We Do Hard Things: And we live to tell about it

Last week I was sitting on my bed just in awe over this battle that I had fought and won with the school to get Elijah a printer for his ipad. You would have thought it would be easy, but the amount of red tape I had to cut through was alarming and after 6 months, and weekly meetings he finally got that printer! It was a sweet victory and I was reflecting on that when Elijah walked in.

He said, "Mama, I'm sorry that you had to fight so hard and that it took so long just to get me a printer." I smiled at him and said, "Buddy that's okay, it was a hard fight but it was worth it and you got what you needed and do you know why?"

Elijah looked up at me and said, "Yeah mama, I do. It's because We Do Hard Things."

And just like that... my work was done.

Over the past weeks, as I've been sharing with you this family motto, I have been amazed at how many of you have been using it. You've told me about your little victories and your massive life struggles. You've laughed, you've cried, you've opened up your heart and you've done it all in the name of 4 powerful words.  These words are the battle cry I'm hearing as some of you are heading to the hospital or just simply making it through the day.They are the words that you whisper when you feel near defeat or that you scream when you've finally seen the light at the end of the tunnel. It's not just what we say to ourselves, it's what we say to each other.

It came to me so clearly through a text message I sent to a friend of mine. I was telling her about having to put our beloved dog Sadie down. It was gut wrenching and terrible. And her response to me was "We Do Hard Things." I could just laugh and cry at the same time! When there is no right thing to say; what a response, what an encouragement.

And after that, I just knew I couldn't go another moment without it being on my wall for me to look at when I need it the most. A little 4 word pep talk on my wall. So I searched the internet over and came upon a lovely little etsy shop named RustiCreations owned by a doll of a woman named Laura. She made a custom, hand painted sign for me that I just absolutely love! Once she heard my story, OUR STORY really, she went even further and offered all of the warkymom followers an opportunity to get a custom made sign just like this one at HER SHOP.

Not only a custom sign, but also a 20% off coupon code for all you warkymom followers on ANY ORDERS in her shop. And guys, let me just tell you, there are some really amazing pieces in there!
She's a sweet mama from Nevada who's just doing hard things like the rest of us.
The coupon code for this amazing deal is: warkymomblog20 and it expires May 31, 2015 so if you need a little pep talk on your wall, now would be a good time to get one. P.s. Mother's Day is so close!

As you can see, I hung it up in a place of honor in my livingroom, where I fight my hardest battles and need the extra encouragement.

I just wanted to say Thank You to all of you who have shared your battles with me. There are moments in every person's life when they are in the trenches and it's been amazing to see how many trench buddies I have and how many of them are carrying their flags to victory! You guys truly inspire me and I am in awe over your love. Keep fighting guys... We Do Hard Things... we just do.

WE DO HARD THINGS: You're Not A Bad Mom

I've recently listened to a podcast called Invisibillia. In an episode, it talked about a study on how blind children, if left to explore and were not coddled, could end up doing amazing things like climbing trees, riding bikes and basically..well basically everything. But because of the way the world sees blindness as a disability, we are programmed to help them, to do things for them. That made me think. A lot.

In my house, my kids do not naturally "try new things". In fact, most of the time, I have to drag them kicking and screaming.

One of the harder things I have to do right now, is to convince my son who has bilateral radial aplasia (both arms missing radius bones and fingers) that he is perfectly capable of putting on his jackets and buttoning up his pants. Fact: I am not totally convinced that he is perfectly capable of it. I have to teach myself not to say that to him. Part of my training, is to repeat over and over to him that he can do it. And then, the second part of my training (and by far the most painful part of it) is that I make myself stand there and watch him struggle. I encourage him. When he whimpers and whines and says "Mommy I can't do it. I tried but I can't." It makes me sick to my stomach, and with a lump in my throat I say "Yes you can baby. You can do it." I give him tips, I cheer him on, I ball my hands into fists and scrunch my toes and try with all my might to NOT do it for him. It's agony and each time we are finished with that terrible exercise, I usually go into another room and sob.

I would love to say that it is because my kid is "special" that makes my pain so much more tangible. That is FALSE. All parents go through challenging times in their kids lives. But it's so important for us to hold that line. I hate making him work so hard and hearing him so frustrated. But I know that the day that he learns to tie his shoes is going to be so much sweeter because we worked so hard to get there.

Last night, when I was being a "consistent parent" and making my daughter clean her room, she wailed so loudly that I said the typical thing that one says when they feel they are torturing their child. I said "I am SUCH a bad mom."

 But as I said it, my seven-year-old looked up at me and asked me why I thought that. I said that it was so hard sometimes to make your kids do things that are hard, especially when they cry. It makes me feel bad.

He looked right at me and without a pause said, "Mama, you are NOT a bad mom." I smiled and said thanks and then he said, "No mama, do you know that? Do you know that you are not a bad mom?"
As if that couldn't just melt you into a puddle, he was saying it while he was doing a chore. A CHORE people! I hadn't even bribed him.

Pushing my kids to do hard things might just be the toughest part of my job. It is tiring. It is ear piercing. It's unsettling. It's so so frustrating. And, if I do my job right, it will be totally thankless. But even though I push them, I know (if not gently reminded by my sweet little boy) that I am NOT a bad mom for doing that. Sure they may yell at me. They may scream and whine and bang on the wall. But making them do hard things doesn't make me a bad mom. We do Hard Things. And, with any luck, that will stick with them.

Do you struggle to hold a line? Do you feel discouraged about how hard it is? Do you feel like the bad guy? I'm telling you now... YOU ARE NOT A BAD MOM. You aren't.
Whatever battle you are fighting, whatever line you are holding, whatever hard thing you are making your kids do... know that these things don't make you a bad mom...they make you a good one.

We Do Hard Things: ending the whiny mommy bloggers

Greetings readers!
I have been on blog radio silence for a while. I'd love to say that it's because I'm so "terribly busy" but the truth is, it's because something has been stirring inside me that I've been wanting to write about for months, but haven't had the courage to. You see... I have a bit of a confession to make and it's a little controversial and a whole lot self incriminating. Here goes. I can't stand mommy whiner blogs.  

But Erin, you are a mommy blogger. Oh yes, I am fully aware of it. Hence the blog silence. Let me back up a minute and say that I don't dislike mommy bloggers and I do think that there are some blogs out there that are very helpful to mothers  searching for someone who feels just like them, someone who can validate their feelings. To those blogs, I bare no ill-will. No, I'm talking about a specific group of mommy blogs: the mommy whiner blogs. 

I am a believer in empowering each other, encouraging people. I am a believer in giving voice to your thoughts and feelings, I am a believer in being real about your life and in giving grace to others who are real about their lives. What I am NOT a believer in, is when you use your life's circumstances to excuse your unwillingness to move forward; to work on being a better you.

This whole thing started on facebook. I had gone through a particularly bad couple of weeks in the trenches of motherhood and as I would scroll through my newsfeed there would be blog link after blog link with titles like "Why I don't take my sensory kid to church" and "What not to say to a mom of special needs". For some reason, this really irritated me. 

Some facebook friends would post things like "This is so me guys." And then would link to this lady who was just making excuses about how hard her life was. There was no epiphany at the end, there was no challenge to work on, there wasn't even a way the writer would let you relate to them. It was all very much, a "this is why you will NEVER understand why it's so hard to be me" alienating diatribe.  I mean, I have 2 kids with special needs, I could throw down a whiner blog like nobody's business. Maybe I had done that. Had I done that? Suddenly I felt icky. Oh no, had I unknowingly become a mommy whiner?

 I thought about the whole reason why I started blogging in the first place. It wasn't to get thousands of hits, to make money,  or to go on trips. It wasn't to be featured in magazines or exalted for the most amazing and wonderful person that we all hope people think we are when we blog. I started writing because I enjoyed being authentic, and raw and real. I am terrible at talking about my feelings to people in real life. But somehow, alone  (or sometimes in a room full of kids) on a computer, I could say exactly how I felt. I could be exactly who I was. My blog gave me the freedom to say what was on my mind and to talk about the struggles I faced as a human being. Most of the time, those struggles are about being a mom because.... well that's what is important to me. There are challenges as a mother, there are obstacles. You never know if you're doing the right thing, or if you're making huge mistakes. You feel isolated, you feel doubt, you feel joy, you feel incredible love. Those are the things I like to write about. All of it.What I don't like about whiny mommy bloggers are the fact that they tell you how hard it is to do certain things and THAT'S why they don't do them.

 In my family we have a saying: We Do Hard Things. How can I look at my son who has trouble buttoning his pants, or tying his shoes and say to him "Son, I know those things are hard for you. It's so hard so just never mind. Don't do it."? I have to lead by example. I have to show him that whatever you find challenging or difficult, you still have to DO. Because the world will not just give you grace because things are hard. We do hard things. 

Fact: Taking my sensory kid to church is one of the hardest things I do all week....but I do it anyway. Fighting for my kid to get all of the therapy and medical attention he needs is hard....but I do it anyway. Sometimes getting up and getting your kids dressed is the hardest thing... but you do it anyway. Maybe going to work and kissing your babies goodbye is just the hardest...but you do it anyway. Why do you do it? Because...well because you have to. You can't just give up. It's ok to be upset about it. It's ok to want to quit. It's ok to even whine about it. But eventually, you have to put your big girl blog panties on and...do it the freak anyways.

I have a whole bunch of bright hot pink business cards. Right now they say:                     Erin Warkentin
                           freelance writer * blogger

Perhaps I need to be more specific, maybe a reprint is in order. What it should say is:           Erin Warkentin
                              freelance writer * whiner blogger

Forgive me if I've whined without giving hope, without trying to better myself, without picking myself up and continuing to just keep swimming, just keep swimming. If I've been that to you, I'm sorry. It has become one of my biggest pet peeves and I refuse to let my blog become my crutch for inactivity or lame behavior. 

Let's not settle for whineyness (is that even a word?) Let's become cheerleaders, and motivators. Does that mean that I will only ever write positive blogs from now on? Heck no. That wouldn't be real life now would it? It means I will write the good with the bad, as it comes wave on wave and that I promise not to enable my readers; my friends, to be inactive or to use their life circumstances as excuses. 

Chant with me friends:

Life is Hard...we do it anyways. 
We Do Hard Things.

How to say the right thing when there's no right way to say it.

I've been writing an article this week. In it, I decided to focus on amputees and veterans.When I got some feedback from my editor he said that he had never heard of the term "arm difference" before and could I change it? My mommy heart grew 3 sizes at that moment. I had never been in that kind of conflict between my career and my maternal instinct. How could anyone not have heard of that term before? I was, quite frankly, a little hurt. When I told my best friend this, she sheepishly admitted she hadn't heard of that term either. That's when I stopped and realized something.  The truth is, sometimes I just plain old forget that not everyone loves a little boy with a limb difference, or even knows what that term is.

I can remember when Elijah was a baby how much Tim and I stumbled over the words to describe it. People looked to us to know the right way to say things and we were just as clueless. We spent so long trying to come up with the right paragraph to answer when someone would say "What's wrong with his hands?" What we wanted to say is: "Nothing is wrong with his hands, what's wrong with your manners?"


Of course, we knew that it was just a way of asking us why our son looked different than others.
It took years of struggling through explaining something that was so personal to us, so sensitive. You could also see it in people's eyes when they would ask. They could see how hard it was for us to find the right words. We've watched as our families have tried to "say the right thing" and as our friends have struggled through it. We've heard words that make us embarrassed and words that make us angry. 

I think it's hard to be in this kind of position. On one hand, you want to educate, you want people to know how to address it.  On the other hand, you don't want to be that lady that gets up on her soapbox if you look at her wrong. You want people to treat you normally; to not stare at you when you're eating dinner at a restaurant. And you certainly don't want people to avoid you like a plague because they are afraid of offending you. I think sometimes there are people in this world who lack tact and ruin it for the rest of us but for the most part, we're not going to come out and attack you because you don't know the correct terminology.

This summer both of my boys were in a swim class together. I spent every day for two weeks sitting on a bench next to 2 other moms cheering on their kids. Each day they would ask me questions about my boys, getting to know them better. They would remark about how good of a swimmer each one was, or how similar they looked. They asked me about life with two boys, about what school they went to and if I liked it. Not once in 2 weeks did they ever ask about Elijah's hand difference. It's not that I would have minded if they did, in fact each morning as I took my seat on the bench I was waiting for it. But it never came. I loved that they saw me for me; my son for who he was.
Because the truth is, we're just like everybody else, we just do things a little bit differently.

So how do you say the right thing when there's no right way to say it?

Here are the things we say about our son. "He has a hand difference" "He has 2 lucky fins".  You can give him a high five, you can give him a thumbs up. You can point to things with your pointer finger. Just don't mind us, we will point with our pinky fingers most times.

What does Elijah think of all this? Well, he will be the first one to tell you "I have four fingers". That's his simple, easy, non-politically correct terminology and it suits him just fine. When asked the "why" question, his favored line is "Because that's just the way God made me."

It's never an easy thing to talk about, let alone blog about to the entire world. But I think it's important for people to know. And, as G.I. Joe put it, knowing is half the battle.

The passage of Time

                                                  Time. 

There is a lot to be said about the passage of time. Hootie and the Blowfish (the great orators of our generation) once said "Time is wasted, time is walking  you ain't no friend of mine... I think I'm going out of my mind just thinking about time."

Time is so many things to so many people. I think that time is most evident in a mother's life.The days are long but the years are short. That's what they say about motherhood. I would have to agree. Time wasted worries you, time ahead fills you with anxiety, time behind you fills you with sadness. I  think of this time in my life with my children and I feel like it is slowly slipping through my fingers. This time is precious, and valuable and quickly moving and ever changing.

It is this time, this preciousness that propels me to take snapshots of my children so that I can look back and remember.

I can remember that moment when your two front teeth were missing. It was just 3 weeks of time before that front one grew in. It was your seventh birthday with that cake that took an army of hands to put together. And it was this cake that made you smile that gloriously magnificent tooth gapped smile that I will remember forever, but that only lasted for 3 short weeks.

I can remember that moment when I first brought you to this playground and it didn't look too big for you. It was just your size. And that knowing smile told me that you were ready for a phase of life that I wasn't ready for.

But that smile also told me that while you were a big boy now, playing with the other big boys, you weren't too big to stop holding my hand or giving me a big, sloppy, wet kiss as I said goodbye to you. You were telling me that it was going to be okay, even though you weren't exactly sure that it was. That was this moment.

And then there was this innocent split second when you were sitting on your Nana's lap and looking up into my eyes with such love; such tenderness. And it took my breath away that someone could look at me that way, that someone could love me in that way. And it was in that moment that I thought to myself "There has never been a more beautiful little girl in the history of forever." And you held my hand and wiggled into my lap and you put your face against mine. For that split second, for that moment we were connected. And I was your everything.



While I'm sad at the time that is already gone and am excited about the time that I won't have to potty train, or pick up the lego that seems to congregate down the edges of my hallway, I must for now live in the present in this fast moving and changing current of happenings that is my children's childhood. How I want it to stand still. I would gladly fill up sippy cups forever if I could just hold onto this moment.

This wonderful, beautiful moment of absolute chaotic, giggling mess.

First Day of Kindergarten Milestone for my middle little

Dear Noah,

Today is your first day of kindergarten. I don't know why, but for some reason this fact blows me away much more than it did with your brother. I think it's because you have always been my little buddy. Since you were tiny, you have always been stuck like glue to my side. When brother went to school, you were incredibly happy and content to get all the attention. You've walked beside me for every therapy appointment that your brother and sister have had, you've been that faithful, constant, dependable kid. You've been an easy kid. But being the easy kid, and the middle kid is the thing I worry most about for you. You've never known a moment alone, you were born into a crowd.

Today when I held your sweaty little hands and it was the Noah show, I felt your nervousness. You had to face the world without the security blanket of your older brother, or your mama, or your protector daddy. It was just you. I watched as the gregarious, large as life personality of Noah James that I have come to adore just melted into a perfect little turtle shell.

It's not easy being the middle kid. You're always someone's brother, it sort of melds into your identity. You have that added difficulty of being the middle kid of two kids with disabilities. I recognize that sometimes we call on you to do things that we don't ask your brother to do. I wonder how unfair you must think that is sometimes?

I think about how everyone seems to remember Elijah everywhere he goes, and how they often forget your name or that Elijah even had a brother. Sometimes, being in Elijah's shadow is an incredibly dark place to be. I see that Noah. I see you.

My prayer for you is that your winning personality and charm will shine through. That you will make friends, a lot of friends. That people will be drawn to you. I pray Noah that you will grow and develop and try new things and discover who you are. That you will have different interests than your brother and that you will thrive in the world you create for yourself.

I pray, as a mother, that I will always take time to listen to you, even if your brother and sister are louder at getting my attention. I pray that I will celebrate and encourage your strengths, that I will be able to talk through things with you and get you to not hide in your shell, but to talk about your feelings.

I have to tell you, saying goodbye to you today and walking away hit me in the gut like you wouldn't believe. You are my buddy Noah. You are mama's boy and I have, perhaps selfishly, grown to love and cherish that. I hate that I have to share you with the world. Can't you just be my little piece of awesomeness who snuggles in bed beside me forever? No? I have to share you with the world?

I just wanted you to know, to have documented proof that you are loved and you are treasured...highly and that I will miss you terribly as you cross the threshold into the school years.

Don't ever grow up Noah, stay Peter Pan forever okay?

Love,
Mama

We don't negotiate with terrorists: how to deal with picky eaters

Every family has got one. There's that rogue eater, the straggler, the last one to finish their food, or rather the last one to push their food around their plate enough for it to look like it was semi-eaten. And no matter what you do, it is a struggle at every meal to get protein and vegetables or something unfamiliar into their stomachs. So how do you deal with a picky eater?

I wish the answer was a simple one. The truth is.... it takes work! Here are a few methods:

Consistency

I think if there was one thing that I could say I've learned in parenting, it's that consistency is key. If you aren't consistent, you might as well give up now because they will wear you DOWN. It's their job to push limits and test boundaries and to make you feel like maybe you've gone mad. The only way to win this war is to tow the party line.

With our three-year-old, consistency is proving to be the mountain we have to die on. Every. Single. Night we put a well-balanced (okay sometimes it's not always well-balanced but hey, nobody's perfect) meal on the table. And every single night she goes through various stages of whining, complaining, crying and screaming all through dinner. I have to say, it's not a pleasant experience. She tests our patience until it is as thin is a spaghetti noodle. Tim often asks "Why do we even make her dinner? We know it's just going to go straight into the garbage." 

Tim speaks truth. Most of the time, I question the sanity in even making a meal for her. But there are those shining moments, those little glimmers of hope when she reaches for that fork and takes a big, heaping bite of something she's never tried before that I feel that all those other nights have paid off.


Sticking to the Rules

This one  is a tough one for me. In our house, we have hard and fast dinnertime rules. No dessert, or bread or anything "extra" until the meal on your plate is consumed. This one is a challenge because we have three kids and only one picky eater. It often feels to our daughter that we are singling her out when her older brothers get a cookie or a snack. She watches them laugh and enjoy the chocolatey goodness as she pushes around her green beans and whines about how unfair life is. There was a time when I would give into this and hand her dessert- big mistake HUGE! Don't do it guys. Put down the cookie, just say no. The consequences are not worth it.


Don't Negotiate with Terrorists

Now there are lots of different kinds of dinner negotiations. I'm not talking about the "eat 2 more bites and you can be done" negotiations. No, those compromises are the only things that give me the will to live sometimes. I'm talking about, the dinner terrorists. The ones who decide they will give you their terms and you will submit.... or else.
"Ok mama, if I eat 3 more bites of rice, I can have a cookie" Hmmmm..... Nope. Those are not the rules. (Wild fits of rage ensue) "Ok, 4 bites!" Uh, still no.
I counter with an "How about all of it?"
"Ok... fine."
Yes!! I'm thinking about joining the United Nations.

Don't Push It

No matter how hard we try, there are just going to be those nights when nothing gets eaten. It happens to everyone. And on those nights, we allow a little bit of water, but we stress that nothing else is coming until breakfast (which they are always STARVING for in the morning). In order to ensure confidence in your picky eater, it's important not to berate them. Ok, so you may feel like another culinary masterpiece has gone to waste. Hang up that apron and surrender the dinner bell, nobody ever died of an over consumption of peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches.


In short, it's important to stick to your guns and remember that it won't always be like this. But if you can stick to it there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Lessons from my 6-year-old or the day I failed as a parent

Let the record show, that I am an imperfect person. It's true. I don't like admitting it, but who does? Yesterday I had a major parenting fail. I like to think that I had the best of intentions, but the truth is, my 6-year-old absolutely schooled me.

Elijah was working on his homework, as he usually does most evenings. He had a homework packet sent home to him that he had completed, but his teacher wanted him to do it over. Now this happens frequently for lots of reasons. Most of the time it's because he's answered a question incorrectly. But on this night, he had a very large packet of homework sent home for him to re-do for a very different reason.

Let me back up, I have a mama warrior heart. I have spent a very long time, so many times, fighting very hard for this kid. It's not that I'm out there just raging on people, it's just that to get him all of the medical treatment, therapy and schooling he has needed it has been terribly challenging and I have stepped in as his advocate. I'm used to that role. It's comfortable, familiar and for a long time I was his only voice. So when things happen to him that I have deemed unfair I tend to get a little okay a whole lot red-faced, spitting mad, angry about it. Why do little things like this set me off? I think it goes back to the day that I first held him in my arms and had flashes of these types of experiences, what they would look like and how it would be over my dead, rotting corpse that I would let ANY injustice befall him. Perhaps, in this regard, I get a tad   incredibly overdramatic. On this day, Elijah called me on it.

Back to the homework packet: I noticed that it got sent back with giant lettering on every page that said "Color NEATLY"
Things that I said inside my head "Color neatly?? Color neatly? Let's see you effing color neatly when you have 4 fingers that don't bend." Also probably some other expletives.
Things that I said out loud: "Elijah who corrected this paper? Why do you think she wants you to erase it and color again? She will probably just send it back again."
Things that I mouthed silently across the room to my husband: "Are you KIDDING ME? Who says that to him? What does she expect????" <note it was totally silent>

By now I am fuming. I'm already in cleaning-the-kitchen-so-I-don't-do-something-stupid mode. I'm thinking of things to sarcastically write back on the homework packet and possibly more expletives. You see, I'm mama bear, I'm a prize fighter, I am here to fight all the injustices of this world, one homework packet at a time!

But then Elijah, after erasing his previous coloring venture, calmly began re-coloring his homework and casually said "She's not going to send it back again mama, she knows when I try hard. But I can work harder, there is always room for improvement."

Bam. Just like that. I got completely schooled by a 6-year-old. While I was so busy getting ready to pounce, I forgot that my little boy is growing up. He doesn't need me to fight every battle, just the important ones. And so, I failed as a parent that day because I forgot that I don't have to be his voice, he is his own. And maybe I don't have to get so hot under the collar at every little thing that happens to him. Maybe a little self-control is in order?

Yep, I'm human. Fortunately, my son loves me anyway. And I can try harder tomorrow.

Diary of a freelance mom

A friend of mind recently said to me "Boy, it's like you lead two lives" And I have to say that lately, that's felt very true.                                                                                       

  I've really had the opportunity to travel a lot for work. It's junket season and with that comes first class flights and fancy hotels. But I have to say, for a mom that does dishes and laundry most days, it seems like such an out of body experience.

I've been getting a lot of questions  about what I do. The short answer is: I'm a freelance writer. It's a slow process but it's been rewarding to build my resume as things come up. I've been able to screen movies and interview actors and directors. I've had the chance to write reviews and features for a few publications. I've been able to see sights and truly spread my wings and I've enjoyed every minute of it. But when I'm away from my kids it also feels like a huge part of myself is missing. I so enjoy being able to talk about media and writing and social issues with my fellow writing community, but I also just as equally love talking about First Grade book fairs and the funniest thing that Noah said last week to other like-minded parents.

Maybe that's why I love this blog so much, because I can share everything with you. There are so many pieces to my life, so many interests and passions and causes that I have, there is no way in this little ADD brain of mine that I could ever contain my thoughts to just one subject, or my passions to just one page. I'm a mom, first and foremost and my favorite view is not the most amazing city skyline (like this one from this last weekend in Beverly Hills):

 No, my favorite view is still this one. At home cuddling next to my sleeping children and being a part of their everyday life.

I'm still trying to figure out how to bounce from thing to thing and maintain a sense of balance and order. And while I'm confident I may never know balance and order in this chaos I call life, I sure am glad you're along for the ride.

This is how we pray

I believe Carmen said it best in one of his early 90's hit songs when he said: "We have to pray, pray, pray we have to pray most everyday."

Prayer is a part of my everyday life. I pray while I'm vaccuming or showering. Basically anytime I feel like I won't be disturbed is when I do it. But praying today got me thinking: If I'm always finding ways to pray silently on my own, how will my children ever learn to make prayer a part of their everyday life? My mom was pretty amazing at teaching me how to pray. I can remember large portions of my childhood not being able to find my shoes or my coat or one of my favorite toys instead of saying something like "well... just find it!" she would say "well why don't you ask Jesus to help us find it?" What a novel idea. It seems strange to say that doesn't it? As if the God of the universe would care where your shoes were.

But as I would watch my mother pray while looking for her keys, it allowed me to learn in very practical ways that God does indeed answer prayer and that you can tell him ANYTHING. There is no insignificant prayer to the Lord. I can remember vividly the night I plead to God when I was 8. I was alone in my room, crying my eyeballs out, thinking about how my dad might die. You see, he struggled with a disease his whole life and went through many times when he almost didn't make it. That night, things looked very grim for him and I felt helpless. I cried out to God in my bed that night and said "God, please heal my daddy. Please! Can you just let him live long enough to walk me down the aisle God? In Jesus name I pray Amen." That was the night that made me a believer in the power of prayer. I believe God heard my tender, broken, eight-year-old heart and answered my prayer. That was a BIG prayer, and the day my daddy walked me down the aisle I remembered what God had promised me and I thanked him for it.

 Fast forward to my own parenthood experience and I have to admit, there is a shameful lack of continuous prayer in my home. Sure they have a track that they say during meals and at bedtime. One they've memorized so thoroughly that it's almost difficult to pull them away from it and actually think about what they are saying to Jesus. When I think about it, Jesus himself spent much of his time on earth teaching others how to pray. When they didn't know the words to say, He gave them a track to guide them. When he was afraid, he asked them to sit beside him while he prayed. He prayed for the sick and the dead and the drink and the bread. He prayed in so many circumstances it was impossible not to think of prayer being a routine part of his day. Matthew 19:13 Then people brought little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked them. Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

Jesus had a special place in his heart for children and even in that instance he taught the little ones how to pray and that what they said and how they felt was just as important to God. So today when their daddy asked me to pray for him, I used it as an opportunity to teach my kids. We all sat down and I explained what daddy needed prayer for. They elected a representative (Elijah) to pray. He started on the usual prayer pattern he was taught but then was forced to go a different route due to the specifics and when he was done, they all said "Amen!" And that was it. Maybe a minute long thing that had them stop and pray and look towards Jesus.

I'm not always going to be great at this, but I really want to strive to teach my children that prayer doesn't just belong at the dinner table, or in their beds at night. They can talk to Jesus anytime and there is nothing too small or insignificant for Him. I believe Jesus especially listens to the hearts and prayers of little children. I believe He uses those moments to show even the littlest of hearts that He is faithful in all things.

Tales of a first grader: First Day of school

Dear Elijah:

When did you get to be so big? I feel like I have literally blinked and overnight you have become this thoughtful, intelligent conversationalist with opinions and feelings and the ability to express them. That is an amazing thing to me, an awe-inspiring thing. It's been a hard summer for you. You've learned a lot about yourself this year and this summer it all came to a head as you've been struggling with how to handle it. We talked a lot about it over hot summer days. You've shared how frustrated you get that you can't do things sometimes. You've talked about how it makes you feel when kid after kid after kid repeatedly asks you why you look so different. I've watched you handle it. And bud, you handle it so well. You just tell them plainly that you were born that way, and then you go on your merry way as if you were simply telling them why your eyes are blue. You are tough. But I know that it's still a hard thing to do. And it puts a lump in my throat everytime. 

The truth is, you aren't different because of any physical difference. You're different than most kids because of your heart. It's truly a servants heart, a tender heart, a sweetheart....my sweetheart. Your generosity, your warmth, your willingness to help others is a gift Elijah; a gift. A gift that most people will never have the capacity to understand. But it also makes you a sensitive little soul. And that's what made walking into first grade this year tough.

This year, you knew what you were walking into. You knew that you would have to explain things all over again to 30 new people.You knew you would have to adjust to the ever-growing demands they place on 6-year-olds and that you would have to rise to the occasion. You knew that there would be things you have to do differently than others, and that made you nervous. I could feel your little heart fluttering as you sat down. And though we had rehearsed what you would do and say for months, the nervousness overwhelmed you and we both had a good cry at your desk. 

Gosh Elijah, I try to be tough for you and to show you that you are capable of doing anything you set your mind to (which, by the way you totally are) but it is almost impossible to be strong when you look up at me with those beautiful turquoise eyes filled with tears. It's hard to let you go when I know you will face so many challenges I can't protect you from. I hate it I hate it I hate it! Why can't I? But it's not my job to shelter you from every question or comment that would reach your ears and I have to remind myself of that. It's my job to show you how to handle it with grace and sincerity and kindness and heart. 

And even though it was hard to walk out of that classroom and let you do things on your own, you did eventually work through it and the transition has been challenging but good for you. I'm proud of you my little first grader. You are truly a wonder to behold.

Love,

Mama

The Lies my dirty house told me

Last week I had the most company over I have probably ever had in my life. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I never have people over, it's just that I've never had quite so many different visitors in the span of 7 days. I blame my husband who went out of town, and my absolute dislike of being alone. But in the midst of all the company, I also had a lot of freak out moments.

A little secret about my house: it's dirty about 86% of the time. Why? Oh there are lots of reasons why. I have 3 small children, I am out and about a lot, I have 3 small children, there aren't enough hours in the day to clean, I HAVE 3 SMALL CHILDREN.

Here's the thing, everyone that I invite to my home KNOWS the chaos that is my life. So why do I feel the need to immediately apologize to them that I didn't get to vaccuming, or that I didn't empty my dishwasher? It's because my dirty house is telling me lies:

"You're not a good enough housekeeper" says my pile of dirty dishes. "You aren't sanitary" says the little boy's toilet that I did just clean an hour ago, but now has dried pee all over it. The mounstrous basket of dirty clothes says"You are a laundry failure".  The fingerprints all over my sliding glass door tell me, "Clearly, being clean is not a priority for you."

"Quite frankly, you disgust me," says the long drip stains from an unknown origin on my walls. The stack of paper plates that I use to feed my kids each day whispers, "You don't have nice things, or maybe you're just lazy. Or maybe a little of both." The disgusting rice crispies that I can't seem to ever fully chisel off of my diningroom table secretly judge me and the dirty kitchen floor is rolling it's eyes at me because it knows I haven't mopped it in over a week. But the toys scattered all over my livingroom floor, hallway and at the foot of my bed greet me warmly; we're old friends now.

Probably the biggest misconception about being a stay-at-home mom, is that you will have all the time to keep your house in order, and spend time with your kids. You will have time to finish books, make beautiful art pieces, perhaps get a new hobby, or 5 because hey, you stay home all day and you will have plenty of time to fit it all in. I cannot tell you how many times when my husband has walked through the door and I have jumped up and felt the need to give him the list of things that I did today, and that the children subsequently spent the rest of the day "undoing". He doesn't even bat an eyelash. He's not phased. You know why? Because it's not him that is judging me. He's not holding me to a standard, or expecting perfection. But if I'm being honest I expect perfection.

It's me that wants the sparkling clean kitchen, and the laundry neatly folded in drawers. I want the baseboards wiped down and not a spec of dust anywhere in my home. I want the prestine carpets and the glorious china dishes to serve my guests with. But that's my hang up.

My mother once told me that she spent the better part of her life holding her house to a state of perfection that it almost never was. She wouldn't have anyone over unless her house held to the standard, and as a result, she never had anyone over.

So why do I let the dishes and the laundry and the dust bunnies judge me? Why is it that I feel so condemned by them? Because I let them guilt me. I let them make me feel bad for reading my son a book when he asked, or for teaching him a lesson in sharing, or answering a question that's been bothering him. I let them whisper mean things to me when I'm playing dress up with my daughter, or just holding her because she's had a hard day.

 

Sometimes I believe this guilt is exactly why there was a Mary and a Martha in the bible. Mary: great friend, follower and hostess. She sat with Jesus, talked with him and really listened to him. Martha: worried about the meal she was feeding him, if her table looked alright, if her house was presentable enough, if SHE was good enough. End result: Jesus and Mary were tight, Martha... well... Martha had a very nice house.

I couldn't say with certainty that if Jesus came over to my house, that I wouldn't apologize for this morning's cereal that was underneath the table, or for that sticky toddler residue that was all over the lightswitch in the bathroom, but I'd like to think that I would talk to him and really listen to him and possibly serve him store-bought pizza on paper plates and that he could really care less about it. Because, quite frankly, I'm no Martha.

"Mama": A Mother's Day Tribute

It's been a difficult year for my mother. I have watched her go through so much with the death of my father. She has been brave and tried new things and has been through such grief and tremendous loss but has handled it with grace and dignity. Not only has she been a strong woman, but also a wonderfully supportive mother as she walked all of her children through this deep dark grief. When your children are grown, and your husband is gone, the mother's day lunches desist. There aren't nearly as many praises, or accolades at this point, you're lucky if you even get a phone call. But why is that? Just because your children are adults does not make you any less their mother. So on this Mother's day I would like to publicly acknowledge what a marvelous woman my mother is, and this poem that's just for her:

                                                      You'll Always be "Mama" to me
                                         When I was just a baby, and learning how to speak
                                         I would call you "Mama" and kiss you on the cheek.
                               When I took my first few steps, I would push your hands away
                              But you were always there to catch me, even if you couldn't say.

                                         "Mommy" was the next name I called you as I grew,
                                      I was gaining independence, but still really needed you.
                            You'd scare away the monsters, and kiss the boo boos on my knee.
                                 And you loved the hugs and kisses you'd always get from me.
                                    Every card I'd make for you was treasured and was dear,
                             but as the years began to pass, "Mommy" wasn't what you'd hear.

                             Soon "Moooooooom!" was what I'd scream from down the hall,
                             when I couldn't find my favorite shirt or needed money for the mall.
                                     Through helping me with algebra, or packing me a lunch,
                                  all you asked was "how's your day?" you didn't ask for much.
                                Instead I gave you groans and sass it wasn't what you'd expect.
                                    And I'm sad to say I didn't always treat you with respect.

                            And when I was finally old enough I left your nest and put up walls,
                                              I didn't call you anything, I didn't call at all.
                            I was finding myself in the great big world, I was pushing you away,
                                     Still you waited for me patiently, even if you couldn't say.

                                        Soon I wore a wedding dress and started a new life,
                                   "Mom" was what I'd call you, "teach me how to be a wife."
                                  One part woman, one part child we came to a compromise;
                                  I was learning you were right, you were learning to let me fly.

                                        And finally the day came when all your work paid off,
                                  They placed a baby in my arms and he was warm and soft.
                             Soon my house was full of babies; mess and kisses were my life,
                                    and I would call you "Mama" when I needed your advice.

                                          It's only now that I'm a mama that I can truly see
                                    Why I call you"Mama" and what "Mama" means to me.
                                     It's years of love and sacrifice and knowing when to pray,
                                     you've always had my back, even when you couldn't say.

                                   

A change in perspective

Hebrews 12:5
"My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor faint when you are reproved by Him; for those whom the Lord loves, He disciplines, and he scourges every son whom He receives."

I've been disciplining my kids a LOT lately. When I say a lot, I mean I haven't done much of ANYTHING else. My house can attest to that fact. Elijah is going through a stage where he is dead set on arguing against everything you say. Noah is having a difficult time sharing, and Olivia just has sensory issues a lot. Parenting these three very small children all at once has been quite overwhelming.The last few weeks have been particularily challenging for me to maintain consistency while not losing my cool. Truthfully, I haven't always been wonderful at keeping composed. I have been praying that God gives me the ability to parent fairly, and compassionately, even in the times I don't want to.

This morning, God gave me this verse. And it really made me think. Why do I discipline my kids? I do it because I love them. I want them to grow up with a healthy understanding of boundaries, I want to push them to achieve goals they whine and tell me they can't do. It is because I want these things for them, that I discipline them. It made me think about God's discipline in my life. How many times does he have to teach me the same lesson over and over again? I am fairly certain in the last 2 weeks, He's had to teach me patience consistently. Sometimes I'm compliant and I do what I'm told. Other times I stomp my feet, adamately say "No, I don't WANT to!" and roll around on the floor kicking and screaming. He simply says, "Time out!" and there I am, sitting in my room, staring at the walls, with nothing to do but think about changing my attitude and learning the lesson I was put in time out to learn. Why does He do it? Because He loves me. Plain and simple. When it really comes down to it, I am a 2-year-old struggling to surrender my life, what I want, what I think is best for me. And He so lovingly gives me consistency and a firm hand to set me on the right path.

It really changes your perspective when you're breaking up a wrestling match, kissing a boo-boo, or filling a sippy cup.

It's all a"boot" me

I spent the better part of last fall searching for a fabulous pair of boots. My faux Target special uggs from five years ago just weren't cutting it (though they did keep the rain off). I searched high and low for the perfect boot, it was not an easy task. And I had almost given up in the illustrious boot search when I made a quick trip to Portland. Have I mentioned I'm in love with that city yet? Oh, I feel another blog post coming on. I digress. I got to stay and reconnect with a fabulous fellow blogger, and good friend, Imaya in her lovely home. She introduced to me, and generously gave me a giftcard to DSW where I found a delightful pair of boots that were perfect for me. Perfect in that, I could stomp through puddles, lug kids to Target in, and not get wet. Perfect in that I could do said things while still looking somewhat stylish in. While on this fabulous trip to Portland, I also bought a Pashmina scarf that I fell head over heels in love with. It seriously makes me smile just putting it on.

I know it sounds really strange, but I can be having the WORST day. I can change the grossest diapers, endure the most temper tantrums, and run the most errands (kids in tow). And as long as I'm wearing my boots and my scarf I will still be smiling. Seriously I was wearing mom pants and a stained shirt today and I threw on my boots and my scarf and picked up Elijah from school feeling like a diva. What it is it about these items that brighten my day so much? I can't put a total finger on it, but I think it has to do with the fact that they are totally and completely all about ME. They go on my feet and on my neck and they are not used as toys, or cleaning devices. They are purely to make me look, and feel, better.

As moms, I think we forget this little part about ourselves. For me, it's not making time for myself that's the problem, it's physically buying things for myself. I think about the new shoes Tim needs for work, or the socks the boys need or that cute hair thing for Olivia that I am just dying to get her. But what about me? I always forget me. It isn't until someone forceably gives me something that is ONLY meant for me that I remember, oh yeah... I kinda like this and it makes me feel good.

Mother's Day Reflections:3 years in

Three years ago, I celebrated my first mother's day. I was a new mom, enjoying every little thing about my baby. I couldn't have imagined then just how full my heart would become, how many lessons I would learn, or mistakes I would make. I couldn't have dreamed that 3 years later, I would be taking Mother's Day photos with 3 amazing babies.



The woman I was before my children came along is but a shadow of who I am now. My heart is so much more full. My desire to give my children love and support has allowed me to try things I would never have tried, and accomplish things I couldn't have ever seen myself doing. I have become a hairbow maker, a party planner, a sewing enthusiast, an avid reader, an interior designer, a documantarian, and a graphic designer since they came into my life; all things I could never have dreamed I would be. Being a mother has encouraged me to become a better person, a more well-rounded one.

I've become more relaxed- less of a control freak. My children have taught me that there is no controlling when they play in mud, or get covered in peanutbutter, there is no telling how covered in crayon your walls will become, or when somebody will have a dirty diaper that requires a wardrobe change. These are all things you have to roll with, and I have learned to not take things so seriously, or expect perfection.

So if I could say one thing to that mother 3 not-so-very-long years ago? I would tell her not to worry so much. You can't control things, you can't make them happen the way you want them to. All you can do, is sit back and enjoy the crazy ride and trust that the Lord knows what He's doing. Enjoy every kiss, snuggle, hug and wonderful thought that pops into their head. And find a way to laugh, even at the ridiculous mess your baby just made, everyday!

The land of 3

3 kids, 3 and under, 3 months in.

It's an incredible thing what time does to a person. Just 3 short months ago, I had a newborn baby in my lap and my mom, dad, and husband were all around helping me take care of kids and the house. I can remember feeling so overwhelmed at the thought of what I would do when all of those hands were gone, and it would just be me and 3 kids, ALONE.

It's definitely been an adjustment, and to be fair, there have been a lot of tears. But now that I am in the trenches, doing it alone, it's much more manageable than I ever thought it would be. Ofcourse, some days I get NOTHING accomplished and I find myself simply being a child holder- kissing boo boos, and breaking up fights all day. But somehow I feel like there will be a day when I will miss these things. Someday there will be a time when I will wish I could just sit on my couch and cuddle my babies again.

Insights on having 3 small children:

*Taking 3 little kids to the store isn't near as challenging as finding room for them all in the cart.

*How do you EVER find someone to watch 3 kids this age? It's an impossibility and I've resigned to the fact that maybe datenight will just have to be Tim and I and Netflix.

*Feeding this gang is something else. Our grocery bill has DOUBLED in a few short months. How this happens when one baby is full-time breastfeeding, I will never know.

*I have never seen so much laundry in my life. Everywhere I walk there is a load to be washed, or folded, or even worse a laundry basket full of clean and folded clothes just waiting to be put away. Who knew THAT would be the hardest part?

*The diapers aren't as overwhelming as I thought they'd be. I think once you get used to it, changing 3 diapers every few hours isn't as bad as one might think.

The Mommy Know-it-Alls

So, the first time I was pregnant it started. I would say something like, "Man...I'm so uncomfortable" and inevitably someone would come up to me and say "Oh just wait till you're 9 months pregnant... THEN you'll know what uncomfortable is."

Everytime there would be an ache or pain I would complain about, some wise cracking mom would say, "Just WAIT until labor, then you'll have something to complain about."

It really started to annoy me. But I figured, once I had a child, things would be different and I would be accepted into "the club". Ofcourse, there was labor... which I would like to think 17 hours would qualify me but there were the really snitty women who would say, "Oh, well you had a C-section... so you don't really know what giving birth is like."

When I became a part of the club, the mommy-know-it-alls didn't stop there. First it was, "Oh you have a baby... just wait until they're 2!" Then it was, "Oh you only have one child, just wait until two!" Then it was, "Oh you only have boys, just wait until you have a GIRL!"

Now here I am, 3 kids deep. I thought I had the corner market over the mommy-know-it-alls. I mean, who could top 3 kids in 3 years? Well, just last week, I found one. "Oh yeah, you should try doing all that and working FULL TIME."

Ugh, why do people feel the need to trudge on what is OBVIOUSLY a difficult thing and make it so that their story is always so much worse? I don't know. But what I do know is, so help me GOD, if you EVER catch me saying, "Oh just wait until...." please slap me. It's rude, it's annoying, and it trivializes the hardships of others.

GAH- there I said it!

Christmas: Through the eyes of a child

I used to think I knew what Christmas was about. I heard the story a thousand times, and thought of it's meaning. I thought about how amazing it was to celebrate the birth of the Christ child. But it wasn't until I became a mother that I truly understood just how precious the birth of a baby can be. This year, I had the priviledge of talking to my sons about what Christmas was about. Their responses were... pretty amazing.

When asked about why we celebrate Christmas, Elijah replied, "Mama, Christmas is Jesus' berfday. Eets not my berfday mama, it's Jesus'. "

This is the story, as told by Elijah, Noah and mama, of Jesus' Berfday:

There was a baby named Jesus. He had a mama, and a dada who loved him a "wot". But they couldn't find a crib for him, so he had to sleep in a barn. He cried "wah" just like baby "o-wee-a" (Olivia) cries. Then there were some kings with big crowns on their heads who followed the "twinkle twinkle widd-uh star" to the barn where Jesus was born. They gave him presents and there were cows "moo" there. There were also some farmers who were watching their sheep and an ANGEL came to them and told them about where baby Jesus was. Then all the farmers and kings bowed down to worship him. And the angels danced around and had a big party. - This is the part where Noah said "dance" and him and Elijah started dancing all over the room.

And that's when I totally lost it. How wonderful it is to look at Christmas through the eyes of my children. I so enjoyed dancing in celebration of Jesus- my King. It really made me think of how the angels must have been partying up there. I thought about Christ sitting on his thrown right now smiling, just as I smiled, as I watched little Noah and Elijah dancing for Jesus. I wonder if he got a small tear in his eye, as I did, when Elijah said, "Mama, for Jesus' berfday, I want to give him a berfday cake."

Thank you boys, for helping me to keep the reason for the season in my heart...always.

The world of 3

It's been 3 weeks since I entered the world of 3 children 3 and under. I thought it was an appropriate time to write a little something about what I've learned. Really, life is just about survival right now. It's been interesting having a newborn in the house again and all the lack of sleep it entails. But I think the added challenge is the sudden burst of energy the morning shift and it's 2 rambunctious little boys has brought to my world. I feel like the walking dead.

The amount of diapers I change in a day is ridiculous. Seriously, unheard of amounts. I think when I am finished with the last dirty diaper, I am using all the money we spend on diapering 3 butts and going on a weeklong cruise. And the laundry.... oh the laundry. It makes me want to curl up in a corner somewhere and suck my thumb.

I have to say, when I tell people that I have 3 children and spout off their ages, most people shake their heads or have a wide-eyed expression on their face. I then make some comment to acknowledge the fact that yes, we are in fact a little bit crazy.But, the joy of having all 3 of my kids in my minivan while we drive to the store, or sitting on the couch while we read a book is such an amazing feeling. A loud, chaotic, confusing, amazing feeling. So, 3 weeks in I can tell you that it is a scary endeavor, and not for the faint of heart. But it is the most content I've ever felt in my whole life. My cup overfloweth.