17 Things Kids Steal

They are thieves. Albeit cute ones, but thieves non-the-less.
There should be fine print somewhere that explains that kids take stuff.

1. shoes
2. scarves
3. anything long enough to be attached to the head and called long hair (i.e.: head phones, ribbons, ties)
4. cardigan sweaters
5. food (or so I've heard from other people...not my non-eating child)
6. your coat - and only when it's coldest and you think you might get frostbite without it
7. aprons "because they hang down like a princess's long dress"
8. headbands
9. iPads
10. iPods
11. iPhones
12. the chargers for above mentioned iThings
13. pillows
14. covers
15. the good spot in the center of the bed, and eventually, the whole thing
16. your sanity

...and your heart

Perfectly Imperfect

There's no such thing as a perfect parent. There are certainly some situations better than others, but even the wisest of us all fall short. My parents are among those imperfect people. They didn't do it all right. There are things I wish were different, and I know they feel the same. But tonight I got a reminder that sometimes even if every memory isn't pretty or every decision correct, you never lose the opportunity to do it better than yesterday. You never stop being a parent.

My best friend had a crisis about a month ago. She had to leave her home and needed to be somewhere safe. At 2 in the morning I suggested she go to my parents' house. I hadn't spoken to them about it, but I didn't have to. A few weeks later I needed to bring my goddaughter on a family outing. Tickets were purchased in advance, and I wasn't sure how we'd accommodate one more. Without asking them, I went to pick her up, and we figured it out later. Their concern was never once about the tickets. Doing what was right for someone I love came first.

A few days ago I called my mom to give her a gift idea for Brynna. We were shopping and BG almost hyperventilated over a TinkerBell doll. In true "grandma fashion" my mom promptly bought out the store. (Of course the grandma logic being if she liked one, she'll LOVE two!) We love how much BG is loved. We want her to be showered with love and blessings. But more importantly, we want her to understand that giving is always greater than receiving. So tonight, she got to open that present, and after we talked about how everyone doesn't have the same things we do, she got to choose one doll to keep and one to give to the little girl of someone we know. Brynna then helped wrap the gift and make a card for Genesis so she has a special present on Christmas.

I emailed my parents (as usual...after the fact) and explained that I had taken away one gift that would have been from them. I apologized for that and the fact that they didn't get to see her open it (which is 98% of the grandparent fun!). My mom's response was that if Brynna learned a life lesson that's what was important. She didn't care that she didn't get credit. She didn't worry that Brynna won't know who gave her the doll. She said she was proud of us for teaching BG something that will impact who she becomes.

My prayer for Brynna has been that I follow God in such a way that she starts ahead of where I did. I have strived to make decisions so she stands on my shoulders and is that much closer to being everything God created her to be. My parents aren't perfect. But my vantage point is from their shoulders. They have taught me to love in a way that can't be told but can only be shown. They have lived out love and because of that, I love with my whole heart. And because of that, Brynna lives in love.

No parent is perfect, but in the midst of our imperfections, I'm so glad mine chose to teach me how to love.

What Depression Taught Me I'm NOT: Part 4

The day I went to the doctor to say I wasn't ok was painful. In fact, I hated it. I wasn't sure who you are supposed to see when you feel like you can't get out of bed. I didn't know what medical code they'd use for "she says she feels so overwhelmed she can't go to the grocery store." I knew I had recently had a baby and for the past year had seen my ObGyn every week, so I started with her. For whatever reason, that made me feel better. It wasn't that I'm "depressed." I just had postpartum issues. It just so happened the medication is categorized as an anti-depressant. Coincidences. All of them.

When we moved to DC, I had to do what you do when you move. I got a new license, dry cleaner, hair stylist and doctor. The day I had to tell the new doctor my story was no less painful. In fact, I hated it too. I also hated the day I tried to get off the medication but was faced with the symptoms returning. To make matters worse, my doctor is very thorough. Not only did he make me explain that first time I met him after moving, but he also makes me see him twice a year to check in. And the man takes notes. Rude. He asks questions and when he's satisfied with where I am, he writes me a refill. He also never fails to remind me that while some people are able to discontinue medication, it's very normal that some are on anti-depressants for most of their life. So there’s that. Awesome.

Today was that appointment. The dreaded refill. But...to my surprise, I didn't hate it. I gave Dr. Huang an update and explained that while I would love to one day not take medicine (other than birth control...we aren't discontinuing that!), I think a refill is best right now. I feel good, but I can be honest about myself and at this stage, myself needs the medicine. Depression taught me that I’m not weak. It takes strength to be honest. It takes guts to tell the truth.

If you've never had to take medicine just to feel like yourself, you can't fully understand. You can't relate to not wanting to take the very thing that makes you feel better. But if you do take that medicine, you know exactly what I mean. If you swallow those pills everyday, you can most definitely relate. You want desperately to call it anything but what it is. You'll cling to "postpartum"or "chemical imbalance" or a host of other titles just so you don't have to say the one thing you dread...

Hi, I'm Regina...and I suffer from depression.

Being willing to say that means you’re not weak; you’re strong.