass”, but to take each moment as it comes, being present with and enjoying my children no matter the experience.

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Postpartum health journey, day 1

Day 1:
 
Today started out rough – I awoke hungry and had to eat something quickly while nursing and getting breakfast snacks ready for my LO’s in my state of lethargy…I had nothing planned nor prepared, and I grabbed a quick bowl of cereal. Whoa, insulin spike!
 
I had a choice. I could then either continue the day as it started, throwing in the towel was a serious option. Blood sugar was spiked, no food was planned, and I was TIRED.
 
The Food:
I chose to get back on board with my goals, and my day went as follows: I enjoyed a cup of decaf coffee blended with unsweetened vanilla almond milk, cinnamon, a couple drops of stevia, and a TB of coconut oil. For lunch was turkey, muenster, orange bell pepper, and kettle chips. Had an iced decaf coffee with almond milk and a square of dark chocolate for a small treat after lunch (sometimes I want just a taste of something sweet, especially if I didn’t have my shake for breakfast!). Afternoon meal was almond milk, scoop vegan chocolate shakeology, TB almond butter, TB brewer’s yeast, splash coconut extract, shredded coconut, and ts cocoa powder. Dinner: homemade carnitas, lettuce and bell pepper, sour cream, taco sauce, shredded cheddar, 1/2 egg, and homemade salsa. Snacks included almonds with dried cherries and yogurt with chia granola.
Drinks: decaf coffee (prepared as described above), 100 oz water, mother’s milk tea with cardamom, brown ale
For those of you interested in what my husband is eating, comment below, as he and I generally prepare separate meals for work days.
The thoughts:
I should state, first and foremost, that my current postpartum goals are to currently ease back in, not to lose weight quickly or achieve some impossible “pre-baby body”, so this may look like a lot of calories to some.  While nursing, my aim is to ease back into healthy eating and exercise without losing or affecting my milk supply. This week, my focus was in lowering my grain and sugar intake without the hot flash withdrawal that occurred the first time or a drastic reduction in production.
Second, I was SO HUNGRY today. Hello, breastfeeding hormones!! It didn’t help that I started the day with a fat free almond milk and carb rich cereal – it did not exactly start me off on the right foot. So many of my snacks were not planned, but were more because I was hungry quickly after my previous meals. I definitely need to go grocery shopping, and I definitely need to plan out some high fat, low sugar snacks that are easy to grab in those times.
Third thought: living with my husband means not only learning every finite detail of something he is interested in, but it also entails getting to know all of the exceptions to the rules. So while you may be surprised I included chips in my lunch, I was keenly aware that technically, chips are paleo, and would help the carb supplement while restraining the grain. He lost a lot of weight by following a eating pattern that some would not deem to be “healthy” because he understands the science behind it. It’s all about your goals!
Stay tuned as we continue on! Don’t worry,  I have before pics and food pics…on my phone 😉 To be uploaded later!