Month: January 2024

Homeschool

5 Practical Reading Resources for the Preschool Mom

Blooming and Becoming

Let me start off by mentioning that it seems totally weird to title this post “…for the preschool mom,” even as I typed it, my fingers outpaced my mind and typed “toddler” before I could stop them. delete. delete. delete. my fingers quickly got with the program, I am now the mother of, technically speaking, a preschooler. Although he doesn’t go to preschool, this is nevertheless the group that I now associate him with. Weird. How did that happen?

How can I hang on to the last little moments of his early childhood before he is just in “childhood” and considered school aged altogether.

Reflecting on the term “preschool” settles my thumping heart just a tad. After all it’s “pre” not current, right?! As I settle into the realizations of how quickly time goes and how little of it we all actually have, I attempt to answer some of those questions. And I come to at least one conclusion. READ. Read like I’m never going to shut up. Read it all. Read it with funny voices. Read it with a regular voice. Read during specific designated reading times. Read random street signs. Read in our special reading place. Read in random places. Read at the same time everyday. Read randomly all throughout the day. Just Read. Snuggle close and read.

When I say of my firstborn, “he was an active toddler”, this simply cannot truly be understood by words on paper. He was ACTIVE. But by the grace of God he was always and still is captivated by stories.   In the heat of the Florida summer, I was pregnant with baby number two and way too huge and hot to go outside, so my little rambunctious toddler and I would settle in on the cool tile floor with pillows to read.  And read we did.  I remember sitting in the back bedroom of our Florida home, leaned against the block walls warmed by the sun.  Heat radiated from behind me while cold hair from the ceiling blew down on the both of us.  And we would sit for hours and read.  Writing this now, seems like an exaggeration, even to me.  But reading—story telling—always got him.  And three years later, it still does.  At age four now, he’s still the one who prefers to curl up in my lap, begging for just one more book, while his younger two year old brother roams in circles around us and on most days launches an array of toy debri around the house. 

But as we enter the preschool age, I realize I must hold on to this time for dear life. Not only for the many benefits reading offers to the growing mind but also for the many benefits I have seen it offer this little growing soul. I continue to learn of and experience the positive impact of reading on children, All the while extracting the benefits for myself as well. The benefits for reading out loud are vast and more and more research seems to be coming out regularly. A quick google search on the topic will leave you in a google daze for days. I could write a whole other post regarding the benefits, and maybe I will. But for now, I just wanted to share some practical resources that I have sourced out over the little time that I’ve been immersed in this read aloud world.

There is no doubt in my mind—reading is gold.  Luckily for my kids, I have always been a talker.  And I’ve been told once or twice (or maybe three times) that I talk just to hear myself speak. Talker + Reader = Writer. What can I say? My degree is in communication!  It’s safe to say there is no end to the amount of out loud reading I can do!

So as I jump on the read-aloud bandwagon here are some great practical reading resources for the preschooler mom, or really for any mom who wants to dive into the reading world.

Random reading resources every mom should look into: (aka: a few practical, easy to do things that I wish I had done sooner).

1.)    Dolly Parton’ Imagination Library– this is something that I’ve vaguely known about since my boys were little, as I had a friend in Tennessee who automatically got signed up for this at the hospital when she had her babies.  Little did I know, that it is open to SO MANY other counties in states all across the country.  (kicking myself now)  But both my boys are now signed up.  Basically, the Dolly Parton Foundation partners with local community foundations to send kids a book EVERY MONTH from birth to age five!  You have to go on the website to check if it’s available in your county.  If it is, it’s a pretty easy sign up: Click>Getting Started>Affiliate Locator> Print out the form> Mail it to your local organization and wait about a month to get your first book! Plus, my kids love getting the mail that is addressed to them! Every month it’s a race to the mailbox checking it everyday until the books arrive.

2.)    Highlights Magazines– Same principal with the love of getting mail here. (There is a cost to ordering these magazines, I think around $20 for the year subscription— a great grandparent gift if it’s not in your families personal budget). I’ve known about the Highlights magazines forever.  I think I even read a few when I was younger.  But they had fallen off my radar until a friend gave me a stack of old ones that her boys were done with.  My oldest (age 4) absolutely loves these.  Honestly, they aren’t my personal favorite to read through.  I prefer a longer narrative.  (These magazines have short stories, poems, activities, crafts, etc).  But I am not the target audience, my kids are.  And for them it hits the nail on the head. 

3.)    The Read-Aloud Revival– Okay this is a super practical resource that every mom should be aware of! Sarah Mackenzie runs this website and podcast to promote reading aloud to your kids. She is also the author of the best-selling book, The Read Aloud Family. When you sign up to receive e-mail updates from Sarah on her website, she sends you a downloadable print out of monthly library lists.  You can then search and save and/or reserve the books at your local library online, and voila, you’ve got a new plethora of books to read each month.

4.) Reshelving Alexandria: Okay so this one I am back and forth on. It’s a really cool concept by a group of people who love quality books. (think Charlotte Mason, living books, if your familiar with that homeschooling method). It’s membership (relatively low, I paid $5/month but I believe their fees will be going up if they haven’t already). They provide book lists, synopses and great info regarding living books. The reason I am on the fence is because from what I have seen so far, it really will be more handy for school age reading and I am just not there yet. We are still mostly in mommy read aloud picture book mode, so I don’t see a need to pay for a site that I am not quite ready to use. HOWEVER, it will be super helpful I believe when my kids start reading on their own. Mainly because I will be able to cross check books for quality, appropriateness, etc.

5.) Websites, Books & Podcasts:

Websites— In addition to the sites mentioned above, here are a a few more. Some of these I visit frequently and others not so much but they are good to have in your favorites if you don’t already:

  • Your own counties library- online system. The online library system where I live looks like this.
  • SallyClarkson.com & LifeWithSally.com— not completely dedicated to reading, but Sally Clarkson is a guru of all things living books. She raised and home schooled 4 kids in a literary & verbally rich environment and a lot can be gleaned from her teaching, training & resources.
  • Thriftbooks; Wonderbook; Discoverbooks; BetterWorldBooks— these are great sites for used and hard to find books. In fact Reshelving Alexandria has a great article about thrift store book shopping without ever leaving your home. You can read it here.

Books about Books—I am sure there are waaaaay more than the books listed here, these are just the ones I am familiar with. I think it’s a good idea to have one or two of these handy when looking for good reading material. All too often I can get sucked into the rabbit hole of Google or Pinterest when searching for “good books for preschoolers.” Having a physical copy of one of these has save me a few times from the overwhelm of the internet.

  • Read for the heart and Book Girl by Sarah Clarkson
  • Honey for a Child’s Heart by Glady’s M. Hunt

Podcasts—there are amazing people talking about amazing books and highlighting amazing resources.  By listening to podcasters who have a passion for reading you will inevitably pick up on resources along the way.  Afterall that is where the inspiration for this blog came from!  Here are a few of my current podcast favorites:

  • A Delectable Education
  • Sally Clarkson’s Podcast
  • Read Aloud Revival Podcast
  • All the Wonders

If you are interested in finding more podcasts, there is a great post here about Podcasts specific to kids literature.

Happy Reading Everyone!

Living with Purpose

Balancing Ideals and Reality

Blooming and Becoming

The new year is well underway and as we approach the end of the beginning of 2019, I can’t
help but reflect on my resolutions that I so astutely declared to myself (and all of you) at the
beginning of the month.

Have I kept my pledge to be intentional? Have I done all the practical things that seemed so obvious and oh so easy as I sat and typed them just a mere three weeks ago?

The honest answer… some yes. Some no. That’s just life I guess.

I continue to search for the balance between the idealistic and realistic aspects of my life and the truth is, I usually end up somewhere in the middle. I daydream of perfectly executed plans, well trained children and a happy husband. But most days I am lucky if I check just one thing off my list.

Ideals must be rooted in reality.

Otherwise, they just become “rules” we set for ourselves only to be disappointed when we cannot or do not reach them. I must choose the ideals that really matter to me and ruthlessly focus on those alone. And yet, I must be careful to not let the striving toward the ideal thwart me in the present. A delicate balance that often makes me feel like a toddler drinking from a tea cup…a little proud and a lot shaky.

I feel called in this season of my life, to do exactly as I am doing: press in, learn, grow, and sow. And in that I feel fulfilled. But there is always this lingering sense of the unknown hanging in the distance. Some days it is in the peripheral, almost non-existent. Other days, the uncertainty hangs over me like a damp towel—nudging me to do something different but not really giving me enough reason to take action.

How long will this season or this particular calling last? Will I have more babies, extending this season of motherhood just that much further? Does God have different plans for me in the future?

Regardless of the answers to those questions though, I’ve got two young boys here—right now. Children that, I believe, I have been called to train up in the way they should go. (Proverbs 22:6).

I have a husband here—right now, that I have been called to respect and honor (Ephesians 5:33).

I have parents, friends and family here—right now that I am called to connect with, to build up, and to cherish (1 Thessalonians 5:11).

And I’ve got a me here—right now, a body, mind and soul that I am called to take care of (1 Corinthians 3:16, Romans 12:2, 1 Timothy 4:8)

I believe, this is the race that God has called me to run—right now.

And I will focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I will press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize. (Philippians 3:13 emphasis added)

So all the plans, all the resolutions, all the attempts at being intentional are merely a training schedule. A road map if you will, to keep me on course for the race that has been set before me in this season.

So here I go… Ready. Set. Run.

2019—Here I come.

Living with Purpose

The Climb

Blooming and Becoming

I’ve rock climbed a time or two.  Not enough to be a “rock climber” but enough to know of the strength, technique and determination it takes.  Some weeks and even months, marriage feels a lot like a technical climb that I’ve not yet mastered. 

At times, you’re hanging on to the side of the cliff, gripping against the tumbling stones with white knuckles and bloody fingernails. Frantically scanning your eyes along the rock.  Searching desperately for a better grab or a better finger hold.  Maybe even a crevasse big enough to jam your arm in and hang the weight of your body on your frame, to give your muscles some relief.  (that’s a real thing in rock climbing you know!)   Looking, searching and perhaps even pleading for an emotional relief.  Something, anything that you can grab onto to give you a break.  To renew your energy so you can “climb” on. 

When you’re stuck on the rock with seemingly nowhere to go though your mind can play tricks on you.  You start looking behind you instead of in front of you.  Start looking down instead of up. Fear gives way and you begin to doubt the route you’ve chosen.  “If only I’d started with that other foothold down there, I wouldn’t be stuck in this very spot right now,” and on and on it goes. I will admit that this has been true in my life as well.  In the most difficult moments of my marriage, I have been tempted to tell myself “if only…then…”, then life would be easier. 

But would it really?  You see what your mind forgets while your body is hanging by your fingertips off of a rock face, is that the entire rock is filled with challenges.  Each climb unique.  Each climb with different challenges. No two the same, and not one easier than another.   And in life, two sinful individuals coming together in a sinful world will never be easy. 

And just when it feels like you can’t hold on any longer you remember, strength can only take you so far. Technique kicks in and you remember that your leg muscles are stronger than your arm muscles.  You switch your way of thinking.  Change gears.  Stop looking for finger holds and start looking for foot holds.  Stop searching for what you can’t find or what you don’t have and start focusing on what there is plenty of.  You begin to focus on and appreciate your partners strengths.  Perhaps even come to depend on them.  This is where growth happens and in a moment you become just a little better of a climber.

Once you focus on technique instead of brute force, a whole new climb opens up to you.  Same rock, same day, but a different climb.  Just like on the rock, so many times in my marriage, that simple, albeit difficult, shift in technique provides the relief needed to carry onward, upward.  A “foothold” of forgiveness or encouragement or grace or humor or cherished memories or quality time provides the strength I need to keep climbing.  My determination is renewed and I can almost taste the sweet victory of reaching the top.

Until…I come to an overhang. 

You know the BIG thing.  The thing that it seems to always come back too.  Every fight, every tense moment, somehow is tinged with this thing.   That insecurity, or deep hurt, or personality difference, or whatever it is that your marriage just can’t shake. 

In rock climbing, the overhang was always the beginning of the end for me.  I always gave up, let go and released my efforts into the seat of the harness. And I admit, that in the overhang of my marriage, at times I have let go.  Maybe not literally leaving my husband, but I have definitely given up the climb at one time or another.  Checked out.  Chosen the view of Facebook or Netflix or Pinterest instead of climbing to the top of the conflict and getting the beautiful view of a relationship restored. 

No matter what partner you choose or chose, it will not be easy.  No matter what route you take in your marriage, or what decisions you make, this climb is hard.  Harder than I ever imagined it could be.  But the views along the way are totally worth it. 

So as I continue to climb, I’ll surround myself with fellow climbers.  I will seek out and gather around those who appreciate and understand the sense of pride that only comes from perseverance.  No longer will I look to a culture who tells me there is an “easier” way.  For me, the only way is UP. 

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.” Hebrews 12:1

Living with Purpose

A mothers day tribute

Blooming and Becoming

It was the fall of ‘91, or somewhere thereabouts. I was 4 and my brother 8. She was nearing her 33rd birthday. Just one year older than I am now. It was the year she began her associates degree at the local community college. She was working down the road and raising us.

I vaguely remember the old electric typewriter and various “heavy” books strewn around the trailer that we lived in at the time. Because at five years old, the only thing you know about college is that it’s where your mom sometimes goes at night. And the books are heavy.

It was the summer of ‘93. I was 6, my brother 10 and she 35 (give or take). It was the year she graduated from the community college. I vaguely remember a party in the front lawn. It was hot and I remember all the adults commenting about it, in the way only adults can. To me, summer was summer. Macrame folding chairs, picnic tables and my cousin with her “hippie friends”, dot my memories of that day. Which is saying a lot, because I really only have a few graspable memories from my early childhood.

I weave the dotted memories with the stories I’ve been told to create a decoupage of my past, creating an image in my mind of what it must have been like. Except, I don’t have many stories about this particular season of my mother’s life. She has never been one to talk much about herself. She is and always has been the keeper of everyone else.

I can clearly remember my grandmother being at the front yard celebration that day. I remember her blazer with the raised shoulder pads and I can still smell the Mary Kay on her face. She was the one who explained to my why I wasn’t attending the graduation ceremony— I would have more fun running around the park with the neighbors. She assured me with a kiss that they would be back shortly. That I remember as clear as the sky was that day.

But for the life of me I can’t remember my grandfather being there. Was he there to see his youngest child get a degree? Was he as proud as I imagine him to have been? He must have been there because he didn’t pass until September 11 of that year. A date that took my mom only a few moments to reply with. But of the year in which she started school she could not recall.

She’s just that way, never making much of what she does, what she has accomplished. So I will make much of it for her.

You see, in the midst of this scene is a single mother schlepping her children to and from baseball and ballet. A single woman who worked full time, with two young kids. She was navigating the college scene and the dating arena. She was unclogging toilets and unfreezing pipes. She was making dinner and making grades. All the while, I can scarcely remember a night that she didn’t tuck me in. In the midst of it all, she created a legacy of a bedtime blessing— a quick chat, a hug and a kiss, and just one more glass of water—that lasted through my teen and young adult years. Like I said, the keeper of everyone else.

It was the winter of ‘94 and she had just landed an office job. Good hours, decent benefits and a consistent pay. That was nearly 25 years ago.

As a young child I couldn’t possibly understand or even know what it all meant—her choice to go back to school, her commitment to finish, her newly landed job. But I knew how it felt.

I knew how it felt the day when I paid a quarter for my school lunch. I can still see myself at the end of the cafeteria line. Keenly aware at the time of everyone around me. Nervous pride in my heart and a smile that I could not contain. It didn’t occur to me, or even really matter, that 25 cents was still significantly subsidized. All I knew is that we were not in the same place we were the day before.

I know now that the pride I had in my heart that day was not so much about the money but about her. She had moved us up. One rung on this ladder we call life. She was trudging ahead.

The years passed. The shifts and the pay changed. But the job remained the same. The grind. Day in and day out for 25 years. Something virtually unheard of in my generation.

There have been deaths and births, weddings and divorces, graduations and job losses, sickness and health. Amidst it all for 25 years she has made a daily fifty minute commute into the city. She has lived a certain life there, that I know not much about. All the while being the glue to our lives outside that cubicle.

And now that chapter is ending. The hard work has paid off. Now she gets to live but one life. No longer is there the work week and the weekend. Now it’s just life.

Here’s to you mom.

You were the age I am now when you started your career journey. I can only hope that in 30 years, when I am the age you are now, I will have as much love to look back on and as much life to be proud of.

May you live that life. You’ve earned it.

Living with Purpose

The Lies We Tell

Blooming and Becoming

“I’m still nursing,” she said.  “Oh! Me too,” I said. 

Lie number 1.

“Since I’ve quit work and began staying home full-time, I have been able to get into a groove and keep a schedule with my little man.  I’m really enjoying life again,” she said.  “I totally know what you mean,” I say.

Lie number 2.

And on and on it goes.  A play date with a new acquaintance, filled with little fibs that make up a big story of a life that I am not living.    You see, I am not nursing.  In fact I haven’t nursed my almost 8 month old post colic, lactose intolerant, acid refluxing, crawling everywhere, baby boy in nearly 4 months.

And groove? Schedule? What are those?  I made one of those not too long ago… a schedule.  Actually it was like a week ago. Complete with lessons, crafts and carefully planned play times.  Even bragged to a friend about it.  Said it was really good and I was really excited. 

Lie number 3. 

It’s not good and I’m not excited about getting covered in glue and glitter while my almost 3 year old pushes his baby brother over and laughs.  Or when said baby brother splashes in the toilet… all while I’m gluing cotton balls onto a piece of construction paper, saying “Isn’t this fun?!”

Lie number 4. 

Truth is: It’s not fun right now. 

“We’re starting our little guy in a part-time preschool this fall. Is your oldest enrolled in any type of preschool?” she asked.  “Yea, actually we’ve been thinking about it and talking about it.  I really need to look into some.”  I say. 

Lie number 5. 

We are not considering a part-time pre-school for our “energetic” almost 3 year old whom today, proved that you may skip the terrible twos but you probably won’t escape the thrashing threes!  Come to think of it, maybe we should consider that pre-school thing after all.

And on and on it goes.  The lies I tell to others and maybe even to myself.  Trying to make sense of motherhood in a new city with new people.  Trying to justify the decisions I’ve made and the mess-ups that will continue to happen.  Trying to find balance between accepting my days and improving them.  Trying to surrender daily to Jesus— the ultimate truth teller while ignoring the father of all lies.  Some days I am better at that then others, obviously. 

“How was your day?” he will ask when he gets home from work.  “Good,” I will say.  “”Hard but Good.” 

And that may be the only truth I tell all day.

Living with Purpose

Over Committed

Blooming and Becoming

“Let’s get together soon.  We really want to have you over to the new place for dinner,” said in all sincerity, but I can’t help but feel the gut wrenching guilt that creeps to the back of my throat almost as soon as the words exit my mouth.

The truth is, I can barely get dinner on the table for my own family let alone plan and prepare a meal for yours. Not to mention the cleaning of the house– or rather hiding of the toys and swiping every surface known to man with a baby wipe.

There’s fruit flies coming up from the depths of my garbage disposal and every time I look down I see a family of them floating in my drink.  My warm drink that is, because our ice maker is broken… “Yea sure, come on over!”

I have no more energy for the customary “new home” talk.  The kind of conversations where you excitedly talk about all the things you love and all the things you’re going to change.  The days of joyously debating wall colors over a drink with a girlfriend are over for me.  The last of that happened a week ago with my last house guest and while the dreaming was wonderful, reality has now set in. And it feels daunting.  One more task on the never ending to-do list that is my life lately.

I can barely think strait after a whirlwind summer and my ears are pounding with what a few days ago I thought was the beginnings of an ear infection.  But now after ear candling, may have just been a bad case of enough ear wax to put a Yankee candle to shame.  Yet again, maybe it is an ear infection?

Two days ago, my iPhone went for 60 mph ride on interstate 240 and although I am extremely grateful to my husband for dodging traffic to rescue it, I would be remiss if I didn’t inform you that I am now arranging a flight home for a funeral through a thousand little cracks in my shattered screen.  Did I mention it’s my third funeral in seven months?

How did life get this busy?  When did I become a  grown up? 

It feels like I’m in this perpetual state of over promising and under delivering.  Telling friends and family that I will be there and then never showing up.  Sometimes physically and sometimes mentally.  I’ve had to bow out of more commitments this summer than any other time in recent memory.  I’ve enthusiastically agreed with my whole heart and then two weeks later realized, “it just ain’t gonna happen.” More than once. And to all those on the receiving end, I’m truly sorry.

I have this image in my head of who I want to be.  The woman I want people to say I am.  But I feel like I’m always walking up the down escalator.  Intending to reach my destination but never quite making it. 

I have an offer on the table for a part-time writing gig, but can’t ever seem to find the time to sit down and write.  (You know who you are… and I’m sorry I still haven’t called you back!)

I have a voicemail waiting with a request to volunteer and hundred other good ideas to make that organization great, but I can’t seem to find the energy to return the call. 

I have a handful of voices in my head telling me what I should do with my time.  Comments from friends or negative internal dialogue that implies what no one wants to say out loud…You’re a stay-at-home mom, so you must have an endless abundance of spare time, right?

But here and now, is where it stops.  

No more over committing.  Period.  No more empty promises.  This is not some mental parade march to encourage myself to “get back at it” and start showing up for people.  In fact, it might be just the opposite.  I think it’s time I just stop.  Stop trying so hard to do what I perceive everyone thinks I should be doing–which is anything besides simply “staying at home.”

I choose this life.  I actively, every day, choose this life.  These kids, this husband and this home.

And in this season, I need to choose to pour into those things before I pour into you.  Whoever or whatever “you” might be at any given time. 

There are a million things I could do, but only a few that I will do.  In this time of being a stay-at-home mom.  I will stay at home.  I will mom. 

In this season of being a homemaker, I will make a home.

And someday when I’m ready, you’ll be sitting at my table right there alongside of me doing this thing we call life.

Living with Purpose

Mother’s Day Tribute

Blooming and Becoming

Another Mother’s Day here and gone. 

Like many of you, I rejoiced in my motherhood.  I breathed in deeply the scent of each of my boys.  That familiar scent of cheerios mixed with sweat and a little of something sticky that is ever unidentifiable. We spent the day playing in the sun and basking in God and man’s creation at the Biltmore, an Asheville icon.  It was my first time and it did not disappoint. 

Yet with all of the splendor and the beauty of my day as I soaked up the love of my children and my husband who were in my company, my heart was yet tinged with disappointment for those who weren’t. 

Like a cloud playing peek-a-boo with the sun, not diminishing the warmth and beauty while it was out but sometimes covering it. Bringing a shade and coolness to my heart, with each turn it took.  And then in an instant one of my boys would smile or the sweet scent of blooming jasmine would rise near me and the sun would return to my soul.  

And so it went as the day continued, the sun and shade playing peek-a-boo in my heart.  

For, as I gave all of my present self to the moments of motherhood yesterday, I was keenly aware that there was a piece of myself not present and not able to give. 

For I too have a mother. 

And she is far away.

And I feel it.  The weight of the distance.

And perhaps it is days and moments like these that I miss her most. When the rest of the world seems to be  recognizing and celebrating one another–together, I am reminded that two phone calls to my mom will just have to do. When innocent and unrelated comments made by others who are rejoicing in the presence of their loved ones sting my heart, guilt quickly makes that wound swell. 

For I am the one that left, not her. 

She’s never left my “side” and she never will.  She has ever been my mother, supporting each decision no matter the cost to her.  I suspect her decisions to support me over the years have been as tough for her as they have been for me to make.  That’s the thing about tough decisions– they’re not easy.  And passing time does not make them any easier. 

I look around to the many young mothers I know and I see many, most actually within my sphere, who are far away from their own mothers.  For reasons perhaps as varied as the individuals themselves, they’ve started lives in a new place. Carving out a new path in their family history.  Facing motherhood without the regular presence and wisdom of their own mothers. I wonder how many of them struggled yesterday as I did? 

Perhaps the complexity of leaving home cannot really be understood until you’ve experienced it, on either side of the fence.  And I imagine that one day, I will be sitting in my mother’s shoes.  With children grown and far away.  I can only hope to handle it with as much tender love, grace and support as she has.  

Happy (belated) Mother’s Day Momma.

Living with Purpose

Lack of Sleep

Blooming and Becoming

Sleep and the lack thereof

I rolled out of bed at 5:40 (because if I have any hope of peeing without audience or gulping a cup of coffee in silence, it has to be done at 5:40am).  I quickly contemplated what I would wear for the day.  After a quick mental run down of our days plans, I half-slurred to myself, sweatpants. Which seems to be par for the course lately.

This particular morning, deep sleep had eluded me nearly all night.  I foolishly went to bed too late for someone of my age and circumstance.  11:40pm, I think it was when last I looked at the clock.  I’d like to say that I was up spending much needed quality time with my husband or that I was fueling my soul with the Word.  Or at the very least taking in some restorative “me time”.   But fact of the matter is, I was wasting precious moments.  I traded precious sleep for just one more scroll down the Facebook feed.  And while, I guess you could say it was “me time”, it was anything but restorative.  Or smart.  I’ve read enough to know that screen time is a “no-no” right before bed.  And I know myself enough to be aware that I probably should avoid it anytime after about 8pm.  I read somewhere once that those sweet and precious hours from about 7pm-11pm are the most trafficked and most addictive hours to be sucked into the internet world. I know this.  Yet I still found myself fascinated by everyone else’s world while contentedly ignoring my own.

Until about 12 am that is.  20 short minutes after surrendering my phone to the charger and laying down my head, I was jolted awake by shrieks from the (not-quite) baby.  At 16 months I think it’s fair to say he is a full-blown toddler.  Yet still a baby.  My baby.  

I lie there a moment while my body catches up with my brain.  Trying to muster the energy to heave my over-weight and over-burdened body out of the bed.  The mental debate begins, If I wait just a minute longer maybe he’ll ‘self-soothe’ and fall back asleep.  But then 1 minute turns to 5 and I am dangerously close to dozing back to sleep.  Yes for those of you wondering, when you have been awoken with screams nearly every night for last 16 months– it is entirely possible to doze off in the midst of your child’s screams.  Even now, in hindsight, the mental debate looms, knocking on my heart’s door…I should have just let myself go back to sleep, maybe he would have exhausted himself and we both would have gotten some sleep. 

But I know better.  I know that for the last 496 days (give or take) my sweet son has out screamed my own resolve to ignore those screams. 

Nevertheless, I heave my feet to the floor and with a huff just loud enough to let my husband know that yet again I am tending to the baby, I head to his room.  I know what he is seeking.  It is that thing I worked hard to break him of at around 10 months and then gave into again shortly after because of a tumultuous vacation that strained our entire families sleep cycles. 

A bottle. At 16 months, he is long past needing a nighttime bottle.  But oh does he want it.

I know I will give in. I know I will give it to him. And I immediately feel torn.  Like trying to avoid a bad habit but knowing you’ve not the strength to do so.  I console myself by saying, at least it’s no longer formula, just warm milk.  But the guilt hits before my feet hit the floor.  Am I doing the right thing?  Or am I taking the easy way out?  Is there ever an “easy way” when you have a difficult tempered child.  Because let me tell you, this screaming does not resign itself to only the wee hours of the night.  Perhaps that is why I often give in and give up in the darkness of his room, because I have dealt with screaming and hitting and thrashing ALL DAY.  All while trying to properly train a 3 1/2 year old, besides. 

This is all new territory for me.   And I don’t know what I am doing.

My first-born was and is an entirely different temperament.  They all are, I guess.  At least that’s what I am told.  And while he was physically active and exhausting, the mental and emotional strain was not nearly at this intensity.  But don’t compare them, you must not compare them.  The mental dialogue continues.

So it was on this particular night and most other nights dotted  throughout the last 64 weeks.  Sleepless nights that have turned into weeks, that have turned into months that have become well past a year. So after soothing the baby and yes giving him a bottle, I returned to bed.  Half asleep and wholly deflated. 

Just as I had come to peace with my decision and surrendered to the “survival mode” that is currently my life, a half hearted comment from my husband ignited my brain once again.  “You would have never done this for our first-born,” he said. 

Wham. That hits me with nearly as much force as the baby’s screams. He’s right.  And just like that I am awake again.

Was I a better mother then or now?  Was I doing the right thing then or now? Am I giving in to a baby’s demands or giving up on preconceived ideas of how I should handle that baby.   Why do I seem to be okay with the latter but not the former?  And so the mental interrogation continues.

When it feels like I have no answers and I don’t know what to do, I’ve learned to surrender to the One who does.  Here’s the thing about Jesus, he often told people what to do, but not necessarily how to do it.  I believe, to leave room for his Holy Spirit to lead and guide and take care of the “how”.  So all I can do now is, “Trust in the Lord with all my heart and lean not on my own understanding; in all my ways submit to him, and he will make my paths straight.” P (Proverbs 3:5-6)…and hopefully my nights quiet.

Living with Purpose

Hello Mr. January

Blooming and Becoming

(originally posted January 2018)

I know I’m late to the party.  21 days late to be exact.  But nonetheless, happy New Year to you Mr. January.  You came in quick and gratefully, you are exiting slow.

I didn’t know it when the year started, but I needed a slow down.  The kind of lazy days where your house is a wreck and you have no mind to care.  The kind where your tires rest comfortably in a cocoon of snow, for days… FOUR days to be exact.  The kind where you carelessly sleep away EVERY SINGLE toddler nap time for a week.

I didn’t know it then, but the life sucking cold you gave me in the middle of your month, Mr. January, is JUST WHAT I NEEDED.  I am rested now.  I am awake now.  I am ready to resolve now.

To be frank, I am never too thrilled to say hello to you.  Five days in, every year, you deliver me another number on my cake.  I guess that’s your way of saying happy new year.  This year there was a faint little number seven trailing after that three.  A number 1 that I could have just as happily left a zero.  Not because, I am afraid of getting wrinkles, those are already coming. Or losing my carefree days of youth, those are already gone.  But because it serves as a reminder that, everyone around me is also aging.  Time is ticking along.  And although I have come to peace with the fact that each year you bring me another birthday, I am not yet sure how to come to peace with your fellow months bringing birthdays and years passed to the ones I love.

She was 88, my beautiful grandmother, Janice Violet.  Just a few weeks shy of 89 candles that would have been delivered by your fellow month, February.  A beautiful life well lived.  And with her passing in the middle of your month, I can’t help but think of everyone else I love. Friends and family alike.  How many times more will they get to say Happy New Year to you Mr. January?  I’d like to think that the time is endless but it’s not.  We never know how many January’s we will be given.  Or how many good January’s we’ll say hello too.  Someone could get sick or hurt or worse.  Those I love, that I often take for granted.  Those near and far.  My time with them is limited, and as I lay sniffling on the couch this week I rested and reflected.

What I am doing with that time?  Am I truly marking my days according to God’s will or to my own?  Am I taking the time to position my life in the presence and service of others?  Or am I just simply crossing off days on a calendar, never intentionally cultivating and nourishing the relationships that he has already put in my life and on my heart?  What do the people in my life need from me and am I giving it to them?

So this year, I have one simple resolution.  To find the answer to those questions.  To search deep, ask hard questions and have some even harder conversations.  To be true to myself and the God I serve, whom values relationship intensely.

“Be completely humble & gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” Ephesians 4:2-3