Bench Warmer

Currently Parker is in his room for “quiet” time talking to a bug on the floor telling the bug that it needs to go outside because this is not its house. I’ve heard many moms say they’re living for nap time, that basically nap time is their only “me time” and of course this resonates with me being a mom of young children. Hence me telling Parker to take care of the bug himself, hence Parker pleading with the bug to go outside, hence me sitting here unwilling to help. Hopefully it’s some harmless stink bug but I may never know considering this is “me time” so I’m unwilling to get off my bed and help the four year old out. In my defense, Parker is enjoying the company.

One of the reasons I’m sitting here, unwilling to get up during quiet time is because I SUFFER from plantar fasciitis (too dramatic?). I have had it for four months now, ever since Ezra turned three weeks old. Therefore during quiet time I sit on my bed with these sultry looking night socks (see pic) that are supposed to help heal my feet. Ironically, I keep acting like this upcoming summer is “MY” summer, like I’m not pregnant now so I need to take advantage of all the adrenaline junkie things I aspire to do, like backpacking, rock climbing, and not peeing every 30 minutes. Wild, right? I love having babies, I really do; so far I have had relatively smooth pregnancies, healthy labor and deliveries, and of course awarded with an an adorable baby. However, I loathe being the bench warmer. It wasn’t fun in high school and it’s not fun as an adult.

I remember my first pregnancy with Parker, everyone went tubing at my uncle’s river house and I wanted to go so badly that I decided to, but only at approximately 5 mps because I knew getting flung off a tube while pregnant wasn’t the wisest idea. I vowed that the following summer I would go tubing while I wasn’t pregnant. But we didn’t go to the river house so I didn’t go tubing. The following summer we went but GUESS WHAT? I was pregnant again. I think you can see the pattern; I have a dream that someday I will go tubing while not pregnant, I may be 60 years old when it happens but it’s going to happen.

Of course, being a bench warmer is a small price to pay; being pregnant is a huge blessing (literally and figuratively). It’s such an elating time, to have your own child growing inside of you, to go through the excruciating pain of giving birth (gives me PTSD just thinking about it), to then holding your little one in your arms. I highly recommend it.

Ever since my first pregnancy I have struggled to speak positively about the pregnancy process. Mentally, I know it’s something to be in awe of but physically, the weight gain, lack of energy, and nausea is always on the forethought of my mind. During my pregnancy with Ezra, my third child, I decided that if I had to be pregnant, which I had to since I was in my second trimester, that I was going to change my negative perspective on pregnancy itself. I thought the power of positive thinking would somehow make the physical fall in line with the mental. However, no amount of positive thinking was going to change my physical discomfort but my attitude and language towards pregnancy wasn’t helping either.

I had been feeling discontent with my husband, my children, and my own body. I was feeling like no one was good enough for me; once I spoke my complaints a loud to the Lord the blinders fell off. I had become so unhappy within my own mind because I was believing lies generated by my feelings. I made a commitment to not speak negatively about my physical appearance, to not allow my mind to dictate it’s own truth. I apologized to my husband for being so moody and things quickly got better. Sure, I didn’t physically feel better but my perception of my body being beautiful changed and my perception towards my husband changed. I had been so unhappy because all I did was focus on myself. It didn’t matter how much my husband praised me because I felt sorry for myself; sorry that I didn’t like the girl in the mirror, sorry that it felt like my life was on hold, sorry that I had to wear compression stockings in 90 degree weather. I was pushing my husband away because I couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways life wasn’t turning out the way I’d hoped; I was a victim of pregnancy. By doing this I was extremely unhappy, lonely, and discontent.

As I said earlier, I currently SUFFER from plantar fasciitis so basically my feet hurt all the time. It wasn’t until last week that I told my husband that I was going to choose joy amidst the discomfort. I am not resigning myself to having this cursed condition forever, but I am also not going to resign myself to sitting on the sidelines always wishing I was feeling better, as opposed to living life and enjoying my family. I have continued to push aside everything thinking I will participate once I feel better but eventually I realized that this time, however painful at worst and annoying at best it may be, should not be wasted. This time is a gift and I am going to choose to find joy in it. I realize that many people suffer from much worse but the message is the same. Despite bleak circumstances, live today with a joy that comes from a conviction that each day is a gift not meant to be wasted.

If the goal is happiness, you will constantly be searching for ideal conditions, but life is comprised of less than ideal conditions. You will always end up empty and more unhappy than you started unless you can find joy in the waiting, waiting to not be pregnant, waiting to be pregnant, waiting to not have plantar fasciitis; those are the moments where God can truly change us. Whether it was discomfort from pregnancy or plantar fasciitis, talking to the Lord about my struggles always revealed what was in my heart. Each time I was having a pity party and no one was invited (who would even want to come?). I encourage you to take your complaints to the Lord, let Him reveal to you what’s in your heart, and when you realize who you’ve hurt during your downward spiral, apologize to them. When we confess our sins to one another, the people we love are usually happy to forgive us and grateful for the humility it took to apologize, plus they oftentimes help pull us out of the pit we’ve dug if we’re willing to listen to them. For example, my husband has been giving me a foot massage every night. That’s sacrificial love right there.

Dirty Dishes

Some days are such a blur. Today started off magical because it snowed 5″ overnight but sitting here now, at 9:40pm I’m exhausted. I know, I’m crazy staying up this late; what can I say, I’m a party animal. It feels like everyone needs me but I have nothing to offer, let alone write something encouraging. Joy, being recently potty trained, has extended the bedtime routine crying that she has to pee but no matter how many times I place her on the potty she won’t go because she doesn’t actually need to, instead she’s stalling. Thankfully we’re through the toughest parts of potty training (or so it appears) but it seems once we’re out of one difficult season we enter another; I’m pretty sure that’s called “life”. And I know that’s not unique to mom’s but it’s so much more obvious when you’re raising little ones because their phases hit hard and fast.

Yesterday morning I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, not literally, but figuratively. I literately never wake up on the wrong side of the bed because I hate switching stuff up like that. Hunter occasionally will want to switch sides but me being the voice of reason always refuses because I’m not about that life. Anyways, I woke up in a bad mood, which was crazy not because I’m normally an angel but because Hunter had been so kind in letting me sleep in until 9:50am. Early on in our marriage this kind of thing happened much more frequently, my mood dictated whether or not I would be kind to Hunter. It’s so hard to humble myself when I’m feeling grumpy for whatever reason, to genuinely be kind, to love someone the way Christ loves me. When I get like this I feel entitled, like I deserve so much more. I lose sight of how much I’ve been given, of God’s grace to me, of His forgiveness. When I look horizontally, see the dishes in the sink, the pile of laundry yet to be folded, the poop on the wall (wait, what??) I feel like I deserve better. But when I look up I see Christ and all He’s done for me on the cross, He gives me vision to see everything around me through His eyes, but even with His spiritual vision poop on the wall is never a blessing in disguise.

Back to my grumpy morning story: I woke up and felt like there was so much to be done, that if I didn’t do the dishes in the sink no one would (*cough*HUNTER). I’m not sure why I was suddenly upset by this but I was willing to be mad at Hunter over something that could easily be solved. As moms, its easy to mull over things our spouse isn’t doing, complain with girlfriends, and hold it against our spouse all the while not communicating our initial objection. And I don’t know about your husband but mine is completely at a loss for what I might be upset about if instead of plainly telling him I play a game of charades. Because I was so focused on myself I didn’t even thank Hunter for letting me sleep in, instead I was mad at him for not cleaning, something he said he would be happy to do if I had asked.

Another reason I woke up in a bad mood was my sisters had left the night prior from visiting all week and it’s always hard when life goes from out of the ordinary back to the ordinary. However having three kids has definitely made daily life feel exciting, especially when each child needs me at the same time and I have to choose which to momentarily abandon. Thankfully I wasn’t alone Monday evening while Hunter was teaching a class; my sisters and I were finishing up dinner while Parker and Joy were in the bathroom “washing their hands” which could also be translated as “playing with the bathroom door instead of actually washing their hands”. All simultaneously, Parker slammed the door on this finger, Joy needed to pee and was locked in the bathroom that Jonathon had just slammed the door on (and remember Joy’s in the process of being potty trained so every time she realizes she needs to pee it’s almost too late), and Ezra (four months old) pooped out of his diaper enough so that it was on my jeans. To my surprise everything felt quite calm because each of us could attend to each kid at once. Moral of the story: I need to hire my sisters to live with me.

Having kids is a juggling act but the older my kids get the more I have vision for the future. There are days when I feel like they will never be independent enough to put on their own shoes, make their bed, or wipe themselves (tmi?) but it’s in the little things that the big things become possible. For example, this week Parker and Joy emptied the dishwasher; Parker did so with little help from me and Joy did so with a lot of help from me. It is much more work for me to have them help in the kitchen, for them to put the dirty clothes in the washer, to transfer said clothes to the dryer, but it is of utmost important that they become blessings to other people and to be a blessing you have to learn how to serve.

If you want your children to eventually be helpful young adults, a blessing to their future spouse, start teaching them the moment they are capable to put their toys back in the toy box. I hate to give any literal parental advice in writing because there are legalistic parents who lack common sense (if that’s you, stop it!). If you want your kids to be helpful by clearing the table, or setting the table (something even a two year old can do) then it is imperative that you lead by example. Additionally, to teach my kids some basic chores has required that I drop everything else and literally do it with them at their pace, all the while encouraging the little or much they may accomplish.

So far everything I have mentioned applies to young children, but it’s not hard to see how this transfers to preteen, teens, and adults. I should also mention that it’s easy to preach, to say “this is how to be a good parent like me”, while lacking empathy, humility, and transparency. I have given an example of my kids successfully doing the chores, but most days don’t go that smoothly, however I was encouraged by their obedience and felt it a testament to many hours spent teaching them how to do something as simple as empty the dishwasher (and no, they don’t actually put any dishes away, they just stack them on the counter).

When life feels like life’s too much, like your kids aren’t progressing as you hoped, or that your sink is always full of dirty dishes and your spouse isn’t good at the game charades, ask Christ to give you spiritual vision to see things the ways He does. The dishes and the dirty clothes will never fully be dealt with because we are alive, we eat and we wear clothes (unless you’re apart of a nudist colony). It is a blessing to be alive and to serve like Christ served. The phases of our children’s lives come and go faster (and sometimes slower) than we want to admit. Every day God gives us an opportunity to be Christ in our children’s lives and while we might be able to teach them important tasks like washing the dishes only Christ can use our example and breathe life into our children’s hearts.

“even as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Matthew 20:28.

Potty Training Fiasco

As a mom you never know what the day might throw at you, or to be more accurate, what your kids might throw at you (I mean that figuratively). Things that make a day great include: getting out of the house without public meltdowns (from you or the kids), the kids playing nicely with each other, ample nap time or any amount of napping for that matter, and of course last but not least, all pee and poo making it’s way into the toilet on its first try. Women who are not yet moms might think my goals are too small, but all the moms of young children might think they’re too big (and I agree with both of you).

Potty training my firstborn was a breeze; it was summertime so we were outside while he paraded his cool new training underwear, that way when he had an accident there wasn’t much clean up involved. Also, he peed a lot more than Joy does. Joy’s bladder is like a ticking time bomb, it doesn’t go off often but when it does it’s like an explosion, so I have to be on guard ready to frantically run her to the toilet. I started potty training Joy on Tuesday and by Friday I was considering postponing until she and I were more emotionally mature. However, Friday was fairly successful so we’re back at it.

WARNING: if poop makes you squeamish you should stop reading now, actually you should probably stop reading my blog altogether.

Day 1: I purchased a ridiculous amount of m&ms and apple juice, then I got out the training toilet and “big girl” underwear. No real success because Joy rarely had to pee. Where was all the apple juice going? I will never know.

Day 2: No success. Must try harder.

Day 3: I walked into the nursery smelling something less than pleasant. Poop. Such a distinct smell and something you only want (?) to smell in the bathroom or around a baby still in diapers. Parker had told me Joy pooped in her underwear and honestly, who’s surprised? We were only three days into potty training and any parent will tell you it’s a tough time on the family, emotionally, spiritually, mentally, physically, metaphysically, ect. Ect. Ect. As I bent down smelling my rug trying to find the problem spots, I realized they were multiplying, like loaves and fishes, only it was poop and unwanted. As if cleaning up poop isn’t fun enough I happened to step in it but I realized it too late because I was wearing slippers. To top it off the rug hid the spots so well because it’s a very dark colored rug, not the color of poop exactly, but close enough. Side note, the rug was originally worth $10 but (plot twist) it cost us $8 because I’m an amazing bargainer. However after what Joy and my slippers have done to the rug it’s probably not worth keeping.

I do recall Parker hiding his poop under my bed the week of potty training him so I think poop in unwanted places comes with the territory of potty training. What made this time so unique and special is I contributed to the mess by unknowingly stepping in the poop, only to proceed to clean up the spots I had originally seen, to then discover new ones every where I was stepping! All the while my three kids were playing downstairs nicely with one another, and as I said earlier that’s ONE OF the aspects that makes a day great.

In my last blog post I talked about how cloth diapering was not as easy as it sounds, wait, it doesn’t sound easy at all. Anyways I foolishly convinced myself that potty training Joy would be easier than continuing with cloth diapering; also, there comes a point in every parent’s life where they are through dealing with a two year old’s poop (not to be confused with poop that is two years old). However, potty training is no relief if the one being potty trained doesn’t understand the basic concept of it. But now I’m committed and we’ve had three relatively good days so no turning back now.

Like anything in life, I want to speed up the difficult parts and rush to the end result because that’s what makes life easier. At this point Joy is essentially potty trained and I’m grateful. It was difficult for a couple days but I kept my eyes on the prize: no more diapers for Joy. And while it seems silly, it marks my little girl growing up; obviously an extremely crucial step to adulthood is knowing how to use a toilet correctly. I can only hope she stops expecting m&ms every time she uses the toilet before obesity sets in.

Covid Christmas

Sitting here in a local coffee shop with piping hot coffee I’m reminded of all the hours spent at Starbucks in Blacksburg, VA “studying”. Half my time was spent watching stupid shows on hulu and the other half was actually spent studying, but not with my full attention because I was always blasting music into my headphones. Someday, when my hearing leaves me I’ll fondly remember all those times during high school and college that I blasted music as loud as I could. That day may be sooner than I think, thanks to my younger self’s carefree spirit. My sweet tooth has thankfully been tamed a bit, because during my time at VA Tech I basically spent my life’s savings on sweet coffee drinks. I probably could have paid for my children to go to college if I didn’t study at Starbucks and instead at hmm…..the school library which was literally made for the express purpose of a distraction free study center (and of course for research). College isn’t expensive enough I guess.

I’m here during nap time which is sacred time, as is bedtime, really whenever my children are sleeping that’s holy, sacred time because it’s a modern day miracle. But when sleep evades my children it evades me. Not only does that mean we’re all sleep deprived, it means that we’re dealing with short emotions. Currently my children are participating in “nap” time, and by nap I mean they are trapped in their room for one hour while I do WHATEVER I WANT (typically that means eat lucky charms with reckless abandon). I love my kids and I love hanging out with them, but it’s a million times more pleasant when they are well rested. Yesterday on the way home from the playground, Parker and Joy were singing “Joy to the World”, Parker paused singing, looked at Joy and said “this song isn’t about you Joy, it’s about Jesus is the Christ”. I love listening to their conversations in the car. They are good kids, even when they don’t get enough sleep.

I’ve been reading a parenting book titled “Gospel Powered Parenting”. It discusses the importance of humility in teaching children the gospel, that children will see hypocrisy and imitate what is done and not what is said. I want my children to know that the gospel isn’t about being perfect, about following a bunch of rules, but that it’s for the sick and needy. I’m not perfect and I’ll never be a perfect mom but I can be a humble mom who admits her faults to her children. I bet everyone of us can look back on our childhood and pinpoint different ways our parents talked the talk but didn’t walk the walk, and it probably evokes strong distaste. We tell ourselves we’ll be different, that we will be better parents than they were. One problem: parenting is a lot harder than we thought it was when we were 16 years old criticizing our parents shortcomings. If I want my children to give me grace for the millions of ways I will mess up, I need to to also extend that same grace to my own parents. We need to teach our children that we need the gospel just as much as anyone else, that no amount of virtue paves the way, that way our children will have a sense of their own need for Jesus.

As an adult it’s easy for me to become complacent, to feel like I’m spiritually cruising through life, like I’m a pretty good person because I’ve made good decisions that have resulted in my good. I don’t truly see my need the gospel if all I do is look to myself, because sure, I’m pretty great…and beautiful, funny, amazing, and did I mention perfect? It’s not until I start to look up and see God in all of His holiness (which means separateness) that I realize the chasm between Him and myself. I want my children to understand their need for Jesus, to not look to themselves for saving. During Bible time I’ll often say something like “we need Jesus to save us because we’re not perfect and we make so many mistakes” to which Parker almost always responds with “but I am good and I don’t need Jesus”. He’s four so I am not taking it seriously, but it’s a testament to our innate pride.

Christmas is right around the corner and I’m feeling physically good. Ezra is three months old, sleeping well, and I’m 10 lbs away from my post pregnancy weight (and I gained 50 lbs every pregnancy). I have some residual varicose veins but I honestly don’t care, probably because it’s winter, we’ll see how I feel about that come summer. Gone are the days of pretty legs, hello to the days of raising my own little humans. And hey, my body is being USED in a priceless way, in the way it was made to be used. I have carried and birthed three amazing children and any scars I have from that should make me grateful (emphasis on should). I have tried to be more conscientious of vanity due to having a daughter. It’s crazy how vanity makes such little sense; for instance, my husband could be telling me I’m the most beautiful woman in the world and I will be crying because I think I look fat and ugly despite his constant praise. I suppose it goes back to an unhealthy obsession with self. I don’t want my daughter to struggle with feeling unworthy based on her physical appearance and because of that I’ve been trying to not say things that degrade myself.

The more I think about how different God is from us, how perfection is hard to even imagine living in this sin ridden world, the more I’m amazed at His coming to earth as a baby. People always say it’s astounding that He would come to earth as a baby and I’ve never actually understood it, and I never will fully until I’m face to face with Him. Everything in this live is deeply marred by sin, so for the Son of God to descend into our midst with the express purpose of saving us from ourselves is truly humbling. I have many many MANY questions and qualms with Christianity that I don’t’ want to explore right now in this post, however with Christmas right around the corner I want to revel and rest in the knowledge of who Jesus is and what he’s done for me. Merry Covid Christmas!

P.S. You can’t cancel Christmas anymore than you can cancel your own birthday, as much as you may wish you could cancel your birthday, you can’t.

Parenting Once Again

You know what I miss? Church childcare. Hunter and I have continued to go to church despite the constant interruptions from our kids (I’m talking to you JOY). We go to church because we feel it’s something worth fighting for and shouldn’t be taken for granted. But it’s so hard with three young kids. It feels like a losing battle, one of us is always having to leave and watch the two youngest and the one sitting in is having to coax Parker to behave. It’s important to us that Parker learn how to sit still for 30 minutes but so far the young lad hasn’t caught on.

Here’s my suggestion: lets go back to the good old days when an adult walked the aisle with a switch, ready to use on a fidgety child. We will never need childcare again! (I’m kidding…maybe…)

On our way home from church I innocently suggested we go out to eat, little did I know what I was signing us up for. We literally never go out to eat, we used to go once a week but since having Ezra it’s probably been closer to once every other week. Not surprisingly Hunter liked the idea, he said “we deserved it” which hey, if I ate whatever I wanted because I was having a hard time with the kids I would be obese, so not a rationale I recommend. Anyways, we went to Chipotle and the wait was long, the food was cold, the kids were fussy, and Joy had a temper tantrum because we gave Parker the food she wasn’t eating. I should have recognized foreshadowing when I heard it; “you said we deserve this” I said glaring at Hunter. I don’t know what we were thinking. Dinner took an hour and we didn’t get home until 8:00 (party animals, am I right?). I would have felt happier flushing that $26 down the toilet.

Today is a new day though, and while my patience quota has already been plowed through for the day (I think it ran out around 10am) I’m grateful for God’s continual grace to me. Parker turned four years old last Tuesday and I’m in disbelief. I’m basically a seasoned parent of an old child, I’m no longer an amateur parent but an expert so if you have any questions at all send them my way (I’ll fwd them to someone that might actually know something). All jokes aside, parenting has felt heavy for a while now, since a couple months before Ezra was born, and I think covid is partially responsible for how difficult it’s been. I do love the stages my children are in, and I truly enjoy being with them, it’s the constant reliance on me for everything that emotionally exhausts me (and the whining). Parenting can be naturally isolating without covid’s help.

I often, or should I say ALWAYS, write about different parenting struggles I’m facing but I can honestly say that there is nothing else I would want to be doing right now at this time in my life. I am certain that I will look back and miss the little faces. I, like you, will look back with fond memories that flood over the bad ones. Everyone tells me to enjoy this time, that it passes quickly, and for many it was their favorite season of their lives. I take that with a grain of salt though, because the people who look back with nostalgia also have amnesia. This may be a wonderful season but like all seasons there are pleasant days and stormy days. I want to be grateful for it all, because each day is a gift and thankfully His mercies are new every morning!

Hard Week

The cold rain outside could not better describe the way I feel right now; Amy Grant said it best, “I’m raining on the inside”. I’m feeling so discontent, angry, and lost. I sometimes feel like my kids are trying to ruin my life, but that is the selfish, me-first, “anything inconvenient is bad”, side of me and it’s straight from the pit of hell because it’s a lie. My children are a joy to me but this week wasn’t a joy. I didn’t know how to motivate Parker to do the right thing, I didn’t work out during nap time like I should have, I haven’t left the house with the kids since Tuesday and we NEED MILK. SEND MILK ASAP! A lot of good things have happened this week though: we cleaned out our basement (miracles do happen), I started a more structured schedule with the kids, Ezra is napping in his own bed, and I’ve made a killer dinner everyday (killer as in awesome, not poisonous). Oh, and we gave Ezra his third bath this week (he’s almost three months old, don’t judge). But this week was so hard, and of course it all started on Monday; Monday taunts “ready or not here I come”!

Monday felt like a crazy day, it felt like the kids were doing everything they could to push me to my mental breaking point. I typically walk away from days like that with feelings of discouragement and shame, because typically their constant nagging, bickering, and fussing leads me to a full out freak out. I have been working on remaining calm when I’m feeling like this, to use my coping skills, take a deep breath, and release all hell, UHM, I mean, ask for help from the Lord and continue to remain calm in the midst of what feels like a bloody battle. During dinner I kept reminding myself I can make it until bedtime, just get them in bed Faith, don’t freak out, you only have another hour, REMAIN CALM.

As a child I know I pushed my mom’s buttons a lot, and while I don’t believe in karma…I’m getting what a deserve. I also remember my mom having huge freak outs and while it did shut me up (which is all she wanted, bless her) I don’t want to lose control of myself. I want my kids to obey me when I’m calm, to not have to feel like I have to put the fear of God in them in order for them to obey. Long story short, I kept my cool during dinner, and got them in bed as early as I could. I would be remiss without mentioning that I make daily mistakes with my children, however, I want my children to see them as just that, mistakes because I’m not perfect. I am going to get so many things wrong and I want my children to see me for what I am, a sinner saved by grace, in the process of sanctification. Every child has to forgive their parents for some things, some, sadly, have to forgive their parents for immense pain caused, I have been blessed to have a healthy, loving relationship with my parents. The older I get (at the sage age of 27) I realize that everyone is marred so deeply by sin. To put anyone, and I mean anyone, on a pedestal is so naive. I don’t say this as a jaded, betrayed girl due to unhealthy relationships, but as an adult who has experienced a healthy marriage and a strong relationship with my parents.

Back to my Monday story, I survived the bedtime routine and wanted nothing more than to just hang out with Hunter, but to be honest I probably would have been happy to hang out with a hobo, just anyone but my sweet children. However for some reason we started talking about hell and it’s existence. I really struggle with trusting God to be loving and kind when hell seems so contradictory to goodness. I know, who am I to make some judgment about God’s goodness, to question God? This girl could work on the fear of the Lord a bit, huh. But I have to go back to the character of Christ, to look to Him and not myself. Hunter had a good question, he said if I was God how would I do it? Because obviously I wouldn’t want the presence of evil to poison the perfect existence in heaven. And thank God I’m not God because I really don’t know what sounds fair – and of course my judgment of what’s fair and what’s not can’t measure up to God’s perfect judgment.

With Christmas approaching, I’m reminded of God’s grace towards me. That He saw fit to save ME; when I lose sight of my personal connection to Him and start focusing on my children more, I start to give into fear and not faith. I have to choose to trust Christ and His perfect judgment, and to know that Heaven is going to be perfect. It will be perfect no matter what, no matter who is or isn’t there. God gave me and Hunter our children for a reason, and I believe it’s so that we can have the joy of raising them in the knowledge and fear of the Lord – and ultimately to give them back to the Lord. This week kicked my butt but I know God is faithful and I’m praying He fills in all the cracks where I’ve messed up and will continue to mess up. I love my kids so much but lately they have been driving me insane, and I literally wonder if I won’t end up in a psyche ward (JUST KIDDING…maybe?!?!). Honestly a psyche ward might feel like a vacation. #vacation2021

Joy

Written 12/2019

Hi, my name is Overwhelmed, because that word describes me best. Not Faith, not Joy, and certainly not Carefree. Or maybe you could just call me MOM because right now, being Mom feels like cause of the symptom, that is being overwhelmed.

A couple weeks ago my husband went out of town for a business trip. While he was gone I had a terrible time with my kids. I’m not sure why but they were both doing the most; my youngest was so clingy which makes sense considering she’s only just turned one, and it felt like Parker who just turned three wasn’t obeying a word I said. Sometimes I can be crazy and think I will raise well behaved kids….I will believe it into existence (that’s a biblical concept, right?)! When my husband, Hunter, came back from his four day trip he let me have some time alone so of course I went grocery shopping. Such fun it is being an adult. But instead of getting out of the car I just sat there and cried. I felt so overwhelmed with the duties of motherhood that it was a relief to just sit there, plus it felt daring to just waste time like that, did I mention I’m crazy? Motherhood has felt like a burden lately, like I’m so depended upon that it scares me, that I’m not the mom I want to be, and that I don’t have the same wishes I used to have. Here’s a secret that isn’t really a secret because literally my trash man knows this about me: I have always wanted a big family. Growing up, my cousin would always ask me how many kids I wanted and I always said twelve. She thought I was crazy and I agree with her now.

One of the reasons I was crying in the parking lot was because I was thinking of my cousin. I have wanted to sit down and write for a couple months now but it feels so weighty because when I write I want to write about what makes me sad (yeah, this isn’t a happy blog, sorry) and Noelle makes me sad. Noelle’s passing has made life feel so heavy. Like childhood wasn’t that long ago but death is fast approaching and I truly believe that’s not a terrible thing. Currently I’m in a season of life-giving (no I’m not pregnant) and I guess as Christians we’re always in that season considering even death brings eternal life. I still dream of having a big family, of trusting Jesus Christ to lead me and my husband, knowing Christ is the only one who can make my life really count but sometimes I don’t feel life-giving.

I make my life small and meaningless when I live for temporary pleasures. Sure I want my kids to obey, to follow simple commands, but when they don’t am I upset because they are a nuisance to me and I feel entitled to an easy day or because their disobedience can hurt them in a variety of ways? I have seen women who care so deeply for their beautiful house, their stylish clothes, and their expensive haircuts that they make a small dull world for themselves. Disclaimer: all those things can be great but I want to live my life knowing that if all those things suddenly disappear my life would still be joyous and surrounded by eternal relationships. I have also seen people care so much for their junk, uhm, I mean “stuff”, as if certain items in their house hold eternal value. Funny thing is, hoarders and wonderful interior decorators can have the same issue: materialism.

Again, I should say I like stuff too and I care a lot about having a tidy house. But when I think of my cousin, of the brevity of life, it makes me want to live 100% for Jesus and the relationships He’s given me. I love interior decorating but I want to live open handed; having a fun kid-friendly house might not be as aesthetically pleasing but these four walls hold countless memories that I hope bless everyone who enters. What’s really difficult is to live open handed with people. I know mentally that I need to give my kids to the Lord every day but it feels impossible at times. I rely on myself to keep them safe, to raise them right, and when I live life this way I end the day depressed feeling like there is no way I can do it all again the next day.

I think of Noelle a lot, I think of the conversations we had, the hopes I had for her, and of course of her family who is left without her. I remember on her wedding day, I was speaking to one of my Aunts and I said something like “well what’s done is done and she’s married now” because that is what I have for the most part believed, that once you’re married you are married for life. My Aunt responded saying not necessarily, that she could divorce. And you know what, I really assumed that would happen, that Noelle would have a chance to get it right a second time with someone better, someone who genuinely loved Jesus and her.

What I struggle with is seeing the good in life in light of so much evil, of seeing Jesus at work in the pain. Of believing that the joy and innocents of children is something worth fighting for and continuing. That even amidst death there is new life, new life in Christ and literally new life in the form of babies here on earth. Aren’t babies just the best? Something so small, innocent, and helpless and yet it calls for you to care for it and to keep living, and not just living, but to live life with joy knowing that your joy is contagious. I want to live that way for my kids. And did I mention my daughter’s name is Joy? She was born soon after my cousin’s death and I am reminded of the JOY in life even in dark times because of her.

I suppose it all goes back to trusting Jesus, knowing that there is joy even in a season of death. That as a believer there is always new life all around me, that as I grow old I will see my children’s children and be reminded of God’s faithfulness to me and my family. I want to enjoy life’s simple pleasures, the messes in the kitchen, the jumping on beds (not the falling off part), the slobber on my glass front door from making silly faces. I guess it comes down to being thankful for the little I do have, and through thankfulness the little I do have grows and becomes everything.

At least I Wrote This Week

I gotta be honest with you, and this isn’t easy for me to admit, but I have nothing to write about this week. Okay, actually that was really easy to admit. I made this insane, ambitious goal to post once a week until the day I die, well not that long, just for a year. I don’t know what I want to do once I’m finished with my current career of being a Stay at Home Mom but I know it possibly includes writing of some sort. That being said, if I don’t write for 10 years and then attempt getting a job using a skill I haven’t practiced it will probably be difficult. Plus, I want to push myself in ways being a mom doesn’t push me. Not to mention chronicling young motherhood is important for the practical reason of remembering what it was like when my children were little. Being a stay at home mom of little ones is not always mentally stimulating, although it’s becoming more so the older Parker gets. But I’m learning from my husband that just because someone may have a prestigious job does not mean they always feel challenged or mentally stimulated.

One of the reasons making one blog post a week is so dang difficult is because I still haven’t figured out nap time with three kids. I typically find that Ezra, the 9 week old, wakes up the moment Joy falls asleep. He’s too young to be conspiring with her but I have my suspicions. And of course Parker has given up on naps so making him stay in his room for “quiet” time (inappropriately named, mind you) uninterrupted for the whole hour is nearly impossible because he coincidentally always has to poop during that hour. On top of that, Joy hasn’t been napping but she does stay in her crib and sing for the whole duration of a typical nap time. Still, I know I could crank out some time to write if I didn’t feel so exhausted during nap time. So kids, thanks for giving me great writing material and NO thanks for the lack of energy and constant interruptions.

All this talk of constant interruptions reminds me of our basement which has been a work in progress since we moved in four years ago. Hunter is just now finishing up the baseboards and I’m so excited to not trip over the pile of baseboards that used to lay on the floor. I’m pretty sure they have been laying there for over a year now. But isn’t that the story of every basement ever? Anyways, Hunter’s had to make many trips to Lowes and the past two times he’s brought Parker along. I can’t believe my little guy is going to be four in 16 days. Parker is such a smart, kind hearted, and funny guy. He loves to explain how things work to his little sister Joy and she loves to listen and respond with “no Pawkah, no.” Parker loves to be a big man and help his Daddy with the never ending house projects.

I’m so grateful that my children will grow up with a father who loves them and wants to be with them. Parker identifies so much with his dad; for example, just this week as Hunter took off his shirt to get dressed for work, Parker immediately ripped his off too explaining the he was suddenly hot. Additionally, Hunter loves spicy food so Parker has chosen to love spicy food despite not truly liking it, and let me tell you he has cried many times because we gave him the hot sauce that he wouldn’t stop fussing for. Natural consequences for the win! Today as Parker sat in his car seat in the front (there’s no back seat) of the f150, grinning with excitement, I took a mental snapshot because this time in his life, spending time with his dad, is so precious and important for his overall success.

When I challenge myself to do hard things, such as reading or writing during nap time (as opposed to vegging out on the phone or TV) or eating healthy when I don’t feel like it (which is all the time) I become a capable mom not ruled by mere emotions. While it’s difficult to use my limited free time to learn something new or to document my children’s childhood, I know it will be worth it in the long run because of who it makes me. Similarly when I ask my children to do things they don’t want to they are developing self discipline that will transfer to adulthood (and that hopefully they saw their parents exemplify). The background music of Ezra crying isn’t helping me conjure up any more inspiration than that. I suppose he’s trying to challenge his mom to not have a nervous breakdown. Actually I think all three of my kids are challenging me in that regard.

Vomit

“STOP IT. SWALLOW AND DON’T YOU DARE MAKE YOURSELF THROW UP” I found myself yelling to my almost 4 year old this week. I had to pause and ask myself, how did I get here? How did I become so invested in him eating his leftovers from the morning’s breakfast that I was yelling, literally yelling, at him to suck it up and swallow.

Ever have one of those days where you know it’s going to be a terrible day, like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed? Well that was Wednesday for me and of course God knew what was up because it was also raining. And because I’m the Momma that meant Parker and Joy were also feeling like it was probably a bad day because mother knows best. I made the kids a delicious breakfast of fig jam, brie cheese, and egg all stuff nicely into a roti chapati (an Indian flatbread). It was honestly delicious and I guess it was way beyond Parker’s taste because he hated it. I, feeling like I would win this fight, decided to save it for him for lunch. Little did I know I was picking the wrong battle (that’s foreshadowing if you didn’t know).

Not wanting to let the rain stop me, I decided to run some errands; I had returns for a shoe store and for Target. While at the shoe store Joy and Parker were running wild inside. Suddenly they had completely forgotten what “come here” and “stay with me” means (amnesia?!?!). I kept my eye on the entrance of the store, happy to know they were at the very least inside of the store running rampant rather than outside in the parking lot. Meanwhile Ezra (8 weeks old) was in the stroller being a perfect angel. I look like one of those well-meaning moms who everyone pities because she’s in way over her head and apparently can’t stop having kids. I was flustered to say the least.

“Parker and Joy come here! Hold on to the stroller and stop running around.” And as you can guess my demands were not met with obedience. Eventually I was done returning my shoes and we regrouped (not without some serious mom threats which shall remain unknown).

Hilariously the store manager commented, “your children are so well behaved”

“but they’re not listening to me!” I responded

“what kids do?” she said

And of course my children do not always listen to me but when we’re in a store they normally know to shape up, though never without a good prep talk in the car beforehand.

You would think that after the shoe store saga I would give up and go home but Target was calling my name and I had the excuse of needing to return an item so we set off for Target. While there Parker started to complain about being hungry and wouldn’t you know it, I had saved his breakfast and brought it with me. And again, wouldn’t you know it, he would rather starve then eat that. I honestly didn’t think he actually disliked the food and thought instead that he was merely being stubborn. On the way home Parker and Joy fell asleep in the car so when I arrived home I laid them down and to my surprise Parker continued to sleep for two hours which is something he doesn’t typically do anymore.

After nap it was time for snack so I told Parker he could have chips after he ate his beloved leftovers. Parker’s a smart kid so he convinced Joy to eat most of his food which I was perfectly fine with. But eventually Joy was over it and so I told Parker he only needed to eat three bites so he quickly took three bites. That’s when he threw up. Talk about melodramatic; a trait he must have inherited from his father…

I know, not my best mom move, and trust me I felt bad about it once he was throwing up. But in the moment I was angry at Parker for not budging. But Parker felt remorseful, crying and apologizing for throwing up. I of course told him that I forgave him, loved him, and that he still had to eat his leftovers. Haha, I’m kidding about that last part. I finally gave up on the stupid battle and threw the leftovers where they belonged, in the depths of hell (also known as the trash).

Whenever I have a terrible day like the day I’ve described I treat everyone like they’re against me, even Hunter. Later that night Hunter reminded me that he’s on my team and I don’t need to isolate myself when I’m feeling down. Raising kids can feel like very unrewarding work, especially if I’m looking to feel rewarded by them. One of the issues of my terrible Wednesday was the constant fussing of Parker and Joy. When the day consists of a lot of fussing I’m like a bomb ready to go off.

The next day was a great day; I had low expectations, gave my kids my full attention, played with them, disciplined them when necessary, and didn’t act like they owed me anything. Kids don’t respond well to parental entitlement. If I act like they are inconveniences from what I’m entitled to, they demand even more attention because children lack empathy and maturity. There are battles worth fighting, like finishing leftovers, but I lost when I became so emotionally invested in winning the battle that I didn’t know when to stop fighting. Moral of the story, some battles are worth postponing for another day, like a Thursday or a Friday, definitely not on a rainy Wednesday.

Don’t Just Speak It, LIVE IT

I’ve been thinking about Time…I know, me and billions of other people. Anyways, Time. Always moving never stopping for anyone or anything. It seems a bit harsh that when someone dies the world doesn’t care or stop moving, that is unless they were famous or their death has a political significance. I have always resented the idea that because something or some belief brings you peace that that alone validates the belief. Many people find peace in beliefs/religions that are completely false.

So with that premise, I find much peace in knowing that I’m not living for this life and that my hope in Jesus isn’t merely based on a feeling because honestly, if I just wanted a good feeling religion I wouldn’t choose Christianity. But I get to have a relationship with the God of the Universe, and He promises that the life to come is eternal and perfect because of Jesus. Crazy enough, I can’t guarantee that future for anyone other than myself, and that’s a hard pill to swallow even for someone like me who has no trouble swallowing pills.

Being a parent has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, emotionally, physically, mentally. Suddenly my own life doesn’t feel that important compared with theirs while ironically it feels much more important because these little eternal souls rely on me and my husband so much. And yet, with all I have I can’t save them; I have to every day give these people to God, to trust that He actually does love them more than me (I really struggle believing that). My hearts biggest desire is that each of them would come to know Christ as their personal Savior.

“These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

And lemme tell you, raising kids isn’t a walk in the park, but still I doubt Jesus is talking about child-rearing when he says “tribulation”, haha. I have to constantly remind myself that Christ calls me to “be of good cheer” because He has overcome the world, and He wants to overcome all my fears concerning my children and their futures. I can be of good cheer not because I’m lying to myself that everything will be okay but because Jesus has made everything perfect. If what I want more than anything is for my children to grow up and love the Lord then I need to be of good cheer. I often fool myself into believing that the more I pray for my children the more my prayers will be answered, but if my prayers are rooted in fear and disbelief my children will grow up seeing prayer as powerless and a crutch.

As a kid, I was pretty emotional (just ask my mom, bless her), I either felt super happy or extremely sad. As a hormonal postpartum mom of three children 3 years old and under, those feelings have been magnified because of all the responsibilities I have, however I’ve limited temper tantrums to once a week. Nothing depended on how I felt as a kid but now if I’m not emotionally healthy my whole family falls apart rapidly (like, it’s crazy fast). I literally was just a kid and now I’m married, have three kids, and my parents are grandparents (and they look older, no offense Dad and Mom). Having kids has forced me to think about the brevity of life much more frequently than I would otherwise. Reader (if you exist), you probably would assume I’m 80 years old based on how much I write about death but alas I’m only 27 however my husband is 29 so he’s basically a goner.

I am still in disbelief that my cousin is gone and more so that we will all eventually die. Like why didn’t anyone tell me that?!?!?! Well aren’t you lucky to be reading this blog post, because now you know if you didn’t already that someday YOU too will die. If covid doesn’t get you something else will, maybe heartache depending on who wins the election or maybe you’ll die before the results appear because that could take forever. One thing is for sure, Jesus is preparing a place for us where there will be no more death, tears, or presidential elections, and no matter how much we pray for our children they have to come to their own conclusions about the validity of Jesus and His claims, we can’t speak it into existence but we can live out the Gospel and prayerfully love our children.

My hope is built on nothing less
than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.