This Piece of Time

What I'm about to say may shock you.  My kids don't "believe" in Santa.  They never have. What I mean is: My kids know that Santa is not real.  They know that the man at the mall is in costume, just like the caracters at Disney World.  They understand that we pretend Santa is real and that he brings us presents, but really it's their parents who do the shopping.  I am honest with them when they ask, but I engage them when they pretend.  The other day I was asked if I was "pro-Santa" or "anti-Santa".  My answer was neither.   Why do I need to take a side?  I'm not "anti-Cinderella" or "pro-Micky Mouse".  These are just characters in stories that engage my kids imaginations.  I don't need to take a stance on an imaginary person.  I have friends that don't "do" Santa.  They don't want to take the focus off the real reason of this season.  While I completely understand and agree with their desir

It's been a CRAZY month around here!  While it may have seemed I had fallen off the face of the Earth, the truth is quite the opposite.  I have been so buried in the chaos of fall activities, I haven't had time to come up for air. There have been a dozen posts floating around in my head, but I have yet to get them to paper.  Life seems to be taking a quick break before the holidays, so I will try to get some of them out before a second round of action ensues.  In the meantime, I will leave you with this story.  Brooklyn is my emotional child.  She cries with the flip of a switch.  She is highly emotional and overly dramatic.  Lately, her reactions have been even more exaggerated and frequent and it finally became more than I could handle.  After days of non-stop sobbing, I decided to try a positive approach.  We made a chart that reads "I Can Control My Emotions", we hung it in the kitchen, and bought a unicorn purse as a reward for filling the chart.  I then explain

Paige is my quality time kid.  She needs my attention, one-on-one, regularly.  We first realized her love language after a trip to Disney World when she was three.  As we walked to the van, we asked her what her favorite part of the day had been.  After listing off nearly every single highlight of the Magic Kingdom, only have her shake her head no, she finally spilled the beans.  Her favorite part.  Just being with us.  She couldn't have spelled it out any clearer.  Our time with her matters.  Our attention feeds her security.  I should have known.  A year earlier, when her little sister entered the picture, she did her best to make her needs known.  I can not tell you how many times Brooklyn was punched in the head while trying to nurse.  (Which may explain a few things about our flighty redhead, but that's another post.)  Even after the initial jealousy subsided, Paige still struggled to share my attention.  Every time Brooklyn hit a new milestone, Paige acted out.  If she

A few weeks a go a friend called with a free ticket to the David Crowder Band.  In my exhausted Friday afternoon state I almost declined, but Adam urged me to go.  A girls night might do me some good.  Plus, he wanted a few hours alone with his XBOX.  Sigh.  Half excited and half exhausted, I made my way to the concert.  I received my ticket only to realize that Laura Story would be opening for Crowder. Suddenly, I was beyond excited.  No offense David, but Laura is my girl.  We have shared many tear filled worship sessions in my minivan over the past year.  If you don't know, Laura Story wrote the song "Blessings".  If you don't know the song, Google it.  Now.  Anyway, Laura took the stage and she owned it.  She was funny, wise, humble, and downright amazing.  I bought her new CD that night and that has inspired this post.  On her new album, there is a song called "Your Name Will Be Praised".  It is fun and upbeat and towards the end she says something

I'm not sure if I should laugh, cry, call a counselor, or buy another parenting book. 

When telling your two year old his toy is upside down he replies "Upside down?  Upside down Macchiato?"  When playing outside with the neighbors, he walks up to a play window and orders a grande hot chocolate. On the way to Starbucks, the two year old says "You need coffee mommy?  Are you sick for it?  Are you sick for your coffee?"  Also, if the treat receipts in your purse can be organized in consecutive order.

I opened my inbox today and found an email titled "Wish Audrey's daughter a Happy 1st Birthday!"  In that instant, an all to familiar ache filled my heart.  I knew it was coming.  We talked about it just a few weeks ago.  Discussing ways that Annabelle's life could be honored.  Ways that her baby brother and future siblings could remember their big sister on her birthday.  Traditions that would become treasured memories.  Yet, I wasn't prepared.  In the past 7 months, I have had hard conversations with Auds.  I have held her while she wept and I have prayed with her until I had no words left to speak.  I spent hours sitting at the foot of Annabelle's grave and I have felt more helpless than ever before in my life.  In that time, I have also watched a marriage be transformed.  I have joyfully shopped for windmills for sweet Annabelle's grave (you should have seen the cashiers face when Auds mentioned their destination).  I have laughed until I cried, hurd

I'm a doer.  Ask anyone who's known me for more than an hour and they will agree.  I love a good dilemma.  Give me a challenge and I will find the answer.  I thrive in situations that allow me to step in, calm the chaos and fix problems.  I most likely have an issue with feeling needed, but that's for another day.  Today, I am coordinating childcare for a women's bible study at our church.  Every year around this time, I find myself searching for workers.  I beg, I plead, I make promises I most likely cannot keep, and I stress.  To date, we have never turned a mom away due to lack of childcare.  So help me, I plan to keep it that way!  This year we have a waiting list and I am beside myself.  You must first understand that I don't view childcare as an added bonus to our bible study, it's vital.  These women are just like me.  Spending their days doing the invisible work of raising little ones.  They come in on Thursday morning weary and empty, but they leave r

On our way to Ohio for a family reunion, I tell the girls that I don't think their cousin Cole will want to play babies.. Paige: Cole can be the dad. Brooklyn: Cole doesn't like to be the dad. Paige: Yeah, he likes to be the dog. Brooklyn: Well, he's not a very good dog. Brooklyn wants Paige to read her a story on our way home from Ohio.  Brooklyn: Please will you read me The Magic School bus? Paige: No, it's too long. Brooklyn: Fine then.  Just read me the New Testament.

I recently had a glorious kid-free lunch and shopping trip with a dear friend from college.  As we talked she said that of all her "mom" friends, I know my kids the best.  To be honest, it kind of stopped me in my tracks.  The next day I polled a few other friends.  They confirmed that, indeed, I do know my kids.  Funny how you have to have other people tell you who you are sometimes.  Even still I would argue that there are plenty of moms more versed in their children than I, but that is neither here nor there.  The point is, we have to know our kids.  Just living with them is not enough.  Caring for their every need won't do it.  Raising them to adulthood doesn't guarantee it.  The reality is that many mothers never truly understand their children.  They don't know the little people who follow them around and soon enough they have missed their chance.  As a mom, it is my job to help my kids understand themselves.  If I don't know them, how can I help the

Today I took Brooklyn to the dentist.  My mom came over to watch the other kids and, since she had parked me in, I drove her car.  As Brooklyn climbed out of the car she said "Mom, I love how these seat belts go back so quickly.  They are so nice!" As I smiled, both inside and out, I couldn't help but think of how much this 5 year old girl inspires me.  Brooklyn appreciates things that most of us don't even notice.  The curtains in a hotel, tile in a lobby, sparkles on the floor of Forever21, chandeliers in a jewelry store.  Sometimes I focus on the challenges of her sensitivity.  The crying, the whining, the hurt feelings.  Today, I was reminded of the good her sensitivity brings.  Brooklyn is grateful.  I hope that she stays that way.  I hope that she always appreciates the beauty around her.  I hope I become a little more like her.  

To my children: I recently saw this sign... "I am not your friend.  I am your parent.  I will stalk you, flip out on you, lecture, drive you insane, be your worst nightmare, and hunt you down when necessary because I love you and when you understand that I will know you're a responsible adult.  You will never find someone who loves, prays, cares, or worries about you more than me.  This is my promise to you." At first glance, I thought I might agree, but then I read on.  The words that followed didn't settle.  You are little and, right now, I am not your friend.  On day, I hope to be and so I am making you a different promise. I will give you the freedom to test your wings and the boundaries to keep you safe.   I will enforce constructive consequences that will help you better understand the choices you make.  I will listen to your fears, needs and desires.  I will treat you with respect, grace, and love always remembering that you are a work in progress just

16 days.  That's all I have.  16 days until my baby girl goes back to school.  Last summer I was ready for school.  I was excited to enter a year of structure and routine.  After Christmas break I was ready.  You may remember that from here .  As of today, I am not ready.  I'm anxious.  This hasn't happened since the first day of Kindergarten.  This summer has gone entirely too fast.  We haven't gotten all of the things done that we planned.  The list that we made at the beginning of the summer is still full of activities we have yet to cross off.  Our time is running out and the calender is filling up.  I want to freeze time and clear our schedule.  I want to drink in every precious second with my little girl.  A little girl who has blossomed over the last year.  Maybe that is the core reason I am so sad to let her go.  Paige has changed.  She is talking.  To people.  Without being forced.  If you know her, you understand.  Last week at the arcade, her game didn'

I would never want to have a recording of all the things I say in a day.  Most days there would be a whole list I'd like to take back.  Then sometimes, it seems like I am being recorded.  Three little mouths begin to speak back the words they hear each day.  Other than a random "What in the heck of the world?!?"  I have yet to be offended.  I'm certain that will change.  For now, I'll let my children do the talking. Emerson while walking around the house hitting things with a foam bat... "Dis is dangerous!  Dis is not safe, Bookyn!  Dis is dangerous!" Paige giving Brooklyn one of the erasers she had picked out at Target "You can have one and that's it.  I don't want to hear any complaining about it.  Do you understand?" Brooklyn after deciding to put back 2 of the 3 things she wanted to buy "That was a wise choice!" Paige teasing Adam while trying to get him to put down the tailgate on truck "You put it down or I am go

"This pool is shady.  I NEED sun, so get back over here!" she scorned.  A mom who's little girl just wanted to play with her friend.  A mom who couldn't see past her need for perfect tan lines.  A mom who was missing the joy of vacation and was, in turn, stealing it from her daughter. My heart breaks.  I wish I could make her see just how much she is missing.  I wish her daughter could spend an afternoon with a mom who was completely engaged.  I wish she could know the joy of splashing with her children.  The memories that far outlast a tan.  I've traded pina coladas for snow cones, novels for sand castles, and late nights for early mornings.  My tan lines aren't even, my people watching has been narrowed to three little ones, and more money was spent at The Children's Place than Banana Republic.  Vacation has changed.  It's not that I have given up on any of the original ways of vacation.  They are certainly more relaxing, but there will be time

I have a friend who does The Gypsy Mama's  5 minute Friday posts.  The goal is to take 5 minutes and create a word picture.  No perfect writing.  Just 5 minutes.  This weeks theme is "Home".  I've never tired this before but the topic intrigues me, so let's give it a try. Home..... My parent's house on Lopshire Drive with a church pew and swing on the porch.  The home that holds nearly all of my childhood memories.  My dad's cologne.  A smell that relaxes my soul and warms my heart. My mom saying "Is that my favorite girl?" when I walk in the house. Laughing around the dining room table on a Sunday evening. The stillness of three sleeping children. The strong arm of my husband wrapped around my shoulders as I rest my head on his chest. STOP.

I have a  friend  who does a weekly post of the crazy things her kids say.  While I am not committing to do this on a regular basis, my little's have had quite a few good ones lately.  Maybe this will add a little sunshine to a rainy day. Me: Are you excited to go to the beach next week? Brooklyn: No. Me: Why not? Brooklyn: The crabs. (Leaving the park in a rush after it started raining) Paige: Mom, is it hard to take care of three kids? Me: Why?  Does it look hard? Paige: No. Emerson: Me a boy. Me: What is mommy? Emerson: Mommy a girl. Me: What is Daddy? Emerson: Daddy a monkey! (Brooklyn was watching me clean out the seeds of a cantaloupe) Brooklyn: Ew! That is a gross job!  Will I have to do that when I'm a mom? If she only knew the grossness that lay ahead!

I have often said that when I had Brooklyn I joined a club and I can't get out.  Apparently, having a redheaded newborn is cause for every person who has ever known, seen or dreamed of a redhead to stop and tell you all about said person.  This is always followed by the oh so popular "Where did she get her red hair?"  I have been tempted on more than one occasion to dye my hair a similar shade just to end the nonsense.  Why can't they just assume her father has red hair and leave it at that??  I digress.  My sweet freckle faced girl turned five yesterday.  She had a tea party today with eight of her closest friends.  There were actually twelve on the list, but I made her cut a few.  That may be the theme of her life.  This little girl LOVES people.  She always has.  Brooklyn is sensitive, sarcastic, artistic, ticklish, talks incessantly and hates being alone.  She loves unicorns, butterflies, rainbows, kittens, shopping, diamonds, gold and silver.  She is going t

Last week Adam and I went on a date.  The night didn't require expensive tickets, outrageously priced food or fancy clothes.  We have had those nights, but this wasn't one of them.  This night took us to Target, Walmart, Best Buy and a steakhouse with peanut shells strewn about.  It was glorious.  I didn't take anyone to the restroom during my meal, the seat in my shopping cart was occupied by only my purse, and not once did I have to move boxes off a shelf to remove disobedient children from crawling behind them.  Halfway through our evening Adam looks at me dumbfounded and says "I am having a really good time!"   Resisting the urge to reach across the table and knock the shock right off his face, I inquire gracefully as to why he seems so surprised.  He goes on to say that this had been a stressful week at work and he just hadn't realized how much he needed to decompress.   I have spent seasons of our marriage waiting for Adam to ask me to go out on a da

If you had told me at the age of twenty that I was not prepared for motherhood, I would have laughed in your face. I had been babysitting for years.  I cared for 10 infants every day for a year in a daycare.  I was a nanny to a newborn while pregnant with Paige.  I could do this in my sleep.  Kids were my thing. Motherhood didn't shake me at first.  It took a year or two to realize how far over my head I was in.  Apparently, I'm a slow learner.  The truth is, all the things I thought I was going to "be" as a mom are so much more challenging than I could have imagined. On occasion, I will have a friend comment on my "amazing patience" or call me "supermom".  Upon receiving such a compliment, I suggest we spend more time together.  Clearly I have given them a faulty impression of myself.   In an attempt to level the playing field, let me give you a glimpse of reality. My patience level is nothing to admire.  I should pray for more, but I'm a

On the way home from soccer, the girls and I were talking about school and when they would go to college.  The conversation ended something like this: Paige: So you went to college to be a mom? Me: Well, they don't really teach how to be a mom in college? Paige: So they just didn't teach you anything? Not exactly, but some day's it sure feels that way!  Take today for example.  The morning started with Paige refusing to get in the van because she didn't feel well.  By the time I convinced her to move, Emerson had not only stepped in dog poop but had smeared it all over his socks and jeans.  After a quick cleaning of the shoes and grabbing extra clothes to clean the boy up, we left for school only to realize that I had failed to feed anyone breakfast.  Lovely.  Paige hates breakfast, so she was not disappointed to be missing a meal, but my Brooklyn is a Farmers Platter kind of girl and Emerson was already begging for a drink.  Starbucks to the rescue!  Fast forwa

You know him as Adam.  I call him Neil.  He calls me Liz, which is better than Taco.  Trust me.  We've been there. Our story goes back 20 years.  Two thirds of my life.  I did the math.  It blew my mind.  I was the mother in our 4th grade play of Peter Pan and he was my youngest son, wearing red long john pjs with a butt flap.  The following year, I crossed him out of my year book and wrote "emenies" next to his picture.  He was excellent at spelling.  Me, not so much.  This may have fueled my hatred. I have no memory of this boy through middle school, but in high school he caught my eye.  Or should I say, someone guessed that I liked him and after a few seconds of consideration I decided to go with it.  Before that moment, the thought had never crossed my mind.  I was 15.  My reasoning skills hadn't exactly matured. Little did I know that one moment in a chemistry class would impact my life forever.  In the next few years, I would fall in love with a boy and

If you know my children, you know that movies are an issue in our house.  Convincing our girls to watch a movie can take weeks and more often than not brings them to tears.  The reason: Paige can not handle suspense and Brooklyn wants to be like Paige.  We once made her watch Toy Story and she sobbed through the second half.  (That may qualify as faulty parenting.)  I can count on one hand the number of full length movies she will sit through and most of those were discovered in the last six months.  So tonight when they both agreed to rent Hotel for Dogs at the Redbox, I was impressed.  Five minutes into the movie Paige was freaking out, but that passed. Towards the end of the movie the dogs are taken away by dog catchers to the pound and I began to hear a whimpering.  As I looked down, I noticed that Brooklyn is shaking and when she turns her little face is wet with alligator tears, lip quivering.  "Why are they going to kill the puppies?" she cries.  In that moment, I co

I suck at prayer.  If you need someone to pray for you, I'm probably not your girl.  Sure, I'll say I'll do it.  I'll even have good intentions to get it done.  But I won't.  The light will turn green, the kids will yell, the phone will ring and I will forget.  Every time.  My personal prayer life isn't much better.  It's embarrassing to say, but I'm too rushed, tired, and distracted.  The thought of prayer seldom crosses my mind. Apparently, God has been noticing.  In the past few months I have found myself on the outskirts of situation after situation that lead me straight to my knees.  Not a passing "Please God work in that situation" way, but a "My words have run dry and still I pray" kind of way.  I have prayed myself to sleep and then awoken with an urgency to pray again.  I have wept as I pleaded with God to work miracles.  I have prayed that God's hand would be seen and I have prayed that Satan's lies would be reveal

Sometimes, my quest to balance life sends me in a tailspin.  This may be one of those times.  Months ago, I was approached by a childhood friend asking me to do a MARK party to help start her business.  Perfect!  I NEED to reconnect with my friends and this could be fun girls night.  Wine, chocolate, coffee, make-up, and friends.  Who could turn that down?!?  Knowing that March was the best month for my friend's business, I picked a date and sent the invites.  No problem.  It's March.  What could possibly be going on?  Nothing, other than the Book Fair at Paige's school which I volunteered to staff.  Nothing, other than Adam's big project for Writing for Engineers.  Nothing, other than a clothing resale that I sold, shopped and worked at for much of last week. If I didn't need this night so badly, I would reschedule.  That, however, is NOT happening!  I will have girl time if it kills me.  I will have wine and chocolate and a side of laughter.  My carpet may hav

I have a bad attitude.  It's been building for about a week now.  At first I blamed hormones, then lack of "adult" time, and now I am at a loss.  There are no more excuses.  While hormones didn't do me any favors, they were not totally responsible.  A date night was long overdue and an enjoyable break, but by morning the gray cloud was back. A man at Meijer told me how much he admired me as a mom, but that held me for only a few minutes.  I have even enjoyed two play dates with sweet friends in the past week and, still, I can't kick the gloom.  Being married is hard; having kids is harder; having a new puppy is insane.  Carpool lines, laundry, grocery shopping, baths, homework, dinner, PTO meetings, dentist appointments, dishes, and diapers consume my days. A screaming toddler and a bed-wetting preschooler interrupt my nights.  If I'm not refereeing fights, I'm answering another unending "why" question or playing yet another game of I Spy. My w

Sometimes planning pays off.  I have found that, in motherhood, planning rarely hurts.  The plan may not play out exactly as intended but having one is never a bad idea. Today I planned.  Instead of spending the glorious quiet of nap time vegging on the couch zoned out to some random TV show, I typed out a grocery list.  Two actually.  I looked up clip art to match the items on one of the lists(for the non-reader) .  And I prepped myself for a rare afternoon shopping trip with all three kids. I don't take all three to the store if it can be at all avoided.  I go in the evening, in the morning with just two, or on a day when I can get a sitter.  I don't take them all.  It never ends well.  There's frustration, short tempers, harsh words, angry stares and often tears.  The kids don't fair well either.  But this was one of those weeks.  The fridge was bare, babysitters were busy and evenings were booked.  We had to go.  In the past, I have tried movie carts, bench

I have sat down many times to tell you about this week, to share my heart with you and offer a glimpse of the greatness of our God, but the words won't come.  The wounds are raw and the tears still sting.  My sweet friend, who has come to me for advice and encouragement as she began her journey of motherhood, has lost her precious baby girl.  This is not the first time that tragedy has struck close to home.  Yet once again I watch from the sidelines as those in the heat of battle proceed with a strength, peace, and joy that draws me to my knees.  I want to know Him so intimately that even when I can't see His ways, I trust His heart.  When my words fail me, I turn to music.  There is a Point of Grace song that has carried me through many tough days.  Below is the Nichole Nordeman rendition.  I pray that it comforts your heart as it has mine. 

You know that moment? That moment when your life suddenly becomes so much more.  That moment when everything you thought you knew suddenly turns upside down.  That moment when your heart aches and loves in a whole new way. Because in that moment, you became a mom.  It's hard to believe that moment was seven years ago.  I remember it like yesterday.  I will forever be grateful that this baby girl gave me the gift of motherhood.  Paige demands structure, exudes energy, and avoids attention. She loves skateboards, soccer, gumballs, and reading.  She spends her days playing in the mud puddles, climbing trees, jumping off swings, and catching bugs.  She just does it in "high heels" and a dress.  You dare not get in her way when Paige's mind is made up to do something.  She doesn't take lightly to people messing with her plans.  She has also been known to blow a spelling or math test just to make a point. Though you will never get her to admit to such a thing Ou

Apparently, I have had my head in the sand or maybe I'm just too sheltered.  One way or another, I am in shock.  To say that I had no idea is an understatement.  I am honestly still having a hard time wrapping my mind around all that I have read here.   (Take a minute and read it for yourself.) I knew that sex trade was an issue.  In far away places.  Not here.  Not where I live.  The things that are done to these girls is sickening, but the idea that our own country is taking part inexcusable.  A country that represents freedom to so many is offering slavery to thousands. In the wake of this disgusting news, my emotions want to curl up in a ball and cry for these precious girls, but that will do nothing to save them.  So I will pray.  With everything in me I will cry out to their Creator and plead for Him to do miraculous things on Sunday and everyday after. And while I pray I will participate in Project Love Day . Because, for now, that is all I can do.  I hope that you will

I don't like to be cold.  I hate when the snow starts to melt and the slush soaks the ends of my jeans.  I would rather spend my days under a blanket than in a ski lift, but the truth is that winter without snow is dead and ugly.  Every year, winter begins and the complaining ensues. Wishes are cast, threats are made, and prayers are said.  Anything to keep the snow away.  But the rest of the truth is this.  Underneath all of the snow lays the death of summer.  In this overwhelmingly complex universe, there is a necessity for seasons.  Like it or not winter must come.  So what if instead of hating the snow, we were grateful for the gift. Last week, my first grader came home from school with a note from her teacher on her daily calender saying that she had trouble paying attention and keeping her feet off the desk.  This was the first time in three years of school that we have ever had a note regarding behavior and let's just say, it didn't sit so well......for Paige.  Ar

This blog is not intended to be a documentation of our life as a family, but there will be some exceptions and this happens to be one of them. Today my baby boy turned two.  This seems unbelievable until I find him standing on the kitchen table with the toilet brush in one hand and then there is no denying.  Emerson is two.  He has balanced out our princess filled home with trucks, trains, and Toy Story.  To celebrate his big day, he made a call to 911, smacked his sisters and kicked the dog.  When I sing him Jesus Loves Me before bed, he now lifts his head from my shoulder looks me nose to nose and whispers "Shh!  No. Don't sing dat."  He then proceeds to tell me what to sing. Tonight he requested "Happy Birthday" for the tenth time today.   Emerson is a kid who hates change (much like his big sister).  He has a temper that can clear Target on a Saturday and a vocabulary that keeps us constantly amazed.  Not to mention, a smile that melts my heart!