Great Expectations

I once read somewhere that disappointment grows from unrealistic expectations. 

Like the time I sat in the dirty santa circle with my fellow fifth grade classmates loftily hoping for a shiny new Hello Kitty Friends Only sticker book as I looked at the selection of wrapped gifts.  I pick the package that is sure to deliver all of my Sanrio dreams and unwrap it to find an obviously regifted/used pair of rainbow knee high socks.  How could this be?  I spent so much time picking out that brand new 48 pack of glitter pens for my gift only to get old socks?!

Skip to adult life when year after year I muster up the hope of a magical holiday season filled with It's a Wonderful Life dreams and lofty Pinteresting ideals.  Handmade ornaments, perfectly pretty wrapping, chocolate dipped confections, and family members cheerfully drinking their eggnog and counting their blessings. 

But the reality is that those ornaments don't make themselves and family members aren't perfect.  The reality is that it takes a Christmas miracle to get out the door {on time} with 2 bathed and festively clothed children, a husband, overnight bags, a pack-n-play, the all important sleep sound giraffe, the {hopefully} yummy dish you prepared, and a sleigh-worthy load of gifts that are sure to be smashed into the back of the car ruining the effort you spent to wrap them only to fight holiday traffic for an hour.  Needless to say...by the time I backed out of the driveway my Christmas cheer was nowhere to be found.

While deep breathing behind the steering wheel, I decide the only thing that will fight this early onset of Grinchism is Starbucks so I pull in and wait a painstaking 11 minutes.  I huff and puff while mentally pulling out a bazooka to blow up the cars in front of me.  How long does it take to make coffee, for goodness sake?!

Holiday spirit at its finest.

But somewhere between the barista and Jackson Street I found my inner elf.  Because it's just as much my job to bring the joy as it is everyone else's.  Christmas is about the birth of the one who died for our selfish selves.  The self that selfishly expected a Hello Kitty sticker book.  The self that would have {imaginarily...is that a word?}killed to get her coffee a few minutes faster.  The self that expects everyone to be as perfect as she is in tough family situations.  The self that greedily wants her holiday to be magazine worthy without having to do the work.

Maybe my disappointment comes from an inner knowing that nothing I do or give or receive could ever measure up to the gift He gave.  Maybe my disappointment comes from expecting joy from gifts or from people.  But the truth is that there is no amount of tinsel, chocolate or wrapping paper that will compare to the Greatest Expectation that will never disappoint...the One who came.  He was one of us.  He died for us.  There is no jolly-old-pointy eared-sugar-plum-reindeer-jingle bell substitute. They will all disappoint. There is only one I Am. And my job is to love the way that he loves.  Period.

 

Mommy Confessions: Mommy don't play, yo. Learned lessons on discipline

Well, I haven't posted in a billion years...but in my defense, I've been raising up the future of America{I've found that, as a mom, this is generally an accepted excuse for just about anything.  Feel free to use it at will}. And I've come to learn some valuable lessons on discipline, so I thought I'd share.

*note: if you enjoy criticizing parenting techniques and cross referencing blog posts with researched data, feel free to stop reading and X out of this window.  No really.  Feel free.

Still with me?  Great!  Then you know that I'm not trying to say that what I have found true for me and my children is true for everyone, blah blah blah, disclaimer disclaimer, etc.

So, on those lovely notes...
As a christian, I believe my job as a parent is to train children in the way they should go {Proverbs 22:6}.  What does this mean to me?  Well, the references to the parent/child relationship in the bible boil down to obedience, and I believe that it is my job to teach my children how to obey my husband and me so that they can later learn how to obey God.  I believe God loaned his children to me and trusted me with this job, so I take discipline and obedience pretty seriously.  But it's his reoccurring theme of love that I reference most.  I've been around children of all ages and have my own 3 year old to know that kids' need for love trumps all others {except maybe for that whole feeding thing}.  And this brings me to my first learned lesson:

There is no substitute for quality time
I'd say 9 times out of 10, if one of my students or my own child has acted out, it is because, in some way, they have a need for attention or a need to be acknowledged.  So, I've always tried to maintain a stance that positive quality time on my terms is better than negative quality time on their terms.  I can choose to spend good focused time, let's say, in the morning with my son talking to him, asking him questions, laughing with him, dancing with him, singing with him, throwing ball with him {basically letting him know that I love and care for him}. Or...
I can ignore this need of his and inevitably spend hours of my day yelling at him, disciplining him, spanking him, sending him to time out, arguing with him and ultimately letting his outbursts control our relationship to one another.  This option is exhausting and pretty disheartening.
Why does good quality time work?  Well it all boils down to love.  Carter will always want to make me happy because he loves me.  So the more I nurture that love, the more he will make an effort to please me.  I want his obedience to be intrinsic, and so does God.  God wants us to obey because we love him.  Period.  So it's a good rule in my book.

I've found that discipline is never ending. Children lack the ability to think long-term, so just because I disciplined my son for hitting his younger brother in the head with the bouncy ball today doesn't mean he won't do it again tomorrow. But when he does, he knows what my response will be. And that is my second learned lesson.

Be consistent
Kids not only need boundaries, but they need to know where yours are. Every adult is different, and that is ok. But they will conform to the boundaries of the adult they see and care for the most unless they have discovered that they can do otherwise without consequence.  So my trick is to nip things in the bud the first time it happens.  If you merely tolerate the behavior the first time...chances are you will snap and explode by the 10th time.  Don't snap and explode.  It's not attractive.  Take it from an experienced exploder.
But every time that thing happens, my response should always be the same.  No matter the time of day, the location, or the present company.  This lends itself to the next learned lesson...

Let your yes be yes & your no be no {Matthew 4:37}
In short, keep your word.  Every time.  It's biblical and well...because trust me, they notice when you don't.  Every time.  If you told them no, your answer for that request should stay as a 'no' until conditions are favorable for YOU to change to a yes.  Let's say I'm trying to hold off the snacks until lunch, and little man asks for goldfish.  I say no three times which will probably result in whining or a tantrum.  Well my go-to for whining and tantrums is ALWAYS time out{gives him a break from the situation...and it sucks to stay in the timeout spot so there is incentive not to throw tantrums}, so it's easy for me and not a surprise to him{consistency}.  But after timeout I may offer him lunch a little early and let him know that if he finishes lunch he can have all the crackers he wants.  I know you want crackers, and I want to give you what makes you happy, but crackers come on MY terms.  Not because I'm a snack nazi and I hate all snack foods...but because I want him to have a nutritious lunch with protein and fruit first.  If he didn't have a problem eating a carton of goldfish and still eating a healthy lunch?  well then snack away my little energizer bunny! No harm no foul.
*side note: I often ask myself "why am I saying no?"  Sometimes I say no because it's just easier at the time than yes, but that may not be fair.  I have to remember he wants to be heard.  He wants to be acknowledged. 
Keeping my word and staying consistent take work...but put it in on the front end and it's smoother sailing on the back end.  Carter is 3 now, and time outs are few and far between because he knows my general boundaries.  He knows what disobeying, whining and tantrums lead to.  Every time.  No apologies.  No excuses.  No get out of jail free cards.  Mommy don't play, yo.

learned lesson number 4...

Never underestimate the power of good manners
Yes ma'am, Yes sir, please, thank you, and may I be excused are like religion around here.  It's a sign of respect, it's a life skill that can be really hard to teach later in life, and...well...it's southern.  So it's law in my house.
Also, the confidence to greet adults and give a good hand shake is something that some college students have trouble with.  So we started little man early.  We taught him a few catch phrases that help him relate to adults with confidence, and while a handshake paired with a "Hi! How are you? How about that weather?" May seem like a silly thing to teach him, when he says this to anyone, they ALWAYS smile, laugh and more importantly RESPOND to his questions which equals a win for him.  He feels successful.  There's no substitute.  I want a son who has no problem introducing himself to his teachers so that he isn't just a face in the class.  I want a son who has no problem shaking a father's hand before he takes that man's daughter out on a date.  I want a son who speaks with confidence because child predators don't choose children like that.  They choose children who are unsure of themselves, & afraid to speak up or say no.  I want a son who knows that he is important enough to be seen and heard by adults and that he doesn't need me to speak for him.

I may not always get it right.  I may want to run from the house screaming some nights.  But God never said it would be easy.  He did say, however, that it would be a blessing.  And that my children would be like arrows in the hand of a warrior{Psalm 127:3-5}.  Those arrows aren't free.  They don't come without work, but they make me a better hunter.  A better person. 

MVP

Today, my youngest son Charlie {8months} underwent minor surgery.  In technical terms, he had a hernia that needed repair and an undescended testicle that needed to, well, descend.  In my terms... he had ball surgery. 

And while, from the outside, this may not have seemed like a big deal to me, I assure you that if you've had a conversation with me in the last week...part of me wasn't listening.  Because this day has been lurking in the back of my mind. And while I did my best to make ball jokes{there are a lot, by the way} and distract myself with whatever could take my mind off of it, there was no avoiding today.

But this post isn't really about me somehow keeping it together right up until it was time to give him "hugs and kisses" goodbye before the surgery, and how I knew if I did I would lose it completely so I just said "I can't..." and let my husband do it.  Or how I nearly bit my lip in half waiting the hour that it took for the doctor to do the job.  Or how every time I looked at my phone and saw a message that asked "how are you?" tears would well up because I knew I needed to say "I'm okay."

 

This post is really a shout out to all of the parents who have waited.  Waited to be called.  Waited for answers.  Waited for doctors.  Waited for test results.  Waited for surgery to end and their child to wake up.  Waited hours, weeks, months or years for their child to recover. 

This post is a shout out to any parent who has ever had the courage to consider the worst case scenario, and the faith to hope for better. 

For any parent who has wondered when things will be "normal" again. 

To parents who sit, stand or pace through waiting room chatter while imagining every step of the procedure your child is sleeping through.

To any parent who would gladly take the place of their child in the hospital bed or the operating table.

To any parent with more than a ball on the line.  Where the best case scenario is anyone else's worst nightmare.

To parents who move mountains to make sure their child gets what they need.

To parents who ask God "why?" Who ask nurses "how much longer?" and who ask doctors "what next?"

For parents who spend more time in the hospital than at home.

For parents who worry...because our worry is love under pressure.

 

I know that my day was just a taste of what some experience, and in the words of one of those extraordinary kind of parents that I am lucky enough to know,

"Our strength comes from the Lord."

 

Mama called the doctor and the doctor said....

A sick family is one of the many Mommy Rights of Passage.  Kids get sick, then because you can't keep from kissing, hugging, and making general physical contact with them, the parents get sick as well.  Now, myself, I am a tough-it-out-no-drugs-necessary kind of gal, but that kind of thinking doesn't really go over well with children.  They tend to refuse to sleep, refuse to eat, and generally refuse to behave like normal humans when they get sick.  So I was forced to make an appointment.  And taking more than one child to the doctor's office is no small feat.  I'm not sure if you are aware, but going to the doctor requires a lot of waiting, and this is something that neither I nor my children are fond of.  But we did it.  For the betterment of our sanity, we waited, we were seen, noses were checked, lungs were listened to, weight was measured, meds were given, and we were on our way. 

Cut to two days later when my husband falls ill.

And then one by one, our family falls victim to what I call the "crud." I think I'm out of the woods, escaped by the hair on my nose {that's an strange saying, no?}, when BAM, it hits. 

I take some time to sulk about it, but the after a few days of next to no sleep between the coughs of my husband and the cries of my children, I'm just pissed. How dare this thing come at me?!  I don't have time to be sick!

I medicate via over the counter daytime/nighttime whatever, hoping something will put a dent in this thing....nothing.

I try to tell myself I'm fine, and decide to go to a hometown concert and enjoy myself over the weekend, and it all caught up with me.  In the form of a blackout.  Yep.  I was just standing around, chatting, enjoying myself by the tour bus of Dustin Lynch and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground looking up at worried faces.

You know that saying "The bigger they are, the harder they fall" well that would be true.  Falling as an adult sucks.  I definitely felt like I got hit by a small car.  Okay, maybe just a go-cart, but you get the idea.  If it weren't for the construction barrel behind me, I may have had some awesome skull stitches to brag about, but I'll be thankful for the lack of blood that was shed.
However, the night was not a total bust, as I did get to meet Dustin...

and yes...he's just as amazing in person.  And no, he didn't see me faint.  Thank you, God.
 

But I woke up on Monday feeling like a hot mess, and realized I needed to go to the doctor.  I also realized that my kids needed to go back to the doctor because they had finished their meds with no signs of improvement.

Why does everything seem impossible when you are sick?  Sick kids are bad enough, but when your own body is crying for help and rest, caring for little ones is like climbing Mt. Everest.  I sat and sulked for a moment wondering how I would get it all done, then took a deep breath and made the appointments.  I went first to find out I was severely dehydrated.  Turns out you should drink a lot of fluids when you're sick. 

You heard it here first, and you're welcome.

Anyhow, 2 bottles of water, 2 shots, an EKG {just to be safe}, 2 prescriptions {big shout out to Codeine cough syrup}, and 2 hours later I was on my way home only to face another appointment for the boys.

Thank goodness I had the help of my husband and mother-in-law because things like standing and walking were a little tricky that day.  But we were all sent home with new prescriptions for the boys, and that was a week ago.  They are still sick.  As I'm typing this, I'm listening to the baby cough over the monitor. 

I have always taken the attitude that doctor knows best.  Well, this mom is feeling a bit different a month later.  That doctor better hit us up with the best she's got, because the Watsons are ready to say goodbye to Mr. Crud.  Little Charlie is due for surgery next week {more to come on that later} and they won't operate if he's sick.  Needless to say, I'm ready to get that surgery behind us, so I need him to be well!!  So looks like mama's gonna call the doctor...again.



Mondays Are Dumb

 

....And I know that every working person would agree with me, but there's a whole other dimension to Mondays as a SAHM.  And this Monday is no exception.  My husband, who I miss terribly as of recent, is back at work.  My working friends are back to their jobs, and I should be back to mine.  Well, Maybe I should back up and start with the weekend. 

Saturday, we packed up our sad sick family and ventured home to Normandy Tn.  Yes, we are sick.  All of us.  Have been for a month.  That may be a whole other post.  Anyhow, I went back and forth about whether or not to go and subject the boys to the cold weather...blah blah blah.  But in the end I decided that I was tired of hibernating at home waiting for us to get well.  That only assured cabin fever with a side of short temper, and down home backwoods is usually, for me, a fast track to sanity.  There's something about being home that takes me back to what's important, and there's no room for fast-paced living around a fire pit.  So the fire pit, hot stew, cornbread, sweet tea, marshmallows, firearms {yes, we shoot guns} and a general attitude of "who cares?" won out.

 

 

 

But just like any vacation {because that's what it is, in a way} you pay for it doubly when you return home, and that is just what happened.  There's a laundry list of things to do, put away, catch up on and get in order, but between the packing, unpacking, driving and the non-sleeping that occurred {ahem, sick kids}, I have zero energy or motivation to do any of it.  So here I sit, at 10something AM, still in sweatpants and glasses, blogging away while all those things sit and wait for me. 

And the difference now as opposed to being a teacher, is that as a teacher, I had no choice.  My body got up, got ready, got going and did its job because that's what needed to be done.  I got there at the same time every day.  I would talk to the same people every morning, cheer up as my coffee kicked in, plan my lesson, make my copies, and run my day the same as always.  I would pass fellow teachers in the hall and we would share a look that silently expressed how we couldn't wait until 3:15pm, and somehow, we would.  The last bell would always ring, and the day would be over.

 

But at home, all the lines are blurred.  Productivity is relative. 

Heck, everything around here is relative. 

There are no absolutes.  No black and white.  No test scores.  No evaluations.  No collaborating.  No grumpy bosses.  No emails to answer.  No deadlines.  And nothing is EVER the same.  The kids are different every day.  So a large part of me flounders in these kind of loosy goosie situations.  A part of me needs routine and pressure to produce quality work.  And I've found that it comes in waves.  So...I just wait for the wave.  And I ride it for as long as I can when it comes.  However, on Mondays, those waves are few and far between. 

But maybe that's the beauty of Monday.  There is a whole week ahead of you waiting to be spent, and being a professional procrastinator {insert a curtsy of acknowledgement}, I can convince myself that I have 4 more days to prepare for the next weekend.  Yeah, I've got time.  I'll get it done tomorrow.  So, today, I have a serious case of the Mondays.  And my prescription is a second cup of coffee, more cuddle time with a certain 3 year old and an episode of Little Bill, a really hot shower, and a big pot of soup.  Take that, Monday.

Life After Reset

I can't believe it's been a month since I hit Reset! The time has flown by, and I haven't really had time to collect my thoughts so I'll just dump them all here.

-After the dust of a third birthday settled, I focused all of my effort on a cleanse.  I had come to the peak of unhealthy eating, and I knew the rest of the ride would be all downhill to Chubby Town if I didn't do something...and fast.  So after reading an article about 8 ingredients you don't want to see on your food's label, I realized most of our pantry is full of cancer.  Preservatives, additives, dyes, and other harmful chemicals. This article scared me into being more mindful of the things I put into mine and my family's bodies.  I am starting with baby steps.  Obviously avoiding boxed and packaged anything as much as possible.  Fruit at least once a day.  Vegetable(s) at least once a day.  I switched to Hormel deli meat {no preservatives, additives}.  No more dark colored sodas for me {my husband not-so-much}.  Switched to white American cheese {no dyes}.  Switched to natural colored and flavored potato chips {chips in our house is a non negotiable. It's kind of our thing}.  I'm taking time to plan home cooked meals, and I took a cue from a friend and started Soup Sunday.  I make a large batch of soup from scratch each Sunday, and we eat the leftovers during the week. Small steps for some, but big for me!  Learning to pull together a meal from beginning to end with two kids on two different schedules is a challenge, but planning is the key.

 

-Before I made these changes, I decided that I needed a fresh start. A new perspective. And a cleanse seemed like a good way to jump start my new healthy initiative. And let me tell you, a cleanse isn't for the faint of heart {or digestive tract, for that matter}.  I'll break it down for you, but please know, my research was minimal and consisted of reading a few different internet articles.  I am by no means a medical expert, and I didn't see one before doing this.  I just did it. 

Cause I'm a risk-taker like that. 

So, for three days I ate only fruit/vegetables and drank only water.  And it sucked....but it did the job. I felt better and was ready to eat cleaner. AND it forced me to drink water, which I never do.  I hate water...well I used to anyway.  Now I kind of like it.  Mostly because I saw and felt such a difference.  I don't get awful headaches like I used to.  I feel fuller but I am less bloated.  I have more energy, and my skin looks better.  Which leads me to...

-I stopped wearing foundation.  And before you gasp in horror, know that this doesn't mean I stopped wearing all makeup.  I still use a little mascara and lip gloss and maybe some eye shadow {above} if I'm going out...but that's it.  Once I realized how great my skin looks when I take care of it and take care of myself, I thought why cover it up?  It's me, after all.  And I need to be okay with me. And I have to say, it's freeing. 

 

 -For the first time in 6 months, I had a few days with just Charlie.  Carter spent some time with my parents, and Daniel was out of town on business, so me and Charlie had quality time together.  And I have to say, it was pretty sweet.  He's such a happy baby, and it was good to have him all to myself.  It's hard to have guilt-free one-on-one snuggle/tickle/talk time when there is a three year old paying very close attention to your every move.  Carter tends to get the jealous eyes {understandable}, so I try to keep the mommy affection evenly spread.  But for 3 days he got all of my time, and I'm certain he ate every bit of it up.  It also reminded me how things are with just one child.  It seems so easy to only have one now, but when one was all I knew...it was all I could handle.  *shrug* You live, you learn, I guess.

 

-I find myself dropping everything I'm doing to answer Carter's questions, play his games, or just to pay attention to him. The whole goal of hitting Reset was to quit working on auto-pilot.  So chores may get interrupted, and my type A need to finish a project from start to finish screams in agony each time I step away to play, but my time with him is more important.  And after celebrating him being 3, I've realized those things can wait.  His childhood won't.

 

-I've also been making time for the Lord EVERY day, but not just prayer or turning on worship music, but also reading His word.  It's not always easy, and sometimes I just don't want to.  But I've found that those are the days that I need it most.  And he is faithful to show up every time.  And as I become more familiar with the Bible, I find myself remembering specific verses and standing on them.  My grace is sufficient.  As I was with Moses, so I am with you.  I will never forsake you.  Do not be anxious about anything...it has taken me a long time to find interest and comfort in the Bible, and it has never been a strong area for me as a christian.  But I'm working on it.  One verse at a time.

 

I'm finding that being a SAHM just gives me more time to fill with distractions.  So I'm doing my best to eliminate the static and focus on what's important to Him.  I'm sure my life will be full of Resets, and this one is proving to be a good first.



To Infinity...



Carter turned three {insert mommy tears}.  Time goes by so fast, but all you moms know that so I'll spare you.  The real point here is that one of my major goals is to make more of an effort to make big days special.  Somehow, in the routine of life, special days can end up being...well, not so special.  So not only did I want to plan a fun party for him with friends and family and the whole nine yards, I also wanted to do a little something special on his actual birthday, which fell on a Monday.  So during his birth day nap, I blew up a few balloons, wrapped his gift, lit a few candles atop a small cake and when he woke up, we celebrated just the 4 of us.  I won't lie, it takes major effort to rile up the troops around here {aka my husband}, but it turned out to be pretty special...well to me at least.  And Carter got to open presents and eat cake for dinner, so it was probably pretty special to him too. 

 

And a few days later, it was all things Buzz Lightyear

 

With the help of Pinterest, I was able to pull off a pretty fantastic party.

 

 

Cake Pops by Moms Pops

And I realized while standing in the party city isles thinking of a good favor for the kids to take home {swirly straw cups} with them, that I'm a mom of a kid with friends.  This is the first birthday of many with party favors, goodie bags, and silly games.  I'm sure this is some sort of mommy right of passage.

 

I found a few unique toystory prints online to decorate with, and plan to reuse and hang them in Carter's room.  This one is a drawing of Buzz by a guy who draws Disney characters as if they were real people.

 

But I think the best part was being able to host the whole thing in our beautiful backyard.  The kids were able to play on the swing set that my husband worked so hard on...

And in the bouncehouse that we bought earlier in the summer.

I think the first few birthdays are more for the family, and less for the kid, but this one...this was all about Carter.  Parties are a struggle for me.  Who to invite?  Who do we have room for?  Well, I realized quickly that if it rained{which it did right before the party}, and we were all stuck in the house, we couldn't fit my entire family, Daniel's entire family, and Carter's friends.  So while it was difficult to not invite some family, I know that Carter had fun with his friends and our immediate family.  And this day was about him.  Maybe one day we will have a house big enough for everyone, but until then, we will have to keep it small.

 

Carter is my constant reminder of how God has blessed us in the last three years.  I believe His word when it says that children are a heritage from the Lord.  They are like arrows in the hand of a warrior, and blessed is the man who fills his quiver with many {Psalm 127.3} Life seemed to begin only after we had Carter.  Love him.

Recharge & Reset

We took a family beach vacay over the weekend, and even though it was cut short by hurricane Isaac, we made the most of the 2.5 days we had.  While I did have plenty of time to sit, toes in the water, and just...be, I did manage to completely wear myself playing in the water with my soon-to-be three year old. And somewhere between building sandcastles and wave boarding, I realized I've been running on autopilot.  Mommy survival mode, if you will.  Carrying out necessary tasks to keep the house and occupants thereof afloat.  Make breakfast. Feed breakfast. Clean up remains of breakfast. Wipe faces. Wipe hands.  Wipe bottoms.  Tidy house. Kiss children. Repeat for lunch & dinner, then sleep.  And before I know it, every aspect of my life is on autopilot as well.  There's food autopilot where my meal choices are no longer thoughtful, but instead last minute and often packaged.  There's wife autopilot where we exchange typical marital phrases, like "I love you" and hope that it makes up for the lack of conversation we've had in the last 24 hours.  And because I'm on autopilot, I find myself feeling bored.  Not because there is nothing to be done...because there are LOTS of things to do...but because I'm running the same track over and over and over.  It happened when I was working, so it's not just a SAHMommy thing.  Old habits die hard, and they are habits that I fall into because it's mindless. It takes zero effort and next to no energy. And then I realized how little energy I've had lately...which goes right back to what I'm feeding my body, and the general lack of fitness I am currently maintaining.  I did a happy dance when I was able to fit into and button my prepreggo jeans and pretty much quit worrying about my body by the time the zipper was up.  Now, while I am an advocate for rest, and I generally think most Americans work entirely too much and cram too many things into their calendars, knowing that I've been living on autopilot seems like a slap in the face to my adventurous spirit.  Not to mention what that attitude might say to the One who provided me this time here on Earth.  So today, I'm hitting RESET, people. 

Psshh. Who needs a January 1st date to make some life upgrades, anyway?  I change things up in August 'cause that's how I roll.

Beautiful Mess

-A friend recently called me a "mess"...and my former self might have shreeked and ran in the other direction, horrified that anyone saw me for who I really am.  But, at 28 years old, I laughed because it's true, and in a way it's so freeing.  I am a mess, and the beautiful part is that I'm finally okay with that.  In a world of Pinterest, Cosmo, and botox it's easy to spend your entire life trying to be someone you're not. But, lately, I'm too exhausted to continue the "perfect" facade {as if anyone was believing it}...so I've decided to roll with the hot mess that I am and work what I've got.  Yeah, ok...so what if I hate wearing makeup, my hair is never in place, I throw things when I'm mad {or maybe just trying to make a point...shoutout to my toothbrush}, I lose things, I laugh at things that probably aren't funny, I talk excessively when I'm nervous, I will never be gentically qualified to be victorias-secret-model skinny,  my house will never look like a PotteryBarn catalog, the number of gray hairs on my head are multiplying on the daily, my kids sometimes spend most of the day covered in their most recent meal, I don't always say the right things or make the right choices, and as of yesterday I may be known to walk in on strangers in the men's bathroom only to awkardly apologize for it later *palm to face*.  But I am who I am.  I'll never be perfect, and the good news is that I don't have to be.  God is doing a work in me...I can feel it.  So pardon the mess, but I'm under construction.
I may be a mess, but it's a beautiful mess.
 

Is That a Grey Hair?!

 My husband and I recently took a trip to Las Vegas, and while vacations always bring out our fun side, I realized {brace yourselves}, I'm getting old...{er}.  We sat next to a college student at the first show we saw, and I laughed out loud when she asked us if we were "going out" afterwards....after the show that wouldn't end until 11....PM.  Going out?! I thought I WAS out!  I also found myself wanting to avoid the young hip bar scene and opted for more civilized dining experiences instead.  And instead of, as I had planned, handing over cold hard cash to fling myself off of the 40 story Stratosphere hotel & casino with nothing but a few cables between me and the concrete earth below, I watched sheepishly from the bottom as others took the plunge, wishing I was excited about it as they were.  I talked myself out of it and found compromise with a carnival-ish roundabout ride atop the same hotel.  This will do, I thought.  But then as the arm of the ride swung us out over the side of the building, my children flashed before my eyes.  What if something goes wrong?  What will they do without me?  I could see the news story headline.  Two children left parentless.  Faulty hydraulic cable sends mother and father 40 stories to their death.  Who have I become?  When did I start looking before I make the leap, and in some cases, not leaping at all?  Somewhere between my 25th and 28th year, it seems I lost my cojones.  I used to be so carefree.  Fearless.  But the world that I once saw as my playground, full of monkey bar possibilities, I now see as the safety hazard that it is.  And instead of running right up and taking my turn, I tip toe my way through the minefield of caution signs.  They say things like "Early Morning Ahead"...yep, better not stay out too late.  "Make U-Turn Now"...before I fail or get my feelings hurt.  "Falling Expectations"....better be realistic.  And by the time I make it to the metaphoric apparatus, I've talked myself out of the adventure. Needless to say, I've marked a few things off of my bucket list...shark diving probably isn't a good idea.  Sky diving...seems a little risky.  In fact, I may just avoid diving of any kind.  And I'm not even ready to talk about the number of greys my hair stylist covered up last week.  *palm to face*...it's happened.  I'm officially a responsible{ish} adult.

Cleared For Takeoff

As I stow my bag and buckle my seatbelt on my flight to Vegas, I excitedly await my favorite part of flying. Takeoff. The sound of the engine. Being pressed against your seat by the velocity of the machine you are traveling in. Feeling the earth leave you, first from the front wheel, and then the rears. Watching your relative world zoom out a hundred miles at a time as you slip through air and clouds. 

Is it obvious that the science nerd in me geeks out over aviation? I always have, really, in one way or another. Being the daughter of an avid museum goer, the air & space sorts are my favorite. I get why people learn to fly, and I kind of love all things airplane. I secretly want a collection of wooden propellers. I've always wanted to skydive. I have an affinity for old leather bomber jackets and aviators. And if Top Gun isnt one of your favorite movies, we can never be friends.

Maybe it's the hundreds of years of aviation history. Maybe it's the speed required. Maybe it's the feeling of cheating death.  Maybe it's the view from above and seeing everything you know differently. Im not real sure, but I've decided that I feel for clouds and the atmosphere what some feel for sunsets or the ocean; closeness to your maker and such.  A genuine appreciation that I'm even here and able to be a part of the bigger picture. A change in perspective, I guess.

As I spend the next four hours glued to my window, feeling a certain jealousy for pilots and those who have been lucky enough to travel beyond our atmosphere, I wonder...did I miss my calling?

7 Years Strong

Gift giving, for me, is difficult.  I think the perfectionist in me wants to give the perfect gift every time, and I usually talk myself out of every idea that comes to me. So when I realized I was weeks away from my 7 year wedding anniversary, the usual gift giving panic set in.  I had just given my hubby pictures of the boys for Father's Day to hang in his office at work, so I thought he should have at least one of me in there, right?  Well, somehow, I talked myself into slipping into my wedding dress for a few pics{let's just take a moment to appreciate the fact that I could get that sucker over my recently acquired mommy hips}.  I commissioned one of my shutterbug friends, Brit, to help with the camera work, and we braved the 100+ temps to snag a few shots around the neighborhood.  Sweat and bugs aside, we ended up with some great photos.  Here are a few of my faves...

It didn't feel quite right to leave the boys out... 

It was fun, and I couldn't help but think back to our wedding day and all the excitement that came with it.  I'm so blessed to have married such an amazing man.  We've had our share of challenges and tears, but at the end of the day, I know he's in my corner.  He's more than I deserve, and I'm lucky to have his love.  Here's to 7 years strong.  Happy Anniversary, baby!

Always, your bride :)

Letter To My Boys

Recently I overheard a conversation between parents where one asked the other, "What do you want for your children?" and the other responded "I just want them to be happy."  It made me wonder, what do I want for my children?  Do I just want you to be happy?  Not really.  Happiness isn't reliable.  It's not some reachable destination.  It's ever-changing and often fleeting.  I'd say, at the very least, I want you to be happy.  Do I want you to find joy in your everyday life? Of course, yes.  But I want your lives to reflect the greatness that I know is within you, and greatness is born from moments that aren't so happy.  Greatness is born from overcoming frustration.  Greatness is born from overcoming fear, restlessness, anger or hurt.  It comes with tears and worry and sleepless nights.  It comes with ridicule and competition.  It requires hard lines that can't be crossed, steadfast faith that refuses to be broken, and courage to do what's not always easiest.  It requires balls of steel in moments of weakness...to either walk away, or to face the consequences of giving in.  It almost always includes making mistakes.  Moments that make you cringe.  And that's okay.  Be thankful for the lesson, ask for forgiveness, and move on.  As much as I want to shield you from all of those awful things, I know that growth or change isn't possible without them.  I also know that surviving those awful things requires knowing the One who put the greatness inside you, and His son who made your knowing Him possible. 

What do I want for you?  I want you to find your own greatness in life over and over again.  It's part of who you are and the legacy you leave.  It lives with you and beyond you. 

Keeping The Peace

I'm not gonna lie, there was a time when my temper could have been described as "backwoods."  One wrong look and I'd ask what exactly it is that you are staring at and if you'd like to take a picture.  I vaguely remember being the cause of an afternoon run to the E.R. because my brother needed stitches.  But honestly, be it age or be it experience, I've learned to laugh things off.  I rarely take myself seriously, much less the words of others.  But it seems that lately, my sense of humor is being tested. 
Do you ever have a day when you wish you had a free pass to say or do whatever you wanted?  It's that kind of week for me.  What I'd really like to say to said person is "how about you back up ten feet before speaking with me so that I'm not tempted to break your face with my elbow." or "what if you take those awful words back, and instead tell me 3 things that you love about me so that we can all recognize how freakin fabulous I am." or "yeah, nice to see you too, a-hole." or "don't mind me.  I'm just a human with a soul" or "don't worry about it.  I'll be the adult here since you obviously weren't going to take that route."
What stops me every time is the notion that most people, including me, aren't always aware of their tone, timing, or straight up lack of common decency.  I give most people the benefit of the doubt...sometimes to a fault.  And at the end of the day, I'll take the blow because honestly, I know I can handle it.  Probably better than most.  I know I'm an amazing mom, a thoughtful daughter, a supportive sister, a beautiful wife, a loyal friend, and overall an enjoyable person to be around.  So suckas can't get me down...and they definitely won't cause me to tarnish my Educated Citizen status.  Because reacting would give them what they want, and I'm not about to give them the satisfaction. 

Also, I'd hate for my children to have to speak to me from the other side of a prison cell.    

Mommy Confessions: My Son May Be a Genius. He May Also Be a Nudist

I will never claim to be a perfect mom.  And let's be real, some days I wouldn't even say I'm a great mom.  I do what I can a day at a time, and it's a bonus if at the end of any of those days we end up with one moment worthy of my Mommy Highlight Reel. 

Oh, don't pretend you don't have a highlight reel. 

Mine comes in the form of pictures on my phone.  "stay RIGHT there, kid!  I need a picture to document how awesome we were in this moment." {Because, after all, if there's not a picture...did it really happen?}  This way, when I scroll through, I see all the fantastic mommy moments I had, and I can forget about all the horrendously unattractive housewife outtakes that happened in between. 

If you don't have a highlight reel already, GET ONE.

Last week, I added a few more pictures to my highlight reel.  I may not be great at every aspect of being a mom, but teaching, that I can do.  I was made to do it.  My kid knows his alphabet, his numbers, he can count forwards and backwards, he knows time, his address, and how to spell his name. 

He's going to be President one day...

or maybe just a really intelligent hardworking individual who does great things in a normal-living kind of way. 

Either way, he needs a challenge, so I decided to make a trip to our local parent-teacher store to pick up some activity books.

Yeah, that's right. My 2.5 year old is working on a PreK-1st grade level. folks.

I've set "school time" during Charlie's morning nap, and right now we are working towards writing letters by tracing lines and such.

But I can't be great at everything...which is why he's completely naked in this picture {cropped out for your viewing comfort}.  Great at teaching. Not so great at keeping my child clothed.  Sometimes, all times, it's just easier to keep the kid naked.

Do what you can, right?

Summer Bucket List

Adventures are meant for SUMMER!  Especially when you have little ones.  Hopefully this list will grow as I think of things.  It's a work in progress, and I'll link things as I go.

Nashville Zoo
Chatanooga Aquarium
Drive-In Movie
Berry Picking
Beach Trip
Trout Fishing
Camping Trip

Let's Zoo This!

Since little Charlie came along, Carter sometimes gets the short end of the attention stick.  So my husband and I planned a few adventures to take him on, just the three of us.  He's gotten to be a good little side kick, and he's pretty low maintenance at this age so I thought this summer would be the perfect time.  His reaction to the beach is really what inspired me.  He's old enough to appreciate the wonder of most things, and that is magic that you can't miss.  First up, the Nashville Zoo!

 Sometimes, as an adult, it's easy to pass up things like crawling on your hands and knees to get an inside view of a meerkat cage (above), skinning your ankles on the Jungle playground slide, or paying an extra ten dollars for a 3 minute zebra train ride.  But you do it because doing those things with mommy is what they may remember most.

 Those fish came correct and posed for photos

 My little photographer in training.  The elephants from his point of view



My sister Jennifer recently wrote a post that got me thinking about who I am as a person aside from being a mom.  It's so easy to lose yourself in the wake of everyday life.  In your children, your husband,or your job, and believe me, there are days when I feel like a zombie, but I think I've held on to who I am as an individual by remembering and relishing in my favorite things.  I know, we feel like we should always include Jesus, our children, and our husband when asked what our favorite things are...so let's just assume those are all a given here.  I'm talking about the things that I do for me, and I have to say the main ingredient to most of my favorite things is time.  Making time, finding time, or sometimes stealing time to think, time to breathe, and time to decompress.  Time to enjoy things like...

A long windows-down-radio-up kind of drive

As a mom and wife, this is probably the most accessible thing for me.  I've been known to grab my keys once the kids are in bed, or sometimes I just take the long way home from the grocery store.  I have great memories on back roads as a kid with my dad and as a teen with my friends.   I believe that country roads make heavy thoughts lighter, difficult conversations easier, stubborn tears fall quicker, and muddled minds clearer. 

A fire

There's something about sitting around a fire that draws out "remember when...?" stories.  And I have to say, I become exceptionally funny around a good fire...maybe because I feel more free to be myself.  Feel more free to be a little rowdy.  Crack jokes.  Have a beer.  Being by a fire usually means that the TV is nowhere near, the stars are out, the day is done, sleep is near and the ones you love are sitting next to you.

A good glass of wine

Anyone who knows me well knows that I love a good drink.  It's something that can be hard to admit as a christian, for some reason.  My opinion is keep it reasonable and keep it responsible.  And, for me, a glass of wine usually means I'm with good company. Which leads me to...

Girl time

For me, this is my most sacred favorite thing.  I cherish my close friends.  Talking and relating to the women in my life is what lets me know that I'm not alone.  I'm not the only one who struggles, who hurts, who fights, who gets upset, or who makes mistakes.  Sometimes we think other women have it all together, and we beat ourselves down for not having what we think others have.  But girl time always reminds me that we all have similar stories, and we, as females, just want to share those stories.  We want to talk about our day, our week, or our last few months.  We tell our stories as if they are mini soap operas and sometimes get tickled by the ridiculousness of it all.  We use a lot of hand gestures, our tone goes up a few octaves, and we laugh at things that later become "you had to be there" kind of moments.  There is no substitution for a good friend.
Travel

Whether it's up I-24 to Nashville or across the country to Seattle, I love to go and see.  It's been an added perk as a stay at home mom to be able to pack up and go whenever I want.  My husband travels quite a bit for work, so sometimes I tag along with him.  I love places with history, city skylines, exploring new cuisine, or being in awe of a beautiful view.  But it's not always glamorous, and I like it that way.  Sometimes it's walking up a gravel driveway in Amish country.  Sometimes it's being barefoot in a creek.  Whatever it is, I like the adventure of it all.  And when I have the time and the funds for it, I make it happen.
These are things that make me who I am.  These things keep me excited about life and thankful.  They are the things that remind me to take a breath and love the life I have.


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Forever Changed

I laugh when I think back to before I had children.  I used to think, I'll still be myself, just with kids.  I laugh because I am so different than the person I was then.  Because whether I believed it or not, my children would change me.  Being pregnant changed me.  Giving birth changed me.  Putting someone else's needs before my own changed me.  Watching a miracle, made from my own DNA, grow and evolve changed me.   My perspective encountered a shift, and while the world around me stayed the same, my thoughts, my feelings, my fears, and my dreams became much different.

I'm a firm believer in Nurture trumping Nature.  I believe that raising my children can be boiled down to Input = Output.  What I put in to my children will come back to me without fail.  It's biblical {planting = harvest} and it's science.  What isn't divinely or genetically determined for them, is up to me.  Language, dialect, accent, expressions, physicality, sense of humor, outlook on life, beliefs, values, the list goes on and on.  Once I had children, everything became centered around making sure I was giving high quality Input.  And thank God he made some changes in me so that I could.  One of the changes I've noticed most is how I love.

I've always had a hard time showing affection.  I'm not a very good hugger, I'm fully aware of it, and no, it's not something I'm willing to work on at this point in time- I'm a big fan of the high five.  My personal space is important to me, and I catch myself using strategies like laughter, humor, or sarcasm to keep people out of it or to keep from showing how I really feel{I am working on this}.  I've built some mighty fine walls in my lifetime, and some of them have been knocked down while others still stand in the way.  But nothing stands in the way of me loving my children.  I can't kiss them enough, hug them enough, cuddle enough, or tell them how much I love them enough.  Partly because I've taken enough child psychology classes to know that my usual crutches, ie. sarcasm, can be detrimental to young children, but mostly because God has been changing and tweaking my heart a little more each day. I remember the first tweak coming days after Carter was born.  I hadn't kissed him yet, and I remember getting a mental nudge, you should probably show him some affection...something other than just holding him.  The stream of endless kisses began that day and haven't stopped since.  So this Mother's Day, I'm grateful for all the ways my children have changed me, and most of all, for teaching me how to love. 

Maybe one day they'll teach me how to become a better hugger.

Homeless

I'm on the floor, peering under my king sized bed, with a flashlight in one hand and a vacuum hose in the other when I realize my home as been taken from me.  I'm homeless.  Not in the 'I have no shelter' kind of way, but in the 'oh my God, I've been overrun' kind of way.  While hoping that the beam of my mini flashlight discovers my lost engagement ring, I instead discover 6 old apple jacks, a bouncy ball, a canine chew toy, a bolt, a topless marker, a folded up card table and 4 chairs, a baseball bat (aka homeland security), an extension pole of some sort, and what seems like a quarter inch of undisturbed dust.  This was a reoccurring theme under each piece of furniture I looked under, and I looked under every piece that isn't nailed down (excluding heavy appliances which will be pulled from their positions shortly). 

I used to find comfort in my science classroom because it was mine.  All mine.  I controlled it.  I knew where every last staple was and everything had a place.  My desk and lab counter were usually spotless, and it made me happy.  But now that my job is at home, and my home has been overrun by a borderline hoarder of a husband (this is probably an exaggeration) and a nosy 2 year old, I have no space.  No place is sacred anymore.  The living room, make that every room, is always littered with toys.  My laptop keys are busted.  My smartphone screen is usually smeared with sticky something-or-other.  My showers are usually interrupted by one or more people barging in without knocking.  My jeep floor is littered with goldfish and old fruit snacks.  My lovely Paula Deen copper bottom pots and pans are used as drums.  My Vitamin Water always has someone else's backwash in it.  The TV runs Nick Jr all.day.long.  I rarely eat a meal from beginning to end in one sitting...or standing I should say.  Because my lunch break equals scarfing down a PB&J sandwich while standing at the counter for the 3 minutes it takes for Charlies 11oclock bottle to heat up.  And as it turns out, not even my jewelry box is mine anymore.  Little fingers found my favorite watch...broken.  Those same little fingers found my engagement ring (that was patiently waiting for MY pregnant fingers to return to normal size)....lost.  Hence the searching.  I realize that it's my own fault for allowing him to get into my jewelry box, but every boundary seemed to become blurred once I had a second newborn.  Suddenly I was telling myself to give the kid some slack. But today as I was tearing through my house to find my Precious, I was a little overwhelmed by all of the C.R.A.P. that I had to pick up and sort through BEFORE looking for the actual ring at hand....or out of hand as it may be. Overwhelmed by the fact that I straighten and pick up things all day long, but that's just the surface.  Upon closer inspection, things are a mess!  In fact, there were so many spaces that needed to be sorted through or cleaned that I had to start a list on my smartphone to keep the crazy at bay.  The ring isn't here.  I know, you hate this drawer.  Despise this drawer, even.  But you don't have time to clean it out.  Just put this stupid drawer on the list, crazy woman, and move on.

The more I looked, the more frustrated I became.  Frustrated with my son.  Frustrated with my husband.  Frustrated with myself for letting it all get to this point.

My saving grace was having the sense to drag the vacuum behind me as I overturned cushions and couches.  At least I have comfort in knowing that the carpet under the love seat is clean.

Spring Breakin' It

To me, there is no better place to be than on the beach.  I love the sun, the water, the waves, the sand, the breeze, and the easy laid back flip-flop lifestyle.  The past few times I've gone without Carter, and I spent the entire time missing him and thinking about what a great time he would have.  I knew I couldn't let another year go by without taking him, although I have to admit there is always that uncertain fear that he'll be a total pansy and never step foot in the water.  But it turns out he loves the beach {and the water} just as much as I do.

It was the most excited I've ever seen him!

We found seashells, flew kites, built sandcastles...you know the drill.  And it was fantastic. 

We rented a 3 story beach house with my family in an area right outside of Panama City Beach, and while it's always a bit stressful to house 7 adults {i'll fill you in on my family dynamic some other time}, 2 toddlers, and 2 newborns under one roof, we had a good time.

Speaking of newborns...how did Charlie like the beach?

This picture sums it up.  He was pretty easy going, and slept a lot. 'Cause he's a rock star baby like that.  No, really, he's amazing. 

We all took turns sitting with him and Ella {my sister's 4 week old daughter} on the beach and keeping them happy.  My parents were good at that and didn't seem to mind...but let's be honest, even if they did mind...we would have made them do it anyway. 

This trip really stemmed from the end of my husbands busy tax season.  He works 6 days a week for 4 months and only makes it home in time for bedtime most nights.  His quality family time is sparse during those months.  So vacations are like gold to me.  I get him 24/7 and Carter does too.  He is such a good dad and it makes my heart smile to see them play together.  He ran in and out of the waves more times than I could count laughing with Carter and having a good time.  Love it.  Nothing hotter than a man who loves his family.

Daniel's sense of humor is one of the most attractive things about him, and vacations always bring that out in him.  And laughing is my favorite thing to do, so it works out :)

The temps took a bit of a dip one day, so the boys took that opportunity to visit the aviation museum in Pensacola.  Open cockpits, endless buttons and switches, simulators, and did I mention buttons and switches?  yeah...my son's dream come true.

But, honestly, I'm not sure who enjoyed it more.  Carter, or my dad!

P.S. we are working on my dad's "fashions."  I'm hoping to remedy the white tube sock look soon. Although I'm pretty sure he would think ankle socks are ridiculous.

It's been a while since my last vacation with my family, and it was good to spend time with them.

  Especially my overworked hell-of-a-painter brother.  He sees hot rods and paint guns more than he sees any of us, so I'm glad he squeezed out a few vacation days.