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

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.

 

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!

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?

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.

To Watch You Sleep

All I can think all day long

is what I would give

to watch you sleep.

I watch you run and climb and jump and skip.

I just want 

to watch you sleep.

When you bounce around while other kids nap,

I think how nice it would be

to watch you sleep.

I'd give anything to rest

yet you fight it with a vengeance.

You'll do anything to not let me

watch you sleep.

You come up with every excuse you can imagine

just so I can't

watch you sleep.

You need to potty. You need louder music.

You need another cup of water. 

You forgot to floss.

Anything so I don't get

to watch you sleep.

And then finally

you're still for the first time all day.

Finally

you close your eyes.

I don't care that you're a sweaty mess of tangled hair.

I see a bunched up nightgown and favorite blanket.

I see soft hands and hear soft breathing.

I'm not thinking about how tired I've been

chasing you all day.

I'm not concerned with how tired I'll be tomorrow

chasing you all day.

For now,

I just get 

to watch you sleep.

And I wouldn't trade a moment.

And I can't believe 

God lets me be 

the one

to watch you sleep.

One...Two...Breathe....

This weekend's one thing: People are more important.

Brynna is 4, so sometimes she acts like...well, a 4 year old. She can be selfish and loud and completely unreasonable. She doesn't have the capacity to think in terms of the big picture, so she responds to everything as though it were the end of the world. Now that I think about it, maybe Brynna acts just like all of us.

We have a saying to help her with perspective. When she threw a fit last week about not getting the shopping cart she wanted at Target, I pulled her aside and asked, "What's more important?" When she talks back in an attempt to prove she's right, I ask, "What's more important?" When she argues with a friend over whose turn it is, I quietly ask, "What's more important?" Each time I ask, Brynna knows the answer and she responds, "People are more important."

How different would our lives be if we could all answer that question like Brynna and remember it when our allegiances are put to the test! Especially this weekend before Christmas, what can you do to remind yourself and others that people are more important?

Don't let the people get lost in the planning of a party for them.
Don't forget the people you're cooking for when you're overwhelmed in the kitchen.
Don't lose sight of the people you're buying for....they are loved ones not just marks on your To Do list.
Don't miss that all this holiday hustle and bustle is about PEOPLE. A PERSON was born and it changed PEOPLE forever. That's MORE IMPORTANT.

People are more important than decorations or lights. People are more important than presents and wrapping. People are even more important than traditions. Think about that ONE thing for the next TWO days and BREATHE...because all the stuff will get done or it didn't matter than much anyway. People are more important.

7 Rules of Being Playground Best Friends

BFF = Best Friends Forever
BFFFM = Best Friends For Fifteen Minutes (or until someone's Mom says its time to go)

There are a lot of intelligent quotes about friendship. Friendships are born in the midst of tragedy. Friendship is forged over long distance rather than close proximity. Friendship is the product of similar personality and interests.

The very sophisticated people who researched and wrote those quotes have obviously never spent time at the mall play area. The rules of being playground besties are simple:

1. Ask - There's this unspoken code. One child asks "Do you want to play with me?" and another responds. If he says no, it's not cause for tears. He wanted to do something else; on to the next potential friend. If he says "sure," GAME ON.

2. Names are unnecessary - Everytime I ask Brynna the name of the kid she was playing with, I get a look like she's really trying to figure out if I'm mentally stable. It makes no sense to her. Why would you need a name to play with someone?

3. Age doesn't matter - You don't pick who will be at the play area at the same time. You choose from the friend pool you're given. If she's 2 years younger than you, you crawl through tunnels. If he's older than you, you're going to have to run faster because Tag is his middle name.

4. It lasts as long as allowed - The length of friendship is dependent solely on when someone's mom says it's time to go. In a good scenario, you get the "two more minutes" warning. Other times, it's more abrupt.

5. No dress code - You can be friends whether you just came from pictures with Santa in a fancy dress or you came from school and your uniform pants are dirty and falling off because they don't fit right.

6. Help each other - If someone falls down, friends help them up so you can keep going. Making fun serves no purpose. There's a game in process.

7. It doesn't matter that you smell like feet - And they do. They all do.

What matters is you're there, and you're willing to be a friend. It's that simple.

Gag Reel

I made a Gag Reel a few months ago and had so many people say how funny it was. Apparently I'm not the only person who opens my phone's cameral roll to discover all sorts of treasures. It's been a few months and a few more hundred photos and time for another reel. (Sidenote: Can you believe that we have hundreds of pictures just lying around on our PHONES? Remember those commercials and movies we used to think were crazy because someone talked on a phone without a cord? You don't remember? Well, you're 12. What do you know?)

Train a child in the way she should go...and you won't have to take the trash out anymore.

If I had to sum Brynna up in a photo, it would look like this.

...or this

...or this.

I'm not sure why I needed to save it as a picture. But I did.

This is the shirt I brought Brynna from the So You Think You Can Dance tour.

This is what she did when I gave it to her.

My mother-in-law and I have the same breed of dog. Mine ate his twin.

When in doubt, put ALL THE STICKERS ON YOUR FACE!

My view at Kumon

"Mom. We have to take a picture and send it to Daddy so he can see we have the same necklace."

"Mom! Take a picture! I'm on a rock!"
"Mom! Take a picture! I'm on a bench!"
"Mom! Take a picture! I'm with this metal kid!"

Dinner Diversions

Eating a meal with Brynna is always...an event. We used to think that when she got to school, it would help alleviate some of her "quirks." Instead, however, she is completely unaffected by peer pressure. It doesn't bother her at all that she brings a sandwich, fruit and vegetable everyday. It doesn't hurt her feelings not to have the chip or cookie someone else's mom packed. On the day they had a pizza party she told me she would try one bite - just one. In a moment of disbelief I encouraged her, "Great job, Brynna! That's all we ask!" She replied, "Ok. I'll try one bite of pizza for you Mama. When I'm 17."

Awesome. I packed a sandwich, fruit and vegetable.

I love her spunk. I am proud beyond words that she doesn't mind being different and isn't swayed or persuaded by other kids. I just want her to eat. One meal without having to force the issue. One dinner without drama. I'm sure some of you are thinking that I'm just not strict enough and if she won't eat what I make, she doesn't eat. Brynna comes by her will naturally. Hers is strong because mine is too. We've had knock-down drag-out wait-all-night-if-it-takes-that-long meals. We've repeated the same food at multiple meals until it's eaten. We've tried forcing the issue. We've tried minimizing it to not reward attention-seeking. And when she was 1, she underwent gastroscopic surgery because doctors thought she may have a tear in her esophagus causing pain BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T EAT FOR A MONTH.

Needless to say, food is something we deal with. It's not a battle as much anymore. She's learning who's in charge (me) and who's not (her). She's learning that I will allow her room to be herself but she has to do so within the boundaries we set. She's learning that I will only make her try new things at certain times but when I do, we're not leaving until it's done. She's stubborn. She's not dumb. She knows that when we sit down to eat, that's what we are doing. But that doesn't keep her from trying every excuse in the book. As proof, I give you last night's attempted dinner diversions.

I'm cold.
My food is too hot.
My dress is dirty.
The food is spicy.
I need a new fork for my green beans; this one touched my oranges.
My food isn't good.
I'm not 5 years old.
This food is so good (that I want to stop and talk about it, therefore, still not eating it).
I can blink my eyes really fast.
I need to tell you a story about Kaitlin on the playground today.
Hot pink is my favorite color but my plate is purple.
I'm hot.
My food is too cold.
Michael (my imaginary brother) wants a bite.
Miles (the dog) wants a bite.
If I eat all the food, my plate will be lonely.
The butterflies (bow tie pasta) want to dance.
I hear something outside.
It's not snowing.
I need to count how many green beans there are.
Zoe likes ice cream like I do.
AJ's Spider Man shoes light up.
I lost count. I need to count the green beans again.
I need to count how many butterflies are left so the green beans aren't lonely.

I'M NOT KIDDING. This is not a fabrication for the sake of a good story or to prove a point. I literally had my phone beside me and typed as she rambled.

And then I stabbed myself with my fork.


Does your kid have any quirks? Or am I the only one?

I pray I learn to love like kids do...

As we drove to lunch today, Brynna prompted a conversation that will stay with me always. Sitting in the backseat dressed loudly in pink, she asked if Zoe was in surgery. I explained that it was still nighttime in Australia so Zoe was sleeping but would start surgery soon. Brynna was momentarily distracted by the timezone discrepancy (she comes by that naturally; it confuses the heck out of me) and then she said, "So AJ & Zoe and I share the sun. When it's here, they're sleeping and then when they have the sun, I'm sleeping."

I'm not sure I've ever heard a better explanation.

She chattered on about how she hoped Zoe wouldn't be too scared and how she prayed she slept well. Then, as though the thought hit her for the first time, she asked, "Mama. What's actually wrong with Zoe's back?"

It never occurred to her to need the details to pray.

I explained that when Zoe was two, she had a really bad bug on her back and it hurt her insides. She had to take medicine and have surgery to remove it. Now the doctors are fixing where the bug hurt her back. She thought a moment and as if she was doing math in her tiny head, she asked, "So has Zoe always been sick since I've been alive?" I confirmed and told her that's why in some of the pictures when she and AJ were babies, Zoe doesn't have hair. The medicine made her lose her hair. Her response was, "Zoe lost her hair?" I told her to think about the picture on Yaya's wall. Nothing. I told her to think about the pictures we laugh about when she and AJ were such different sizes. Nothing.

She was too busy playing with and loving her cousin to notice she was bald.

She then asked if Zoe's back has always hurt even after the bug was gone. "Yes, " I told her. "That's why she's had to wear a brace." I can't count how many times Brynna and Zoe have been in the midst of a conversation while Zoe laid on the floor and one of us tightened the straps on her brace her brace. (Brynna's arm is literally wrapped around Zoe's brace as they smile for the camera in Disney World.) Brynna obviously knows Zoe has worn a brace; it just never dawned on her it was bad. I added that after today's surgery, she hopefully won't have to wear the brace again or the halo on her head. Without a joking ounce in her body, she asked with every bit of 4-year-old seriousness, "Mom. There's something IN Zoe's head?" The tone in her voice implied "What is wrong with you people that you haven't gotten it off her head before now?!"

I share these pics only to illustrate how profound it is that she literally never noticed. That check in your gut that just happened...she never had that thought of "oh, poor Zoe!" She saw her cousin. She loves her cousin. They made faces to see who could make the other laugh because that's what they do.

We could learn so much from children if we'd let them teach us.

We don't need to be in the same timezone to share.
We don't need details to pray.
If we'd focus so intently on loving one another, we wouldn't even recognize the differences and flaws that we think are such a big deal.

What matters matters

This weekend's challenge was to focus on the question: Does it matter? I'm not going to say that I brought it on myself, but....I may have brought it on myself. I practically begged the craziness out of the corners. And by "craziness" I, of course, mean Brynna Grace. Who, this weekend, I affectionally (not really) referred to as GoGo the dancing monkey.

GoGo has been asking to set up the Christmas tree since October. I held her off as long as I could but decided we would decorate before we leave for Thanksgiving so it's done when we return. I made the comment that we would ask Daddy to get the boxes down from the attic over the weekend. Apparently my child's understanding of a week is defined similarly to a college student, and the weekend now starts Thursday night. David didn't get his work clothes changed before she was dragging him up the attic ladder. They retrieved the few bins in that part of the attic, but he told her he would get the rest above the garage the next night. People. She sat on the tubs "to be close to them." Friday was the same song different verse. You'd think she was at the circus with the squeals and excitement, but no. Just going up and down the attic ladder. It was around this time that GoGo lost complete control of her senses. We started opening the boxes of Snow Village figurines, and she tore into them so quickly we had to take them away. She was allowed to look as we removed them from the packaging but that turned into talking to them, which led to them talking to each other, which led to them saying hi to each other, which meant glass and ceramic family heirlooms were banging into each other in the hands of a madwoman. Have I mentioned my OCD issues? Have we discussed that I need things to be done in order? DOES ANYTHING SOUND ORDERLY ABOUT THIS? No. I had to walk away. We all had to walk away. Fast forward to Saturday morning when I'm greeted with "Mommy, I don't need breakfast or milk today. Can we just set up the Christmas tree?"

I want it to be fun and exciting; I do. I want to take advantage of her excitement and celebrate her joy. But Oh. My. Gosh. We first had to finish Snow Village after abandoning ship the night before. A note about Snow Village for those uneducated as I was: these are hand-crafted ceramic buildings, people, etc that when set up together, form a village. They light up, you add "snow" and a winter wonderland forms in your living room. (Or in our case, David's office that will be out of use for the next month and a half. Sorry, babe.) David's family started collecting them when he was little. The boys got to pick buildings to add, and when we got married, David's mom split the collection between David and his brother. Not only are they expensive, but they've been a part of most every Christmas of David's life.

As "snow" was flying through the air (literally - she wanted it to snow in the room so she didn't just place the batting on the table, but threw it), I had to stop. One...Two...Breathe. Does it matter that we have to vacuum this room (again). No. Does it matter that Snow Village doesn't look the way I would have arranged and decorated it on my own? No.

After the Snow Village fiasco, we moved on to the tree. But before you can put ornaments on a tree, you have to put tinsel/ribbon/SOMETHING around it. Before you can do that, you have to place the star on top. Even after those things are done, you have to carefully unpack the ornaments. The past several years, I've done a "pretty" tree (matching ornaments, ribbon, etc) vs. one with sentimental ornaments. Before I could decide the theme/plan for the tree, Brynna had half the family ornaments spread on the coffee table. Does it matter what the tree looks like? No. Does it matter that I didn't get to plan a "vision" in my head before being in the midst of doing it? No. Does it matter there are no fancy bows, flowers or accessories? No.

While I was finishing the ribbon on the tree, Brynna moved on to looking through tubs and found the stockings. We have 4 stockings - David, me, Brynna, Miles (the dog). When I say she put them up for 45 minutes, I'm being conservative. She would hang them, step back and admire her work (out loud, of course), then she would taken them all down and repeat. Over and over and over. She tells me she was practicing. I have no idea for what. Is there a stocking hanging competition I don't know about? Is there a meet? Do you get a medal? I'm so confused. And so annoyed. I said it - annoyed. If you need state secrets from me, no need to get drastic. Just have someone do the same thing over and over in front of me. I'll crack like an egg. But when I took a step back (and away. I had to leave the room for a minute), I asked: does it matter? Is she hurting anything? No. Is it damaging the stockings, mantle or step ladder? No.

We eventually got ornaments on the tree, and that's about it. It goes against everything in me to post this for the world to see, but this is my living room currently. It's looked that way all weekend. When I posted the challenge to concentrate on ONE thing for TWO days, I meant theoretically. I didn't know I would be walking through the middle of chaos. (It's always easier to SAY you'll do it than actually DO it, huh?)

The question you're all wondering...did GoGo the monkey ever stop dancing? No. Does it matter? Yes. THAT does matter to me. Greatly. More than a tree or a messy house or family heirlooms, it matters that Brynna is excited for Christmas. It matters that she is free to express her excitement and joy. It matters that she knows I am willing to let her. It matters that she's so proud of the tree and Snow Village and tells everyone that "Mommy and I did it together!"

She doesn't look at this weekend and think it was hectic or irritating. She thinks it was fun. She thinks she created something beautiful. And she did.

That matters.

What matters to you? And/or what doesn't? 

Shallow Depth of Field

Years ago I started a challenge with a group of photographers. I wanted to capture with words what others capture so beautifully with a camera. Sometimes that's easier said than done, especially when I have no idea what the photography term is! I found a zillion gorgeous pictures and explanations, and as I understand it, the depth of field is the part of the picture that's in focus. You can see a lot through your camera lens, but shallow depth is when all the background stuff gets blurry to focus all the attention on the intended subject. Now THAT, I can relate to.

I've been up and moving since 5am. I've run from one place to another and only just got home. I set a goal to write each day, so I ran in to the computer to meet my day's deadline before hurrying to get dinner ready. I've yet to be able to complete a coherent thought, though. The conversations and remaining items of the day's To Do list are running through my head. I'm thinking about what I need to do tonight and what all has to get done tomorrow. I'm distracted but the fact that I have a lesson to teach Sunday that still needs work. I'm well aware that the dogs haven't eaten AND I REALLY NEED TO PEE. In the midst of my crazy brain ramblings (and nature callings), Brynna keeps interrupting and asking me to play with her. In full disclosure, I brushed her off once and told her to wait another time. I've shushed her more times than I can count. And then I turned to see what she's doing. She's playing with the Playmobil Nativity set she got last Christmas. She's talking to the tiny lego-like figures of Mary, Joseph, Jesus, wise men, angels, etc.

Insert that sound in movies where the scene comes to a screeching halt.

As though the lens in my camera focused suddenly and everything in the background became a blur, I saw my daughter, sitting on the floor, focused on nothing more than talking to Jesus.

How is it that a 4-year-old gets it so much better than we do?
I don't have the answer to that, but I know I'm going to take a note from her playbook. My depth of field just got real shallow. (I'm sure that's very butchered photography speak. Whatever. Go with it.) If you need me, I'll be sitting on the floor, letting everything else take a backseat for a moment while I talk with Brynna and Jesus.

The Great Divide

I knew it was inevitable. I knew it would happen eventually. The older Brynna gets, the more sure I've been of it's inescapable arrival. It's been happening in little ways over time but never to the extent that it was so glaringly obvious. Now is different. Now we've reached the day (the first of many), the point (with more to come), the great divide when she had to pick a side. Do what Mom says? Or do what everyone else does?

We had lunch with friends at Chick-Fil-A today. When we arrived, I told Brynna that she was not allowed to go into the play area until our food arrived, and she was finished eating. I reminded her that regardless of what another is allowed to do, that was the expectation we've always set and we will uphold it whether alone or with others. Brynna went to find us a table, and I ordered at the counter. When her friend arrived, she called Brynna to come play with her. Brynna explained that she had to wait until she was done eating. The friend suggested that she could come back out when the food came but just to play for a minute. Brynna said again that she couldn't. The friend asked if she was in trouble and that's why she had to wait. Brynna said no. Then, the friend reasoned, that since I wasn't there and she wasn't in trouble, she should play just until I came to the table. **I pause in the telling of the story to point out: I know every word they spoke because we were IN CHICK-FIL-A. I didn't leave the building. I was 12 feet away!** What I saw over the ketchup and napkins was maybe one of my proudest moments. It's a picture I will hold in my heart forever. Brynna obeyed. Brynna chose to do as she's been taught even though it's not what she wanted. She chose to say no to her friend to say yes to her mom. She was forced to do so, and she picked a side. In that moment, the divide that's been a little obvious for a few weeks became evident for all to see.

But here's the thing: before Brynna could reach her day of great divide, I've had to face hundreds of them. Before she could choose to obey when it was hard, I had to. Before she said no when everyone else was doing something different, I had to. Before she could show me what it looks like to trust the one in charge, I had to show her how. I had to be the mom who doesn't let her wear makeup when everyone else is allowed on special occasions. I had to be the mom who does her hair everyday even when she doesn't want to sit still. I had to be the mom who enforced the punishment even when it was  more work for me. I had to be the mom who got up and left when I said I would. I had to be the mom who took it away when I said I would. I had to be the mom who sat on the floor after each instance and explained not just what she did wrong but why she needs to do differently. I had to teach her that you obey not because of who's around but who you are. And I had to do it over and over and over again.

Hear my heart. This is not a dissertation about my friend or her little girl. This is not a judgement about the choices of other moms (We put enough pressure on ourselves. We don't need to add to one another's burdens.) , nor is it a commentary about the misbehaviors of kids. They're kids. That's what they do. We've been that kid, too. And we will have opportunities to learn by being there again.

This is a declaration from a proud mama!
This is a statement of truth - they will do what you do.
This is encouragement to keep going; they will learn what you teach.

But, moms, we have to DO. We have to TEACH. Every. day. When we feel like it and when we don't, when it's convenient and when it's not, when we've got the energy and when we feel like we don't.

I have to show her that I am willing to be the different mom so she has the courage to be the different girl. I have to stand on one side of the great divide so when she gets there, she's not alone.

Blessing Bags

We go to church at least twice a week, and to get there, we drive up a very busy street. Often, while stopped at a traffic light, we are asked for money or help. Have you been there? Did you respond? Dig in your purse? Look at your phone? Or did you even notice? I've been guilty of them all.

What you can tune out yourself, though, you can't ignore when you have kids in the car. Being a parent changes the game in every way. You are no longer just looking past someone's need, you are setting an example for your child to do the same. That conviction took about 37 seconds to sink in to my heart. I never want Brynna to learn to look past someone's need. I always want her to know that I am willing to make sacrifices for others and she should, too. And the irony of where we are usually headed is not lost. I never want to be in such a hurry to get to God's House to love people, that Brynna sees me pass silently by God's people who need love.

So we made blessing bags! I've heard people mention the idea before but never paid enough attention to what goes in them to do it myself. With a little research into organizations who work with the homeless, I learned of some mistakes often made:

• Don't put fragranced lotions or deodorants in the same bag with food or you end up with an anti-bacterial tasting granola bar. (We solved this by including a separate quart-sized ziploc with toiletries - right side of this photo - so they are separate from food items. We also put mints in this bag because no one wants a peppermint flavored raisin.)
• Don't put anything that melts or smashes easily (chocolate or crackers) - the bags will be in your car, and your car gets hot. Especially when you live on the equator also known as Houston, TX.
• Try not to include things that aren't self-contained and/or require utensils - although apple sauce is suggested even without a spoon.
• Don't add items already in supply (i.e.: soap and shampoo are available at most any shelter).
• Think about REAL needs, not just the first thing that pops in your head. Or the cheapest thing on the shelf. Gloves that come in a 6 pack don't keep hands very warm. Living on the street means a lot of walking. That makes socks a commodity. That means you don't want anything too heavy, bulky or awkward. It means you likely don't have access to dental care, so items too sticky or chewy are hard to eat. (There is a glaring exception to this rule: beef jerky. Everyone wants beef jerky.)
• Avoid items often included in bags that can be more harmful than helpful. Mouth wash includes alcohol. Some pain relievers are addictive. 
• The thing that stuck with me most was the request (by a Christian organization) not to include religious literature. One girl said, "Homelessness does not equal Godlessness. Don't assume anything. Trust that God was on the streets long before you came into the picture." 

With info in hand, we went shopping. And by we, I mean WE. Brynna did each part of the process with me - we shopped, we talked about why one item was better than another, we picked out stickers for the cards we'd make so the people had something special to keep. And when it came time to assemble it all, we spent a Saturday morning as a family making almost 40 bags. David and I assembled and BG made cards. Our finished products went in a large bag that now sits permanently behind the driver's seat of my car. When we see someone in need, I roll down the window, BG grabs a bag, and together, we give a little bit of what God gave us to someone else.

I've learned a lot through our bags, but two things especially:

1. God's got this. Each time BG pokes her little head out of that window, she says "This is for you! God has blessed you!" I started to correct her the first time, but now it's my constant reminder. Not God WILL bless you, but He ALREADY HAS. He sees their need, and He loves them enough to move us to help.

2. Searching is part of rescuing. We've been known to circle a block or do a u-turn because now we don't ignore a need, we seek it out. 

If you're interested, here's the list of what's in our bags and what I got at each store.
From Sam's:
socks (black)
water
fruit juice box
sweet and salty mix (although I learned my lesson and next time it will just be nuts - didn't realize there were M&Ms)
chewy granola bar
applesauce
beef jerky
fruit chews
peppermints
chapstick
bandaids
advil (individual packs)
gallon-sized ziploc bags

From Target:
razor
toothbrush set with toothpaste and floss
hand sanitizer
comb
kleenx
spoons
wipes

If you've done a similar project, leave a comment and tell me what you learned. If you know any other tips, tell me what you did differently.

Confessions

Sometimes the answer is no. No, I don't really want to stop what I'm doing to see the coloring page for the 12th time. No, I don't want to hear the song again. No, I don't want to glitter paint right now.

After giving BG a riveting speech about how bad it is to eat sweets before bed and cutting off her Oreo habit, I promptly put her to bed, poured a glass of milk and ate 3 chocolate chip cookies.

I've been adding minutes to the Ok to Wake clock (i.e.: the greatest invention ever made). It now turns green at 7:36. (Don't hate. You know 6 minutes can save a life. It can be the difference between a shower or not, peeing in private vs. with an audience, sanity or...the alternative.)

Of all the kids in all the world, sometimes I just stare at her and can't believe God lets me be her mom.

I don't care what you do in your room as long as you're in your room. And I'm not.

I wouldn't be mad if BG punched ***** on the playground. I'd teach her about appropriate behaviors and responses, but I wouldn't be mad. (*****'s name removed to protect the bratty 4 year old child who won't let kids play, is rude and encourages other kids to be rude, talks back to adults, pushes kids and is generally not a joy to be around. Also to protect me. I could explain Brynna punching someone on the playground, me - probably not.)


I realize my confessions run the gambit from sweet and loving to...well...threatening to punch a 4 year old. Welcome to motherhood. Welcome to being a girl, for that matter! Will you leave a comment and share some confessions of your own? No one is grading on eloquent words or justifiable feelings. It's ok to be real. If you can't be real, you'll go real crazy! (Been there, done that, have the meds to prove it!)

ps: I'm serious. Leave a comment. Or I may begin to feel like I'm the only one. Either that, or I'll know you're all leaving me high and dry, and I'll have to come find you on a playground!