I'm Grateful

Things I'm grateful for today...

Mucinex D
antibiotics
kleenex
rain boots
NyQuil
my David
cupcakes
Rainbow Chip icing
Mentholaum
Brynna Grace
a random 60 degree day
Target microrib tank tops
Bones (the show...although I'm also quite fond of my own)
the scan-as-you-go gun at the grocery store
freedom
pale pink nail polish
friends who are family
the schedule feature on Blogger
Dr. Pepper
fresh flowers

grace

What Happened at the Play Area

A few things to note:
1. I don't like the concept of play areas at malls. Shopping should be a calm, quiet, enjoyable experience. Children are neither calm nor quiet. An entire group of children herded into a pen like miniature cattle - definitely not calm or quiet.

2. I prefer the mall over the park. Don't get me wrong, I take my kid to the park. But would I rather stand in the cold or heat pushing a swing or walk through the Nordstrom shoe department? Come on.

3. Nothing annoys me like old kids at the play area. So many questions arise: Why is this 12 year old not with other 12 year olds? What does he/she find fun about crawling through tunnels with toddlers? Is he/she really so offended by a 3 year old to need to push and shove? WHERE IS YOUR MOTHER???

4. It's loud. I know I covered that, but it needs it's own sidebar. It's so, so very loud. High pitched squeals, crying fits, moms yelling for Jr. to smile so she can send a pic of him sitting on the turtle to Grandma. Not to mention the guy who drives the train circling the food court ringing his bell every 37 seconds to remind the kids playing that they aren't on the train, thus setting off a round of whining "Can I ride the train nooooow?" So loud. So many things at one time. Sends my OCD tendencies into overdrive.

5. I don't do feet. Don't like any but my own. But they're everywhere. Smelly little feet that can't wear socks because they interfere with your traction when climbing the giant polar bear, and HEAVEN FORBID. WE CAN'T HAVE THAT.

Ok, so this is what happened.
Brynna and I have been cooped up in the house for several days. We've left for gymnastics, Target and the doctor's office, but between snow, rain and illness, we have spent more time at home than we usually do. This is bad for multiple reasons. If I'm at home I need it to be picked up. If BG is at home she needs to line characters down the hall, leave a trail of princess paraphernalia in her wake and tie scarves across every piece of furniture in the living room to "decorate."

So even though I still felt like poo, yesterday we went to the mall. We had lunch with Jason, Brody and McKenna (because who doesn't want McDonald's when they're sick?) then off to the play area. Trying to keep up with Brynna and Brody at the play area is like trying to chase a squirrel. Eventually you'll be exhausted and they'll be perched atop something tall ready to pounce. It's best just to sit back and make sure no one is injured. After a few minutes two kids walk up to me. The boy was at least 7 and his sister about 5. (You already know I'm annoyed.) He said "Excuse me, your daughter was being mean to us."

Stop.
A. How do you know it was my daughter? Are you profiling based on our blonde hair? Rude.
B. If you can articulate in a complete sentence how my 3 YEAR OLD offended you, you're old enough to work it out on your own.
C. And furthermore, you're too old to be at the play area.

They proceed to explain how Brynna told them they weren't allowed to climb on the slide because it was part of her and Brody's castle. I made Brynna apologize and we discussed that she doesn't, in fact, own the play area or make the rules. At this point, I look up and see Thing 1 and Thing 2 still in front of me. (What? Why are you still here? Are you looking for penance? I'm not paying for emotional damages.) Finally, off everyone went.

Or so I thought.

About 20 minutes later I notice the two older kids following BG again. I watched them plan their movements and follow just close enough that it would bother her but far enough that they weren't technically doing anything to her. Sneaky little buggers. As Brody approached, Jason and I watched as Brynna explained, pointed and they both started in the same direction.

Stop.
Don't mess with young love. It will mess you up.

We intersected our kids before the older two were left pulverized, and based on the fact that he had to approach me in the first place, I don't suspect it will be the last time that young man has to be saved from a strong-willed woman.

Because she is mine. And I am hers.

I know you think I make her up. I know you think Brynna Grace is a cool name I thought up then gave an overly dramatic, adorably bossy personality and hired an actor to portray. Seriously, though. How cute is the actor I hired??

As proof she is all mine, here you go...

Exhibit A
Me: We need to get ready to go.
BG: Why, are we late?
it's just assumed...

Exhibit B
Me: We are going to do something fun today.
BG: I can't wait! I'm going to wear my pink shoes!
no idea where we're going, but she's planning her shoes

Exhibit C
Me: We are going to the grocery store.
BG: But it's raining outside.
Me: I know, but we need milk.
BG: But my hair will get wet.
sometimes I wonder if she looks in the mirror and sees a black woman with a relaxer.
ps...we went without milk for that day

Exhibit D
Me: We are both sick and need to take a day to rest and get better.
So far she has played dress up, doll house, worked 3 puzzles, had lunch and colored
I've made a listing brochure, done the dishes, paid bills, made all the beds and straightened the house

She is mine. And I am hers.

Confessions

I have children's books hidden in my room because to read them one more time might send me ALL THE WAY OVER THE EDGE.

I might smile sweetly, but I have no sympathy for your business trip (i.e.: night alone in a hotel room), client dinner (aka: eating food someone else prepared while it's still hot with people who don't sing the theme song to Backyardigans halfway through the meal) or happy hour (do I even need to translate that?). No sympathy. None. Like, at all.

BG thinks all her princesses have lost their shoes. They are in a bag in my closet.

I'm jealous of my 3-year-old's wardrobe.

Yesterday when she took my bracelet, I didn't use it as a teaching moment. I didn't quietly respond as an adult mother to her child. I snatched it and said "That's mine! Get your own!"

I'm 33 years old and I still do my homework on the way to school. (just now it's Bible study questions and it's before we leave the house because Brynna can't drive)

I only finished the Bible study questions because Lois, my 85-year-old group leader, would call me out for not being prepared.

Some Days

Maybe it's just me, but...Some days I don't want to be "The Mom." Some days I don't feel like being the one to hold everyone else together. Some days I feel like falling apart myself.

Some days...
I don't want to learn anymore.
I don't want to grow.
I don't want to mature.
I don't want to gain more wisdom.
I don't want to smile.
I don't want to be a cheerleader.
I don't want to say it's ok.
I don't want to pretend.
I don't want to put on a happy face.
I don't want to make the house look pretty.
I don't want to clean the dishes.
I don't want to do the laundry.
I don't want to cook.
I don't want to work puzzles.
I don't want to color.
I don't want to be the bigger person.
I don't want to clean up your mess.
I don't want to wipe your ___________. (boogers, butt or otherwise)
I just don't want to.

Thankfully, today isn't one of those days for me, but I have them. Some days you just don't want to. Some days you want to be like everyone else in the house and throw a tantrum and stomp your feet. You need someone to pick you up like you do for them. And that's ok.

Some days.

Convinced: Part 2

A few months ago I wrote a blog about healing. I explained that while there are things that may cause me to question or fret, there is one thing of which I am sure. Way down deep in my gut I know...I am CONVINCED that God is a healer.

I said that I was just waiting for another story to add to my treasure chest of ways that God has proven Himself...

I prayed along with hundreds of others for Summer to be healed of the cancer that overtook her body. Summer wasn't healed in the way so many wanted her to be. She went to sing with Jesus in October. In the months since her death, women from all over the country have posted on her Facebook wall and reached out to her family and friends. Women who never knew Summer personally have gained strength in their own battles from the faith she displayed. People tempted to blame God when bad things happen have gained hope and turned to Jesus because they saw so much love in her response to her own pain. When I think of the lives changed forever because of Summer, I'm still CONVINCED.

On Nov. 5, I looked at David and said through tears, "I literally wish it was me. I would take her place to spare her this pain." See, of all my girlfriends, Tania is the sweetest. I have friends who are tough, snarky, smart and bold, but Tania has a calming tenderness about her. If your friends say something about you, Tania gives me hope that there's something soft in the midst of all my rough edges. After carrying her baby girl to term, Tania never got to hold her in her arms while she lived. Lilly Claire died during delivery. But Tania did hold her. And so did her daddy. And they held each other. The day before Lilly's funeral, Tania's husband Bob emailed me these words: Inside my heart I fell to my knees, I just pulled her to my chest and sobbed uncontrollably. It was terrible and beautiful all at the same time. I have never been more proud of my champion wife; I have never been more in love, I have never been more committed to my God and my bride. Lilly never had to hurt in the ways they predicted she might, and thousands of people have watched Bob and Tania deal honestly with the pain of her loss.  When I consider how many people have seen faith under pressure and trusted Jesus a little more, I'm still CONVINCED.

Last year Janay joined my family to celebrate July 4th by my parents' pool in Oklahoma. We swam, we ate and we laughed. But in the midst of the fun was a sadness we couldn't deny. It was that day that Janay was supposed to give birth to the baby she miscarried. After months of doctor appointments and the news that her chances of ever conceiving were slim, she and Maurice decided to forego any further fertility treatments. Janay had to fully let go of her dream to embrace God's plan for her - no matter what it may look like. Today, she wrote about the new baby they are expecting - the very same week that her baby would have been born last year. When I think of how this July 4th celebration will be different than last, I'm still CONVINCED.

I'm convinced that God heals according to His will. I'm convinced that He is able to do more than I can even think to ask. I was, I am, I'm still...CONVINCED.

And don't be surprised if you hear a loud sound sometime around the first of July. It's not fireworks. I'm just praising God as I welcome my new niece or nephew into the world.

Prayer Is Not a Plaything

Imagine this: Your car breaks down. The battery died, but instead of calling a tow truck, you take out your cell phone and lay it on the hood of the car.
Imagine this: Your kid is sick, and you don't know what to do. You put your phone to your ear and hold her while she cries.
Imagine this: You need directions. Your cell phone has Google maps, TeleNav and about 13 other ways to find directions, so you sit in the middle of an intersection with your phone in your lap.

Stupid, right? Makes no sense. You're thinking the logical thing: the phone does no good if you don't actually use it. It can have all the best apps but they can't direct you anywhere sitting in your lap. The phone's amazing potential is lost if it's never turned on. It has to be connected.

I'm kind of sick of people talking about prayer like it's an inoperable cell phone. Pardon my rant for a moment, but this is too important to take lightly.

Prayer is defined as "a solemn request for help or expression of thanks addressed to God." Prayer  is the ability to talk to the God of the Universe. Can you even wrap your mind around that? Prayer is being allowed to have a conversation with Someone so much beyond our grasp that we aren't even worthy to be in His presence. To mutter something you hope will happen or to think about something you're wishing for is not prayer. We won't even get into how prayer is not sending good thoughts. I don't even know who came up with that or what it means. How do you send a thought? Is postage required? Prayer is not a sweet thing to say when someone is sick. Prayer is not something you do once you've tried unsuccessfully to fix it yourself. Prayer is not a cop-out for waiting without action. Prayer is not permission to do as you please.

Your phone is nothing more than plastic if not connected to the cell network or internet. Likewise, prayer is merely a string of words if you don't know the One to whom it connects.

Am I suggesting you don't pray? Absolutely not! There is nothing more powerful than talking with God. He created you, He loves you and He wants to hear your thoughts, fears, praise and requests. But if you don't know Him, you aren't praying. You are speaking words. You are holding your cell phone, waiting for it to give you directions but never bothering to turn it on. I'm also not suggesting there is a "right" way to pray. Just like there's no right way to talk to your mom, have a conversation with your sister or laugh with your spouse, there's no formula for prayer. As long as it's honest, it's right.

But it must be respected. Prayer is powerful. It has the potential to unleash more joy, peace, healing and love than you can even fathom. It is a privilege. God chose to let His Son go through pain so you could talk to Him anytime you want. I can't imagine the annoyance Steve Jobs would have felt to see something he worked so hard on being used so ineffectively. I can't imagine the gut-wrentching pain I'd feel watching Brynna hurt to give someone an opportunity and then see them make a joke about it. I can't imagine how God feels when the children He loves so much mock Him.

Prayer is not a plaything. It is powerful. It is a privilege.


If you want more info, message me or start reading about God. The book of John is a good place to start, and this version is easy to understand. And always, ALWAYS you can talk to Him. Just do it honestly. He knows when you're faking anyway. :o)

The Adventures of Light Girl and Trash Can Princess

I gather; David takes out. That's the agreement. So the other night I'm going about my business and like I hear about 28 times a day, a little voice behind me says, "Mommy, can I help you?" She's already mastered her chore of unloading the dishwasher. If I can get her to gather the trash, too? AhhhWESOME!

I said sure, and we headed to my bedroom. As we rounded the corner to my bathroom, BG said, "Mama, you turn on the light and hold the bag. I'll empty the trash." Suddenly I've become the assistant. But I'm an obedient one, so I did it. After my bathroom, we turned to go to the hall bathroom and suddenly, unbeknownst to me, we'd become superheroes. BG took off running, yelling "I'm Trash Can Princess!" She raced into the bathroom and shouted back to me, "Light Girl, I need you!" Light Girl? Oh. Because I turned on the light. Get it? I turned on the light, she emptied the can into my outstretched bag and then she took off running, yelling "Now we will go to the trash cans downstairs! Trash Can Princess is on the way!"

Honestly...I have no idea who she's narrating for. I'm assuming there are cameras, and I just can't see them. I'm guessing the show is still filming, which is the only reason I haven't see it on TV yet.

We continued these adventures until every can in the house was emptied and I had explained at least 4 times that no, we couldn't dump it back out and start again. When David walked in the front door a few minutes later, he was met with "Daddy! I'm Trashcan Princess!"

A testament to the daily adventure we call life...he didn't even ask. He just went with it and they flew around the house while I started dinner.

Top Ten Things I Wanted to Say at the DMV

10. Hello? Am I invisible? I see me. Can no one else see me?

9. Ma'am, that's sweet of you to offer, but no, you can't babysit my daughter.  I just met you. At the DMV.

8. Who do you keep going to with your questions? I want to talk to her. Because I know it's a "her."

7. &@$*%!!!!

6. I KNEW it was a "her!"

5. 2 HOURS, 15 MINUTES! (maybe if I yell regular updates of how long I've been there it will give perspective and make them move faster. No? You're probably right. I'd just lose my voice.)

4. No. No, I won't wait. No, I won't sit down. No, I won't take a number.

3. What are the two armed guards for? Are the clipboards that valuable that they need a police escort back to the little metal cart?

2. Dear Lord, make me a bird...so I can fly far...far, far away from here...

And the #1 thing I wanted to say at the DMV...

1. Sir, if your friend has to read the form to you in another language before you can go take the driver's test, what is your plan for when you get on the road?

Confessions

There are Sour Patch Kids in my purse as we speak.
Ok, fine. There's an empty bag that used to contain Sour Patch Kids in my purse as we speak.

I get that in theory it's not that hard, but I can't sew on a button or fix a hem.

Brynna made up her own language, and I don't think it's cute. It drives me nuts.

I organize the sippy cup cabinet regularly and fantasize about the day I don't have a whole cabinet of sippy cups.

When Brynna bounded in at 7am on Saturday and demanded chocolate milk, I considered pushing her off the bed.

I curse him in my head a little when David gets to pee (or shower or do anything else in the bathroom) alone.

I save my To Do list for days when Brynna is home so that on school days I can do absolutely nothing.

When David travels, Brynna and I eat Mac & Cheese the whole time.

2 Thoughts That Changed My Life: Part 2

If you missed Part 1, the first thought that changed my life was that marriage is more about making me holy than making me happy.

I went through the first 10(ish) years of marriage learning what that really means. It's a tough concept to grasp, but, if I can be totally transparent and honest, one thing made it easier. That's still kind of about me. I know! The whole point is that it's not about me. But if you think about it...if it's about making ME holy instead of happy...that's still kind of about ME.

That's when the second thought changed my life. This one wasn't read in a book. (Not one that's published yet, anyway.) This one I didn't hear or glean from someone else's experiences and wisdom. This one was just for me. God spoke to my heart directly and said marriage is a group project.

Remember when you were in school and you were assigned a group project? Sometimes you could pick your group members and pair up with those you knew would work hard. Other times you were randomly assigned groups and got stuck with partner(s) who didn't carry their own weight. Regardless of the situation, the group would rise or fall together.

Marriage is a group project.

Thankfully, you get to pick your partner. You set about finding someone you think you'll work well with, but you can't predict every situation, can you? You saw that he makes strong, stable choices but only over time did you realize those choices take a loooooong time. His thought process takes about 3 weeks longer than yours, which means you spend a lot of time waiting. You thought you married a changed man only to lean that those bad habits were just tucked away in a closet. And when they reappear, you both get to face them. You chose the guy successful with money; you didn't know that was a facade and now you're both in debt.

The moment you said “ I do” God saw you as one. One output. One future. ONE. The problem was that for years I saw us as "Two as One." I conceded the point that it's not all about me. I accepted that there are times David will lead and I need to follow. I even acknowledged that sometimes (albeit rarely) I may not have the answer. But I still viewed myself separately. God was working on making me holy and at the same time making David holy. And that's where I was so wrong.

Marriage is a group project. 

That means that when God views us, he doesn't see that David works in an office and Regina stays home with Brynna. He doesn't see that I pay the bills and David takes out the trash. From my point of view, I saw it this way:
David - works to provide X income, makes long-term financial decisions, gave a homeless man $20 on his way back from lunch
Regina - manages life outside of work (i.e.: bills, errands, etc), cares for child, supplements with Y income, spent the afternoon with a girl desperately in need of a friend
But God sees us this way:
THEY - make XY income and tithe (give) part of that amount, manage THEIR home, pay THEIR bills, invest in THEIR future, care for THEIR child. THEY gave to a homeless man and THEY loved on a girl needing a friend.

Do you see the difference? God doesn't care who takes out the trash. He sees that it's taken out. He cares less about who earns what portion of income. He wants to see that we give a portion of it back to Him. Marriage is a group project and what matters is the final output.

Just like in school, this means that sometimes I have to pick up the slack that David leaves. Sometimes I bear the consequences of his choices. It means that sometimes he has to work harder than I do. It means that sometimes he gets to share the benefits of my effort and other times I get to reap the reward of his labor.

There's no scorecard. There's no record kept of how many diapers changed or dollars earned or hours worked. I can't describe the freedom of truly, really, down in the deepest parts of me understanding that I don't have to feel less than because my income is smaller (or nonexistent). But I was shocked to learn that it was freeing for David, too. He said that it lifted a weight from his shoulders to know that he gets to share ownership in the work I do just as I share the benefits of what he does.

Marriage is a group project.

And regardless of how you see you, God sees you as one. One output. One future. ONE.

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Side note: None of this is permission to slack off. He still sees all we do and knows all we think. He is, after all, still God.

And another side note: It goes both ways. He sees all we do collectively. He also sees what we don't do. You will rise or fall together.

So the question is: are you working hard together or is there a slacker bringing down the group's output? Are you the slacker? Will you do the work or blame your partner? 

2 Thoughts That Changed My Life: Part 1

There are two thoughts that have changed my life in regards to marriage. One I read years ago in a book titled "Sacred Marriage" by Gary Thomas. What if God designed marriage to make us holy instead of happy? If you can push through the selfishness and pride (even the parts you don't like to admit to) and really let that question get in your gut, it'll change your life, too, because that means that "we don't get along" isn't a reason for divorce. It means that "we fell out of love" is bull. Marriage isn't something you trip and fall into. It's a choice. And...brace yourself...it's not about you. Yes, I said it. Your marriage is not about you.

God said that we are made in his image. He has both female traits and male. God is nurturing, caring and kind. He is also strong and dependable. He's both tender and tough. That means that the best representation of who He is can only come when both of those sides are shown to the world. And how did God plan for that to happen? Yep. Marriage.

See, you thought it was a cultural norm. You thought it was a fairytale idea and a reason to wear a pretty dress. You thought it was a political agenda. Marriage is the most whole representation of who God is. And it's the best way to make you holy because Marriage 101 is learning that you are no longer alone. Your decisions affect another person. His choices bleed into yours. His socks clutter your bathroom and your bras hang on his door handles. And once you get over the shock of someone imposing on your physical space, there's more. His baggage begins to affect your emotions. Your feelings begin to supersede his desires.

And that's becoming more holy. That's when a little bit of the selfishness chips away.

It changed my life because it's true. God didn't design marriage so I could be happy anymore than he designed raising kids to do so. Is happiness often a bi-product? Absolutely, yes. Is it the ultimate reason? Absolutely, no. On the days when I'm not happy do I get to stop being a mom? No. When I'm exhausted and have nothing else to give, do I get to quit? No. When I've tried everything and I still feel like I'm losing do I get to send her back and start over? No, no, no.

And hard as it is to hear, the same is true for marriage.

Let that marinate for a minute, and I'll tell you the second thing that changed my life tomorrow...

18 Questions I want to ask Brynna

1. Why?
2. Are you serious?
3. Really?
4. Where did you get the idea to "decorate" the house by tying all the doors closed with ribbons, cords and scarves?
5. Seriously...why?
6. Where is my other nude pump?
7. Where is my black scarf?
8. Who are Zasey and Cayzon?
9. Why are Zasey and Cayzon always in trouble?
10. Why does it require screaming when Zasey misbehaves?
11. Is Zasey hard-of-hearing?
12. Are YOU hard-of-hearing? (that would actually explain a lot)
13. Where did you learn to be so bossy? (Scratch that. Don't answer that one.)
14. Why were/are you so opposed to being a little kid?
15. Where are you in a hurry to get?
16. A dress every day?
17. Is it necessary to change clothes 3 times a day?
18. Do you have a speed other than fast? (Don't answer these either. Maybe this wasn't a good idea...

Mamatone

When he comes home from work, you choose.
When she wakes up in the morning, you choose.
When he breaks something that can't be fixed, you choose.
When she gets on your last nerve, you choose.
When he disappoints you, you choose.
When you aren't sure of the answers, you choose.
When she disobeys...again, you choose.
When you're hurt, you choose.
When you need a break, you choose.

You. You choose.

Whether you are a wife, mom, sister, friend or daughter, you set the tone. You choose whether your home will be a place of peace or strife. You choose whether there will be sorrow or rejoicing. You choose. That doesn't mean you always get to pick the circumstance. It means you get to choose how you react. And how you react, they will follow. Your husband. your kids, your family and friends. You set the tone and they will walk to your beat.

So the question is: what tone are you setting, mama? Does your family feel more faithful, patient and understanding because they are following your lead? Or are they anxious, timid and living in discord? If the pulse of your home is not what it should be, you choose.

geeently

BG: Mama, I have a good opportunity for you.
Me: Really? An opportunity to do what?
BG: To wrap up my baby. But there's something you need to know...
Me: This is going to be good. Let me get my camera.

So many things...
1. Why can't 3 year olds stand still? Does the moving help with blood flow? Is she trying to get in an exercise while also speaking?
2. Is the nightgown cutting off said blood flow? Is she choking? She's pulling on that neckline like it's the answer to why her feet won't stop moving.
3. "real geeently" - She's lived on the east coast most of her life but apparently her country roots are alive and well.
4. Note for future board meetings: If you don't know what to say, spin back and forth. Even if you have nothing to say, people will be distracted by your cuteness.
5. Why does the gentleness of how she's wrapped determine when/if Baby has to go to bed? Or is it that I will have to go to bed if I don't do it right? In that case, I'll gladly take my punishment. No, really. I understand. I didn't do it real geeently. I'll be in bed.
6. "Can I see it?" Immediately needs to check herself out. So humble.

Deep Thoughts at 2am

How can college-educated men excel professionally yet struggle to remember to put a bag in the trashcan?

Regardless of his trash bag installing abilities, I'm so proud he's mine. Even when I want to shake him. I'm grateful I get to do the shaking and not someone else.

I wonder how many times a week day he wants to shake me? (I'm sure rarely, if ever...)

Speaking of wanting to shake someone...
God patiently waited before I believed. God patiently waited until I was ready to be honest. God patiently waited for me to be obedient. God patiently waits. Yet the minute I don't have answers I don't want to wait. And I certainly don't want to be patient.
...I wonder how many times a day hour He wants to shake me?

Shaking aside. On a serious note. I'd like to make a worldwide amendment. All signs, references and descriptors labeled "kid-friendly" should be removed. Let's just call a spade a spade and put "adult-unfriendly" on the signage.

Who first had the brilliant idea to put a play area at the mall? That person should be shot.

I love boots but my feet miss heels. Especially peep-toe ones.

I need a pedicure.

I need sleep. I've got to get up tomorrow in a few hours and put a bag in the trashcan and then wait patiently while my child plays with her buddy at Chick-Fil-A (where the play area is at least enclosed).

Soundproof glass - now THAT'S adult-friendly!