A Place to Call Home

As Brynna and I walked through the mall one day recently, the Phillip Phillips song "Home" began to play. BG was skipping ahead of me and when she heard the music, she stopped and turned to me. The biggest smile spread across her face, and she said, "Mama, I think this is our song." I know she's only three and there's a part of her that merely recognized a familiar song. But it's a song she and her daddy dance to, so it'd be more fitting that she associated it with him. That moment will forever stay with with me, and that song will most certainly be ours. The song says:
     Settle down, it'll all be clear 
     Don't pay no mind to the demons 
     They fill you with fear 
     The trouble it might drag you down 
     If you get lost, you can always be found 
     Just know you’re not alone 
     Cause I’m going to make this place your home 

My arms will always be a place that, no matter how lost she feels, she can be found. 
I pray she always knows she's not alone. My heart will always be a place for her to call home. 

7 Things You Should Know About Imaginary Friends

1. They are mischievous.
Imaginary friends don't always tell the truth, and they are notorious for getting little people in trouble. Of course your sweet child would never come up with the idea on her own to attempt walking up the staircase banister. She was merely trying to get her "kid."

2. They require constant attention and discipline (probably due to #1).
In addition to getting children in trouble, imaginary friends get themselves in trouble. A lot. They require time outs and are regularly reprimanded. This happens especially in stores. Apparently imaginary friends have no home training and as soon as you get to Target, they run every direction and hide in the  clothes racks. This, of course, requires that someone (i.e.: your child) run after them and herd them back to the cart. It's a full time job, this keeping up with imaginary friends.

3. Apparently they are hard of hearing.
Or they don't listen. Either way, they require that your child raise her voice to get their attention. Again, this is nothings she came up with on her own. It's their fault.

4. They may or may not speak English
The nationality of your child does not predict the nationality or language of her imaginary friends. Fortunately, your child has the ability to speak (a made up version) of every known language.

5. You can't pronounce their names; don't try.
This may be because they don't speak English. This may be because their names are a random assortment of whatever letters first popped into your child's head. Either way. Helfy, Harsty, Kelkin, Zasey, Fluffian...just take my word for it. Don't try. You'll only set yourself up to be corrected.

6. They multiply
Like gremlins! One minute you have four of them to keep straight, the next thing you know you're closing someone in the car door because you didn't realize there are now 3 additional "kids" coming along.

7. They aren't invisible.
Not to the child who imagines them. To you, yes, but it's best to keep that information to yourself. Again...take my word.

No One Told Me

I ran across some old notes today that never made it to blogs. This was one of them...

...there are some boo-boos you can't fix. Tumors and babies born unable to breathe are not in the mothering handbook. No amount of kisses can wipe these away. Some ailments require you to go against every maternal instinct and let someone else care for your child.

...some kids don't eat. Brynna stopped eating and began losing weight. Doctors were concerned and so were her dad and I. Brynna had to undergo several procedures I wouldn't wish on most adults to learn that there is no medical problem causing her eating issues, but rather a strong will and stubborn attitude. Suddenly people come from miles around to tell me stories of how their child stopped eating for months or would only eat hotdogs and waffles for a year. Where were you 2 months ago?

...moms can be way more rude than kids.

Not sure what was going on when I made that last note, but I'm so grateful those boo-boos got fixed and Brynna finally decided to eat something. (Barely. And very few items. But we broke the 30 lb. mark so I'm taking it as a win.)


For more things No One Told Me use the search box to the right.

Tell Your Stories

You know that adage "Don't say ABOUT someone what you wouldn't say TO them?" Every now and then, I write something that I know one day I'll have to explain to Brynna. Sometimes it's a crazy antic of hers. I'm sure she will love to one day learn that her mom writes to the world about her running naked through the house. Sometimes it's a story of mine. Those are the scary ones. Just as she reads accounts about herself, Brynna will read about mistakes I've made, abuse I experienced and pain I felt. And questions, I'm sure will follow. (She is, after all, mine. And for us, asking questions is an Olympic sport.)

It's this thought that has paused my writing at times. Do I really want Brynna (and the world) to know that her dad and I have come close to quitting more than once? Do I really want to explain that while I shout from the rooftops about God's peace, I have had seasons of feeling unpure, unwanted, desperate and depressed? The answer is: yes. Those conversations won't be easy, but they will shape who Brynna is just as they shape me. How sad would it be if Brynna grows up, marries and man and then feels alone when something in her marriage is broken? How I would have failed her if she ever comes to a place in life when she's hurting and doesn't know that as consuming as it can feel, the darkness won't consume her.

My time on earth is short. If all these lessons learned and trials overcome are only for me, they are worthless. But if I share even the painful things and it changes the course of Brynna's life, there is value in my experience beyond making me a little wiser. If I tell her my stories and they help, grow and change Brynna; they will also change her kids and their kids. It will do her no good if she thinks I'm perfect. It won't help her to think I never suffered the same poor choices she faces. She needs to hear my stories, so even when it hurts or is embarrassing or means she doesn't look at me exactly the same, I will tell them.

Your children - no matter how old - need to hear your stories. There's no source of pride in letting your kids think you never made mistakes and suffered loss. There's nothing pretty about your child feeling alone so you can stand on a pedestal. There's no honor in letting your kids learn the hard way the same lessons you learned the hard way. Life is hard enough. Give them something to hold on to. Tell them your stories.

Things I Never Thought I'd Say...

Stop eating Play-Doh off the floor.

No cartwheels in the bathtub.

We don't swim like a mermaid in the living room.

I realize you are playing "puppy dog." Still. Don't lick my foot.

Pick up your long hair or you'll fall down the stairs...again.

Why are there leaves in your lunchbox?

Yes, it's pretty. No, I'm not sure when the purple paint will come out of your (VERY BLONDE) hair.

Stop! You may not answer the front door naked.

...and so many more things that at one point would have been strange but I've said so many times they don't even phase me anymore.

Just Breathe

Sometimes you can see a movie or hear a song and it meets you right where you are. It sums up how you feel; puts words to your hope or your hurt. I've had a few of those moments. It's like you want the world to hear or see it the way you do because maybe then they'd understand what you're going through. If they could just hear that lyric or watch that scene, they'd feel your pain or know your joy.

I watched the movie Hope Floats so many times during college that I literally broke the VHS tape. (That's right. I said it - VHS.) I wasn't married, of course, and I didn't have a child like the main character, but I could so identify with her heartache. I knew firsthand that feeling of being so hurt by someone that for awhile you couldn't find yourself in the midst of the pain. I also knew the reality that when you are wounded that deeply, you can't imagine ever letting anyone near your heart again for fear they would shatter what's left. I watched those scenes and somehow, seeing her hurt made me not feel like the only one.

I haven't seen that movie in years, but the other day it came on television. It's not even the whole movie. I didn't start recording until about a quarter of the way into it. There are commercials and pieces of the movie that are missing. (I know because I can almost quote it.) But none of that has stopped me from watching it about 17 times in the last 6 days. What has captivated me the most is that I no longer hurt when I watch it. I don't identify with the pain of her loss. While I remember the way I used to feel, I identify more with the hope she finds in rediscovering her own strength. The man who hurt her is a blur in the background of the man who loves her back to herself. Several times as she interacts with this new man, he forces her to just be still. He doesn't push her; he just quietly tells her to "breathe."

It seems like a simple thing, breathing. But when you're convinced the world will fall apart if you don't hold it together, sometimes you don't realize you're holding your breath until someone tells you to breathe. Today was a lesson for me in breathing. David let me sleep in, took care of Brynna and arranged a sitter so we could have the whole afternoon/evening together. He brought me flowers and got me a new bag. (What can I say? Handbags are my love language.) Less by what he said and more by what he did, he told me to breathe. And here are the lessons I learned:
     1. When someone lets you breathe, he is assuring you that, even if just for a moment, he'll handle the rest
     2. You have to let him

You I have to let him and it may not look the way I want. It may be slower than I would have done it. It may be a different route than I would have chosen. At those times, I just need to breathe. I have to stop trying or talking and just breathe. I have to stop anticipating and fixing. And breathe.

What are you holding that's too big for you to carry? Just breathe.
Who can you look to for help? Let them.

Just Enough

I read a story recently about a woman who said goodbye to her dying father for the last time. As the woman walked away, her dad said "I love you enough." When asked why he didn't say more than enough, the man quoted a poem that had been said in his family for generations:

     I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright. 
     I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more. 
     I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive. 
     I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger. 
     I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting. 
     I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess. 
     I wish enough "Hello's" to get you through the final "Good-bye..."

This thought has tugged at my heart for over a year. You may not know it to look at me, but I've had just enough. I may be dressed, taking Brynna here, there and everywhere, but I have just enough. I may smile and even laugh now and then, but it's just enough. Several months ago I found myself crying to God, asking why He would only give me enough to get through one day. I'd collapse at the end of the day, literally overwhelmed at the thought of tomorrow. And one morning, as I asked Him for enough to get through whatever that day held, I got my answer. 

If, in those times of hurt, God wiped all the junk away, made it pretty and sent me on my way, I would do just that. I'd go on MY way. But in the times when I have just enough, it forces me to my knees. In those times, I don't forget to pray. I don't read my Bible because I'm supposed to. I don't sing to Jesus because it's a sweet sentiment. It's those days that I understand that He is my Daily Bread. He's enough for that day so that the next day I'll return just as eagerly.

I prayed this weekend with friends who are struggling in their marriage. I didn't pray that God would make it all better. I prayed He would change them into who He wants them to be and He'd give them enough love, peace, grace and mercy to make it through.

As I pray for my Daily Bread today I'm not asking God to wave a magic wand. I'm thanking Him for being enough.

A(nother) Brother and a Sister

Today is another one of my favorite days.

When you get married, it could be apples...could be oranges. You can marry into people who become family or you can have a strained relationship with people who you never quite feel at home with. I got the former. My husband's brother has become my brother. I'm so glad for the day Parker was born and am grateful to call him my own.  (Note: Parker's not real keen on photos, so I don't have many and he will probably have much to say about my using this one. But it completely sums up who he is - he has the biggest heart and he loves to make people laugh - especially his mama!)

Every family marches to the beat of it's own special drum - a rhythm that each members dances to. In our family, I am the big sister. In every sense of the word, I take my role seriously. Vikki is adopted and actually only 2 months younger than me, but you'd never know it - partly because we function like two parts of the same whole and partly because she looks more like our mom than I do. (My mom has been known to tell people she was just in labor for 62 days!) Vikki is mine to love, protect, defend, teach, encourage and every now and then infuriate. She is mine. My little sister. I praise God for the day He created her and the day He grafted her into our family.

A Brother and a Sister

Today is one of my favorite days of the year.

It's the day my brother was born which changed my whole world because it meant that growing up, no matter who didn't like me, what happened at school or how alone I felt at summer camp, I had a friend. Oh, we fought at times like siblings do. But it was always short-lived and we were much more often on the same team than opposite sides. Ryan is married, he owns a house and manages employees at work. But although the rest of the world sees him as a grown man, he will always be my little brother. And I will always be grateful for the day God gave him to me.

Today is also my sister-friend's birthday. I wasn't there for the day she was born, but the day I met her changed my whole world all over again. Brandy is the flip side of my coin. She can finish my sentences even though she lives thousands of miles away. Just about every memory I have from age 14 to now, she's there - in the forefront, the background or right beside me. She's there. For the good, the bad and the ugly...she's there. And I'm here. And I'm so blessed to call her my family.

Something to Do

I'm not the sit around type. I can admit that I don't wait well, I struggle with patience and I've been known to fidget. I can also admit that Brynna gets every bit of her on-the-go personality from her on-the-go mama. We like to be moving. It can be about anything; we just like to be doing something.

For a long time I confused having something to do with DOING SOMETHING. But those two things aren't the same.

About a year ago, I was inundated with things to do. I was a full-time real estate agent, a wife and a mom. I had a busy schedule. I had something to do about every minute of the day. Towards the end of the school year, I felt like God was leading me to stay home with Brynna rather than her go to school all day. That terrified me on multiple levels, one of which being that we'd both go nuts without something to do.

Fast forward 9 months, and I have a completely different understanding. Call it maturity; call it wisdom. Call it age or growth. I still like to have something to do, but I've learned that sometimes there's more to gain by sitting still. I've realized that those times I thought we needed something to do, we were actually right then DOING SOMETHING. The walk around the neighborhood was a memory Brynna will carry with her. The puzzle (after puzzle after puzzle), the time spent watching the same cartoon for the 12th time, the afternoon spent at home "not doing anything" was DOING SOMETHING great because  we were together. You don't get time back. You can spend it busy with something to do that you may or may not remember tomorrow or you can DO SOMETHING even if it means sitting on the floor covered in ribbons pretending to be a mermaid princess because it affirms for a little girl that you love her.

Don't settle for something to do.
DO SOMETHING.

How we survived "the witching hour"

Just about every parent has come to that point where you think you've completely lost your mind only to learn that your kid isn't the only one to do __________ and in fact, it's so common, it has a name. I thought my child somehow became possessed by aliens every afternoon until I learned that people call it the "witching hour."

I know. It sounds kind of mean to compare your sweet newborn to a witch...until 4pm hits and she turns into a crazed lunatic. The witching hour is that time of day when your baby has played, napped, eaten, spent all day being cute and then just can't do it anymore. She runs out of cuteness. It's not time for dinner or bed, she's too tired to play anymore and the only thing that feels good is to scream at the top of her lungs because maybe then you'll understand just how frustrating the world is to her. And this, of course, leaves no option but for you to join her because yes, in fact, you do understand how frustrating it is so WHY DONT WE ALL JUST YELL ABOUT IT. Cue your spouse walking in the door from work expecting to be greeted with kisses and hugs only to find two pathetic souls heaped in the corner wailing at each other.

Sounds dramatic but if you've lived it, it's not so far from the truth. The witching hour is real, it's cruel and it's soooo not just for babies. If you've ever worked at an office and experienced that feeling when it's a few hours after lunch but not close to time to go home, you know how the kid feels. You know you've considered more than once crawling under your desk for a quick nap.

So as with all things that relate to babies and adults, toddlers deal with the witching hour about as well as they deal with emotions, commercials during cartoons and being told no. They turn into monsters. Tiny, little monsters that appear to have consumed an entire case of Red Bull. See, with toddlers, it's less about crying and more about whining. It's less "hold me" and more "catch me if you can." From the hours of 3-7pm, their life mission becomes to NOT STOP. Don't. Whatever you do, don't slow down because you might realize you're running out of steam and that just won't do. So what do they do? They run. They run in circles from the dining room, to the living room to the kitchen, to dining room... They run up the stairs and down the stairs. They change clothes. They strip out of all their clothes. They run the dining room circuit again naked. They color, they paint, they draw, they do stickers. They ask for a snack, they may or may not finish the snack. It's a never-ending, exhausting way to spend EVERY SINGLE AFTERNOON.

So the other day when a friend mentioned she had tried something and it helped her boys, I thought what you're thinking. Why not? We call it Bath O'Clock. At about 4-4:30 - just the time the afternoon crazies are amping up, we head upstairs to take a bath. Brynna loves it. She's not too tired and it doesn't mean she has to go immediately to bed. So she loves getting some extra play time, and I love that she's contained and happy. The warm water is calming, but she's having fun playing so she doesn't even realize that I'M WINNING. (Yes, that was the ultimate point of this entire rambling mess.) By the time she's ready to get out of the tub, she's clean and happy, and I've had a few minutes to sit still. We can make dinner and when Daddy gets home, we can greet him with the hugs and kisses he so loves. It also means that the rest of the evening is relaxing time spent together rather than a rush of trying to get everyone ready for bed.

Does it work every day? Of course not. There are days you have commitments in the evenings, aren't home or for whatever reason, it just won't work. But the next time you can, give it a try. I bet you thank me. :)

Nothing Without Love

I read these words with new meaning today. Whether you've read the Bible or not, you've probably heard these words. 

     If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, 
     I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 
     If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, 
        and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, 
     I am nothing.
     If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, 
     I gain nothing.*

Imagine if this were the philosophy with which you parent. What would be different? How would you be different? 

     If she can speak in complete sentences and read before Kindergarten but doesn't know how to treat others,
     her words are just noise.
     If you enroll him in Kumon, he excels in math and can do long division in his head, but he's selfish,
     he will get nowhere.
     If you take them to travel the world but don't teach them to give to those who are hurting,
     they haven't learned anything.
     If she gets into college but she doesn't know that God created her and she's special,
     it's meaningless.
     If I give her all the world has to offer but don't teach her to love people because Jesus loves her,
     I've given her nothing.
     And that means I've failed.
     We all have.

So teach them. Please. Teach them that 
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.*

Love and people are the only things that last forever. So love people.



*1 Corinthians 13