The last dozen years

 

Hey there, Girlfriend.

As you drift off to sleep, one last time, as an eleven-year-old ball of feisty, fiery, fun energy, I sit here, trying to let my brain convince my heart that it's okay to let go of yet another age and move on to the next one.  For some reason, this time, I feel a little less ready to embrace the change.

The next time I see you (unless our cat decides we need a pre-midnight waking) you will be twelve.  It's the last dozen years' milestone in our little family.  It is the last year before you become a teenager and all three of my children are in that age range.  It just doesn't seem possible.  

I need to remind myself not to jump that far ahead yet.  We still have a year, after all.

Norah, watching you grow over this last year has been a wild ride.  You bring me such joy, and I love seeing your personality, independence, intellect, wit, compassion, bravery, and maturity develop.  You are balancing between a kid and a young woman, already.  There are so many times I find myself feeling like you are wise and mature beyond your age.  

Navigating this age is a a rollercoaster, I know.  We have talked many times about how difficult it is to be a girl your age, with emotions, feelings, thoughts and more all feeling so overwhelming and chaotic.  Friendships feel easy and natural one day and strained the next sometimes, and it triggers introspective hours, worry, and tears.  It doesn't usually take long to realize it's all going to be okay, and things fall back into their happy normal place. But it's exhausting.  I know that you will mature and bloom through it all, and you will come through it knowing what really makes you a treasure to your friends, and your friends to you.  There is so much to be learned in the trials of pre-teen years, and I pray that you take it all with grace and humility, and that nothing but beauty comes forth when this part of the journey is through.

I have many prayers for you this year, as I always do. I pray that you continue to find your strength, your bravery, your calm, and your voice.  I pray that you feel successful, and that you know that you know you are smart, capable, and creative.  I pray that you have success not only academically but socially, and that you continue to be a beacon to others and a positive role model to your peers.  I am always so overwhelmed with pride when I hear adults talk about you and the ways that you make your surroundings a better place. 

I pray that even on hard days, your beaming smile shines through and you find a way to laugh and sing.  I pray that on the best days, you are able to capture moments in your mind and can look back on them in the many years to come. 

I pray that you continue to find things that ignite passion and that you continue to try new things and develop new interests.  

I pray you always care about others and can continue to see those who often feel overlooked or forgotten because that's a beautiful gift from Papa God. 

I pray you never lose your playfulness.

I pray you are always able to see good in the world even though sometimes that feels overwhelmingly difficult.

I pray you always hold on to hope.

I pray you always know that God is with you.

I pray you always know you are deeply loved.

Thank you for blessing me with another year of laughter, singing, creating, exploring, snuggling, and the thousands of other moments we shared.  I love when we are able to spend time together, even if it's something simple like goofing off as we drive through down on errands.  Next time we get coffee, I'll let you order for me.  Don't let me forget.

Thank you for making me a better momma.  Thank you for loving me even when I'm cranky, or you're cranky, or we are all cranky.  Thank you for arguing with me about who loves whom more.  Thank you for never letting me forget that I'm goofy.  Thank you for all the help you provide in so many ways.   Thank you for being authentically you, all of the time.

You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I'm so glad you're mine.

Happy 12th Birthday, Boo.

Love you more,

Momma

When You're Fifteen...

 Spencer, 

I don’t think that the 15th birthday is considered some monumental milestone, typically, but for some reason, in my heart, it feels like a major birthday somehow.  Perhaps, it’s because I know what you’ve been through all these years, and seeing you, a wise, caring, humorous, generous, and loving young man, feels like more than just a dream come true. 

I know YOU don’t always feel that way about yourself, but lucky for you, I’m here.

“Cause when you’re fifteen and somebody tells you you they love you, you’re gonna believe them…”

It’s a song lyric. While I know the song isn’t about parental love, as I powered on my iPad to write to you, as you drift off to sleep after an exhausting week, that lyric burst into my mind.  

I love you.

I hope you believe it.

The end of that song goes “But I’ve found time can heal most anything, and you just might find who you’re supposed to be. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be at fifteen.”

I pray that for you, my wonderful son. I believe there is absolute truth in those words.  

I didn’t know who I was at fifteen either.  I do now.

I am your mom.

I am your friend.

I am your safety.

I am your champion.

I am yours.

As you know, I dreamt of you forever. I hoped for you for decades.  I’ve told you more than once, and I will tell you again- you were the miraculous answer to my deepest prayers.

You’re everything I imagined, and so much more…

…and to see joy in your eyes brings me elation that I cannot describe.

Like tonight, when unexpectedly, you were given a gift I’m not sure you dared to dream for, and held your guitar in your hands.  When I handed it to you almost two weeks ago in the guitar shop, I just knew it had to be yours.  I knew I had to make it happen…

..and it did.  The guitar that is years older than you, but somehow was made specifically for you, is yours. And such beautiful moments happened shortly after, when you sat down with your uncle, your siblings, and your cousins, and musical memories formed, filling the room.  I watched you playing, singing along with them, with tears in my eyes.

I know it doesn’t probably feel like it yet, but right in front of me, I’m watching you find who you are. I love who you are.  Quite frankly, you’re one of my very favorite people on this planet.  

The teenage years are complex, no doubt, but I love the general, genuine ease of our relationship.  I love that we can laugh together, cry together, be quiet together, be noisy together… be…. together, and there is no conflict or strife, even on harder days.  It’s a God thing, no doubt.  

When you read this, you will officially be fifteen.   As you go about your days this year, I want you to know I’m still always praying for you- for healing your hurts, for increasing your joys.  I pray that you find deep, meaningful friendships, and people you can call your tribe.  I pray that your interests and passions expand and deepen. I pray that the music you create is rooted in your soul and brings fire to your spirit like it does when I hear you play.   I pray that your sense of humor never fades, and your smile only brightens.  I pray that you feel anchored in who you are and never feel lost in this crazy world.  I pray that you believe only the truth about who you are and not the lies that the enemy wants you to latch onto.

Thank you for the hugs, every day.  You know you hug me more than anyone else in the world, right?  I love it, more than you know.

Thank you for making fun of me and keeping me humble.

Thank you for all of these years.  

You are loved, more than you’ll ever know.

You are worthy.

I’m so glad you’re mine.

I love you.

Forever and ever, amen.

Mom

Little Miss Seven

 Darling Norah,

You told me this morning that you can’t believe tomorrow is your birthday.  Honestly, I’m finding it hard to believe it as well.  This past year certainly pulled us all through the wringer, and while we’ve joked about it not “counting,” it most certainly does.

A year ago, as you reminisced today, I was “so super sick” and we “were stuck all by ourselves,” but it was also such a blessed birthday.  Countless people sent or dropped off treats, balloons, and gifts, and your eyes sparkled with such joy.

This past year has helped sculpt us all, and one of the ways it affected you was helping you to be even more cognizant of the little joys and small victories in long, trying, isolating days.  There have been so many times you have pointed out to me the ways that things are good or better, and it’s such a refreshing lens to look through.  I love seeing those moments through the lens of your vision.

This year has also brought out some of the most generous and caring attributes of your personality and really let those facets shine.  I remember the excitement at Christmas as we walked through a store where you chose gifts for a little girl across town that we didn’t know, with such a twinkle in your eye.  You could not wait to surprise her with blessings to help make “her Christmas amazing.”  You secretly mailed money to some of your favorite people, “just to be nice” and “to do a good thing.”  When I told you about the groceries we were planning to bless someone with, you came up with an entire additional list of things that they needed, because kids need treats sometimes, even if it includes six flavors of Jell-O.  You make me so proud.  When we made tie blankets with the women’s group at church last fall, you loved it so much  and were so inspired that you asked if we could “make a bunch” to donate ourselves.  With the help of family and friends supplying so fleece, we ended up making a stack of blankets that was taller than you.  You blow me away.

You’ve made sure to remind me through the year how great it is that I’m here.  I know you and your brothers spent a long time worrying about me during various scary health struggles, and you are always cognizant of the fact that things could have turned out very differently.  You admit that the times made you sad, but you are more aware of the fact that things are okay, and that you’re just happy that things turned around.  Your optimism is inspiring on days I struggle to be that way myself.  You’ve stepped up and been so incredibly helpful during my recovery, even though I know it occasionally irritates you to “have to be helping,” and I am incredibly grateful for you and your brothers during this challenge, because I know it’s hard on all of us, but you have all been quite gracious and patient in the situation.

Sure, over the year you’ve also gained a little extra sass, spice and spunk, and maybe a few decibels in your volume register, but you’ve also gained such resilience and intelligent along the way. I’ve loved watching you really blossom in reading, and seeing you bounce back up quickly and determined when things don’t quite go your way.  

There’s been a lot of inconsistencies and change through the year, and you, my dear little lady, have shown such strength. I know that your strength will continue to grow, and that you have such amazing things in store for you. I cannot wait to see you take on the world, although, I wouldn’t mind if you slowed down just a little bit, and we can enjoy these younger years before they vanish with the wind.  You and your brothers are all growing up way more quickly than I would like, and my heart aches a little bit looking at how the years have gone by so swiftly.  The days may be long, but the years are short- or something like that.  I’ve been told that so many times, and this year, it’s proven more accurate than almost any year before it.

I have loved watching your creativity bloom as well.  Sure, you make a lot of little messes (and some giant ones, but who am I to judge because I make crafting messes too) and I feel like I’ll forever be finding scraps of paper, sequins, clumps of yarn, or bits of vinyl everywhere, but it excites me to no end to know that you seem to follow in my footsteps creatively, and although I will likely never run out of tiny little “notebooks,” it is absolutely wonderful to see the things made by your pretty little hands.

I love hearing you worship.  More often than not, the songs that come through your voice while we are sitting at home or driving in the van are worship songs, and it makes my heart soar.  It makes me giggle when the boys want to listen to Kids Bop, and you beg to change it to a worship station.  When I look over and see you singing in church, it nearly takes my breath away.  One of the most powerful moments that helped get me through my hospital stay was watching you sing and dance to worship songs in your dad’s basement.  It lifted my spirits so greatly and brought me enough peace to rest a while.  It was such a great gift that you didn’t even know you were giving me.

Another thing I’ve absolutely loved watching bloom is your relationships with your little girl cousins.  They all have such joy in their eyes when they see you, and you are so patient and understanding with them, but also so incredibly excited when spending time with them.  It’s so beautiful to me to watch those relationships form, because my cousins were also some of my very first and closest friends going up, and although there’s a few years in between me and my cousins, and a few years in between you and your cousins, I see the foundation for those lifelong friendships forming, and it blesses my heart immeasurably to watch you all flourish as you do.

The past year was filled with a lot of “missing out on” and “missing people” and I’m so sorry that life played out that way, but I am thankful for the many hours and days we all were able to spend together, even if sometimes it stressed us out.  I am also so grateful that things are turning around this year, and more typical things are beginning to occur, and we can get back to some of the old traditions and joys that we have longed for over the months.  

I am so thankful that this year, you can walk outside our doors and be greeted by many who love and care for you.  I’ll miss seeing your delight all day long as you are celebrated and cherished at school, but I’m so very happy that I get to share you with the world again.   You are a ray of sunshine in many people’s cloudy days.

Norah, I pray that this year you continue to flourish outside these walls, but also within them.  I know God is moving in your heart, and I pray that you can continue to overflow to those around you, and it magnifies greatly.  I pray you continue to have courage and tenacity in all situations, and that you really can feel how invaluable you are in this world.  I pray you always not only feel beautiful, but know in your mind that you’re beautiful inside and out.  I pray that you have confidence in who you are in all situations.  I pray that you always take the honest road, and keep truth at the forefront- I know that is something that is hard in a world like ours, but I know you have the strength to do so.  I pray that you touch the hearts of others and continue to show kindness and compassion.  I pray your heart never hardens toward those around you.  I pray you know how very loved you are.  I pray that you can continue to change the world around you, and that the world around you does not change who you are inside.

I am so proud of you, little lady.  

I can’t believe you’re going to be seven in the morning.

You think you love me most, but it just can’t be true.  No one on (other than God, as you point out frequently) can love any one more than I love the three of you.  I know, we debate this at least once a night.  I love that about you, too.

Love, Mom

The last single digit birthday for my first baby

Dearest Spencer,

This is your last night being eight. Tomorrow, you’re nine. Nine is the last single digit birthday. It’s hard to believe that it has been that many years since I laid in bed, crying both tears of excitement at your scheduled arrival the next day and tears of fear and worry that I wouldn’t be a good enough mom to you. That’s right. I prayed and longed for you most of my life, but the night before you were to finally meet us, I was terrified that I would fail you.

Truthfully, that’s been my fear every day since. I hadn’t thought about it really until that night nine years ago, when it completely overwhelmed me, but it’s been in my mind at some point almost every single day since.

God has reached me multiple times, of course, and reminded me who I am, my calling, who you are, and how perfectly equipped we both are to live this life together.

He made us for one another, you know.

Photo Copyright : Seize the Day Photography & Video

I made you, inside of me.

But you, my son, made me who I am, also inside of me.

You made me a mom, and as the two of us have discussed multiple times, we have been learning what that means, every day, together.

My brave boy, thank you for your patience as I continue to learn and embrace this calling upon my life.

I know this year, again, has brought us some struggles, but I think overall, it was a pretty good year of learning who we both are. I have watched you develop a new sense of confidence and really show me that when you set your mind to something that interests you, you can do amazing things.  Watching you succeed in taekwondo, for example, is one of those things and it brings me such great joy.

I’ve been so proud as I have watched your grades excel and hearing almost all positive reports from your teacher at school. Seeing you interact with kids on the playground and school functions has shown me you’re  coming out if your shell more this year. It’s been a delight to witness.

I’ve have also seen you grow over the year in your love for babies and toddlers, who up until this point, have made you a bit uneasy. This shows me your confidence and security are growing.

I love seeing your compassion for others continuing to grow, like when you suggest we pray fir people, donate things we don’t need, or when you snuck your arm around me at the theater watching the remake of “Lion King” and tried to console me while I sniffled away watching Mufasa die, even though we all knew it was coming.

That’s not to say that we haven’t had our issues and had things we have been working through. I know we struggle with the fact that you are feeling bigger and older now, and your conversations and tone of voice are occasionally something we are at odds about. I know also that as you continue to mature, there will be more awkward and in between quirks and things we will continue to navigate. I pray we both continue to have the patience to navigate these challenging waters we have up ahead.

I try not to think about it too much, but I know that ten is right around the bend, as well as a lot of big changes for your mind and body. I pray for wisdom and understanding for us both as those days come along.

I know that you struggle with your thoughts and emotions sometimes, especially when it comes to letting people in and sharing whats on your heart and your mind.  I am so proud of you for the growth you've exhibited in this area in the last year.

I also love watching you fulfill your role as a big brother.  You often have patience with your brother who tries every ounce of it and gets on your nerves more than you would like, but who is also one of your best playmates and someone who understands you better than most anyone in this world. I am so proud of you in that when he is being bullied, you've begun to stand strong and firm for him. You are a protector and leader for your little sister who adores you like no other.  They're both blessed to have you.

Thank you, dear boy, for still letting me hug you throughout the day  and give you kisses at bedtime. Thank you for the random snuggles and cuddles that I refuse to fully acknowledge are growing more scarce.  Thank you for all the random tidbits of information you share with me, because sometimes they're things I didn't already know, and I love knowing random things.  Thank you for making me laugh.  Thank you for challenging me to follow through with things that I expect of you all, like kind voices even when we are upset.

Spencer, I pray that year nine is a year of countless blessings. I pray you hear God speak to you, to help you understand your purpose in this world.  I pray that you continue to find your passions.  I pray that you continue to develop your drive.  I pray that you find the courage and strength to embrace your emotions, your fears, and your worries, and to find the words to let others know what bothers your heart when you're in a space feeling down.  I pray that this year you laugh like no other, that you sing your heart out, and that you explore and learn so much that you feel the world open up like it never has before.  I pray that you can stand up to peer pressure and know in your heart that you have it in you to do what is right, even when it's hard.  I pray that others can see the light inside of you, the one I see and know is there.  I pray that you realize that you are leaving a brilliant mark on this world.  I pray protection over you as you go, each day, into this big world that's continuing to expand all around you.

I pray you never doubt your worth.

I pray that you always know you are loved.

Dear son, I am so grateful you're mine.

 Happy Birthday when you wake, my first baby boy.

Love always, mom.

Then came eight.

Dearest Spencer,

Today was a bit chaotic, I know, as is always the case the day before your birthday. Halloween brings a hustle and bustle and excitement amongst children all around us, and I wonder sometimes if you feel like your birthday gets a little overlooked because of it.

But dear son, let me assure you, it does not.

Yes, Halloween is widely celebrated, and the world doesn't necessarily realize that your big day follows right after.

But, in my mind, the crazy holiday cannot compare in the slightest to your birthday.

You see, my dear boy, the day you were born was monumental for so many lives- but especially for you and for me.

That was day that you made me a mommy, you know. I had prayed and waited for it for years.  And then it happened.  And you captured my heart with your very first breath.

Spencer, you still have my heart in the palm of your hand.

I know we've had a bit of a rough spot lately.  I am so sorry for that. I know I've been exhausted, stressed, and not as much fun as you would probably like.  I am so sorry.   Life has us so busy lately.

But I also know that you're growing up, so big and so fast.  You've begun showing and sometimes outright telling me that you're looking for more independence.  You've left the itty bitty kid phase, and are transitioning so quickly out of the little kid phase straight on to being a big kid.  It's hard on my heart when I realize it, but I try not to let you know.  It's little things, like wanting to watch kid shows and not cartoons, reading chapter books and books without as many pictures, or the other day, when you asked if you could play with some "new friends"....

across...

the...

street..............................................


And I said yes.  And I let you go.  Sure, I peeked out the window and watched you cross the street, but I didn't let you see that.

But that was a huge moment for me.  It's when it really dawned on me that you are growing up, and you're gaining independence, and needing me less.

Or even maybe... a little... as much as I hate to say this or think about it...

wanting to be with me less.

*gulp*

I've realized over the past year that you prefer to talk to other people over me sometimes.  When I ask you about your day, it seems like you don't have much to say to me.  But if someone else were to ask, there are many details that dance out on your voice.

I know.

You're becoming a big kid.  And I'm not as cool as I once was.

And that's normal.

And that's okay.

Even though it's not okay with my heart.

I have to trust that you will always know that I'm cool enough to trust, to lean on, to rely on, to need, to enjoy, to love.

You're entering into this weird world that I don't completely understand.  I grew up in a small town, went to a small school, and I'm a girl.  You're a city boy.  It's silly, but sometimes I don't feel like I can relate to certain aspects of your life.  I'm trying though.

Just like I try to pretend I know what you're talking about when you start talking about Star Wars.

Your interests are changing and sometimes I don't have a clue because they don't line up with mine at all.  I hope that you know that doesn't mean I don't care.  I just don't always understand. But I try, and when I can't, I try to find you someone who might have more knowledge than I do.

You're still figuring out who you are.  I'm being patient as I see who you become, and I pray that you're being patient with yourself.  That's one thing I completely relate to, even now, as an adult.  It's a lifelong discovery, and we all need more than a little grace.

While there's so many things changing in your life, there are still so many that remain constant.

Like your good, kind, caring heart.

Your hilarious sense of humor (although I will admit, the made up 'knock knock' jokes are a little much to handle sometimes).

You're adventurous and brave.

You love God.

You love others.

You love seeing your siblings at the end of the day and you always greet them with huge smiles and hugs on the days we meet on the school playground.

You are incredibly smart. Your teacher showed me your standardized test scores, remember, and you did amazing. 

You're honest about your opinion and thoughts on things.  Sometimes, I prefer not to know that you think I look silly or am being embarrassing, but at least you're truthful.

You're a little emotional, and trying to figure out how to handle that.  But, you know what, I can't blame you there, because again, I am too.  You don't like to be alone.  While these might seem like they aren't entirely positive to you, and maybe a little stressful to both of us at times, I appreciate them deeply, because they show me you're still a little kid inside, and we still have a lot of this journey toward big to get through.

I pray that over the next year, you continue to give yourself grace as you continue to figure out who you are in this world.  I pray that you'll continue to make good, wholesome, positive friendships, and that you will continue to tell me when people aren't being kind to you, even if it means you're crying.  Then, I can build you up and remind you how much I love you and how great you are.  I know those moments hurt your heart though, because they hurt mine, too.

I pray that you'll continue to and renew your love for school. I know second grade isn't "as fun" as kindergarten and first but I also know that you love to learn, and I believe that you'll enjoy your educational career just as I did.

I pray that you'll give yourself brief moments of reprieve when you're frustrated, and pause before you speak.  Once you say something, you cannot take it back.  But don't be too hard on yourself about this right now, it's something adults struggle with, too.

I pray your heart will continue to grow in your love for others and the world.  I pray that you'll continue to be a light in dark places, and show the love of Jesus to those around you.  You are amazing at this.  

I pray you'll start hearing God's voice, clearly, regularly, and that His truth can come to you directly, as well as through me.  I cannot wait to see what he has in store for you.  I believe it will be big.

And, I pray that you will never doubt your worth.  I pray you will never doubt how wonderful you are.  You are perfect in God's image, and you are one of the very best things that has ever happened to me.  You teach me more about life and love than you'll ever know.  I pray you will never question how deeply you are loved.

In that regard, I also pray that you never determine your self-worth and your value based on the absence of someone who we both feel should be around, telling and showing you that he loves you.  On some level, it's a relief to me that you don't mention your dad as much anymore, but mostly, it breaks my heart for you that his lack of interest and involvement in your life has become so ordinary.  I will not spoil your birthday with my anger, but I am angry for you, and your siblings, that he's missing yet another year, and another birthday.  But, just because he is still gone, it has no merit as to who you are, how important and wonderful you are, or anything of the sort.

I pray that, as we continue to navigate this world together, learning as we go, we continue to have patience for one another in unchartered waters.  It's always new territory for both of us, but we are in it together.  That's the blessing of our bond, first child of mine.

And I pray for ever increasing joy, and that you never lose that sparkle in your eyes and that jubilant echo in your laughter.

Spencer, I love you.

I love you more than you'll ever know.  

Happy Birthday in the morning, buddy.  That day is better than any dress-up holiday this world could ever offer you.

-Mom

Joy to instant Terror

I love to take photos.  I especially love to photograph my children and to document our adventures together.  Having a cell phone makes that incredibly ease to do and to share.  I know that some people wish we weren't taking so many photos and living solely in the moment.  I strive as best as I can do have a good balance of both.  

Today was a busy day filled with adventures.  We started out with an oil change and a bouncy house for the kiddos.  Then, on a whim, we decided to head to the Outdoor Campus for the Outdoor University 2018 event.  We have never participated in it before, because my kiddos have been so young, and there's three of them and only one parent in our family.  This year, we've experienced the freedom granted with them being slightly older, more focused, and willingness to stay together as a group most of the time.  We don't usually do big, overcrowded events by ourselves, though.  This was a first, and it was simply because I hadn't researched it more than a cursory glance, so I did not know just how big and how busy the event would be.

We could hardly find a parking space, but I had talked up the adventure and the children voted 2 over 1 to still attend.  So, we parked far away, had a talk in the van while finding the spot, and then again while waiting for the shuttle van to take us to the campus, about staying together as a group at all times, listening well, and being able to see each other at all times.  If we couldn't see each other we were supposed to call out for mom and the other names.  They all understood, and I felt fairly confident, and off we went.

And truthfully, they did great.  We spent three hours together doing various activities, taking photos, having laughs, giving each other compliments, using manners without prompting, and just having a good time. 

I took lots of photos, but I also did lots of activities with them.  We mined for treasure, we touched pelts and skulls and identified creatures.  We played with toy fishing rods and rifles and we went fishing.  What I didn't truly enjoy, I faked enjoying for the kids sake to make it the best experience possible.  Then, we excitedly hurried over to the touch tanks, which were filled with frogs, toads, salamanders, snakes, turtles, and fish.  It was a very crowded and excited area and we ALL loved it.  We held all sorts of creatures.  The kids squealed with delight.  We took photos.  We passed snakes back and forth.  We spent over half an hour in that one spot just having a great time.  We nearly came home with a pet garter snake.  It was wonderful.

After about half an hour of that, though, Collin, my second child, was ready to be done, and he politely asked me if we could head back into the main building and see the rest of the amphibians and reptiles inside there, which I had promised we would do before we left.  I told him that would be fun, but that I had to tell the other two that we were going to do that, because they were still standing in front of us all hunched over the tanks.  He said that was okay, and I told him to wait right there and I would get the other two.  

I walked about five feet away from him and tapped Spencer and Norah on the backs and told them it was time to say goodbye to the frogs and snakes because we were going inside.  It felt like five seconds that I had my back away from Collin.  It could have been thirty.  I really don't know.  It was quick, that's all I know.

Quick in a crowded space where there was a slip of mind.

The joy we were feeling turned into sudden panic when I turned around and Collin wasn't standing by the pole anymore.  I said to the other two, "Collin is gone, let's go NOW," and they followed me as we walked around that tent full of people looking for Collin, thinking maybe he went back to the frogs quick.

But he wasn't there.

I thought to myself that maybe when he saw us stand upright and turn toward him, he decided to start walking to the main building, so that's where we headed next, walking as quickly as possible with little legs.

As we walked, a security officer was in the path, smiled at us, and asked if we were enjoying our day.  I said, "Yes, but I've lost my son."

It was the craziest thing to say aloud.

He immediately walked with us, asking about him.  How old is he? What's his name?  What's he wearing?  I answered all his questions as we walked, looking around as we did.  Where did I think he was heading? Where were we?  Why did I think he was headed that way again?

Because he said he wanted to go there.  I really thought that was where he was going.  And when he's determined, he is determined.

We got into the main building and he went to one side and I went to the other with the kiddos, calling out Collin's name.  But he didn't answer.  We gathered again quickly, and walked to the main desk, where he asked the volunteer at the desk if she had seen Collin.  He pulled out his phone when she hadn't, and had me type in my number.  He called me quick to save it.  Then he got out a paper and pen and asked me the questions again.  Name? Age? Hair? Eyes? Clothing? Size?  As I answered, I pulled up his photo on my phone.  He took a picture of the photo with his and said "we have our own Amber Alert system here, I'm going to send this and my team will all be looking."  He took a photo of the description and sent it off with Collin's photo to his team, and all I could see in my mind was this photo on a MISSING Child poster.

Instantly, as I know many who read this might think, I began doubting myself a mother and protector of my children. How could I let this happen?  What was I thinking turning my back on him?  I know he's strong willed and an occasional wander.  I knew it was crowded and crazy busy.  Why did I trust my five-year-old to stand still in an exciting place?  When will I learn better?  

And then it went to things like... Why is he not in this building?  Where could he have gone?  He loves people and is too friendly... what if someone took him?  What if he fell in the little lake?  What if he's scared?  What if what if what if what if?

On the outside I was calm, but on the inside, I felt like I might crumble, and I felt like it was 100% totally my fault for being the very worst and least competent parent in the entire world.

I've never professed to be perfect at parenting.  Most of the time I wonder if I'm a good enough mom, even though my heart knows God knew I was the perfect mom for these three children, because he chose ME to bring them into this world and lead them through all our hills and valleys.

But in that moment, I was sure that I was quite literally the most wretched mom on earth because I trusted by baby boy.

The security officer said that everyone would start looking for Collin, and that he thought it would be best if we just stayed in the building in case Collin did show up and was just being pokey.  He said he would call me as soon as he was found.  He was confident he would be found safe and was just fine, and I placed my trust in that and just prayed that they would find him soon.

I told Spencer and Norah to go play in the play area and I sat there staring at my phone and looking up as they played.  It had been 15 minutes since I looked at the clock when Collin asked to go inside.  I sat there, trembling with tears in my eyes, a slew of terrible things going through my head, mostly belittling myself, if I'm being completely honest.

After 8 minutes, the phone rang. 

"Nicole?"

"Yes."

"We found him by the pond.  He's okay and wondering where you are.  We are bringing him to the front door."

"Thank you!" I squeaked and hung up.

I told his siblings he was found, and we ran to the front door to wait.

As soon as I saw him walking alongside a security officer, I began sobbing.

I was mad at myself.  I was a bit mad at him too, truthfully.  But, I was just overwhelmingly grateful that he was found and he was completely okay.

I hugged him and squeezed him and his siblings did the same.  And then, I looked him in the eye, and I told him what I have in the past, "We HAVE to stay together. ALWAYS."  I told him how I thought I had lost him forever.  I told him that I love him WAY TOO MUCH to lose him.  I told him I was scared, but I was so glad he was okay.   

"I'm so sorry mommy," he said as he teared up in front of me.  "I thought you were lost."

We had lost each other.  It was a terror.

But, God had us all under his protection.  Again.  Like he has so many times before.

The guard I first met who took the information and my number showed up and told Collin how happy he was that Collin was okay.  And then he told me that he was grateful that I had that photo of him, because in a place that busy, there's lots of red shirts, and sharing that with his team made it easy to spot him and know exactly which child they were looking for.

When we arrived home, I posted photos of our adventure online.  They showed a day full of joy.  But they didn't show how it turned into terror.

As I said before, I love taking photos of my children to document our adventures.  And tonight, I'm thankful that I did for a different reason.  I choose to believe that no matter how many minutes it could have taken to find Collin, he would have been found safe and sound today.  In a calm mind, I really believe that.  But, because I had taken a photo of him just minutes before, I had him in the outfit he was wearing, his favorite red sweatpants and his church shoes, his brown eyes and now sun-bleached hair holding a frog.  They knew him as soon as they spotted him, and we only had to wait 23 minutes to see him again.  Only.  23 minutes that felt like forever.

While we had been playing with frogs I saw another child across the way with a phone number in permanent marker written on his arm.  I thought to myself, "huh, that's pretty smart. I might have to do that next time."

Go figure.

I know that I'm capable, overall, to take my children on adventures by myself.

But, I think that for now, when it comes to these busy, overcrowded activities, I'll gladly go back to begging someone else to join us.

Tonight, while I battle the demons trying to keep me from posting this, knowing I could be ridiculed for being a terrible mom and for being unobservant or failing my son, I also know it's important to share stories like this, because it's something that I will learn from, and I know others can to.

It's so easy to make an absent-minded mistake such as turning your back for one minute, based on three hours of children doing exactly as they were asked in a crowded place.  This world is a scary place, and there's so many reports of predators out there, and it's always in the back of my mind.  But I stopped paying attention for a minute.  And then he was gone.

And it happens so quick.

And I really believe it can happen to anybody.  Or almost anybody.

I apologized to my children for letting this happen today.  They forgave me.  Collin apologized for wandering off.  I forgave him.

I still am battling the demons that are beating me up for it, though.

I pray it never happens to any of you.

But know that if it does, I will not judge you.  And I will pray alongside you if you need me to.

A Mother's Message

Part of my Mother's Day gift this year came a week ago.  I kept it to myself for six days,  and now it's time to share.

It was a message.

Last Sunday, I was in church, as I am almost every Sunday morning.  Worship is my favorite part of the week, but last week, I was struggling to be in the right space with my heart and my mind open and free.  I didn't realize it on my own until a gentle hand from beside me came, followed by loving guidance and prayer, commanding the enemy to flee.

And just like that, the tears began, as they often do, as I suddenly found myself in worship, really in worship.

And seconds later, I realized what was hindering me.  You see, the week before was tough in momma-land.  I struggled through it almost every day, having been sick for multiple days with a nasty stomach bug, the kids and I both feeling the strain of it mentally and emotionally.  Each day was fraught, on some level, with challenges between my children and I, my children and each other, or myself and myself.  And I had, on multiple occasions, doubted myself as a mother.  More than once, I was wondering if I was a good mother at all, if I was really able to do it all as the only parent involved in my childrens' lives right now.

Much of the time, I believe I'm a good mom, because I know that I've got God with me in it all.  I always know God is with me, even if I don't feel him, but I'm not impervious to the self-doubt that seems to plague most all mothers at some point.

But, in that moment, I was given a message.

"You wonder if you're a good mom, and you fear you are a bad mom.  You fear you are not cut out for the job.  But, you KNOW and you BELIEVE that I made you perfect in MY image.  You know that I called you to be mother of those children.  So, if you believe that you ARE perfect because I SAY you are perfect, then you must KNOW and BELIEVE that you ARE THE PERFECT MOTHER for your children.    You are perfect."

Oh goodness, did I cry.

There was the answer to my doubt and my struggle.

Am I always a great mom?

Of course not.  I struggle. I make mistakes.  But, I try to learn from them, and I try my best (almost always) to be a good mom.  I've prayed countless times, asking God if my purpose really is to "just" be a God-loving mother to my three children, raising them in the Spirit, and He seems to tell me that it is my job now, in this season, to focus on them.

So, I know that I'm called for them.  But, I've doubted anyway.  I'm human, after all.

But here I was, weeping, as I felt the Father telling me, so clearly, that I'm not good.. I am PERFECT.

Up until tonight, I hadn't shared this word with anyone.  I've been keeping it in my secret arsenal as I began the week leaving church, thrown into battles and fires as a momma always is.  But this week, it was different.  I didn't doubt myself. I didn't doubt my parenting.  I saw each battle as a lesson in growth, grace, mercy, persistence, and patience.  Yes, I am sure I was imperfect in parenting.  But, I AM the perfect parent for my children.

Tonight, in silent meditation on a two hour drive home, with the children sleeping in the back seats, I felt the pull to share my personal message.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.

And I realized, this message isn't for me alone.

No.

This message is for all women out there in mothering roles- biological mothers, adoptive mothers, foster mothers, aunts, grandparents, sisters, close friends, mentors, teachers... and anyone else I may be unintentionally forgetting.

YOU are PERFECT.  God made every single one of us, whether you accept Him yet or not.  And knowing He made you, the Bible says that we are each fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), and we were made perfect in God's image (Genesis 1:27- because God is perfect).

Each child you are given is a blessing from God, and if you accept your calling to be in the lives of child (young or grown, really), then you need to know that you are the perfect one for them.

Yes, you're going to make mistakes.  You're going to be imperfect as a person, but you ARE perfect for the job.

In being imperfect and simultaneously perfect, it is your duty to embrace the imperfection, to learn from it, grow because of it, and share it.  Because we are made stronger and we are formed more beautifully when we do.  And, it's a blessing to others when we do.

Each of us is going to struggle.  It's a given.  But, knowing you're made wonderfully and specifically for the purpose of being a mother of any kind to any child in your life, you can carry on when you do fall short.

But, you have to be willing to accept God in it all, to live up to your true perfection's potential.

With God, you are renewed each day (Isaiah 40:31, Lamentations 3:22-23).

With God, all things are possible (Matthew 19:26).

With God, you can do hard things... like what I believe to be one of the hardest things of all- being a good mother. With God, you can keep on when you feel like giving up.  You just have to ask Him to guide you, lead you.  You have to abandon your need to have everything in control, and let Him be the one to help you.  And it's easier said than done.

I have to do it, personally, every single day, and often more than once.

I believe in you, Mommas of all kinds.  God believes in you, too.  It's why He placed children of all kinds in your life.

----

I apologize if this read was a little difficult to understand or decipher as I am quite exhausted and about to fall asleep. I just couldn't go to bed without getting it out there.  I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense.

(This entire message also very much applies to every kind of father figure out there, too.)

Super Powers

It's been an exhausting couple of days, for various reasons, both good and not as good.

Last night, we arrived home right at bedtime, and the kids willingly went into their room to prepare for rest.  They laid there quietly and happily for a few minutes while I got stuff ready before going in to do bedtime prayer and gratitude, give hugs and kisses, and wish them goodnight.

Then, as is common lately, one by one, they all had reasons to get up, or call for me in the other room.  I try diligently to always have a positive attitude or at very least a kind voice when I re-enter, but it's a struggle sometimes.  Especially on nights like last night where it was already nine o'clock and I had a list of various duties to tend to before excusing myself to bed.

Eventually, they coaxed me into laying among all three of them on their bedroom floor, one laying across my arm while both arms were splayed to my sides playing with the two youngest's hair.  The fish tank light was off, the van on for white noise, and I laid there struggling to stay awake myself, my to-do list playing repeatedly in my mind.  That's when the thoughts started rolling in as well.

"This is so hard."

"This is so exhausting."

"There aren't enough hours in the day."

"There's not enough of this Momma to go around."

"I don't know how I'm going to do keep doing this."

"Its going to take some sort of super human strength or some kind of super powers to keep this up forever."

Eventually, they all drifted off to sleep.  I did a half-baked job on my nightly duties and then flopped myself into my own bed.   Then, I realized I had a few more things to do, rolled on out, finished up, and returned.  Then I realized the door wasn't locked.  So, I got up again, locked the door, and then fed the cats, got some water, and went back to bed again.  I think I fell asleep around 11:20.

This morning, I woke, tired as usual, and forgot to make my coffee before we all marched out the door at 7:40.  The children were all in fairly good moods for their shortage of sleep last night, and we were on our way.

As I sat in the waiting area at one of their appointments, the thoughts of last night replayed in my mind.

But today, they were reframed with a feeling of empowerment.

Parenting is hard.  It's crazy hard.  It's hard when there's two parents.  It's harder when those parents are separated.  It's even harder when you're doing it alone.  At least, in my experience that's true, having done all three versions of parenting in the last 7 years.

Right now, I'm back to being a single parent.  I mean single parent, as in not sharing the children with their other parent. I know that to some, co-parenting or shared-parenting is considered or felt to be single parenting.  Again, in my experience, they're wildly different.  So, as I said, I'm flying solo.  I wish I wasn't, but I am, so I pull myself up by my bootstraps (oh wait, my boots are all strapless...) and I carry on day in and day out.

Even when it feels like it's too much.  Even when I'm too tired.  Even when my nerves are shot and my brain is fried, and I go to work with my pants on backwards (yes, that's happened, more than once actually, in the last couple weeks... maybe I should retire those pants).

I won't pretend to be a super woman.  I won't claim to be a super hero.  I won't boast to be a super mom.  Because, quite honestly, I'm not.  It may look spectators that I am when I calmly herd my three littles into a restaurant for supper, and they sit down quietly and excitedly tell the waitress their order.  But then as soon as she turns her back, two of them are sword fighting in the booth, shortly before one of them bites the other one in the bathroom fighting over who uses what toilet stall.  I hug the injured and break out my "mad voice" and my "mean Momma Bear glare" at the other while the wait staff smiles at me with a knowing look.

I don't have it all together.  I'm not a super-hero, super woman, or super mom.

I'm your run-of-the-mill, ordinary single mom just doing the best she can, usually.  Sometimes I'm not doing the best I can. Sometimes I'm doing what I can just to get through the moment... which I guess, in those moments, is actually probably the best I can.

I will be first to admit though, it does take some sort of super power to be a single mom, a co-parenting mom, or a happily married mom (or dad).  Like I said, parenting is crazy tough.

So, as I sat there, this morning, reminsicing about last night as I choked down the straight black coffee I was accidentally given instead of my regular order in the drive-through this morning, after having forgotten to make my own at home like I usually do, I thought about these super powers that are needed.

And, I realized...

I DO have super power.

It's the power of the Holy Spirit.  It's the power of Jesus. Its' the power of God.

As soon as I realized that, I had verses flooding in my mind, and I needed to share them here.

Because, if we want them, we can ALL have super powers.

Every single parent out there.  Every single person without children out there.  Every single child out there.

We're all equipped.  We just have to seek them.

Ask God, He'll give them to you, freely, lovingly, and happily.

That's how I do life right now, when I'm too tired, too overwhelmed, too frustrated, too sad, too everything.  I lay down on the floor with the lights out (or maybe as I drive in broad daylight in the van, or a hundred other places and ways) and I let God in.  It's not always a conscious effort, to be honest.    But, he reaches me, and he blesses me, and through every tear, every sleepless night, every pants-backward-at-work-Wednesday, every joyful-they-ordered-their-own-supper Friday, every big and little moment, I keep on keeping on.  He's the One pulling me up, so I don't even need straps on my boots.

Sometimes, of course, I don't feel this way. I don't see it this way.  Even as I write this today, knowing exactly how I make it through, I'm still exhausted and a bit overwhelmed (even knowing God's going to carry me through).

And you know what, those are my worst days.

I'm praying for less and less of those days, and more days where I'm fully aware of my super power, MY Super Hero.  (Even on those days when I don't think I'll get through it, I know somehow I will, even if I'm too stubborn to admit the real reason.  I'm imperfect.)

I'm praying the same for each of you.

Blessings!

Those Awesome Obnoxious Pants

It's time.  It's been time for quite some time, I know, but I had ignored it for way too long.

What's it time for? 

Those awesome, obnoxious (dare I say slightly derranged, possibly somewhat ugly) pants.

Yes.  I have invested in three pairs of cheap workout pants.  They are the kind of pants that many have worn for a long time, that I always would roll my eyes at (mentally) and wonder what on earth is wrong with people who wear them.

Now, I own them.  Now, I'm wearing them.  I'm wearing them at this very moment.  And, I'm rolling my eyes (mentally) at myself, wondering what on earth is wrong with me.  They're so boisterous.  I am not a boisterous individual by nature.  I prefer to not be noticed most of the time.  And here I am, in bright, loud, workout pants.    

Why this change?

I have been wondering that for a while now, which is why I haven't actually talked much about it.

I've been going through a lot over the past years when she has been transforming.  My transformations have been different.  I went through the betrayal, abandonment, homelessness, emotional manipulation (and so many more things) associating with the ending of my marriage.  I worked hard just to stay awake most of the days, to feed my kids, to work, to smile, to laugh, to cuddle, to hug, to pray, to hope, to cook, to clean, to breathe.  I struggled through countless emotional days and weepy nights.  I was on a rollercoaster like I had never known existed.  I transformed, I know.  I don't always see which ways I've transformed.  It's rare I can detail the changes to anyone.  

Some transformations have been by choice.  Some have been necessity and God's sifting in my life to purify, change me, and mold me into the woman he's called me to be for the plan He has for me, whatever it is.  

This change... this one is deliberate, an unexpected choice. 

On Mother's Day, I had the blessing of being able to spend a long stretch of kid-free hours with my Bean (for those new around here, that would be my cousin Tarah, who has been one of my best friends since college).  For the past couple of years, she's taken an active role in bettering herself on many levels, but one of them has been with physical health and fitness.  One she's shed pounds and inches and gained so much confidence, energy, and enthusiasm.   

I can't say that there was a single conversation we had, or a single activity we did, or any moment that I just hit this switch, but after that weekend, I decided it was my turn.

Mother's Day weekend, I decided it was time to tackle one of the most seemingly cumbersome transformations there are- physical.  I decided it was time to pay more attention to my body, my meals, my exercise, my sleep.  Instead of staying up two extra hours every night so that I could have quiet, alone time without my kids, I go to bed earlier.  I read food packages, though I occasionally still eat something not as good for you.  I have nearly all-together stopped drinking soda.  I've been trying to not push myself so hard, especially with the rib that still hurts.  

The most shocking thing though- the pants.  

It's not necessarily the pants themselves (well, okay it kind of is), but what they represent.  They were a treat to myself after I willingly joined a group of women on MommaStrong.com (for $2 a month, which wasn't a daunting investment so I couldn't think of any great excuses since I gave up soda after all, and NO this isn't a sponsored post) and completed 12 consecutive days of 12-18 minutes worth of workouts called Core Camp.  I sweat my face off and I even enjoyed it.  I wasn't daunted by the pain in my rib cage, because when it hurt too much, I modified.  She (Courtney, founder of MommaStrong) said I could and should modify things.  Instead of feeling guilty for doing that, I felt empowered. I felt smart.  

Somewhere along the 12 days, while I powered my way clumsily through workouts in front of my kids who questioned what in the world I was doing and why, I realized I was looking forward to the workouts.  I was looking forward to reclaiming this piece of myself. I was looking forward to taking control of yet another part of my life that felt overwhelming and cumbersome, daunting and embarrassing.

If you know me, I've never been one who talks about working out.  I love to go on walks, and back before I went to college and had a bicycle, I loved to ride bike.  That's about it.  I lift my babies and babies at work.  That's sort of a workout.  I clean.  That is slightly sort of a workout.  But otherwise... nope.  I had no desire to get sweaty and gross because I was too weak and fat and whatever else and it just seemed pointless.  There was so much  negative talk within myself and I didn't even realize it until I realized it was slowly being silenced.

I can think of fifty excuses (guesstimating) why I couldn't, shouldn't, didn't want to work out.  No space. No time. No energy. No money. No privacy.  No strength.  No, no, no, no, no.

Then I said yes.  I just gave in and said yes.

I'm proud of myself.  Sure, I'm still overweight, I'm still out of shape, I'm still weak. My rib still bothers me and some days it hurts to take deep breaths.  I'm still tired.  I'm still busy and I certainly don't have the privacy.   I still can't do a push up or a pull up, and my running distance is small.

But I'm doing it, or I'm trying to.  And in doing it, I'm silencing the lies that I've told myself, I'm silencing the enemy and I'm breaking off his strongholds.  I'm diligently working (sometimes minute by minute) to shut down the devil and keep him from bringing me down in this area of my life as I have had to in so many others.  I'm doing it. I'm trying to.

I'm working on it. I'm working out.

My oldest recently asked me why I work out and why I exercise. I told him something along the lines of "I do it because it's good for me. It makes me stronger, healthier, and a better mom and a better person.  And I'm the only mommy they have, so I better take good care of myself, for me, and for them.

With that let me tell you- if I can do it, you can do it.  I have so many things working against me, so many reasons why it would be easier not to, so many reasons to just be complacent.  They're legitimate, for the most part.  I know we all have them. 

But yeah... The pants.. they're super comfortable.  They're still kind of ugly.  But they're kind of awesome.

I won't never...

As my oldest child grows older and is able to understand my words and their meanings and express his thoughts and emotions better, there are a few things I have found to be true.  I've known them to be true in the past of course, but when you have a little-big child who depends on you, things take on even deeper truth, I think.

One of these things is that you say what you mean and you mean what you say.  Yes, my dear five-year-old understands some sarcasm and jokes, but if I don't point out that I'm kidding, I can't be sure that he knows when I'm not actually thanking him for taking thirty minutes to find his underwear.

Consequently, when you're meaning what you say, you best not make a promise you don't intend to keep.  Now, this is an ideal most people with decent morals attempt to operate on anyway, but when it comes to kids, a broken promise equals the end of the world and dire heartbreak on most occasions.  It doesn't matter what your excuse is, legitimate or not, when you promise, that's your word, and a child understands that.  If you aren't sure you can keep a promise, you probably shouldn't make one.  If nothing else, at least assert that you're going to try to whatever it is you would be promising, instead of promising it straight up.

Another thing I find to be crucial is to never say never.  If your child is anything like mine, he or she can come up with a scenario for almost anything in which never may actually fail, even if the scenario is non-sense.  Try to out-logic nonsense in a child who swears up and down that they can fly up a tree.  It's exhausting to try and prove them wrong, especially if they're not willing to try to fly up the tree because they know it's all talk.  Just sayin'.

When it comes to my own children, but especially my oldest, I've seeing these ideas to be more important as days go on.

He's got some trust issues.  I know this.  I know it's largely because his dad promised to love him forever, that he would always be his daddy, always take care of him, stand up for him, be with him, and love him... and then he walked out.  Now, he may still be his daddy, be with him in his heart, and love him... but it's definitely harder to believe, even if it is true, when your dad has been missing in action for almost an entire year.

Recently, my son has been questioning me.  I ask him to trust me, and he isn't sure he wants to.  When he does trust me, I better not fail him, that's for sure.  I ask him to believe me, and he doesn't always want to.  I know this is normal for most children, of course, but I feel like I need to take extra care to produce what I say I will so his belief in me doesn't dissipate by my own fault.  I very rarely tell him never, unless it's something like "you should never run away from home" and so forth.

This morning, there were a few struggles with my son while we were in a strange place with a bunch of strangers.  He already doesn't like large crowds of people he doesn't know, but I told him his grandma was going to be there, and then I got there too early and he started to doubt me.  The more he doubted that, the more stressed out he became.  I ended up taking 15 minutes or so to calm him, persuade him the place was safe, that I was with him, and that it would be fun.  I "shared my brave" with him, because he kept telling me over and over he was afraid.  I then made the mistake of walking away where he couldn't see me, and he shrieked.

It's that moment when one of the fears he had vocalized a few weeks ago was true and ever-present.  He asked me once if I would ever disappear.  He's asked me if he will lose me.  He's asked me if I will leave him.

I hate to say never.  But, I have said never. "No, I'll never leave you, I'll always come back.  I would never get lost, I know my way around.  You will never lose me, I'll be your mommy your entire life."

While these statements are all well and good, and said with the best intentions and sweetest sentiment, they say never.  And sometimes, I do leave.  Like this morning, I left, only for a few seconds, but those seconds were long enough to send the fear of my abandonment in a strange place.  Of course, I come back.  But someday, I'll die.   He will lose me on this earth. We all do lose people we love.  I've said I won't ever get lost, as he says he has lost his dad, but then every once in a while I take a wrong turn in a different part of town and admit fully that I'm not quite sure where we are.  

His fear of abandonment is valid, though.  I mean, his dad did it, so of course, day in and day out, he's going to fear somewhere inside that his mom will abandon him too.  While I know I would never choose to abandon my children, his little heart just can't imagine that because one parent already did.   So, day in and day out, I have to prove to him my constancy, my stability, and my promise that I'm staying.  It's an exhausting thing sometimes.

I should never say never.   I know it.

The only one who really should say never is God.  He's the only one who will not fail us.  Mothers are human and imperfect just like every other person on earth.  God's the only perfect one.

These Days are Hard

I'm going to go ahead and be brutally transparent here, knowing full well that it could make me seem wretched, but praying that those reading know that deep down, I am not wretched.

These days are hard.

These long, sunrise to sunset and then some days with three children ages 5.5, 3.5, and 2 who have strong willed personalities, occasionally short fuses, incredible stores of energy, and creativity for days are exhausting.

Doing it alone makes it seem even more exhausting than I ever imagined when I dreamt of starting a family with my former husband.

The past week or so, quite frankly, I have found it difficult to enjoy time with my children.

They're all going through some sort of phase where their favorite game is to test mommy's limits and find the secret buttons we didn't know were there yet.  

My five year-old has started telling me that he doesn't like me or that he's going to run away or that I'm a bad mommy when I give him instructions he doesn't like.  I know this is likely normal, but it feels like a dagger each time I hear the words.  

My three year-old is back to spitting (blowing forceful raspberries) if he disagrees with what I'm telling him to do.

My two-year old is a bucket full of sass and then some, and she's started to ignore me when I talk and tell me no more than ever before.

I know these are not the sum of my children and their personalities, but they've become more prevalent than I've ever noticed before.  To top it off, I'm solo parenting, and it feels like I haven't the reinforcements or the stamina to deal with it day in and day out.  I am dealing with it of course and I'm not giving into them, but it's incredibly exhausting.

They've been making so many messes lately, and while I make them clean them up themselves, it seems like all day long I am dealing with the messes or the attitude.  

I haven't been really excited about our time together like I know I should be, especially since I work full-time-ish and don't see them the majority of the day.  I shouldn't wish to be at work more than I am because I am tired of the fight at home. 

It makes me feel so ashamed to admit that, like I am failing them.  That I am the worst mom ever after all.  It makes me feel like it's my fault, and maybe it is.  

I know that there are many times over the last week of these hard days that I HAVE enjoyed, even though the negative tone here suggests otherwise.  There's been cuddles and hugs, laughter, games, books, running in the sun, treats, jokes, movies, and meals together that are wonderful.  I just feel like the negative is bogging me down.

I really do miss having a side-kick in all this.  Someone to come to my side when the fight is on and the kids don't want to clean the living room full of toys before they can run around outside with the neighbors.  Someone to say "No, mom is right here, buddy," or "You love your mommy, you shouldn't tell her you are running away," or "She's looking out for your safety, dude, don't run through the parking lot."  It's a huge burden when it all falls on me.

I know God is there, He's carrying me through it all, of course, providing the strength to get through each battle, even though it feels like I'm not going to make it through to the end of the day with any shred of sanity.  I know this, even though, let's be honest, it's not always easy to feel it.  

I've been praying day in and day out for the fights to lessen, the children to obey the first time, and for goodness sakes, to have more than three hours sleep at a time.  The children pray each night that God helps them to sleep deep, well, with good dreams, all through the night.  It seems futile to continue when so far it hasn't resulted in a full nights sleep, but I can't bring myself to give up.  

I wonder what it is that God is trying to teach me in all of this, or whether he's trying to show me all my faults.  I wonder if I'm being punished. 

 I caught myself just this week even, wondering aloud, if it was punishment for not letting the kids' dad have them.  As soon as the words flew out of my mouth, it was ridiculous, as I know full well that isn't the case at all, as I tried my best to get him to see them and to be in their lives, I just wanted him to be responsible about it, and he disappeared.    But somehow it comes back, creeping in, polluting my thoughts about myself.  

I have to choose to believe something good or great will come from these hard days. I wish I knew what it was, but all I can do is assume, and hope that it comes soon.