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.

Belly Ninja

I've been up since 3am.  No, not just awake - UP.

I knew having another baby would come with less sleep - I just didn't know it would start at 21 weeks of pregnancy!

As with my first two girls, I'm convinced this baby is a zombie with unique martial arts skills.  I dream about who she is, trying to picture a sweet, snuggly little girl all wrapped up in pink...but, at three in the morning when my belly is thumping and my eyes are half-closed, all I can picture is a little version of Jackie Chan in there, kicking butt and taking names.

Pretty sure I need this shirt!

The movement of an unborn human inside my body is one of the most wondrous, ridiculously awesome experiences of my life.  While the jabs and swirls are virtually indescribable, I find myself telling non-parent friends what it feels like in the simplest terms.

Uh, it just feels exactly like what you'd think it feels like?!

Can anyone describe this a little better for me?  Honestly, I'm at a loss.  I think this is one of those times in life when you are so mesmerized by the process that it seems like putting words to it instantly diminishes its significance no matter what.

I can't seem to match the language to the action, and when I try, it comes out something like this:

It's like rainbows bursting out of my stomach.
It's like a little dog walking around in circles before settling into a cozy spot.
It's like a popped toaster springing up a bagel that doesn't quite fit.
It's like a rippling brook, constantly moving yet soothing.
It's like when you blend a smoothie and then the air bubble spurts up when you stop it.
It's like there's a shooting star stuck in a hot air balloon, trying to get out.
It's like there's a little human being growing inside me, flexing growing muscles and stretching new bones that have yet to see sunlight.

See how that last one just rolls right in with the absurd?  AND IT'S TRUE!

Right?!

My little belly ninja has several weeks to go before I get to kiss her smooshy little pink face.  There are countless kicks and hiccups and gas bubbles to feel in the coming months, and I'm treasuring each one.  I know that soon enough these little movements might turn painful and extremely uncomfortable (reality sets in a little sooner by the third baby!)  But, I pray I never take for granted the awesomeness of this weird feeling.

Sure, I'll lose more sleep.  Yes, I'll get cranky and uncomfortable.  I might even start whining and complaining the closer the due date gets (Who, me?)  But, through all the words that describe my feelings and aches and pains, know there is an indescribable experience behind each one that simply has no language.

The tiniest of actions...speaking louder than any words I've ever known.

How would you describe your baby's movements when you were pregnant?  

What does it feel like to YOU?

TBT: The Sleepless Wonder

I know no more about how to get a child to sleep than I did a few years ago, but my compassion for parents/zombies has genuinely deepened.  Take heart, tired folks.  I'll keep the coffee brewing.  Enjoy this throwback from 2012 and know my prayers for rest are with you!


This week has been rough to say the least. Matilda is on her second bout of the stomach flu this week. The poor kid has been through the ringer. Not to mention, I've earned my fair share of badges in the categories of "clean up" and "disinfecting" over the course of the week. But, my other precious child has actually been the one keeping me up at night. Yes, this post isn't about Lysol, Listerine, and my Pursuit of Healthiness. Oh, no, this is going to be about my sweet Daphne, or as she's known around these parts: The Sleepless Wonder.

Was baby Daphne really this little?

What is it in my genes that has brought me these two precious bundles of joy that somehow have the will and wherewithal to keep themselves permanently awake. I say my genes, because, apparently my husband has always been a totally sound sleeper. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt that it is in his genes to magically rest undisturbed through just about anything...an earthquake, a nuclear missile, or say, even a screaming baby in the middle of the night. Whew. (Don't get me wrong, this dude is my ROCK...it's just the fact that he sleeps like one too makes me totally jealous!)

I have never been a good sleeper. My mom tells stories of being a zombie, nursing me as a baby night after night until one of us lost our minds and finally gave up the ghost and crashed. Even as a youngster I would hate going to bed, hate staying in bed, and insist that I just Was. Not. Tired. Which, as any reasonable adult comes to understand - is completely false. I'm pretty sure I spent most of my twenties trying to catch up on that lost sleep...but, it didn't matter. Now that I've finally found my desire to sleep - I'm once again thrown into a roller coaster of total snooze deprivation. Yes, yes...what goes around comes around and all that...hilarious, isn't it?

My babies just don't sleep. Matilda woke up every 2 hours for eight months straight. Even after I went back to work after the first three months, yep, she was up and at 'em like clockwork, and I would somehow drag myself into the office, being sure to keep extra toothpicks in my purse in order to keep my eyelids open at all times. It wasn't all terrible, I'll admit. I enjoyed our special bonding time in the middle of the night. I would gaze at her face, sweetly nursing back into dreamland, and try to memorize each little contour of her cheek in the dimness of the nightlight. I loved watching her little expressions - especially the jerky little smirks and smiles her lips would make while she drifted back to sleep, totally unaware of my staring at her. I genuinely missed those moments when she started sleeping through the night.

But, before that, you know what else I missed??? Sleep. I missed sleep. I missed not having to wake up in the dead of night with my heart racing as if a cannon had just gone off at the sound of my infant screaming like a banshee. I missed waking up feeling like I was ready for the day and not having to seriously concentrate to pick out matching socks. I missed drifting off to sleep peacefully instead of completely paranoid that the sound of my own heart beating would somehow awaken the beast from her delicate slumber in the crib down the hall. I missed choosing to have coffee in the morning instead of it being medically necessary for me to function or operate a piece of machinery (like a curling iron). Is it selfish to miss sleep? Is it unreasonable? It didn't even matter...I was too tired to care.

And, guess what? I'm dangerously close to approaching that level of sleep deprivation again. I think every parent or parent-to-be has pretty reasonable expectations about the first few weeks. They know it will be hard. They know they will be up in the middle of the night. But, God gives us that amazing amount of grace and compassion in our souls that are so incredibly in love with this new creation that we can't help but want to wake up again and again and care for this helpless little creature (who happens to be insanely adorable) and get to be the solution to all their problems...Yes! I can change you, sweet one! Yes! I can feed you, you cute little punker bottom. Yes! I can burp you, oh kissable little cheeky monkey butter bear blossom baby. (Well, the nicknames get a bit incomprehensible around 3 or 4 in the morning, see?)

So...what's to be done? How to get a baby to sleep through the night is such a mind-boggler for so many people, it's right up there in the "eternal question" category somewhere between "What is the meaning of life?" and "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?" There are books and books and books and now blogs and articles and whole websites dedicated to just how you can solve all your baby's sleep problems (in three easy payments/steps/nights, etc...)

I've read my fair share. Believe me, I'm no stranger to research. When I want to know something, I put my heart and soul into it and seek out every last drop of advice I can get my hands on. I'm certainly no expert, so I've taken the time to actually look at what the "experts" do have to say. From "Ferberize" to "Baby Wise", from the "Baby Whisperer" to the "Happiest Baby on the Block". Just google "get baby to sleep through the night" and you will be up to your eyeballs in "do's and don'ts". And...my conclusion? The experts know absolute crap about my kid.

The experts know crap? Yes. All of them. No matter how educated or renowned they may be, you can absolutely find an "expert" to support anything: Swaddling is good. Swaddling makes the baby feel constricted. Don't sleep with your baby. Co-sleeping helps the baby feel secure. Pick up the baby to keep them from feeling unloved. Never pick up the baby or they will always cry to get your attention. Never let the baby fall asleep on you. Never lay the baby down awake. Always lay the baby down while still awake. Let the baby cry to help learn soothing techniques. Letting the baby cry only confirms to them that you think they are unlovable. Give the baby a pacifier. Never let the baby sleep with the pacifier. A baby needs a trigger to give them routine. Don't assign a prop to a baby or they will become dependent on it. There is no difference in a baby's ability to sleep through the night, they have to learn it. Every baby will eventually sleep through the night if you allow them to find their own pattern.

Drowning yet? Exactly. It's overwhelming. And all of the above information is straight out of "expert" advice. Well, the only thing it taught me was that apparently I've been doing everything wrong, no matter what I've been doing! Sigh.

Have a baby? Or going to have a baby? Take a deep breath. It's going to be okay. Put down the baby book, make some coffee (decaf if you must), hug someone (I won't tell if it is your cat or favorite pillow) and pat yourself on the back. Why? Because, congratulations - YOU know your baby best! You are all the expert you need.

I've read and read and read. I've asked a zillion moms (including my own, since, well, you know - she raised me and lived to tell about it). I've listened and learned and have a LONG way to go (if that wasn't obvious). But, if I know one thing, it's that those experts are NOT around in the middle of the night to pat me on the back and hand me a cup of coffee and reassure me that even if I pop her paci back in her mouth it is most likely not going to turn her into the next president OR the next serial killer. Deep breath. I have to stop thinking if I swaddle her wrong, surely she'll be scarred for life. If I let her nurse to sleep that she will surely grow up to be a hippie or cultist or libertarian. If I let her cry it out she will need extra therapy sessions, or maybe become the next American Idol (here's hoping that set of pipes goes to some good use!) Nope - there are no guarantees that my child will or won't turn out the way I think is best - or worst. I love her. I will care for her. I will provide for her. I have hopes and dreams for her. And right now, I hope that she sleeps and dreams her way through more than two hours at a time!

The fact is, these "experts" never address the one thing we are really all wondering but don't want to ask: How can I survive this? One night at a time. That's the truth. Some nights you will have extreme compassion and be able to rock your baby to sleep and she will still wake up every 20 minutes. Other nights you will want to throw your baby through the window because, just when you thought you had it all together, your sweet little bundle of joy discovered your wit's end and is now clenching onto the last nerve you never knew you had - and biting your nipple at the same time. And still, you love her. You survive. You have ups and downs. You have a perfectly scheduled routine one week, and the next week you find yourself eating cereal out of the box at 2pm and discover you've put on yesterday's dirty yoga pants on backwards. Someone will question your methods. Someone will do it better than you. Someone's kid will magically sleep through the night at 2 weeks and tell you all about how easy it was and you will want to punch her in the face. But, you will survive. I will survive. And so will Daphne.

Tonight we are going to let Daphne cry it out. She will wail and my heart will break. She will scream and my breasts will ache with the need to feed her and my soul will be crushing with the utmost of guilt. (Can you tell I'm looking forward to this?) It totally sucks. I hate it. But, when I look at my red-ring-eyed baby and see how insanely overstimulated she is, I know it is best for her. Am I selfish? Am I abandoning her? Am I crazy? All this and more will be haunting my thoughts tonight. But, echoing between each cry, each gulp, each beat of my heart will be the resounding truth: I love her. Trust me, we've tried it all. The co-sleeping, the triggers, the only-go-in-every-ten-minutes-so-she-is-reassured, and the list goes on. This is the last resort and this is what it came to with Matilda as well - and, after 3 nights of utter horror - Matilda was sleeping a full 12 hours straight. Whew - so, here we go again.

I don't want anymore advice. I don't even want sympathy. I want a good hug and a high five and a strong, strong cup of coffee. And prayer. And sleep. Good night.

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!

TBT: Crazy Pills

Today's TBT post is from April 2012...

Pretty often, maybe even daily, my husband and I will be watching our children, blinking hard past our exhaustion and find ourselves once again asking the same question we asked the day before: How do people do this every day?

Parenthood, that is. I mean, is it this hard for everyone? Are all parents just sitting in a daze all wondering if everyone else is wondering if it is this hard for them too?

The other Sunday, we were once again in the "wiggle room" with Daphne (8 mo) while Matilda ran amuck in nursery for the morning. While everyone pretty much keeps to themselves quietly, trying to absorb the lovely church service through the 45" plasma hanging on the wall, one can't help but observe others and their children. There was a sweet nearly-2-year-old girl just playing quietly while her mother nursed a new baby. They looked happy, well-rested and calm. Were they thinking the same thing about me?

I ran into the same mother in the restroom later, as we both changed our baby's diapers, and we quickly exchanged the names, age and birth experiences of our new daughters. Even though, by the end of our sharing, I found myself envious of her 1-hour labor story and sleeping-through-the-night 7 week-old (are you freaking kidding me?)...I still shared a mutual sympathy for her efforts. I think there is always an understood sentiment felt between women once they are ushered into the club of motherhood, and I felt that for her in this moment. That, even though I wanted to shout "You have it so easy!" I still could see the frazzled look in her eye, the worry in the tightness of her lips, and the nervousness in the intensity of her grip on her new baby that told me - she is still struggling to do the best she can just like me.

My children sleep so little that you would seriously

think I was filling their bottles with coffee.

We parted ways a bit awkwardly (as many encounters in the restroom can be) and I could tell I was headed in a different direction than she was. I didn't know how to end this conversation that went from "Aw, cute baby" to "how far were you dilated" in split seconds and now was curiously making its way back to normal-people-status. Uhhh. I wanted to say "It gets easier!" and leave her with one sturdy ounce of encouragement to make it through the next hour...but, literally, in that moment, I thought Does it? Does it get easier? I don't want to lie to this poor soul! It gets different, but so far it does not get easier! So, instead, as I was walking out the door, I turned awkwardly and just said "By the way, you look really great!" The end.

Yes, this was my awkward encounter with a strange new mother in a church restroom. But, you know what? She smiled. Mission accomplished. The next time you see a new mother in a frazzled state or looking discouraged...don't tell her it gets easier. Don't tell her to enjoy the moment or nap when the baby naps. Just tell her she looks fantastic and walk away. We need that. It's probably the one thing you could say that doesn't get old hearing.

So, this whole parenting thing - will it get easier? Let me narrow down what I'm talking about: exhaustion. Lack of sleep. Life progressing around you in a blur of picking up toys and cleaning spit-up. Surviving in warp-speed of tripping over laundry and get yet another meal on the table. Being. Tired. All. The. Time.

Am I taking crazy pills? Am I the only mother who is sitting here thinking "I really don't think other people understand"? Surely, not. So, then, are their children equally crazy? Do their children incessantly yell at them and demand their attention until it ends in a fit of rage and tantrum kicking? And then, of course, the next SECOND later the same children are smiling and saying "I love you mom-mom" and asking to read Cinderella again and SUCKING you back into that deep vortex of love that makes you want to buy them ponies and make home-baked-masterpieces that you only drool over via pinterest???

I see posts all the time of moms complaining/venting about how their kid won't sleep or eat or behave, etc. But then, I read further and find out that their baby woke up once during their 3 hour nap...and my head spins at the thought of having such a luxurious amount of time to fill with whatever I might choose. My children sleep so little that you would seriously think I was filling their bottles with coffee. Sigh. So, does that mom understand me? Does she look at me and envy that my toddler will eat her green beans? Does she read my posts and think "this crazy loon doesn't know how hard my life is!"?

Yes. Yes to it all. We are all taking crazy pills.

We are all exhausted in some area of parenthood somewhere, I just have to believe that. We are all trying to raise productive little souls that will be kind and grow up to make their own nutritious breakfast every day and not become serial killers who won't remember when Mother's Day is. We all wear clothes we have to wash and eat food we have to fix. We all work jobs that don't pay enough and drive cars that break down too much. We all have friends who we don't deserve, both good and bad. We all have crazy families who offer terrible advice and not enough help. We all are fighting The Man, the traffic and bad breath.

We will make it.

It may take a lot of coffee, even more prayer, and a crazy lady in the church bathroom telling us we look great to get us through one more day...but we will. We are parents. We are awesome.

Now, take two more crazy pills and call me in the morning. Cause trust me...I understand.

More

Since moving to Nashville just a couple months ago, our time of "settling in" hasn't been the easiest.  We knew it would come with challenges, but we could never have anticipated some of the craziness we've encountered.  While my husband's job search continues (prayers appreciated as always!) we have started to hit a stride of "normalcy" in settling into our new home.  It's a great feeling!

As I was laying in bed a few nights ago, I did what I usually do when I can't fall asleep:  I counted my blessings.  This has become an effective "default" for me to turn to in the wee hours of the morning, always helping me focus on the goodness and faithfulness of God instead of the worries that too often plague my thoughts at such a vulnerable hour.

Just as I was telling God how especially thankful I was for my daughters, that they are both healthy, and sound asleep in their beds, my heart began to swell with gratitude.  Indeed, we do have much.

Then, I began to pray for a job for Josh.  Again.  I mean, I can't tell you how many times I have to surrender this request to God throughout the day. 

 

Please, please, please Lord, please use his talents in work that would bring you honor and please let someone call him soon with an interview, and please let it be the perfect job for him!  Please!  

Right then, right in the middle of my appeal, a voice of doubt interrupted with, "Who are YOU, to be asking for MORE?  How can you list all that you've been given and then ask for MORE?"  

I paused for a moment.  

Then, in what I can only describe as a "Holy Ghost moment" a new thought, armed with the truth of Christ, refuted with authoritative clarity:  How? How can I ask for more?  Because I worship the GOD OF EVERYTHING.

Whoa.

I was stopped in my tracks right then and there.  Peace rushed over me as I continued my prayer to ask God for a job for Josh.  And then, I just laid in bed and pondered the truth that was spoken through me.  

I worship the God of everything.  He isn't just the God of things that go well.  He isn't just the God of healthy babies, sleeping husbands, and safe apartments.  He isn't just the God of my school work and good weather.  He isn't just the God of my gratitude.  HE is the God of MORE.

When you worship the God of everything - it's okay to never run out of requests.  It's not only okay - it's awesome!  He wants you to come to HIM for everything.  

My doubts and frustrations and worries can interrupt my focus so many times.  There's plenty to distract me from the truth that God is in control and hasn't forgotten about our needs.  But, the reminder that I worship the God of everything is, indeed, ALL I need.  It certainly helped me that night as I drifted off to sleep.  Turns out, the armor of God makes for pretty comfortable pajamas.

Ephesians 6:10-18New International Reader's Version (NIRV)God’s Armor10 Finally, let the Lord make you strong. Depend on his mighty power. 11 Put on all of God’s armor. Then you can stand firm against the devil’s evil plans. 12 Our fight is not against human beings. It is against the rulers, the authorities and the powers of this dark world. It is against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly world.
13 So put on all of God’s armor. Evil days will come. But you will be able to stand up to anything. And after you have done everything you can, you will still be standing.
14 So stand firm. Put the belt of truth around your waist. Put the armor of godliness on your chest. 15 Wear on your feet what will prepare you to tell the good news of peace. 16 Also, pick up the shield of faith. With it you can put out all of the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17 Put on the helmet of salvation. And take the sword of the Holy Spirit. The sword is God’s word.
18 At all times, pray by the power of the Spirit. Pray all kinds of prayers. Be watchful, so that you can pray. Always keep on praying for all of God’s people.

Kicking & Screaming

large and in charge
(or so she thinks)

 There are many times in parenthood when I am confronted with how the way I love my child is characterized in the same way that God loves us.  (At least, it should be, right?)  How my love strives to be immeasurable, unconditional, and long-suffering.  How my forgiveness should be without limit, my patience without resentment, and my selflessness without expectation.  (Again, emphasis on the word "should"!)

The unpredictability of parenthood is like living out a daily devotional, a constant barrage of new challenges and opportunities for instant application right at our fingertips if we so choose to follow what we believe instead of simply reacting how our (that is, my) nature gives way to.  Never is this "opportunity" more apparent around here than at nap time.  **sigh**

Matilda (who will turn 3 in less than a month!) is like many of us, and is most happy when she believes she is in charge and running the show.  Usually this belief of hers can be held and sustained harmlessly  simply by walking the fine line of getting away with as much as possible without her sister screaming too loudly or my not noticing if she is pushing the boundaries too far.

Loopy with exhaustion

That is, as long as she plays by the rules and no one gets hurt, I'm fairly flexible on what the day holds for us.  If she wants to go to the park and the weather is nice enough without anything else on the schedule - fair enough, we'll head to the park!  If I'm doing dishes and she wants to help - okay, sure, we'll put your galoshes on and get to it!  If she is eager to paint and the baby is preoccupied eating her snack - why not, let's get out the paint set!  You get it.

Obviously, I know what our schedule holds in case something necessary comes up, but one of the grand luxuries of being a stay-at-home-mom is that I have the flexibility to mostly go with the flow and see how the day pans out hour-to-hour, granted the main chores for the day are eventually accomplished.  This seems to work well enough for us, and Matilda and Daphne both appear reasonably adaptable as long as they adhere to a normal eating and nap schedule.

Matilda still needs a nap.  I know some kids drop their naps by this age, but she is just not there yet.  We've had a few days here or there when she has entirely missed her nap, and it's just not a pretty sight.  Come 4, 5, 6 o'clock or so, she starts to get stars in her eyes, weepy at the least of obstacles, and blabbering like an incoherent bum.  Yesterday was one of these crazy days.  Finally by 6:30 she was loopy as a clown on nitrous oxide.  She was so out of it she was barely making sense:

Matilda:  Mom.  Flowers (points to her flower jammies) And it's a flower and Minnie Mouse.  

Me:  Yes, that's true.

Matilda:  I tell you what's true is Minnie Mouse and flowers.  Minnie likes flowers and big ones and small ones.  

She stares at me with crazy eyes and starts to point.  Her hand gets closer and closer until she is zeroed in on my teeth.  She stares and points at my teeth.

Matilda:  I like these ones.  

Me: Okaaaay, Matilda, time for bed.

You get the picture.  Yikes.  The kid then slept for 13 hours straight, thankfully making up for the nap she had so willfully skipped.  

The thing is, without fail, every day when it comes to going to bed she will always always always start by telling you "I'm not tired".  Maybe I will even believe her the first time she says it.  Maybe I will even extend our activity a bit longer or read her one more story just so I can witness a yawn that clinches the deal that it is, indeed, time for bed.  Nevertheless, yawn or no yawn, the girl will continue to try and convince you "I'm not tired".  This would/could/has gone on for quite a while.  Usually she will adhere enough to our regular routine to make it to bed somewhere after that second, yawn-o-rific "I'm not tired".  

Daphne doesn't look so sure either

But, if that window is missed and the sleepy Matilda starts to escalate into a full-on exhaust-o-monster, then the final time I ask her to get in bed she responds with an utterly pathetic, whining, crying, screaming, kicking, total tantrum fit of "I'MMM NOT TIIIIRRRRRRRED!!!!"  Which is exactly confirming to me the complete opposite of what she is screaming.  Oh man.  The girl has lost it.  Get that child in bed.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect $200 or read a storybook.  Lights out, buddy.  Good night.

It was after one of this oh-so-lovely screaming fits of rage which I wondered to myself about how this might roll out as a daily-devotional-life-application-God-to-me-as-His-child analogy?  Hmm.  It only took about half a second for it to sting me to my core.

How many times am I screaming and yelling in a resistant fit to God about what I think I need better than He does?

I suddenly pictured myself as a squirming, angry toddler, full of mischief and defiance and completely misunderstanding why in the world my life was being tortured in a certain way and when I least expected it.  I found myself frustrated by not knowing the bigger picture, and felt invalidated for my anger and misunderstood for my dramatic reaction.  I felt alone and scared and really tired from the confusion of why my efforts were so fruitless. 

I snapped back to my reality and thought of my sweet Matilda.  Was she defying me because she was stupid or slow or hateful?  No.  She simply just doesn't have all the information or fully understand the information she does have.  In the same regard, while I might not purposefully be choosing sin because I know it is utter defiance against what God wants (that is, many of us don't head towards sin simply to spite what God wants for us), I too often think I know better than God does. 

I don't have the big picture.  I don't have all the information.  I don't have the foreknowledge of how things will make a difference in the future or why/how certain circumstances happen when they do because of a greater need down the road ahead.  I can't possibly fully understand why/how everything happens for a reason, but I can trust a God who does.

Too many times I approach lessons in life like the way I watch TV.  These days, with DVRs everywhere, we get to watch pretty much whatever we want whenever we want to.  Super-convenient and totally in our control.  This is how I want my lessons in life to roll out:  

Okay, God, gonna need some more patience here!  So, um, if we could just fast-forward through this toddler tantrum and get to when she is napping peacefully, that would be real awesome.  Also, could you get that baby to calm down?  Cause I'm gonna need to work on speaking to my husband with more grace and this baby's teething makes me really frustrated.  If we could then rewind and replay that super cute thing Matilda did earlier and pause on whenever I get to sip some coffee, I'd really appreciate it, God, thanks!

Yeah, this doesn't work so well in real life (shocker).  There's no fast-forward or guide to knowing what's happening next.  There's no pause button either.  We don't get to pick and choose what we think we need if we are going to live wholly dependent on a God that we proclaim "knows better" than we do! 

Most of the time, I "know better" than my toddler does.  That's how this parenting thing works, and I've scarily been put in charge of making sure she stays alive and learns how-to's in order to navigate life.  But, in order for this to work well, I need her to trust me and obey me, and believe that even if she is kicking and screaming in anger that somewhere amidst the mayhem she knows I love her enough to let her be confused and frustrated for a time.  

So, there you have it.  You can stop kicking and screaming now.  You can stop the resistance and rest.  The truth is, you were never really in charge after all.  

Who knew a lesson so full of promise and hope could come out of that angry little sleep-monster?  Well, I guess there's just another thing God already knew.  

(Gosh, I have so much to learn.)

   

Dear Sleep

Dear Sleep,

We have a strained relationship, you and me.  I want you, I need you, I love you, it's true.  But, I also hate to need you, don't have time for you, and can't live without you all the same.  What's with you, Sleep?  How do you get me so frenzied and tease me with the lure of clean sheets and soft pillows only to be interrupted by toddlers and bad dreams and the occasional indigestion.  You can be cruel.

You weren't always so elusive.  I can still remember having you around so often that I basked in the luxury of having you.  I would run late to class, church, even meeting up with friends because I was too busy spending time with you.  They might roll their eyes at me, call me a procrastinator, and I most likely made many excuses about why I wouldn't be on time...but, the secret truth was that I loved you and wasn't very concerned with disappointing others at the risk of spending another second with you.

Oh, sweet Sleep.  I took you for granted.  Years ago, when I would willingly choose to ignore you so that I could joke around with others into the wee morning, or ignore you when I had to focus on a college paper that was due or a project I had left until the last minute, I simply held no gratitude for your talents.  Perhaps I was jaded by the possibility of missing something bigger, something grander, something more exciting, and so I blew you off time and again, only to come begging back for more when I truly missed you.  I'm sorry.

Sleep, it hasn't always been easy.  There's been many nights when I tried to get in touch with you and couldn't.  I've had a rough go at times, sitting in silence and missing you and preoccupying myself with ways to entice you back.  Some nights I thought you'd left for good, finally fed up with not being appreciated, leaving me to watch TV, read a book, or succumb to writing out my feelings until I finally, finally found you and collapsed helplessly into you.

And now, we're nearly strangers.  We've been haphazardly apart for so long since my babies have been born.  I hardly recognize you when I'm in your presence and you feel like a charade of something I once used to be good at.  Every night, I long for you and when we finally meet it feels like a strange reunion with an old roommate I haven't seen in years:  familiar, yet displaced.

I'm sorry, Sleep.  Please come back for good.  I promise to be more appreciative, more attentive, more attuned to what we need.  I know we can make it work, I just know it.  I've recently gotten a new glimpse of you, one that comes with dreams of joy and dedicated blocks of time with full attention, and I've got to say - I really want more.  I've missed you, Sleep.  I don't deserve it, but I'm asking you to stay.  I know now that I need you around, forever and at regular intervals of time, not just when I think I'm desperate for you.

Who knows, maybe it's because I'm getting older or because your arch enemies Stress and Exercise visit me more often than they used to...but, that's no reason to end something good that we once had.  What do you say, Sleep?  Will you give me one more chance to make it right?  I've got some warm milk and some Benadryl waiting just for you.  I've fluffed the pillows just like you remember.  I'll even hum a round of Sunrise, Sunset to send us drifting away together.

Sleep, just know that from now on, I'm ready to be a team.  I'm ready to absorb all you have to give.  I'm ready to rest.  I need you, Sleep, and I've come to a place where I recognize that you are necessary for more than just cognitive function...you are also best friends with Sanity and Motivation!  And I really love them too (seriously, bring them around more often if you can!)  Thank you for never letting me down, Sleep.  For always being there at just the moment I can't find restoration anywhere else.  For never leaving me for good when I tried so hard to shove you away.  And, for showing up just in the nick of time when I'm so ready to welcome you back.

I love you, Sleep.  Never go.

Zzzzzz,


Emily

Terror

I'm exhausted.

I know...shocker.  But, really, up until a few nights ago the girls had been sleeping relatively soundly through the night.  I'm not saying bedtime was a cakewalk, but by the time they eventually fell asleep, they stayed asleep most nights.  This being a miracle after months of acclimating them to sharing a room together.

Until a few nights ago, anyway.

snuggle buddies

Matilda has never been a good sleeper.  Terrible naps, unpredictable nights, and somehow the girl runs like the Energizer bunny regardless of how long she's recharged her batteries.  Unbelievable.  She's woken up from the occasional nightmare or had a prolonged whining session here or there, even had a few nights of just terrible ups-and-downs of never getting quality sleep.  But, these last few nights have been a whole new battle to fight:  night terrors.

I'll admit they sound a little worse than they are.  I mean, when I hear the word "terror" I think freakish screaming that requires some kind of heavy medication and a straight jacket; or some kind of exaggerated nightmare that you wake up from in a cold sweat after having seen a horror movie.  But, as scary as it sounds, it is mostly just sad.

Matilda will fall asleep fine (and by "fine" I mean after a good supper, bath, about 18 stories, prayers, and 400 rounds of singing Silent Night) but, about an hour and a half later, she cries out, moans, yells, and whimpers.  It's pitiful.  She's incoherent and not even really awake.  If it persists or gets loud enough, we'll go in, calm her and reassure her, pray over her and stroke her hair as she flops herself over and quickly falls back to sleep.  Then, maybe 5, 20, 45 minutes later...the same thing.  Again, and again, at least a few times every hour all. night. long.  (Can you hear the exhaustion?)

I've asked other moms, I've researched the jellybeans outta the internet, and I even asked Matilda's "Joyful Parenting/Pre-K" class instructor if she had any insight.  Just about everyone has the same, sympathetic response:  It's normal, it's a phase, it will pass.  This is reassuring, truly, but doesn't help my heart feel any better when I hear my sweet girl crying in futile agony in the middle of the night, even if I fully know in my head that she is absolutely okay.  Pretty much the only resolution is to comfort her or not disturb her at all...which is downright miserable.  The only consolation is that she has no memory of it whatsoever, and almost every resource I've found has said that this phase is usually harder on parents than it is on the actual "victim".

Last night, I couldn't take it.  I finally caved around midnight and went and scooped her up out of her bed and plopped her into ours.  I wasn't sleeping anyway, I might as well snuggle with her.  I had found a medical article that said constant reassurance would at least help her to fall/stay asleep, so I totally justified my reaction with "internet science" (my favorite kind of science!) as I curled my arms around her little body.  Finally, peace.  Maybe it was a mistake.  Maybe I'll regret it later tonight when she demands she sleep in "big bed", but I don't really care.  All you can do is do what you think is best for your child in that moment with the knowledge you have and go from there.  It worked for me.

As I lay there beside her, I prayed over her layer after layer of God's protection.  It was the only real comfort and help I could give her, asking Jesus to send her sweet thoughts and deep rest.  And I thought about how she was just laying there, absorbing all of this, completely unaware of what was happening to her.

Then, I thought about how often that must happen to me and I don't even know it.  How many times does God reach out to comfort me, intervening between me and potential harm, or extending magnificent amounts of love - and I am totally unaware of my need for it?

It must happen daily, hourly, minute-to-minute even.  We live in a scary world.  We're surrounded by news and warnings and rumors that constantly leave us living in a state of doubt or worry or fear.  We have a million reasons in the world to be afraid.  Read that again - We have a million reasons in the world to be afraid.  That part is true.  But we have a God that is not of this world.  We have a Savior who entered in and had to familiarize Himself with fallen surroundings and temporal muck.  We have a Lord who is sovereign and powerful and just by His love alone, He can change, create, and clean anyone, anything, anytime, anywhere.

There is plenty of terror out there.  Plenty that we don't even know about, that we don't see, that we don't want to even acknowledge happens.  And we kind of walk through life moaning about it, crying or whining, but I'm sure we don't even touch the tip of the ice berg compared to the evil that exists out there.

mustache mug of coffee, round three

I could choose to walk through most days not really feeling like I "need" God.  Sometimes we all think to ourselves:  I'm doing okay.  I'm making it.  I'm surviving.  I'm happy enough.  But, can you even imagine a world where Jesus never walked or God didn't exist?  I couldn't.  Nor do I want to!  I need Jesus constantly, regardless of how in control or happy I might "feel" in the moment.  It's all an illusion if you remove Jesus.  Separation from God would be the only, ultimate nightmare.

Deep sigh.  Ahhh.  Maybe those were too heavy of thoughts for a midnight snuggle, maybe not.  But, it made me incredibly grateful we have an all-powerful God who can cover our hearts and minds with shields of protection, even when we lay around totally not acknowledging it!

Our battle with night terrors might not be over, but they can offer me reminders from where my hope comes from and where to find ultimate peace.  Last night certainly made me do a double-take at even my slightest need for Jesus, even at its most esoteric state:  rest.  Tranquil, restful sleep is a nightly gift of security we're given, maybe to remind us why we can be at peace at all.

That...and the reminder to be grateful God also (clearly) made coffee for those nights when your toddler just has to snuggle with you.  Thanks, Lord.

Detox

This last weekend the Pardys did something unprecedented in the Pardy home.  Unheard of.  Nearly, entirely foreign.  We did a 48 hour "detox diet" and have (barely) lived to tell about it.  Now, before you write this off as a totally "TMI" post about anecdotes of running to the bathroom all weekend, never you fear - it wasn't really that kind of body cleanse (thank goodness).  Since I'm still nursing baby Daphne, I wouldn't try anything too extreme and am not really into any kind of stimulant/crazy sort of flush.  No, no, none of that.

Since going on vacation last month and then having Daphne's birthday straight after, we had turned our usually moderately-healthy household into a regular sugar factory...seriously, I was expecting Willy Wonka to show up on my doorstep any day.  So, when I stumbled across "Dr. Oz's 48-hour Weekend Cleanse", it caught my eye and piqued my interest just enough to entertain the idea.

When I presented it to my husband (fully expecting raised eyebrows and a scoff of "Are you crazy?") I was shocked when he replied with a resounding "I could use that!"  Haha.  Alrighty then.  One long-receipted trip to Sprouts Market and we were off, so to speak.  Never before had my fridge encountered the likes of quinoa, fennel, raw ginger, or rice milk.  Needless to say I was a bit frightened and a little intimidated at what exactly might occur.

I'll be real honest here, I was pumped to get this going, but sincerely not sure if I could follow through.  After choking down the flax-seed-oil-soaked-quinoa and prunes for breakfast (sorry if you just threw up in your mouth a little bit at that) I genuinely hoped the rest of the day would be more palatable.

By 1pm I was sure it had been at least a week since we started the detox.  Turns out, I'm totally a wuss when it comes to this.  Not that I'm any stranger to depravity.  In fact, we had just agreed that August would be yet another month to entirely give up eating out.  That's right, we're at it again.  Fully cooking at home every meal and trying to pinch a few pennies here or there.  It is not easy and I can't say I'm "excited" to clean the dishes from each meal every night, but the challenge is inviting and I'm up for it knowing the reward in the end.

The challenge.  There you have it.  The real reason behind the detox.  I wasn't trying to shed any pounds or prove anything, necessarily.  I definitely had some unhealthy habits forming (I'm not sure anyone should be consuming as much Diet Coke as I had been???) But, I liked the idea of challenging myself with something short-term that seemed difficult yet attainable.

I don't know, maybe I've been watching the Olympics too much.  Maybe seeing all those crazy-fit people and their abs that pierce through my TV every night has gotten to me.  But, I just felt sluggish, slowish, and downright sloppy about feeding myself whatever happened to be convenient and around...not exactly a model example I want my children to live by!

By day two, I really thought I was losing my mind.  When you are completely in a normals state and feeling well, a smoothie the shade of anti-freeze is the last thing you want to consume.  But, when you are out-of-your-mind-starving-your-brains-out...you would rather go outside in the hot sun and mow the yard rather than drink one.  And that is exactly what "morning snack smoothie" tasted like...fresh cut grass.

Don't get me wrong, not everything on the diet was disgusting.  I could stomach the smoothing with blueberries and banana.  The vegetable soup was okay the first time around.  But, when you are dreaming of large pepperoni pizzas as you gulp down something that looks like you scraped it off the bottom of your shoe...well, it's just no fun.  That is the honest truth.  I'll say this - if you've never eaten before, or if you have no tongue - you should totally try this diet!  There is my resounding testimony.

Okay, okay, I shan't be so harsh.  No doubt my liver, gall bladder, and kidneys are thanking me.  The first and foremost point of the detox itself is to boost your body's natural "filtration system" and certainly it didn't kill me to consume massive quantities of fruits and vegetables for 48 hours.  But, am I fit to be vegan?  Heck, holy cheeseburger, no.

I'll say this - I got stellar sleep.  I sank into my bed both nights in utter exhaustion and had about 20 dreams each time that left me well rested and feeling great in the morning.  Now, that's saying something!  Surprisingly, as hungry as I went to bed the night prior, I awoke with energy and vigor the next morn.  So, take that for what it's worth.  Nevertheless, I have never dreamt of a more enormous breakfast burrito in my whole life, either.

So, what's with this challenge?  Get healthier?  Sure.  Set some goals?  I think so.  Do good for yourself?  Yes.  This silly detox taught me that it's really not a bad idea to try new things.  I would consider myself a rather "adventurous eater" and yet, in my thirties, there are still foods I have yet to eat - let alone attempt to cook myself.  That's exciting!  I think it is invigorating to capture things you feel might be intimidating (even glow-in-the-dark smoothies!) and challenge yourself to go after them.

Start small.  Try quinoa, for example (right after you google search "what the heck is quinoa").  Take a class you never thought you would.  Learn to ride a unicycle.  Ask a neighbor to dinner.  Try on scandalous lingerie (for your husband). Buy a guinea pig.  Rent a foreign documentary.  Paint on canvas with your hands.  Go out without makeup on.  Call your cousin.

Maybe all I did was flush out my liver and consume scary smoothies...but, really, I think I snuck a toe or two outside this comfortable box I call home.  Sometimes it is awesome to peak outside every now and then.  Try new things.  Challenge ourselves.  You just never know what it might lead to.

Sisters

I was privileged to grow up in a house where I got to have my own room.  This was a good thing, since I already felt that the 20-step walk to my sister's bedroom was entirely too close for comfort already.  It wasn't that I didn't like her, it was just the fact that I'd rather claw my own eyes out than let her touch anything that was mine.  Yikes.  (Yes, this is my poor, one and only sister who goes down in history as the only human I have ever thrown an entire Big Gulp Slurpy at with full force or shoved an eight-foot-tall Christmas tree on top of...it's lucky that either of us lived to see today, let alone the miracle that we actually speak kindly to one another now!  Ha!)

Needless to say, I wasn't the sibling you dream about when you hold a baby doll and ask your parents for a sister.  Sorry, sis.  But, my sister and I are nearly five years apart in age, also.  Growing up, this made us not quite close enough to share clothes or boy stories, and just far enough apart that I could never catch up to being as good as something as she was. Add in my sister's sweet spirit and my brutally honest spunk...and you have yourself a volatile combination, my friends.  Just the thought of it is conjuring up memories of my parents deeply sighing in disappointment while my older brother just laughs uncontrollably in the background.

This art by Creative Thursday hangs in the girls' room. 

So, I must be a glutton for punishment when I sit here today and fully intend on having my two little daughters share a room.  That's right, the big day has come, Matilda and Daphne are now officially roommates.  Granted, there's not much option here.  I grew up in my house that my father grew up in and his father grew up in (no kidding) which gave way to decades of renovations and additions which gave me my very own space to call my own.  Whereas, living in Southern California, we may have free sunshine and traffic - but space comes at a sweet price (or, should I say sour?)

The fact of the matter is, we live in a two bedroom apartment, and unless one of them is willing to sleep in the refrigerator, then the two little girlykins will be sharing a room.  Honestly, while the "American Dream" might tell us that owning a home and dog and 2.5 kids each with their own personal space is what we are ideally supposed to be aiming for...I gotta say, my answer is:  No.  Okay, okay, okay...No, thank you.  A huge percentage of the world live in much tighter quarters, and I refuse to believe that two little babies can't coexist in a 12x10 ft room!


I want my girls to share a room.  In fact, (I'll say it) if we had a third bedroom, I still would choose to have them share a room.  I mean, why not?  I share a room, why shouldn't they?  (I kid.)  I don't know, it just seems like too many times it is easy to jump to the conclusion that "if I only had such-n-such, my life would be easier" than it is to just stick with something and decide "this is enough...this will work" and just go for it.  So, we're going for it.

Now, if you think that I'm being swayed by images of two little girls snuggled up in matching pajamas sharing bedtime stories with their stuffed animals...let me debunk this notion for you all together.  In the last week, since putting them in the same room, I've been averaging about 4 hours of sleep a night.  Four cumulative hours of sleep a night.  And, did I mention they nap at different times during the day?  So, yeah, there's no saving grace there either.

I'm not looking for sympathy (if anything, I'm looking for ADVICE!) but I just want to be clear that I'm not muddling up this whole roommate idea with grand notions of ideal sisterly love.  My daughters are far from Anne and Diana's Green-Gable-Bosom-Buddy-status.  They are just tiny little humans who aren't even used to the idea of sleeping at all, let alone with someone else in the room.  But, that's exactly why I'm hoping this will work (it is, after all, just crazy enough).  I'm hoping for:  Security.

Having someone else by your side.  Someone to hear you cry in the night and say "Okay, sissy, okay."  Someone to wake up smiling next to.  Someone to throw you a paci back into your crib when you've sent it sailing overboard in a fit of exhaustion.  Someone to giggle with.  Someone to mimic you.  Someone to recite storybooks long after the book is closed.  Someone to keep praying over you after the lights have gone off.  Someone sleeping soundly just a few feet away, offering the comfort of quiet, rest, and total peace.

This week may have been a total train wreck.  I'm sure our neighbors must think we are holding a couple jaguars captive or attempting to start a chicken fighting ring.  It has been loud and sad and utter chaos at all hours trying to get one or both of them asleep within mere feet of each other.  But, I know it can't last like this forever (right, God?)  Hopefully soon and very soon they will be accustomed to each other.  No, not only accustomed, but prefer to be with each other.

I am happy to say that today, I love my sister dearly.  It must have been tortuous at times to be my sister - to put up with my tagging along or my taunting or begging or whatever.  I wish I could say "I'm sure she had her moments too" (and, I'm sure she did) but honestly, all I can ever remember about growing up with my sister was her being pretty nice to me and me scheming a new prank on her every chance I got.  But, for whatever reason, she's stuck with me through thick and thin.  We get excited together when something wonderful happens for one of us, and cry together when it's a time to share sorrow.

It's true that a sister is a built-in friend for life.  When I was little I might have thought of this as a negative thing...wishing I could have chosen the people who made up my family instead of the ones God placed around me.  But, God put me in exactly the right place I was supposed to be.  Maybe I wouldn't have befriended my sister along life's road if we weren't born into the same family.  Maybe I wouldn't have sat next to her at a restaurant or sung next to her in church or introduced myself at a party.  Maybe I would have never found out how awesome and talented and forgiving and fun she was because of all the reasons that I think we are not alike seems like enough to separate us from being friends.

Maybe that's exactly why we're more than friends.  We're sisters.  And I'm so glad that God made sure I didn't miss out on who she and what our friendship has become simply because of a few silly differences along the way.  I am so glad to have the security of our friendship.  It's such a blessing to know, through thick and thin, she will always be there to giggle with or cry with or call on when I need a hug.

I don't know if my girls will always like each other along the way as they grow up together.  I'm not even sure they won't try to kill each other by the end of the week!  But, I do know that space isn't going to dictate whether the love between friends is nurtured or diminished.  Because, when you're sisters...nothing can crush that kind of bond.  Not even an eight-foot-tall Christmas tree.

Murphy's Law: Baby Edition

We've all heard of Murphy's Law...c'mon, you know the old adage:  If something can go wrong...it will!

Never has this statement felt truer in life, than in parenthood.  Of course they tell you before the baby arrives that everything in your life is about to change.  You get warnings about things taking longer that they used to, or that you should get your rest in while you can.  You could be a millionaire if you got a nickel every time you heard how there will never be enough time or money or sleep to store up before the baby enters your world.

But, once you've crossed the threshold into parent-dom...once, you've got that baby home and you truly start to grasp the utter magnitude of exactly what has happened to your life...well, that's when it starts to sink in.  Nothing could have prepared you for this little being.

To say that children remind you how the only thing predictable in life is that it is unpredictable is an understatement.  So, I'd like to entertain you for a moment, and present to you what I like to call:

Murphy's Law:  Baby Edition

1.  If you are wearing black, you are about to get spit-up on.
2.  If you are running late, you are guaranteed a poop blow-out as soon as you get the baby in the car seat all ready to go.
3.  Dress the baby in whatever fancy outfit grandma sent prior to grandma's visit, and most certainly that baby will either poop or spit-up on said fancy outfit just moments before grandma arrives.
4.  If baby hasn't ruined the outfit before grandma arrives...just wait until grandma holds the baby and the baby will ruin grandma's outfit.
5.  If you are planning on an expensive photo session, the baby will either break out in hives or fall and get a giant goose egg size lump right in the middle of the forehead the night before.
6.  If someone is praying, the baby is tooting.
7.  If someone is silent, the baby is tooting.
8.  If you happen to toot, most definitely someone else is holding the baby so you can't blame it on the baby.
9.  If you just had the carpet cleaned, your baby is about to get the stomach flu.
10.  Put the baby down for a nap if you want firetrucks, sirens, or random construction work to begin on your street.
11.  The one day your baby sleeps late is the one morning your gardeners will come early.
12.  At the end of the week, after your longest day at work, right when you are the absolutely most exhausted, it is guaranteed to be the night your baby will not go to bed.
13.  Your baby will most definitely wake up extra early the morning after #12.
14.  The baby will say "mama", "dada" or whatever other amazing new word they just started saying a million times...until you get grandma on the phone to hear it.
15.  Your baby will take those precious first steps only if you aren't looking...and then, as soon as you look you see your baby has fallen, gotten a new lump on the forehead, and lucky for you a new photo session with grandma is scheduled for the morning.
16.  The one morning your baby seems willing to go to the church nursery will be the one morning some other baby gets dropped off with the flu.
17.  If you just had your hair done, your baby will be fixated on yanking it.
18.  If you just got new glasses, your baby will be determined to claw them off your face.
19.  The baby always knows the difference between the real tv remote and the toy one...and will somehow find a way to not DVR the series finale of your favorite show.
20.  As soon as you rock your baby to sleep, you will realize you forgot to put sheets on the crib mattress.
21.  If you pack an extra jacket for the baby, the weather will be perfect.
22.  If you completely forget a blanket, there will be a snowstorm.
23.  If you forget the diaper bag, there is guaranteed an explosion of bodily fluid of some sort, most likely in a public setting.
24.  The baby will burp as soon as you stop trying to burp the baby.
25.  If the baby smiles, it's just gas.
26.  If the baby has gas, the baby will scream bloody murder all night.
27.  If you are a light sleeper, your baby will remind you of how you are a light sleeper a dozen times a night.
28.  If you are a deep sleeper, the baby will cure you of that.
29.  As soon as you sit down to a hot meal, the baby will need something from the other room.
30.  If you are nursing the baby, the baby will unlatch as soon as you have a let-down.
31.  As soon as the baby latches on and you start to feel comfortable, your phone will ring from the other room and it most certainly will be a very important call you absolutely can't miss.
32.  This very important call will probably be your husband telling you he will be late coming home from work, which will be the one evening your baby decides to not be comforted by you and only wants daddy.
33.  As soon as daddy holds the baby, the baby will only want you.
34.  If your baby shows signs of illness, all symptoms will disappear as soon as you take the baby to the doctor - and promptly return as soon as you get home.
35.  Regardless of how much advice you ask for, the doctor will always just tell you that your baby is fairly normal.
36.  Regardless of how much advice you don't ask for, your friend will always tell you that you have an easier baby than she does.
37.  Regardless of how much advice you deserve, your mother will always tell you how much your baby is exactly like you were (usually when the baby is misbehaving or acting out horribly in public or not sleeping or throwing a tantrum).
38.  If your baby loves bath time, your baby is never dirty.
39.  If your baby hates bath time, your baby is never clean.
40.  If you pick up all your baby's toys and there is one you are missing...don't worry, you will find it by stepping on it in the middle of the night, trip, and nearly kill yourself.
41.  Even if you vacuum eight times a day, your baby will find the one crumb you missed.
42.  Your baby's favorite toy/blanket/stuffed animal will most definitely get lost in a store somewhere on a day you are running late.
43.  If you are brave enough to venture on a long car ride, brace yourself for hearing the baby cry the entire trip up until ten minutes before you arrive - when they will finally crash asleep, only to awake as soon as the car comes to a final stop.
44.  The only tv show that will capture your baby's attention is the one show you always vowed to never allow your baby to watch.
45.  This show has the world's most annoying theme song that will replay in your head and keep you up all hours of the night - but only the hours of the night when your baby is sleeping peacefully.
46.  Your baby will happily be held by others, until you actually say out loud how well your baby does being held by others, then the baby will only want you.
47.  Your baby will start teething the minute you run out of Tylenol.
48.  The baby will smile, look at you, and keep the hat/headband on their head...until you actually take the photo.
49.  If the baby smiles, looks at you, and keeps the hat/headband on their head for the photo...someone else has their eyes closed.
50. As soon as you feel like you have a grasp on this whole parenting thing and you decide to announce to the world that you are pretty sure "we're done having kids"...you are sure to find out you're pregnant again.


Whew!  I hope you enjoyed that list as much as I had fun making it!  So, you can stop giving yourself a hard time about not feeling prepared...remember, it's all the baby's fault.  :)

Zzzzzz

I’ll have to make this post short and sweet – much like the amount of sleep I’ve gotten this week. But, I just couldn’t let another day pass without blogging something. Besides, it’s Thankful Friday! And I am so grateful for sleep…even if it is only in sporadic and brief amounts at this chapter in my life.

Last night I went to bed at 9 o’clock. Well, 9:08 to be exact. And I’m happy to say that is the last thing I remember before having absolutely no trouble drifting off to sleep. Whew. I know what you’re thinking: Wow, those Pardys lead wild and crazy lives! Yes, indeed.

But, the night before last was nothing short of a sleep-lover’s nightmare. We had put the girls down around 7 and Matilda was up at 9. I could tell she was scared, having had a bad dream, so I went in to comfort her and put her back down. I took my time, I was patient, we read a story, got some water and a hug from Daddy, and I tucked her back in bed with a prayer and a kiss. You’d think that would do it. But, as the wailing and screaming began, I knew immediately it was going to be one of those nights. The kind where you better just get the redbull out now and resign yourself to the fact that your head and your pillow may not meet for quite some time.

Sure enough, as Matilda hammered on her door like a rhinoceros in a cage, Daphne awoke from our bedroom (her crib is still next to our bed) and the crying and gnashing of teeth (or, gums in Daphne’s case) escalated to decibels I’m guessing only our neighborhood dogs could decipher. Josh and I looked at each other back and forth, sharing expressions of disbelief, anger, frustration, laughter, and sheer exhaustion. This went on for the next 3 hours.

Finally, Josh got out the aerobed and set it up in the living room. He and Matilda hunkered down for the night out there, as she ever-so-slowly sipped on her now-laced-with-Benadryl milk (judge me if you will, but the kid needed to sleep and this has been recommended by our pediatrician…so, while I don’t take it lightly, you gotta do what you gotta do!) and Daphne and I settled into bed. This went on for about 2 hours.

Matilda was up again at 2am and I took her back to bed with the baby and me. Yup, girl slumber party! Well, it wasn’t much of a party, unless you count rounds and rounds of me singing “Jesus Loves Me” and then scolding Matilda, and then comforting the crying baby who was awoken again by Matilda, and then trying to sing to both of them, and then scolding and on and on. Finally, nothing short of a miracle, we all fell asleep in bed. Two hours later I was up nursing the baby. Two hours after that we were all up for the day.

Good. Grief. So, yesterday was spent in an utter daze of diaper changes and coffee refills. Somehow we made it to bedtime, and by 9:08pm I was unashamedly crashing into bed like I had just finished the Boston Marathon.

Thank you, God, for sleep. For restorative respite that somehow recharges our brains and our bodies to be able to function again. Obviously I am no stranger to walking through the day as a mama-zombie. You’ve heard tale after tale of how Matilda magically requires little rest to function at cheetah-pace speed. But, when I got up this morning and realized that going to bed early was as wise a decision I’ve made (right up there with marrying Josh, finishing my degree, and getting a Costco membership…) I was so thankful that God made our bodies require rest. Non-optional, absolutely required, totally mandatory REST.

Nighty-night.