New Year

Now that the glitter has rubbed off of the new year we see the grey plastic mold underneath showing where it's been worn most. The sparkles of what we promised ourselves and others are all over the floor and crushed into the carpet. A reminder of where we fell short every time we catch the shine when the sun hits just right.

We were meant to be a new person by now. A better person than we were 20 days ago.

Eating better.

Organizing better.

Cleaning better.

Teaching better.

Mothering better.

Wife-ing better.

Praying better.

Learning better.

Following better.

Stewarding better.

Discipling better.

Loving better.

But here we are. The same person we've been all along. Because re-wiring a human takes a lot of work.... and that's OK.

So we adopt words, phrases, verses to get us through. To help keep us on track. I've come across many that my friends have shared and I love learning a little more about them as they put ownership on what they need most this year. 

When I truly look at all that needs to change in my little bubble, all I need to improve on, it's an enormous task. And here, my friends, here is where I found my resolution. My phrase. My ownership.

That's right, eating elephants.

The funny part about all this is that the word "elephants" is my default noun. Anytime I need to buy myself a few minutes with my child I throw out "elephants".

"Mommy, what are we having for dinner?"
Elephant burritos.

"Where are we going?"
To see the elephants.

"Can we go swim today?"
No, too many elephants in the pool.

"Are we there yet?"
There's elephants in the road slowing down traffic.

(It doesn't work as well now that she's older. Instead of a moment of confused silence I get "Moo-oooooo-ooooom!")

Elephants.

I know I've heard this phrase before and shrugged it off as a bad joke. But when you sit on it. Think of the reality of it there's so much truth there. When an insurmountable task is ahead of you it can feel like an elephant. And if you really needed to eat one the only way to get it done? One bite at a time.

When it comes to :

Eating better.

Organizing better.

Cleaning better.

Teaching better.

Mothering better.

Wife-ing better.

Praying better.

Learning better.

Following better.

Stewarding better.

Discipling better.

Loving better.

I can only do it....one bite at a time. 

Paved with good intentions.

I love Christmas.

I'm the dork blaring the Christmas Music at the stoplight on November 2nd.

I'm the one that walks around Hobby Lobby in October wistfully dreaming of snow as I walk up and down the aisles of ribbon and greenery.

I'm the one in Toys-R-Us filling the shopping cart in September (OK, August) for my Christmas Present layaway.

I love it.

I love the tree, the nativity, the garlands, the stockings, the cookies, the advent calenders, the tree lightings, the cards, the parades, the centerpieces, the wreaths, the lights, the snow, the ornaments, the specials, the parties, the food, the wrapping, the Nutcracker Ballet...

But I'm sorry. I have to stop.

I'm tapping out.

I want to do the Random Acts of Kindness calendar, Shepard's Pouches, and yes... even though it's kinda-sorta creepy and we don't do Santa..... I do want to do Elf on the Shelf, but I'd end up doing Wandering Wisemen.

But I can't.

Because it's going to. kill. me.

Well, maybe not kill me. No, I'll most likely live to see the new year in... But it's going to kill my soul. The joy that comes with this special time of year.

You know, that joy our children have when they see a 40 foot Christmas tree light up for the first time that season. Or when they find the perfect tree at the tree farm and pull it out of the forest all on their own. Or when they decorate sugar cookies and "sneak" a few M&Ms between each plop of icing.

They're happy little balls of joy.

And why? Is it the daily advent calendar with it's family activity and/or goodie? Is it the checking off of to-do lists? Is it the shopping on top of the shopping you've already done for things nobody needs?

Nope. It's because they DON'T do any of that stuff. They just coast along enjoying whatever comes their way. Dreaming of goodies and toys and fun.

Now, are any of of these Pinterest-y/ Facebook-y activities bad? ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!

If you want to do it, go nutty! Be a Super-Pinterest-Woman. Make that garland! Do your advent calendar! Bake 4 dozen of 12 different cookies!  Do a whole darn gingerbread village! Host a both a family AND friend party... on the same weekend! I've had years like that!

This year, not so much apparently.

This year I've felt the call to slow down. To be present with both my husband and child. To meet their needs (not what I feel they should have, based on glossy magazine covers designed by a team of stylists) when all they really need is me. Sane, relaxed, and providing a peaceful place to be.... and homemade hot chocolate with marshmallows.

I'm not saying we're having PB&J's for Christmas dinner. I'm saying it's gonna be a pre-prepped, shove in the oven, two crockpots running kind of Christmas. It's gonna be a popsicle stick ornament kind of Christmas. It's gonna be use what we already have for decorations kind of Christmas. It's gonna be going under budget kind of Christmas. It's gonna be less doing and more being. And that's OK.

Although my intentions of what Christmas should be is a bit more polished and perfect... It's not what it will be. It's messy and imperfect... and mine. And exactly the way God wanted it to be.

My intentions my be good, but getting to that perfect Southern Living look sure can be hell. On everyone.

credit: Ann VosKamp

aholyexperience.com

Enough.

The timing is right for this post*. I've written so many things but without this story, without this base... none of it makes sense. So I delete them and write on crash pads and body wash. I'm going out on a limb here. Gonna put some real stuff out here. Not looking for pity or sympathy or anything.... just giving out some real. -deep breaths-

This is the (lightly edited) testimony I shared with my MOPS group at the very beginning of the year. The one that started all this.... stuff. The real reason I wanted to start this. I mean, yay on the crash pads and body wash... but I'm nothing if not real. And real needs some brave to get it going. -deep breaths-




Hi, I’m Jessica. If we haven’t had a chance to really chat there are three things you need to know about who I am:

1- I have no filters. No, I HAD filters but I think they broke or need to be changed or something and I just don’t have time for that stuff right now… so I have no filters. Someone recently asked me if I listened to the words that come out of my mouth and I responded “NO. Then I’d be really upset with myself most of the time!” So forgive me. No filters.

2- You must understand that I don’t judge anyone’s mothering. No, Really. I have no time to judge you. I’m too busy judging myself.  Every day. Every moment.

3- In the end I truly believe that every mother who is at least trying to be a mother, is doing the very best THEY can do for THEIR child.  Because HE gave us our children knowing who WE are to our core.

I say all this so that you know nothing that follows comes from a place of judgment (not even for my own parents) but from a place that God has brought me to.

So back to my story....I was a happy surprise: the first child to a couple living in the mountains of Virginia.

Like most couples my parents wanted more than just one child. They wanted a real family. My parents made no secret of it and although I knew they loved me my little child mind took their endless “trying to conceive”, fertility treatments and in vitro fertilization appointments as “Jessica, you are not enough.”

It continued. The words that came from my parent’s actions were:

I wasn’t pretty enough.

I wasn’t skinny enough.

I wasn’t quiet enough.

I wasn’t creative enough.

I wasn’t athletic enough.

I wasn’t a good enough student.

I wasn’t a good enough friend.

I wasn’t a good enough daughter.

Not enough.

After 10 years of  failed attempts and a couple of lost babies my parents finally had my brother in 1991……in the midst of my father’s infidelity.

And when my father finally decided to leave my Mom for another woman during Christmas of 1992 and I tearfully asked him to stay...If only for me...

His leaving said more than any words he could ever say: I wasn’t enough.

My parents divorced and My mother moved 11 year old me and my 1 year old brother up to Upstate New York to be closer to her family. A strange land of snow, cold and salt. I had never seen more than 3 inches of snow at one time and we had arrived the summer before the famed “Winter of ‘93”. It was a new world to say the least.

Even though we had a new life the record was the same:

I wasn’t enough.

And I believed it, whole heartedly.

Even after I accepted Christ and found my future husband (all in one summer. Woot-woot!) I still believed the track my parents gave me. Their actions continued to prove that I wasn’t enough.

I went on with life; graduated High School, got married. Got a job or two. Bought a house. And enjoyed life with just me and my husband  for 7 whole years.

Then five years ago I had a child. My beautiful little girl. I tell her every day she is my gift from God because she is.

I prayed for a beautiful, smart, outgoing, fearless (believing it would be easier to reign in fearless-ness than teach confidence. HA!), compassionate, helpful, Jesus-loving little girl. I wanted her to be adventurous and receive whatever God had planned for her with open arms and a joyful heart. To have my eye color and lashes and Cor’s height and smile. And He gave it to me. All of it.
       

And in the weeks that followed I found I was finally enough.

I was post-baby glowing; I was pretty enough.

I snapped back to pre-pregnancy weight -10 pounds; I was skinny enough.

I could help my itty bitty one off to sleep with just a boob and a rocking chair; I was quiet enough.

I went from a 40 hour a week job to staying home with an infant who slept all. The. Time. I finally had time to craft to my heart’s content; I was creative enough.

And Athletic? Well, you can’t have it all..

I was a good enough Wife

I was a good enough Mother.

Finally I was enough. Motherhood made me enough.

So why just one? Why wouldn’t I do it all again?

In October of 2012 I lost a 6(ish) week pregnancy. It was hard, I cried but I was really OK. I named him October. I loved him (or her) and the little man (or lady) he (or she) would have been. I mourned for the thought of the child more than the child itself and found it easier to deal with at the time.

The second time we were so close to being “safe”. She was so much like her sister I knew she was a girl. It was love at first morning sickness all over again. I had named this one Sparrow. Her name came from my favorite hymn.

“I don’t know about tomorrow
it may bring me poverty
but the one who feeds the sparrow
is the one who stands by me”

I knew THIS time Jesus was standing by me. THIS time would be it.  That He knew I was enough to be a Mommy again. But nearly 12 weeks in I had lost her; 3 days before my 31st birthday.

And there I was, alone in the exam room, sobbing as I was losing my sweet fragile little Sparrow. Not enough all over again.

Not even for God… not enough to give me another child. Just one more little one, I wasn’t being greedy.

But the song continues:

“And the path that be my portion
May be through the flame or flood
But his presence goes before me
And I’m covered with His blood.

Many things about tomorrow
I don't seem to understand
But I know who holds tomorrow
And I know who holds my hand”

I am enough for Him. Enough for Him to go through all the rage and resentment and anger and sorrow and hate and everything I felt towards Him and every single pregnant woman around me popping out babies like gumball machines.

He was with me as I wept, as I slept away my afternoons because it was easier than functioning as an adult.

As I parked in the “expectant mother” parking spot at Wegman’s because passive aggression is a great release sometimes.

As I tried to live a Christian life while ignoring Him as being a part of it.

But even more precious than  Him waiting though all of that is that he waited for me to get to the other side.

To where I know my mothering isn’t based on how full my quiver is. That I’m just as good of a mother with one little girl as Michelle Dugger is with her 18? 19? 31? Kids.

To knowing I am not less blessed with my one child than those with more babies than bedrooms.

To the point where I know I’m enough for Him, and that’s all that matters.

And slowly I’m getting to the point where He is enough for me. Some days are better than others. And some days I’m thankful for unanswered prayers (Did I mention that my child was fearless?). But I’m getting there. To enough.



A few weeks ago my sweet daughter and I were sitting on the couch chatting.

“Mommy, you have one little girl.”

Yep, one sweet little girl.

“Some Mommies have girls and some Mommies have boys.”

That’s the way God planned it out.

“Some Mommies have lotsa little boys and girls.”

Yep.

“But you have just one Me.”

Yep.

“Is that enough?”

And here was my moment of truth.

Here was God looking at me through her little child eyes and saying: “Here’s what you prayed for. Every little detail in one little package that I made for you, just for you, before YOU were even born. Is it enough?”

My sweet human. You are enough for me. Every day. Every minute. Every second. You are more than enough and a little extra on the side.

*I had originally planned to post this on October 15th: National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day....but things didn't work out as I had planned. As they rarely do. Since 1988 the whole month has been dedicated to remembering our nation's lost children. I felt it was only right to stop in the middle of my daily madness and remember our two lost children, even if it wasn't on the 15th.

I know we are not alone in this. That we live life with many hurting Mommies and Daddies. It doesn't make it easier... It doesn't make it better... But maybe we can all heal a little stronger with each other's support. Or at least know we're not alone. Nothing is worse than suffering loss all on your own. Don't. Reach out. Find someone. Share your story.

And most importantly, if you're a Momma of a lost child and hear nothing else in what I've said hear this: It's. Not. Your. Fault. You ARE enough. 

Fakin' it.

So I feel like a fraud. This blog thing makes me feel like a fraud.

I've taken a break from the blogging because of it. I am no great speaker or writer or conduit from God. I don't have daily epiphanies that bring me closer to Him. I will freely admit that some days I read the Bible on autopilot. I have no great wisdom, I can't share what "works for me" because I haven't found what works for me yet.

I'm a plain ol' mom, who is just struggling to survive the days. Some days that takes less effort than others.

 Some days I can bring myself to spend the entire day in crafty/outsidey/happy/smiley/adventures mode and others I just pray the iPad battery lasts until naptime.

Some days I have great patience and others I send the wild beast outside where she belongs.

Some days I accomplish everything on the to-do list and other days are considered a success if I even make a list.

Some days we have green smoothies for lunch and others I roll through a Wendy's.

Some days I rock and others I just plain suck.

Some days there just is no Joy in the day.

So there it is. The truth.

I see the pins on Pinterest. The pretty little signs to hang on our walls. To remind us.

And some days I can't. There's no joy to be found.  Just survival. Then guilt from not finding joy.

Why should I be joyless? I'm blessed beyond measure: our little house and our little family. But these reminders of what I should feel make me feel guilty, once again less than, because I don't feel joy.

Behind these signs and the blogs I follow I see women, mamas, who seem to have it together. That plaster a perfectly veneered smile on their faces and sing-song-ily say "Choose Joy."

I fake it 'till I make it..... but what if I never make it?


Then this.

And I felt joy. This spoke to me more than the pretty pastel, chevron, chalkboard signs guilting me into joy. This statement makes me want to move mountains. 

Not because it takes the power from God. Not that it puts the power in my hands.... but it allows me to be me; a little ball of fury taking down whatever is in my way. With Him by my side. Coaching me through the day. Not just making a choice but actually DOING something.

Child trying to corner me into a corn syrup filled breakfast? Bob and Weave.

Blowing though both Language Arts and Math lessons in less than 45 minutes WITH comprehension? One-Two-Punch

Facebook friend backdoor bragging about their child's ahead-a-grade-level-reading in their beautiful home remodel on the heels of their warm-weather vacation? Blocking

Attacking the laundry pile? Jab

Toys sorted? Uppercut

Cooking a meal that everyone will eat without any complaints at the dinner table? Footwork

Ending the day with the house a little cleaner, child a little smarter, husband a little more comforted? Punchout

At the end of the day I may be tired out. I may be bruised and battered and swollen. But I hit back. Yes, I do choose joy. Forget "'till I make it".... I'll be faking it 'till I die. But I am gonna punch today in the face. Everyday.... and that makes me a little happy. Even joyful.

To be heard.

Things don't roll off my daughter's back so well. When a hurt is tossed her way she grabs in with velcro gloves and holds it close to her chest, curling up into a fetal position, wrapped around the small ball of ugly... letting it weigh her down and refusing to let it go.

This past week in church the topic was Emotional Health and my husband and I gave each other a knowing look when Pastor said "Some of us have small emotions and some of us have big emotions" (paraphrased). Our daughter has big emotions....BIG emotions.

If that's her SPD or her personality, I don't know. All I know is that she needs to get a light coat of teflon if she's gonna get through this world in one piece. So we work on it. So very hard. We have social stories, role playing, games, you tube videos... you name it, we do it. (We got our own mini PT/OT office in our living room... dining room... school room....Ok let's be honest. HOUSE!)

Yesterday was gonna be a big one. Out the door at 8:30, home at 5 kinda day. No nap. Lots of activity. I was ready for it. I wanted to make sure she was. As we drove we had one of our many "Mommy Talks".

Me: "OK, babe. Now if you're having a rough time with someone what do you do?"

Her: "Talk to them first and then go get an adult to help if it doesn't work."

Me: "Good! Now what do you say?"

Her: " 'That's OK. I don't care.' and then walk away."

The floor fell out from under me. "It's OK."?! Why was it OK? It's OK for one's feelings to be hurt? It's OK for someone to say or do something mean to you personally and just walk away? This wasn't new advice. This was the advice I was given as a child. "Just walk away." but how many hurts from my own childhood am I still carrying with me today? Too many to count. No. For some reason I knew this was another one of those moments that would make or break the woman my little one was meant to be.

Me "NO. That's NOT what you say."

Her: -stunned silence-

Me: "No. Your feelings are important and matter. You should be able to share with someone when they hurt your feelings in a kind way: '_______, I want to be friends with you but when you do that it hurts my feelings. Can you please stop?' Let's practice it."

And we did. Once we were done and the script was in her brain she popped her thumb in her mouth and started tearing up.

Me: "Baby, what's wrong?"

Her: "You listened to me. You heard me."

Then I started tearing up. She just needed someone to hear her. To tell her her feelings matter. To help her express her feelings in a calm, safe way. That she was important. That her feelings were valid and deserved to be heard and accounted for.

We're still working on it but now we have a better starting point.

________________

The last few weeks I've been dealing with horrid migraines. They usually hit right before dinner time and have me going to bed as soon as the plates are cleared up leaving my husband and daughter to fend for themselves all evening long. I try everything. I drink tons of water throughout the day, make sure I wear my glasses all. the. time, getting massages from my husband (the kind that don't go anywhere), I've been eating better, organizing my life a little better, setting more boundaries so I don't get overwhelmed and making sure I get bible time in every day.

Nothing was working.

So last night, after my busy day, when I got hit with a doozy of a migraine I just laid in the dark of my bedroom and prayed. "God, please take this away. Take away the strobing pain, the nausea, the everything."

He said, "Why are you getting migraines all of a sudden?"

"I doesn't matter, just make them go away."

And in all His infinite fatherly wisdom He spoke "It DOES matter."

It was clear as day now. My migraines have been appearing every 2-3 days since I received an email One laced with guilt and accusations and passive aggression. I had grabbed onto a ball of pain, curled up around it and held it close to my chest, curling up into a fetal position, wrapped around the small ball of ugly... letting it weigh me down and refusing to let it go.

I was saying "That's OK. I don't care." and trying to walk away.

As only He can, He spoke gently to me using my own words that I spoke to my daughter only hours earlier "No. Your feelings are important and matter. You should be able to share with someone when they hurt your feelings in a kind way: '_______, I want to be friends with you but when you do that it hurts my feelings. Can you please stop?' Let's practice it."

And I wept. Because I needed someone to listen to me. To hear me. He did. The one who holds every atom on Earth together stopped everything to not only listen to me... but hear me.


__________

I sat down this morning to deal with the email. I wrote something kind but making sure my feelings were clear and would not be lost in translation. I'm hoping for a migraine free-day, we shall see... but at least I know I was heard. Maybe not by the recipient of the email but at least by the God of the universe.

Along with this sweet little five year old, 30-something me is learning my feelings matter. They are important and valid and deserved to be heard and accounted for.






And because I am the Queen of Quantifying (according to my husband):

-I am completely aware of when my child does a wrong. She is not some tragic victim in the world. She can be just as snarky and mean as the next kid. I know.

-I am not a PT or an OT... There are years of training and practice going into those fields of which I have none. Please don't think I claim to be one. I -heart- PTs and OTs!

-Some migraines need medical attention. This is not medical advice. I am not a doctor.... I may go see one soon if this new development doesn't make mine stop.

one

So, I just got this email from snapfish.... shutterfly.... whatever. It's an email:

Jessica,

Please accept our most sincere apologies. We mistakenly sent an email that was intended only for new parents who recently made baby-related purchases at Shutterfly. We’re truly sorry if you received this email in error. We realize this is a very sensitive issue and we did not mean to upset you in any way.

We care about our customers above all else and have taken measures to ensure this will not happen again. If you have any questions or concerns, please reach out to us atcustomerservice@cs.shutterfly.com and we’ll get back to you.

Sincerely,

John Boris Chief Marketing Officer

Shutterfly, Inc.

And I was all.... Dude, chill. You sent me an offer targeted to those with babies. I don't have one. No biggie. I get all kinds of spam for "performance enhancing" drugs and I don't have anything to... ummm..... enhance.

People are having babies. It's expected.

I'm not. That's life.

No matter if I had 1 more, 5 more or 10 more.... my baby-makin' days were bound to come to an end. And for the foreseeable future, they have.

Am I sad about it? Yes.

Am I happy about it? Yes.

(Please, please, please let ONE person named Mary read this post!!)

It is what it is. Feeling those tip-toeing around the fact that my boobs are purely decorative at this point of my life is worse than knowing that when my daughter grows out of her clothes I truly have no reason to keep them. (Not that it stops me from keeping a few items here and there.) I'm aware of the position I'm in. I'm aware what I'm missing out on... but this is what I have. 

The fact is I love my little family. I love being a mother to one. I could give you a list but here is my number one reason. Everytime, anytime; THIS is why I love having only one child.

When the ball of dirt, hair and smiles comes running to me with a dandy lion clenched in her fist, kisses it and gives it to me.

"I picked it and kissed it for you because I love you. It's a flower-kiss."

I can bundle her up in my arms, look into her (my) grey-blue eyes hiding behind the wisps of her dishwater blonde hair and tell her, without a doubt, without guilt, without a second thought.

"You are my favorite."

And it's the truth.

Oversharing

So my last post got some traffic. Lots of traffic. My most viewed post ever. By, like, a lot.

A lot, a lot.

Almost twice as many views as my previously highest viewed post.

That leads me to believe one (or a combination) of the following:

1- Some of you shared that post with a friend who has been struggling with their own child's.... stuff. Or someone shared this blog with you.

2- You've been around my child and after reading it the first time you had a flashback to a recent event and thought "Is that why that... Oh, yep. That's why that happened. It's on that list-y thing-y she posted. Glad I checked it.... again."

                 a.) She's a good friend and mom.  I'm happy to walk alongside her as she
                    figures this thing out with the help of professionals.

                 b.) She's using this made up diagnosis to justify her own bad parenting.

                 c.) She's a nutter.


3- You're going through the list yourself and thinking "Hmmmm. Is that why my kid does that thing? Maybe I should talk to his teacher/his doctor/a friend about this."

4- You've called CPS and need good hard data to record one of my many negligent abuses.

5- You ARE CPS and need good hard data to record one of my many negligent abuses.


So I feel I should address these theories I have about these possible reasons for the explosion. (That and I had Starbucks after 7:30 and I can't sleep.)

1- Hi! If you're new, nice to meet you! I'm new at this whole thingie and have no idea what I'm doing but I'm happy to share what I do (and ultimately what I don't) know about SPD. Especially our family's own special brand of SPD. I won't just post about that but it's a big part of my life right now. For the first time both us parents are on the same page and it's an exciting time for us; to finally understand our daughter how she's wired and how to help her navigate life.... together. As a team.

If you're not new, thanks for holding in there.... and visiting. A lot. I've gotten lots of love from you and am thankful for all the warm fuzzies. That being said, I cannot share all the comments (or any of the comments from the previous post) on the blog because her name was used in them. Right now I'm not publishing her name on this open blog so that 1) I can leave this blog open for Moms who many not know me personally. 2) She can know if a prospective school or employer Googles her name (if they still do that in the future) it will not link back to this dorky blog her mom did. If you post a comment I will see it, be thankful for you and your friendship... but not publish it if it has her name.  (I'm thinking I need to be like one of those cool blogger Mamas that gives her kid a nickname. I'll put that on the list of things I need to do. Yep, number 2,731.)


2- Yep, that's why she melted down at that playdate. It was just too much stuff for her to handle. Hopefully we'll have a better time next time. Whatever happened, we're working on it. Trust me.

                       a.) I love you more than you know. I keep your posts and comments
                            in a little pocket of my heart to be taken out and looked over again
                            and again. It keeps me sane to know that I have friends who don't
                            think I am insane.

                      b.) I WISH my bad parenting caused this, because all I would need is a
                           visit from Super Nanny and my life would be "normal". But it's not.
                           It's real and if you want  to see the therapy in action and the results
                           we get when we have PT (or don't have PT) you're welcome to
                           come over any time.... because we're working on it ALL. THE.
                           TIME. Seriously, it took her 3 weeks to get her feet into a bin full
                           of lentils without reacting like a contestant on Fear Factor. Tell me
                           how my parenting could have caused that.

                        c.) I wish you all the best in life. Goodbye.

3- I am always ready to talk. (Really. Have you met me?) Always. If you have that nagging feeling in your gut that  this is something your child is dealing with and you don't know what to do next let me know. We'll get Starbucks and stay up waaaay to late talking about it. I'll help you in any way I can, I promise.

4- If you want the good stuff come over riiiiight before nap time. When she's good and stimmed out from a busy morning and is too tired to know what her body needs next. Yeah. That's the good stuff.

5- Ilovemychild. I'magoodmother. Pleasedon'ttakeheraway.



All that being said, I'm kinda having a bit of anxiety that I put this out there.

I'd watch the numbers go up every time I checked the computer and I'd think about what I wrote and I'd be all..





I mean, my most viewed post currently is how wacked out I think my child is. Great parenting, Jess. Good job.

I had told someone that knew early on about her SPD about my post and she said "I didn't think you wanted people to know." Which was true. I had specifically told her not to tell specific people anything about any of this. I wanted to keep this kinda close to my chest. Sharing it with those I thought needed to know and that's all.

Sunday School Teacher- Yeah, she should know.
Friends that we have playdates with- Yeah, them too.
That judgy family member who will be sure to send me countless emails about how I'm wrong.- Nope.
That one friend of a friend that I met at that one baby shower 4 years ago.... Nah, she doesn't need to know.

But why? Why did I want to keep that to myself?

The truth is I was embarrassed. For goodness sakes we only have one and we broke it, twice.

I was angry. He's only giving us one. (He's made that clear as day.) We couldn't have a "good" one? We had to have a "hard" one? Really?

I didn't want other people's judgement on me. Everyone is clearly better at this than I, or at least they're gonna think it.

I didn't want other people's judgement on her. You know, the weird girl. That has the thing. The thing where she's unstable and hard to be around. Let's not invite her over because she's just too much. Why don't you invite that sweet little girl that sits quietly when she's supposed to with the headband on her head where it's supposed to be.... not across her forehead.

But ultimately I didn't want it to be her identity. I didn't want people to see right past all the good stuff and just see the rough patches. Because there's a lot of good stuff and I don't want anyone to miss it while we're all waiting for her to have a sensory fueled meltdown:

She's hysterically funny, deeply compassionate, insanely smart. She's fearless and daring.

She's convinced it's her job to exercise our 12+ year old cat by sitting 3 feet away from her and gesturing for the cat to sit next to her, only to get up and move another 3 feet away so the cat "can live a longer and more healthy life".

She's eager to learn every day (maybe not for the length of time I hope for but at least once every day).

She vacuums, feeds the kitties, makes her bed, and sets the table for dinner as a matter of course, because it's how she helps the family.

She's always singing or humming something around the house, filling it with her own special music.

She wakes up chattering away, narrating her life as she does her morning chores. Usually reminding herself to be quiet mid-sentence because "someone might be sleeping".

She constantly prompts herself (and others) using the little songs from "Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood".

She loves people that will talk to her like a person, usually over sharing one of our many hospital stays or doctor visits... only to catch herself and say something to the effect of "How are YOU doing today?"

But most importantly she loves Jesus and prays more than any adult I know, soaking up whatever scripture we read to her like a sponge. (Seriously, I'll be looking back in the car at her with her head down and hands folded and ask her "Wat'cha doin'?" and she'll say "Talking to God. Hold on, Mom. I gotta finish my conversation.")

_________________________________

So do I regret "over sharing"? No.

I regret if I've painted her in a way that may lead someone to believe she is a uncontrollable brat that has regular tantrums for not getting what she wants when she wants it. (Both in writing and in person. I know I just caught myself doing it again tonight when I jokingly apologized to someone that had been in one of our many failed attempts at finding a "fit" if my daughter had beat up their child. Seriously, why do that? If I make such an effort to never speak that way about my husband in public then why do I not extend the same courtesy to my child? If you know me in real life you are free to slap me if I ever do that within your hearing again.)

I regret not standing up for her sooner and allowing what I think people think of her affect how I parent.

I regret not snuggling her more and being her safe place in the past when she just couldn't be herself at that moment.

I regret not pushing for the help I knew she needed from deep in my gut sooner.

I regret.... gosh I could go on forever!

We all could.

But over sharing? No, I think I shared just enough. And I'll let that be that for a while.

Assume the Crash Position!

"So how do you feel about your daughter turning five next week?"

A simple question over brunch. One I wasn't quite ready to answer. I haven't spent a lot of time thinking about it. Five has come out of nowhere.

The last four birthdays I savored and treasured every "last ____ as a ___ year old". I wept over clothes grown out of. I stored some favorite forgotten toys in a bin under my side of the bed. I made handprints, footprints and photographed her sweet smile.

This year I have assumed the crash position. Truly I hadn't even realized her birthday was coming up until 10 days before her birthday. Ten. Days.

I had a list of things needin' doin' and not much time left to do them in. Things to be made. Things to be bought. An overnight away to book. Family dinners to schedule celebrating her birthday.... and then finally maybe some friend time, maybe?

There's been no time to sit and stare and watch her change from four to five. My camera(s) have a fine layer of dust on them as my iPod is always in my pocket and always ready to take grainy, second-rate shots. Any handprints in recent memory have been washed off walls.

No savoring. No treasuring.

Until today.

For the first time in over three years my little one fell asleep in my arms. To say this is a small miracle is no exaggeration.

This child moves. At all times. In all directions. Always.

When she sleeps, she sleeps hard. On her own. Without another living thing distracting her from dreams.

So when the weepy child came into our bedroom as I was having some quiet time I put my stuff away, invited her to lay on the bed, and snuggled under the down comforter. The tears subsided, the gasps for air gave way to steady breaths. Slowly I watched as she gave in to the exhaustion painted all over her face. In a matter of minutes the thumb slipped from her lips and she was done.

I, the big spoon, was able to just watch her, the little spoon, exist. To appreciate the form of the little person who was starting to drool on my arm.

So much of her is still baby: the soft curve of her cheek, the long eyelashes fluttering with dreams, her lips searching for her lost thumb, the back of her hands dotted with toddler knuckle dimples...

Yet, I can see the young girl she is edging into in those very same features. Because the baby years are well and over.

Baby-dom was beautiful. It wasn't everything I dreamed of, for sure, but it had it's own rhythm that I loved with every beat of her heart. I fell into every moment of it, let it swallow me whole, nearly drowning with her need for me.

Now I'm on the other side and truly I feel I can breathe again.

Yes, she still needs me. I'm not quite retired, yet. I know. But something about the urgency of a nursing, diapered infant is completely different from a child needing to snuggle with her Mama.

And in this moment I know I'm OK with it. That as much as I close the door to that beautiful soft stage of life that faintly smells sweetly of breast milk and baby poo, another beautiful stage is next.

::sniff-sniff::

I'm thinking sweaty hair and too much handsoap?

What am I doing with my LIFE?!

Can I just say I adore you? Once again I'm blown away by your support and outpouring of love.

I love knowing that you're out there being blessed. Once again I'm getting positive feedback and encouragement where I didn't even begin to imagine it. I'm being blessed by your being blessed and then you're blessing me back and now I'll try my best to bless you again.

And in all this God's just smiling saying "See.... I told ya!" with his bullhorn.

So if you're being blessed feel free to share this on your Facebook page or with a friend who doesn't know me personally or someone not on Facebook. (Are there still people out there NOT on Facebook?! Good job resisting temptation you peoples.). Then the giant circle of blessings can continue!

If you're not feeling blessed, let me know. Email me. Message me. Text me. Let's talk. Over cookie butter; everyone is blessed by cookie butter.

_________________

I have some very wise people in my life. They probably don't know they're so wise, in fact I'm pretty sure that one particular four year old can't even spell "wise"... but they're there. Feeding me things I didn't even know I was starving for.

Case in point:

My Mother in Law. No... I mean it, my Mother in Law. I love this woman. For the past 15 years she has been my mom where the gap lay. She's my best friend and closest confidant. My sounding board and filter. (My filters are broken.) So for the rest of this and all future posts she will be referred to as "Mom". Yes, this can be a bit creepy if you think about the fact I consider my husband's mom to be my mom too much so let's not linger there very long...  Back to what I was saying.

My Mother in Law: We were having a conversation over dinner last week. I was in the middle of a slump, a lull, a funk. A honest Eyeore's-Lost-His-Tail grumpfest.    

I was feeling overwhelmed and useless as the chaos of keeping up a home was crushing and futile. When there must be more to life than the never ending laundry and the constant sinkful of dishes. Then I tossed out this gem. 

                   

(credit: Homestar Runner. Seriously.)

Mom looked at me and with inadvertent wisdom said "What do you mean 'What are you doing with your life?' You're doing it."

Woah. Mind. Blown.

That's it. Whatever I'm doing with my life is what I'm doing. Every day, every moment. 

If I'm homeschooling or doing dishes or laundry or doing PT or being a wife (Mmmmm..... Dat Beard) or scrubbing floors or making beds or vacuuming or taking my girl to swim classes or cooking dinner or paying the bills or organizing my daughter's toys for the 1,000,000th time this week or blogging or doing MOPS stuff or....

....WHATEVER....

That's what I'm doing with my life. 

The fact is that I'm into my 30's. I've bought, financed and paid off cars. I can file my taxes without a single bead of sweat. Not only do we have a mortgage.... we re-financed this past year!  I'm as "adult" as I'm gonna get before entering the "old" zone. 

THIS is what I'm doing with my life. 

The mundane stuff of life can sound so depressing. 

Shouldn't I be doing MORE? I mean, I personally know ladies who have their own businesses and who are in the process of publishing books and some who have more letters after their name than are in the alphabet... oh and they're wonderful moms, too. (Of course they are, those perfect ladies. Jesus loves you and so do I.)

What happened to those dreams I had of being a photographer or author or social worker or business owner or publicist? How did I go from making that "When I grow up" collage in late elementary school to changing diapers all day, every day?! (Well, not anymore... she's 4.... but you get the idea.)

When people I meet outside of my Mommy world ask me what I "do", I WANT to say more than "I'm a stay at home mom". I want to say "I have my own Etsy shop." or "I'm a freelance writer." or "I started writing this little blog and it just sky rocketed into a national speaking tour." (Dream big, sista. Dream big.)

Several times in the last several years I tried to MAKE things happen. Take on new opportunities just because I could. Things I was good at. Things outside the house, beyond the SAHM life, things that I sold my time to be paid in money or power or prominence or even a better position in heaven. 

Now, before I start getting nastygrams let me clarify a few points: 1- Working outside the house as a Mother is not a sin. Mommyhood takes many paths, each of them specifically for each mother/child(ren) combination. Mommy wars closed, OK? 2- I never did anything inappropriate, from the outside everything looked on the up and up and many of these were "godly" pursuits. (read: No. I was not a stripper....... Why are you laughing?) 3- I know I am saved by grace and not by works now. But I have a heavy Catholic background; old faiths die hard. 

But what was desperately missing from each one of these ventures is that I was not called to them. Let me repeat: I. Was. Not. Called. To. Them. 

Not. Called. To. Them.

Yep, not even that ministry. Yeah, the one where I'm good at stuff. Where I have long learned skill and ability. The one that looks to everyone on the outside a perfect match for me so I should do it. And be happy about it..... but if I am not called by God to serve there. If my focus is no longer serving God but making false idols of pride and vanity. If my own motivation isn't to obey God but seek the praise of man. .... then it will cause me to fall. 

And I fell. 

Hard. 

Into a pit of angry. 

And THAT was depressing.

After I processed the "guilt" that came with leaving each of these jobs/ministries/volunteer positions (Remember: heavy Catholic background) I had overwhelming peace. That cloud of anger and resentment dissipated and I was able to focus on Him and hear His plan for my life. I knew that whatever I was "supposed" to be doing with my time would happen. That if a new opportunity came by and I prayed and waited for a clear answer from God then it would be blessed. 

This means timing the jump just right. In some cases I've already jumped, and it's been awesome. Beyond awesome. Pure awesomesauce. Not all the time, but enough of the time so I know without a doubt He's in it.

In others I'm just waiting for what's next. Waiting but not obsessing. Because when I know, I'll know. 

So in the meantime when the question bubbles and churns in the back of my head. When I find myself the midst of sprawling toys and dirty laundry mountain ranges and dealing with whatever that funky stuff is behind the toilet. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the toothpaste covered bathroom mirror still in my PJ's while the wild beast takes her afternoon nap.... "What am I DOING with my life?!"

I will not spend another moment being depressed. I will stand up straight and proud and unshowered in my 3:30 pm pajamas and say "I am doing THIS because I am called to THIS."

I will let His peace cover me because I am where He wants me to be. For now.

And then I will take a shower.