More to the story...

The world is a scary place. 

Add in the heart of a mother and it's downright terrifying. 

I battle with anxiety. Sometimes I take meds for it. Sometimes I grit my teeth and cry. But, no matter what the solution, it is always a struggle. 

I also suffer from panic attacks. They are like anxiety's BFF that you never really liked, but can't seem to ditch. And, they always pay a visit at the worst time possible. 

Like, when you're standing in the checkout line at Walmart. And, oh, perhaps your daughter has wandered about ten feet away and you're trying to put stuff up on the conveyor belt and keep an eye on her and make sure to catch the cashier so that he can price match an item before it's too late. Yep, that was me yesterday. 

It was all too much. I started to sweat. I could feel the voices start up in my head...

"She's too far away. Someone could just come by and grab her and be gone. You'd never be able to catch them. You can barely even jog. And, then some stranger would have your baby and it would all be your fault."

But, Char really wasn't too far away. She was really only testing her wings. And, I want her to have fun. I don't want to put my crazy on to her. I don't want her to live in fear. So, I told the voices to pipe down. But, they never do...

"That's fine. But, any minute now, someone could walk right up and then she's gone forever. And, God only knows what they would do to her..."

I was almost in tears. But, then a friendly looking couple with an older son walked up behind me. A stranger between us was enough to send Charlotte scampering back to my side. We struck up a conversation. Mostly about babies with no hair and the Princess's pants. Ruffles are always a good conversation starter. And, I began to relax. 

Then, just as we were leaving, the lady spoke up, "Wait, you forgot her nightlight."

Oh no, I replied. She was just playing with that to keep her occupied. 

"Could I buy it for her? I'd love to but something girly and something for such a cute little lady."

There are no words to describe how greatly my heart was moved. Here I am, imagining the monsters of the world and God sends me an angel. 

Take that, voices. 

Thirty minutes of wonderful...

This past week, I was sick. The kind of sick where you moan to friends and family about how you might die and think that possibly no one in the history of anyone has ever felt so sick. But, then, I got better. I did not die. I was not, in fact, as sick as anyone has ever been. 

That always makes me think of my mother. 

Who did die. 

Who was as sick as anyone should ever be. 

 

My mom got sick when I was seven. But, truthfully, she had never been a very healthy person. She struggled with asthma and was just a very sickly child. She didn't marry my dad until she was 29 years old and according to him, she started angling for a baby that very day. She wanted to be a mother more than anything. In some ways, her prayers were answered. I was born on their first wedding anniversary. 

But, it was not uncomplicated. Her doctors told her that she came very close to not being around at all anymore. He mentioned that her pregnancy, my very existence, had taken about ten years off her life. He suggested she not try it again. And, so, she didn't. My dad had a vasectomy and she embraced the life she had with me, her only child. 

My mother was never well. She did not have the kind of disease that you get well from. She had the kind of disease you die from. That is sobering to me. Especially when I've had a few days to experience what it feels like to lay in bed, unable to care for your family. The days after I started to feel better, I just moved and moved and moved. I stayed up late, I got up early. I felt alive. And, with that feeling comes pain. Because I GET to GET well. And my mother didn't. 

But, if it's true. If I did cost her ten years. If my being here made her time here that much shorter. I hope she knows, I am completely determined to make sure that her thirty minutes of wonderful didn't lead to a lifetime of nothing special. I will breathe in and out. I will hug my children. I will bring honor to her name. I will be certain her thirty minutes count. 

.((God, I hope you've seen Steel Magnolias))

Plan A

Lately, I've been seeing lots of commercials for the birth control option called Plan B. I'm sure you've heard of it. Sometimes it's known as it's less friendly sounding nickname, The Morning After Pill. Yep, it's a pill that can be purchased from any drug store without a prescription that may or may not stop a pregnancy from taking hold after there is a failure in your normal birth control method. Now, maybe that's a condom that broke, a pill that was forgotten, an IUD that fell out, or just a lapse in judgement that resulted in no prevention at all. But, there you have it, Plan B. 

Now, for me, this is a very personal subject, as, our oldest child is the result of one failed incident with birth control. One. That's it. That's all it takes. How many times have we heard that said? But, when you're the one living it, it feels very different. 

You see, we knew our predicament. We knew about the failure and we decided to do nothing but wait and see. I was aware of our options and still, we did nothing. I was terrified, but I truly believe we serve a God that has plans far greater than my own. 

All that said, I don't think less of others who have used Plan B. I'm not sure I have ever felt as scared as I did in those few weeks as we waited and wondered. The idea of having a way out sounded pretty darn good, actually. But, somehow, deep down, I just knew it wasn't the right decision and luckily, I was in love with a man who felt the same. I don't even think of it as a case of dealing with the consequences of your action. Ack, consequences. How can anyone call a blessed little baby a consequence? No, I think for me, it was simply a matter of letting the cards fall where they may. And, fall they did...

One "failure" resulted in one great success. He is smart and wickedly funny. He is kind and his compassion takes my breath away. He is athletic and strong. He is exactly what I needed to grow up. He is a reason greater than myself. He is the best of his father and the best of me all put together into one rockstar of a kid. He is 12 years old and man, oh man, let me tell you, our son is living proof that sometimes, Plan A is just what you need in life. Sometimes, Plan A is exactly right. 

It's for you.

If someone held a gun to your head and said, "Today you make a choice. Your kids or your phone? What's it gonna be?" The answer is obvious, right? Your kids, of course. That's a no brainer. Exactly. So, if the answer comes to us so quickly, then why does it always seem like I am choosing my phone over my kids? 

"Mom, can you come here for a second?"

Hang on, I'm reading something.

"Mama, look at my tower"

That's awesome, Buddy. (Though, apparently not awesome enough for me to actually look at it). 

Even the baby isn't spared. I got frustrated the other night because the light from my phone was keeping her awake. Seriously? I have this awesome example of God's handiwork laying here right beside me and I'm bummed that I can't finish reading this recipe? 

That was a real wake up call for me. I honestly felt like I heard God's voice. Do you choose your phone or do you choose your kids? Your kids will never be this small again. You will never get this day again to love them, to learn about them, to watch them grow. One day he won't need to call you with homework questions. One day, he will give up those Lego towers. One day, she will not need the sound of your heartbeat to fall asleep. But, guess what, the World Wide Web will still be there. 

Most of your Facebook friends will probably not be willing to care for you in your old age. Pinterest will probably never call you and excitedly share the details of their latest adventure. Instagram will probably never send you flowers on your birthday. But, your kids just might. Stop and think, my friends, where are we investing our time? 

If someone held a gun to your head and said, Today, you make a choice...

A charge to Teachers...

Here we are, the last day of Summer vacation. Tomorrow looms ahead, filled with visions of notebooks, freshly sharpened pencils and Mickey Mouse lunch boxes. They will never again be quite as ready as they are on that first day. They will never again be quite as anxious. A lot will be spoken over the weeks to come about what is expected of them as students, and what is expected of us, as parents. But, allow me for just a moment to share with you what I expect of you, as teachers.

I expect you to be kind. You are dealing with my most-prized possessions. They will have an enormous amount of respect for you, just for the role you fill in their small lives. Please, remember that, and know that you are shaping their very person. Be slow to shout and quick to hug. (P.S. I could probably use a little of this advice, myself. Duly noted).

I expect you to be excited. Fire is contagious. If you possess the knowledge that learning can be fun, why not pass it along? Children weren't made to sit behind a desk for seven hours a day. They were made to jump and play and run. If we, as adults can't even sit through seven innings of a baseball game without needing a "stretch", why do we expect so much of our children? Find a way to teach them what they need to know and allow them the creativity to learn it on their terms. Come into the classroom every day with a smile on your face. You may be the only smile they get. That is powerful information.

I expect you to love your job. (At least a little). Sure, I know there will be good days and bad, but hopefully you are able to remember the reason you decided to become a teacher in the first place, lord knows it wasn't for the money. You have the power to shape lives. That is huge! And, to be honest, you will see my children for more hours a day than their own parents. Make use of that time. Help them discover what you and I already know, that they are fabulous little people just waiting to learn!

Finally, I expect you to be grateful. I am giving you a huge gift. The gift of my trust and the gift of my children. If I could I would keep them at home forever, but in my thirty-five years of life, I've learned something. These magical little people that I call my children, actually aren't mine at all. And, they aren't yours. These children belong to God, and they belong to themselves. So, never take for granted the place you hold in their lives and the place you hold in the heart of their mama. Thank you for all that to do as teachers. I promise you, I'll do my best to exceed your expectations, if you would do yours to exceed mine.

Get some sleep. I have a feeling we're both gonna need it.

Through the looking glass...

Do you ever have moments that stick with you and you’re not sure why? I have several random memories from childhood that have stayed with me over the years long after they should have been forgotten. I mean, come on. I’m the girl who goes to the store to buy milk, comes out with a cart full of groceries and no milk. And yet, a memory from fourth grade is so vivid, I feel as though it could have occurred yesterday.

As a child, I always thought that everyone had the unconditional love and support of their parents. I know I did. My parents weren’t perfect, but I knew for sure that they loved me and that I was their number one priority. I just thought that was the norm. I’ll never forget the day I learned that wasn’t always the case. I had a friend in school that was named Shawn. He was such a sweet little guy. Shawn and I were birthday buddies; we shared the same birth date. And in elementary school, birthdays are a big deal. So, perhaps that is why I always felt a connection to him. I remember Shawn coming to school one day and talking about how tired he was. I asked him why he didn’t get enough sleep the night before and he said that he had fallen asleep in the bathtub and woken up in freezing cold water. His mother and father had gone to bed without him, leaving him to fend for himself. That struck me so hard. I wasn’t even allowed to cross the street by myself, and here is a child exactly my age that has to do everything on his own.

It was that day that I realized that not everyone’s home life was as cheery as mine. I have never forgotten about Shawn, even though it has been twenty-five years since we have had contact. And now, even with my own children I think of him. I can’t imagine as mother, going to bed and leaving one of my boys in a cold bathtub. Even as a child I knew that was wrong. And yet, people live other people’s wrongs everyday. I’m thankful that I knew Shawn. I hope wherever he is, that he turned out all right. I’m also thankful for a wonderful set of parents that never left me to fend for myself. It is because of all of them that I know how to be the right kind of parent to my amazing little boys. Life lessons in fourth grade, they happen. Are you paying attention?

Long time, no blog :)

Hello Friends, what can I say? I am a crappy blogger. I am a terrific mental blogger. I think about things to blog about all-the-time. I even write them out in my head. And then I think of a way to make them shorter and they become Facebook status updates instead, lol. Oh well. Here I am, back again...

It's Christmas, which means I am spending way too much time at the Mall and not enough time sitting around the Christmas tree, sipping hot chocolate and singing three part harmony on Carol of the Bells. Does anyone really do that? Hmmmm, maybe the Duggars?

We have our one annual Christmas party to attend this coming Saturday. It's an ugly Christmas Sweater at our best friend's house and we are pumped. It used to be so easy to find Ugly-sweaters, but as these parties have sky-rocketed in popularity...not so much. Thrift stores everywhere-rejoice! So, our exact attire remains up in the air, but we will no doubt look totally stupid and have a blast. After all, I must defend my title from last year...that's right, I won Ugliest of all last year, perhaps that wasn't a good thing? Ha!

Anyway, my sweet bloggy friends. Please accept my apology, I have missed you. I do read every day. So, I'm with you...Just in lurker form!

I leave you with a funny story. We were at the dinner table about a week ago and Jackson was asking us about step-parents. I told him that it would be like if Mommy and Daddy weren't married anymore, Daddy's new wife would therefore be his Stepmother.

At which point Matt told him, "Yes, but your Mother would haunt me if I got re-married."

"Who killed me off in this story" I asked?

To which my sweet and darling husband replied, "Well, I figure that's the only reason we wouldn't still be together."

Awww, sweet and morbid all at the same time. Love him :)