I've moved!

When I started this blog I spent all this time figuring out what to call it. I settled on "and a mom" because - at the time - I didn't want to be JUST a mom. I wanted to be a lot of other things AND a mom. Over time that belief changed. I grew up, my child grew up an I began to understand just how important this mom thing is. (We're talking shaping a human being. An entire human.) I realized that there is no (NO) situation where the word JUST and MOM should be in the same sentence. (Unless it's "Just let mom take a nap." That works.)

I'm not a lot of things and a mom. I'm a mom. Am I other things, too? Absolutely. Does being Brynna's mom define me? Not completely. It's not her job to define me. I am who God made me to be to do the things He created me to do. But one of those things is to be her mom. Not just to birth her or put up with her. To be a real mom - one who admits that some days I do feel like there isn't much to call my own, and one who does it anyway. I soon learned that there are a lot of girls who feel just like me. They feel less than perfect. Every. Single. Day. Of the week.

So when God said I was supposed to speak, mentor and teach women about being moms I thought... (Well, at first I assumed He was crazy. I didn't tell Him because He's God but I thought it.) I thought "I'm the least qualified person EVER to do such a thing." My child isn't that old. My experience isn't that great. My knowledge isn't... My age isn't... (I'll spare you the details. It was a long list.) What God assured me is that none of those were a surprise to Him. And what I lack, He is.

I'm less than perfect SO THAT He can be more than enough.

Living that way is waaaay easier said than done. It doesn't just take a mom to admit that. It takes a REAL MOM. It takes guts to admit you don't have all the answers and even more guts to trust God (not yourself, your friends or the latest NY Times bestseller) to make up the difference.

That's why the name changed. That's why realmom.org is my new home. Because while yes, I'm a mom in addition to everything else...it matters what kind of mom I am.

So I hope you'll join me at my new home. I hope you'll walk with me and be real with me. I hope you'll teach me what being real looks like at your house and forgive me when I tell you what it looks like at mine.

From now on, you'll find me blogging here. 

Or you can find me on Pinterest or Facebook or Twitter or Instagram.

Hope to see you soon!

The Heart of a Mom: Part 3

You know that feeling when you hope desperately for something, only to get it and realize it's way harder than you thought it would be? You feel like you can't tell anyone how difficult it is because it may seem you're ungrateful for what you know is a blessing. I call that the toddler years. I call that the teenage years. I call that motherhood.

Birthing a kid is fairly easy. Painful, yes, but relatively short-lived. Being a mom - a REAL MOM - is  hard. It will take you to the point where you think you have nothing else to give and ask a little more. It will push you to the edge of what you think you can handle. Motherhood will make you hurt, cry, give and love more than you ever knew possible.

The heart of a mom is unending. It's the closest thing to understanding infinity because no matter what they need, you will provide. You will look at a well that feels empty and draw water when they are thirsty. The heart of a mom is tough. You will endure pain if it helps them. You will go without if they have a need. The heart of a mom is deep. The heart of a mom is wide.

If you are a mom, a REAL MOM, I pray this Mother's Day is one to reflect on why you do what you do. Whether they burn the breakfast or don't make one, you get to shape the people they will be. Whether you are spoiled or on your own, whether you think you're failing and succeeding...you are more than enough. I pray Mother's Day will be a day for you to know that no matter what your situation looks like, you are loved. You are doing a job more important than any other. You are being the hands and feet of the God who created those lives you shape each day.

I pray you enjoy Mother's Day even if they say or do all the wrong things (or don't say anything at all). Because the heart of a mom is close to the heart of God.

Happy Mother's Day, my friends. I love you more than you know. I'm proud of the women you are. I'm blessed by the love you pour out.

I'm grateful we each have the heart of a mom.

The Heart of a Mom: Part 2

Every woman has the heart of mom within her. We were designed to nurture life. The way we walk that out, though, looks different for each of us. Some women choose not to have kids; some nurture life in a doctor's office or classroom. Some women nurture the lives of natural children they birthed and others nurture adopted children who were birthed in their hearts.

While Mother's Day is for all of us, it's especially hard for some of us. For some women, each May reminds them of the child(ten) they lost. For some it's a painful memory of a decision to end a life. For so many among us, Mother's Day with empty arms reminds them of the depth of their hurt. For these women, Mother's Day is a balancing act. They want to rejoice with friends and family; they want to celebrate the women nurturing life around them. But you can be happy and sad at the same time. You can rejoice for her while your heart is breaking. For so many women I know, this holiday is one of their hardest days a year.

The last thing a woman wants when she's hurting is to be alone. But so often, the loss of a child - whether by miscarriage, still birth or abortion, whether intentionally or by accident - makes you feel just that. It's like an invisible line is drawn in the sand and you're on one side or the other. You've been there or you haven't. You know that pain or you can't imagine it.

But every woman has the heart of a mom. We were designed to nurture life - especially in one another. We were created to bear each other's burdens and carry each other's loads. We are never stronger than when we walk hand-in-hand, when we pick each other up when we fall and carry each other when one is too weak. To do that, we have to be real - we have to honestly share with one another and be wiling to walk through even the stuff that hurts.

If you, like me, are on the side of that invisible line that hasn't experienced the loss of a child personally, let me say on behalf of all of us....we say dumb stuff. We don't meant it, but in our self-absorbed happy perspective, we don't stop to think about what this day means to some. We ask questions that feel like salt on an open wound. We make comments that pierce like a knife. My hope is that this Mother's Day can be different.

Here are a few suggestions. These are not meant to be exhaustive or concrete but rather a starting point - a way to think a little differently and make her day a little brighter.

1. Don't ask "When are you going to hurry up and have kids?" It's really not a good idea on any day, but especially around this day. If she has no kids, there's a reason and you don't need to know it. More importantly, she doesn't need to say it. Imagine the pain of being asked that question when all you want is a baby of your own. Imagine the answers she wants to give you when you imply that it's her choice.

2. Similarly, don't ask "Why don't you have kids yet?" if you aren't prepared for the answer. You've backed her into a corner. Either she can smile and lie or say in the middle of brunch that her uterus isn't capable of carrying a baby to term or she does have children but they live in Heaven. Just don't make her. Just talk about the other ways you see her nurturing life around her. Compliment her giving spirit, her tender heart and her willing hands.

3. Don't say "You know what makes babies, right?" (or any derivative of a similar joke) Anyone over the age of sex ed knows what makes babies. And I assure you, she isn't doing it wrong. While it may be meant in jest, it hurts. The stress a marriage endures through infertility and/or the loss of a child is indescribable. The last thing she needs is to defend publicly the relationship she's trying desperately to hold together through sadness, pain and anger.

4. If you know she's experienced a loss, don't ignore her. Don't assume she doesn't want to be invited or wouldn't have something to add to the conversation. Don't think your joy makes her sad. Her loss makes her sad. Your joy might just pull her through. So don't enforce the invisible line. Cross it. Love her. Hold her hand. Walk beside her regardless of what it looks like.

My prayer is that we learn to see the world through each other's eyes. My hope is that we get stronger as we walk together - that we lift each other up, wipe each other's tears and hold each other's hands. Because every woman has the heart of a mom.

The Heart of a Mom: Part 1

They made an announcement at church yesterday about Mother's Day next weekend. As he reminded everyone to do something special for moms, Andrew jokingly asked if you have to be a mom to "qualify." Everyone laughed and it was kind of left hanging until I stood up to teach, at which point I assured everyone in the room that you don't have to be a mom. I urged them that when in doubt, you buy flowers. That's really just a good male-life-preserving rule to live by. It really doesn't matter who's right or wrong, what you do or don't know. When in doubt, buy flowers. Of course if you know her wants/tastes better, go with that. My point is: gifts make girls happy. Period. Not because we are greedy, but because we were designed to desire being cherished. So cherish her. You can get an "I'm not even a mom!" kiss or the alternative. The choice is yours. I'm just saying...

While all of the above is true, there's another reason I made a point to answer the rhetorical question "do you have to be a mom to qualify". This question bothers me. I wasn't offended. I'm not being a crazy fanatic. This just happens to be one of those things I can't joke about. It's too personal. I'm too passionate. Do you have those things? Things you feel so strongly about that even though you know no one meant any harm, you just can't take it lightly?

This is it for me.

If you are a woman, you were designed with an innate ability to nurture. Even if you think that doesn't apply to you or that's not how you want to see yourself - you were created to nurture life in those around you. They may be your own kids or someone else's. They may be in your classroom or down the street. You may nurture by spending time or speaking encouragement or standing firm when all they're used to is shaky ground.

That's the definition of a mom. Moms do the work. They give hugs, hold hands and speak Truth. They discipline when necessary and wipe tears afterwards. They feed and teach and love.

Whether the children she nurtures live in her house or not, each woman has the heart of a mom within her. Our culture doesn't always think that way. We reward those who "overcome stereotypes." We applaud those who live counter to the "traditional roles of women." Now you all know I'm the first to say girls are strong and powerful and can do anything they put their minds to. This is not an anti-feminist rant. This is me, reminding you, that in your heart, whether anyone sees or knows...you are a mom. You were created to nurture life.

That woman you sit near at work - she's a mom. It may not be by choice that she's never had kids. It may be that her kids live in Heaven. It may be that she's chosen not to have children of her own. Either way, get her flowers. You don't have to know the answers to those questions. She's already qualified.

Her heart is the heart of a mom.

What I Learned Without Information

Information. That's what we tell ourselves. We say it's all in the name of knowledge. We say we aren't addicted to social media, we just want to be informed. We say it's necessary to inundate ourselves with a constant stream of stimulation so we don't miss anything. The thing is, I learned more in the 40 days without that information than I ever did in the midst of it. I learned so much that I've yet to put the Facebook app back on my phone and if given the option to sit and wait for Brynna to finish Kumon or read my Twitter feed, I just wait. And my phone sits in my pocket. Or...dare I say it...in the car. Because I'm not going to die if it's more than 10 feet from me.

So here's what I learned without all that information:

I think in Tweets
Example: My parents visit and take Brynna and her buddy to Disney on Ice. Although I was never allowed to do so as a child, the girls eat popcorn, cotton candy and sno cones. My first thought is "Grandparenting 101: #love #spoil #repeat"

I don't let it (a lesson or good Word) sink in before I give it away (tweet it)
Quotes that would have been tweeted: 
"If you discount your sin, you discount what God did to forgive it."
"It's far easier to ACT like a Christian than it is to REACT like a Christian. Our reactions reveal who we really are."
"Jesus broke the curse so you could break the cycle."
"If you want all God has to give, you've got to be willing to do all He asks."

God didn't speak more without social media. I could just hear more.

God is never going to shout. He will whisper and wait. The more noise I indulge, the longer it will take.

My friend Courtney did the same challenge over Lent. When she removed the apps from her phone, she said "There's a huge hole where Facebook used to be." She meant on the home screen. It applies to time as well.

When I thought of someone, I called or texted them instead of assuming they saw my last tweet.

The point of posts or tweets is generally to share what's on your mind - not ask someone else what's on theirs.

I pick up my phone approximately 712 times a day

709 of the times I pick up my phone, it looks exactly the same as the time before

Picking up my phone is more habit than interest
I checked my email and the weather 100 times a day because it was the only thing left on my phone to refresh and Heaven forbid if I didn't know the SECOND something changed.

I don't actually NEED my phone 24 hours a day.

I needed a better news app. Using Facebook to know what's going on in the world is both sad and misleading. I am now actually informed about real events that happened instead of 200 people's opinions about what happened

The news makes me sad.
That's kind of a beside-the-point. But it does. We are so appalled at how a man could be mistreated while being executed while we support millions of babies dying every day.

But the best thing I learned without all that information is this:
It doesn't matter. Information is good; don't get me wrong. But my reading, hearing or saying it, doesn't make it true. Whether I know about it or not, God will comfort someone who mourns today. He will make sure the earth spins on it's axis.

And He will do it all without my help.

10 Things I Wanted to Tweet: Part 2

1

If you aren't willing to OBEY it, it doesn't do much good to PRAY it.

2

Why walk when you've got Daddy? #RidinInStyle

3

There are very few things Sour Patch Kids can't heal

4

"Your life follows your words. What you say and listen to matters." @vickiyohe @tocmc #DiamondsConference

5

Real men send flowers #realman #ImGrateful

6

This girl. #ImGrateful @saraeshields

7

I double dog pound dare you to listen to #Happy and not dance. @pharrell #YouCantDoIt #ClapAlong

8

Most of us are already educated far beyond our level of obedience. We just need to DO what we already KNOW. @stevenfurtick #CrashTheChatterbox

9

He's hungry #ThatsAWholeChicken #happyplate @HavenHouston

10

I feel like there was a better way to do this...

10 Things I Wanted to Tweet: Part 1

So I gave up social media for Lent, and I have to say...it was hard. But it was also life changing. That sounds crazy to say, but it was. I won't be the same after this 40+ days without the endless stream of information we've come to think we need. I learned a lot. I learned the things we all do when we unplug from the noise and see what's really important. I realized who and what is most important to me. But I also had a few revelations that surprised me. One was that social media has really great, redeeming qualities. There are friends and family I love who don't live nearby and our schedules rarely allow us to connect face-to-face. I missed those people deeply. I missed seeing their kids do silly things and all the other stuff we post day-to-day that allows us to have a window into each other's lives. And I missed sharing those things. And CLEARLY, you missed me. Right? (Smile and nod.)

I know that for over a month you have been sitting sadly in front of your screen wishing you knew what I was doing that day. I know you couldn't sleep wondering what crazy thing Brynna said or I did in response to something crazy Brynna said.

Alas! Take heart, dear ones. I took notes!

Things I wanted to tweet:

1

Me: aren't you supposed to be cleaning up? BG: I got distracted looking at how pretty I am #AtLeastShesHonest #GottaWorkOnHumility

2

Silly Sock Day (I have no other words)

3

Kids should come with earplugs #Seriously #NotKidding

4

Fake lips are always funny

5

Everything you say must be true. But everything true doesn't need to be said. #TrueThat

6

What you permit, you promote. #WhatAreYouPermitting?

7

Yep, this is church. Yep, it's Texan Day. #IDontEvenKnowWhatThatMeans #OnlyInTexas

8

I've worn cowboy boots more in a month in Houston than...well...ever.

9

"OUTCOME is God's responsibility. OBEDIENCE is mine." @craiggroeschel

10

Me: Uncle Parker and Brittney are engaged. They are going to get married. BG: Quick. Take a picture of me like this and send it to them. #excitedface

The Good Word Wednesday I've Been Afraid to Write

There's a book I've been scared to publicly recommend. Not because I don't believe in it. On the contrary, I've always been afraid I won't do it justice. I tell parents about it all the time, but in person, I can use my hands (because hands are necessary to prove a point). They can hear the passion in my voice, and I can physically shake them if it comes to that. 

But yesterday I realized I have to tell you. 

A little backstory...
Brynna loves church. Really, she loves anywhere with people. She is a firm believer in "the more the merrier." In addition to just the general opportunity for an audience, she LOVES her teacher on Sundays. Miss Kimberly babysat recently and BG cried for 10 minutes when she left. So you can imagine our surprise when she told us a few weeks ago that she didn't want to go to church. We still went to church (because church is not negotiable, because she's 5 and changes her mind more often than her underwear, because she's the child and we're the parents). And before you call CPS, she had fun as she always does. (Again. She's 5.) Fast forward a month or so. We weren't able to be at church this weekend but on Monday while David gave her a bath, Brynna started asking when we go to church next. David explained that we would go on Wednesday, and her response was that she likes her class on Wednesday but just doesn't want to go on Sundays. 

Please note: Brynna thinks our trip to Disney World last August happened "last night" and she's going to have a new sister "in two weeks." (No, I am not pregnant. She decided this unilaterally.) The fact that she understands what day it is is noteworthy. The fact that she was so concerned yet hadn't been to church in several days is alarming. Not take-immediate-action, blame-the-staff, cause-a-scene alarming. Just alarming. 

The underlying issue is that 2 boys in Brynna's class have severe behavioral issues. After asking more questions, I realized this: Brynna knows Miss Kimberly has to give special attention to the boys and that their behavior is not what it should be. In her 5-year-old way of processing information, if the teacher says "Do X" and a boy disobeys consistently, the teacher doesn't have control. If the teacher doesn't have control, Brynna can't trust her. If Brynna can't trust her, she's not safe and all kinds of warnings start going off in her head - namely, "I need to take control because these people have no idea what they are doing."

So yesterday I called the preschool director, and we discussed the situation. There's rarely an easy answer, so we talked through options. But in addition to anything else we do, one thing is definite. I am Brynna's mom. My job is to assure Brynna she's safe, she can trust Miss Kimberly, Mrs. Cherry, Mommy and Daddy.

I tell the whole story to say this:
Had I taken things at face value, I might have been tempted to call and complain to the church rather than discuss what we can do together. I might have wanted to pull Brynna out of the class immediately or demand that other arrangements be made for kids with behavioral issues. I would have responded to the SYMPTON (her fear that a boy might hurt her) rather than the PROBLEM (she feels like the authority isn't in control, so the environment is unsafe).

I know this is what Brynna feels because Brynna is a strong-willed child. I understand how she processes information because of the book that changed my life - as a parent and really, just in general.

Strong-willed kids are not difficult. They are not rebellious for the sake of driving their parents insane (although some days it feels that way). They are smart. They are leaders and if you harness that good, the person they will become is unstoppable. But if you respond to their behaviors without understanding what's behind them, you will at best crush their spirit and at worst, push them to complete defiance of authority.

This is not a book review. This is a plea to go buy this book (like now...click the picture). And when it arrives, read it. Highlight it, put it into practice in as many ways as you can. If your child isn't strong-willed, that doesn't mean it doesn't apply. Much is discussed about compliant children and the differences in parenting the two.

Don't spend another second forcing her to do her homework or grounding him from video games until you understand WHY she's acting out and WHY he defiantly disobeys. Those are precious minutes and brain cells you can't get back. 

Brynna will go to church tonight and on Sunday. Depending on what we decide, she may need to stay in the same class for a few more weeks. That doesn't mean she gets to have different rules or consequences. It doesn't mean she gets away with misbehaving "because she just doesn't like her class." It means that I work harder. I assure her she's safe, I show her that even when something feels out of control, she can trust that I always have her best interest in mind. 

And those lessons...those won't just affect today. Those will make her a better person.

Dressing Room Decorum

I explained yesterday that before we went to the ballet last month, I let Brynna get a new dress. While I did tell you the steps of choosing the dress (Try on dress. Twirl. Repeat.), I really gave you the abridged version. The cliff notes, if you will. There's so much more that goes into proper dressing room decorum.

Normally, if we are in a dressing room it's because I'm trying something on, not Brynna. In this instance, the protocol is different. In the event that she's "visiting" the dressing room, Brynna firmly believes it exists as a staging area for her performances. While I try on clothes, she tries on my clothes. Don't get me started on how many times I've been ready to go but couldn't because a three-year old was dancing on the alteration platform, claiming my shirt was a princess dress. The alteration platform. That's what most of us call it. You know...it's the place where you step up and allow a seamstress to mark the dress or pants to be properly altered. Brynna refers to this as The Stage. (In her defense, it's elevated, there are mirrors and usually a pair or two of high heels laying around...?) Many a performance has taken place on The Stage - with or without an audience. In the event that an audience is not present, the show has been known to go on the road. A few weeks ago, I came out to ask the salesperson her opinion and found Brynna doing twirls, kicks and grand jetes for all the girls working at Nordstrom. When she did stop, she turned, grabbed her heels and told me she was going to change for her next show.

Sidenote: I know you think I make this stuff up. I promise I do not.

But the day before the ballet we weren't in a dressing room for me. We were in the children's department. So this time, I put on a show on the alterations platform, and I strutted around Dillard's in Brynna's shoes. No. No, I didn't. What I did was manage the crazy. As I said yesterday, the entire focus of our shopping experience was to find maximum twirl capability. If the dress wasn't flowy on the hanger, it didn't make the cut. We covered what's necessary to find the twirl rating of each dress (Try on. Twirl. Repeat.). What we didn't get to was what you do in between dresses. See, there are a few moments after I get one dress over her head and the next on. There are precious seconds that it takes me to get one dress back on the hanger and another one off. These are the moments where decorum is necessary. This is the free time begging to be filled.

There are your standard choices for how to fill time in a dressing room:
Make faces at yourself in the mirror
Pose and smile at yourself in the mirror
Compliment yourself while talking to yourself in the mirror
Dance in front of the mirror
Curtsy to yourself in the mirror

But if you're an overachiever, there are other activities totally normal and acceptable in a dressing room:
Teach yourself to do a back walkover
Twirl naked "to see what it looks like under your dress"
Talk to the dresses
Calisthenics - jumping jacks, sit ups, running in place
Handstands
Close your eyes and dramatically act out scenes from an imaginary movie playing in your head

Two important notes:
If you aren't sweating, you're doing it wrong
If your hair isn't falling down, you're doing it wrong

I must caution you. While Brynna did all of these in the span of an hour, I would take it slowly. She's a professional.

Sunday at the ballet

My in-laws are the hardest people to buy gifts for. They have everything. Literally. Maybe even two. So last year for Christmas we came to the same point on the list we come to every year.
"What are we going to get your parents?"
"I don't know."
It's a good thing he's cute because that's not helpful AT ALL.

As we discussed what they like, the thing we kept coming back to was Brynna. She is their only grandchild, and we lived on the other side of the country for most of her life up to this point. So we decided to give the gift of time with her. We started looking for things we could all do together. David found info that the Houston Ballet was doing a production of Aladdin. Uh...dancing and a princess? Brynna is hooked. If she's happy, Pops and Honey K are happy. Done and done.
The man gets stuff done! All is forgiven.

So a few weeks ago we all 5 went to the ballet. A few days before "the big day" I took Brynna to the mall and let her get a new "fancy" dress (her favorite kind). This was a multi-faceted move. Allow me to explain:
1) Fancy dress means you can't do cartwheels
2) To wear a fancy dress, you must be on your best behavior
3) Being allowed to wear said fancy dress is an EXCELLENT bargaining tool if consequences are needed for compliance
4) Fancy dress means I shouldn't see your panties. Ever. (I know we covered cartwheels, but thoroughness is necessary)

I'll spare you the details of how many dresses we had to try on to find "just the right one" but I will tell you how to go about finding the right one (in the event you are in need of a fancy dress in the near future).
Step 1: Try on a dress.
Step 2: Twirl.
Step 3: Repeat as many times as necessary until maximum twirling height is attained.

The day of the ballet, she twirled to the car, twirled in to church and twirled back out. She twirled at the restaurant and twirled for a man in the elevator of the theatre parking garage. But when the curtain went up, the twirling ceased and my little person who can't sit still the length of a Berenstain Bears book sat enthralled. For two and a half hours, she watched some of the most intricate choreography and story-telling I've ever seen. At the end of the day she even got to meet some of the dancers.

I know what you're thinking. You're remembering that I started this post about a gift for my in-laws and you're right. That was the intent. But as they do, kids have a way of turning anything into more of an event than you planned. We went to spend the afternoon together. We went to see a performance by phenomenal dancers of award-winning choreography. We got that but what we will all remember is the way Brynna's face lit up every time she twirled. We still talk about how she danced and curtsied through each intermission and had dance teachers applauding her in the hall. We remember how she sat so still and took in story elements I assumed were over her head. We laugh at how Brynna stole the show from some of the greatest talent we've ever seen.

 

Confessions

I don't want to watch Barbie. Like, ever. Like, you know?

It's easier to go along with Brynna's belief that she is "the real Elsa" than it is to explain that Frozen is a movie, and animated and even Elsa is not "the real" Elsa.

I'm seriously considering leaving all the laundry that needs to be folded because my mom's coming this evening, and moms like laundry, right? Wait...I'm a mom...that logic might be faulty.

Most annoying thing about yesterday (and the day before that and the day before that):
"Mommy. Mommy? Mommy. Mommy... Mommy... Mommy?"

I drank 3 Dr. Peppers yesterday. Even I know that's not okay. And when the dentist asks today I already plan, hours in advance, to lie straight through my sugar-coated teeth.

I don't want to wait 2 hours to finish the last half of Criminal Minds.

But I will. I will wait because it's not something Brynna needs to see, even in passing. It's not the language she needs to hear or the pictures she needs in her mind. Because what she needs is more important than what's convenient or comfortable.

And that's why I'll answer every time I hear "Mommy. Mommy? Mommy..."

And why I'll watch another Barbie movie. Like, maybe today.

Dear Brynna,

I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday. I remember I woke up and knew that you were coming that day. I didn't feel any different, but I knew in my heart it would be the day I got to see your face. I got ready that morning knowing we would go to the hospital at some point. I had our bags packed and my hair done and our cute going-home clothes all ready. But this would be my first lesson in many that no matter how prepared you are as a mom, you aren't prepared for everything.

I remember the contractions started at the mall. We all thought that was funny because we love the mall. They weren't strong at first, so of course, I kept shopping. I remember Papa needed new shoes and while he tried them on, Yaya noted times on a pad of paper. I remember when they started getting stronger. I remember when Daddy got home and was so excited to leave for the hospital, but Yaya said it wasn't time. Daddy asked Yaya to see her medical degree and she pointed to me. She didn't need a medical degree. She's a mom. Moms know stuff. I remember how the contractions hurt worse when I laughed but I couldn't stop.

I remember driving to the hospital. I remember when the nurse said it could be awhile and Daddy told her we weren't going anywhere. He's been protecting us long before you were born. I remember when the pain was really bad. I remember when it was even worse. I remember when they said it wouldn't be long. I couldn't wait to hold you.

I remember their faces when they said you couldn't breathe, so I breathed extra air for both of us. I remember when they said my heart rate was dropping and the doctor gave me medicine. I remember Daddy's face being scared but all I could think about was you. My heart knew even then I would always take care of you before me.  I remember how many people were suddenly in the room. I remember talking and pushing and pulling and serious faces.

And then I remember silence. I remember wanting to hear you cry but not hearing anything. I remember seeing you across the room. I remember how you were purple and blue, and I just wanted you to be pink and wrapped up in my arms. I remember telling Daddy to go with you. I remember how torn he was to have to leave one of us. I remember how empty it felt without you. I remember laying face down and praying for God to do for you what I couldn't.

I remember visiting you in the NICU. I remember really bad times and really good ones. I remember watching Daddy hold you and just stare. I remember you looking back at him, memorizing parts of his face. I remember walking away from the hospital without you. I remember sitting in your room at home, praying for you to fight like the strong person we know you are. And you did.

I remember pieces of every day since that day. I remember days when I wish I'd been a better mom and days when I felt like we were getting this right, you and me. I remember you crawling backwards first and getting stuck in corners. I remember the day you slept on your bear on the floor next to TayTay as she painted you a picture. I remember Daddy sneaking in to your room to let you sleep on his chest.

Five years later...
Daddy still sneaks in to let you sleep on his chest. I'm still willing to give you all my air and heartbeats. I can't describe the ways God has changed me by letting me be your mom. I can't explain how proud I am of your love for people, your energy and your confidence. I'm grateful I remember that day. It makes me all the more grateful for this day.

Happy 5th Birthday, Brynna Grace!

I love you from the east to the west...

Rain, Rain, Go...Oh Forget It

I am a planner. I'm very logistical. You know that mom who always seem to be calm? She stands on the playground watching her 18-month old roll in the sandbox and smiles at how cute he is. (Meanwhile I'm about to hyperventilate calculating how long it's going to take her to get sand out of her car, the clothes and anything else he breathes near.) You know her. Maybe you are her.

I'm not that mom.

That doesn't mean I'm not up for being carefree and fun. I love that, too. That's why I call myself an "organized free-spirit." Both of those things usually operate side-by-side in harmony in my head. Keyword: usually. Usually I am one or the other. Usually I am working OR playing. I am writing OR dominating at Candy Land. I am in impromptu mode OR strategic mode. Usually I switch pretty seamlessly from one to the other.

But then it rains.
And all hell breaks lose.

So let me go back...
Brynna went to her grandparents' house for spring break last week, and I was in Dallas Monday-Thursday working on some writing projects. When I returned, I spent all day Friday cramming a weeks' worth of "stuff" into 8 hours. You know...birthday stuff. Party favors, cookies, food, where will things go, what all the kids will do. Stuff. This would have been a walk in the park if it had been any other year. Every other year Brynna's birthday has been inside - at home or a gymnastics gym. This year, though, I had to get tricky and have a bounce house. Outside.

While doing all that running Friday, I checked the weather app on my phone approximately 1,796 times. And do you know what that app had the nerve to tell me? Rain. Every time I checked.

When it started sprinkling Saturday morning, David assured me the showers were isolated and this was probably the end. (God bless him for trying. I'm sure he could see the panic visibly manifesting on my face.) A mom called to see if we were still planning on the party, and I calmly joked and said, "the bounce house is here. It may just be a water slide!" We laughed, ha ha! and she hung up. (All an act. I should win an Academy Award. Cue me silently freaking out in my head.)

When the rain started about 10 minutes before party time, my mom and Janay went in to "control the crazy" mode. (The crazy being me. Praise God for family who know you best and love you still.) My mom said it was no biggie, we would just bring the food in to the kitchen. Janay said there was plenty we could do with the kids inside, so I gathered up a stack of puzzles. As people started arriving, Janay took umbrellas while I greeted people. A couple of boys arrived first, so they went out to play hockey with Brynna and her dad in the garage. As more people arrived, they headed to the garage, too. I thought it had to be getting crowded and wondered what they could all be doing out there.

I walked outside to find a garage full of adults laughing at a bounce house full of soaking wet kids. Did you know that water pools at the end of a bounce house slide? Did you know if you slide down into the puddle, you make a "really cool splash"? Me neither. But I do now.

Those kids jumped for hours. And those parents were the sweetest things ever. After a couple of hours and lots of sugar, they carried their little soaked people to the car, smiling as the kids talked about how fun the water slide was. Not one of them complained. Even the family headed to another party simply asked where the nearest kids' store was to go buy a change of clothes for their deliriously happy 4 year old.

The rain was not my plan. At all. I would much rather report that it was a fun, sunny day and I took lots of pictures of happy faces. Instead, I spent the day laughing with parents about how much fun the kids were having playing in the rain. I dried off little feet and cheered for the on-going hockey game in the back half of the garage. In what has become Brynna's tradition, I handed out cookies and watched them all blow out their candles. (She loves to blow out candles, so in her mind, it stands to reason her friends do to. Makes perfect sense to me.)

The rain wasn't my plan. I didn't have time to mentally prepare myself for "impromptu" mode but I guess that's kind of the point. (literally...that's the definition of impromptu)

I only have 3 pictures from Brynna's 5th birthday party. But I have memories that can't be replaced. And I had the happiest little girl on the block as she bounced and played with her friends in the rain. And while I still don't like being outside in the rain, I'll never forget the day I said "oh, forget it."

The only thing more fun than bouncing in the rain is frosting on your face!

The Secret to Motherhood Extra Credit

Did you ever do extra credit in school? Bonus questions were my favorite. They were like an insurance policy for Geometry. (Math. Ugh. Anything with numbers and I don't get along well.) I can't say the bonus questions got me an A. But I can say that the extra credit pushed me juuuust over that passing C. (In my good-girl defense, that was my only C in high school. Math. Ugh.)

Did you know there's extra credit in the mom world, too? I bet you didn't. This extra credit is a little different than in school. In Geometry, there was an assignment and then there were a few bonus questions. If I messed up on the real questions, the extra credit was there to help make up a little bit of the deficit. In Geometry, after the teacher graded, the bonus questions could only help if you answered them. Correctly. (Did I mention? Math. Ugh.) In the wide world of Mom the difference is that the bonus points only count if you acknowledge them. Not the teacher. Not your neighbor. Not your mom or sister. Not the lady looking at you crazy at the grocery store. You.

You do the assignment every day. You wake them up, you feed them, you make sure they are breathing and clothed. You drive them here, there and everywhere. You provide a roof over their heads. You feed them again, you play with them, you bathe them. And then...you do the whole thing again the next day! And the next... It's easy to get overwhelmed by the real assignment (you know...sustaining the life of another human), let alone think about extra credit (playing Barbies. Again. Ugh.).

But, mom, I have good news. You already did the bonus questions! You just have to take credit for them. Ok, so you got #3 wrong when you yelled about the sand all over the kitchen floor. But you later admitted mommy shouldn't have yelled, which takes way more guts than anyone who ever competed on American Gladiators. You may have messed up on #6 when you played on your phone instead of listening to her story about the kid on the playground. You also read her a book before bed. You didn't show your work on #10 when you got her to school but didn't tell anyone that it was a fight to the death to get those sneakers on her when she was dead-set on the princess shoes. But she's wearing them. And no one died.

Being a mom is hard. And being real means admitting that sometimes it isn't fun or easy. Every single day, we could improve on our grade. There has yet to be a day when I didn't wish for a redo on something I said or did. I've yet to go to bed without at least one "man that was dumb!" thought in my head. But being real also means acknowledging that you were pretty great at times. You listened when you really wanted to get your work done. You didn't lose your whole mind when she colored pink marker on your brand new lightly-colored rug (true story). You let her get in and out of the car unassisted although it took for-ev-er. You tickled and hugged. You held and laughed.

You weren't perfect but you made it through the day. You didn't get it right 100% of the time, but you love that little person like no one else can. You're a real mom. And for that, you deserve extra credit. But it only counts if you let yourself accept it.

Give yourself a little extra credit. No matter how small, what did you do right yesterday?

Beautiful Ashes

Did you walk into work yesterday and see a coworker with a smudge on her forehead you wanted desperately to wipe off but didn't seem to bother her?
Did you come back to find your boss, seated at his desk with a cross on his forehead that wasn't there before he left for lunch?

If you answered yes or had a similar experience, allow me to explain. Your coworkers have not lost it. They didn't join a cult on their way to work. Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. As I explained the other day, Christians celebrate the season before Easter with a practice of fasting called Lent. Ash Wednesday is the first day of Lent. As a way to focus on why they are fasting, Catholics (and some other denominations as well) hold services throughout the day. As a part of the service, ashes are placed on the forehead in the shape of a cross. In the Bible, ashes are used as a sign of mourning. On Ash Wednesday, the ashes symbolize the mourning of where we went wrong and our repentance and desire to be better examples of Christ's love.

So here's my question for those of us without ashes on our heads...
Could you do it?
If you walked into the office would people be shocked to learn you even know where a church is?
Would you be a hypocrite with a symbol of God for all to see at a football game? in traffic? with your family? on the golf course?

And here's my question for those with...
Did you leave it there all day?
Did you try to cover it up or downplay its significance?
Did you act any differently with that mark than you do at other times?

Here's my reason for asking:
There's a Catholic church on the corner on the way to Brynna's school. I passed that corner 4 times yesterday and each time there were droves of people coming out after the ending of a mass. Each person had an ashen cross on their heads. Each was heading back to his/her respective life. And I couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the day would be like for them. I couldn't help but think about the rest of my day and what it would be like if everywhere I went people immediately knew what I believe.

Because that's supposed to be every day.
But is it?

Did you receive ashes yesterday? Did it change anything about the way you spoke or acted?
If you were marked with a symbol of your beliefs would your walk match your talk?

Those ashes have the ability to be an ugly display to the world that we say one thing but do another. Or they can be a beautiful representation of a heart that's not perfect, never will be but loves people like Jesus does.

I hope they weren't just dark smudges.
I hope they changed someone.

And more than anything, I hope that when Jesus looks at me, He sees  - not on my head but in my heart - beautiful ashes.

Harder Than It Should Be

This is kind of stupid. And pathetic. Have you ever found yourself somewhere and wondered how you got there? Have you looked around and thought "this is the exact place I never wanted to be"? I'm there and the walls of this room I find myself in are plastered with logos...

And the logos are all lit up in neon. Like Vegas. It's loud and overcrowded and I'm glaringly aware that I don't know most of these people. Of those I do know, I like maybe half of them. Of that half, few have my actual phone number and like 6 have been to my house. I feel like I'm standing in the corner, with my hands over my ears wondering what on earth all these people have to talk about at the same time. And why, for the love of all that's holy, are they yelling?!

I just want to make the bad man stop.

So, the question is obvious: why not leave? Believe me. I've asked myself that a hundred times. And in my defense, I started this with my acknowledgment that it's pathetic. I sit in that loud, annoying room, wishing I wasn't there because They told me I'm supposed to. They said it's the best way to stay connected to people. They said if I don't, I'll miss out because this is the way the world works in today's culture. They told me that I'll lose touch. They told me that if I don't yell louder, no one will hear me.

But I don't feel heard. I feel lost in noise. I don't feel informed. I feel like 17 people are screaming completely opposing opinions. I don't even feel connected. I feel competitive.

So it's all of that chatter in my head that's led me to realize that while I could give up my beloved Dr. Pepper for Lent...

[[pause]]
Lent is the season before Easter when many Christians give up something meaningful as a form of self-discipline. We emulate Jesus's example (He fasted in the desert 40 days) and focus on how special it is that He not only died but overcame death and rose again. The day we celebrate He rose is Easter. Easter is 40 days from now. That means today I decide what I'm going to go without for the next 40 days...
[[resume]]

... or I could not eat meat or fast from another food item, while I could go without a lot of things, the thing hardest to let go of is this. To walk out of this room that I don't even fully enjoy. And to be completely honest, this is way harder than it should be. I'm embarrassed that I had to remove the apps from my phone to keep me from checking them out of habit or lack of self-control.

Normally when I fast during Lent, I know that each time I think of _______ (whatever I gave up), I am reminded of Jesus, His sacrifice and what Easter means. The more integral to my daily life, the more often that happens. This year, though, we haven't even officially started and I'm realizing that I won't just be reminded of Jesus but I might be able to hear Him better. Stepping out of the noise of this room means He's not fighting for my attention. And really...He created the Universe. Should He have to compete with a youTube video of bad lip reading NFL clips? No. He shouldn't. (Although the lip reading is HI-LARIOUS)

So, here I go. This is way harder than it should be, but I'm leaving the room. I'll write, so I hope you check in with me here. And if you do, leave a comment or share what moves you...because I won't be on social media to share it myself! lol

Start now and let me know what you are giving up for Lent...or if social media feels like a keg party gone wrong to you, too...or if you've seen the NFL lip reading video. (seriously. it's so freaking funny)

What I Love

I'm studying a book called Becoming God's True Woman by Nancy Leigh DeMoss. It can be a controversial book because of it's stance on femininity, womanhood and submission. But as I read, I'm amazed at how it's affecting me as a mom even more than a woman. As we discuss our culture's view of what it means to be a successful woman, my heart breaks for what Brynna may come to think of herself. I never want her to think her worth is tied to what she does or who she knows or how much money she makes. I never want her to feel like she needs to prove herself, be it to men or other women. I never want her to confuse femininity with being sexy or domineering. I never want her to think submission requires you to be passive or weak.

When I started reading, I did what I often do. I grabbed a photo from my desk and used it as a bookmark. I didn't pay much attention to what the picture was. I just needed to hold my place. But last night I paid attention. With these thoughts racing through my mind, I grabbed the book and this was the face staring back at me:

And it struck me. Brynna will love what I love. She doesn't know anything about college or football but point to an OU logo and she'll yell "Boomer Sooner!" She loves OU because I love OU. She wants to cheer for them because I cheer for them. And in that moment, God answered the deeper questions of my heart. She will love what I love. She will view herself as I view myself. She will dress as she sees me dress and speak to others the way she hears me speak. She will value the people and things that I value. She will cheer for what I cheer for. She will love what I love.

And what I love is...
Jesus
Brynna's daddy
Brynna Grace Johnston - exactly as God made her
women who stand up for what they believe is right even when it isn't popular
women who sacrifice for their families whether or not they are recognized
humility
strength
women who value wisdom over fame
women who give it away - time, money, food, care, love, encouragement
integrity
Truth

Good or bad, right or wrong, she will love what I love.



What do you want your kids to love? What do you need to do a better job of loving so they will too?

Cut, Jump, Write

Have you ever done this? Have you said I want to cut my hair so bad!! for 3 weeks? Have you poured over pictures of haircuts and styles, wanting one of them for yourself? Have you asked everyone you know which cut would look best on you, all the while, NOT CUTTING YOUR HAIR? We blame it on a lot of stuff. I don't know which one to choose. I don't know how my husband would feel. I don't know when to do it. I don't know which stylist to call. But at the end of the day, when you take out all of the other stuff, you are left with "I want to cut my hair to bad...but you don't."

That's where I've been the past few weeks. Not literally with hair - I don't have much more to cut. (Somewhere my dad just read this and had a minor panic attack at the thought of me going from pixie cut to completely bald.) Mine has been here, on my keyboard - the place where I'm most vulnerable. I want to write so bad. I want to share and teach and make people laugh and walk alongside and mentor and praise and be silly and laugh and cry. I want to write. I want to write a book. I want to write a bible study. I want to write just about anywhere someone could read the words. But the past several weeks I've been living in the land of "but you don't." I have a lot of really good reasons. I stay at home and that means 24 hours a day of nonstop something. I don't want to write a blog if I should wait and write a book. I don't want to write a book if I should wait and format it for a website. I don't know where to start. But I also have not-so-really-good reasons. At the core, if I'm honest, I'm scared. Terrified might be a better word. Scared of what to write and when and where and how... I'm afraid.

But today, I noticed something again for the first time. Do you ever do that? You've seen something a dozen times but all of a sudden, something clicks and makes sense in a way it didn't the other 12 times. I read this verse:
      My peace I give you....do not let your hearts be troubled and not be afraid. (John 14:27) 
Even if you don't know much about the Bible, you've probably heard that in one context or another. But here's what I saw today...
     You have the choice to be troubled or accept the peace I give you. Don't choose to be afraid.
That word "let" implies that I decide what troubles my heart. "Do not" suggests that it's a conscious decision to do or not to do. It doesn't say there's nothing to be afraid of. Life is scary sometimes. It simply says choose to trust more than you choose to fear.

Maybe you do want to cut your hair. Or maybe it's a different kind of cliff you're staring at, wishing you were on the other side, but parlayed to jump. Maybe, like me, you have a dream you want so bad you're scared to do anything about for fear you'll mess it up.

Whatever it is, I say we cut, jump, write. I say we take a really deep breath and even though everything inside is scared to death, we choose to trust more than we choose to fear.

What do you fear? Are you willing to choose take a little step toward trust? Leave a comment and share. If that scares you even more, I can tell you...I just told the world my biggest fear and I'm surprisingly, still standing. So I've got that going for me...

UNjust

Girls, we have a problem. It happens every single day in doctors' offices and classrooms, dorm rooms and cubicles. It happens on playgrounds. It happens in bathrooms. It's a problem.

I sat in a bible study last night and listened as some of the sweetest women I know shared their hearts and feelings. These girls are superstars. They work full time to support their families. They care for their husbands. They travel when they'd rather be home. They stay home with the kids even when that's not their preference. They are friends when another woman needs a friend. They are wives and moms, sisters and friends. They do more in a day than some people accomplish in a month. They are amazing. Yet I heard one word over and over as I listened to them, and it broke my heart. Every time they said it, it hurt me to see them hurt.

just

I'm just a mom
I'm just a wife.
I'm just a teacher.
I'm just an accountant.
I'm just in school.
I've just been married a few months.
I've just got one kid.

just

There is nothing just about being a mom.
There is nothing just about being a wife or teacher or accountant.
There is nothing just about finishing school or staying in a marriage when it gets hard.

We need to UNjust our vocabulary. We need to make our minds and hearts UNjust.

Girls, I want to let you in on a secret. Are you ready? I'm talking to myself, too. Here it is: we're on the same team! We all want kids who eat their food and respect adults. We all want someone to love who makes us feel good about ourselves. We all want to contribute something to the world that will last. We want the same things. It may look a little different, but at our core, we are fighting for the same things. But get this way down deep in your heart. Plant it there and let it take root. We are on the same team. We don't have to fight each other.

So your best friend did a sensory activity with her kids and you don't know what sensory means. That's awesome for her kids.
So your coworker has a few more letters at the end of her name. That's awesome for her email signature.
So your sister is married and you aren't. That's awesome. She has struggles you can't imagine. And you struggle in ways that aren't a part of her daily life.

We think we are just this or just that because we are constantly comparing ourselves. We don't stop to give ourselves credit because we're too busy finding someone who did it first or bigger or brighter. Let me ask you this: if your kid learns to pee in the toilet today are you going to reprimand her because Katie down the street has been potty trained for a month? Heck to the no! You're going to praise Jesus that you don't have to Clorox the floor 17 times. Her accomplishment is no less life-changing. Her success has nothing to do with Katie's. Now maybe you and Katie's mom can have a 3 minute conversation without worrying about what's happening in the other room. (maybe)

How ridiculous would it sound to say "It's just a beautiful day so I'm just going to drive my car that I just have the resources to afford so I can just go to work and just pay for my kids to have just a roof over their heads"? That's dumb. So here's what I propose. I double dog pound dare you. Remove the word "just" from your vocabulary and see what happens. Stop when you start to say "Well, I'm just..." Replace it with "I'm a woman." "I'm a mom." "I'm a bus driver." Because those are all pretty great things.

And when you do, send me a note because I want to hear how special you are. I want to hear about how your corner of the world - regardless of how small you think it is - is different because you're a part of it. You aren't just here. You're here! And here is better because of you.

ps - yes, I did double dog pound dare you. so it's official. you have to do it.

pps - I now know what sensory means but I still won't be giving Brynna a bucket of rice to play with on the kitchen floor. I can't. I'm short of breath just thinking about the mess.

What I Learned At Dinner

One of the first friends I made in Houston was Mallory. I tell people she was God's special way of giving me a hug. See, Mallory isn't married. Mallory doesn't have kids. I don't hang out with her because our kids are in the same class. I don't have to make small talk because we don't really have much in common. I hang out with her because she's fun, and we usually talk so long one of us is late for wherever we're going. When I moved to a new place yet again and needed a friend to just be silly with, God gave me Mallory.

There's one minor hiccup in our friendship. Mallory is 25. Well, 26 now. She had a birthday this week, and Friday night 8 of her friends and I went out to dinner to celebrate her. If you are over the age of 33, when was the last time you hung out with 25 year old girls? Let me tell you this: You are missing out. You're missing out on knowing the newest online shops for cute jewelry and how to do a smoky eye and a dozen other life lessons you long forgot. Here's my list. Here's what I learned from one evening with nine 20-something girls...

1. I'm not 20-something
2. When the bridesmaid dress is coral and the wedding colors are spring but it's a more formal evening wedding, you should do a smokey eye with shades of brown. (Please note: I have never done a "smokey eye" nor would I know how to do it regardless of the shades you provide me.)
3. I am SO glad I don't have to date. Like, more glad than I can put it into words.
4. My phone can do about 176,000 things I don't know about or understand
5. My fingers don't move that fast. These girls go from website to photo to send a text to check an email to respond to Facebook...my brain about exploded just looking over Alexa's shoulder. I'm pretty sure there was smoke coming off the screen.
6. I can't keep up. With any of it.
7. I'm fairly certain I don't want to keep up.
9. The sorority pose is exhausting! You know the one...the girls in front bend forward so their butts are out and their hands rest on their knees while the girls in back hug in close. If it requires that you squat in that position until your thighs burn or you stand on one foot to get the best picture, that's what you do, darn it! And if it requires 13 takes, you better smile as big in the 12th as the first because it's going on 10 different Instagram accounts.
10. I'm sleepy at 9:30. (Long before the aforementioned photo op, mind you) I don't have to be in bed before 10:00, but I need to be in comfy clothes on somebody's sofa. I almost turned into a pumpkin!
11. Hugs make you smile no matter how many you get. (And I got a lot. They are huggers and I love that about them!)

I also learned:
12. There are blessings in being the oldest. My school loans have been paid off longer than they've been out of high school, so I picked up all the extras.
13. There is so much joy in freedom. There is so much to smile about in life - a cute font, a new lip color, a fun new piece of jewelry or a pen that writes really well. It's there if you look and let yourself smile.

We get so caught up in the stuff of life that sometimes we forget to breathe. We forget to laugh just because we can. We forget to hug. We take ourselves and our jobs and our spouses and our kids and our plans so seriously.

God gave me a special hug when He gave me Mallory because every time I spend time with her He reminds me who He made me to be. Before I was a wife or a writer or a mom or a teacher I was a girl. And it's fun to just be a girl. I'm so glad these sweet girls reminded me of that.

Don't miss the irony of my closed eyes. I SAID I was sleepy!

What She Doesn't See

I had to apologize to a friend today. There's nothing more humbling than asking someone for forgiveness, knowing they have every reason not to extend it. Yesterday, I did laundry, paid bills, studied my Bible and prayed. I also lost my patience, talked about someone when she wasn't around and ate cookies for lunch. The one thing all of that has in common is that Brynna saw none of it.

I think so much about what she sees. I am aware of every minute of television she watches and think through my every response so that hopefully what she sees is an example I want her to follow. But who you are when no one is looking is who you are. What I do when she can't see is maybe more important than what she can see. Scratch that. It IS more important. What she doesn't see is who I am.

She sees a lot right now because we spend 26 hours a day together. (That's not a typo.) But in a few short months, she will go to school all day. She won't see how I spend my time, handle our finances or treat people when she's not around. And I won't see. I won't see how she talks with other little girls. I won't see how she treats the kid other kids leave out. I won't see the way she speaks to adults.

Do I want who she is when I'm not looking to be who I am when no one's around? Motherhood is one big, never-ending, raw look in the mirror. How do I talk with other girls? How do I treat the people who require extra grace? How do I speak to authority?

What she doesn't see is who I am. And whether she can see it or not, it's who she's learning to become.

I don't know how my friend will respond to my apology or what I'll have for lunch. But I know that the choices I make - even when she doesn't see - will affect who she is. So I'm going to work a little harder so that what she doesn't see is who I want her to be.

Let's Get Together Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Four year olds are notorious for a lot of things; one of them is imitation. They will remember and repeat whole sentences and conversations - usually at the times you least prefer it. Brynna is no exception. One of her favorite words is apparently. "Apparently Miles needs to go outside." "Well, apparently I can't find my Barbie's shoes." "Mom, apparently I'm almost as tall as you." Good, bad or ugly, the eyes of a child are the most truthful mirror about yourself. And apparently I use the word apparently a lot.

In addition to things she hears, Brynna also imitates things she sees. She wants to wear high heels because I do. She wants to hunt deer because Daddy and Papa do. She thinks she's half mermaid because Merliah is in her Barbie movie. It was this raw belief that she can recreate anything that led her to leave her friend naked in a cape last week.

After gymnastics, Brynna's friend Kaitlin came over to play. They had tea parties, took care of babies, cooked food, played games and tried on every princess and dance dress in a 10 mile radius. About 5 minutes before Kaitlin's mom was to pick her up, I gave the girls a warning. I poked my head in the play room to find each of them in a different tutu, spinning in circles. I told them they didn't need to stop playing, but just to be aware Kaitlin would need to leave soon. Not long after that, I heard what happens regularly when girls play. "I'm telling your mom." Then footsteps toward my office followed by, "No, here, you can have it. You can have it!" Not the best way to handle a conflict, but that's part of learning. I assumed it was over, so imagine my surprise when Kaitlin comes walking into my office wearing nothing but panties and a pink princess cape. I couldn't stifle the laugh. I'm sorry. You shouldn't laugh at children, but that's funny.

Kaitlin proceeded to tell me that Brynna wanted to go to her house. Call me crazy, but I had no idea what that had to do with the little naked blonde person in front of me. About that time, Brynna came slowly around the corner and into my office - dressed entirely in Kaitlin's clothes. Head to toe, she had stripped of her dress up clothes, and before Kaitlin could put them on, Brynna had donned the sweatsuit Kaitlin had been wearing. What I had overheard was Kaitlin threatening to tell me and Brynna saying no, she could have her clothes back. But the plan was foiled when Brynna couldn't get the sweatshirt off by herself. The cape and panties were making a bit more sense. Kaitlin had been trying to get dressed when her clothes were stolen. But why on earth Brynna had the clothes on at all was still a mystery. As Brynna began sheepishly explaining that she wanted to go to Kaitlin's house, it all started making sense. Well, 4-year-old sense.

Brynna recently saw The Parent Trap. And by saw, I mean watched on repeat for 4 days straight while she and her daddy were sick. She wanted to go to Kaitlin's house, so it made perfect sense to her that she could change clothes and they'd just switch. I'd never notice that one little blonde person had been exchanged for the other. I asked if she wanted Kaitlin to live here with me and she said, "Well, only until I get done playing with her toys. Then we can go back."

Makes perfect sense. Well, 4-year-old sense.

Start Again

Brynna has this new thing. It started last week when we were in the kitchen making breakfast. She had gotten up earlier and sat with me, played a bit and started doing some Kumon homework. The first thing she said when she came in to greet me that morning was "I'm gonna have a good day, Mommy! I'm going to be a big girl all day!" Of course, I was elated to hear the news of her plans (but let's be honest, skeptical of the likelihood.) She had been right on track with her agenda of good behavior until she hit a snag with her math homework and didn't want to do anymore. I think a pencil was "dropped" and I'm pretty sure the counter was kicked. When I reprimanded her for the behavior, BG burst in tears and cried, "I just wanted to be a big girl today!" (Cue mom laughter. Seriously. How am I expected to show empathy and guidance? She was hysterical like someone assaulted her and took away her big girl abilities.) As I tried to calm her down so we could get back to the matter of addressing the behavior and homework, she looked up at me, tear-stained and red-faced and said, "Can we start the day over again?" I wasn't sure what that meant, but I took the bait and asked her to clarify. She wanted to go upstairs to her room and come down again. I agreed, and off she went, sniffling and snorting. About 3 minutes later, a bright-eyed Brynna came walking down the stairs as if it were the first time she'd seen me that day. She said good morning, gave me a hug and kiss and then informed me she was going to work on her homework. Just like that. She literally started the day over again.

It happened again Monday. Brynna has been dressing herself (please keep that in mind when you see us around town. I didn't choose the color combo or the tank top in the middle of winter.). She was fully dressed before 8am, and greeted me similarly with plans to be a big girl all day. She started her homework without being asked, emptied the dishwasher without dramatic antics and was eating her breakfast - a feat in and of itself. She asked if she could finish her math in my bathroom while I got ready. I agreed, so there we were - two girls at the vanity mirror, writing numbers and applying mascara. Somewhere around #97 (out of 100), she decided that she didn't like the way she wrote the number nine and erased them all. Then, she got frustrated because it still didn't look "right" and now, instead of being almost done, several places were incomplete. I could see the storm on the horizon, and I encouraged her to take a minute and calm down. She, of course, saw no need to heed my advice and was soon in a full, dramatic meltdown. And when I say dramatic, I mean roll out the red carpet, Academy award winning, best performance by a 4 year old - dramatic. I sent her to time out, hoping she would compose herself, but instead, she sat at the bottom of the stairs crying loudly, "I just wanted to be a big girl, but I can't make a nine that's curved!" When I bent down and tried to talk to her, she clamped her hand over her mouth, but was still crying. In a new wave of exasperation, she wailed, "I can't make it stop! I'm trying to stop crying but it won't turn off!" In the midst of the tears and snot, she sniffed out "Mama, can I just start the day again?" I could see that we were getting no where with the current situation, so I agreed. She went up the stairs, still crying, to her room, where she turned off the lights and got all the way back under the covers. After a few minutes, she got up, brushed herself off and came back down. Again, she greeted me as if it were an entirely new day and none of the past 15 minutes had happened. She respectfully asked me to help her with a number nine, I did so and she went back to trying on her own. Once she'd finished her homework, there was a minor travesty concerning boots vs. shoes and she started the day over yet again. (Sometimes you need more than one redo.)

Here's what I learned from Brynna:
* You can start a whole day over. Who knew?
* If you don't like the direction you're going, you don't have to get more and more frustrated trying to fix it. You can stop, revisit where you wanted to go originally and try again.
* Sometimes you need to restart more than once. That's ok.

And the biggest thing I learned...
As long as I (her mom) returned the greeting and allowed the day to restart, she was fine. It all hinged on me. Had I laughed or made fun of Brynna's suggestion to restart the day, I would taken away a little bit of her desire to find solutions to problems on her own. Had I reprimanded her or been harsh, I would have crushed a little bit of the creativity that makes her unique. Had I brought up the past mistake, I would have taught her that forgiveness is conditional and limited. Had I ostracized her, I would have made her feel alone in her frustration.

Instead, I showed her that I'm here. No matter how many times it takes. I helped her see that it's ok not to be perfect. It's ok to feel overwhelmed and need a redo. It's ok to lose it a little bit if you pull it back together. It's ok to need to start again.