Too Much?

When I was a kid, I used to love building towers out of crayons. I would build a foundation and then assemble as many crayons as I could in a sort of log-cabin-esque structure in an upward fashion. They were cool, I practiced my fine motor and balancing skills, and it entertained my siblings. 

If you've ever built one of these structures then you know that they aren't the most stable in the world. They are fun to build, pretty to look at, but eventually the shaky foundation gives out. If the foundation doesn't roll away then one of the crayons from the upper levels scooches out of place. When either of these things happen - everything comes tumbling down.

Another illustration.

Think, if you will, of a beautiful piece of China and a bountiful Thanksgiving buffet. As you go through the buffet everything looks so delicious that you just have to try it. You take so much onto your plate that you're cramming it onto the edges and the roll has to go on top of the stuffing... wait... no... then you can't pour gravy over the top. So the roll goes to the side of the plate, half off the edge. Now the beautiful China is completely covered - you may have well just used a paper plate. You have overwhelmed your plate with food... and likely, if you clean it off, are left with a stomach ache. 

These two illustrations, I think, are a good summation of what happens when we take too much on our plates. When we add too many things onto the structure of our lives. 

We become overwhelmed with all the things in the balance and our sanity comes tumbling down. We get so full that we end up emotionally or spiritually sick and unable to move. 

When we talk about the clutter in our lives and we talk about how it's so much more than stuff - it is so true. It's amazing how the emotional and spiritual clutter that we often stack onto ourselves can cause instability in so many areas. 

The reasons we have for not offloading the items on our plate are many. "But they're counting on me", "If I don't do it, no one else will", "No, it needs to be done this way and only I know how to do it". These reasons are incredibly selfish and prideful sounding, aren't they? Are we really that important to the fabric of society that the walls will crumble if we cease to exist from an area of it?

When we made the decision that I would come home from work to take care of the kids full-time, I felt so many of these things about my job. Because of the way I "ended" my time in the office (my blood pressure had become unstable in the last weeks of pregnancy and I was forced to work from home with several rest-breaks throughout the course of the day), I was unable to tie loose ends, finish projects I was working on, and had several files of backlogged to-do items that I had guilt were incompleted. I had to make a choice to add on to the adjusting of being a stay-at-home-mom to attempt to clean everything up or I had to let it go and trust that those who would come after me would do the best job they knew how for the customer and the company. 

Guess what? The work got absorbed, the customers were taken care of, and no one complained to me it wasn't perfect before I left. I've maintained the relationships with some of the people I worked with and no harm was done by letting it go. This applies to so many areas of our lives. Yes, we are called to serve, to love one another, and to make sure we take care of each other - I am not arguing that. Are there things that maybe only we know how to do - sure there are, but shouldn't we train someone else to do those things? Will the gears of society stop turning and the Earth stop rotating on its axis when we leave this life and meet Jesus in Heaven?  

The things that we've taken on our hearts, our schedules, our to-do lists? If we let go of the unnecessary ones or the ones we need to release to pay more attention to the things God has called us to RIGHT NOW - someone else will pick them up. If they're not necessary, then it won't matter anyways. If we let go of the wrong things and need to readjust - God will make that obvious to you. 

Evaluate your plates and decide if you've got too much on them. Throw away the roll and skip the... no, don't skip the gravy - but maybe don't take so much stuffing. Don't build your crayon towers or houses of cards too high. Use steady hands to build your structures and make sure you leave ample room for dessert. You can't do that with shoddy materials or too much of the dinner buffet taking up space in your stomach.

It's OK to let it go.

Out of Order

Forty-five.

Forty-five is the number of minutes that my just-about 2-year-old daughter spent in a full-blown screaming temper tantrum this morning.

Her mood began to turn when she was attempting to get herself dressed, couldn't get her head through the hole of her shirt, asked for help - and then completely freaked out when I attempted to provide the help that she had just requested.

It continued to go downhill when she grabbed my leg while I was trying to make the breakfast she had just said she wanted to eat and asked her to let go so that I could go to the fridge to get the container of milk that she had just asked for a cup of.

The final straw that set her from whining and complaining to a total meltdown happened when she asked me for more cereal and I told her that no, she had to eat her eggs (that I gave her the ketchup she asked for to dip them in) and banana (that I cut up the way that she prefers to eat it) before I gave her more cereal.

The shift from total meltdown to total NUCLEAR meltdown happened when she decided that she would only eat the eggs and banana with the blue fork her brother prefers instead of the green fork that she typically requests (and did this morning) - and her brother did not want to switch forks with her.

It was at this point that Mommy withdrew (mentally, I was still in the kitchen) and stopped paying attention to the tantrum-throwing toddler safely buckled into her high chair beside her. Her poor brother was trying to ask me something and I couldn't hear a word he was saying due to the loud volume of crying/shrieking occurring on my left-hand side and the fact that his mouth was jammed full of banana. I'm presuming he asked me if he could get down, because when I said I couldn't hear him rather than repeating himself he just looked at his hands for mess, wiped his face on his arm, and hopped down to go play.

At minute 30, this same brother hid in the hall closet because he'd had just enough of the temper tantrum. I so wanted to hide in there with him, but this was not in the cards.

I'm proud to say that I only shouted her name once on this particular morning to attempt to get her to stop and for the remainder of the time was able to either ignore her completely or speak with her/discipline her calmly.

"When little people have big emotions, it's our job to share our calm, not join their chaos." These words are attributed to L.R. Knost, who is a best-selling parenting & children's author that I had never heard of until I saw this quote. I don't care what else she writes - I barely remember to carve out time to read the books I'm already in the middle of - these words are so important. I recently had read another list of parenting tips that reminded the reader to not yell back when your child is in a tantrum because it just adds fuel to the fire. Chaos begets more chaos; think of a tornado as it grows and the bigger radius of destruction that is left in its path the bigger that it gets.

The real question then is this: If I am surrounded by chaos - where in the world do I find calm? When I have one child flailing about screaming so loudly I'm praying that no one calls the Department of Children and Families and the other one so frustrated that the tact of hiding in a closet is chosen - where is the calm? Where is the calm when all I want to do is shut down and display an "Out of Order" sign hanging from the tip of my nose?

A year or so ago I sat in my moms' group listening to the wisdom of Martha Fletcher. Martha is the mother of 6 children, has incredible faith in Jesus, and is such a perfect example of God's grace in imperfect parenting. I adore listening to her speak - hearing her words imparted on our group is such a wonderful blessing. She was speaking on this particular day about being just completely worn out and gave us some stories of times that she was worn out and had lost it and felt like she had nothing left when her children were small. Where, she said, can we find resources left when we feel like we have reached the absolute bottom of our reserves?

The page from my notebook where I wrote down this awesome wisdom. Never forget it.

Jesus, she said, has an endless supply of resources to share with us. He WANTS to share them with us. He WANTS to support us in our quest to raise up these tiny emotional humans into capable, somewhat adjusted grown-ups.

And can I just tell you - in my experience, this is SO true. I feel that left to my own limited resources, I would never be able to parent my children. Left to my own wit and wisdom, I would not be able to steer them on the path towards God's plan for their lives.

I have three bits of scripture that I draw on to help me keep the calm in the chaos that can sometimes come into our home:

1. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you." (Jeremiah 29:11-12)  Parents - God has a plan for your children, and God has a plan for you as well. Part of God's plan for me is to follow His lead in raising Godly children who can harness the ways in which He has wired them to be able to focus on and follow His plan for them. In the example of my 45-minute tantrum-throwing daughter - God has wired her with a strong will, clear preferences, confidence, independence, and many other traits that are so common in those we look to make our leaders. The same goes for my empathetic, reserved, caring, but somehow as equally strong-willed son. We are each wired and gifted according to the plans that God has for our lives - if we focus on Him, if we communicate with him, and if we harness those gifts in the ways that He has intended them then we are able to do great things. By reminding myself constantly that God has a plan for her and her personality, I am able to focus on parenting her in the way that she needs.

2. "As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you..." (Isaiah 66:13a) In the moments of chaos where I know I need to be the calm, in those times that the tornado of emotion is swirling around in our home, in the times that I need to be the shelter from the storm that I feel I'm actually a part of - I lean on this knowledge. When I am comforting my children and taking them in my arms, sometimes I close my eyes and feel God beside me placing His arm around my shoulder. When I am standing firm in disciplining my children and they are standing firm in their own will against me because they want to grow on their own terms, sometimes I stand a little straighter and feel God nearby reassuring me that I'm right in following His instructions in parenting. In the times that I need to feel that I (and my husband) are not alone in this parenting journey - this bit of scripture is all that I need to know that if I am raising my child according to God's plan that He is with me.

3. "He tends to His flock like a shepherd: He gathers His lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart; He gently leads those who have young." (Isaiah 40:11) My son is big on being picked up and held close. He is a gentle soul and is an incredibly loving child; one of the best ways he understands love from another person at this point in his life is when they are willing to pick him up and hold him close to their heart. We went to Florida in December and it absolutely made his life when at the Garden Grill one morning for breakfast - Mickey Mouse got down on his knee and picked him up. There was one night that he asked if God could pick him up. This verse - this is the verse I can point him to when he is old enough to understand scripture and fully understand God to say yes, a thousand times yes - God picks you up. God loves to pick us up and He loves to hold us close to His heart. As a parent, God is picking me up every day - some days several times a day. It is so reassuring to know that if I need to I can close my eyes, take a deep breath, and feel God's loving presence.

Forty. Five. Minutes.

That forty-five minutes is so short and so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The choices that I make as far as how I handle myself and whether or not I follow God's lead in those forty-five minutes are not insignificant.

I looked into my daughter's eyes and saw... myself. I saw a little girl who wants the world HER way and wants to do it ALL herself. Then I saw God's work in wiring her and felt the Holy Spirit remind my heart of His will for us. I felt Him beside me as I knelt down to my daughter's level in her "calm space chair" and reassured her that she was loved but that this behavior would not get her what she desired. I felt Him press on my heart and wrap His love around me as I turned my back to my children for a minute to compose myself.

When the tantrum passed and hugs were exchanged and a compromise on food was reached (Cream of Wheat with whole milk) and everyone recentered we went on to have a fairly decent morning. I don't kid myself into thinking that we will never see another temper tantrum again or that I won't want to join my son in hiding in the closet when it happens - but when it does, I have God's promises to rely on. I won't always be perfect in seeking His will and I won't always remember to let Him lead me every step of the way. I am human and I am imperfect.

And so are my kids. His grace is for them as much as it is for me - and it's up to me to make sure I show them that.

In the meantime - I'll save my "Out of Order" sign for another time... when I'm sick... and Dad's home as back-up.

Car Repairs and Famines

We wandered around the dealership killing time for the fourth time in a month. An oil change and standard inspection had revealed that my 2007 Honda CR-V needed several other maintenance updates and a recall fix done and this was to be my final visit in getting those things completed. I looked forward to being done with this run of car upkeep because as much as I love my children - I do not enjoy the time we spend together in car service waiting rooms. 

I pulled into the service bay that morning and was thankful for this last visit as I pulled my children out of the vehicle.

I should have known better.

Within moments of me checking in the car, the service representative was back at my side in the waiting area informing me that my car was leaking a bluish fluid. She didn't think it was coolant, was hopeful that maybe it was washer fluid and not a critical issue.

"Please, please let it be washer fluid," I thought to myself as I took a deep breath and felt the tension building through my shoulders, arms, and eyebrows. I felt the tears creeping in and pushed them back, holding out hope that it wouldn't be a big deal.

Image credit www.brokenvehicles.com

About a half-hour later, the service representative found me chasing the kids down a ramp with a paper in her hand. The tone in her voice as she said my name and the look on her face put a pit right in the bottom of my stomach and my heart fell through it to the floor.

"I can't let you take the car," she said. "It's leaking a lot of coolant." She showed me the paper, I read the description and saw another almost $300 worth of repairs needed to my car.

As I waited for my husband to arrive (he's awesome when I'm overwhelmed, plus his car had carseats and the offered rental didn't) my anxiety built. It wasn't just these repairs on my car that were weighing on me; it was the $500 we'd already spent on this vehicle in the last month in maintenance. It was the $1500 we'd just dumped into Steve's car for maintenance along with another $300 on its way here in the form of a bumper cover he'll replace himself. It was the upcoming $1000-1500 after-insurance expenses we're expecting to pay for me to get a root canal next week and a follow-up crown later in the year.

For those keeping a running tally - that's $2600 (roughly) in car repair and $1000-1500 in dental work for a grand total of $3600-4100 in unexpected financial expenses.

It was what those expenses could possibly translate to that was really killing me. It was the faces of our kids getting excited about our Disney trip in just 3 short weeks. It was wondering if we'd have to cancel character meals, cut back on planned souvenirs, or forego a day at one of the parks. It was thinking of how to break that news to them if they did. It was the holidays coming up and the few gifts we still hadn't bought. It was the hope we've had of planning a vacation for our 10th anniversary in 2017 (paying for it in 2016)... and now wondering if we'd be paying for newer cars instead.

A long, long time ago a Pharaoh had two disturbing dreams that woke him from his sleep. A young man named Joseph told Pharaoh that a time of prosperity was coming, followed immediately by a time of famine. Joseph advised Pharaoh that he should take a portion of the crops during the time of prosperity, store them away and guard them. "That way there," Joseph said, "there will be enough to eat when the seven years of famine come to the land of Egypt. Otherwise this famine will destroy the land." (Genesis 41:17-36)

Save during the prosperous times so that when the famines happen - you are prepared and will not be destroyed.

By nature, I am not a saver. I'm just not. I've often joked that if I were left in charge of our finances that I would put us into bankruptcy. I have gotten better over the years - but that is because my husband has been blessed with the ability to innately understand finances, to save, and is fantastic at budgeting and explaining concepts. Every year he has coached me through what to do, what we need to do, and I have watched in wonder as he stewards the resources that God has provided for us. With Steve's leadership, we have saved for rainy days/retirement/kids' college while still following opportunities for generosity, enjoying times with family at Disney or other family entertainment spots, supporting our church, and maintaining a reasonable lifestyle in our home.

So there I sat in the dealership service waiting area with an anxious lump in my throat, waiting for my husband to come back out from the repair bays with news of the car and the final cost. My kids were flopped in chairs on either side of me, wanting to get out and be anywhere else doing anything else. When Steve came out from the back and gave me a thumbs-up, it was more than the $120-ish dollars he'd managed to negotiate off of the price of the repair that gave me relief. 

In that moment, with that thumbs up, I felt a pressing on my heart to remember Joseph. Remember his warning to Pharaoh to save during the times of prosperity. Trust that your husband is following God's lead in your finances, and follow his lead. He will guide you, just as Joseph guided Pharaoh. This is your time of famine and it's going to be OK. Trust God, trust your husband. I heard Steve's words that he's said so many times to me - "This is why I do what I do" - and knew I needed to trust in these things.

When Steve met the kids and I in the waiting area to update me, I fell into his arms and cried (for about 5 seconds, ain't nobody got time for more than that). I thanked him, I apologized (knowing the current situations aren't my fault), and I silently thanked God for His provision. His financial provision, the provision of His wisdom, and the provision of His trust in us to be good stewards of His resources. 

Guys... I'm not writing this to be like "See! We have plenty in our storehouses! We're all good for the famine!" That's not my intent at all. 

Sometimes the stories in the Bible can seem so remote, so far away, so intangible. The concepts might make sense, but in modern-day Western culture we don't have storehouses of grain in our times of prosperity. Times of prosperity look completely different - they are times of normalcy, times when things aren't so bumpy. In those times of prosperity, we might forget to save up or we might decide to take on debt because we can "afford" the payments (which... that's a post for another day - remember, "The rich rule over the poor, and the borrower is slave to the lender" [Proverbs 22:7]). We might go out to extravagant dinners or take vacations when bank accounts get larger and forget that someday famine may appear or storms may wipe us out. We put our guards down... but we can't. Ever. 

How are your storehouses? Are you prepared if a famine comes?

If your hot water heater breaks - can you afford it?

If your insurance doesn't cover an entire emergency procedure - how far back will you be set?

If your car gets totaled and you're in a position where you need one - can you replace it without going into debt?

Joseph's warning to Pharaoh is real, it's here, it's constant. If we did not prepare ourselves for this famine, this could have been an incredible disaster.

Will we have to sacrifice to replenish what we've lost? Absolutely. Will it be difficult if we have to pass on things so that we can be secure in an emergency again? Sure it will. 

But if we want to be good stewards of the resources God has given us - then we need to follow His lead, His wisdom, and prepare our storehouses.

My prayer is that others can start today in doing the same thing. Follow Joseph's warning and let God lead you in your preparations for any upcoming famines.

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Looking for a good place to get financial advice and learn about budgeting, investing, saving, or paying off your debts? Check our Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University. Many churches offer classes on a regular basis - so find one near you! 

Leave My Dreams, It's Not Your Heart

"Why are you here? Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I just want to make things better between us. Can't we be friends..."

He leaned in closer to my face and I could feel every hair on my body stand on end with fear. The last thing I wanted in that moment was for him to kiss me. Why can't he ever just disappear forever? Why does he keep coming back? I took several steps backwards and could feel my stomach wretch with anxiety...

"Please..."

"I am married. Why can't you understand that? Just leave me alone. Please!!!"

"I just..."

I reached out and shoved him away, feeling the anger and fear and anxiety dripping along with the tears that ran down my face.

"We can be friends... it's OK..."

He walked closer to me again... Why won't he get the danged picture??? "JUST GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME AL..."

My eyes jerked themselves open as I heard a sweet voice say "Hi, Mommy!" through an inserted pacifier. I was back in my bedroom, my bubbly daughter awake next to me. I looked at the clock - 6:18 AM. Steve must have already gone to... wait. Steve wasn't there, he was away at his annual conference.

Me and my mini-me, having some morning snuggles...

The dream. That's why. I rubbed my eyes and breathed slowly to reset my quickly beating heart, snuggling my giggling daughter and remembering all that God has surrounded me with. I reminded myself with each inhale that it was just a dream and with each exhale that it wasn't real. The recurring dream that I have each time that Steve is away on business - the one where my ex-boyfriend from 20 years ago shows up and tries to be a part of my life again. Sometimes he's trying to woo me, sometimes he's trying to just be friend, but always the sentiment is the same.

That he loved me. Never meant to hurt me. That he wants to reconcile. That he wants that part of my heart back. That I was his only love.

In every dream he is the 19-year-old that cheated on me not once, but twice. In every dream he is every bit the sweet-talker that my 14-year-old self couldn't resist and that my 17-year-old self took back and that my 19-year-old self believed his words that he would leave his then wife for me.

In every dream I want nothing more than for him to disappear. In every dream I want to know where my Steve is, because he is never there in these dreams but always missing. In every dream I can feel walls closing in around us, in every dream I am desperately fighting to get back to my present-day reality and begging through tears for my past to go as far away as possible.

After every dream I wake up uneasy. I wake up questioning things I never should be questioning. I wake up with faster heartbeats and quicker breaths, wanting to run back to where I wake up. The place that God has surrounded me with love and reassurance and His grace.

But I can rarely shake that feeling. That feeling that no one can be trusted. It takes days, sometimes weeks. Always Steve is reassuring, because he knows that this part of me causes deep insecurities and he wants me to be whole, to let this part of me die, to be released from it.

Last year after having this dream, I woke up and turned on Steve's iPad to watch some Netflix and try to get back to sleep. It was only 10:00 PM where Steve was, and iMessage sent across a text from a colleague that they should meet up for fries.

The bells went off. Who meets for fries at 10:00 PM? What the heck?

I called Steve and through tears told him about my dream, that I saw the text, and I just needed to hear his voice and know we were OK. Know that my fears were unfounded. Because God has blessed me with a husband who is willing to understand this part of me and help me through it - he stayed on the phone with me until I calmed down.

Then - and those who know my husband's love of condiments will understand this - he went and met some colleagues for fries with blueberry ketchup. Because that's what a condiment lover does when he and his colleagues don't want to get drunk at the after party during a conference.

My awesome, caring husband at his annual nerd conference.

So I lay there with my daughter listening to the hum of the fan and her adorable sweet voice through her pacifier and reminded myself that my husband is faithful. That he promised he would always be faithful from the first time I confessed this part of my soul to him and he has never done anything to demonstrate anything other than fulfilling this promise.

I said a prayer, asking God to help release me from these dreams. To help me finally remove 20 years of scarring and tell that 16-year-old in a heap on the floor of her kitchen, holding a phone in her hand and pouring tears out that it all turns out okay - better than okay, actually.

God, I begged, please... please... please kill this.

A couple of hours later I pulled out my phone and opened my devotional app while the kids finished up their breakfast on the porch. The topic of the day? "The Enemy's Tactic Against You." As I read through the devotional that focused on Genesis 3:1: "Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, 'Did God really say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden''?"

I read on and could feel my pulse quickening as the images from the previous night's dream flittered across my memory. I devoured every word of the devotional, and inhaled through my teeth as I read these: "He uses four words: 'Did God really say...?' Maybe you haven't had the enemy slither up next to you in the form of a serpent and speak these words out loud. But I bet he's whispered them into your ear. After all, the enemy's greatest desire is to separate you from God."

I looked out across my yard to the breeze flitting through the trees and up at the outline of morning moon my son was excitedly pointing out. I could feel God's sentiment on my heart: "Danielle... I delivered you through that old life and gave you this life, these kids, your husband. The enemy has taken over this part of your heart - take it back. Do not listen to the whisper of the enemy anymore."

I closed my eyes... "In the name of Jesus... give me my danged heart back. In the name of Jesus, that belongs to my husband, that belongs to my family, that belongs to me, and most importantly that belongs to God. Give it back."

I opened my eyes and my daughter said "Pee-it-boo!" through her wide mouthed grin, and my son laughed.

I felt... relieved. I felt... at home again. I felt... empowered. I felt... full.

That morning when my husband had his video chat good morning with us, it was like fresh air filled my lungs. When he returned home that Friday, it was the first time I didn't feel relieved that he was home but rather felt fully and richly blessed that he had the opportunity to take advantage of this part of his career. I didn't feel on edge and looking for reasons to suspect, and instead have felt nothing but love and happiness and grace and the fullness of God's blessing on my marriage.

Watching for Daddy's car to come up the hill when he got home from the trip.

A few days after Steve got home, this was the key verse in my morning devotional: "Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you." (James 4:7)

For at least the time being - and for the first time in a very long time - I have felt the Enemy release his grip from the part of my heart that was still crying on the kitchen floor of my parents' house hoping her sobs wouldn't wake up her sisters. I have been able to breathe easier for the first time in almost 20 years, having resisted the Devil and watching him flee.

"Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand." (Ephesians 6:13)

There will come a time when the Enemy will come back, when he will try to take that part of my heart back again, when he will push down that insecure teenager to the floor and laugh as her tears flow. When he will remind her that she's not good enough for a guy to stick around, and that will always be the case.

It will be when that time comes that it will be up to me to put on the armor that God has given to me. It will be up to me to call to Him, to reach up in prayer and use the power that I have been given in the name of Jesus to resist those whispers.

Because the self-destruction of doing anything else just isn't worth it when compared to the beauty that lies in the life that God has gifted to me.

The Question

The questions are endless with a 3-year-old.

"Why did those people hit our mailbox? Can we say sorry to them? Did they hit their own mailbox?"

"Where does God have His penis?"

"Why does my boo-boo go away?"

"Why do we poop?" 

"Do you have a 'calm space', Mommy?"

"When we go to Florida, will Mary Poppins play 'guys' with me?"

I try to come up with simple answers, ones that make sense and are accurate but also that my little 3-year-old inquisitor will understand. 

My favorite question (that he asks that has also become the greatest challenge to give a simple answer to) is this short, beautiful, wonderful question:

"Can God pick me up, Mommy?"

My answer to this has varied every time because there are so many answers to this question. The question that my affectionate, cuddly, sweet little boy wants an answer to because he loves to be picked up and snuggled.

"Can God pick me up, Mommy?"

Oh Sweet Boy...

God always picks you up. 

Today when you were on the porch and that little ant you've been desperately trying to pick up for the last week finally crawled up your arm and even got the gumption to work its way up to your face, tickling you and making you squirm - God was picking you up. He was showing you that He's present in all of His creatures. 

When we were on the porch watching the storm the other day and the wind blew down the hill, picking up the rain and spraying us in the face - God was picking you up. He knew exactly what would make you laugh with glee in the midst of a torrential thunderstorm. 

The times that you flop down on the driveway and look up to the sky, looking at the blue and the clouds and you take a deep breath - God is picking you up. He is warming you with the sun and embracing you with the breeze, filling you with good feelings as you sigh and declare that it's "a nice day". 

If you have a bad dream in the middle of the night and you don't wake up all the way to come into Mommy and Daddy's room - God picks you up. We ask Him every night to protect us from bad dreams and help us to rest easily, and He does. 

When you are sad and crying and life is crazy and Mommy can't physically get to you and your crying sister and your dinner that's cooking on the stove all at the same time and I bounce between all of the things so everyone gets some part of attention - God picks you up. He tells you where your Monkey is and helps you find a place to snuggle with him while He holds you. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if you look at your Monkey long enough, you'll see God's loving face in that embroidered smile. 

There are so many ways that God picks you up, sweet child. 

God has asked Mommy and Daddy to be your parents. He has filled us with love for both you and your sister. When God brought us together and created you, He opened a door in our hearts to be a direct line of communication from Him to You. When we need Him to help us help you - He is there. Every time you are sad, mad, lonely, or just need to know that you are loved your heart draws you to Mommy or Daddy and you ask us, "Can you please pick me up?"

You ask us with your big blue eyes, and your soft quiet voice, and your little hand reaching up to us (usually your other hand has Monkey in it). 

Please know that every time Mommy or Daddy picks you up and squeezes you tightly that God is behind us squeezing tightly too. When we pick you up, God is right there with us picking you up too. 

"Can God pick me up, Mommy?"

I kiss his forehead, say a silent prayer that someday he will understand what I mean by all of the things that I want to say and tell him and instead answer him as simply as I can.

"Sweetie, close your eyes and take a deep breath. Then look at me - Buddy, God ALWAYS picks you up. Every time you ask. I love you sooooo much, and God loves you more than that. God ALWAYS picks you up." 

When the Arrival is Different

It seems that there's a month, a day, or a week for everything these days. National Siblings Day, National Hot Dog Day, Talk Like a Pirate Day, Wear Green Underwear Day... well, that last one I made up.

Maybe it exists though.

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that April is National C-Section Awareness month, and while I'm not usually one to really line up in solidarity or support or whatever of these sort of things - this one is very near and dear to my heart. 

Both of my children were born via c-section.

Me pregnant with Will, 3 years ago yesterday, just about 38-39 weeks.

Even though I've said that out loud dozens of times, somehow typing it in the context of this post just made me pause and choke up a little bit. 

When we were pregnant with my son (and yes, I said "we" - my husband suffered through the pregnancy and don't kid yourself ladies, your spouse suffered too), I remember distinctly having this feeling on my heart that it was going to end in a c-section. God knows the whole story, the whole picture, and even though I sat through birthing classes and took notes and practiced breathing and did all my kegels... He was emotionally preparing me for what the end was really going to look like. 

At my 39 week appointment, I found out that the swelling I had been experiencing was due to a sudden spike in my blood pressure. I didn't have pre-eclampsia, but it was still alarming; I had put on 25-30 pounds in 3ish weeks, all water weight. After two non-stress tests and an overnight urine collection (that was fun), we were induced on our due date. 

I wasn't even a little dilated. The word my OB used was "pristine" to describe my cervix. 

24 hours passed and I still hadn't started contracting. I was barely dilated. The pitocin drip was started. After several more hours my water still hadn't broken; it wasn't until my OB threatened to force the issue that my water broke on its own around hour 36. An hour later I had my epidural. By hour 48 I was still only 4-5 cm dilated and it had been about 8 hours since Will's heart rate was recovering post-contraction they way that it should have been. 

50.5 hours later, Will received his official eviction notice. 

I was wheeled into the OR and I was scared. I had never had a major surgery before and even though God had been preparing my heart for this since the first time I had heard my son's heartbeat - I was still scared. I'm not sure if it was the chill of the OR, the anesthesia/morphine mix, or my nerves that had me shaking so badly on the table... probably all three. 

My husband just kept whispering Joshua 1:9 in my ear while squeezing my hand, a quiet and calming reminder from my teammate: "Be strong and courageous, God is with you... be strong and courageous, God is with you..." 

At 11:08 AM that day, Will was born.

In the recovery room with my little man Will.

I didn't get to push. He wasn't placed on my chest for immediate skin to skin and he didn't get his first milk against my bosom until about an hour later in our recovery room. 

I wasn't the first non-medical person to hold him. The first glance I got of my son was two nurses holding him towards me while they rushed him to get cleaned and warm and washed up. And while I am SO glad that Steve got the opportunity to be in the room while he was getting prepped and washed and got to help the nurses and give them his name...

...for about two years, there was a part of me that always mourned my textbook, perfect birthing momma moment that never happened. 

In my story and in every story I've heard of a first c-section, no one ever says that they wanted it to be that way. Even though God prepared my heart and I knew in my gut that it would be my story, a part of me was really looking forward to pushing, to having that moment of messy baby on my chest right out of the birthing canal. To have Steve cuddle into us and put his arm around me and our son and to have that be our story.

Instead my story was a cuddle on my net-covered head while I awkwardly held my son on the OR table for a brief moment until I was ready to be moved. 

A new baby and my first major surgery all in one day.

I couldn't stand up and change those first meconium diapers of grossness that they tell you about. Steve got the pleasure of changing those. It was almost 2 days before I was able to stand up over Will's crib and 3 days before I had the confidence to pick him up out of it myself without dropping him. Walking to the bathroom and showering were pains worse than the contractions before I got my epidural. 

Daddy and his firstborn son snuggled up in the hospital.

Two years of mourning what wasn't. My friends were having their babies and coming home and while they were sore, they weren't under the same doctors orders I was of no lifting and not being able to drive. They didn't come home with scripts for narcotic pain killers. They didn't have scars across their abdomens, a reminder of those moments I had yearned for and missed out on. 

It didn't matter that God had prepared my heart. I wanted normal. I forgot for a minute that my son was a miracle that wasn't supposed to happen, and mourned the loss of my textbook delivery that I knew wasn't to be.

When I was pregnant with Evie, even though our doctor said I could be a good candidate for a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After C-Section), we decided that the blood pressure and induction process were too great a risk and that we would opt for the c-section again. 

I'm glad we did. My blood pressure spiked again, this time a week earlier at just about 38 weeks and with proteins indicative of early pre-eclampsia. One week and one day before our scheduled surgery date, we found ourselves scrambling to get a place for Will and mentally prepare ourselves for the arrival of our daughter a bit sooner than we thought. There as no deliberating about whether or not we should induce; because I had already chosen surgery - surgery was the answer.

It was as my doctor and I made the decision for Evie to come early that I finally found the peace from the guilt and sadness I had been carrying with me from Will's delivery. In that OR as Evie was delivered, I wasn't scared anymore and I wasn't upset as I heard her cries, watched her get cleaned and wrapped, and that first awkward hold with those bright eyes was my beautiful moment instead of a guilt-filled one.

Welcoming baby Evangeline to the world... chubby cheeks and all!

This was to be my story. God had prepared my heart for it, and it's OK that this is my story. 

My children were born healthy. I survived the deliveries. I am not convinced that would have been the story of my first pregnancy if it had played out "naturally". 

My friend that wrote her post acknowledging C-Section Awareness month and sharing her story noted that c-section mommas are - among other things she said - brave. 

Brave. 

I never really thought of it that way. But I guess it's true. Brave people look at a situation that could be full of fear and they conquer it. 

When I think back to that first surgery with Will, lying in the OR... I can tell you that the last thing I felt in those moments was bravery and courage. I didn't feel strong. I felt exhausted, I felt scared.

My husband was the brave one that day. He found himself in an OR with his wife on the table praying that his unborn son would be okay and healthy after 8-10 hours of his heart rate not recovering properly. He had to hold himself together while I had my eyes closed just praying that God let my son be OK and trying not to lose my mind. 

He was the brave one. 

I had no courage. I had to have God give it to me. And He did. But it wasn't mine, it was His courage and bravery I had that first delivery. 

With Evie, I was much more confident. I was much more "Let's conquer this thing, bad blood pressure will not win!" and determined. I wasn't scared that day. That day I could argue I was brave. 

"Be strong and courageous, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."

Will meeting his baby sister for the first time. 

It's the 27th of the month and it's taken me this long to be able to write this post. There are so many emotions that come up when I think through the births of my children, as is the case with so many moms out there. Everything I've read about the reasons for this month existing is to bring awareness to the rising rates and how we can avoid them and head towards a target c-section rate... and I think that looking at it in such a sterile way bypasses the hearts of the women who have had c-sections and are thankful for the surgery.

I am grateful for the doctors and their expertise and judgment. While they never said that we were in a life-threatening situation, I know it wasn't an ideal one and I know other moms who most certainly WERE in life-threatening situations that they - and their babies - would not have made it without having emergency c-sections.

I would say that I am sufficiently aware, and I hope that most other people are too. I am glad there is a time to highlight this though, and I hope that others feel the freedom that I now feel almost 3 years after the birth of my son.

My scar is no longer something that I look at with sadness or guilt. When I see my scar now, I see the pathway my beautiful children took to get into this world. I see the wisdom and skill of doctors who think of the best interest of women and babies day in and day out.

I see the bravery of my husband, I see the growth of bravery in myself.

I see our family.

I see love.

I see God.

Our little family - January 2015

Will's First Made-up Super Hero

I am amazed daily at the mind of my (just about) 3-year-old son.

I should note here that Will is a little guy. He's only in the 3rd percentile for his height & weight - which isn't that surprising if you know his parents. The kid's just not destined to be an NBA all-star, let's be serious.  

But it's OK that his stature is on the smaller side, because the size of his heart makes up for it. We have had friends comment on how incredibly empathetic he is for his age. As he's gotten older and gotten more language this has become more and more adorable (if he hears a bang from another room, he'll run in and get close to you to ask "Are you OK? You need something? You need a bandaid?" and give you a hug). The other day I took made Evie give him back his smoothie cup that she attempted to usurp, and when she started crying about it he put his arm around her until she calmed down. He snuggles with her in the Costco carts, he hugs Mom & Dad big giant hugs every day, and tries to help when he can.

Will comforting his baby sister... he's so sweet.

And his imagination... oh boy...

That, my friends, is growing every day. And let me tell you - the kid imagines big.

His favorite thing to pretend to be right now is a dinosaur. My little Will hunches over, puts up his dinosaur claws, and in his biggest voice will ROAR! He will stomp around, declare himself a T-Rex, and be the cutest little big dinosaur he can be. There are, of course, times that I need to remind him that it's time for him to be a Library-o-saurus with an "Indoor Roar" rather than a boisterous T-Rex. But it's adorable.

Then there are the times he declares that he is a Football player like Tom Brady. He's going to run to the Super Bowl, be on TV, and then - guess what? Tom Brady is going to wear HIS shirt!! I don't ever tell him that the odds of him breaking 5'6" and becoming an all-time-greatest QB are slim to none. Instead I let him throw on his play football helmet and throw his little football around the house. I flop on the floor and let him tackle me, I help him practice his catching and watch as he figures out how to throw in straight lines.

Every day is a new super hero day here. Some days he's Superman; one day he was Superman and he flew around the kitchen with his cape several times before grabbing my leg to "save me". "I'm saving you! I'm Superman, and I save you! YOU ARE SUPERMOM!".

Okay, I especially liked that one for selfish reasons.

Yesterday, he read me a story about Batman and on the last page said "And Batman flies - LIKE ME!"

I decided that Batman certainly should fly with the power of a 3-year-old's imagination.

Yesterday, however, I met a super hero that a lot of moms probably don't ever meet.

Yesterday I met "Super Peanut Treenut Man" who saved me from the bad guys Peanuts and Treenuts. No, just Peanuts and Walnuts.

I was picking up some potholders and towels that the kids had strewn about the kitchen while I was making breakfast and getting ready to go to my moms' group when Will came barreling around the corner with a little wooden tree from his train set. "MOM!" he cried, "I SAVING YOU! I'M SUPER PEANUTTREENUT MAN!" and he jabbed me in the chest with his wooden tree.

"You're saving me, Buddy?"

"Yes! This is my epi-pen and I'm saving you from bad guys! NO PEANUTS OR TREENUTS! I AM SAVING YOU!!!"

This went on for a few minutes and as he ran away to go save more innocent victims with his tree-epi, I experienced this bizarre dichotomy of emotions. On the one hand, Will is now coming up with his own superheroes and not just emulating the ones that already exist. This is awesome in terms of imagination development, and it's pretty darned cool to see it happen. It makes me feel even more blessed that I get to stay home and watch these guys grow full time. I was excited to see this imagination milestone occur.

On the other hand... my son's world is one in which peanuts and walnuts are "bad guys" that can really hurt him. He doesn't understand that they don't hurt everyone; in fact, when I was getting him out of the car the other day, he reminded me that I can't eat peanuts and treenuts because I can get sick. Every time he throws up, he blames it on peanuts and treenuts because he doesn't understand that "sick" in that instance means "can't breathe, get ambulance ride, go to hospital" and not just throwing up a little. And because this is the world he lives in, when this was the first super hero he came up with on his own... my heart broke a little bit.

I can remember praying with my husband over the health of Will when he was a baby, and praying specifically about food allergies.

Sometimes God says "No" to our prayers, and I know He has His reasons why. God has plans for Will, plans with hope and for good and not disaster. I know this because scripture tell us so in Jeremiah 29:11, and it's a scripture I have always held dear to my heart. I believe in its promise, and I trust in the God that made it.

So while my heart breaks that this is the world that Will lives in, I take comfort in knowing that God has plans for our little guy. I know they are big plans, big plans with his big heart and his big creative imagination.

Who knows... maybe "Super Peanut-Treenut Man" becomes a real, tangible thing someday with Will as the starring role.

Wouldn't that be something?

Faith in the Stepping

Our daughter, Evangeline, is just over 11 months old. She has been a go-getter from the day she was born; she came out screaming and by day 2 was holding her head up for 5-7 seconds at a whack (it's not abnormal to see a brandy new baby hold their head up for 1-3 seconds - she even shocked our pediatrician). Evie was fully mobile with commando crawling before she was 6 months old and was fully adept at climbing up the stairs to her room before she was 8 months old. She took her first step without holding on to anything before she was 10 months old and has been pushing around her brother's ride-on toys ever since. When pushing them around wasn't enough, she decided that getting on them and riding them would be much better.

But when it comes to walking, our boisterous little Evie-girl is nervous.

She will cruise along the wall, hold on to chairs (even push them across the kitchen), and walk around with her little hand gripping my finger or even just my sweater sleeve. When it comes to letting go, however, her boldness seems to dissipate and a look of trepidation creeps on to her little smiling face. If we put her out at arms' length and let go, she will only take a step or two (sometimes now three or maybe four) before diving back into Mommy or Daddy's arms. Sometimes, if she's overtired or overstimulated, she will just drop to the floor and crawl onto our laps.

In all instances, she covers up her nervousness with a hug and a kiss on my shoulder. So at least she's cute about it.

Regardless, Evie just hasn't found the faith in herself to let go yet, and this has been going on for about 2 months now. Her cruising distance will get farther and farther with her figuring out new ways to cruise from one thing to another (I've noticed she'll cruise the path of least crawling these days), but she will not let go and walk from point A to point B yet. The little face tells us the story of the reason why every time we let go - she's scared, she lacks the confidence, she wants us to help her.

As I was contemplating this one night, I opened my Bible up to work on my current reading plan. As it happened, Matthew 14 was one of the chapters for the evening which contains the story of Jesus walking on the water in the storm while the disciples are on the boat (Matthew 14:22-33). Whenever I have read this story or heard it preached, the highlight has been the need for us to place our faith in Jesus because He will get us through the storm - which I fully agree with (short version). This particular evening, however, I was struck specifically by Peter's actions rather than the words of Jesus.

"Then Peter called to him, 'Lord, if it's really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water.' 'Yes, come,' Jesus said. So Peter went over the side of the boat and walked on the water toward Jesus. But when he saw the strong wind and the waves, he was terrified and began to sink. 'Save me, Lord," he shouted." (Matthew 14:28-30)

Image from "The Brick Bible" - which, yes, is a thing and yes, we will own someday.,

After I read those verses that night, I put down my little highlighter and I put down my Bible and I just thought for a minute. Then in my head, I did this:

"Then Evie looked at her, 'Mom, if it's really you, tell me to go to you, walking on the floor without holding on.' 'Yes come,' Mom said. So Evie took a step on the floor toward Mom. But when she saw the open floor and nothing to hold on to, she was terrified and dove into her mom's lap. 'Catch me, Mom!' she said with her eyes."

Peter and my Evie girl have a lot in common, don't they?

In fact, I would say most of us aren't that different from a child learning how to walk when it comes to trusting Jesus to help us through scary, new experiences. Or through the storms of life.

But even though Jesus tells us He will be there, we still get scared. We still have a small (or large) part of us that loses faith that He will carry us through or give us the guidance we need or provide the resources necessary. In the same way, even though I am standing right in front of Evie ready to catch her if she teeters - she still does not have the full confidence to take more than just a few steps.

I would even argue that as parents, we have a lot in common with Jesus who asked Peter why he had so little faith. When Evie gets nervous, I always tell her "Evie-girl, I'm RIGHT HERE! I won't let you get hurt, it's OK to walk - I promise!"

With that perspective, maybe next time I'm being called to step out in faith or I'm in the middle of a storm - maybe I should better remember what Jesus did for Peter.

"Jesus immediately reached out and grabbed him. 'You have so little faith,' Jesus said. 'Why do you doubt me?'" (Matthew 14:31)

At some point, Evie will stop doubting that I will be there and she will have the faith she needs to walk. And when that happens, there will be no stopping that determined, energetic little girl.

If we stop doubting Jesus and have faith - there will be no stopping any of us.

When Mommy Needs a Timeout

There was a baby crying. There was a loud toddler singing. There were adult day recaps on both sides of the table. Dishes clanging. Background music coming from the small speaker on the counter. So. Much. Noise.

I could feel the muscles in my back tensing. I could feel my head getting foggy. My breathing was getting quick. Small imperceptible tears were forming in the corners of my eyes. There was too much, and I was getting overstimulated.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to hide and find quiet. Instead I snapped at my husband who was very likely just trying to help by entertaining the toddler or trying to show interest in whatever it was I had done that day.

We've all had these moments, the ones where we lash out at the first available customer instead of handling the chaos of life's daily grind with any sort of grace or poise. My moments like that tend to come between the hours of 4-6 (I've heard that's often called the "witching hour" by other parents...). Dinner, the hubby getting home, tiny people at the start of tired time when they're also hungry: all of these factors are the perfect storm to send me into a tailspin.

So there I was, standing at the island in the middle of my kitchen feeling like exactly that - an island in the chaos of the waves, just trying to hold my emotional shoreline together when the I just couldn't take the erosion on my own anymore. And I snapped at my poor husband who hadn't done anything except just be.

Didn't I learn anything from that sand and rocks lesson that Jesus gave? Clearly not...
(Image from bibleschoolteachers.blogspot.com)

While I have no doubt that God is always present in my home, it was in the moments that followed that I realized I had been ignoring that presence (again). My husband put down whatever was in his hands, walked across the chaos... er... kitchen... calmly, took me by the shoulders, and looked me in the eyes.

"Dee," he started quietly, "go upstairs, take five minutes. Don't argue with me. Go upstairs, take five minutes." He paused to let me process what he had said, then made sure he still had my eyes and said "OK?". 

I nodded. I put down whatever it was I had in my hands. I left the room without a word, marched up the stairs, and flopped face down on the bed. 

I could hear the chaos continuing in the background, only this time instead of my own stressed-out voice I heard the energetic voice of a dad trying to settle the chaos down before the mom came back downstairs. I may have cried a little bit, I don't remember... but mostly, I talked to God.

I told God I was sorry for not paying attention to His presence in my kitchen. I told God I was sorry for ignoring His hands that were trying to give me the resources I needed to get through the rest of the evening and then opened my heart to accepting those resources. Then I thanked Him for giving me a man who clearly knew that it was time for Mommy to take a timeout when I was too stubborn to realize it myself.

I took down my husband's "I Love You Because..." boards where we leave each other notes (totally stole that from Pinterest, by the way), wrote a note thanking him for being an example of God's love and grace, left it on his pillow, took a deep breath, put on the armor God had just given me, and opened the door to return to the storm.

My sunshine-filled storm... October 2014
(Image taken by RLPhoto)

That was a little over a week ago, and since then I have been working to become more in tune with when Mommy needs a time out. I have always been susceptible to overstimulation (it is one of the reasons that I was grateful to have my own room as 1 of 4 children growing up) and what's worse is that I know it about myself, I know the triggers - and I often ignore them. I always try to push through it myself, to handle the chaos without God or anyone else around me and inevitably I feel physically and emotionally worse on the other side of it.

It is in the times that I ask for help either from God directly or from the people and support He has placed in my life that I feel the best when the storm calms. Those are the times that I am able to be the best mom, wife, and whatever else I have been called to be.

I need to be brave and strong enough to recognize when I need to take a timeout and to take it. I need to be humble enough to ask God or others for that help when the time comes. And I need to never stop praying, never stop asking God for His resources, and always asking for clarity of mind so that I really KNOW when the time is coming for a timeout.

I encourage my fellow moms out there to do this too. Know when you need a timeout and don't be afraid or ashamed or too proud to take it. Runners know that you won't go far if you don't remember to breathe. Video game consoles, computers, and cell phones all need that occasional reset in order to work properly.

This one is here to see if Steve is reading. Applicable, but also an inside joke.
(Image from "The IT Crowd", found on www.quickmeme.com)

Take the timeout. It's OK. I'm allowed. You're allowed.

I Need to Stop Surviving

I was caught off-guard last night by my son's big toe.

Ever since Evie was born in April, I've found that most of what my husband and I do could be considered "surviving". We make sure the house isn't a complete disaster, that no one is dead, make sure we tell everyone we love them and that we love each other, and we make meek attempts at sleeping. Whereas five and a half months ago, I was noticing everything - these days I have realized that things are flying right by me and I am very likely missing things.

I have no idea what things I am missing. I have no idea if the growth and development milestones I've noticed in both of my kids recently happened well before and I didn't notice or if they just happened. Like Will coloring in specifically identified areas in pictures or Evie pulling the glasses off of Daddy's face. Did that just happen, or has there been a build-up that I missed? Did it happen before right now and I blinked?

On my wall is a reminder that I printed from a Proverbs 31 Ministries devotional: "Noticers see the lovely in front of them and learn to love their story."

I try to be a noticer. I really do. God has blessed me with a home filled with love, a home that is filled with the smiles and laughter of two wonderful children, the resources to allow me to stay at home with them, a husband who loves me and tries his best to show it, and so many other things that I just don't deserve. There is so much for me to take pause, to notice, to take joy in during the course of the day that it's insane that I don't just walk around with perma-grin.

Seriously. Just look at these little blessings.

But my noticing skills are getting lost in the survival shuffle. And with it the moments that I should be taking to thank God for the joy that He is trying to fill my home with.

Yes - all of this thought process was triggered by a brief 10-second encounter with my son's big toe.

Why my son's big toe? Well... it's big.

As anyone with more than one kid will tell you, the first period of just you and your first child are filled with moments that you can just savor. You can take the time to memorize every detail of that child. Their hairs, their smiles, their eyebrows, their eye color, their smile, their coos, their giggles.

Then number two comes along and life changes instantly. And I don't know if it's because they're only 2 years apart, but I feel like life with a toddler and an infant is especially crazy. The 2-year-old doesn't understand the logic of "No, I can't read you a story right now because your sister is attached to my breast and doesn't just chill and eat". The 5-month-old doesn't understand that you're way overstimulated with dinnertime chaos and the last thing you can cope with right now is her crying fit.

The time to analyze and memorize every detail of the children has been gobbled up by making sure everyone gets attention, making sure everyone is fed, making sure everyone feels loved. By surviving.

I've stopped noticing and started surviving.

Then last night happened. Last night I was down on the floor playing trucks (or maybe Mr. Potato Head) with Will when he pointed out a "boo-boo" (crayon mark or something) on his big toe. Of course I made sure I took a close look before reassuring him that there was not any boo-boo and that it would come off in the bath - and that was when it happened.

I missed a breath. His big toe got big.

Those who know my son know he's a peanut (we're talking 3rd percentile on the charts), and so this is the kind of big that only a parent who realizes suddenly that their kid is growing up. But I really had to stop and say... when the heck did Will's toe get so big? Where did his baby big toe go?

I hid the tear because my son is also incredibly empathetic and I didn't want him to see me crying right before bedtime, but the tear was there. I missed it. I blinked. And his big toe got big without me noticing.

What else haven't I noticed?

When you focus on survival, you don't take the time to realize what is in your surroundings because you just want to make sure you don't die before you get to the other side. Say, for instance, you're lost in a jungle. If you're lost in a jungle, you're not going to focus on "Gee, that's a gorgeous flower on that tree" or "I bet those vines would weave into a really comfortable hammock so I can enjoy the sounds of the river and the monkeys and such". You're going to focus on "What the heck can I do to get out of this horrible, humid, place where every animal wants to eat me for breakfast alive?".

Image from www.survivalkit.com. I've never been to a real jungle.

I'm in a parenting jungle. I want to make sure I get myself, my husband, and my kids out of the next couple of years alive. The thing is that in a parenting jungle - you need to focus on the gorgeous flowers or the vines that make hammocks. I mean... the crayon scribblings and the blanket forts. If you don't, you miss big toes that become bigger toes.

Every mom that has come before me tells me to make sure that I slow down and enjoy the moments because they're not little forever. No one has the answers as to how though. As far as I can tell, there's a whole lot of moms out there that are missing big toes.

We need to figure out how to stop surviving and start noticing. The way I figure it, the right place for me to start is to pray. Pray that God can help me to slow, because I can't do it myself that's for sure. Pray that God can help me to treasure these moments close to my heart. The goofy smiles, the interactions of toddler and baby, the tickle giggles, the filthy diapers, the moments in the ER, the snuggles, the shoulder hugs, the floppy tired baby.

The big toes.

And we need to prop each other up as moms and dads. We need to help each other survive so that we can better notice.

I need it, anyways. I guess I should stop speaking for you. I need to stop surviving. I need to notice more. Maybe you do too.