Cry It Out: What My Sleepless Baby Taught Me About Prayer

Last night, we let baby Vivian "cry it out" a couple times in the night. Before you applaud or criticize, let me tell you that my philosophy for sleep training primarily centers around the idea that everyone in the house should simply take "the shortest route to rest". 

Sometimes this means nursing her for five minutes to get her back to sleep. Sometimes this means jumping up at her first cry to silence her before my other two daughters wake up. Sometimes this means turning up the whitenoise in everyone's room so we can hunker down into hibernation mode. If you've ever raised a zombie-baby (and this is my third) then, you can understand!

Vivi has been waking up every two hours on the dot for the last several weeks. At times this has fluctuated (as often as every hour, but only as long as 4 hours max) so yes, all that to say, I am quite exhausted. She's almost 8 months old, so the time of her "needing" food in the night has passed, but that doesn't stop her from needing me! I don't mind spoiling a baby, but when it comes to seeing her yawn and rub her eyes throughout the day because her own rest has been compromised, something's gotta give.

Besides, when I say "cry it out" what I really mean is "yell it out". This baby isn't sad, she is just AWAKE! She will shout from her crib and blab nonstop until she either crashes back to sleep or someone comes and sees what all the squawking is about. So, through all the "MAMAs" and the "DADADADAs" last night, I found myself praying and praying that she would find peace and comfort in our absence.

Honestly, I wanted to yell through the door back at her, "YOU'RE OKAY! YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED! WHAT YOU REALLY NEED IS SLEEEEEEP!" But, of course that wouldn't have done any good. She was fully convinced she needed me, whether for entertainment, comfort, or milk, she wanted to be snuggled up in my arms. While my mama heart was aching to give her all she desired, I knew that her needs were best met in what she could not see. The girl needed sleep, and if I had gone in to help her, I would have only stimulated her more which would have set us all back.

It was around 3am when it occurred to me how often I do this to God in my own prayer life. I shout my demands, telling God what I think I need help with, ordering my blessings like I'm reading a fast-food menu! Too often I am distracted by what I see (or want to see) that I totally forget the fact that God is working behind the scenes on behalf of my own good, to provide what I truly need. I'm bratty and short-sighted, while God is thumping me over the head with His Word and shouting "YOU'RE OKAY! YOU HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED RIGHT HERE! TRUST ME!"

Well, God is much more merciful than that, thank goodness! He covers me in grace and I'm once again reminded at how many gaps there are in my prayers. I'm so grateful He fills in the blanks for us and has already set in place the provision for what will bring Him the most glory. I'm reminded how Oh yeah, duh my prayers are actually not a checklist for things I want, but rather a sacred communication and form of worship that connects me directly to my Creator.

Sometimes I cry it out. Sometimes I yell it out. Sometimes it feels like God is silent and nothing is happening and I'm stuck. And somehow my needs are met, all the same. God has already provided what I need, regardless of what I think I need. I just need to trust in Him. Wow, thank you Lord!

Now, when I hear that yelling baby in the night, I will try to focus on the presence of peace that will follow. I listen closely for the hush that follows the cries, for the calm that settles in after the confusion has faded. When that happy, well-rested baby wakes up in the morning, I am grateful that the temporary cries brought about much longer-lasting peace.

Psalm 66:19-20
But God has surely listened and has heard my prayer. Praise be to God, who has not rejected my prayer or withheld his love from me! 

Philippians 4:19
And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.

Early Easter: Teaching Your Kids About the Death and Resurrection of Christ

Easter is early this year. It feels strange, shopping for chocolate bunnies and hiding eggs before the grass even needs to be mowed. Spring break has sent me into a tailspin of parent-overtime, keeping my kids from fighting and trying to make the most of our time together while maintaining my sanity (no easy feat!)

It's easy to get overwhelmed by everyday life, let alone the prep for a major holiday. I get easily distracted by the pastel brouhaha that Easter brings with it. One step into any retail store and you're practically accosted with spring fever.

With Easter being this early, I'm particularly overcome with the responsibility of appropriately teaching my children the true meaning of Easter. I get hung up on nuances of doctrine or which passage to read to them, then I get frustrated when they won't sit still and listen or if they change the subject back to bunnies and candy. I worry about whether the Scripture will sink into their hearts or if the power of the Resurrection will ever make its way past their ears and into their souls. I get anxious about the story being too scary, too gruesome, or whether I'm making it too child-proof for it to have the impact it needs. Good grief!

Do you have these worries? Do you second guess yourself enough that you avoid the topic altogether? You are in good company, friend!

When I get perplexed by where to begin, I take a breath, I give up, I thank the Holy Spirit for His presence and allow Him to actually do His job (which I have failed at yet again). I don't know about you, but I'm a terrible Holy Spirit! I so quickly take it upon myself to drive truth into the hearts of my children that I can completely discount the power God has on their individual hearts. I'm so glad I have the privilege of being their mother - and not their Savior! 

Easter may be early this year, but it's always the right time for truth. I absolutely believe that reading the Scriptures aloud to your children is wonderful and beneficial. But, if you're kids are squirrelly like mine and you both need a digestible way to learn about Easter, check out The Jesus Storybook Bible. Our church gifts this children's Bible when babies are dedicated, and I absolutely adore it.

For Good Friday:
I couldn't find an easy online version of "The Sun Stops Shining" chapter which is perfect for reading about the crucifixion, so, this is the best I could do... (credit to Zondervan for the material below and hopefully they don't make me take down these photos of their beautiful book)

For Easter:
But, I did find this video version (below) of the Resurrection chapter titled "God's Wonderful Surprise" that you and your kiddos can watch for Easter! ENJOY!

When you feel overwhelmed by the wonder of Christ's sacrifice for us - let your kids see that! It is normal to feel strong emotions when we reflect on the truth about Easter. I do my best to trust God to fill in the blanks where I fall short as a parent. I know I can't perfectly dictate His Words into their little hearts, and I'll never be the example of His love that Jesus was.

But, this early Easter, I'm compelled to TRUST - wholly and completely - in His power, His perfection, His plan. Thanks be to God for sending His Son, for the death and the Resurrection.

Happy Easter - He is Risen!

Calling All Parents!

Are we ready to start a family?

This is the question many couples ask when they come to the crossroads of entering parenthood. If you are already a parent, then you know it's daunting to step through the threshold of having a baby.

In a new survey I've constructed, I'm evaluating that very topic: How prepared did you feel when you became a parent? I'm gearing up for a new project regarding parenthood preparedness, and I NEED YOUR HELP!

TAKE THE SURVEY!

I'll be keeping the survey open for several weeks, so please feel free to SHARE the link with your friends, neighbors, co-workers, family, that nice gal from Bible Study and so on... The more the merrier!

Your answers help me understand your unique experience through conception, pregnancy, and the first year after your baby was born.  It's anonymous, there's no "right" answer, and it only takes a couple minutes to complete.  Best of all, your input will contribute to helping couples in the future as they approach this sacred life stage for themselves!

Please encourage all parents you know to TAKE THE SURVEY and give their much needed input! You can even take the survey on your mobile device (woohoo for multitaskers!)

Thank you in advance - and be sure to keep your eye on the blog for future updates about this!

Motherhood: It's Okay To Be Good At Other Things

"I'm not good at this," I thought to myself as I gripped the steering wheel, cringing, and biting my tongue from yelling at my daughter in the back seat.

"I'm good at many things.  But, I am not good at motherhood.  This sucks."

me. tired. and my beauties.

Yes, even I suffer from the dreaded cloud of total insecurity when it comes to parenting.  Me, the gal who has her Masters in "relationships", who's written countless articles on what it means to be a mama, who wears the title "Parenting Expert" granted from SheKnows.com and of course has the blissful Facebook and Instagram photos to prove how seamless life can look from the outside.  Aren't I supposed to know what I'm doing???

Ever feel super crummy like everyone else has it all together and your parenting world is spinning out of control?  Me too.   

The day had started off so well.  I got Matilda off to school on time.  Daphne and I made actual breakfast together (eggs and everything) and sat and read storybooks until my vision blurred.  I suggested we go to the library for some free fun, and that's when the day started to crumble.

The library was closed.  I called around and find out every library in a 15 mile radius was closed. The baby started crying. Daphne was whining and disappointed. I fumbled for change in my purse as I suggested we go ease our strife with a drink from Sonic.  She was thrilled, until we got there, and as soon as I handed her the grape slushie she declared she didn't want it, and her whining turned to grouchiness so fierce that even Oscar would have been ashamed.

By the time I got home, I was covered in grape slushie, spit-up, and a whole lot of frustration.  I put my kid in her room, threw her some pop-tarts, hit the play button on the DVD player and walked out.  We needed a moment apart, and I found myself huddled on the couch taking deep breaths and once again bewildered at the fact that someone so small and sweet can rouse me into such a frenzy that I want to punch a hole in the wall!

Children are demanding, irrational, LOUD, unpredictable little humans whose selective hearing and sporadic obedience is enough to bring any adult to their knees.  They drive me crazy.  They wear me out. And yes, I love them with the depth of love that is greater than my life and stronger than a hundred horses...but, man, it can be rough some days.

Can I get an AMEN?

This week I've talked to at least three other moms who did stupid things just like me, who got down on herself, who felt all alone in the guilt that we should have done better, who question whether they are truly the best person for the job and get to wear this insane title called Mom.

We are all surviving this parenthood thing, shoving our guilt out of the way most of the time to just get the next task done.  It's hard and it can strangle your spirit if you let it.  But, this guilt is full of lies and I'm determined to steer this ship towards honest and calm harbors.

Amidst my anger and frustration, a small voice echoed inside me.  "You know it's okay to be good at other things too, right?"  Hmm.  I hadn't thought much about it.  But, if this was any other job, I'd be able to shake off the terrible moment of the day and move on to a task I was better at.

Reality is, we are going to be terrible at this mom-thing sometimes.  We have ugly moments and frustrating times, just like any other facet of our life.  And sometimes it's okay to cry and be good at something else in that moment.  It's okay.  I promise.  Your kid won't disown you.

I can do many things well.  We all can.  Truly. Those other parts of us are still alive and well even if we don't exercise those muscles every day.  They shape us into the kind of parents we are and sometimes we have to go out of our way to stir them up and make use of them.

Nothing else in life is 24/7 like parenthood is...so, we're just going to be bad at it more often than probably anything else.  That's just the truth (and simple math). Those weak moments?  Those pop-tarts-for-lunch-watch-your-dvd kind of days?  They are going to happen and they happen to everyone.

Motherhood is not what you do.  It's who you are.  So yeah, I'm gonna do some stupid things now and then and I'm gonna do the wrong thing at times, sure...but, who I am?  Who I am is far going to exceed in the race of filling my kids up with the right stuff.

Who I am is greater than just the sum of my parts - the writer, the wife, the cook, the laundry lady, the maid, the gal who loves Jesus and needs Him every day...they all add up to an honest person my kids get to interact with on a daily basis, and with the grace of God I am more than I could ever have been if I tried to do this thing all by myself.  Parenthood is an act of faith, no doubt.

We're gonna make it, mamas.  You are good.  You are good at many things.  You are a good mama, even when you are more normal than you'd like to be. You are not alone.

Not Every Day

Book.  Masters degree.  Baby.

2015 is a big year, to say the least.  I sometimes wonder if I will ever top it, and then I secretly hope I never do...because, guys, it's ridiculous and exhausting.

But, it's not every day that you get a box on your doorstep filled with a dream come true.

Today, I hold in my hands the compilation of a million feelings.  It's a tangible representation of so much for me - hopes, fears, pride, anguish, joy, and the support of countless people I'm forever indebted to for praying for me, believing in me, and cheering me on to the very end.

The best part?  Even though I wrote the last word of this book months and months ago, it's about to be launched into the great unknown for the first time ever!  New eyes, fresh minds, and eager hearts will soon get to dive into the wild frontier of my brain through this paperbound edition of my sweat and tears!

I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU TO READ IT!

For All Maternity will be available via all major online bookstores, including AMAZON, starting May 1st!  

*For those in the Nashville area, you'll want to mark your calendars for Saturday, May 9th and come on out to Pottery Barn Kids at the Green Hills Mall from 11:30am - 3pm where I'll be holding my very first book signing!  I'd love to take a pic with you, and be sure and sign up for the giveaway in the store!

*For readers in Kansas (my home state!) I'll be having a hometown book signing event at BlueBird Books in downtown Hutchinson, Kansas at 11am on May 16th!  I hope to see many familiar faces and hug those that I'm long overdue to catch up with!

*For everyone else - DON'T WORRY!  You won't miss out on all the fun!  I'll be holding giveaways right HERE on the blog soon enough.  I'll also be offering FREE AUTOGRAPHED BOOKPLATES to anyone interested so you can turn your ordered book into an official "signed copy"no matter where you live!

Starting Friday, order your copies of For All Maternity via Amazon or other online retail source, and then email me at emily@pardymama.com with specifications on personalization and your shipping address so I can send a customized bookplate your way!

Christmas Wars: Why Everyone Needs to Chill Out About Santa vs. Jesus

We've got ten days until Christmas.  Are you feeling overwhelmed? *hug*

I don't know about you, but it seems like every day I see a new article or blog floating around the Internet about people's take on Christmas traditions:

Why we don't let our children do Elf on the Shelf.  Why we don't lie to out kids about Santa.  Why our kids only get three gifts just like the wise men gave. Why the way we celebrate Christmas is the way Jesus intended it to be celebrated. (Okay, maybe not the last one, but they all pretty much have the same subtext!)

And on and on.

People are all OVER the spectrum on the whole Santa vs. Jesus topic, and their not afraid to spill their guts out about why their approach is the most intricately considered method that will deliberately help mold their child for the better.

Well, that's all quite fine.  But, frankly, as long as you are keeping Jesus and family at the center, then I. JUST. DON'T. CARE. how you go about doing it.  Santa, no Santa.  Elf, no Elf.  Candy and presents, simple Stockings.   Gluten free fruitcake, gingerbread houses.

I'm over it.  I read these articles and I start doubting my parenting.  I get fearful I've already gone too far down the Santa path.  I get anxious I'm accidentally raising spoiled rotten heathens who will grow up to  be liars and thieves.  Am I a hypocrite for hiding the Elf and then taking my kids to church?  Geesh, you gotta be careful who you tell your approach to these days or you might be eternally judged for where you lie on the Santa spectrum!

The number of Nativities in my home makes me no more of a Christian than before.  Asking my kids what they want from Santa for Christmas makes me no less of a Christian either.  And, my kids will not grow up to be psychopaths - well, at least not because our Christmas traditions steered them down the wrong road.  Of this, I am certain.

I'm not here to defend the Elf on the Shelf or tell you that you should hop on the Santa bandwagon or even to get you to realize that (hello?) JESUS is and always will be the true reason for the season.

Choosing Christmas traditions has become just as distracting as the new Target commercials (I can not get "Marshmallow World" out of my head!) We're ALL inundated with ads for toys and deals and food that distracts us from the precious miracle of Christ.  Must we add to this dilemma by filling up the cracks with fear and doubt about how we survive this season?  Do we need to criticize each others' parenting approaches and Christmas customs as part of our Christian duty?  I'm gonna say "um, no."

Parents.  Simmer down. 

As a mother, I absolutely love this season of celebration with my kids.  As a consumer, I like the glitz and glam and the hubbub of finding the perfect gift for someone. As a Christian, I weep at the thought of how miraculous the true story of Jesus' birth affects me to this day.  As a future Marriage & Family Therapist, I sleep well at night knowing that Santa or Elf on the Shelf are not to blame for the corruption of children everywhere.

There are far more important battles to fight here, folks.  We've all got plenty to lay down at the feet of Jesus and lift up in prayer.  We've got burdens and worries and broken hearts aplenty.  No doubt this world is filled with enough fear and guilt as it is.  Let's let this one go.

Every Christian family celebrates the birth of Christ differently.  And as Believers, we can keep Jesus on center stage while still watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" with our kids.  We have the freedom to worship the birth of our Savior and then eat an entire plate of peppermint bark.  We can teach our kids our family traditions (from grandma's cookie recipe to Elf on the Shelf) while keeping the reality of Jesus fresh all year round.

We need no less balance this time of year than any other season in our lives.  Period.

Chill out, guys, it's gonna be okay.  Be merry.  Be bright.  If we can all team up and keep Jesus in our traditions, however that looks, then December 25th will be all the more miraculous.

Praise & Worship

Like many children, my girls love to sing.  And boy, do they!  Sing, sing, sing, everything.

Granted, both Josh and I are pretty liberal in our "songification" of things - completely uninhibited in lyricizing the most mundane of activities.  Doing the dishes could be a new rap parody, folding laundry becomes a nursery rhyme, or making dinner turns into a pop classic.  What can I say?  We're the Pardys, and we bring the beat.

So, it's no wonder that my girls (who are particularly verbose to begin with) tend to songify any and all activities they may encounter.  I adore their ability to create the most silly and random mixes, and I hope that they always feel freedom in this home to keep those creative juices flowing, even with the weirdest of compilations (Okay, a new song about Apple Jack from My Little Pony learning to fly and cook scrambled eggs with Jesus and taking a walk with rainbows.  Sure, okay, this makes sense.  Good job, honey.)

But, nothing stirs my heart like hearing my girls sing praise and worship.  Sure, they know the words to Jesus Loves Me or The B-I-B-L-E.  These simple, beautiful classics are embedded into Christian childhoods as a staple, and I'm grateful for them (and a bit nostalgic!)

But, recently, I've begun to embrace the power that these songs have, infiltrating my children's minds at such a young age, hoping that they stay in their hearts for years and years to come.  So, I've started to really intentionally look and listen for bigger songs, harder songs, and not turn away from wordy, complex songs that I might have originally labeled "too difficult" for their little brains to absorb.

A few Sundays ago, we sang one of these powerful songs.  I'd never heard it before, and the words just STUCK with me.  I just love those moments in church where you feel like you're learning something familiar all over again like it's new, taken aback in awe of the simplicity of GOD'S LOVE FOR ME and how incredibly divine it is.  The song was "Christ Be in my Waking" and maybe you've heard of it before, but if not, here is the Stuart Townsend version of it that I would encourage you to watch below.

So, now, after my girls have seen that video multiple times a day for the last couple weeks, they are learning the words.  I am too!  I'll admit there are a lot of words in that song (each one with purpose, no doubt).  My girls will be in the middle of playing ponies or dress up and burst into chorus "Jeeesus!  This is my der-no-vo-tion!..."  Stumbling through the lyrics, but wholeheartedly praising and worshipping, and most of all - letting the truths of Christ affect them from the inside out.

I love praise and worship, especially old hymns (this, coming from the girl who grew up in a small church where my Grammy played the organ in the sanctuary on Sundays!)  The sentiments of the old hymns carry beautiful memories for me, along with their ancient truths.

Power in the Blood, What a Friend We Have in Jesus, Come Thou Fount, In the Garden, and Be Thou My Vision are just some of my favorites.  In Christ Alone is another "new classic" that is a modern song with an older feel that I simply cannot sing without shedding a tear.  It just might be the next song I choose to introduce to my girls.

What about you?  What are some of your favorite praise and worship songs?  I think it would be awesome to compile a good list and check them off week by week to teach my girls.  There's a little library in that brain of theirs, full of ideas and thoughts and sounds that take up space the more they sense the things around them.  I hope and pray that the words carried over the generations in these beautiful melodies are filling the shelves of their minds so they can always recall the truths they hold.

The Bearable Lightness of Being

One of the craziest things about parenthood is how God can literally use anything to show you something new.  I know this isn't exclusive to parenthood, but sometimes the context of raising little ones isn't exactly conducive to what I would usually consider fertile grounds for deep thoughts!


The other day, watching Curious George for the millionth time, I understood a new perspective I hadn't considered before.  In this particular episode, Curious George discovers his shadow (remember, he's a good little monkey, but always very curious!).

He follows his shadow around town, learning how the sunlight affects his shape.  Suddenly, as he steps under the shade of a tall building, his shadow disappears!  Of course, as grown-ups we understand that small shadows get swallowed up by larger shadows, making the individual shadow seem invisible as the sun is blocked by a larger object.

The analogy of darkness and light representing Satan and Jesus is nothing new.  Scripture uses this metaphor many times, and it is a helpful as we look to God's creation for reminders of His guidance.  Certainly nearly everyone has, at one time or another, read or heard 1 John 1:7:
But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin.

This verse came to mind right in the middle of watching Curious George!

Shadows.  Sin.  Darkness.  The shadows are mysterious, intriguing, even captivating - but totally reflective of my self.  If I continue to follow my shadow, I will be drawn to other shadows, into a shady realm where I will inevitably lose myself in spite of following my self.  The darkness would swallow me up.  It would destroy who I was originally designed to reflect.  It would drain me of any definition I had previously held and continue to darken as time goes on.  Shadows can be very dangerous, and the longer we are in them, the harder it is to see where the light is coming from.

But, OH, how I long for the light!  Consider John's context in the verses surrounding that famous "walking in the light" quotation:

If we say that we have fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth; but if we walk in the Light as He Himself is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin. If we say that we have no sin, we are deceiving ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. 1 John 1:6-9

Hallelujah!

We all have shadows.  Sometimes my heart is bitter from longstanding grief I want to try to control.  Other times I'm faced with very present in-the-heat-of-the-moment impatience or frustrations over the smallest things.  Sin is current, surrounding, and always looking to steal our light.  But, the light is always there, seeking us out and ready to envelop me in it's warmth, comfort, protection, and beauty.

Maybe Curious George didn't ponder his need for a Savior while chasing his shadow all over town (this is why I don't write for children's programming!) but, I certainly found myself dumbfounded at how the Holy Spirit can move with just the tiniest grains of consideration.

Don't ever think that God can teach you something right where you are - even if it's on the couch cuddled up in blankets with your toddlers sipping milk and munching on snacks.  Ask God to use your surroundings to reveal Himself to you, wherever may be.

After all, a little curiosity can go a long way!

In Season

The last two nights have been rather sleepless for me.  With the sun setting later and my kids wound-up from playing, bedtime has been getting later and later and more and more frustrating.  Last night, I came home from school to find my eldest down with fever and a sore throat, and my littlest bouncing off the walls as if she'd been feasting on espresso beans all day.  Brutal combo.

When it comes to sleeping habits, it's been my rule for a long time to simply take the shortest route to the most sleep.  Whether that means everyone sleeping together or letting them share a bed for a night or whatever - just sleeeeeep (please, please sleep).

So, last night I camped out in the living room on the pull-out bed and had a slumber party with my girls.  We stayed up late watching Little House on the Prairie, and while we threw ideals out the window, we embraced each other and made due.

So, here we are, snuggled up on our make-shift-hotel-like-recovery-room-couch-bed watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and eating Cheez-its and cereal bars for breakfast.  Some days just have to be like this.  Some days, fever trumps all other to-dos and productivity is reduced to what-time-she-last-took-Tylenol and where-in-the-world-is-the-remote-to-the-DVD-player.

And I'm so grateful for these days.  Certainly I hate to see my baby sick to any degree, but a case of the sniffles is in itself a good reminder that our health is taken for granted far too often.  I'm so glad I live a non-traditional life/schedule that allows me to stay home when I need to, to be able to feel this degree of neediness in this season of my life, and to engage with my girls when the best medicine is a hug and an episode of literally-anything-animated.

Oh, Lord, help me to cherish the sweetness of these times when the answers seem so simple.

This season is not for the faint of heart.  The incessant talking, the whining, the development of me-ness and manners and manic emotions can get so overwhelming as a parent that I find myself praying aloud multiple times a day just to get through.  It's exhausting, and the lack of sleep through this time in my life only adds insult to injury.

But, this season is so full of little gifts, and I'm determined to pluck them out of the mania and wring them dry of their beauty along the way.  When my little girls just want a hug, when they yell for me to comfort them, when they snuggle up (or even knee me in the ribs climbing onto my lap) I'm trying my best to soak it up, take it in, and cherish these moments that will so quickly turn complicated in the future.  My singing them to sleep or praying over their "ouchies" won't last forever, even when the reality of the day-to-day feels like the drama-of-the-moment is never ending.

The day will come when they will have more ouchies on the inside than the outside, when it will be harder for me to interpret what they need and what will help them, when I won't know the answer or be the answer to their hardest questions.  That season will have it's own gifts, along with the impending challenges that I'm not yet ready for.  (Some of which honestly scare the holy-guacamole out of me!  i.e. boys, love, puberty, mean girls at school...)

Thinking of that future season settles my mind in the present.  I know God is working on me right now to become the mother they need when that time comes...but, in the meantime, I'm thrilled to kiss feverish foreheads, watch cartoons, and snuggle my whiny tots while the rest of my world is on pause for the day.

Sometimes a sick day brings the healthiest perspective.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.  Ecclesiastes 3:1

Father Time

For Mother's Day, I wrote a post that was really for the moms-to-be, for the moms who might be aching to celebrate, for the women who have yet to fulfill their dream of mothering and are sighing deeply in the midst of waiting.

photo cred: Molly Snelson
www.mathieuphoto.com

Well, this one's for the dads-to-be.  The other half of the couple-in-waiting to are so often overlooked when terms like "trying" or "infertility" get thrown around as if it were as simple as waiting for an Amazon package to arrive on your doorstep.  But, it's seldom that simple.  And, while the wives get cards and girls-nights-out and encouraging pats on the back, men who are waiting to be fathers rarely get the chance to express their own frustrations and pain, especially on days like this coming Sunday.

While it will seem like the rest of the world will be waking up to coffee and burned toast in bed, lovingly unwrapping gifts of goofy ties and humorous coffee mugs...I want to take a moment to talk to the dads who are still eager to clumsily hold that baby of his own someday.  God is using this time for you, guys, and you are not forgotten.

When my husband and I were hoping, waiting, praying for our firstborn to be conceived, it was a strange process for Josh.  Not only did he have to balance his own dreams of what fatherhood meant to him, but he had to care for mine as well.  And, for the first few months, I took it upon myself to relish in the burden of waiting.  Meanwhile, Josh confusingly wavered between sympathy and frustration, not knowing how much of the emotional toll was really his to claim.  And, I was too focused on my own body, desires, and anger to allow him any room to grieve and process in his own way.  After all, I was the one who would carry the baby, clearly it matters more to me.  No, that's terribly, terribly wrong.  And, looking back now, I'm sorry I didn't recognize that my husband's lack of expressing his emotions was a source of protection and comfort for me, and not in any way a  sign of his lack of investment.

After a few months of bearing the roller coaster of "trying" (by the way, don't we all just hate that term?) we breached a new level of understanding.  I shared with Josh how every month I didn't get pregnant felt like getting rejected from a job I was perfect for.  Here was a position that I dreamed about, had all the exact experience, knew I would be a great fit for, could commit to, and would do anything to get...yet, when I saw another pregnant woman or got my period, it was as if God Himself was turning me down in the middle of an interview.  I'm sorry, the position has already been filled.  Thanks, anyway.  No feedback.  No reasons.  No explanation.

This idea clicked with Josh, and the power of the analogy shed new light on his emotions.  Maybe he didn't know the pain of hoping to be pregnant, only to have hopes dashed in a single bathroom break once a month...but, he knew what it felt like to get rejected from a job opportunity, and that brought empathy into our relationship in a new way.

While he was able to relate to my emotions, however, it was months until I started to truly recognize his emotions invested in the experience.  It wasn't that he was holding out on me or keeping secrets about how he felt.  Like most men, he genuinely was unsure how to interpret the feelings he was experiencing.  Waiting to become a father is twofold for men, emotionally.  If there's two duties for a husband that seem to be nearly universal in most relationships, it's the need to provide and the need to fix.

These are wonderful characteristics.  They are simple, direct, and often effective when paired with a woman's ability to nurture and engage.  But, when it comes to conceiving a child, they are of little solace.  Josh could not provide an explanation, and he couldn't fix the problem - month after month.  We were waiting on the hand of God to intervene, and (as are most experiences with waiting for men) his impatience quickly manifested as anger and inadequacy.

Guys, this is totally valid.  Those feelings are not wrong or bad.  And, while your wife might be in need of a hug more than you going for a beer with the guys and taking a jog to blow off steam - waiting is a time to take care of your self as much as your spouse and your future family.  But, don't stop asking God for help.  Don't stop telling your wife why your angry (and direct that frustration at your Xbox instead of your fragile wife!)  Don't stop growing in this painful process that has the opportunity to truly shape you into the man you will have to be when those 3am diaper changes finally arrive.  You are becoming resilient.  You are becoming adaptable.  You are becoming a father right now.

A word to my mamas-to-be:  You are not alone in this.  Don't forget that your husband is your partner, your friend, your strongest advocate for what's best for you...not just your babymaker.  He loves you, he wants what you want, and the more you can team up toward the goal of becoming the people God wants you to be together the better parents you will make in the future, and the deeper the experience will be for the both of you.  If you feel alone, if you're not sure how your husband feels, Ask him.  If he doesn't know how he feels, believe the best about him.  His feelings matter as much as yours do, but you have to listen (sometimes to actions more than words) before you can interpret what he's saying.

This Father's Day, my husband will be hugged fiercely by our two daughters.  To the point of annoyance and insurmountable joy.  Fatherhood has brought my husband more challenges and happiness than probably anything else in life ever could, and I'm so grateful to know him in this role so intimately.  Fatherhood didn't begin when he changed our daughter's diaper or even when he held her for the first time.  It isn't counted in the number of ties or socks or silly crafts he will receive over the years, and it's not comprised of even the sweetest moments of butterfly kisses or storybook readings.

For Josh, and for many dads, Fatherhood began way back when God started shaping Josh moment-by-painful-moment into the man our family needed him to be.  God uses time as an element of conception just as much as any biological essence.  Dads-to-be, maybe you won't be unwrapping any goofy ties this Sunday, and maybe you will have to wait for a while longer before your baby is in your arms, but your joy can be complete today.  You already have everything you need to provide and fix what's within your responsibility.  And, I pray that God's timing continues to mold your marriage, as He did with mine, to create a unity welcoming of the child he's preparing for you.

In the meantime, know you are not alone.  Know you are a craft in progress.  Know you are enough.  Know you are understood in your anger and frustration.  And, Happy Father's Day...right now.

Health Food

Like it or not, McDonald's and motherhood go together.  Sure, this might make you cringe.  There will be the few moms out there who somehow miraculously and courageously avoid the Golden Arches at all costs and no doubt their children had a healthier lunch than mine.

But, for those of us normies who fess up to defaulting to the Happy Meal when our children are throwing fits and the fridge is scarce...welcome.  You are in good company.


We live about a mile away from a McDonald's with the hugest indoor playland I've ever seen for a fast food restaurant.  It's a giant, plastic, climbing fantasy land for my kids, and completely closed off to the rest of the restaurant so I can feel fine about them screaming their heads off without disturbing the entire universe.  They can roam about freely, check in for the occasional sip from a juice box or nibble of a chicken McNugget, and continue on their way without interrupting (too often) my own lunch.

Yes, they are devouring food that's higher in calories and fat.  They are climbing on slides swarming with germs.  They are loud and obnoxious and not sitting still for a single second.  We're not here for our physical health, certainly (though the playland does work up a good sweat for them).

I'm not here for my health, I'm here for my mental health.  And sometimes it is just totally worth it.

No one is proud to go to McDonald's.  I remember the first time I succumbed to the drive-thru when my girls were very little.  I was stressed out and they were screaming, and instead of dropping everying, heading home, and chopping up carrot sticks, I found myself frantically tossing chicken McNuggets at the backseat and drowning my woes in a large Diet Coke.  Whew.

Literally fell asleep holding a chicken McNugget

I'm over the guilt now.  Maybe it's exhaustion, or laziness, or just the fact that I don't have time or mental space to dedicate to feeling badly about my toddler falling asleep holding a chicken McNugget.  But, meeting friends for a play date at McDonald's provides a different outlet for my mental health that I can live with.  Meeting friends, letting my kids be silly, allowing them a little autonomy and freedom and space, while I can actually finish a meal with limited distraction and even engage in conversations with other grown-ups...well, that's worth a LOT in my book.

Obviously, I'm not promoting a new diet for children that's cheeseburger-centric.  If you can always plan ahead and create home-cooked meals for your kids, that's certainly the best option for food.  But, if you're like me, then mealtimes don't always have to center around the nutritional value (albeit, important) but can extend to the relational value found as well.  While nutritional and relational values don't have to be mutually exclusive - sometimes they are.

All this to say, sometimes I think it's more important to take guilt off the menu than sugar or fat.

So, if you find yourself guilt-ridden in a drive-thru or cringing at the thought of what your toddler might be ingesting for the sake of a few minutes peace...join me in a refreshing sigh of relief knowing that you aren't alone.  Your kids will be okay.  Your kids will still eat vegetables.  Your kids can still grow up knowing the value of time together at the family dinner table.  Your kids won't be totally spoiled.  Your kids are NORMAL.  And, if they make some new friends over a french fries and sweat their way to nap-time in a castle of grime, maybe you can even smile about it.

They don't call it a Happy Meal for nothing.

For a fun feature, here's comedian Jim Gaffigan's bit about McDonald's.  There are few crass moments (I wouldn't watch it with the kids) but, it's great for a laugh.  Enjoy, mamas!

Sib Club

My girls are getting to the age where they have their own world.  They share a room, and being only 20 months apart in age, I've always known they are forced-into-friendship simply by vicinity.  They share clothes, toys, and have been known to strangle one another over which sister gets what accessories when it comes to dress-up time.  Typical sisters, right?

But, it's only been recently, as Daphne's vocabulary swells, that they've begun to share stories, secrets, and fully-acted-out-imaginary worlds.  Their playtime (in the precious moments where they are getting along and somewhat focused) can evolve the simplest idea into a grand invention.  One second they are picking grass for no reason, the next second they are wilderness explorers, huddled up in their clubhouse, on a mission to find a secret worm needed to save the world.

It's their very own "sibling club", and no one else can ever truly break into that relationship.

It's mysterious and beautiful to see my girls creating their bond right in front of my eyes.  I recently heard a podcast about the importance of siblings, and it made me so grateful that my girls have each other in this world.   The podcast featured Jeffrey Kluger, who wrote a book called "The Sibling Effect" and he put it so eloquently, I'd like to share an excerpt from his book that really helped me view this relationship in a way I never had before:

The universe of human relationships is an impossibly varied one. Wives have their husbands; children have their parents; lovers have their partners; friends have one another. There are cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents, schoolmates and colleagues and rivals and peers. Every one of those relationships plays out under its own set of rules and rituals, each unique, each elaborate. For all that richness and complexity, however, there may be no relationships that can run quite as deep or survive quite as long as those among siblings. You know it if you grew up with one. You know it if you’re raising some. You know it if you’ve merely watched a group of them interact. 

From the time we’re born, our brothers and sisters are our collaborators and co-conspirators, our role models and our cautionary tales. They are our scolds, protectors, goads, tormentors, playmates, counselors, sources of envy, objects of pride. They help us learn how to resolve conflicts and how not to; how to conduct friendships and when to walk away from them. Sisters teach brothers about the mysteries of girls; brothers teach sisters about the puzzle of boys. Bigger sibs learn to nurture by mentoring little ones; little sibs learn about wisdom by heeding the older ones. Our spouses and children arrive comparatively late in our lives; our parents leave us too early. “Our brothers and sisters,” says family sociologist Katherine Conger of the University of California, Davis, “are with us for the whole journey.”

Even if you don't have a biological sibling, you can probably relate on some level to a deep friendship that carried you through the years.  I love my sister and my brother, and I'm incredibly grateful to have a deep and honest relationship with both of them - people I've loved and fought with, who've seen me achieve more than ever expected, who've seen me grieve at my very worst, who have shared triumphs and tragedies at the moment they've occurred, and who are stuck with me as a comrade for life.

Siblings are special.  They are unique.  And if you have one, you have access to your own club that only you and your siblings know the password to.  I'm anxious to get this book and read more about the effect this relationship has played in my life.  And in the meantime, I'm excited to be on this side of observing siblings as they mold one another through the years to come under my own roof.  (I wonder if they already have a secret handshake?)

Empty Nest

A couple weeks ago, we discovered a little nest in the crook of our carport roof between the beams.  The girls had pointed it out, and we didn't pay it much mind until we saw a mama robin flying in and out of it.  Sure enough, when we climbed up to look inside, we discovered five beautiful blue eggs just waiting to hatch.

They were so lovely, so fragile, and it was hard to imagine such a tiny thing could hold a living creature inside.  Instantly, we embraced the ritual of checking on these bitty eggs every time we left the house, seeing the mama robin swoop in and out as we annoyed her quiet home.

Last week, the babies hatched!  They were so sweet and ugly and featherless and weird looking, we couldn't help but "oooh" and "awww" as they stretched their tiny necks and poked their yellow beaks up and down in hopes that their mother would feed them.  My girls watched in amazement as the mama dug up worms and gently landed on the crowded nest ready to feed her babies.  They seemed so helpless and fragile, and I was strangely transported to remembering my own children as infants, completely unaware of their own needs.

Yesterday, the babies flew the coop.  But, not before my girls and I got to witness it for ourselves.

I was bringing out the trash, when I nearly stumbled upon a baby bird (now, fully feathered but still quite small) just sitting on the concrete.  He didn't move when I approached, and suddenly when I was only an inch away he took off, completely startled, and flew right into the side of the fence!  I ran inside to retrieve my girls for the drama.

We carefully scared the little bird to safer ground, and after a few more bumps into the fence he had made his way into the side of our front yard where he clearly had more room to practice his wings.  The mama swooped in, chirping and talking loudly overhead, clearly directing her babies to get up and try again.  We saw another baby perched on a fence post, and he too, clumsily floated to the ground in a single, brave move.

We watched for many minutes - the mama screaming, the babies flailing, and then suddenly, they had moved on.  Yesterday evening was quiet.  The nest is empty.  The babies have learned to fly.

Today is my girls first last day of school.  (Did that make sense?)  Today, they finish up their semester of going once-a-week to a Mother's Day Out program at a local church.  And, I'm reminded how (gulp) it will seem like minutes between now and their high school graduation day.  I well up with tears at the thought of how I already can't remember exactly how they were last year, let alone when they were featherless babies needing me 100%.

This time between Spring and Summer is magical moment in time - full of transitions and beauty and growth.  And I'm living in the midst of the long, stretched out season that feels never ending in the moment, but will surely come to pass all too quickly.

I'll keep the nest warm as long as I can.  I'll land gently next to you, make you a home from my heart.  And I'll feed you as best I can, to help you be strong.  Don't fly too far.  Don't fly too high.  But fly, little birds, fly.  Your nest will always be warm.

Empty nest.  Full heart.

(okay, someone hand me the kleenex!)

Welcome to the Play Room

It's definitely taking quite a bit of time to figure out where everything goes in our new house.  As first-time homeowners, I feel a great sense of pride and obligation to give everything a very specific "spot" in our home so that we are surrounded by the feeling of "belonging" as well as trying my best to maintain a sense of sanity amongst the chaos.

With three bedrooms and two children, we had the choice of how to use the "extra" bedroom.  Would we split the girls up?  Would we use it as an office?  Or storage until another potential baby (or not) would possibly designate the space?  I'll tell you, it didn't take us long to decide to utilize this space for one thing we desperately longed for:  A PLAY ROOM.

Since the girls got bunk beds for Christmas, we gave them the smaller room to be their sleeping space.  This third bedroom, then, would be exclusive PLAY area for them to store their books, toys, and crafts.  I didn't want to fill the space too much so that it could never be used as anything else in the future, but I knew they had plenty to fill out the room that was there (spoiled much?)

This was the first room that we really put together, so that the girls would ideally have their own space to occupy themselves while we focus our attention to other areas of the house.  I'm excited to share pics of their new play room - a colorful combination of new and old toys, nods to both vintage and classic childhood belongings, and a nostalgic place that can be comfortably ruined by mischief and fun!

Make no mistake, I am NOT a designer or even suggester of how in the world to decorate.  I get my ideas from magazines, pinterest, and problem solving just like most moms out there.  I try to "shop my house" as much as I can before buying new things, and I'm all about utilizing spaces for multiple purposes.

These shelves were CD racks in our last apt.  But, with cute matching books/characters and some fabric drawers, they add some sweet decor that is both useful and adorable.  Horton Hears a Who is my copy from childhood, and my grandpa made the wooden cut-out bunny and chipmunk on the right middle shelf.  

Love art!  I found these "Creative Thursday" prints about 6 years ago in Urban Outfitters and bought them on a whim to put up in a nursery long before I was ever pregnant with my first.  They hung in the girls' rooms until now, and they are the perfect compliment to this new ABC primary color picture I found on sale at Target!

Another "Creative Thursday" (there's another on the opposite side of the window as well) and these "new vintage" toys give a friendly nod to both generations in our home.  I already had everything, but just decided to display these choices.  I updated the lamp with a new shade that matches both the chevron curtain and the green chair, helping pull the room together a bit more.

And just in case you had any illusion that our play room was feeling more like a museum than an actual living space - this is what it looks like about 10 minutes into the day.  

WHEW!  Reality, people!  

Give EVERYTHING a space - including your children.  

Fun times get messy and crazy, but I feel much more sane knowing that there is a spot to put it all.  

Let's PLAY!

And the Award Goes to...

As former film students, my husband and I love to geek-out when Academy Award season rolls around.  Yes, I understand that this is an evening when all of Hollywood comes together to celebrate and focus on themselves, to fully indulge in beauty and facades, and to keep talk seriously shallow ranging from looks to performance.

Sure, there are plenty of more important things out there to think about other than "What is Jennifer Lawrence wearing?" or "Did Ellen just order pizza?" But, ever since childhood I have fully gawked in awe at the spectacle, and I thoroughly enjoy the production regardless of it's superficial flaws.

Every year, Josh and I print out ballots and do our best (okay, I'll admit I get frighteningly competitive) to pick who we want to win as well as who we think will win.  I warned you, we get into it.  (This is my Superbowl, people!) This used to be much more fun and filled with discussion surrounding our rationale behind our choices; but that was before children were in our lives, back when we actually saw  most of the films that were on the ballot!

Now, we sling-shot our answers blindly onto the paper, fingers crossed.  Needless to say I did poorly on my ballot this year, and it doesn't really matter apart from the fact that it made me stop and realize just how much the littlest, most trivial things in life have a tendency to change when you least expect it.

Parents of young children know exactly what I'm talking about.  Maybe it's not the Academy Awards for you...maybe it's music, or fashion, or just keeping up with the news on a weekly basis.  But, there's something about having kids (oh, wait, their incessant neediness is probably what it is) that completely sucks out one's ability to stay "with it" when it comes to things that so vibrantly used to impact daily life.

Do you know what I'm talking about?  Sometimes I feel like if I never made it to the grocery store or inside Target I really would have no grasp of what is happening outside of our little home.  I can tell you exactly how much cereal we have in our cabinets, totally recap the last episode of Curious George for you, and tell you every single My Little Pony character (cutie mark and all), but I have no idea if capris are a fashion no-no for the Spring or why I think American Hustle should have won more Oscars (I haven't even seen it yet!  But it still gets my vote for coolest movie trailer and best/worst movie hair!)

All this to say - we each have our little pieces of ourselves that we cringe about when we realize they've been gradually replaced by our children's needs/wants/loudness.  It's good and bad.  It's wonderful and disappointing.  It's frustrating and rewarding.  IT'S NOT FOREVER.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that it's okay to hang onto the silly parts of me that simply just make me ME.  I'm a gal who LOVES the stupid Hollywood gossip mags at the hair salon (which, no, I have not seen the likes of for several months) and looks forward to the Academy Awards each year.  I'm sure you have your own stupidly wonderful guilty pleasure, and part of being a parent usually means laying some of that to the side (or drastically compromising) as your focus is needed elsewhere.

While the Oscars are a fun night to gawk at Hollywood glam, it was a good reminder for me to take pride in even the tiniest of things that make up what I like and don't like.  Sometimes, as a mother, it can be so easy for me to lose sight of the importance of this.  Mothers are so busy placing their attention on others that we tend to drown out our own voices by the loud and distracting mix of those around us.

I might not have a gold statue to show for it, but I'm determined to hang onto these tiny parts of self.  The reward of nurturing my own needs will infiltrate the course of my parenting.  While this might look like knowing My Little Pony characters now, it won't forever.  Just noticing and acknowledging the little things in my life that help define my preferences will empower my own daughters to create their own.

Don't let go of those trivial things, even if you lay them to the side for a bit.  There's nothing trivial about knowing who you are, and when your kids grow up and start making decisions for themselves, they need an example of someone who isn't waiting on another's expectation.

While I'm vicariously living through the glamour of Hollywood from the comfort of my own pajamas, I'm convinced that the real award of the night is going to be found years later, when I don't resent my kids for changing that young mother who used to love film.  As sweet Lupita Nyong'o (how gorgeous was she?) said at the end of her acceptance speech, "...no matter where you're from, your dreams are valid."  I couldn't have said it better myself.

Nice to Meet You

Today, for the very first time, Daphne introduced herself.  It was only a couple weeks ago I heard her say her name for the very first time.  Don't get me wrong, she is a chatterbox, a total flibber de gibbet, but she hasn't referred to herself until now (besides the word MINE which comes out of her 2-and-a-half-year-old mouth every five seconds).

But, today, as we saw some friends that we knew while we were at McDonald's, she proudly put her hand on her chest and expressed "I'm Daphne" (well, really it was more "I Daffeee") but it was otherwise clear as a sunny spring day!

It flashed in my mind how profound this kind of thing is for her little world.  Her proud little stance, her confident expression, and her then repetitive nature to clarify over and over and over again "I'm Daphne, I'm Daphne, I'm Daphne...and hey, you over there, in case you missed it, I'm Daphne." (Maybe not that last part.)

I don't know when it clicked in her head that her name was "who she is", but it makes me wonder how those little wheels are spinning in there, and what she thinks of when she says her name?  With both my girls, I'm prayerfully careful to find out who they are, who they want to be, and how they see themselves.  Sure, this is what you get when your mother is becoming a therapist (sorry, girls!); but, nevertheless, I want to be cautious not to just project my own ideas or labels of who I think they are, should be, or will be.

Daphne Mabel Valentine Pardy is as lovable as her name protests.  In fact, her name means "Victory in love" and it wasn't without many exhaustively, pregnant hours of thought (as I'm sure you could have guessed) that her name came about.  I know that it will be some time before she is able to state her entire moniker, but I pray that she attributes herself the thoughtfulness that went into it.

Of course we always want our children to like the names we've chosen for them.  But, beyond that (and much, much moreso) I want her to grow in this confidence that she knows who she is and that the amount of love that went into her name was merely the tip of the iceberg of what surrounds her.  As lovable as she is, she is also feisty, with a temper that is short and stout (much like her toddler figure at the moment).  She is fearless and expressive, and channels that into many naughty feats that challenge my compassion on a moment-by-moment basis.

Names are not fates.  I couldn't have ever found just the right name that would have fully encapsulated or determined the person that was brought into this world on the day she was born.  (If that were the case I would have named both my daughters Quiet and Calm!)  But, as this little girl develops and learns and grows into the person God has called her to be, I pray that I can continue to be amazed by her and look at her with fresh eyes each time she expresses who she is.

So, that each time she says in her own way, "I'm Daphne!" I can genuinely and wholeheartedly respond, "Nice to meet you."

Bedtime Battles

I never imagined that bedtime with little ones would be easy, per se, but nothing could have prepared me for the battles my husband and I face with our girls every night around 6, 7, 8, 9pm or later.  Sigh.

I figured when I entered into motherhood that I was signing a sure-fire contract that guaranteed a dramatic loss in sleep.  I knew that I'd be up nursing a baby in the middle of the night, that there would come time for nightmares or extra drinks of water.  I imagined a wee one pleading for extra story books or being afraid of the dark.  This all seemed obvious to the territory I was about to encounter.  But, all this to say that I have greatly underestimated this monstrosity we call "bedtime".

It all looks so innocent!

Having a 4-year-old and 2-and-a-half-year-old sharing a room has not been without its challenges.  When we first threw them into the den together (lion's den, I mean) it took several weeks before the crying and gnashing of teeth yielded to a steady moan.  The hyperbole of having two little girls share a room is that there are moments so precious that you can hardly stand the cuteness, immediately followed by sounds of WWIII (or maybe WW Z) taking place.

One second they are gibberishly singing their rendition of "Sisters" from White Christmas at full volume, with giggles on beat and squeals of joy and clapping at the end.  Two seconds later, just as my full heart is returning to normal Grinch size, I hear thunks, clanks, yelling, growling, screaming and crying.

My shocked nervous system fluctuates instantaneously from thinking surely a tragedy has occurred, and if not, then I'm about to bring the hammer down on some serious naughtiness.  The distance between my full-fledged compassion, to my blistering parent-rage is a very short step.  It's like I've gone bipolar and I'm either Mother Theresa or Benecio Del Toro, nothing in between.

Bedtime clearly brings out the best/worst in my parenting skills.  The unpredictability of each night is one of the most frustrating factors to me.  While variety can be fun in other areas of my life, when it comes to schedule, I embrace structure.  Routine keeps me sane and on track, and certainly I think consistency is a key cornerstone to any parenting tactic (or so I've been led to believe).  But, our stringent routine seems to have zero bearing on the outcome of my children's sleepiness.

They could have played outside all day, gone swimming, or to an amusement park, or to the library, or shopping, or all of the above...and they would fight going to bed.  They could have had a quiet day at home, with limited distractions, calming music or storybooks, healthy meals and a decent rest time...and they would fight going to bed.  By the time they actually fall asleep, they could sleep through the night, or they could be up four times.  They could come crawl up into our bed half-way into the night.  THERE'S JUST NO TELLING.

I'm not sure if I'm writing this post to reach out for advice, prayers, or outright sympathy (I'm not beyond this).  But, mostly, I just wanted to throw this truth out there to let other zombie-mothers know they YOU ARE NOT ALONE.  I've read multiple "sleeping" books.  I feel like I've tried it all (I'm sure I have not, and I'm open to your input!) And the craziest thing is, my children function well and don't appear tired...they just don't sleep.  (I should probably mention that I come from a long line of terrible sleepers, so yes this is definitely hereditary to an extent!)

One thing's for certain, my zombie-cubs are keeping me on my toes for seeking new, unattainable levels of grace and patience that I never knew existed.  My consumption of coffee in the morning is probably directly proportionate to the number of times I grasped at mercy the night before.  It might be a long time until my kids get the hang of how genuinely sweet the gift of sleep truly is, but until that day comes, I'm prayerful that these chaotic hours of my day are not wasted on frustration.

I'm losing plenty of bedtime battles, but in the long run, I think I'm winning a new capacity for compassion (or appreciation for it!) which can only come from God's grace.

God bless the sleepless parents out there!  Keep it up - you're in good company!

Naturally

Motherhood is sneaky.  It gets crazier and more challenging by the hour, yet exponentially rewarding as it dominates life with no warning.  Even in those early hours of becoming a mother, when my baby was still under the supervision of doctors and nurses; when the congratulatory balloons in the corner haven't lost their deflation, and neither had my belly, the idea of becoming a mother was still comforted by the ideal that "my maternal nature is sure to kick in now".

The early days of motherhood are sacred.  This new creature overwhelmed my mind, body, and spirit, and what was a concept growing inside my body mere moments ago suddenly became a tangible expression of unconditional love.  The idea of this agape started as soon as that pregnancy test first glowed with positivity, yet it wasn't until actually holding the person that embodied this ideal that made me first step back and gasp at my arrogance: How could I have ever possibly thought I knew how to do this?

The only thing that can prepare you for being a mother is having a child.

Now, it's been a little over four years since I first held my eldest daughter in my arms, and I continue to look at both my girls with giddiness and fear.  These are MY children? How do I do this? Motherhood does not come naturally, no matter your background, training, experience, or expectation.  It boggles my mind every single day.

There's nothing natural about putting my body through excruciating aches and pains to deliver a new person into the world. There's nothing natural about getting up in the middle of the night a dozen times to feed, change, or just want to stare at this little human.  There's nothing natural about worrying irrationally about new fears I never even knew I had simply because my new responsibility to another can be too much to bear.

There's nothing natural about craft parties at 5 in the morning, about watching Curious George on my cell phone in the middle of a grocery store, about owning 14 tutus and 8 princess dresses (estimate), about getting irrationally angry and punching the wall because I stepped on another lego and just about broke my neck.  There's nothing natural about washing sippy cups, carrying crayons at the bottom of my purse at all times, or making up songs about poop.

There's nothing natural about getting screamed in the face, thrown-up on, snuggled to a suffocating degree, and then wanting to be around this same person with a nearly unhealthy compulsion to kiss her cheeks right off her little face.

There's nothing natural about wanting to meet the needs of someone who literally follows behind my every step deconstructing and destroying the efforts of housekeeping, laundering, cooking, or cleaning that I exhaustedly repeat with no end.

And most of all, there is nothing natural about willingly, uncomfortably, growing and changing into a more selfless person each and every day. But, that's the mystery and beauty of motherhood.

Motherhood makes no sense.  It's a perfect reflection of God's magical, perfect, insanely irrational love for us.  There is nothing natural about it, because every maternal instinct I have in me - to love, care, and give beyond myself - is absolutely the love of Jesus seeping through my body out into the open world.

I mess it up all the time.  I yell at my kids, I keep them in time out too long, I feed them pita chips and fruit snacks for breakfast, I strap them in their car seats and take them for a drive cause I am too frustrated to want to chase them around the house or peel them off the walls one more time.  And, each and every time I am reminded how ridiculously wonderful and scary it is that I'm given the opportunity to be Jesus to these little humans.  I'm so grateful to worship a God who gave us His Son and His Word to turn to when I feel so out of my element.

There are so many incredible aspects and gifts that come out of motherhood.  When I see my girls giggling or sharing or singing, I'm glimpsing at bits of heaven here on earth.  But, one of the greatest parts of motherhood I never saw coming:  laying down my ideals for what I thought would come so naturally, and accepting the amazing truth that what comes unnaturally is so, so much better.