Monday morning I was standing in my bathroom when Brynna came running in from the living room yelling "potty! potty!" I still don't understand why we have to announce it to the world or wait until it's such an emergency it must be announced to the world. Either way, I pointed to the toilet and turned back to what I was doing. A few seconds later, BG asked (while still sitting on the toilet), "Mom, where are my sparkles?" I turned to find her flicking her wrist, palm up at the wall. With a 4-year-old, you just never know what you're walking into, so I cautiously asked "What sparkles?" Continuing to flick her right arm and adding her left, she said, "My super powers. I do this (another flick) and when the magic comes out, it sparkles. Why isn't it sparkling?" I explained that I think she had a dream about super powers and she will have to wait until she sleeps again for her imagination to make the powers. She gave her wrist one last flick before she got off the toilet and left the bathroom with a thoughtful look on her face as if she were trying to determine if I knew what I was talking about.
Tuesday morning while eating breakfast, Brynna said quietly, "Mom, my powers didn't come back when I was sleeping." I told her that sometimes we don't have the same dream again but one night when she's sleeping peacefully, she will have another fun adventure in her dreams.
Today (Wednesday) is a day not so hopeful for those of us over the age of 12. We remember where we were and what we were doing the day the buildings crashed down. I remember sitting on the floor of our first apartment and watching helplessly as the second plane flew into the south tower. I remember seeing what at first we thought was debris falling from the buildings only to learn it was people. I flicked my wrist and thought surely it wasn't as bad as it seemed. I flicked the other arm confident that the sparkles would return. They were there a moment ago. That day 12 years ago defines a change in the lives of so many and of our nation. We woke up to a reality we didn't want to accept.
I don't have a curt platitude that will erase the memories or pain of that day. No one does. But I know that today, 2 days (which in kid time feels like 6 years) after BG's dream about super powers she came downstairs and stood by my bed. She thought for a moment and then said, "Mom, my super powers didn't come back again last night." Then her face lit up and she said, "But maybe tonight I'll have sparkles." At 4 you have an ability to bounce back that we lose as adults. But I wonder if we could take a lesson from them. I wonder if we could let ourselves be in such awe that we hope for a tomorrow that has magic sparkles and super powers even when we can't see them in front of us.
To REMEMBER is not to relive the pain but to let the memory help us LIVE.
So today I hope you REMEMBER to honor the past. I hope you LIVE in the present. And I hope you DREAM for the future.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 6, 2013
Wake Up
It doesn't happen often, but it does happen. I wake from sleep with a thought so prevalently on my heart that I know God woke me up to pray. Today I didn't just wake with a thought; I woke with a sadness. An almost broken-heartedness. Forgive me for veering from my regularly scheduled programming of humorous and airy stories, Mama, but I have to ask you to join me. I need you (all of us) to wake up. More importantly, our kids do.
I have read twice in a week now the same general sentiment. One was in a newsletter sent home by Brynna's school. It said A person's moral foundation is generally in place b age 9. Fundamental perspectives on truth, integrity, meaning, justice, morality and ethics are formed quite early in life. After age 9, most people simply refine their view as they age without a wholesale change in those learnings. It went on to add that researchers have noted that generally speaking, what you believe by the time you are 13 is what you will die believing. The other instance was in a completely unrelated source. I'm reading a fiction book that has nothing to do with belief necessarily. One line has played over in my mind for days. One of the things I have come to know most surely...is that the belief system acquired in childhood is never fully escaped; it may submerge itself for a while, but it always returns in times of need to lay claim to the soul it shaped.
I am the first person to admit that the work of a mom is hard. It's exhausting. It seems that whether you stay at home, work full-time or something in the middle, you spend more time wishing for a break than any other time in life. As moms we always feel we are dropping the ball somewhere. Something isn't getting the attention it needs.
I have read twice in a week now the same general sentiment. One was in a newsletter sent home by Brynna's school. It said A person's moral foundation is generally in place b age 9. Fundamental perspectives on truth, integrity, meaning, justice, morality and ethics are formed quite early in life. After age 9, most people simply refine their view as they age without a wholesale change in those learnings. It went on to add that researchers have noted that generally speaking, what you believe by the time you are 13 is what you will die believing. The other instance was in a completely unrelated source. I'm reading a fiction book that has nothing to do with belief necessarily. One line has played over in my mind for days. One of the things I have come to know most surely...is that the belief system acquired in childhood is never fully escaped; it may submerge itself for a while, but it always returns in times of need to lay claim to the soul it shaped.
I am the first person to admit that the work of a mom is hard. It's exhausting. It seems that whether you stay at home, work full-time or something in the middle, you spend more time wishing for a break than any other time in life. As moms we always feel we are dropping the ball somewhere. Something isn't getting the attention it needs.
I'm asking you. I'm begging all of us to Wake Up. Don't let the thing that falls through the cracks be the beliefs of your babies. That's what they are. They're babies. Regardless of their age, they need you to show them how to view the world, other people and themselves. I know it's easy to say "this is only a season" and "I'll pay more attention when I get through _____." It's tempting to put off until tomorrow the discipline she needs because you worked all day and you don't want to feel like the bad guy. It's sometimes easier to ignore than address. It feels like it's better to "keep the peace" than push the issue.
Wake Up, Mama! That's not peace; it's a ticking time bomb. It may be easier for you today but it's ensuring it will be harder for them tomorrow. I know it feels overwhelming, but every decision you make today affects who they are tomorrow. Every time you put aside their needs, you are teaching them something about their value. Every time you raise your voice, they are learning how to respond in hard situations. Every time you ignore, they learn to do the same. They are watching and listening and taking notes ALL THE TIME. And each time it's shaping a little bit about what they believe.
I walk in the same trenches of motherhood you do. I would never presume to know your kids more than you or suggest you aren't good enough. You are exactly the mom your kids need. God entrusted them to you. Your hugs will always wrap around their hurt better than anyone else in the world. Your kisses are what their boo-boos long for. That's why I say it. Wake Up, Mama. It's not an excuse to feel like you aren't doing enough. It's not a put down or suggestion that you should be perfect at all times. It's a plea to do the most important thing first. If her hair isn't combed or you get to work with mismatched shoes, you'll live. Been there. Done that. No one died. But if you overlook how scared she is or don't take the time to listen to how she feels, you missed it! She doesn't understand deadlines, history, or politics. But she hears how you speak. She sees when you say you believe one thing but act differently. She's in the car to hear your music and at home to see your behavior that's hidden from everyone else. Kids are the clearest mirrors to a mother's soul. What's reflecting back, mama?
You aren't perfect. Your kids aren't perfect. Help them understand that they are not the sum of their situation. Jesus died so they aren't bound by their mistakes. He did exactly the same for you. If they don't believe there is a God and He's bigger than what they face, what do they believe? If they don't know that life goes beyond our short years on earth, what do they think happens when they die? If you don't teach them, who will? And what will they learn?
Wake Up, Mama. There is more to this day than the things on your to do list. The choices you make today will outlive you. Your kids and their kids and their kids will carry their effects long after you're gone.
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If you don't know what you believe, send me a message. Or grab a cup of coffee (or Dr. Pepper) and watch this.
Sep 4, 2013
Simmer Down
When you stay at home, there is one day that stands out above all the other days. It's The Day. The day you dreamed about all summer. They day you pictured in your mind. They day you put off all the stuff you need to get done because it can get done after That Day. The first day of school is like Christmas come early!
Of course, as usual, I packed way more plans into my glorious day than could ever be accomplished in a week, let alone the length of a PreK school day. But I'm always up for a challenge, so after taking the necessary first day pics, playing Emergency Dr. Mom to a water bottle and dropping BG at school, I was off. I was early for my dentist appointment and right on time for my lunch meeting. As Jana and I stood in line at La Madeline, we soon realized that we weren't moving as quickly as the line usually progresses. In fact, we weren't moving at all. Jana had another meeting after ours, and I'm married to David Johnston, so paying for extra minutes at school because I didn't get there on time is a NO GO. We made a glance across the parking lot to see if another restaurant might be an option, but decided against it. I then did a scan of the La Madeline staff and just as I was about to comment on the inefficiency, a man walked down the line to apologize, explaining that their computer system was down. We chatted a bit more and finally made it to the end of the line where we saw the two people behind the register manually figuring the cost of each item. They did the same when a customer paid cash and wrote down a credit card number for others. My point: it was a SLOOOOOW process. As they calculated the amount and change due to the man in front of me, he commented that he knows all-to-well what the staff was feeling. He manages servers for a major back and when there is a glitch in their system, it means people don't have access to their money. He didn't even need to explain the stress that induces. I could only imagine. As they handed him change and asked for my payment, he said "At the end of the day, we waited what? 5 or 10 extra minutes? and you'd think it was days. We are so used to hurrying we have to be forced to slow down."
My composure changed completely. He was right. I spend all day racing around, chasing a tiny person with more energy than she knows what to do with. I wish (sometimes beg) for time to sit still or at least slow down. I have looked forward to the peace of This Day. But the moment I had just that, I was tapping my foot with the rest of them. How many things do we get worked up about that need some perspective? So we waited an extra 10 minutes. The worst that happened is I had a pleasant conversation with a man who I otherwise would never have noticed because we were all moving so fast. So her hair is a mess - we ran late because she practiced tying her shoes. So she broke the soap dish; it's replaceable. So the laundry didn't get done but she will know that I took the time to play dominoes with her.
Sometimes we just need to be reminded to simmer down. Take a breath. Get some perspective.
In the end, it was a great day. I finished my meeting with just enough time to walk in to school at exactly 1:55 (5 minutes early, thank you very much!). So I didn't finish all 87 things, but I did get a break and even had an adult conversation. And I got to hear about singing the fireman song and running in the gym and where you put your paintings when you finish. And those are minutes I wouldn't trade for all the efficiency in the world.
Of course, as usual, I packed way more plans into my glorious day than could ever be accomplished in a week, let alone the length of a PreK school day. But I'm always up for a challenge, so after taking the necessary first day pics, playing Emergency Dr. Mom to a water bottle and dropping BG at school, I was off. I was early for my dentist appointment and right on time for my lunch meeting. As Jana and I stood in line at La Madeline, we soon realized that we weren't moving as quickly as the line usually progresses. In fact, we weren't moving at all. Jana had another meeting after ours, and I'm married to David Johnston, so paying for extra minutes at school because I didn't get there on time is a NO GO. We made a glance across the parking lot to see if another restaurant might be an option, but decided against it. I then did a scan of the La Madeline staff and just as I was about to comment on the inefficiency, a man walked down the line to apologize, explaining that their computer system was down. We chatted a bit more and finally made it to the end of the line where we saw the two people behind the register manually figuring the cost of each item. They did the same when a customer paid cash and wrote down a credit card number for others. My point: it was a SLOOOOOW process. As they calculated the amount and change due to the man in front of me, he commented that he knows all-to-well what the staff was feeling. He manages servers for a major back and when there is a glitch in their system, it means people don't have access to their money. He didn't even need to explain the stress that induces. I could only imagine. As they handed him change and asked for my payment, he said "At the end of the day, we waited what? 5 or 10 extra minutes? and you'd think it was days. We are so used to hurrying we have to be forced to slow down."
My composure changed completely. He was right. I spend all day racing around, chasing a tiny person with more energy than she knows what to do with. I wish (sometimes beg) for time to sit still or at least slow down. I have looked forward to the peace of This Day. But the moment I had just that, I was tapping my foot with the rest of them. How many things do we get worked up about that need some perspective? So we waited an extra 10 minutes. The worst that happened is I had a pleasant conversation with a man who I otherwise would never have noticed because we were all moving so fast. So her hair is a mess - we ran late because she practiced tying her shoes. So she broke the soap dish; it's replaceable. So the laundry didn't get done but she will know that I took the time to play dominoes with her.
Sometimes we just need to be reminded to simmer down. Take a breath. Get some perspective.
In the end, it was a great day. I finished my meeting with just enough time to walk in to school at exactly 1:55 (5 minutes early, thank you very much!). So I didn't finish all 87 things, but I did get a break and even had an adult conversation. And I got to hear about singing the fireman song and running in the gym and where you put your paintings when you finish. And those are minutes I wouldn't trade for all the efficiency in the world.
Sep 3, 2013
Vacation
I used to think we went on vacation when I was young. I remember camping trips in the summer and lazy days at the lake. I've since learned that we didn't actually go on vacation. We went on family outings. And as my pastor once explained, they are NOT THE SAME THING. Let me clarify:
Vacation:
I have a book that I may or may not read depending entirely on the fact that I may or may not nap.
Family Outing:
I have a book that I can't find and will need to begin again because at this point I've been interrupted so many times I don't remember what was happening in the story.
Vacation:
I wake up, go back to sleep, wake up again and then slowly walk to the pool where someone brings me a drink (preferably containing un umbrella, which is perfectly acceptable since it's likely after noon).
Family Outing:
I'm woken by a 30 lb. spider monkey jumping on my chest and then make chocolate milk for someone else at 7am.
Vacation:
I eat lunch by the pool and dinner at the restaurant of choice, where I enjoy warm food at whatever pace fits the mood.
Family Outing:
I eat sandwiches for lunch because it's easier and dinner at a restaurant where they serve grilled cheese and you can order at the counter (because when we're done, we need to just be done and not have to wait to pay the check).
Vacation:
I pack cute clothes, matching shoes and determine that if I forgot it, I'll buy one when I get there.
Family Outing:
I pack a cooler because we have to have lactose-free milk, nothing that I don't want to get dirty and determine that the only thing I forgot was my deodorant but we have all 17 princesses and an iPad for the car so it'll just have to be fine.
David and I have been good about taking vacations, and in this season where most of our outings are of "the other" variety, I am grateful for the memories of both. But today...I need a vacation from the family outings.
ps...I'm guessing those camping trips and days at the lake weren't so "lazy" for everyone involved. I've prayed for my parents 12 times today.
Vacation:
I have a book that I may or may not read depending entirely on the fact that I may or may not nap.
Family Outing:
I have a book that I can't find and will need to begin again because at this point I've been interrupted so many times I don't remember what was happening in the story.
Vacation:
I wake up, go back to sleep, wake up again and then slowly walk to the pool where someone brings me a drink (preferably containing un umbrella, which is perfectly acceptable since it's likely after noon).
Family Outing:
I'm woken by a 30 lb. spider monkey jumping on my chest and then make chocolate milk for someone else at 7am.
Vacation:
I eat lunch by the pool and dinner at the restaurant of choice, where I enjoy warm food at whatever pace fits the mood.
Family Outing:
I eat sandwiches for lunch because it's easier and dinner at a restaurant where they serve grilled cheese and you can order at the counter (because when we're done, we need to just be done and not have to wait to pay the check).
Vacation:
I pack cute clothes, matching shoes and determine that if I forgot it, I'll buy one when I get there.
Family Outing:
I pack a cooler because we have to have lactose-free milk, nothing that I don't want to get dirty and determine that the only thing I forgot was my deodorant but we have all 17 princesses and an iPad for the car so it'll just have to be fine.
David and I have been good about taking vacations, and in this season where most of our outings are of "the other" variety, I am grateful for the memories of both. But today...I need a vacation from the family outings.
ps...I'm guessing those camping trips and days at the lake weren't so "lazy" for everyone involved. I've prayed for my parents 12 times today.
Aug 28, 2013
Twinkle Toes, Shorts and Other Crimes Against Humanity
I'm the meanest mom ever. I'm unreasonable and strict. I blow things out of proportion that don't require the level of consequence that I impart. I enforce rules above the age level of my sweet, innocent child. I persist in punishing for an issue that isn't that big of a deal. At least that's what I'm told. But guess what?
I'm ok with that.
That's why we have a new rule in our house. Brynna loves to wear dresses. She will choose a dress when going to ride bikes, eating at a restaurant or playing at the park. Unfortunately, that playing (and sometimes just standing in line at the grocery store) ends in her panties being shown. Like most 4 year olds, she hasn't yet mastered the art of being ladylike. She is, however, Phi Beta Kappa in spinning and ending with a finale that includes flipping her dress over her head. Knowing that she's a little girl and these things happen, I invested in bloomers. They are the cutest little things with ruffles on the butt. Adorable. Good, new age parenting. I protected her from being inappropriate but didn't thwart her precious creativity and spirit. The problem is - she didn't learn anything. She didn't behave differently because she didn't have to. When I said "Boys don't need to see your panties," she responded with "They can't. Those are my bloomers." So our new rule is this: If you wear a dress and I see your panties OR BLOOMERS, the next day you wear shorts or pants. The result of this rule: crying and gnashing of teeth. You'd think I were shooting bamboo under her fingernails.
This drama has led to our second issue at the moment. Brynna is going for the academy award daily - in whatever category is at hand. She's even been known to attempt the Best Supporting Actress role when she feels her friend or cousin needs help turning up the showmanship. Recently during a tantrum, Brynna stomped her feet. Yesterday, she slammed a cup down on the table. Each outburst is met with a timeout or swat. Each time we discuss what she did and why it's not appropriate. That's how I know she's aware of her behavior. So today, when she kicked a door, a new rule was born. If you choose to show your anger inappropriately, you also choose to lose something. Before the door swung back to hit the wall a second time, I calmly reached down, took Brynna's coveted Twinkle Toes light up shoes off her feet and sent her to her room. Cue meltdown. After some time alone to recover, I went up to tell her to pick a new pair of shoes. Cue meltdown #2. She then had to put on the new shoes and have her hair combed. Cue meltdown #3. (Are you seeing a pattern?)
Is a cup on a table that big of a deal? Maybe not. She didn't throw anything, make a mess or break anything. Is seeing the ruffly bloomers of an adorable little butt so bad? Maybe not. She isn't making inappropriate gestures. She's just having fun. That's what little girls do.
But the reason I'm ok with holding the title of meanest mom ever is that I am more concerned about who she becomes than what she thinks of me in a moment when she's upset. I care more about being her mom than being her friend. I value being what she needs more than what she likes. And after Miley Cyrus made me and a million other moms tear up this week with the heartbreak of imagining our little girl feeling like that's what she needs to do for attention, I'm ok with that.
Do I like taking away the shoes that make her hop and smile with glee? Absolutely not. Is it easy? Never. Do I enjoy the argument that ensues each time she has to wear shorts? No. Would I rather skip the exhaustion and watch her joyfully twirling in a pretty dress? Yes. All day, yes. But that's not what will shape her character. So pardon my tiredness and haggard appearance. Motherhood is a contact sport and if my pain is her gain...I'm ok with that.
I'm ok with that.
That's why we have a new rule in our house. Brynna loves to wear dresses. She will choose a dress when going to ride bikes, eating at a restaurant or playing at the park. Unfortunately, that playing (and sometimes just standing in line at the grocery store) ends in her panties being shown. Like most 4 year olds, she hasn't yet mastered the art of being ladylike. She is, however, Phi Beta Kappa in spinning and ending with a finale that includes flipping her dress over her head. Knowing that she's a little girl and these things happen, I invested in bloomers. They are the cutest little things with ruffles on the butt. Adorable. Good, new age parenting. I protected her from being inappropriate but didn't thwart her precious creativity and spirit. The problem is - she didn't learn anything. She didn't behave differently because she didn't have to. When I said "Boys don't need to see your panties," she responded with "They can't. Those are my bloomers." So our new rule is this: If you wear a dress and I see your panties OR BLOOMERS, the next day you wear shorts or pants. The result of this rule: crying and gnashing of teeth. You'd think I were shooting bamboo under her fingernails.
This drama has led to our second issue at the moment. Brynna is going for the academy award daily - in whatever category is at hand. She's even been known to attempt the Best Supporting Actress role when she feels her friend or cousin needs help turning up the showmanship. Recently during a tantrum, Brynna stomped her feet. Yesterday, she slammed a cup down on the table. Each outburst is met with a timeout or swat. Each time we discuss what she did and why it's not appropriate. That's how I know she's aware of her behavior. So today, when she kicked a door, a new rule was born. If you choose to show your anger inappropriately, you also choose to lose something. Before the door swung back to hit the wall a second time, I calmly reached down, took Brynna's coveted Twinkle Toes light up shoes off her feet and sent her to her room. Cue meltdown. After some time alone to recover, I went up to tell her to pick a new pair of shoes. Cue meltdown #2. She then had to put on the new shoes and have her hair combed. Cue meltdown #3. (Are you seeing a pattern?)
Is a cup on a table that big of a deal? Maybe not. She didn't throw anything, make a mess or break anything. Is seeing the ruffly bloomers of an adorable little butt so bad? Maybe not. She isn't making inappropriate gestures. She's just having fun. That's what little girls do.
But the reason I'm ok with holding the title of meanest mom ever is that I am more concerned about who she becomes than what she thinks of me in a moment when she's upset. I care more about being her mom than being her friend. I value being what she needs more than what she likes. And after Miley Cyrus made me and a million other moms tear up this week with the heartbreak of imagining our little girl feeling like that's what she needs to do for attention, I'm ok with that.
Do I like taking away the shoes that make her hop and smile with glee? Absolutely not. Is it easy? Never. Do I enjoy the argument that ensues each time she has to wear shorts? No. Would I rather skip the exhaustion and watch her joyfully twirling in a pretty dress? Yes. All day, yes. But that's not what will shape her character. So pardon my tiredness and haggard appearance. Motherhood is a contact sport and if my pain is her gain...I'm ok with that.
Aug 8, 2013
Just one
I never, ever, ever dreamed I'd have an only child. I wanted a big family. I imagined jockeying schedules and carting kids to other kids' recitals. I dreamed of backyard games where you don't even need to invite neighbors over because you've got enough for a team. I had plans, and as usual, God changed them.
Contrary to popular opinion, I don't have one child because I can't handle more. I don't have one child because I'm too selfish or too obsessed with what things cost. I don't have one child because I'm vainly concerned about what pregnancy would do to my body. I have one child because God asked me to trust His plan and His time rather than mine.
And while any number of kids has its challenges, let me tell you about having an only child.
Just one means I'm "the other kid." I don't go to the park and chat with other moms or get something done while they are in the playroom. I am the other side of the teeter totter, the pusher of the swing, the throw to someone's catch.
Just one means I do everything twice. I have a "helper" whether it helps or not. Laundry, dishes and putting on make up take double (at least) the necessary time because I do them each once with help and then once correctly.
Just one means I'm writing this while someone climbs my rolling chair like a jungle gym. Try typing while chasing your butt around the room. Seriously. Try it.
Just one means I am never alone. Ever.
Just one also means I get to savor every snuggle as long as she'll let me.
Just one means I get to see every gymnastics class, impromptu dance recital in the living room and swim lesson.
Just one means I am the nose she wants to nuzzle.
Just one means she knows how to make friends anywhere she goes.
Just one means she speaks confidently and clearly because she had to learn to do so for herself.
Just one means that as long as I make the choice to give her my attention, that attention is undivided.
For now, I have one. If there are more in your house, you could make a list about how sometimes trying but always rewarding it is to have 2 or 3 or 4 or more. Just do me a favor and remember that the mom you see with "just one" has a long list too. When you're tempted to think the grass is greener, just remember: it all has to be mowed!
Contrary to popular opinion, I don't have one child because I can't handle more. I don't have one child because I'm too selfish or too obsessed with what things cost. I don't have one child because I'm vainly concerned about what pregnancy would do to my body. I have one child because God asked me to trust His plan and His time rather than mine.
And while any number of kids has its challenges, let me tell you about having an only child.
Just one means I'm "the other kid." I don't go to the park and chat with other moms or get something done while they are in the playroom. I am the other side of the teeter totter, the pusher of the swing, the throw to someone's catch.
Just one means I do everything twice. I have a "helper" whether it helps or not. Laundry, dishes and putting on make up take double (at least) the necessary time because I do them each once with help and then once correctly.
Just one means I'm writing this while someone climbs my rolling chair like a jungle gym. Try typing while chasing your butt around the room. Seriously. Try it.
Just one means I am never alone. Ever.
Just one also means I get to savor every snuggle as long as she'll let me.
Just one means I get to see every gymnastics class, impromptu dance recital in the living room and swim lesson.
Just one means I am the nose she wants to nuzzle.
Just one means she knows how to make friends anywhere she goes.
Just one means she speaks confidently and clearly because she had to learn to do so for herself.
Just one means that as long as I make the choice to give her my attention, that attention is undivided.
For now, I have one. If there are more in your house, you could make a list about how sometimes trying but always rewarding it is to have 2 or 3 or 4 or more. Just do me a favor and remember that the mom you see with "just one" has a long list too. When you're tempted to think the grass is greener, just remember: it all has to be mowed!
Aug 6, 2013
U B U
I've always wanted to cut my hair really short. I've started to do it several times and always, at the last minute, I decide to go a more conservative route. I've grown it long only to look in the mirror and not know who's looking back. I can't make it look glamorous like other girls so I end up with a really full head of really blonde hair that's really BLAH. So...I cut it off. I get a short bob that makes me feel more like my spunky self but doesn't say it too loudly. A recent chop session was done in secret. I left for a weekend away with shoulder length hair in a ponytail and came home to surprise Brynna and David with it cut above my chin. Some husbands couldn't handle such a shock (let alone the weekend alone with mini me) but David just smiled and his first words were "You're more yourself when it's short."
That stuck with me for weeks. I do feel more myself. Maybe it's symbolic. Maybe my brain just needs less weight to function properly. Either way, it's freeing. And the more I thought about that freedom, the more of it I wanted. But we've all been there. You finally work up the bravery to do something out of the ordinary, and the first person who doesn't like it or turns up their nose, all the air rushes out of the balloon. You stop seeing what you saw in that moment of abandon and all you see is ugly. Maybe you don't use the word ugly. Maybe they said it was "too short for your face shape" or "too choppy." Maybe they said you're too old or too young or too dark or too light. I've heard and felt them all. But something broke open inside of me that day David said those words. I don't want something that looks great on someone else but doesn't seem to fit right on me. I want to feel like ME. I want to see ME in the mirror.
So I did what I never do. I didn't consult anyone. Not my husband, my girlfriends or my family. I didn't ask opinions. I made an appointment while out of town and I explained what I wanted. We discussed and then he started cutting. I walked out with the most drastic haircut I've ever had, and I care the least what anyone thinks. I love my hair not even because of how it looks, but how I feel. I fully expected looks. I prepared myself for how much people would hate it. And I know some of them do. But what I wasn't prepared for was the number of women who have stopped me, gone out of their way to tell me how much they love my hair. I was walking through the parking lot of Target today and a mom with two kids stopped me. She said, "I saw your hair and thought it was cool. Then I saw your daughter and realized you're a mom, too. You make me want to be more bold."
Wow. It sounds so simple, but how many things have I missed because I was trying to be like someone else when all I needed to be was me? How many things have you? How many women walking through Target could use a little bit of you? You're not just a mom. You're not just working. You're not just ______________. You're YOU. God made only one you. And that's enough to turn someone's day around. Your smile, your words, your help or maybe even your hair...someone needs you to be you so it gives her the courage to be her.
So take a breath, let go of what everyone else thinks and U B U!
...and I'll be ME
That stuck with me for weeks. I do feel more myself. Maybe it's symbolic. Maybe my brain just needs less weight to function properly. Either way, it's freeing. And the more I thought about that freedom, the more of it I wanted. But we've all been there. You finally work up the bravery to do something out of the ordinary, and the first person who doesn't like it or turns up their nose, all the air rushes out of the balloon. You stop seeing what you saw in that moment of abandon and all you see is ugly. Maybe you don't use the word ugly. Maybe they said it was "too short for your face shape" or "too choppy." Maybe they said you're too old or too young or too dark or too light. I've heard and felt them all. But something broke open inside of me that day David said those words. I don't want something that looks great on someone else but doesn't seem to fit right on me. I want to feel like ME. I want to see ME in the mirror.
So I did what I never do. I didn't consult anyone. Not my husband, my girlfriends or my family. I didn't ask opinions. I made an appointment while out of town and I explained what I wanted. We discussed and then he started cutting. I walked out with the most drastic haircut I've ever had, and I care the least what anyone thinks. I love my hair not even because of how it looks, but how I feel. I fully expected looks. I prepared myself for how much people would hate it. And I know some of them do. But what I wasn't prepared for was the number of women who have stopped me, gone out of their way to tell me how much they love my hair. I was walking through the parking lot of Target today and a mom with two kids stopped me. She said, "I saw your hair and thought it was cool. Then I saw your daughter and realized you're a mom, too. You make me want to be more bold."
Wow. It sounds so simple, but how many things have I missed because I was trying to be like someone else when all I needed to be was me? How many things have you? How many women walking through Target could use a little bit of you? You're not just a mom. You're not just working. You're not just ______________. You're YOU. God made only one you. And that's enough to turn someone's day around. Your smile, your words, your help or maybe even your hair...someone needs you to be you so it gives her the courage to be her.
So take a breath, let go of what everyone else thinks and U B U!
...and I'll be ME
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