Show Me the Parent Who Thinks They Are Doing it Right

Tonight I glanced down to the kids at the foot of my bed. Maia took all her clothes off, again. Noah had a huge portion of my comforter in his mouth. Before I could properly admonish anyone I hear the familiar sound of water streaming onto my carpet. I literally JUST let the dogs out. Are you kidding? 

Is it harder to parent kids when you are sick just because you are zapped of all your energy and just generally find everything bothersome, or do kids, like conversations saved for when you are on the phone, save their strangest and most needy behavior for when you are sick? I hate summer colds. But more than anything, I hate to be sub-par for the 3 hours a day during the week that I get to hang out with my boos. I truly look forward to those hours. Then have had my fill after 15 minutes, but thats not the point. I have BIG PLANS for the twilight of the day, from 6-9 when my attention is literally all they need to feel fulfilled and loved and grow into happy, healthy, productive people. 

Or not. I am not saying that my efforts as their parent have no bearing on their perceptions of their selves and the world around them, it certainly does. But I get a little frustrated when I try to shelter them from the darkness in the world that abounds. I filter what they are exposed to in my care to keep them little for as long as possible. They have their whole lives to deal with the anxiety and weight of reality. 

When I ask Noah about his day today, he proceded to recount his zombie game. But he quickly corrected himself, "No, not zombies, I mean we played that we loved each other." Which is straight out of my mouth...when I hear him playing and everything is all explosions and "die" this and 'I'm gonna kick you" that I say "Noah, I know you are havng fun playnig good guy bad guy, but sometimes it is good to practice pretending to show love to one another, because that can be fun too, dont you love it when your friends do something nice for you?" 

So, back to the zombie/love fest fib...I made sure to let him know that I would much rather him tell me the truth about something I dont like than lie to me to make me like what he says. Where is that line between sheltering them too much, and setting boundaries and rules that are so rigid that your kids just try to fake it for you, and letting them do what they want and be who they are? Sill looking for that one. 

Then there is Maia who has taken to this new bear. She has always been my attachment-item child. She takes this bear everywhere. Tonight I hear her talking to the bear, "Is that cool? Isn't that so cool?" And she does this thing where every word she says to me she furrows her brow and gives it an extra syllable and puts -aah at the end. (Read: Nooo-aaah; pleassseee-aaah)  Everything she does lately comes from someone other than me. I wonder who says cool at the daycare. She plays shy child, and doesnt talk and plays coy. There is nothing wrong with it, just what do I do with that? So far I am going with the 'ignore it' method, and that's what I'll try until something worse develops. 

When my kids behave in a way that is the opposite of what I have taught them, I take it personally. A direct hit on my parenting skills. I know each parent has a different default response when their kids get into trouble. When mine do, I don't get defensive, I ask a LOT of questions, give it time, and usually  just get really offended that he didn't listen to me. Maia is young for this yet, but I have a feeling she is saving it all up for a time really soon. Reading it now is sounds so ego-centric and unhelpful. I also discipline and talk with the kid, but I doubt myself constantly. If he didn't listen to the lesson before, why would I think he'll respond to disciplinary techniques?

A friend gave me good advice the other day that I am trying to heed. I have to remember that God made my kids. He knows them better than me and has a plan for them which their little characters are perfect for; good, bad, and ugly. I did not make them the way that they are. All I can do is give them tools to sharpen the good and buff out the bad and teach them to develop good habits. And pray. A lot. Lord help me. 

And this is just the beginning. 

 

 Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.

~Proverbs 22:6

Godspeak

Today I experienced the loveliest demonstration of divine intervention. Boy, when you start a story out that way, you really have to deliver…but I think I can. This is a perfect example of how God shows up in the most subtle ways. His language is all too easy to overlook; foreign to many.  Without open hearts and minds that are trained and sensitive to his communication, we could miss the best moments of our lives.  

Last night, I’m being a responsible adult mom, making treats for about 20 VBS (Vacation Bible School) volunteers at my church. I made two types of s’mores treats, 2 dozen mini-muffin sized treats and a dozen regular cupcake sized ones, you know, because I had leftover ingredients and we can’t waste. That’d be tragic. Mistake #1: I baked a snack (without a recipe) that I have never made before. That’s right, I dreamed something up that I thought would taste good and executed it with my limited baking understanding for some of the world’s best VBS mommy volunteers.

 

I made them right before bed, during my 15 sacred minutes between child bedtime routines and when I pass out from exhaustion, pulled them out of the oven and set them, covered, on top of the stove, then turned in for the night. Note: All my SAHM (stay at home mom) friends who have been here before, because everyone has to start somehwere, and my wonderful ladies who just enjoy baking know where this story is going. Needless to say, when I awoke I discovered that my yummy mini-muffin s’mores treats had become sticky caramelized marshmallow taffy treats that may have been good if advertised as candy except that they looked like someone had regurgitated them. Not using those.

 

I checked my cupcake-sized s’mores, those looked edible. So I grabbed them on my way out the door. Let’s not forget that I didn’t grab shoes because I have 16 pair in my car, (Mistake #2) so I’ll throw some on later. When I pull into my space at church, however, I remember that I cleaned out my car last night. No shoes. I fought with myself for a minute about what to do. I am already rendering an offering of a dozen potentially disgusting treats to a group of 20 or so super-moms. Would it be the nail in my coolness-coffin to deliver them barefoot?  I decided it’s church, and we bring our good, bad, and ugly here. On the way in I dropped 2 of them, so now that’s approximately half the needed amount of treats. I’m on a roll.

People were nice; they smiled and laughed with me about my shoes and my not so great treats. Fast forward to exiting the church engrossed in self-doubt and shame, I am now worried about the treats that I just dropped off. Thinking about the people who will be trying them, asking who brought them, and dreaming of someone choking on it or spitting it out and throwing it away…’they would have just not brought anything’. Just then I caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Radiant, smiling; I recognized it as the face of a young woman with children who learned recently that she has a rare and serious form of cancer with a low survival rate. She is a member of my church and a recent video testimony of this learning process in her faith life has gone viral among locals.  I didn’t even have to think about it, I started after her and said “Ma’am?”

She turned around. It could have been awkward, or forced. It could have seemed trite and intrusive. There are so many ways that our impromptu conversation may have gone, but it was natural, and surreal and heavenly. I tell her that I’ve seen her video and hug her and thank her for her strength, for sharing her story of pain and darkness and realizing that she has a purpose, a Godly purpose for this trial. She tells me she feels as though God is carrying her. That now, all she feels is blessed when she wakes up each day. We hug, and smile, and love each other like we are sisters. And we are. We are heavenly sisters, whose spirits yearn for our home and we don’t even recognize it because our bodies are so heavy on this earth that they overpower our upward longing.

 

Looking back, I am surprised that people passing by didn’t stop and watch in awe of the aura of light coming surrounding our union. It sounds dramatic, but it was dramatic. It was a brief moment of such clarity and peace and love, one that can only come from God. And it changed my perspective on the day, on this whole week.

My life, filled with trepidation about the opening of a new restaurant, and missing my husband as he leads that process, and balancing service to my church family, and job, and kids, and friends, and those in need and struggling with illness…the list goes on. But it seems we all have a similar list, I am reminded that it’s not our circumstances that define us, rather how we handle them.

The most interesting part is not how natural our meeting was, it’s how it happened. God spoke to me this morning, not in words, but by a divine appointment that I recognized I was meant for. If I had not recognized that I should speak with my new friend this wonderful, unforgettable and pivotal moment in my existence would never have happened. God doesn’t speak with a resounding thunderous voice in my head. He speaks in moments. These God moments are not coincidence. They are the deliberate manner in which God speaks to his children who have ‘ears to hear.’ Practice listening. You’ll be surprised what you find.

But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear.  For truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it, and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.           

   ~Matthew 13:16-17

Slow Down and Live

The day before yesterday I worked, went to soccer practice, took dinner to a friend, dropped kids with mom, decorated the church for VBS, picked up the kids, took them home and put them into bed. They slept the whole ride home, so I was elated to skip bedtime drama. However, mid-delectable-nightcap-ice cream-bite, my toddler quietly snuck into the kitchen and said, “Mommy I can’t sleep unless you come lay with me. I want to watch a movie.” How do I say no? I haven’t seen her all day. So away I go, forfeiting my quiet time to fall asleep in a twin bed watching Brave.  My Monday and Tuesday were similar with odd jobs and errands and obligations all day long into the evening, so I haven’t spent much time at home this week at all.

As you can imagine, I was so thankful to have NOTHING planned yesterday after work. Never mind that we don’t get home until 6, and the kids’ bedtime starts at 8:30, I was excited about spending some quality time.  But the sink was full of dishes and someone had wet the bed and the house smelled like dusty, stale trash and urine-filled murky dishwater. So, while attempting to tame that beast, I remembered something I saw on Facebook (Like all responsible parents, I get all of my socialization, news, and daily inspiration from Facebook) that recommended certain household chores broken down into age appropriate groups.  I remember the glorious moment when I realized that my kids don’t do any chores and this is a perfect way to be together and get things done at the same time!

I could make a chart and have stickers and organization and incentives and competitions and rewards and --- except I am tired and who has time for that, so instead I put on my ‘have-I-got-a-treat-for-you’ face and excitedly explained how the children are finally old enough to help mommy with bog boy and girl tasks! I used all of the Fun Mom voice I could muster and they bought it! Oh it was wonderful.  Maia was using the brush and pan to “sweep” the bathroom floors (really just spreading dirt about), and Noah was dusting the living room while I cleaned bathrooms and emptied trash.  Maia helped me load the dishwasher and Noah helped me unload and load laundry.

It was not ideal. We didn’t laugh and have a slow motion water fight or put stickers on a chart, but we all cleaned up and the kids felt useful and I made all over them about how impressed I was with their helper skills. By the time we had finished it was nearly bed time, but I lay down on my bed, utterly exhausted, and Maia brought me a picnic on my bed. I still had sheets to put on a bed and trash to take out, but that was the best darn pretend food I’ve ever had.  

I meant to clip the dogs’ toenails and get some other work done, but instead I decided that letting the kids go to bed in front of a movie was just not enough after the week we’ve had. It was a read books to the kids kind of night. To my surprise, the kids didn’t fight the book idea. They each grabbed 4 or 5 books (I had to remind them the 2- each limit). So, we read and read and read. And the listened intently and asked relevant questions and made astute observations and I realized these guys are growing up, so fast.

I tucked Noah in and he was asleep before I even left his room. I lay down with Maia for a moment and curled up with her back to me, she turned around and quietly said “Thanks for reading those books”.  It took my breath away that she even cared. We moms seldom get thank you’s from our kids. We don’t expect or need them. But wow, what an impact. I want to feel like that every night.

 

After putting on the bed sheets and taking out the trash, I finally lay down to read my book, and hubs gets home. He meanders into the room and lies down beside me. I love him so much and miss him not being home most nights, but somehow he almost always manages to come home right as I am getting my first moment of relaxation to myself. I try my best not to be annoyed and look at him, ready to listen. He wants to read a devotional, which he knows I normally love and need. So I listen to him read to me, and we discuss it and I thank him for reading me a book.

Funny how making a deliberate (and sometimes strained) effort to ignore my plans in light of others fulfillment makes me feel the most content.  Thank God for growth, and enjoyment in simple moments with my sweet family. Thank You for the motivation to be less selfish with my time. Thank You (in advance) for helping me remember this.

I am Love

So, I quit camping with my kids. We dipped out a day earlier than planned. It was an easy decision, really. Kids were bored and tired and uncomfortable, and so were we, which as you can imagine created a lovely vacation ambiance.  I can’t accurately describe how unpleasant some of the trip was. I tried. SO. Hard. To keep a smile on my face, to relax and enjoy, remaining upbeat and positive and finding fun and interesting things to do…but it was rainy most of the time. Rainy, and muddy, and buggy with no campfire and wet sheets on the bed and three out of four of us (Hubs was the lucky one) had a nasty cold.  See? Let’s go home. Easy. Nonetheless, it felt like I was giving up, a failure.  For about a minute, then it just felt good.

 

I mean, I knew it would rain, I prepared for it. We had extra tarps, extra towels, raincoats and boots, and even waterproof fire starters. I brought along activities to keep bored kids busy in the tent in the event that we could not get out—like books, art supplies, games, bubbles, vocab cards—but did not take into account my own motivation, which diminished with each sporadic rainfall.  It is hard to remain positive when you don’t feel good, and anyone’s positive outlook would be deflated with the weather we experienced, so I give myself a pass on this trip. But it could very easily turn into a pity party and appear to have been a wasted trip, if I didn’t chose to view it through God’s eyes.

The kids had an amazing time. They were so excited to be sleeping outdoors. We listened to the rain on the tent, read books and took naps together. There was a beautiful beach that we were fortunate enough to visit 3 of the 4 days in between showers, which the kids LOVED. Daddy played with them in the water while mommy watched from the shore. There were crabs in that water, ya’ll.  Live crabs.  I am pretty sure I saw on their faces and heard in their squeals numerous times what must be the purest Joy.

Day 1: Setup camp, cooked dinner on the campfire, visited the camp’s swimming beach, which was pristine and had a pretty cool setup for family pictures (4 oversized Adirondack chairs that each had a letter L-O-V-E on them), after checking that out we went back to camp for bed.

Day 2: Woke up at 6 AM, hubs made breakfast, went to the beach for an hour, had lunch at Sting Ray’s, napped, drove around in the rain for an hour looking for coffee and cookies. We ended up at McDonalds…who knew all businesses were either closed on Mondays or close at 5 PM on the Eastern shore, gracious.  

Day 3: Best coffee ever at Cape Charles coffee house, went to the hardware and everything else store and met Bill and Joseph, the 2 nicest men in town, and bought a sand castle set and soccer ball for the beach, then went over to the beach where Noah saw a kite-surfer. We had lunch in the car and then drove out to Chincoteague, saw the Assateague light house,  played mini golf and the kids rode a bouncy ride, had dinner at Don’s and found the BEST ice cream I have ever tasted at a cart called BYOC (Build Your Own Cookie). We must get one of these close to home!  

Day 4: (My Birthday) We had coffee at Cape Charles Coffee House, then went shopping in town where I found a pretty birthday dress at Periwinkles, then an early dinner at AQUA restaurant. This was the decided capstone to my birthday and our trip, and as remembered, the ambiance was wonderful! Service left something to be desired, but the food was very good. However, my inability to enjoy the experience because I felt crummy was what did us in. I gave up; waved the white flag. We returned to camp to pack up, stopped by stingrays for some ice cream, and headed home.

I thought on the way home, could I have done a better job at being happy for the kids’ sake? Did I truly make the best of my time off work and responsibility-free? Did I enjoy my husband enough? We never did play Candyland, or take the hike I had imagined, or use the raincoats we bought (we needed them, just never had them handy when the shower started).

Then, through God’s eyes, I realized that the time we had together was exactly as it should have been.  The kids had their family all together in one place. We spoke loving words to each other. We smiled a lot, sang songs, painted seashells, talked about nature, and slept next to one another.  One night Noah woke up crying saying “I don’t want Daddy to leave”. That same night, Maia did something similar. They knew in their subconscious mind that this time together was temporary and they were dreading getting back to the everyday routine of busy, just-enough-to-get-the-job-done life.  

You see, I am becoming more and more aware that my self-perception is the filter through which every other thing is seen, heard, understood, and experienced. My opinion of myself is directly related to my reaction to a situation, how I relate to others, and the action(s) I chose to take.  I am equally aware that my children learn by my example. The choices I make affect their perspective of the way the world should work.

I could be negative about this trip, about being sick and not being enough….fill in the blank. But I am learning that to view myself as anything less than marvelously exploding with capability would at best ignore, and at worst refute God’s work in my life; His presence in me, that is never separate from me.  I am a blessed example of God’s love. I try and sometimes fail, but most often succeed to give that love to others.

God doesn’t value me based upon who I am; rather He sees me as the one He created, and what I have the potential to be, and what I am becoming each day in Him.  God is love. (1 John 4:8) And he is in me (John 15:4), so I am love. And THAT is how I shall attempt to see myself.  

Brothers and sisters, I myself don't think I've reached it, but I do this one thing: I forget about the things behind me and reach out for the things ahead of me. The goal I pursue is the prize of God's upward call in Christ Jesus.

~Philippians 3:13-14

Summertime and the Living is Easy...I hope

My beautiful husband and I are taking a vacation next week! Woo-stinkin-Hoo! I am beyond excited. We are going to the Eastern Shore; Assateague, Chincoteague, Cape Charles, and who knows where else.  We are taking the kids CAMPING for four nights at Kiptopeke State Park.

You read right, we are taking our 5 year old Noah and our 2 year old Maia tent camping. And I am not scared, not in the least. I am excited about it. Something about camping just does it for me. I love to be outside, I love trees and campfire and wind blowing through my tent and having nature’s symphony lull me to sleep. I love packing for camping, and I love setting up camp. I love making order of the chaos and living simply.

 

Granted, we are car camping at a state park, so we will have electricity and bathrooms and showers very close by, so we are not roughing it in the slightest, but there is still something exhilarating about meeting the challenge of having to cook food on an open fire and wash clothes and dishes in a bathroom sink and having everything we need packed up in the trunk of my car to survive outside for the better part of a week.  When we get there and set up camp, and begin living outdoors, and we meet our first obstacle, and I have packed something which becomes the solution, I seriously get a high from that, it’s disturbing really.

 

 

And so I have been packing since Monday. We leave Sunday after church, today is Friday and we are just over halfway packed. Oh, well, you know, I had to create a Camping! Board on Pinterest, and fill it with awesome ideas about camping and what-to-do-with-your-toddler-while-camping, then I had to implement about 5 out of 300 of those suggestions.  So now the kids are packed, and our swimming/rain bag is packed, and our kitchen/bathroom/Campsite boxes are packed.  We still have to pack ourselves and kids’ toys and pack a cooler with groceries. What’s that you say? Of course I planned the menu already! But we are only planning to cook about 6 meals, since I figure it will rain some and we won’t be able to get a good fire going, so we will have to eat out (tough life).

The best part about camping is that we grow closer each time. We make memories each time. We are forced to talk. Phones, TVs, movies, these are no longer a part of our relational process. We are forced to find things to do with each other or die of boredom.  I am especially excited that Maia is coming this year. It will be her first year camping. Noah has gone each year since he was 18 months old.  He loves the dirt, and loves to find “treasures” when we hike, and generally and sincerely picked up a respect and admiration for nature, I like to think as a result of those trips, although it may just be engrained in him.

Maia, however, is a bit prissier by nature. She doesn’t spend as much time outside and is generally whinier and harder to please than Noah.  I have packed paint and we will gather and paint rocks and make art out of them and take pictures of it. I have printed out a leaf identification guide and we will have contests about who can gather the most different leaf types for a prize.  We will have a scavenger hunt, swim in the Bay, climb the lighthouse, hike trails, and I even planned for some spontaneity.

I hear its going to rain, but that doesn’t scare me much. We have rain gear packed, and we will just prepare to be wet. We are going to make the most of this week. We are going to listen to each other, really listen. And we will make memories. I will relax and play and relax and read and relax. I can’t wait. I'm already salivating over the stories to come...pictures to follow*!

 

*I vow not to be so engrossed in capturing the memories that I don't live in them. I will put down the camera and focus on my family.

3 When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, 4 what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? 5 You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor. 6 You made him ruler over the works of your hands; you put everything under his feet: 7 all flocks and herds, and the beasts of the field, 8 the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas. 9 O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!   

~Psalm 8:3-9

 

 

Responding Well

I never know if I am doing it right, parenting. I miss the precious ones when I am at work, and (if I’m being real, here) I wish they’d find something constructive to do by themselves when I am home. But one thing I know, if I respond (not react, respond) from my heart rather than with my reflex-emotion, it somehow always seems to be ok.

 Last night’s teachable moment during bath time goes like this:

 

{Maia screams and runs to me, crying. I go find Noah, the assumed perpetrator}

ME:  What happened?
NOAH:  I pulled sissy’s hair.

ME:  Do you think she liked it?

NOAH:  No.

ME:  Then why’d you do it?

(A few minutes go by; I’m mulling it over trying to figure out the best way to deal with this physical offense when Noah gives me the perfect opportunity)

NOAH:  Am I having a good day, mommy? (Obviously looking for some praise or positive reinforcement)

ME:  Well, you were having a very good day, and it made mommy happy. But then, with one bad decision, you changed the way your day was going. But it didn’t just change YOUR day, it changed Maia’s day. She was happy before you pulled her hair, and now her feelings are hurt and she is sad and angry. But that is not all, it also changed mommy’s day…do you think I like to give you consequences? I don’t. But now I have to think of what consequence to give you, which makes my day worse. Do you understand?

NOAH:  (Obviously upset and genuinely remorseful) Yes. I’m sorry mommy. I’m sorry Maia.

For the rest of the night, Noah was happy, sweet, and played well with his sister. They fell asleep laying on each other in her bed. I forgot about the need to assign a consequence.

Sometimes I remind Noah that I know he is a good kid, that from time to time he makes bad choices just like everyone else in the world, and that even his mommy is not perfect. I will even apologize when I determined a reaction is more harmful than helpful. “Mommy makes bad choices, too, and it is not ok for me to yell like that. I am sorry I didn’t talk to you with more patience and understanding.”  I love it when I remember to turn those very teachable moments into gospel-seeds. When I point to our need for the grace and mercy of Jesus, and the gratitude I feel for his forgiveness every day.

 

Now you know my dark secrets- that I scream, and yes, I will even swat a bottom (!!!) if they need it; although admittedly this is less effective for mine, a lazy reaction that assigns a quick and easy consequence with little comprehension involved. But I really try hard to use bad choice or undesired behaviors as a teaching tool. I prefer to take time to explain the negative nature or consequence of the decision/action and the reason for it. When I focus on the behavior, and not the character of my kid, I think it makes him/her feel like they are still ok. Like they are still capable of good, worthy of good, and they are still free to make good choices. Just maybe this is a more empowering and developmentally rewarding method.

 

 

Why does it matter? Because I think kids need hope. They are just little big people, after all. They need to know, just like I do, that they are worthy of love and that they can make a positive impact on this world; that their existence is valuable and helpful. I think it even makes them try harder to make people happy when they are given grace.

Don’t get me wrong, this momma is a proponent of constant, consistent, and real discipline. I will send my kids to their room to throw their tantrum, or take away their movie/book before bed, or institute the “Consequence Bag” (a pillowcase that ‘eats’ favorite toys, games, and electronic devices when kids misbehave…they have to earn it back. Props to a friend for this one, it got us through some tough phases). Daddy and I sit down together to address major behavioral issues we see cropping up, discuss how best to address them, and inform the caregivers.

At 5 and 2, discipline is constant, for goodness sake. They are still learning how to function in various environments, and let’s face it, the rules change with the environment and the audience; it’s really kind of unfair. But I am trying to instill self-confidence in the midst of the cause-and-effect of their choices. I am trying to be sure their hope remains intact. In order for them to be successful, they have to believe that they can be successful.  

This is why responding is better than reacting. This is why I give myself the same reminder of grace when I mess up (which feels like always sometimes), because my Father loves me infinitely more than I love those little precious ones, and that is hard to swallow. He wants me to have hope, to believe in my own worth. I can make a difference, I can change my mind, and I am able to do, and worthy of great things.  Perhaps the greatest of which is fostering a healthy learning environment for these little humans that live with me.

Last Day Blues

Trina and Alyssa,

I am MOURNING our loss of the best daycare providers God could ever have lead me to. People laugh when I tell them that I met you at your yard sale. And I'm all like, "You wish YOU had her." But, I loved you then and I have been nothing but presently surprised since.

I had some trepidation at the idea of giving my precious ones over to a lady I knew nothing about. This is the first time they have been with anyone other than family.  I called to check up on you. I prayed about you, but something in my gut told me, ‘Do it. They won’t die.’  Not only did they not die, but they learned, they played, they crafted (you do the BEST crafts, the kind I love to display and plan to keep), they got so dirty (you’d think I’d remember to bring wipes and another outfit after so many of the dirt-filled blissful backyard days, but no) but most importantly, they were loved.

 

And not just loved in the ‘everyone-is-special’, positive reinforcement kind of careful, politically correct way, but in the ‘Are-you-crazy? Your-momma-would-never-let-you-do-that-and-neither-will-I-now-go-sit-inside-and-have-a-minute’ kind of way.  The first few days when I would pick them up and you would stop our conversation to correct them even though I was standing right there, I knew I had found the real deal. You treat them all like they are yours. And they love you like you are theirs.

 

You see, I come from the ‘it takes a village’ mentality. And yours is the BEST. DARN. VILLAGE. AROUND. I love you, and will miss you dearly, and if and when we come back to Chester, I hope you will SAVE OUR SPOT.

Love,

Dario, Amber, Noah, and Maia Amato

Mommy-Drunk

Yesterday I may or may not have side-swiped a pole. At a gas station. It may or may not have left a horrifyingly gigantic white paint transfer scrape on my silver SUV. I never claimed to be a great driver. This momma is super glad that the DMV doesn't interview my kids, because they would likely revoke my license.  The incident, we'll call it, was just one of many ways in which this week has STUNK. 

 

I borrowed a DVD bible study, and I am funny about borrowed stuff. Always treat borrowed stuff better than your own stuff, because you want to give it back in a condition that is as good as or better than it was when you got it. Example: don't dog-ear books or crease the spine, *this is hard for me*, if it wasn't that way before it reached your hands. This is so that you keep your great borrower cred. Yes, that is a thing, in my head. Regarding the DVD bible study...the friend wants it back, and I cannot find one of the 6 DVDs in the case. I literally had it in my hand 4 days ago. I ripped apart my room looking for it. I cleaned out my kid-wagon, which is a minor miracle and silver lining to this story, to no avail. The feeling I hate, more than any other feeling, is to have lost something. I feel crazy, out of control, and irresponsible.  I am officially into OCD overdrive right now.

 

 

 Where were my kids while this was happening, you ask? Plugged into a movie in mommy's room. It was a familiar movie, they can probably recite most of it, so of course every 5 minutes they wanted to take a break "Mommy, airplane?" or "Play cars with me! You be this one, what's your name?" To which I answered without thinking or even really listening, "Mommy is looking for something right now, and I cannot play with you."  By the time I called it quits, it was past their bedtime.  An entire evening lost.  Then I thought about the night before. What did we do? Well Noah wet the bed, so I had to clean his sheets, and there was that unidentified rotten food smell I had to isolate and sterilize.  No movie that night, rather, educational apps on the iPad. 

 

 

This week I was "let go" of a volunteer capacity that required more time and effort than I am able to give, and it made me sad. It made me evaluate my commitment to serving others for the Lord. In reality, it was a blessing that the organization gave me this break, because it was not fair to me or them that I could not accomplish all that needed to be done, and now I have more free time to mommy.  I also told the director of preschool at my church that I need to take a break from teaching the class I have taught every other Sunday.  I promptly changed my mind, worried that surely this was a selfish decision and that 'If I don't do it, who will?'

 

Mommy guilt is gently washing away my identity. The heavy and unavoidable reality of responsibility for another human being's perspective of the world is a lot to carry alongside normal adult minutia. I have been a SAHM (stay at home mom) with my kids for extended periods of time, and I am fairly certain, looking back, that I made sure to fill up my time with other necessary tasks and obligations such that I had very little time to "play" or teach, or snuggle, or whatever my insatiable conscience determines makes a good mommy.  So I worry, and I over-extend, and I over-obligate to make sure that it is obvious that I am busy. Why is busy so desirable? Are all good mommies busy mommies? Or do I stay so busy in order to remember my identity outside of 'mommy'?

 

 

 

I know I am not alone. I know that EVERY mom struggles with this. Every. Single. One. But it doesn't make balance any easier. The truth is, it is not healthy for my kids to have me entertain them ever moment of the day. I hear Noah talking to himself in various voices, getting the bad guy and blowing random things up. I hear Maia consoling her baby doll and feeding her in the backseat. I really listen when she plays mommy, because I am overtly aware who she is imitating. Not once do I hear her say "Mommy is busy, I cannot feed you, or clean your boo boo, or rock you to sleep."  My favorite is when they play together. They have an imagination. They are creative, and they know how to make something from nothing because when mommy is busy, they have to.

 

I am very conscious that right now is the time of my life I will always look back on as the best time of my life. I have 2 precious, good, happy children, they fill my life with joy. I have a small and cluttered but warm and inviting house, and an amazingly supportive and hilarious and present husband and father. On a  macro level,  I am doing everything right. Noah plays soccer, goes to church, and has play dates, we do meals together as a family  2-3 times a week. Maia is in gymnastics, and can say her ABC's, both kids are healthy. They are enrolled in a new daycare, Noah is enrolled in kindergarten. Supplies are purchased, birthday gifts are bought and wrapped (maybe 20 minutes before the party, but so what, it got done).  These babies want for nothing. My 40 hours a week has done nothing to impede this process.

 

I will remember that I am my worst critic. I will remember the amazing moments that we create. I will drink from this cup of grace, straighten shoulders, chin up, coffee ingested, and carry on.

Teach Me Your Way

Teach me your way, O Lord, that I may know your truth. Give me an undivided heart to revere your name. I give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify your name forever. For great is your steadfast love toward me, you have delivered my soul from the depths of hell.     

 ~Psalm 86:11-13





I pray that God give me His eyes, His heart for others. Especially strangers, the ones I quickly judge when I see them in a store because of what they wear or how they respond to their children or others. The ones who drive slowly in front of me when I have places to be.  Ones who treat me poorly or who exercise little or no compassion or empathy.  Ones who make choices that I would never make. 

 

Give me Your heart for those who have not, who are hurting and can't seem to better their situation. Ones without families, or worse, with families that are abusive and/or tragically broken and doing more harm than good in the lives of the members caught up in the vicious cycle created and perpetuated by that living situation or less than desirable circumstance.  

 

Sometimes it works, but many times, I fall victim to my selfish first inclination of judgment or prejudice. Or I react with retaliatory anger and pride.  I remind myself that this type of growth is a process, and that God loves my attempts and knows my heart when I behave in a human, worldly manner.  But my Master also provides fodder for my desirous endeavor: he gives me angels to adore, to pray over and watch with wonder. 
 

 

In all the ugliness that may be exposed on the internet and through social media, I postulate that one gets out of it what they put into it.  Specifically Facebook. (Ok, this deep and meaningful blog post just slammed on breaks and changed direction, but hear me out.) I can exercise full control over most of the functions of FB. I can add, block, or hide users, as well as controlling what they see about me (so long as I stay informed about the nearly daily changes the developers like to make).

And so I try to "like" pages that are scripturally fruitful or encouraging, even inspiring. Disclaimer about my choices: In a world where I believe Satan has a multitude of everyday mechanisms to quietly and sneakily seep into my mindset, I combat this phenomenon by only inputting positive stimuli. It means that I might not relate in conversations about the most popular TV shows or songs or artists, which can kind of sting when the ladies are huddled having a good, honest, harmless laugh about some ridiculous thing that happened on The Bachelor last night. To me, however, I know myself. I know how easily manipulated I am, how little self control I have. And this is the best bet that I have come up with, and I am very satisfied with the results. It means that during the hours at night when I've been tempted to sit in front of the TV, I am instead reading to, or playing pretend with, or practicing writing or Italian with my kids. So I'm cool with the tradeoff.  I do not judge (rather I am slightly jealous of) moms who watch awesomely hilarious TV shows or listen to (ok, its often better) secular music. I see the value in a little fun. I do not think my choices are better or that anyone else should follow my lead. I wish I had more self control and was stronger at battling worldly stimuli, but alas I stink at it. Rant over.

Back to FB: I have found some fan pages for some really amazing little people. Some babies and toddlers and young kids who struggle with disease. Their families and/or loved ones set up pages for them for a number of reasons; to raise awareness or fundraise for particular illness/cause, to keep family and friends who live far away abreast of progress or regressions, and perhaps even to vent or as a therapeutic means to unload some of the heaviness that comes with caring for someone with special needs.

Whoa, God has allowed some of these guys to make a lasting impact on my life that I will never forget. I believe that each one has changed me in some way. I have certainly become more informed about diseases like Cardiomyopathy, Krabbe Disease, and Muscular Dystrophy, among others.  But learning about these children and their families has been such a blessing for so many reasons. The parents always demonstrate such grace and often positive perspectives despite their circumstance. They have such grateful hearts, it puts to shame any 'problem' I may face. These brave children's limitations always seem to come with some extraordinary capabilities, some overcompensation of senses, or communication, or maturity.  It is truly amazing and humbling to see how these universally binding relationships metamorphose, adapt, and evolve.  It gives me hope and fills me with wonder and joy at the whole rotten thing. These families who deal with a harsher reality than mine daily, are probably closer to the real meaning of life.

That is to say, every emotion must be felt deeper when it is hinged on or framed in light of a shorter life expectancy. Or every moment of joy must ring brighter and be more exquisitely monumental than could be appreciated by a "normal" healthy family's.  Every time they slip quickly into the despair of "why us" or  think of life "after"...must bring about such harmonizing closeness of spirit with our Maker. The gifts are there. These parents seize them, cling to them, and share them with us. For that I am truly grateful. I feel like I know these children. I look forward to reading about how their day is going. I weep when they have down times, and praise God for the joyous moments.

 

I am connected. I love those with whom I have never even been in contact. And I realize, that this is the answer to my prayer. Teach Me Your Way, O Lord. And thank You for allowing me to experience Your love.

In-Laws

My middle-aged Italian in-laws are awesome. I have to assume most people who read that sentence go back and read it again to make sure they read right. It’s true, they rock. I have much to be thankful for regarding my in-laws. They are open-minded and intelligent and loving and compassionate and fun and love to shower love, affection, and anything they can give on their family. They have also been the catalyst for growth and metamorphosis in my perspective and my marriage. Allow me to explain.

First, a bit of backstory: I remember sitting across the table from my soon-to-be-mother-in-law (Angela) when she started crying for seemingly no reason, although I couldn’t shake the feeling it had to do with me. I knew then that this was going to be an interesting ride, but I vowed to be a good daughter-in-law. In-laws have a bad enough rep as it is; throw in cultural differences and communication breakdowns and you are in for a real treat. But we are fortunate to be the only married couple in both of our families, all of whom are local, so the natural thing to do is to spend holidays together as a large group. The food is always good, that’s for sure, and it gave us time to get to know one another and celebrate our differences.

The most obvious difference I determined from the beginning was money. My parents are savers, his are spenders. Interestingly, he and I are the opposite. It was never a huge problem, but made a few gift-giving occasions awkward. When I had my first child, their first grandson, the proverbial ante was forever upped. I started to notice my controlling nature and insecurity rearing its ugly head. My mother valued discipline (always in love) and raised me to be very independent, and Angela employed positive reinforcement and the attachment-style parenting with her sons. I had the pleasure of wading through two polar opposite parenting influences from the part-time caregivers of my firstborn…awesome. It’s truly wonderful, because my children are more well-rounded and malleable for it.

 

When I say controlling, I mean I required notes about poops and pees and bottles and reflux and naps and food. I had to be the first to see his first steps. That’s right moms; this maniac actually told them that if they saw steps before me to pretend they didn’t, and let me see them on my own. (They must have, because to this day I believe I got his official first steps on camera). I even told my husband that we had to be the ones to purchase certain “big” gifts first. I wanted to be the one to provide the good stuff; I wanted to be the most important person in this kid’s life (besides his papa). And still, they rolled with it, while I taught them just how to hold, burp, wipe, or feed him as thought they had never experienced a child before, the grandparents all took it in graceful stride and never let me see their hurt feelings or eye rolls.

Now that I have made myself look like a rock star parent and daughter, I’ll recount the growth–inducing experience: After I had my second child, a daughter, we had a real life changer: we birthed a restaurant. Yes, Sapori rocked our collective world perhaps more than the children did. All day, every day, day and night, every thought, every conversation, and every ounce of effort that wasn’t directed toward my children was for Sapori. At the time I worked with them Angela and I managed the staff and the front-of the house, and the men managed the back of the house. Maia was born in November, and in January we were in the restaurant interviewing and hiring servers.

It was all worth it, because when we opened we were successful, it has been a blessing to our family, and all of the hard work continues to pay off. We turned a profit in the first year, which is rare, especially in this economy.

Working with family is hard. Real astute observation, you say? I had heard it would be hard, and people would look at me with eyes that said “Oh, I’m so sorry” when I told them I worked with family. But I thought I was immune. It’s only hard for families that don’t get along…we love each other, so we’ll be fine. I loved working with my husband. To get to see him each day and be a part of his life’s work was invigorating and valuable. I have natural leadership tendencies (I know, surprise!), so I enjoyed being the boss. The problem was, so did Angela. We had very different management styles, and I thought that since I had an education and prior management experience that CLEARLY my ideas about how things should happen were the right ones, and I was inflexible. It pushed a big ole wedge between us. Our relationship suffered, and that poison eventually leaked into the workspace. Staff started to catch on, and they tried to manipulate it. Family caught on, and they tried to avoid the budding issue.

Finally something happened to upset me, and I snapped. I left the restaurant and didn’t talk to my in-laws for more than a week. During that time I was sure to let the kids talk to them. I will never be that mom. I knew we would get over it, but needed time and space to wrap my head around where we were and how we got there. I prayed over it, talked to a minister at my church, and finally did what helps me organize and understand my thoughts best, wrote it down. I wrote a letter to my in-laws explaining how I felt. We got together as a family and discussed it. I knew I had made a childish choice leaving the way I did. If my in-laws had responsibility, my behavior trumped the original offense (for which I still believe I had a right to be upset).  But, I did the right thing and met them halfway. I admitted a portion of the fault so that we could overcome. But I did not go back to work at Sapori, and things have been worlds better ever since.

The growth came in two ways. First, my husband, God love him, had to make this his problem as well, since these were his parents, and while I was busy ignoring them, he was still seeing them at work each day.  He had to look seriously at the entire situation, from both points of view, and chose a direction. He had to decide his own perspective on the matter because I made it very clear that sitting on the fence was not an option. I realized during that time, that since Dario had been raised in a codependent environment, he had never been exposed to a circumstance under which he might consider the accuracy of his parents’ judgment. That is to say, as a 30 year old man, he still thought his parents were always right. I literally watched him discover that his parents are not superpowers who are devoid of error.  

From this discovery I realized how delicate my position in our marriage and our family is. I understood that, since I am a natural leader, and he is accustomed to decisions being made for him, this has implications for my role in our family. God allowed me to see that in order for him to grow confident in his ability to lead our family, in faith as well as provision; I needed to make myself smaller and smaller. And the result has been astonishing. He has since become a leading decision maker for Sapori Chester (my in-laws are about to open a second location in Williamsburg) and my biggest supporter in this seminary journey.

Secondly, my perspective changed as I was growing spiritually in my relationship with Christ. The whole time I was ignoring my in-laws, I was praying for God to change my heart, to allow forgiveness, and for wisdom in how to address this hurt. The whole time, his still, small voice whispered, “This is not the right way to do this” and “It’s your stand, you need to make this right.” He showed me that I have as much fault as anyone.  Had this indiscretion never occurred between me and my in-laws, we may not have made these beautiful strides in our marriage and in our faith walk.

Every once and a while when my mind wanders to that place where I rehash the events of the fallout, and the memory recalls a bitter taste in my mouth, I think on the lovely things about my in-laws. I have so much respect for the beautiful man who left his family, friends, and the comfort of his culture and his country in order to provide a better life for his family. I adore the fact that my in-laws came to America and attended classes to learn English and welcomed with open arms this crazy, controlling girl into their family and treated me like their own. I am forever humbled and eternally grateful that they, being born catholic and not understanding the Baptist doctrine, attended and cried tears of joy for their son at his (second) baptism. They are flexible. They roll with it. They are courageous and loving and I love them.