Y is for Yawn: The Mom Alphabet

I've got one in Kindergarten and another headed there next fall, so the alphabet is a popular topic in our household these days. Every day we are spelling new words, learning sounds, and practicing writing those tricky curves and bumps that make up the language we love.

I love it...but it can get wearing.

So, this one's for the moms of alphabet-learners out there! Next time you are up to your neck in vowel sounds, crossing t's and dotting i's, maybe you can think of this and get that smile back on your face.

Hugs!

The Mom Alphabet

A is for Appetite, as I eat your leftover goldfish crackers for breakfast.
B is for Backwash that you leave in my water bottle after only ONE SIP.
C is for Crumbs that I vacuum up in your bed, car seat, and anywhere you've ever been.
D is for Drool that pools on your pillowcase when you finally crash for a nap.
E is for Evite for the birthday parties you get invited to nearly every weekend.
F is for Free, which you know how to spell because they are the only apps you're allowed to buy.
G is for Grocery cart that you won't sit in until it's too full of food to have room for you.
H is for Hamburger Helper which is way more work than the box makes it sound like.
I is for Instagram that lets me  filter out how tired mommy really is.
J is for Juice, which you want more of as soon as I sit down.
K is for Kale, and kale is for suckers.
L is for Laundry that never ever ever ever ends.
M is for McDonald's play land when it's winter and mommy gives up.
N is for Netflix. Enough said.
O is for Oh no, when it gets too quiet around here and I know something is up.
P is for Popcorn, which I will be vacuuming up from under our couches for the next decade.
Q is for Quarter, that I don't have for that video game over there and never will so stop asking.
R is for Reheating my coffee again and again and again.
S is for Sweaty head when you wake up from your nap and I could just eat you up.
T is for Timehop that makes me swoon and sob inside my heart each day.
U is for Uh-oh, which is never good to hear from the other room.
V is for Vacuuming. Again.
W is for What did I forget to buy at the store/put in your backpack/mark on the calendar today?
X is for eXactly how many times do I need to ask you to find your [ anything ] before we can leave?
Y is for Yawn as I tuck you in for the millionth time.
Z is for Zzzz as I fall asleep watching Downton Abbey way past my bedtime.

You Know You're a Mother When...

With three children under six, my motherhood currently trumps other aspects of my identity.  I'm cool with this.  I welcome it, truly.  I know that there have been days when the other hats that I wear (wife, counselor, student, sister, friend, writer, etc.) eclipse my parenting, and these moments will come again as my seasons cycle frequently and with much overlap.

a smothered mother is the very best kind

Right now, as I nag my 4-year-old to stop throwing crackers as I type and sort through which burp rag is salvageable until I get a chance to do laundry again, I'm embracing the role that challenges and fulfills me the most:  motherhood.

Maybe you can relate!

You know you're a mother when...

reapplying deodorant constitutes "getting ready for the day"

supper is the bane of your existence

you have more My Little Pony songs stuck in your head than Taylor Swift tunes

Target's Cartwheel app offers you the highest appreciation of your day 

you feel a deep level of success after using the Nosefrida on your infant

running out of paper plates is your recurring nightmare (when you actually get to sleep)

you haven't finished a fresh cup of coffee in one sitting since college

it's not creepy at all to sit and stare at your sleeping child while a million things could get done

you only take selfies when you can't get your kid to sit still enough for the photo you want of them

you have contemplated what it would be like if Handy Manny and Bob the Builder ever met

your dining room table looks more like a Michael's craft store than a Martha Stewart catalog 

locking the bathroom door brings equal amounts of guilt and relief

you've prayed about naps/bedtime/quiet as fervently as if it could prevent global disasters

your [overworked] vacuum understands your daily disdain as well as anyone 

you've said "Please stop _____" at least 800 times today

nothing grosses you out anymore

you have a love/hate relationship with TimeHop which usually leads to weepiness no matter what

you're exhausted, smelly, weepy, happy, frustrated (no, these aren't the seven dwarfs) and wouldn't trade in your life for anything else in the whole world (if you don't feel this way, just wait until about 8pm when the children are asleep and your heart swells up with that crazy love only a mother knows!)

Dog Gone It

So, we maybe, might, possibly, probably, sort of are considering getting a dog.  Before any of you start sending me Cesar Milan books or tell me which Pinterest dog board I should be following, let's all take a step back and just contemplate this decision.  Rather, read my rant about all these pros and cons and feel free to weigh in as you deem necessary.

Whew.  This seems like a big decision to me.  And, it is!  I mean, I understand that owning a pet is a serious commitment that lasts years and years and requires attention, money, and energy...none of which I have a superfluous amount of these days.  But, I also have a new, big, fenced-in yard and two feisty children who would dote on a new creature to play with in their outdoor adventures.

We currently have two indoor cats, though I have never considered our family exclusively "cat people".  It's just that we've lived in apartments forever, so the dog issue has been off the table until now.  And, as I peruse the local shelter websites and the photos of dogs of all kinds...well, there's no denying why they call it "puppy dog eyes" and I start to feel my heart strings tug and can hear Sarah MacLaughlin singing in the back of my head.

Maybe I'm a sucker for cute puppies.  Maybe I'm trying to stave off baby fever.  Maybe I'm trying to justify this new concept of yard-ownership with giving it a full-time resident.  Or, maybe I just like the idea of giving my girls exposure to the friendship, responsibility, and life-cycle of what it means to care for another.  As you can see, there is most likely some dog somewhere inevitably waiting to become a Pardy.

But, here's something else for us all to ponder...

As I've asked around to friends, family, strangers, shelter-owners, etc. for their insight and advice for dog ownership, one common sentiment has been expressed again and again and again:  It's a lot of work.

My initial thought is "Um, you know I keep two humans alive, right?"  Sure, I know that kids are different from dogs.  And, I'm not insulted by the remark at all.  As condescending as it may sound, I totally understand that pet owners genuinely want to convey the importance of the commitment being made, and that real life with a dog looks differently than the Pedigree dog food commercials make it out to be.

The "lots of work" comment has been followed up by several pieces of [albeit, very welcome] advice regarding what kind of dog to get.  I want this information.  I've asked for it, and I am interested in continuing to research different breeds/mixes and meet a variety of dogs before landing on a fit for our family.  However, it made me laugh out loud when I considered this notion concerning a human baby.

What if I had asked "We're thinking about having another baby - parents, weigh in!  What do you think?"  If you consider the same depth of concern regarding the answers I might get, it might look something like this:
Another baby would be cute, but be sure you get one that sleeps through the night!
Yes - but, get one already potty trained.
Don't do it!  They are so much work and you already have a full plate. 
What if it bites your children?  That's hard to discipline.

What if it grows up to be ugly?

What if it becomes sick later and needs extensive care or attention?

Be sure you don't get one that talks too much.
Remember, the bigger the baby, the bigger the poop.
What will you do with it if you want to take a vacation?
What if your girls don't like the new baby?

All valid considerations!  Ha.  But no one would EVER tell me those things regarding a baby.  And, as we all know, not all pregnancies are considered this much prior to their arrival.  Let's face it, surprises do happen!  Can you imagine if pet ownership happened that way?  What if you got a letter in the mail today that said:
Congratulations!  You've been selected to get a new dog in 6 months!  Get ready now - you will need food, water, and many veterinary bills to prepare for.  You can register at PetSmart to be sure you get the supplies you need.  There's no telling if this is a good dog or not, but you will definitely be stuck with it for a very long time.  It might keep you up at night, but it will probably love you very much.  Good luck!

It's a strange world we live in.  It's a luxury for us to even get to consider rescuing a dog and calling it our own.  Maybe we will get one soon and it will be a terrible fit.  Maybe we will wait and get one later and it will be a perfect match.  Or maybe, we'll just do the best we can and figure it out as we go and keep asking for advice and prayer along the way!

One thing is for certain...I'm glad and thankful I didn't get this much input when it came to picking out my kids.  [Thanks, God!] Yes, I would rather have a child who sleeps every night through the night and always remembers to thank me when I feed her.  But, then, she wouldn't be who she is without her spunky spontaneity and charisma for sass.

I have a feeling that if/when we get a dog, it will imperfectly fit into our imperfect family just fine.

*If you have dog advice, please feel free to weigh in!  Just because we're crazy doesn't mean we're ignorant.  

Junk Drawer

Do you have a "junk drawer" in your house?  Perhaps you have a junk closet, or a junk room, or a junk warehouse for that matter.  (I won't tell.)

In every home I've lived in, I've always maintained a junk drawer.  Somehow it follows me from location to location, regardless of the "organized" state it may start from at move-in-day-one, it never fails that it very quickly becomes a deep abyss of...well...junk.

Nevertheless, I am in and out of this drawer more often than others in my home.  While my book shelves might gather dust, or my CD collection may go untouched for months, the junk drawer is a daily necessity to my every day life.

Batteries go out on the tv remote:  junk drawer.  I need to level that picture frame:  junk drawer.  Coupons for that one pizza delivery place:  junk drawer.  The list goes on and on.  You might even find an umbrella or a couch in there at the bottom, as it seems to be more like Mary Poppin's suitcase than I care to admit.

As you can see - it's a TOTAL WRECK.  But, while there is zero thought or effort assigned as to how I organize this little space - there is equal part guilt for keeping it so haphazard:  zero.  I feel no shame in my little junk drawer full of crud.  It works for our home and it keeps our junk out of the way in an efficient (albeit, untidy) manner.

Everyone's got a junk drawer.  We all have something that works for us that others might deem disgusting or questionable.  I'm not talking about morals or values or of anything of real consequence.  I'm talking about everyday chaos that we tuck away to just keep moving forward.  The necessary stuff we need to move past in order to just function.

I'm exposing my junk drawer today cause it's an analogy for all of us living under the illusion that others have it all together, or others have their life more "organized" than we do.  Probably not.  Probably they have a junk closet (or warehouse) that works for them that's helping maintain their sanity too.

All this to say, junk drawers happen in life.  Don't sweat the small stuff, so to speak.  Don't think that gal Pinteresting her latest seven-layer-dip for her Literature and Wine book club party tonight doesn't have somewhere she stashes that half-used chapstick that she just won't throw away.

Whatever.  You get it.  We are all a mess who need Jesus - the one and only junk-organizer who can whip us grimey-trashmakers into shape through His love and grace alone.

Now, where did I put the duct tape?

Kids for Sale

It's been a trying week.  Work, school, and life in general are swirling about me in non-stop motion.  I told my husband late one night that I felt like I was sucking water from a fire hose underneath an avalanche.  My girls have also been annoyingly "sort of sick" throughout the week.  You know the kind - just sick enough to keep them out of play dates and church nursery, to keep them whining throughout the day and night, to keep them crabby and demanding...but not sick enough to get snuggles or have them slow down at all.  How is it that kids can run a slight fever and run around the house like maniacs all at the same time?

classic hug-turned-strangle situation

Don't get me wrong, of course I don't want my kids to be so sick that they can't play.  I'm glad that their sniffles don't slow them down and that they are generally healthy as caged zoo monkeys.  But, it is exhausting to be with them and trapped in the house day after day trying to not let "The Little Mermaid" songs drive you batty.

As I was folding a volcanic mountain of laundry last night, I realized that God probably infiltrated stay-at-home-motherhood with mundane tasks like that (or doing dishes, or picking up toys, or wiping noses) so that we could feel again and again I'm so good at this to make up for the rest of the day filled with the frustrating doubts and infuriating challenges of thinking I can't handle these kids! What am I doing?!

I might not enjoy folding laundry or doing dishes or generally cleaning up after my little tornadoes, but it does fill me with a sense of pride that I can actually accomplish something ridiculously well in the midst of such loud, incessant, irrational pandemonium.  When I can stack a pile of clothes perfectly straight (which, inevitably get knocked over within seconds of completion), I can take one second of pride in the fact that I'm overqualified for the chores that this job requires.

Then, in the midst of a knock-down-drag-out battle over who gets to buckle Minnie Mouse in the toy stroller, it helps me take a deep breath and remember that I really have NO idea what I'm doing, but I'm still going to be okay.  This is normal.  This is motherhood.  And as quickly as the brawling began, it will all be over and we will probably all be crying into bowls of ice cream at 9 in the morning.

grumpy is as grumpy does

Early in the week, when I could have sworn it was almost bedtime and then realized we hadn't even had lunch yet (tick, tock) I had to just pray pray pray for the fruit of the Spirit to get me through.  I love these little beings more than my own life, and yet there are times I'm ready to post them in the FREE section of craigslist.  As I was literally knocked over the head with a lego block, I clenched my fists and bit my tongue.  And, in that split second all I could think was HOW in the world does God not just smite us all off the face of the planet each and every day?!?

If blatant disobedience, irrational fighting, and incessant demands are all it takes for me to lose my cool (and that's putting it lightly) then I have no capacity for understanding the grace of God and how the heck He compassionately forgives my stupidity day after day, hour by hour.  I need to tap into that mercy.  I need to channel that kind of only-through-Jesus compassion.  I need the patience that surpasses all rationale to be able to be the parent my girls need.

The reality is, I'm going to lose my mind in front of my girls sometimes.  I lose my temper so often I'm thinking of getting a GPS tracker for it.  Praise be, that I live in a place and time where I don't have to parent these hooligans all alone, and I have the greatest resource available as a mother - a Holy Spirit who puts up with my nonsense and extends me ridiculous amounts of undeserved mercy to help me get through the day, and reminds me how priceless this season truly is.

Midterms

It's been a long, long time since I've had a midterm.  In fact, the last time I even heard the term "midterm" was to reference the status of reaching halfway through my pregnancy and it had nothing to do with homework at all.  The only test I had to pass back then was the anatomy ultrasound and going shopping for more pink clothes.

But, this is a very different midterm.  I'm a full-time grad student, and I've never felt it more than these last couple weeks.  My many faces of midterms indicate just how thrilling and confusing it all feels.  I'm feeling thrill and pressure and eager all at once.  Tests, projects, papers, research, and genuine, honest-to-goodness library time.  Who in the world am I?  How did I get myself into this?

Ever have moments when you don't quite recognize your own life?

I was thinking the other day that if I ran across a job description of my life, I would turn it down in a heartbeat.  All of the hours and stress and fortitude necessary to keep up with the reality of it all spelled out on paper would be unfathomable to me.  It might look something like:

Wanted:  Caretaker for two humans that act more like monkeys than children.  Must be able to fulfill their every need at any given time, including overnights.  Must be able to meal plan on a tight budget and make sure household clothing is wearable at all times.  Must be able to fit in massive amounts of reading and paperwork on "downtime".  Research and writing proficiency expected.  Attendance at all meetings, curricular and extracurricular, required.  Must not forget to bathe on occasion.  Ability to function on little sleep a plus!  No pay, but many intangible perks.  Apply today!

Ha!  I would immediately disregard this position.  Who in their right mind would go for this?  And yet - here I am!  Smack dab in the middle of the irrational chaos, trying to soak up as much knowledge and memories as I possibly can.  I am being pushed to my limits and loving it.  I am wringing myself dry with every hour that passes, and then praying to absorb the importance and value of the present like a sponge left out in the rain. 

This is a specific season of my life that I've been called to.  Midterms is really a micro-analogy for these next couple years in school while I try to balance home life and homework.  There's no way I could do it without my husband, my friends, my family, my support, and my God who is greater and mightier than any cup of coffee (and I would know).  

I might be sleep deprived and over-caffienated, but I'm not alone.  

What's your midterm?  How are you functioning in the middle of your own chaos?

Many of us would never apply to the position that we're currently in.  Lots of times life throws us more than we could ever bear alone, and that's exactly how I think life should be.  The people around us, the challenges and trials that shape and mold us, they are all used in very specific ways to push us towards who we're meant to be.  With prayers for wisdom and perseverance, God allows us to take part in each other's calling.  In fact, maybe the last part of that wanted ad should mention something else:

*Must collaborate well with others and ask for help when needed.  Assistance provided upon request.

Now, that's something I'm glad I signed up for.  

TBT: Toddlers Are Like College Students

It's Throwback Thursday on the blog!  While I'm in the midst of midterm mayhem in grad school, I look back on this blog with even deeper understanding (and need for it's humor) than I did when I wrote it a little over a year ago... Enjoy!

With all the "Back to School" commercials I see on TV these days, it makes me all jittery and nervous with that excitement and nostalgia flooding my mind as I think back to my own school days.  It's been a long time since I've been in school and my own kids have a few years to go (thank goodness!) but, it still makes me tense when I see all those ads for pencils and notebooks and new Reebok Hightops with the velcro (okay, maybe there aren't commercials for those anymore, but ever since that style has had a resurgence in fashion, it makes me miss my grade school days!)

I started having flash backs of my school days through the years:  the boisterous elementary years, the awkward and torturous junior high days, the long and full-of-attitude-and-angst (thanks 90s music) hours of high school that seemed to tick by ever-so-slowly, followed by the happy-go-lucky days of college...footloose and fancy free, indeed.

Even though you know that those times were filled with impossible drama and heightened emotions, as a grown up now days, you can't help but look back with a bit of wonder and joy at your own naiveté.  "Oh, it's funny how I thought I had actual problems back then!"   We always associate these things with adolescence...this sense of our "small planet" being all there is that just escalates and grows until we finally burst into the "real world" and have to get a job or have a baby or say vows to someone we would die for.

But, I don't think it starts in adolescence...I think it starts right after we are born!  And, the more I thought about this, the more I realized more and more how similar my two-year-old, Matilda, is to being just like those ripe-minded twenty-somethings daring to take on the world one foolish/brave notion at a time!  (Don't get me wrong, I love a dreamer - I grasp and grasp to hang on to my ideals with all I can!)  So, here, I've concluded a list for you to chuckle over; a "back to school" analogy for parenthood...

Why Toddlers Are Like College Students

1. They think they know everything.
2. They are sure you think you know everything, but are also very confident that you actually don't.
3. They expect you to feed them whenever they are hungry.
4. They have no money.
5. They want to wear pajamas all day.
6. It's perfectly acceptable for them to wear pajamas all day.
7. They believe toast is a meal.
8. They never make their bed.
9. They expect you to do their laundry for them. 
10. They like all cereal, but somehow it always ends up on the carpet. 
11. They can relate to every television show they watch.
12. No matter what you say to them, they probably disagree with you.
13. They aren't afraid to tell you how they really feel.
14. Their music is loud and annoying, but too catchy to ignore.
15. You wish you could get away with wearing the shoes they wear cause they're just so cute.
16. A backpack is a perfect accessory for any outfit.
17. They hate reading but they hate lectures even more.
18. They would stay up and play till the wee hours of the morning if they could.
19. They can never get enough Disneyland.
20. They are always overtired, but never want to go to bed.
21. They can talk for hours and you still might not understand what they're trying to tell you.
22. They think the world's biggest problem has something to do with bad guys that look like Ja'far.
23. They expect and want you to tell them what to do when they really need you.
24. They really need you when the toy they want costs more than your rent.
25. They make headbands look cool.
26. They believe a couch is just as good as a bed.
27. They are only as nice as their last nap was. 
28. A road trip always sounds fun to them until they are trapped in the car.
29. They cry when things don't go their way.
30. They cry when things totally go their way.
31. It's really hard to sit through church without playing on the iPhone.
32. They think milk goes great with every meal.
33. They love to experiment with new hairstyles.
34. Just because they wore the same outfit yesterday is no reason to change clothes.
35. They remember every inappropriate thing you say. 
36. They laugh at their own jokes, even if you don't.
37. Friendship means you share dress-up clothes.
38. They think libraries are basically only for social get-togethers. 
39. They believe adventure and new discovery could take place anywhere, anytime.
40. They expect to see every place on the planet that they want to see.
41. Someone smiling at them can truly change their day.
42. They want to play house but not commit to anything just yet.
43. They want to make friends with everybody.
44. They want to be the loudest person in the room.
45. They can see right through people who don't believe in them.
46. They always want a snack, even if they just had one.
47. The floor surrounding their toilet is always disgustingly filthy.
48. Their room can never be dark enough.
49. They feel loved when we buy them stuff, even little stuff.
50. When they pray, they talk to Jesus like He is sitting right in front of them. 

Kids.

You gotta love em.  

Happy new school year, everybody!

MOPS Giveaway!

Being a mom is crazy hard.  Ridiculously hard.  Way-harder-than-any-of-us-ever-thought hard.

But, you know what makes it even harder?  When we think we see moms who have it all together, who are doing it "better" than us, or who have way cuter Instagram pics when we can't even get our kids to keep their eyes open for the flash.  Ugh.

Being a mom is hard enough that living in a world where someone is Pinteresting their latest mega-DIY-birthday might make us "real moms" all wanna go jump off a cliff.  Seriously.

I don't know about you, but my best defense to feeling like a total mom-fail is meeting other moms.  I don't mean just reading blogs (though, THANK YOU) or texting, or diving into Pinterest over nap time.  No, no, no.  I mean real life contact with another grown up human female who has procreated.  That's right - connecting with other moms.

Moms.  Yes, I'm talking to you/us.  We need to GET OUT.  We need to meet each other.  And, while the blogosphere can get us FAR in the middle of a spit-up-covered, laundry-overloaded, don't-even-care-what's-for-dinner kind of day...it takes genuine contact to ultimately interrupt our Disney-channel-consuming lives.  (Seriously, I need another Veggie Tales singalong like I need a hole in the head.)

SO, let's break out of our bubbles this week!  Let's put a date on the calendar to meet up with another mom - if only to commiserate and high five!  We are survivors - every day tackling the mundane with the same wanna-be enthusiasm of a revival preacher.  We need each other, and if we don't get out there and encourage one another, then we're just as guilty of neglecting friendship as we are neglecting shaving our legs (a scary reality for some of us, right?)

Have you heard about MOPS?  MOPS is one amazing way to connect, and chances are good it is in your neighborhood.  There are MOPS groups all over the USA!  Check out their blog for gobs of info on meeting up with other moms and getting all kinds of tips and advice on parenting youngsters.

I am a big supporter of MOPS, and today, I'm so excited to be giving away a ONE YEAR MOPS MEMBERSHIP to a lucky reader!

How do you get it???  Well, for the next few days, (deadline is September 8th) all you have to do is CAPTION THE PHOTO BELOW!

I hope you laugh at the photo captions I've put on the other photos in today's blog (LOL here) and I'm looking for a silly and original caption for the photo above that every mom can relate to.  C'mon - we all need more humor in our day!

You can tweet me the caption @pardymama or email it to emily@pardymama.com or just post it in the comment space below.  I'll be checking out your captions and choosing my favorite to award the MOPS MEMBERSHIP!!!

Let's hear it for the moms!  Yay!

Full Plate

Ever feel like your plate is getting a little crowded?  Then, right at that moment someone offers you seconds?  Then, right as you turn them down, someone else hands you dessert?  And just as you're about to drop everything, your toddler throws her sippy-cup at your head???

What? Doesn't your home look like this?

Yeah, sounds about right for this week.

This transitional season of chaos has my family feeling anything but normal.  My husband is job-hunting, I'm diving head first into grad school, and our two toddler daughters are screaming at us all day long to go play outside in the summer heat and 1000% humidity (that's not a typo - seriously - the humidity is maybe more like a million percent here).  Whew.

My daughters are three-and-a-half (you understand why that HALF  must be attached) and two-years-old.  When one of them isn't tackling the other down with a "hug" (hugs look very similar to violent wrestling moves around here) then their each climbing up some new apparatus they've constructed from pillows and dolls and most likely some rather wobbly form of furniture.  Most of these activities end in one of them hitting her head and both of them crying and my husband and I wondering how our life together ever got THIS LOUD!?

Toddlers are tense.  Toddlers are insane and irrational.  Toddlers don't care that you aren't fulfilling your life calling or too busy trying not to already-get-behind-on-homework the first week of class.  Toddlers think the world has come to a brutal and completely unalterable demise if it takes more than ten seconds for Netflix to connect.  Toddlers can not be predicted.

Basically, my daughters are the bosses I always hated embodied in the cutest and most desirable forms of humankind that I couldn't possibly love more.  They are walking paradoxes.

If I listed all the emotions that my toddlers put me through on paper, it would become glaringly obvious that this "relationship" is one of complete and total dysfunction.  It doesn't make sense to love them as much as I do.  It is completely unreasonable to continue to give of myself to that degree over and over and over again and without expectation of some guarantee in return.  It couldn't possibly be healthy for me to situate myself to be challenged so often in such a confined space for such a long time.

And yet, here I am.

Perhaps you might think (if you are grossly cynical) that I'm just saying all this because the reality is that I have no way out.  I had these children.  Indeed, I contributed willingly and significantly to the creation of them!

But, you'd be wrong.

I choose my children every day.
(Sometimes I also choose to yell at Netflix.)

I didn't walk into parenthood completely blindfolded - we all know there are challenges that come with acceptance in a position of this magnitude.  But, no matter what child you get, there are going to be surprises.  The amazing thing is, most of these surprises come in the form of revealing who you really are and finding out what you're made of.

Sometimes I drop the full plate.  Sometimes I make a huge mess and have to cry about it as I clean it all up.  Sometimes I have to ask for help and let other people hold my drink for me.  Sometimes I have to say "That's enough.  I'm full."

But, sometimes.  I close my eyes and feel the weight of the plate in my hands, the imbalance, the risk of it all, and I'm reminded that this is the STUFF that makes up a truly rich life.  It doesn't make sense to want such a loud and imperfect life.  It's a mess.

And I'll choose it all again tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DOUBLE BONUS
SNEAK PEEK! 

Have you entered the Share & Care Contest yet??  Did you know you can enter up to THREE times a day??  Here is a peek at a couple more items I'm throwing into the fabulous PARDYMAMA CARE PACKAGE!


Thistle Farms Citrus Vanilla Lotion!  Not only is it good for your skin - it is helping change lives!  At Thistle Farms, products are handmade by survivors of prostitution, trafficking, addiction and life on the streets.  Find out more at their website and see ALL the wonderful products they make!








Jesus Calling a devotional that has daily nuggets of insight into "Enjoying Peace in His Presence".  If you're "not the devotional type" - then this is the book for you.  Many times, this book has started my day off right or encouraged me unexpectedly.  Some days, I will pick it up and read the page for the day and find that it hits so close to home I'm curious if someone hasn't been spying on me!  It's a delightfully encouraging read, and I think it will brighten your day too!

Roadtrip

We just packed up our lives.  We’re moving from California to Nashville, TN.  BACKTRACK here.

Josh and I had a long road ahead of us.  We romanticized the idea of traveling the 1,300 miles to get to our girls on the way to moving to Nashville.  I mean, who doesn’t love the idea of a roadtrip?! 

Road TRIP!!!!  Tunes and snacks galore, not to mention the many mindless hours to just chill and see God’s creation.  It all seems so poetic until you are actually on the road and you just find yourself eating out of boredom and having to pee all the time.  Not exactly the pioneering paradise we dreamt about. 

I’ll admit, I was mostly clinging to my husband’s expectations.  This was actually my fourth time to drive cross-country, and so I knew the lack-luster feeling of just wanting to GET THERE.  As much as I tried to revive the Jack Kerouac in me, I grew anxious and annoyed with each mile, trying to summon my patience with beef jerky and twizzlers. 

We stopped at his folks in Arizona the first night.  That was emotional in and of itself, because it would be the last of the good-byes that fell into the category of “not-knowing-exactly-when-we-will-see-you-next” and I just hate that.  It’s always so much easier to say good-bye when you can at least tell yourself how long it will be until you say hello again.  But, we forged ahead, 6 hours down, and many more to go.

About 13 hours later we ended up in Tucumcari, NM.  We stayed at a crappy hotel (hey, I call ‘em like I see ‘em) where I’m pretty sure there was a coyote graveyard in the back and meth being sold in the ditch out front.  In other words, it was lovely.  But, we survived and showered, and got back on the road as soon as possible.  About 5 more hours into the next day, we got a flat tire on the moving trailer.

Now, let me tell you, if you are going to break down somewhere, you probably aren’t going to want it to be in a place named Hooker (Oklahoma).  But, seeing as we had no choice to the matter, we did break down there.  So, as we waited for Penske to come to our rescue, I climbed up into the moving truck and kept Josh and the cats company.

Ah, yes – didn’t I mention?  We were traversing with 2 CATS.  They were just as giddy about the long car rides as I was (okay, not even that much) and thrilled to be parked on the side of a windy highway where we were suddenly at a halt.  Ugh.  The only thing worse than sitting in a car and traveling at a slow pace is sitting in a car and not moving at all. 

But, we made it.  Penske came to our rescue, changed out the tire, and we were back on the road having lost only our patience and two hours of travel time.  All in all, we were grateful to be in one piece and keeping our cats alive.  Not only that, but we were inching our way closer to sweet reunion with our girls.

I’ve never been happier to see such silly, squealing girls.  They ran out to greet us, and it was like Christmas and my birthday all in one.  They looked bigger and louder and much more happy than I remembered them.  They molded like butter into my arms, and my aching heart that was so empty from all the good-byes in California was urgently bursting with completion. 

Our family was together.  Our family was whole again.  Our family was ready to embark on the final adventure towards our new life.

Nashville or bust.

3D

Last week was rough.  If you couldn't tell from my gripe-a-licious post from last week, my girls were really putting me through the wringer.  At one point, when I was at my wit's end and tired and grumpy and far, far, far behind on laundry...my husband came home and I nearly collapsed at his feet in desperation for a quiet moment.  I said "What are you doing Friday night?" to which he replied, "I don't know, nothing?" and I quickly took a moment to lock down a babysitter for a date night.

We seriously needed a few hours away.  Somewhere between Valentine's day and Easter we had let the days slip by without a scheduled time to get OUT of the house and be alone together as a couple.  That's FAR too long for my preference, and so without further adieu I anchored down a date night with less than 48 hours notice.  Nothing planned.  No agenda.  All I had was a babysitter booked and a handsome husband on my arm.  Sounded good to me!

Friday night came, and I still had no idea what to do with the evening ahead.  Then I noticed that Jurassic Park was being re-released in 3D to celebrate its 20th Anniversary.  (Side note - How can this possibly be true?  TWENTY years?!  Am I the only one who still thinks of this as a film that used "new" technology and am still feeling cool when I quote it at the drop of a hat?  Okay, apparently I am.  Yikes, time flies.)

I LOVE(d) Jurassic Park.  I was 12 when it came out (crazy) and for some reason, my parents allowed me to go with my brother and sister and a good family friend to see it at the theater on opening night.  It is a defining movie-seeing-memory of mine, one filled with awe and wonder that I hold with much nostalgia to this day.  I can still remember sorting through Jelly Bellies (Is this jalepeno or apple?) in the dim light of the theater and feeling the hairs stand up on the back of my neck when I saw the dinosaurs for the first time in that classic, epic reveal.  Amazing!

I know I look frightened.
The flash was BRIGHT!

I remember that, oh-so-long-ago, my cousin and I got pretty obsessed with that movie.  I spent a week or so in Austin that summer, and it was playing at a dollar-discount theater not far away.  This was heaven to a couple of bored twelve-year-olds, and so we saw it multiple times that week.  Yes, it was just as awesome each and every time.  Good memories.

So, here I was, seeing it in the theater again, this time in 3D and with the love of my life.  I felt those giddy "tween" butterflies of being at the movies.  I reminisced about being young, and it was fun to be thrilled by little things again (Popcorn! A cute date! The big screen! 3D glasses! Epic soundtrack!)  My husband and I were like silly teenagers again, and it was a blast to relive this experience as an adult with him.  And, seeing the film in 3D was giving me a whole new perspective on a lot of things...not just dinosaurs.

Date nights can be a lot like 3D glasses.  I mean, yes, I was literally wearing 3D glasses, okay...but, go with me for a second on this.  Life goes and goes and goes and goes and doesn't stop.  You live and share life with your spouse day in and day out and you both so very often feel like "you have no idea how hard my day was".  Whew.  Truly, both of us really do know how hard the day was, but it is too often difficult in very different ways.  He has the pressure of provision, the traffic, the awkward co-worker or the late meeting.  I have the diaper changes, the incessant whining, the stress of keeping things clean, the constant lack of space or quiet.

Then, evening comes, the kids get put in bed, and it's easy to think for a moment that date nights just aren't worth it.  Often it will even cross my mind "Why waste the money?  We are fine right here.  The girls are asleep, we'll just watch tv and chill and that's basically the same thing as a date."  Right?  Are you with me on this?

And then...I actually just GET OUT and have a for real date and I'm instantly reminded of its importance.  Ahhhhhhhhh...can you hear that?  No?  Nothing?  Exxxxxactly.  Because there is no sound of children, and better yet, no possibility for the sound of children for the next few hours.  And as I look over at my husband, he becomes my DATE for the evening.  He's no longer the guy-who-takes-out-the-trash or the guy-who-forgot-to-buy-milk or the guy-who-helped-do-the-dishes or the guy-who-reads-the-best-bedtime-stories-to-our-girls.  Those are all fine and dandy parts of who he is...but, sometimes it's just good to relieve him of all those duties and become a silly tween with him and go giggle at dinosaur movies and steal a kiss between handfuls of popcorn.  Sometimes I need to just DATE my husband and get out of the rut that life keeps us in.

Don't get me wrong...I love that rut.  I chose it.  I adore it. I wouldn't change it for the life of me.  But, can we all just admit that there are times that we look around and think "Oh man, if I have to fold laundry, wash sippy cups, match up baby socks, relax vicariously through watching one more sitcom and fix chicken one more night I'm going to scream!" Yes.  Indeedy.  Rightio.  The mundane catches up to me and I'm only a hop, skip, and a jump from taking it all for granted.

It's always a wonder to me how a short evening away can set it all straight again.  Dinosaurs in 3D and a plate of hot tacos later, I'm coming home happy and already missing my crazy girls.  I'm feeling understood, more-connected to my husband, and blessed by time that nurtured the thing that started it all:  us.

Josh and I have a lot in common.  We like a lot of the same movies, books, shows, and activities.  We share in many things, and we wouldn't have it any other way.  It's a priority of ours to keep it that way, and it doesn't come without practice.  As our days get busier and our children more demanding (at least, they seem more demanding by the day!) it can be so easy to depart from our togetherness and simply harness what sanity we have left to keep for ourselves out of sheer survival.  But, we are so much stronger as a team.

Looking at my husband through those silly 3D glasses reminded me just how much a little perspective can give me.  It's not enough to just say "this will do" or settle for saving a few bucks or staying in night after night after night because I'm too tired to even pick out clothes to go on a date.  No!  I'm not going to win any medals for having gone the longest without a date night or "surviving" this phase of life.  I will, however, gladly accept the reward of a happy husband, a calm spirit, and a refreshed perspective to want to be with my girls and take on the challenge/joy of raising them (come mountains of laundry or valleys of dishes).

Seeing Jurassic Park in 3D was just a silly example that maybe I hadn't truly seen the whole picture the first time around.  It may have been scarier than I remember (seriously, God, were Raptors that frightening?!) but, it was all the more satisfying to see in all it's "digitally-remastered" glory.

Coming home after a night out with the hubs gave my life a little bit more clarity as well.  I needed a new lens to see my husband through.  I needed to actually leave the premises with him and stare him in the face and reconnect away from the chaos.  I'm not saying you'll necessarily magically wake up loving to wipe toddler noses or vacuum Cheerios for the third time that day (that might require a month away to Maui or something!)  But, I certainly took on the next day with more enthusiasm and gratitude.

Who knew 3D glasses would help bring all that into focus?  Get out there.  Date your man.

Readers:  What's your favorite date night?  How do you stay connected outside of the chaos of your home?

Pickle

Naming a child is an unrecognized act of grandeur.  I mean, a baby pops out, you name it, and people instantly begin to judge you and your baby according to whatever moniker you've chosen to bestow upon said child.  Occasionally you get the "what a beautiful name" comment.  You might receive an "Oh, I know a child named that" or an "Interesting, how do you spell it?" kind of shrug.  But, overall, people hear your name, judge it, then move on.  It's really that simple.

However, as much as people may move on, it didn't relieve me of any of the burden when it came to naming my own children.  I painstakingly deliberated over a zillion options and, like many of you I'm sure, was still a little hesitant when I uttered aloud for the first time.  I mean, who was this new little creature, after all?  How in the world did I know she was a Matilda or a Daphne?  Nevertheless, my husband and I had anchored ourselves to their names for all time, ready to defend our choices and proudly claim them as our heiresses.

Fast-forward several months.  The prideful art of bestowing the perfect name quickly crumbled in our home.  Don't get me wrong, I wholeheartedly believe in the consideration that was taken in granting our daughters the all-too-thoroughly-wrought-over names they were given.  But, after a few days of no sleep and lots of bodily fluids, the pristine luster of the name announcement starts to dwindle in its sparkle and practicality takes the reigns.  Enter:  the nickname.

When we named Matilda, I fully took nicknames into account.  In fact, one thing I loved about the name Matilda was the versatility of it; and so, shortly after she started showing us her personality, Tilda, Tilly, Til, Matil, Tildy, Tildy-toes all started to show up on the scene.  Many versions of Matilda's name have found their way into our normal vocabulary and even she herself would refer to her name as "Tilda Hazel Darling Pardy" if you asked her.  Though, we do call her Matilda a good 90% of the time, it came ripe with many options for nicknaming.

Daphne was not so easy.  In fact, one of my hesitations (if any) in naming Daphne was that I was worried about finding an easy nickname.  Nevertheless, I figured that was the least of my worries, and I knew that only time would tell when it came to discovering what might erupt from our naming games after meeting her.

A few days after her arrival, her dear father started calling her Daffodil.  This was lovely.  This made my heart soar.  This conjured up sweet images of yellow-dotted fields of wildflowers and sun-shiney days full of happiness.  Daffodil...what a sweet nickname.  As time would have it, however, in the rush of the day, the quickness of activity, and the silliness of the Pardy home...it wasn't long before Daffodil got shortened to "Dil".  A hop and a skip, and she's "Dill Pickle" and now...just one jump more...here we are today, calling her PICKLE nearly half the time.

My sweet Pickle.  You got it.  My baby's nickname is officially Pickle (until it morphs into something else, anyway).  Evidently, that's what's stuck for now and we've all just eased into it so naturally that it didn't hit me as weird until the other day when Matilda was blatantly yelling out to her in public and a lady actually turned to my husband and fearfully asked "That's not really her real name...is it?"

Oh my Pickle!  :)

Nicknames are a hilarious and atrocious and bewildering thing.  They can come from anywhere for about any reason and instantly connote (or denote) a world of ideas that may or may not be true.  Chances are good that somewhere along the lines, we've all been called something we'd rather wish everyone would forget, and I just hope and pray I can keep this Pickle-thing sweet and copacetic until another evolution of her name appears.  Cause it will...it always does.

I come from a long line of nicknamers.  My own nicknames ranged from Boo or Boola-bird to the wildly shocking "Em".  I have no idea where Boola-bird started or why.  To this day I might punch you in the face (consider yourself amply warned) if anyone dared call me it.  I always hated that name and didn't even like Boo until I read "To Kill a Mockingbird" and even then cringed at the sound of it.  I've always been fine with alterations of my actual name - any version of Emmy, Em, whatever have suited me fine.

Whatever we're called, we each get a chance to actually define what it means.  Sometimes I wonder if my girls will grow up to hate their names or ask to be called something else.  Sometimes I wonder what their friends will call them, either to their faces or behind their backs.  Sometimes I worry about how they'll respond to what others call them - if they'll shirk away from name-calling or if they'll stand up for themselves and own it with powerful assertion.  I don't know.  I might never know.  Maybe it won't even matter.

It's hard to say what my Tilly and Pickle will grow up to be.  By this time next year their names could have taken on whole new depictions of what their into or how they act, or even the letters of their names could jumble up into a new word that makes no sense to anyone else.  It doesn't really matter.  As silly as it may sound when we yell out Pickle, all I care about is that goofy grin waddling her way into my arms.  She. Is. Awesome.  And, as long as she knows that, she's going to be redefining the gherkin for ages to come.

That's something to relish forever.
(Bah-dum-chink)

The Princess & The Papa

Ever since I can remember, I always wanted to be a husband and a father.  

I remember thinking about the type of dad I would be and always hoped that I’d be a positive influence that didn’t inspire too many “daddy-issues” in my offspring.  I can remember wanting to take my daughter out to a father-daughter something-or-other.  I can even distinctly recall hearing about a father-daughter dance and being absolutely crushed by the sweetness of the mere idea. 

Finally, this past Saturday evening I was able to take Matilda out on a Daddy-Daughter Date… at Chick-fil-A!   I don’t know how often they do them, but every once and while, Chick-fil-A will offer a special little hour where a Dad can bring his little lady and enjoy a special meal. 

First things first, I love Chick-fil-A!  I eat there probably once a week, I’ve been known to go twice from time to time, so I was fully onboard.  It was really quite simple, I traded a few emails with the store owner and Matilda and I were signed up for some quality time and some quality chicken. 

On the night of, Matilda dressed up in full Princess Belle regalia, and I did my best to keep up with a yellow shirt and pink tie.  To have my sweet girl so excited and so dressed up to just hang out with her goofy Dad just made my heart swell!  Seeing the complete joy in her eyes as she gazed into mine while Em took photos was a beautiful treasure.  I told her she looked lovely and then we were off. 

We got to Chick-fil-A a bit early, so we just listened to music in the car while Matilda sang Alicia Keys and when our time arrived, we walked hand-in-hand through the front door and I was blown away at how much of a big deal this event was.  The tables and chairs were covered with pristine white linens and dark pink bows, each table had a lovely matching flower arrangement and there was even a photographer there to capture the special moment. 

Other dads were present as well, and there was quite a range; dads with newborns to dads with girls in high school.  Everyone looked legitimately happy to be there – even the junior high girls – so I knew I was in good company. 

We were led to our table-for-two, I ordered my usual (a spicy chicken sandwich, fries, and a Dr. Pepper) and Matilda ordered the six-count nuggets and a Sprite.  Then we just sat and talked – well talked as much as you can to a 3-year old who is just overwhelmed with excitement! 

“Matilda, what’s your favorite animal?”

Being influenced by the “Eat Mor Chikin” cow, she of course responded with “Cow!” 

“What’s your favorite song?”

Then she began to sing “this girl is on FFFIIIIRRRRE!” 

And then she took a few minutes to tell me this strange anecdote about how Mommy was simultaneously saying that the baby was funny, but that she wasn’t funny when it began dawn on me that her experience in life is still so fresh.  She only has so much that she can talk about, but it is the whole world to her, and darn it, she is going to tell me ALL about it.  The world is opening up so fast and so far and so wide for her that she is simply just trying to get it all out. 

So I listened to her tell the story about Mommy and the baby and giggled alongside her when she was being funny and sincerely hoped that this moment we were experiencing together would be one she would never forget, and of course, one of many to come! 

So, for any Dads out there, my simple advice is: Just Do it!  As a man, I know that my mission is to love my wife well, knowing that the love I give will then overflow into the way Emily mothers.  But, I realized I was missing the fact that I could love my little girls directly – and you know what, it was proven to me that they crave that affection as well.  So again dads, as Michael Jordan would implore you, Just Do It! 

Finally, for the Mom’s out there, I would have never known about this had Emily not told me about it!  So, if you hear of something like this, just sign your man up.  He will thank you.  I can pretty much guarantee that your man will be into it (if not, please refer him to me, seriously) because not only will he get his special time, there’s also no pressure to plan a thing!  Just throw on a tie, show up on time, and enjoy a night out with the other best girl in your life.    

- Josh (Pardy MAN)

Boom.

We're all flying by the seat of our pants here

I have several friends right now expecting children.  Some are pregnant and some are in the process of adoption.  Either way, new parents are new parents - giddy with anticipation, anxious with worry, and all in all completely idealistic in the giant "unknown" that's in store for them.

Ah, I remember those days.  I remember my perception of what parenthood would be like.  Having years of nannying experience and being an aunt to 7 nephews and nieces before having my own, I thought I was about as seasoned as they come when it came to knowing what raising a child would be like.  I was ripe with earnest enthusiasm when it came to predicting the schedule shift, lack of sleep, and complete interruption my new bundle of joy was about to bestow upon my nest.

And then, I actually became a parent, and my dreamy bubble burst like a poorly fastened diaper on a full belly.  Kapow!  And I found myself shrugging my shoulders in disbelief and exhaustion that I, too, had fallen victim to the notion that I thought I knew what I was doing.  I didn't.  I don't.

Now, only a few years of parenting under my belt, I find myself in the seat of the bestower of said-advice instead of the bestowee.  (I know that's not a real word.)  But, it's true.  With so many friends becoming first-time parents after myself, they tend to turn to me as one source of information they can rely on for "telling them like it is" and so forth.  And, I love it.  I mean, I love everything that has to do with pregnancy and birth and raising kids, I could talk about it for-just-about-ever and still find new things to question or examine.  It's kind of one of those inexhaustible topics that is ever-changing and so, it's easy to keep re-examining how it all works!

While I love to talk about it though, I laugh at the idea that I might necessarily have a clue what I'm talking about!  Indeed, one of the first bubbles to burst in parenthood is the fact that we're all kind of flying by the seat of our pants when it comes to raising a kid.  Nevertheless, as the questions come, I can't help but give my take on whatever-child-rearing-subject arises and do my best to leave them feeling excited and validated.  However, I rarely predict that's the case.

Current parents can't help but sound condescending to a parent-to-be.

I remember this well.  I hated it when I was expecting.  I mean, there's only so many times you can hear "go see more movies now" or "get sleep while you can" or "you have no idea how hard it is" or "you know you'll have to watch her all the time" before you just want to punch someone in the face!  I completely remember feeling like I wanted to wear a sign saying "I'm pregnant, not stupid" just so people would shut-up already and stop trying to tell me how much I didn't know.

She can totally tell I have no clue what I'm doing

And yet, here I am...the giant condescender of information, belittling my expectant friends with my bubble-bursting anecdotes of truth (out of love!)  Yikes.  How can this be helped?  Have I earned this right or should I shut up and let them enjoy the idea of never letting their kid watch TV and always having the laundry folded and put away neatly?

Just the other day, one of these expectant mothers texted me saying, "I don't want my child to eat anything that's not truly organic."  My response?  That's cool.  Just don't feel bad when you eventually lose it and find yourself throwing chicken McNuggets at her.  It will happen.  You will both survive.

Becoming a parent isn't about becoming perfect.  It can't be.  It won't be.  We each have our bubbles and our unique process that bursts them somehow in someway along the journey of growing into the individual our new child shapes us up to be.  That involves growing pains on both our parts, parent and child.

Don't get me wrong - ideals are WONDERFUL.  Establish them, strive for them, even cling to them for inspiration!  But, don't be controlled by them.  The biggest piece of advice I can give to parents-to-be now is this:

When you disappoint yourself (because you will), don't buy into the lie that you're not what your child needs.  Chances are, you have just crossed a new boundary stepping into the person you are supposed to become.

If that takes a few chicken McNuggets to get there...I'm cool with that. This isn't to say that your mistakes are "good".  (Probably far from it.)  But, when I allow myself the freedom to let go of the control, let go of what I consider the perfect picture of parenthood to look like, then I'm one step away from retreating to what I really need:  Jesus.  If I'm being really honest with myself, that's all I really want to model for my children...not someone who has it all together and is always right and always looks great (especially since that is impossible), but someone who turns to Jesus when I get reminded again and again that I'm not.

And for all those loving parents who tried to warn me ahead of time, let me say Thanks for trying.  I may not have received everything that you said at the time, but I certainly heard it.  The fog has lifted and I can clearly see now that I have no idea how to do this parenting thing.  Ha!  The great news is...we're not in it alone.

Welcome aboard, new parents.  Get ready to burst that bubble.

Amen!

If I've said it once, I've said it a million times...I'm raising zombies.  It's true, my girls are terrrrible sleepers.  Most nights, it is a battle of the wills to corral them into their room, lasso them with jammies, and wrestle them into bed before they melt down into a hot mess of tears and wailing.  While it hasn't made a huge difference to the unpredictability of their sleeping habits, we are extremely protective that their bedtime routine remain the same night-after-night so that they can seemingly adhere to a rhythm that will set off some magical sleep pattern for them.  It sounds good anyway, right?

It makes sense, so we do it, though I'll admit it doesn't always seem worth the effort (an hour to get them into bed and an hour of listening to them laugh, cry, scream, sing, what-have-you can really make one question the sacred "routine").  Nevertheless, sometimes it does seem to work, so we stick to it like Winnie the Pooh in a honey pot.

The routine is simple enough: brush teeth, jammies, stories, prayer, sing, hugs & kisses, Bonsoir my darlings!  (That is, goodnight!)  And this has become our sacred, family routine night after night.  Every night, I find myself exhausted and wondering how in the world I will do it all again tomorrow...and then...we pray.  I hear Daphne throw her arms up and mumble the intonation of "a-MEN" and I hear the childish words of Matilda speak to Jesus with distinct and simple direction.  She talks to him like He is right there, so emphatically, like I can see the little ball bouncing over her words like a Karaoke machine as soon as she speaks them.  Of course, her prayers pretty much always go the same way, so there is a delightful predictability about them too.

Dear Jesus, Thank you this day.  Thank you daddy, mommy, Daphne.  Thank you dance class.  Thank you toys.  Amen!

Or something like that.  Playful, honest, sincere, and maybe even a little bit silly sometimes.  Some nights she will wholeheartedly jump right into praying, even announcing "My turn!" and other nights (many nights) she will stubbornly refuse.  Unless she's not feeling well, we don't allow this.  Not praying is not an option in our home no matter how cranky you are.  You will listen to mommy pray, you will listen to daddy pray, you will think of at least one thing to thank God for.  The end.

That might sound harsh, but we're planting roots of discipline and obedience here.  And besides, prayer is one of those things that as soon as you start doing it, you want to keep doing it more.  The more comfortable she gets with it, the easier it flows out of her little lips, and I'm certain to be careful what I wish for or this hour-long bedtime routine will turn into a marathon if Matilda's prayers turn into endless conversations.  (She's a talker - it could happen!)

But, she's not the only one learning from this nighttime routine of praying as a family.  I'm learning so much from her simple little benedictions.  

This may come as a surprise to you (seeing as I'm rather extroverted and outspoken about my feelings) but, I don't love to pray out loud.  It's uncomfortable.  It feels like a lot of pressure.  I might say the wrong thing and someone will judge me this way or that way.  I might sound too religious.  I might not sound reverent enough.  I might come across as self-righteous or judgmental.  I might mispronounce something or start to cry because it's getting too emotional.  I might blubber and become inaudible.  I might ramble on too long and not leave anything else for anyone to pray about.  I might forget someone's prayer request.  I might yawn in the middle.  I might fall asleep.  I might get caught with my eyes open.  And, oh yeah, how can I really be talking to JESUS when I'm worrying about MYSELF this whole time?

Yup.  All of that could happen.  It's true.  And, okay, maybe those aren't real concerns when I'm in my own home with my little family...but, as soon as I step beyond my comfort zone and extend myself out to a situation where I'm willing to get real and vulnerable, certainly I am going to combat thoughts of insecurity when I talk to my Jesus in front of you.  OUR Jesus, I mean.  

Prayer is really intimate.  Prayer is an unbelievable gift that I am so grateful for.  I honestly don't know how people make it through life without it, because that would just completely debilitate me.  But, if there is anyone I completely strip down the facade for, it's Jesus (cause, newsflash, He already knows everything anyway, right?)  But, I'm just me to Jesus.  I'm not "holier me" or "super-put-together me" or "perfect me" or "extra-religious me".  Nope - I'm still just ME, and Jesus wants me - hot mess wailing and all.

THIS is what I love about listening to Matilda pray.  That raw, frustrated, completely honest and sometimes irrational warrior of life.  Cause, if I could be so blunt, sometimes there are moments when I know I need to get on my knees and talk to God and I find my insides punching and screaming and refusing to obey.  I want comfort and MY way and when it's convenient for ME.  I'm a ridiculous child.

But, God wants to hear that too.  He wants it all.  So, I buckle at my knees in awe of His grace and patience with me, and I give in with relentless gratitude and get reminded of my NEED for Him once more.  And then I just barf up the truth to Him and He makes sense of my words and listens to my voice as if it was a melodious symphony of worship.  

Prayer will never come out perfect.  I'm not perfect.  THAT'S THE POINT.  My imperfection and need for Jesus reminds me of my longing to be in relationship with Him, which ignites my desire for prayer and my gratitude for the restoration I feel when that need is met...which reminds me of my need...and so forth.  

That's the power of Christ.  Only He can turn my whining into worship and my pouting into praise.  And that's a routine worth sticking with.  Amen!

Psalm 8:2 (The Message)

Nursing infants gurgle choruses about you; 

toddlers shout the songs 

That drown out enemy talk,    

and silence atheist babble.