Present in the Pace

I feel like the best days of my life are fleeting before my eyes.
I'm trying real hard not to blink, but nothing stops the draining of the hours,
the days, weeks... turn into years and before I know it I will be telling all the
young mothers, "Enjoy it while it lasts."

On one hand, I'm like SLOW DOWN, bottle up all the memories, relish every moment,
capture all the scenes -- burn them on the hard drive of my heart, never forget.
And then on the hand, I'm like CAN THIS DAY GO ANY FASTER?!??! When you've got
toddler meltdown city on your hands, a to-do list a mile high, nothing but frozen
pizza for dinner... lunch... and breakfast. The complete parody of parenthood.

Life often feels more like the tango than a waltz.

Moving. Steady. Abruptly changing.
Wild. Intimate. Serious. Exciting. Abruptly changing.
Sippy cups. Tired eyes. Rinse. Wipe. Repeat. Abruptly changing.

Oh wait, that's not the tango, but my liiiiiife!

Last week I walked into my counselor's office; four walls, 100 sq feet of safe space.
God has done some crazy work on me in that place over the past two years.
Letting me yell, cry, laugh it all out.... process all the things.

"What's your pace like?" he challenged.

"Fast, messy, busy. You know, normal?" I self-soothingly shot back.

"At the end of the day, did you taste ANYTHING?" he pressed.

"Sometimes I catch it. Often, it's survive or die mode!"

silence.
MORE SILENCE.

Inner monologue: OMG how does he read my soul?!?!?!?!?!?

"Man. I need to work on being PRESENT in the pace."
Yes. Yes, be present in the pace.

The very next day, for real, I opened the mail box to find a package shipped from Washington.
A gift from a social media kindred spirit -- one with the most beautiful eye for
colors, movement.... you can't make this stuff up!



I burst into tears standing in my kitchen.

Be present in the pace.

I don't think it's just motherhood or parenthood in general - but many of us find ourselves
swimming hard in the big, loud ocean of life; barely tasting our days for fear of drowning in the process.

I know the song is like eight million minutes long, but this part right here >>>

So I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

It's never going to stop; the waves, the rush.
The pace is set, but I get to decide how present I am in the journey out into the deep.
And that is beautifully consoling. That even when I am up rocking the baby at 2AM
or hustling in my work; when I am cleaning up the kitchen for the thousandth time;
washing, wiping, putting away all the things....

I will have tasted.

Because I have been present in the pace.
Walking on those waves.




artwork c/o the talented Kendra Castillo
check her out on facebook | instagram

Childrenisms

I do some pretty awesome things when my husband is working all day. *pats self on back*
Recently, I managed to rearrange all of our living room furniture -- which included shoving
a very hefty loveseat down our hallway and into our master bedroom. When he finally got home
to the "surprise", I equated the whole moving the couch into the master bedroom scenario to

"giving birth".

I told him, "You must LOVE it! I birthed that couch for us!" Lol.

Disturbing imagery, I know. But I think it highlights the creative labor I put forth
to make my our interior design dreams come true.

Anyway, what I really want to talk about is my children. I did truly birth them.
Do you know the other day while I was shopping at Whole Foods (because this would only happen at
Whole Foods) a very energetic, normal-looking woman chased me down the aisle waving and smiling....

Stranger: "Yoohoo! You have two boys and a girl!
You MUST tell me what you DID to get a girl!"

And I'm thinking, clearly she knows 'what to do'.

But no, this lady wants legitimate tips on conceiving a girl. Like down to vaginal pH
and ovulation theories. And I'm just here for fermented pickles, not a fertility lesson!

This "stranger" was suddenly becoming my new BFF. I mean I don't just talk about mucus patterns
with anyone. Oh my gosh this REALLY happened. But then she just said, "We have the three boys,
and I just don't know if I can do one more pregnancy... and not get a girl!"

To which I consoled her with really not consoling news at all, "Well, I really hope we can
have a few more! They are just awesome -- no matter what!!!"

Her whole face changed. But not in a bad way. She THANKED me.

Stranger now BFF: "It's so relieving to hear you say that! I don't want to feel
alone in this! And I think big families are great!

And I'm just standing there like, "What just happened?!"
I hope you name your child, Brittany Awesome, dear lady. Ha.
#cultureoflife #missionwhereyoustand


But I concur.

Big families are awesome, and I just love doing life with these people God gave me --
they make everything so fun...ny.


Me: "How did you get so good at drawing dinosaurs?"
Judah: "Well, I waited 100 years... and then I could just do it!"
Me: "But you're only 4 years old."
Judah: "Well, ok so 4 years..."
Me: "Gotcha."


Isaiah: "Mom, are you making dinner or eating cookies again?"
Me:

Isaiah: "Mom, how much do pets cost?"
Me: "Well, it depends on what you want to buy. Like a pet fish would cost about $3."
Isaiah: "I was thinking T-REX."
Me: "Buddy, dinosaurs are not alive anymore."
Isaiah: "What! Are you kidding me?"


Me: "How many pieces of candy did you eat?"
Judah: "ONE!"
Me: "Then why are there NINE wrappers in your bedroom?"
Isaiah: "Well, we EACH had one."
Me: "Well, there's only TWO of you!"
Isaiah:
Judah:

Judah: "I love you!"
Me: "YEA?! Why do you love me?"
Judah: "Because you're a good cooker and picker upper. You also know a lot about oils."


Me: "Why do we eat vegetables?"
Judah: "I only eat carrots."
Isaiah: "OOH OOH OH!! So we are not constipated!!!!"
Judah: "That is not right."

Me: "You guys, please be quiet, I am tutoring Anna."
Isaiah: "Toot-er."
Judah: "YEA! Toot!"
Both: "TOOTER ANNA!!!!!"
#minions


Judah: "What can we call this hammer?"
Me: "Knuckle Sandwich?"
Judah: "How about AWESOME? Rock Star? Or Punk?"
Me: "Whaaaaa?"
Judah: "Or sponge."

Bella: *screaming* *throwing things from purse*
Me: "Would you like some water?"
Bella: "NO!"
Me: "Would you like a snack?"
Bella: "NO!"
Me:
Bella: "MONEY!!!!!!!"

Motherhood: My Cloistered Years

Every morning I am not woken by an alarm clock, but by the sound of toddler boys
crawling out of their bunk beds, feet still heavy with sleep, trudging into our bedroom or
down the hallway; on the hunt for breakfast or to check and see if mom forgot to unplug the Wii.
The baby must be just waiting in her crib for the first sound of life in our house because as
soon as there is movement, there is Bella Jane.



Our days are warm and slow. Since we have decided to homeschool, there is no morning rush or
lunches to pack. We take our time over bowls of oatmeal; wiping sleep from our eyes, opening up the
blinds to let the sunshine in for the day, really seeing each other.




The kids all stand at the door, or if there isn't any snow they step out on the porch to brave
the cold for a few minutes, to wave goodbye to papa as he leaves for work. Isaiah always yells,
"What time will you be home?" And Nathan always yells back, "I'll see you for supper, buddy!"
And I just wonder if maybe he is the favorite parent after all?! Ha.

We do school and work on projects. We clean the house and prepare food.
We go for walks and play at the park. We visit Jesus at church and say our prayers.
We nap. We read. We drink hot chocolate. We watch Netflix like everyone else.

It is lovely. I mean it is hard, but lovely.



Someone told me awhile back that this is the only time in my entire life when all of my children
are completely depending on me. And even though that makes me want to curl into a ball and weep
with Ben and Jerry some days, most of the time I see it as such a small window of GIFT in my
vocation of motherhood. This will never happen again. And I know that God has so much prepared
for me in what I have dubbed my "cloistered years".

I want to look through that window -
take in the view and stay.

It is quiet and hidden and scoffed at by the world.
But this isn't about earthly accolades. This is about eternity.

Jesus doesn't say "hot mess"

"Who are YOU?"

I just blinked back tears and shook my head, "I can't answer that."


It was the kind of interview that one should ace. The most elementary of questions, and I'm scanning
the room with jetty eyes hoping the answer will suddenly pop out of the wallpaper or something. I mean
I could have given the rote litany of my achievements, college GPA, all the titles associated with my
life: child of God, wife, momma, blogger, ministry director, missionary, blah blah blah. A resume that
can stand on it's own. But me? I'm just falling over. Because I can't answer that question.

I've spent most of my life running. Literally. I'm not a runner, but on a bad day I can break out my
tennis shoes and run a mile flat to feel pain, to feel alive, to feel like I'm getting away from whatever it is that haunts me. And then there are all the less actual parts of my life that keep me waking up every morning, putting on "my face" whether I have somewhere to be or not, going and doing A, B, C...
D, E, F, G... because if I can just keep up this fugitive act!

I will not become that.
Whatever it is that I'm so afraid of.

And in the process I've lost sight of who I really am.

Is this midlife crisis material or what? Because I don't know. It's scary as heck, but also exciting.
It's so easy to spend all the time giving and giving in the name of Jesus -- taking care of my family,
husband, children, my people -- but when you run me through a scanner? You'll see the façade.

You'll see that it's easier to DO than to be. It's easier to RUN than to stay. It's easier to IGNORE
than address. It's easier to PRETEND than admit. I'm fine. Oh I'm fine. I'm really fine.

I AM NOT FINE. And that's ok.

Growing up is amazing. Can't wait to see what another ten years does for me!
It's humbling. I am not invincible. You all knew that, but I didn't.

I mean, I went to Target the other day commando. I was wearing sweats of course, but not being
"totally put together" is a big step for me. And let me tell you, it was FREEING! I also haven't
vacuumed my house in over a week, and I quit apologizing for still being in bed when my husband
comes to kiss me goodbye before work. Beds get made if they get made. Laundry gets done if it gets
done. And I have a hair appointment next week...

Hahaha. It's not THAT bad of a midlife crisis.

Running has done the complete opposite of what I imagined it could do for me. Instead of liberating
me from all my problems, it has literally chained me in a room with all the issues piled up because
I'm a professional when it comes to pretending everything is ok. But I'm done. SO done.

I've stood and I've fought and I've let this whole wide world break against me.
Let me say that again, against ME. I know what you're thinking. Doesn't she know Jesus?!
Why yes, I do, but I like to put Him out of a job a lot -- and for that I'm truly sorry.

If you run into me in public, you have the right to wonder if I'm wearing any underwear at all.
I'd say it's safe to assume that if you come over for a visit it's no longer ok to eat anything
off my floors. It's not about GIVING UP -- it's about giving it all up to the God who made me and
knows me and loves me and wants me to be happy in this life and the next.

I'm surrendering my orange fugitive kicks and laying down my arms.

I just want to be able to answer the question.

"Who are you?"

Not what is expected. Not what is to be avoided.

If you stood before Jesus today what would He speak over you?
Who would He say you are? I don't think "hot mess" is part of His vocabulary.
Could be wrong. But I'm thinking He would have praises to sing -- ones that you and I can't even
see ourselves. Let THAT be our song today as we dance IN our underwear.

Rookie Parents

Last week our 3 year old had the croup. I wouldn't wish that sort of crazy on my
worst enemy-parent. Ever. I told my mom that I'm pretty sure I could pass military
training without shedding a tear now. I mean it doesn't get more intense than not sleeping,
barely eating because you are feeding everyone else all the freaking time, spending your
free time rotating air purifiers, cool air vaporizers, and wiping down every touchable
surface with soap and water. And THEN going for walks at 3 in the blessed morning in a
brisk 10 degrees... thanking God because the cold air helps.

"Make sure you put a shirt on him before you go outside," I helpfully reminded my husband.
He didn't say anything, but I could feel the "I'm not stupid, woman!" laser beams from his
eyes burning in my direction. My bad. Captain Obvious here, reporting for duty.


But you guys, men and women raise babies differently. I reminded him of the obvious because
he does things like, "two pees" or sometimes even "three pees". Do you know what that means?
Let me tell you. "Two pees" equals two toddlers peeing into a very small oval target in the
bathroom. "Three pees" equals two toddlers and A MAN peeing into a very small oval target
in the bathroom. Hold me.

And the other day? I turned around at Whole Foods to see my little guys eating ice chips
out of the beverage display in the prepared foods department. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Daddy said we can eat them."

Excuse me while I hold the eyeballs that just fell out of my head. I stood in awe as Nathan
argued that there were more germs at the library play center than in the beverage display.
Oh good. Let's make sno-cones.


5 years a parent and I still feel like we are such newbies.

In many ways I find this whole parenthood thing harder to adjust to than getting married.
I mean it was one thing to merge the hearts of two people in love. Quite another to let
those two, different, strongly opinionated, "I can raise babies with my eyes closed"
attitude, people have children together.

I mean we definitely discussed the whole thing before we even walked down the aisle.
We talked about faith, discipline, responsibility, allowance, baby names before a child
was ever even conceived. Totally thought we were the Toyota Sienna swag van couple:
"I'm an awesome parent. True!" Ha. Humility is good for the soul.

One Easter, a few years back, we BOTH made dinner plates for the kids.
We got to the table, turned and saw what the other had already done, and sighed. My uncle,
who has 8 children of his own, saw the whole thing and laughed, "ROOKIE PARENTS."

I probably punched him in the shoulder and told him to shut up, but the truth of the
matter is we NEED it. We need the forgiveness that humor often brings. We need the
"You're doing a great job!" or "Have you tried this?" from the next parent over.

They say, "it takes a village." They tell no lies.

I'd say I'm a fairly confident, perhaps even to a fault, person in general. But with
parenting? I crave the affirmation, opinion, guidance of others who have gone before me.

Because y'all, parenthood is no joke.

Not too long ago I asked my husband what he would do if I was taken hostage. I'm a planner.
It's nice to hash these things out. Just in case. Ha! Without missing a beat, he just said,
"I'd do anything, but give up one of our children for you."


There it is. The truth that every parent knows so well. We love our children, as mom or dad,
in a fiercely passionate, radically beautiful way. Even though on the day-to-day level it
comes out as extraordinarily different. I'm over here building play-doh villages to fire up
the motor skills and stimulate their little minds, and daddy is telling them that they can
have pocket knives when they turn EIGHT.

I'll probably veto all over that.

But who knows. I'll be a little less "rookie" by then.





I cannot encourage you enough to reach out today and share whatever wisdom or grace
you've received in your years of parenting with the next parent over. Let's make it a habit?
This "we're all ok" culture is failing. We need each other, we need community.
We all need to be mothered and fathered again and again -- spiritually and biologically.
Find the nearest rookie parent near you!!! Help save a mother from "two pees". XO

Dear Mom, lower your expectations.

Yesterday I stood in mismatched pajamas with the messiest of messy buns atop my still half asleep head
as my freshly showered, sharply dressed husband hugged me goodbye on his way out the door for work.
Inner monologue: "I do not hate my husband I do not hate my husband..."

Meanwhile, the kids were fighting over who got to put their finger in the empty screw hole (yea)
on the table between shouting demands for MORE peanut butter to not put into their mouths, oh no,
but all over my wall. I'd love to raise a Picasso... some other time.


"Yea, have fun on your VACATION to the office," I quipped to Nathan.
"It must be nice to go to a place where everyone took a shower, dressed themselves,
brushed their teeth..."

Oh I was laying it on thick. I don't need him thinking for ONE MINUTE that this stay-at-home mom
business is for Grey's Anatomy re-runs and bon-bons. Try Sesame Street and an endless raisin buffet
that ends up all over the floor, stuck to my socks, ground into the carpet.

"Have fun in the mosh pit?" he stated in hopes of making me laugh.
"Just turn up the music - they are already tearing it up."

Yea, all he got was some pursed lips and rolling eyes.

At this point I started fake crying. I'm not sure if it was because my kids were now throwing
chewed celery sticks at each other or due to the fact that I probably wouldn't be able to even
put on a bra until at least noon.

"I hate you for leaving," I moaned.
"You're beautiful!" he responded.
To which I laughed in his face... silently calculating the hours in my head until he would be home
again to relieve me from the insanity. I began hallucinating... a raisin-free taco buffet and
a bottomless margarita glass.

And then he went and blessed the mess outta me with three little words:

"LOWER YOUR EXPECTATIONS."
Let's all *SIGH* together.

I just nodded my head, knowing he was right.

How easy it is for me to make my list and do, do, do all the things that I think make a happy
home, husband, kids... a happy me. Because we all know that beds that are made equal bliss. NOT.

Those three little words mean "LET IT GO" to me.
They mean "SURVIVE." They mean "PAID TIME OFF."
They mean "QUIT TRYING TO HOLD IT ALL TOGETHER SO HARD."
Dear mom, sometimes your kids wake up on the wrong side of the bed, and sometimes you wake up
on the wrong side of the bed. Whether that makes you Godzilla or an emotional ship wreck - it's ok
to take a "breather"... all day long if necessary. Lower your expectations. Go ahead. Turn on Grey's
and eat a bon bon or 10. It's going to be ok. Bras are for weaklings.



____________________________________

Are we friends??? Because we should be. Just saaaaayin'.


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