Category Archives: parenting

Five Minute Friday: Remember

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five minute friday

(Today I’m joining a group of beautiful writers who writer for five short minutes every friday on the same topic, sharing stories and life on topics created by the unflappable, amazing Lisa Jo Baker)

I’d spent the entire day working at the bank, with little to do, always staring at the clock, wishing it was time to go to my Doctor’s appointment.

And then your Dad and I met up at home and dashed off the the doctor for yet another non-stress test, sitting in a little closet of a room hooked up to monitors and watching the numbers on the screen go up and down, up and down.

They were high this time, so high, we asked the doctor to check on things and sure enough, you were ready to greet us. She was worried about your umbilical cord, so I was rushed to the hospital, no bag, no camera, all nerves and a few tears.

Everyone was in such a hurry and I was putting on my bravest face for them all.

mom and Noelle

The nurse who put in my IV missed, 5 times, stabbing me over and over in different spots. I tried my best to be gracious, but a repeated stabbing wasn’t exactly what I needed at that moment.

Then more needles, sedation and a rush into the delivery room. They cut an incision and tugged for a while until, even in my groggy drugged-up state I knew you were free of me.

But there was no cry, Your Dad and I looked at each other with worried, wondering eyes.  Why couldn’t we hear you?

He stood up to check and was yelled at by a nurse to sit down, they were trying to get you to breathe.  And then in one glorious moment, after what seemed like hours you cried for us and the rushed you away, apart from me for the first time.

I laid in the recovery room alone for an hour, thirsty for both water and my new family. 30324_507507430017_5851086_n

When I got back to the OB Floor I could see you in the window, naked and wiggly.  So many friends were there, excited for your Dad and I, but mostly about you.

They kept you behind that glass for a long time, far too long.  I got pissed, my mama bear coming out for the first time.

Then finally, hours later, we were reunited and I stared at you for weeks as we tried to learn each other, nursing, sleeping, snuggling and just gazing at those eyes we’d been waiting to see.

302118_524300840887_66769267_n And now in a flash, you’re a tall three year old, in size 6 clothes.  A tall, brown eyed beauty who’s never met a stranger.

And I love you, and we’re still learning each other.

And that Noelle is the story of the day we met, the day you were born.

 

 

 

 

 

Mom Hacks – My Timer, My Friend

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Timer Graphic

As parents we wear a lot of hats, juggle a lot of balls, have a lot of irons in the fire… pick your metaphor.

Off the top of my head I’m a Child of God, Wife, Mother, Writer, Housekeeper, Chef, Creative Soul, Cat Owner, Reader, Laundress, Storyteller, Novice Matchbox Aficionado, Pretend Kitty and Watcher of British Television.

I’m sure your familiar with this picture, there are more hats than can be gracefully worn in a day, although Lord knows we try.

I know that I need to prioritize, focus on the most essential and eternal roles and then pray the rest fall into place with a little grace and elbow grease.

Yet, finding a graceful rhythm for this dance is no easy feat.

So, lately I’ve been using my kitchen timer as my metronome as I switch tracks and wash sippy cups just before crumpling onto the couch for some BBC or a good book… or Bubble Mania… (don’t judge)

This timer rhythm works around the structure of a daily “to-do list” and “schedule” on my chalk board, where I jot down what we’re going to do and when.

Then I set about executing that plan with a heavy hand of grace and flex.

And if a fight breaks out over a toy, I set the timer and we take turns.

If someone goes to their room, the timer is their release bell.

When things quiet down, THE LAST THING I WANT TO DO IS CLEAN! But… I CAN commit to 15 minutes of cleanup followed by 30 minutes of rest,  if the pickup time is finite and doesn’t feel endless I can handle it.

As it turns out, the timer doesn’t imprison me so much as it sets me free, especially when it comes to the unpleasant stuff I’d rather not do.

By the time nap/rest time comes the last thing I want to do is clean toilets or fold socks… but I can usually commit to 15 minutes of chores.  And I’ve been utterly amazed what a 15 minute clean up job does for my sanity and my countertops.

So when naps start I scrub for 15 minutes, I hunt stray toys like a lioness and when that timer goes off I grab my tea and my book and lay down for 30 minutes, or I switch on the TV if I feel like it.  When the timer goes off again I do another burst of cleaning, and repeat the cycle.

Sometimes I just do a 5 or 10 minutes burst here and there. Some evenings Kel and I do a burst together when the kids go down.  When we do this, we find we have a lot less to do on Saturday mornings when we’d rather be doing something fun.

If you’re like me you’d like to boast a mostly clean yet totally lived in house. You’re not going for pristine, but something that feels ordered and leaves space for dancing, in every sense of the word.

I’m not a house wife, but I do have a house which requires my attention.  I’m not obsessed about a clean house, scrubbing it certainly isn’t my passion.  So I want to find a way to make it as easy as possible so that I can use my heart for other things… until I can pay someone else to clean it… ha.

Mom Hacks LogoMOM HACK BREAKDOWN
WHAT- Set the timer when you do chores, have a rhythm of work followed by rest.
WHY- Because cleaning isn’t fun, but a clean-ish house is easier to breathe in.
TIPS / HOW- Also use this for sharing toys and time outs.

 

What’s your best tip for cramming in chores to free yourself for something better?

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What Mama Did: The Song and The Dance

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I’ve been spending the week reading LisaJo Baker’s series, “What Mama Did.”  Lisa invited some friends to share their stories of what their mothers did that left a mark on them.

What are we doing as mothers that will leave a mark upon our kids? Perhaps it’s not what we think.  Tell me all about what your mama did that made her yours…. 

It’s been bittersweet for my heart to read through these this week, an odd mix of joy and jealousy.  So many of the lovely memories my Mom endeavored to make for us were marred by her mental illness and eventual suicide.

Yet the longer I spend on my own motherhood journey, the deeper I understand my own mother, it this this is a universal experience for all parents.

The more I reflect on our memories together, the more I uncover the truth of who she really was.

As I dig into my past I emerge with pearls, moments where she was exactly the woman God created her to be, nearly free from the depression that gnawed too often on her heart.

I’ve already told you about the warmth of enjoying her muffins on the rug and the way she would curl up and read books with me, both of the memories are precious to me.

Dancing-Feet-300x225 Yet this week I’ve been reflecting on my Mother’s singing and dancing.

I remember vividly the gray plastic CD player that sat on our kitchen counter, and the cassette boom-box that preceded it.  Both of these devices were usually playing Celine Dion or Cynthia Clawson… a bit of Josh Groban in her later years.

They rarely played “kids music” because when mom sang and danced it was because something in the song freed her heavy spirit to do so.

Something in weaving of THOSE words set to THAT music left her no choice but to dance with us across the linoleum flooring.

She never sang without dancing, even if only with her hands.

I remember a childhood vacation that is completely soundtracked with my mother singingly “Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling.  Calling to you and to me, come home, come home all you are weary, come home!”

Or a car ride with her in college when she hijacked my Disney Hercules CD soundtrack and belted “Go the distance” over and over again.  ”I will find my way, I can do the distance! I’ll be there someday, if I can be strong.  I know every mile, will be worth my while…” 

When I re-read those lyrics, they tell me more now than they did at the time.  She needed to believe that Christ was calling her, that she could go on another day.

My Mom showed us the vulnerability of her soul through the lyrics of songs and the freedom of soul dancing, she taught us that words set to music can set you free.

She modeled the need to resonate with things, and to allow ourselves to become overwhelmed as our souls connected with something essential, eternal.

The freedom of the soul moving to words set to music, that’s what mama did.

 PS I did not know this was supposed to be a 5 minute friday when I started writing it Monday.  I should have.  Forgive me, I’ve been sussing through it all week.

Mom Hacks – Crudités Happy Hour

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Mom Hacks Logo

Hi, and welcome to week 2 of Mom Hacks: dealing cutting blows to some of motherhood’s trickiest problems.

 

As parents, when we find something innovative that makes our lives easier, we want to share it, take out a billboard! Shout it from the rooftops! “Hey YOU GUYS!!!  I Found a way to make ______ less stressful!”

And share we must!  Because we need sanity, so let’s swap secrets.

Let’s hack into the system, find some cheat codes to rescue the proverbial princess with a bit more ease.  (Super Mario reference anyone?)

Week 1, the ridiculous pedometer workout, was something I came up with out of the recesses of my truly unique brain.

This week it’s the Crudités Happy Hour, something my friend Jenni shared with me.

One afternoon, on a long distance phone call from Utah to Oklahoma, I was sharing my pre-dinnertime woes with my dear friend Jenni.  She’s like a sister and wise mom-sage all rolled into one.

Here’s the issue I shared with her: Every time I stood at the counter to get dinner ready the kids rushed into the kitchen, mustering their powers of whining and clinging to a degree that threatened my sanity.   Continue reading →

Scary and Exciting (Going sharpie public with my 2013 goals)

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Hiya!  You’ll notice that things look a bit different around here today.  Well, that’s because the site is undergoing a facelift and we’re in the middle of construction.  So, what you’re seeing now is a place filler, a small glimpse into the new site that the amazing Hannah Beasley is cooking up, which I can’t wait to show you, truly.

So onward we go:

PicMonkey Collage- goals

This past summer my husband Kel had a meeting with a pastor who had also, interestingly enough, taught my senior capstone class in college.  Kel mentioned this fact over hamburgers and my former prof. had struggled to remember me, he finally said: “You mean the girl with the planner?”

Yes, it’s true, my trademark accessory in college was my planner. I rarely went anywhere without it, in fact I worked at the planner store in the mall where I was a certified productivity consultant.

I was so into planning, in fact, that Kel included it in his wedding vows: “I vow to be more organized because I’m amazed at how much you accomplish with your little planner.”

Oh planner girl, how I miss you, you were so put together and organized, lists flowed from your brain and you checked them off efficiently.  Where did you go?

I still buy planners or refills each year, but I rarely stick to them like I used to.  I just can’t find the right system and so much of our life is unscheduled and repetitive.

Kel’s and the kid’s schedules are very repetitive from week to week. Kids have preschool on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Kel has worship on Tuesday nights, Basketball on Wednesdays etc.

It’s been tough going from the professional with a plan to the mom in yoga pants whose life seems to revolve around everyone else’s needs.  It’s taught me a lot about sacrifice and grace, I’m sure most stay-at-home parents can relate to this.

Nevertheless it’s time to re-think things and put some systems and strategies in place around here, because “those who fail to plan, plan to fail” right?

And on this note I’d like to share my goals for the year with you, do you mind? Continue reading →

Breastfeeding, Hot Wheels and Kitty Cats

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Me and my "kitty"

Me and my “kitty”

For the last week of the year I am going to be doing some reposts from the year, some of your favorites and some that I think may have gotten lost in the mix.  This post was featured on Epicparent.tv and I’m featuring it here today. 

I have no idea if you breastfed your kids or not, if you’re a man I’m about 102% certain you didn’t. Although I do hope you played a key support role as your wife did.  I breastfed both of my kids for a year and I’m supremely glad that I did, I’m not bragging or passing judgement mind you, this is just backstory.

When my babies were new it seemed like nursing them successfully revolved around the concept of latching, around them having a proper hold on me (if you know what I mean.)  If your newborn isn’t latching well it causes all manner of issues such as crying, malnourishment and extreme pain for the mama.

As I was sitting in the playroom the other day I realized that when it comes to latching, I’m not worried about nipple confusion anymore, rather it seems as though my kids are the ones hoping I latch on properly to them.

Let me explain, my son recently got his first batch of matchbox cars, our world was forever changed.  He’s thrilled and we now tread carefully around every corner for fear of our tender feet.

My daughter on the other hand is all about pretending to be a kitty, all the time, and I mean ALL THE TIME.  She wakes up and goes to bed meowing at me and I use the phrase: “Say words, not meows” at least 37 times a day.

So back to that day in the playroom when I was thinking about latching, I realized that afternoon that my kids need me to latch onto what they’re into.  Not with my mouth, because ewww I’m sure matchbox cars taste nasty, but with my time and enthusiasm.

My son needs me to zoom cars down the ramp and my daughter needs me to get on all fours and play kitties with her.  This is how I can show them I care, this is how I can give them the nourishment they need NOW, by being willing to latch onto what they’re into.

For me personally, breastfeeding has and continues to teach me things I never would have learned otherwise, such as patience, rhythm and reliance.  I had no idea these lessons would keep on giving almost two years later but I can’t help smile and give thanks for a God that wastes no opportunity to connect life with valuable lessons.

What are your kids into?  How do you “latch on?”

If you have a favorite post from 2012 that you’d think should make the “best of 2012″ list I would love to hear about it.  

At War With Fair and Normal

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http://www.sxc.hu/

http://www.sxc.hu/

I’ve been at war with the word Normal lately, although truly I’m too old for this.  How can I have made it thirty years on this earth without truly realizing that Normal is as real as unicorns or delicious microwave dinners.

There is no “normal marriage.”  No matter how much advice I get from the lovely, more experienced wives who mentor me, I always take some of it to heart and leave some behind.

No two souls are identical so it stands to reason that no two marriages are the same either.

It’s fruitless and joy stealing to compare your marriage to that of your friends.

And then there’s children, and parenting… there is no normal here either, is there?

Are there general guidelines for what children need?  Absolutely, resoundingly, yes! Across the board children need love, play, instruction, discipline and nourishment but the delivery of those needs is going to look different inside each door in your neighborhood.

Yet lately I’ve been grieving our abnormal-ness with a depth of pain that’s been close to all consuming. Continue reading →

Our children, Our mirrors

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he got my crooked smile and my heart

Every parent, from the moment their child is born, delights in the unique blend of gifts that they’ve been given through their son or daughter.

We look around at other people’s children, we skim the milestone charts and parenting books, but somewhere in the back of our mind is the belief that our child is too wonderful to be contained by statistics or averages.

They’re ours, they broke the mold and they will make the world a lovelier place just by being alive.

Then one morning we wake up and we look at them not as a unique work of art, but as a mirror.  We look at them and we see ourselves.

We look at them and we see ourselves not just in their eyes, their button noses or their crooked smiles, but we see ourselves in their flaws, their struggles, the things that cause them pain.

They don’t have an easy time reading
They have a wicked bad temper
They’re stubborn and refuse to learn lessons the easy way
They can’t sit still during story time
They don’t seem to fit in at school

In that moment we freak out a little, or a lot.  Our hearts break as we remember our pain and project every ounce of it onto our child’s future. Continue reading →

When in doubt, dance it out. (A guest post at missbananapants)

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If I was looking for a reminder of God’s goodness in this season, I need look no farther than my friends.

One of my sweet new friends these days is the fabulous and funny, Michelle Clark. We write together over at EpicTots and today I get to have some fun with a guest post on her blog, Missbananapants!

Put your dancing shoes on, cuz here we go:

 Everyone has a portion of their day where they’re just trying to survive. For some people it’s the morning, for some people it’s the post lunch slump, but for me it’s the hours between 3:00 – 5:15. When naps are over, I’ve exhausted all my creative energy, organizational skills and patience. When all I can do is dole out goldfish crackers and stare at the clock until my husband comes home.

Incidentally the staring at the clock business just makes everything worse.

Sure I could pop in a movie, but usually it fails to fully distract my kids and they just end up under my feet in the kitchen while I grumble and try to get dinner ready.

Why, oh Why are they so interested in messing with my perfectly organized spice drawer? And what is so interesting about breaking into the dishwasher and trying to jump on the door like it’s a trampoline?

There is only one remedy for this portion of the day and Lady Gaga said it best when she said: Just dance, gonna be okay, da-da-doo

To finish up this post, head on over to Miss Banana Pants and keep be bopping along.

Our Children, God’s Eyes

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My three year old beauty

My best friend and I always used to laugh about how when it came to kids, she wanted all girls and I wanted all boys.  Even in my early twenties I  was anxious at the thought of being the mother of a daughter.

But here I am, the Mother of a three year old little girl who looks a lot like my husband Kel, yet acts so much like me.  She is full of more energy than she can manage and her creativity astounds me.  Lately I’ve been devoting hours of my week to worrying about her being bound to repeat all my hurdles, all my pain.

There is a corner of my heart that is still convinced that History is going to repeat itself in her, in me.  I hate this truth but it does no good to deny it.

80% of her day is spent pretending to be a kitty, and I have to remind her over and over again that I don’t speak kitty so she needs to use people words.

I bought her a set of wooden stringing beads this weekend so that she could play with color patterns and learn to work the lacing string through the holes.  She has no interest in stringing them and instead takes her shoe and fills it with the beads, zooming it around, pretending they are puppies in a rocket ship.

Lately I’ve been finding myself asking “is that normal?” over and over again.  I spend countless moments worrying that the way she is playing indicates an internal problem that will hold her back in life.  I scan other children at birthday parties comparing behaviors, wondering: “Is she going to be okay?”

But, what if the only fruit of this worrying is her learning to feel abnormal or “all wrong?”  What if she wonders if she’s loved just as she is?  Or feels like a burden or bother in her own home?

Well that just won’t do.

I can’t make sure that she’s an academic whiz or a soccer all star or the diva of the choir room.  But I can do everything in my power to teach her, show her that she is loved just as she is.  I can help her learn to channel her energy into passion and find systems to make sure she gives attention where it’s needed the most.

I will advocate for her, whatever comes down the road, set her up for success, but most of all I want to make sure that she leaves our home knowing that she is Beloved.

She is a child of God and He is the One who poured into her all the life force I worry about harnessing properly.  He wove the world together to thrill and delight her, and I’m here not to worry, but be the hands and feet of love and direction in her life.

May we all be able to see our children with these eyes, God’s eyes.

May we love them for the people he created them to be and may our prayers be filled  with requests for more wisdom and understanding of how he wants us to nurture them.

May we teach them thankfulness and delight by showing thanks and wonder over his Creation in a way that is so authentic that it’s contagious.

May we all worry a bit less about what exactly normal looks like and spend more time loving our children just as we find them today.