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.

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?

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?

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 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.

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.

Why Green Beans Are A Big Deal

Why do they hate the very things we crave? Food and sleep. I'd give anything for a nice, warm meal and a long night's sleep. My child, however, sees no benefit in slowing down to eat and finds that sleep interrupts her very important plans to take over the world. It's no wonder we're wandering the grocery store aisles in yoga pants and a t-shirt from college with hair that hasn't been combed for a day (maybe 2?). We're exhausted. A friend posted on Facebook yesterday how tired she is and the problems she's having with her 2 year old eating and sleeping. I am by no means an expert. None of us are. (I firmly believe annyone who says they are is a liar.) But I do know about 3 things - food, sleep and strong wills. I know because I've been in a 24/7 battle with one or all of them for the past 4 years, 9 months and 20 days.

While I can't fix it for you, I can tell you what helped and encourage you to keep going. Here's my overly simplified input...
(that's not overly short. sorry!)

It seems to have nothing to do with food or sleep, but bear with me:
Think of a kid's mind like large yard. An open space sounds freeing at first, but with no perimeter, it's more scary than good. Your job is to be the fence - to let her know that it's safe to run and play and be free - within that space. That fence provides security only if it's strong. So she goes about trying to figure out what's allowed, what's safe and most importantly, who she can trust. That means she has to try every inch of that fence to make sure she can feel safe in the yard. She will push every slat when it comes to food. She will poke every hole when it comes to bedtime. The best thing you can do is establish as early as possible that you built the fence, you are there to keep her safe and it's strong enough for her to trust. If she finds that the fence is sturdy in one area (maybe you're very strict about bedtime) but she gets away with more another time (when you're watching tv), she thinks that you aren't strong enough to trust all the time, so she needs to be in control.

I know it sounds A) like psycho babble or B) hard to do consistently. And you're right. It's hard. But there's more going on than food or bedtime. If you don't believe that, ask a runaway who never felt safe at home what would be different if someone had given them something to trust.

So here's my fence-keeping advice:

1. You matter - What you say, how you say it, what you do... This is more a mom thing than a kid thing. Eventually, the kid will grow out of whatever specific phase she is in. The issue is what your relationship will look like. Will she have learned to obey? Will she have learned to trust you? Or will she have figured out exactly how much it takes to wear you down before she gets her way? Because if she will wear you down about going to bed...imagine high school.

2. Consistency is key - You have to say the same thing every time and DO the same thing every time. If the answer is no on Tuesday, the answer is no on Friday. If the answer is no when we are playing, the answer is no when I'm on the phone. If the answer is no at home, the answer is no at church.

Every. Fence. Slat.

3. Enforce consequences - If you aren't willing to turn the car around, don't say you will. If you aren't really able to leave the restaurant in the middle of the meal, don't make that the consequence. Explain what the expectation is (eat your dinner), the reward for doing so (dessert) and the consequence if not (lose a favorite toy). And when she eats, you better be waiting with ice cream! If she doesn't, you better be willing to take away the toy no matter how much it cost or how bad she whines or how hard you just worked to put it together.

Every. Fence. Slat.

4. Make sure you win - If you said she has to eat 4 green beans, she has to eat them. Don't say she has to eat 4 more and then make the consequence going to bed. If she goes to bed as punishment, she didn't eat them. And in her mind, she won. Make the hurdles small at first to ensure you win. She has to take one more bite, only 2 green beans - just structure it, so you create a habit of "what mom says is what happens." I'm not trying to be mean or funny. You are in a battle for who that kid will be when she grows up. You can win and help her be a contributing member of society or you can let her win and watch her life spin sadly out of control.

It feels like green beans aren't that big of a deal. But every fence slat is. So if green beans is the issue at hand, green beans are a big deal.

5. Speak softly - If she learns that you'll ask nicely 6 times before you raise your voice and yell, how many times do you think she'll ask? If you count to 3, why would she obey on #1, she knows she has more time. On the other hand, if you ask nicely once, give a warning and then enforce the consequence, she'll learn to obey on your time frame instead of hers.

6. Take a Time Out - You. If you are about to yell, go step outside. If you are angry, take a minute before you respond. If you can't be in control of you, you are showing her that you can't be strong enough for her either. And she's found not only a weak spot in the fence about the issue at hand, but your weak spot in general - which she will gladly attempt to enflame at next opportunity.

7. Pick your battles - Don't try to tackle everything at once. If you haven't built a strong fence up to now, it's ok. You have time. But take it a step at a time. If she ate her lunch but wants to wear something crazy to the grocery store, let it go. If she picked up the toys but not perfectly, consider it good. If she's in her room but not in her bed, let it ride, Mom. One thing at a time. Brynna sometimes talks to herself for an hour before going to sleep. We'll tackle quiet later, for today, she's in there!

Practically in regards to food and sleep:

1. The nap/rest/bedtime battle is so different for every kid. Maybe you have one that will nap 3 hours but then struggles at bedtime. While that 3 hours is awesome in the afternoon, it's torture at night. So, maybe shorten the nap. If you have a kid, like mine, who decides at the ripe age of 2 that naps are not for her, create a rest time that works for her. For some, that means reading on their bed for the same amount of time as a nap. For some (mine), it means choosing 3 toys and quiet play in her room. (If I don't force her to stop, she never stops. But if I force it too much, it's more than she can do and I've entered into a battle I can't win. Been there. Done that. No thanks.) Whatever changes you make, start small. Try a new nap routine and see if it affects bedtime. Or make the bedtime routine more strict and see how it works first. Don't change everything at once - that's hard on everyone.

2. While it is true that a kid won't let himself starve, he still needs food. And you still need sanity. If your doctor thinks its appropriate, maybe a supplement will help her get more calories and ease your mind. If the doc thinks she's perfectly healthy, choose your battles. Let her have a choice if she likes to feel a part of the decision. Make the portions smaller if finishing is the issue. I've used a timer when dinner dragged on for hours. When time was up, so was dinner and nothing else to eat that night. (Side note: Nothing else to eat means you, too. Don't tell her no dessert and then make yourself a snack and give in to letting her taste a bite of yours.) The point is that you make the goal achievable to establish a routine.

3. The Ok to Wake Clock saved my life. You set bedtime and wake time, so it gives the child a visual cue. This helps especially when it's light out at bedtime. For whatever reason, she doesn't believe me, but if the clock is yellow, it must be true. It glows yellow all night long (both a nightlight and reminder) and then turns green when it's time to get up. I have no idea what time Brynna wakes up, but I hear her feet hit the floor at exactly 7:30 am when the clock turns green.

4. Rewards are just as important as consequences as long as they don't become bribes. When you're "paying" for her to go to bed, you are no longer winning. Sticker charts have worked for us, but for short seasons. If it becomes every week without change, she loses interest. The same thing won't always work, but often being allowed something "new" is reward. If she usually can't have books in bed, allow it for good behavior. Letting a special toy/friend sleep with her can sometimes work. The more good behavior you reward, the fewer bad behaviors there are that need consequences.

5. Consequences are necessary. Life is full of them. And the key is to make them as insignificant as you can. Sometimes simply their preferences can be used as consequences. Brynna doesn't like the door closed, so the rule is that if she yells once we've put her to bed, we close the door. If yours sleep with a closed door but keep opening it, sit outside the door with consequence ready. Is that fun? No. But neither is the alternative. I've taken away books before bed, a toy she wanted to sleep with, etc. Kids are little; little things matter. The point is to start small. If you start with a spanking, you don't have much further to go. If you start with a closed door, removing toys from the room, etc, you are actually speaking more on their level of understanding. They want the toy, you took the toy, you'll give the toy back if they behave...easy logic to follow. (If it's consistent!!) The other major this is that they must be immediate. Tomorrow feels like 3 weeks to a 2 year old. A consequence of what they can do the next day bears no meaning to them. Immediate and tangible are the way their minds work, so consequences must follow suit.

I think the hardest part of being a mom and the part least understood is that you're tired! Tired like you've never felt before. Dear Lord! So tired! But I can tell you this. If you're that tired, you're doing it right. If it hurts, you're making progress. I once kicked a trainer for telling me that the burn I felt in my arms was good because it meant my form was correct. Don't kick me. But it's true. Yes, you need a nap, but more than that, you need to know you're doing something. You need to know that the hours and tears and pain are worth it. You need to see a glimmer of hope, a light at the end of the toddler tunnel. This is me, holding a flashlight, cheering you on. You ARE doing something. It IS worth it. I know that doesn't make the circles under your eyes less dark, but I hope it helps your heart.

You are not working in vain. You are not tired for no reason. You are a mom. A good one. You are the best mom your kid could ever have because God entrusted her to you.

Keep going. You can do it.

If you want more info, leave a comment. Let's chat. Or if you have a question or different suggestion, tell us. The only thing that makes being a mom any harder is trying to do it alone. Please share! What have you done that worked? What tips can you share? What routine are you struggling with at this stage?

Confessions

Even though she's watched it 375 times, I don't mind The Parent Trap. It gets worse...by Parent Trap I mean the Lindsey Lohan remake. (In my defense, it may just be that it's not Barbie. I can't watch another Barbie movie. I can't.)

I don't want to say the picture is pretty 12 times. Once, at the end...that's one thing. But every 5 seconds drives me nuts. "Isn't this so pretty?" "Do you like how I colored her hair?" "Now look..."

While BG was sick, I held or sat with her while also watching Big Love on the iPad with one ear bud in. The show's not even good. And I can't get that time or brain space back!

I don't let anyone else feed Miles (the dog) people food but I do it.

I didn't help Brynna make cupcakes because it was a fun activity. I wanted to eat cupcakes.

I want to sit in a room by myself. Just quietly by myself.

I want one whole day where I'm not followed, crawled on, hugged, kissed or touched.

I miss having only myself to consider.

I miss going to work.

I want to work on something until I finish or choose to stop rather than working until someone needs something so I have to come back to it later.

I just want to think about what I want without first thinking about how everyone else's schedule or feelings will be affected.

I hate the "mom guilt" that comes with wanting those thing.

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.